“Ah, life begins in Letterkenny!” my Mum announced, as we passed the town’s welcome signpost, “When I see that sign I know I’ve left my worldly worries behind”.I was taking her on a nostalgia trip to Donegal, following the path I had taken with her as a child, every Easter and Summer holiday, from Belfast to Rathmullan,
It had now been over thirty years since we had made that journey together. Yet Mum was reciting Donegal place names, like she was welcoming long lost family members back into the fold.Signposts to Greencastle, Glenveagh, Buncrana and Ramelton each had a story to tell, most of friends remembered, and many, sadly, now long gone.
But this was not going to be a morose holiday. I rarely get the chance to be alone with Mum, so I wanted it to be special. I also, rather selfishly, wanted to relive some of my own idyllic holiday memories. No pressure then on Rathmullan House, the hotel of choice for this comeback tour. Rathmullan is a small seaside village on the West shore of Lough Swilly, and Rathmullan House was the place we used to be brought, togged out in all our finery, for holiday Sunday lunches. Now we were returning for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and for the whole weekend.
I had always remembered the hotel’s proximity to the beach; downing jelly and icecream, and running off through the trees to soft sands just beyond the hotel’s lawns, leaving our carefree parents to clink glasses ‘til dusk.Rathmullan House remains a beacon of fine hospitality in Donegal, and is still run by the Wheeler family, who had welcomed us all way back in the seventies. The noughties bring the new generation to the fore, brothers Mark and William Wheeler, and their wives, Mary and Yvonne. They are a tour de force, and should be given four stars for their charming, understated, and warm hospitality, to accompany the hotel’s own four stars.
This 1870’s cream coloured Georgian country house has 34 individually furnished rooms, with lovingly chosen armchairs, desks, paintings, lamps, and beds ranging from four poster to Shaker style. There are even two
‘doggie’ rooms, bedrooms with a section to house a dog’s bed, and patio doors opening straight out onto the gardens and beach. Heaven for dog owners who would be bereft on the beach without them.
I, however, was bereft of nothing at Rathmullan. We had rooms in the new wing of the hotel, designed to merge sensitively with the original architecture, with every room opening out onto the beach. Mum was in heaven just inspecting items of antique furniture in her room, or reading about the house’s history from various framed archives hung around the place. Going away with your Mum, if you don’t do it often, is not always straightforward. It was new territory for us, and I may have got off to a bumpy start, teasing her about packing a hot water bottle. But she just smiled, saying that she liked having her little comforts when she travelled. (Better than one friend’s mother, who travels with rubber gloves and a bottle of Dettol to wash down the bath). Each to their own.
I set off to seek my own comfort in the dunes, arranging to meet in the bar later. The sea was even closer than I remembered, and the sands possibly even whiter. As I wandered barefoot along the sand, writing my name with a stick, collecting shells, clambering over rocks, I felt nothing but pure unadulterated joy as I went through names of all my childhood friends who had done the same alongside me years ago. I was jolted out of my self-indulgent sentimentality by a loud thundering noise coming up through the sand, causing my heart to thud to the same rhythm. I turned to see about half a dozen horses galloping towards me. As they passed by, I noticed that their riders were all young children, and felt as if myown childhood had just whizzed past me like some strange dream.
Back at the hotel, Mum was swapping Rathmullan stories with her newly adopted Wheeler boys in the bar. The bar is really just one of the four lounges, except it has a magnificent mahogany sideboard taking centre stage, bedecked with everything from fine malts to Merlots and Moet. Fires roared in every room, and guests were tucked up on sofas, 
clinking merrily, in good Rathmullan tradition. The clientele was a glorious mixture of all ages: couples, young families, and middle-aged women on a ‘girls’ weekend away. And a mother and daughter who raised a glass or two, and wished they hadn’t left it so long to come back ‘home’.
We had dinner by the fire, opting to save the white linens of the restaurant until the next night. I devoured some crab linguine, while Mum went for the more traditional fish and chips, coated in a light batter of beer and water. The chef Ian Orr, sources everything locally, with seafood coming no further than Greencastle, and vegetables and fruit from their vast walled garden, depending on the season.Mum popped off to her room to powder her nose, as I gorged on a plate of Irish cheeses, organic quince paste, homemade chutney and biscuits. She returned grinning smugly about something, and revealed that not only had her bed been turned over while we were eating, but that some lovely Rathmullan angel had filled her hot water bottle and tucked it under the crisp white sheets. She had been fed and watered the finest food and wines but, for Mum, this was hospitality from heaven.
Just as I was about to hit my vast luxurious bed, I mentioned my horses moment to William. ‘’They’re from the stables up the road’’, he said, ‘’I could book you in, if you fancy it’’. The last time I had been on a horse, was probably the last time I had been on a Donegal beach, so I just laughed. “Think about it” he said, giving me a great excuse to order a nightcap, and prolong my fireside repose. Minutes later, William returned to say that he had double-checked with the stables, and there was a beach trek at ten the next morning. A bit of Dutch-Donegal courage was all it took, and I signed up.
Eager to enjoy every second of my time here, I got up early, did a few lengths of the swimming pool, before tucking into a breakfast of homemade everything, and a menu just as gastronomically gorgeous as dinner the night before: Smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, homemade bread, and Mr. Wheeler’s Senior’s own marmalade. A quick stroll up to the stables, and I was off on a one-to-one trek on a dappled grey pony, with my very trustworthy teacher Stephanie.
After a few minutes on the beach, Stephanie released her guiding lead, and helped me build up slowly from walk to trot
to canter. Like a kid again, I hoped Mum might be waiting for me on the dunes outside the hotel, cheering me on. But she was, quite rightly doing her own thing. However, Stephanie took on the maternal role perfectly, careful and caring in her teaching, leading me down Rathmullan beach and, with the tide well out, onto the neighbouring Kinnegar Strand. I came back to find Mum had just treated herself to her very first massage, and was looking as elated as I was after my beach ride.
Reenergised to take on the rest of the day, we strolled along the beach path into Rathmullan village, where we stopped to admire the stunning John Behan sculpture, a commemoration of the Flight of the Earls, which took place from Rathmullan’s pier in 1607. It is a harrowing image of the Earls’ reluctant farewell, their bronze cloaks almost billowing in the wind. It sits unobtrusively on the grassy banks of the shore, beside children playing on swings and slides, oblivious to the Rathmullan’s extraordinary legacy. The 400th anniversary of the Flight took place in 2007, providing funding for Rathmullan’s Flight of The Earls Heritage Centre, in a converted granite gun battery. The door was locked, although pausing for a liquid lunch in the White Harte pub, I asked Mary, the owner, if she knew if it would be open over the weekend. “If you come back at five, I’ll have the key for you, no problem”.A done deal, Donegal style.
That left me just enough time to hit the hills overlooking Lough Swilly, as Mum headed back to her Paradise Lost, and now Refound, at the hotel. There were still a good few sofas to test out, after all, and no doubt a few more stories to share. The hotel supplies a detailed list of local walks, designed and written up by local historian Margaret Carton. I took on the 7.5 kms circular walk along the beach, and inland up the old Glen Road,in search of Margaret’s hidden waterfalls, ancient chestnuts and lime kilns. I didn’t see a soul for the whole walk, and despite incoming clouds, had spectacular views across to InchIsland. Back at the pub, Mary had kept to her word, and we headed across the road to swot up on our Earls’ history, in the serenity of this simple, dignified restoration.
Our own flight from Donegal was marked by a superb dinner in the hotel’s restaurant that night. After swimming, riding and walking, I felt I had earned my three courses. Just as in years gone by, I put on my Sunday best – a ‘pretty girl’ dress which I knew would make my Mum smile. It must have broken her heart just a little, that I have never quite shaken off my propensity for tomboyism. We drank Kir cocktails by the fire, before being led to our candlit corner for more of Chef Orr’s offerings. Roast turnip soup, followed by loin of Fermanagh free range pork.With temptations like Chocolate Nemesis on the dessert menu, my only regret was coming here at Lent.
The pull back to Belfast the next morning was a hard one. Both Mum and I had relived our past in some way and, more importantly, treasured our time together in the present. Which leaves me only to say a big thank you to our oldest friend, Rathmullan, for making it all possible.
Other places to stay, eat and go in Rathmullan, Co. Donegal
Where to stay
Rathmullan House, Rathmullan, Co. Donegal, 074 91 58188. www. www.rathmullanhouse.com.Bed and breakfast from €80 per person sharing. Open weekends only until 3rd April, and full time after this date. Check website for regular special offers.
Where to eat
An Bonnán Buí restaurant and wine bar, Pier Road, Rathmullan, Co. Donegal, 074 9158453. www.bonnanbui.com. Run by Martin Kelly and his Brazilian wife Monica Santos, it offers a superb selection of Irish fine fare, including local seafood specialities, with a smattering of Brazilian specialities to add to the mix. Great children’s menus too.
Where to go
Golden Sands Equestrian Centre, Rathmullan, Co. Donegal, 074 915 8124. Treks from €20 per hour
Glenveagh National Park, Churchill, Letterkenny, Co. Donegal, 074-9137090, www.glenveaghnationalpark.ie. Encompassing 24,000 acres of wilderness, mountain, moorland, lakes and woods. Also largest herd of red deer in Europe.
Portsalon Golf Course, is just one of six excellent courses almost within putting distance of Rathmullan. See www.discoverireland.ie/northwest for details of all golfing in CountyDonegal.
For sea angling, seal and dolphin-watching on Lough Swilly, charter The Enterprise 1 or the new Swilly Explorer, both moored in Rathmullan. Contact Neil Doherty, 074 9158129
I love a man who does what I tell him. “You should open a Natural Retreats in Ireland”, I told Ewan Kearney, Director (and partner) of an idyllic collection of sef-catering houses, situated in UK National Parks, which look as if they were lifted off the set of Grand Designs. I stayed at their retreat hidden in the hills of the Yorkshire Dales last July. Their exquisitly eco-designed wooden houses,with sedum moss rooves, local food sourcing for client’s goody hampers, rainwater harvesting, are all just part of their exemplary, sustainable links with UK National Parks. Much to my surprise, less than a year later,Kearney has opened up five new Natural Retreats sites in Ireland (www.naturalretreats.com). This guy doesn’t let the green grass grow under his feet, that’s for sure. 
managers, for example, insisting they are people with excellent local knowledge, and a passion for the landscape, walking, riding, cycling etc. When they told their new partners that they wanted to provide food hampers, one of them voiced concern at not being able to get Yorkshire produce, not realising that when Natural Retreats say local, they really do mean local. 
Ireland