Tawnydorragh

The Movarran Road in Fermanagh heads north-west out of Drumskinney hamlet at the junction of Montiaghroe Road, about 700 metres south-west of the famous stone circle. It bends north in a pine plantation and heads towards the Donegal border. There is the illusion today that nothing much seems to happen in this part of North Fermanagh – a definite backwater of poor and poorly drained land, sheep farming being the mainstay, some better pasture dotted amongst the ever rising sphagnum moss.

We had made our decision to head directly north for Tawnydorragh and to work our way back down south, slightly distracted by the monuments first at Montiaghroe and then at Drumskinney, before making our way to the fringes of the forest that contained our real target. The townland itself is bordered to the north-west by Lettercran townland, Co. Donegal, not 200 metres from the rear of the tomb. However, there’s a kilometre-and-a-half to traverse before reaching there. The Scraghy road in Donegal looks like it could provide closer access, but the Termon river, which is the border, didn’t seem fordable, so we chose the forest entrance on the Movarran road.

The relief to be out again starts to ease into our spirits as we move deeper into the forest. The track heads up north-east for a short while, then north at a t-junction, twisting a bit and bending back north-west again and we spy a fox not 20 feet away in the scraggy grass. He ain’t impressed by us and skulks up towards the treeline for better cover. The track ends and we’re on dodgier ground as we head north again after another t-junction, but we know what we’re after and we pretty much know where it is, thanks to the tech gods, so our pace stays steady and even quickens the closer we get. And yet the trees are now denser, the old photo from the 70s or 80s that I saw at the NISMR that promised views all around useless.

We end up in a gully between two ridges and it’s obvious that the tomb is on one or the other. Wanting it to be on the northern one, where the sun seems to penetrate the pines, proves to be pointless – it’s on the more southerly. We burst through into the clearing from the east to be confronted by what appears to be a pile of hugely moss-covered stones, with the facade of the tomb to its right. This pile turns out to be sawn logs from the three trees were allowed to grow behind the entrance jambs in the first chamber of the gallery. At this time of the year the sun never gets high enough to penetrate the trees surrounding the clearing, but the benefit of being here now is that the growth has died back enough for us to be able to examine the remains. This is an isolated spot and we got the feeling that nobody had been here for a very long time.

The stones of the monument are satisfyingly blocky and imposing. The court was probably of the shallow variety, though only two of its stones now remain. The lintel that covered the two entrance jambs has fallen backwards into the chamber, partially held up by the southern sidestone and the tree stumps. The jambs are nearly a metres and a half tall, leading into a six metre long, two-chambered gallery. All of the southern rear chamber wall is missing – the second stone of the front chamber is weirdly eroded with runnels and wrinkles. The encrustation of the stones with mosses, grass and lichens at first had me confused – what were the stones holding up the lintel doing in the position of blocking the gallery entrance? And then it became clear with a touch – they’re rotting tree stumps, left there to stop the lintel from collapsing fully.

The rear stone of the gallery is gabled, speculated on as pointing to a corbelled roof – I guess I can go along with that – it’s pleasing either way. The atmosphere here is still and quiet, the glade inviting exploration and contemplation, but I can’t help wishing that the trees weren’t there, opening up the views – the old photo, maybe from the eighties, shows how the tomb was built on the prominence/escarpment, with some cairn kerbing visible at the rear, both to the north and south. I mooched in under the pine trees and saw some of this. My mate Thomas went further back there, down to the Termon river, reporting back that the river was in spate – just as well we didn’t try to get here from that invitingly short way. Tawnydorragh is one of those places that demands a certain level of commitment, rewarding the adventurous with a satisfaction that isn’t replicated by the easier, more accessible sites.