242 SPORTING REMINISCENCES 



the sand sucked away from my staggering feet 

 until it was dangerous to go knee deep. I have 

 run for land and been caught by a following wave 

 and been rolled over choked and blinded. 



On the Clare and Galway coast you get a strain 

 of Spanish blood, dating from when the Armada 

 came crashing on to the jagged Clare and Galway 

 rocks. And sometimes you see a girl with Spanish 

 colouring and narrow arched feet and the carriage 

 which is so typical of Spain. 



There are some rotting skeletons of houses 

 beyond Spanish Point, Fraye they call the place ; it 

 was once a fishing village, the skeletons look on a 

 quiet little bay, sheltered by low cliffs, but one 

 rock, a low brown thing, lurks at the side of the 

 bay close to the calm channel through which the 

 canoes must come to land. It slips up seal-like, 

 bared by a passing wave, it is gone, only marked 

 by a dimple of current, and next moment it is 

 bare again ; and on it every man in that village 

 was drowned, until the widowed women left, and 

 the old houses are only marked now by the walls. 



There is Carig A'Dandy, now nothing, next 

 moment with a huge breaker rising up, crashing 

 down in thunderous weight of water. 



There are no soft lights at Miltown, but grey 

 strength in the world, a wind which seldom drops, 

 a sea which vaunts itself your splendid enemy. 

 Connemara is a friendly coast. Drive from West- 

 port to Lcenane by the cliff road and see the 



