The Blessington Lakes, however, were not always there: they are the result of damming the Poulaphouca falls, a favorite picnicing spot for Vistorian-era Dubliners wanting to escape the city. They would catch the steam tram from Terenure (now part of Dublin), and wend their way down through Blessington to the falls.
I learned that the River Liffey--yes, the same river that runs through the center of Dublin--was dammed in the 1930s as part of a scheme to provide water and electricity for Dublin (yes, the irony of our water being undrinkable does not escape me). As a result, many of the landholders who abutted the river gained waterfront property, which didn't do them much good, because it took from them their livelihood: raising cattle and cutting peat from the valley floor. The villages around the lake are dotted to this day with people who were misplaced.
I picked up all these tidbits from a book that appeared in the bookshop window in November,
Beneath the Poulaphouca Reservoir, which presents the survey of properties that were flooded out by the scheme. Detailed maps and photographs round out the inventory, and makes for a handsome coffee table book. So handsome in fact, that it is already in its second printing.
It is fascinating to see that the manor house at Tulfarris, which is now on a lobe of land jutting into the lakes was perched on a hill at the bend in the river. The ruined house that we explored in the snow back in February is also on the map, and there is a track leading from it to Russborough House. It revealed itself as the shell of a formerly elegant house, with tiny wings flanking it, mirroring Russborough House and giving a fine view of its grander sibling from its front stoop. The map calls it Rathbally House, but tells no more of its clearly elegant past.
So when we finally took the tour (we had saved it for my mother), we were surprised that the incredibly well-informed guide knew nothing of it. Granted, she was, as she called herself, a "blow-in," but that didn't stop her from recognizing a pair of tour-takers.
We too, ran into a few people we knew from the Steiner school, folks who had come to enjoy the fine day, to walk the acres of sheep-dotted fields and gardens and to shop the monthly farmer's market, as we did too.
It seems then, that while Russborough House opens its doors to all for colorful gatherings, Rathbally will sit on top of her lonely hill and keep her secrets to herself.
