We had intended to have our cousins drop us off on the island and pick us up a few hours later. However, either because we were newly found cousins, or they were typically hospitable Newfoundlanders, or they thought that my brother and I would get lost, they wanted to stay with us. Probably all three factors influenced their decision. They were absolutely fabulous.
They got caught up in what my brother and I were trying to do. They were very knowledgeable about the island and the people who had once lived there. Clutching a narrative of the island, written by another of our cousins, the forgotten history of that special place became more coherent to the four of us.
As we entered Irelands Eyes small harbour, which was guarded, by a family of hawks in a nest high on a rocky point, a weird sensation came over us. There, in front of us, was the place we visited fifty years before, and about which we had heard and read so much throughout our adult lives. We thought, what an aesthetically breathtaking sight! The glittering sun, on that day, gave everything a picture-postcard image. This was indeed a slice of paradise. The ruins of a few remaining buildings that dotted the hillsides and shoreline and the once dominant St. Georges Church on the hill at the end of the harbour, aroused in us an exciting sense of history and of our heritage. Looking out over the harbour from the hill by the church at the extinct community, revived memories of fifty years before.
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