The Legend of Dunluce Castle

The Legend of Dunluce Castle

My dad, didn’t as a rule, involve himself too much in the daily domestic arrangements of our lives. He worked long hours and when he came home he would sometimes fall asleep on the settee in the living room or he would want peace and quiet to read the newspaper. Other times, he was busy in the garage or in the garden, and we knew that he didn’t want us to hanging around asking questions or getting in the way.

But when holidays came, dad seemed to transform himself into the type of father I read about in my story books. He had the ability to turn each outing into a day long adventure.

Many of our day trips took us up round the Antrim Coast - Ballycastle, Port Ballantrae, Ballintoy Harbour, the White Rocks and Portrush. And it was on one of these trips, that we happened to be on the road between Portrush and Bushmills in the pouring rain. It was Saint Patrick’s Day or Easter Sunday or some such holiday and we were beating the crowds’ by heading away from the usual popular spots. We passed the ruins of Dunluce Castle and pulled up into some wasteland nearby for a better look at the ruin.

The rain was falling heavily and it was obvious even to us as children that it wasn’t going to be possible to get out of the car to explore. Even dad wouldn’t be so foolhardy. The sloping walls of the castle in that desolate spot right at the cliff edge, had the forlorn appearance of a fisherman’s widow looking out to sea. The cries of the seagulls and the whimpers of the wind were the only sounds that broke the melancholy silence.

“The castle may look like ruins to you now,” Dad said, “But hundreds of year’s ago it was a fine castle, where knights and their ladies were entertained in lavish surroundings. There used to be huge parties in the banqueting hall of the castle with whole pigs roasted on a spit and an enormous dining table where all the nobility ate their fill and minstrels played until their fingers bled.

One night, ooh about 300 years ago, there was a great storm while one of the parties was in full swing. The wind grew wild and howled over the sea, whipping it into a rage of frenzied foam. The rain lashed wickedly at the castle walls and thunder roared through the black murderous sky. But no-one inside the castle could hear the storm above the noise of their merry making.

In the kitchen, servants scurried around, busy in the preparation of food, red-faced with the exertion of fetching and carrying the huge platters of the finest meats and great flagons of ale and wine for the noble men and women who regaled themselves in the grand banqueting hall.

At the foot of the cliff, the angry sea roared and thrashed, venting its venom with full force against the wall of the cliff on which the castle stood. In the banqueting hall, the clamour of bawdy laughter mixed with the minstrel’s music and drowned the menacing sound of the enraged elements.

Several small rocks were shaken out of their crevices and started to bounce down the cliff, dislodging some bigger rocks. The sea, sensing victory, threw back its head and laughed viciously. With renewed energy, it bashed the cliff face again and again, summoning the force of the wind and rain to its aid. The spray from the waves rose higher and higher, striking the rocks until they trembled.

At first there was a small rumble then the rumble became a roar and when the roar became a thunderous explosion of sound the partygoers and servants stopped to listen. But it was too late. The rocks supporting the castle at the cliff edge began to crumble and fall into the sea, sweeping the noble men and women, the minstrels, servants, dogs and all into the snapping jaws of the sea below….
To this day,’ Dad’s voice was now a whisper,’ They say that when a storm is due, if you listen carefully you can just catch the melody of the lute players and the sound of the noblemen laughing, above the roar of the wind and the splash of the waves.’
There was silence in the car as we drank in this information.

“Come on kids, the rain has stopped now.” Dad yanked us back to the present day.
“But, Peter, they’ll get their feet wet and you’ll need to take care because there’s a very steep drop.”
But mum was talking to the empty car. We were already racing to follow dad down to the sloping walls and the cliff edge.
“Stay away from the edge,” my mum warned.
Holding the fence, I peaked over and looked at the black shiny boulders, which had once been the proud walls of the castle. I thought of the story Dad had told. I could hear the music, imagine the revellers at their party, feel the heat in the kitchen as the servants sweated to serve their master. Dad had brought the legend of Dunluce Castle alive for me and as we drove home that evening, I continued to think about the noblemen and the servants and the castle which had fallen into the sea.