Island-hopping through stone-age history in Ireland, Wales and the Isle of Man

Exploring prehistory sites around the Irish Sea – that were old even before the pyramids were built – throws a magical light on our ancestors T he guide was adamant. “I’ve picked human teeth out of there and I’m not doing it again.” The small group of tourists looked suitably aghast, except the boy. He was jiggling the wellington boots on his feet and singing to himself. He looked about 14. I sensed that he was the catalyst, the one to make things happen. “So, if anyone is planning to leave human remains in this ancient place,” went on the guide, throwing the boy a stern look, “I say, DON’T.” We had arrived on the visitor centre bus from nearby Knowth, the first stop on our tour of Newgrange Neolithic site , 30 miles (50km) north of Dublin. I was on a circuit of the Irish Sea, a ferry and road trip to see the best ancient sites that ring this salty mere at the heart of these islands. It was here, around 5,100 years ago, that a new people arrived and, capitalising on the sea as a cultural superhighway, constructed a dazzling array of stone monuments. Some of Europe’s finest Neolithic passage tombs are here, notably at Newgrange, the only one you can enter. But as the guide was sternly pointing out, some modern folk are irresistibly drawn to leave the ashes of deceased relatives inside, especially at Newgrange. “As for pets,” said our guide, “I want no dog or cat ashes either.” The boy was drumming his hands on his knees, hearing an unheard rhythm. We were about to walk up to the hallowed tumulus with its 19-metre-long passageway that leads to the central chamber, but our guide was determined to get that boy’s attention. “There,” she shouted. The boy’s head shot up. She was pointing at a set of wheelie bins in the corner. “I can promise you,” she went on, grimly, “that if I find your granny’s remains inside my Neolithic chamber, then her last resting place will be that green wheelie bin.” There was a stunned silence among the tourists. But not the boy. He immediately ran over to the bin, opened the lid and stared inside. “Nothing,” he reported, slamming it down. “She’s not there.” The guide looked nonplussed, then marched away towards the hill that is a tomb.

“Follow me,” she commanded. “Do not leave the path.” Everyone obeyed, except the boy. He ran in a great arc off the path, arms flapping like shamanic wings. We had started our huge circular journey around the Irish Sea at Pentre Ifan, a magnificent tomb from 3500BC, sited on the same Pembrokeshire ridge that provided the bluestone for Stonehenge. I was travelling with my partner, Sophie, and our dog, Stevie, who had gone through complex hoops to prove he was not carrying either rabies or tapeworm into Ireland. He liked the first ferry, from Pembroke Dock to Rosslare; it had an excellent pet lounge, but what fascinated him was the sea. He could not stop staring. His reaction made me pay more attention to him. Could dogs, I wondered, also help connect us with the deep past? After all, their wolf heritage is 30,000 years old, yet they relive it every minute of their lives. If anyone could remember the Neolithic age, it was Stevie. He had been well cared for initially. We stayed near Wexford, in a dog-friendly hotel, Marlfield House , with superb gardens. Then we toured the ruins of the greatest Irish saint of them all, Kevin. His sixth-century seat at Glendalough , in County Wicklow, is now a busy pilgrimage site. Twelfth-century Trim Castle in County Meath was next, followed by the Hill of Tara with its ancient standing stone, the Lia Fáil. Here all the pagan kings of Ireland were crowned, so the legend goes. At its base, visitors had laid a collection of apples, flowers and coins. That puzzled me. Were the apples significant?

Or had that gang of girls carrying hurling sticks just donated their unwanted snacks? Some people, it was clear, wanted such places to mean something, not simply be dusty artefacts. I persuaded Stevie to lie down on a nearby grassy mound. Under us was the Mound of the Hostages , a chambered tomb that was already ancient when the Great Pyramid was built. Time slipped away. Those Neolithic people are so distant and mysterious. What we know for certain is almost nothing. They had cows … and dogs. I opened one eye. Stevie had gone. He’d given up communing with the stone age and gone after the hurling sticks. That night, we stayed in another excellent dog-friendly hotel, Bellinter House , and visited Marcie Regan’s in Trim, a vibrant, dog-loving pub. Not until Newgrange did we meet the dreaded sign, NO DOGS. I’d been forced to leave him in the car, my dæmon, my conduit to the ancient. Our guide stopped us at the entrance to the great megalithic structure, a turf-topped hill walled with white quartz. Discovered largely intact in 1699, the entrance was guarded by the same five-tonne stone that sits there now, covered in mysterious swirling patterns. Behind was a narrow entrance and a passage that lay under 200,000 tonnes of stone and earth. Out the corner of my eye, I saw the boy come running. He had done a lap of the monument, chanting to himself, his little sister close behind. The guide bowed her head and disappeared inside.

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