Guest Post by P.V. Wolseley

I like to keep things physical – no Facebook, Twitter, YouTube or Instagram – so it’s strange even to me that I’m guest-blogging for Byddi Lee. Let me tell you how this came about.

It started, as so many writerly things do, with Byddi. She stayed in Paris long enough to co-found a critiquing group and for me to get to know her a little. With her blue eyes and blond curls, Byddi is at least one part Christmas-tree fairy but with her ferocious energy, drive and loyalty, she’s two parts word-warrior queen. It was no surprise to hear that, shortly after having left Paris for Armagh, she was hustling together a flash-fiction festival that sounded like the best fun.

Two fellow Parisian writers and I decided to crash it.

‘We’ll come and support you,’ we said.

Byddi being Byddi, she declared the festival an international event and welcomed us herself, at the airport, late one Belfast night.

We drove into Armagh through the sort of blackness the City of Light has long forgotten. Having fielded perfectly sensible Parisian questions such as ‘how can people see without street lamps?’ Byddi got on with the business of narrating the night, sketching out with words the towns and orchards we couldn’t see. I quickly stopped peering into the darkness and instead listened until we reached our cosy lodgings at the Charlemont Arms Hotel.

Breakfast was big, Irish and – being shared by three writers – wordy. We somehow got onto the subject of female forebears who faced risky and multiple pregnancies. The lady waiting tables served up the best story, top trumping us as she cleared our plates: 22 children born to one woman.

This emerged as a pattern when we toured the city. It quickly became clear that there’s not a stone in Armagh that doesn’t have a tale to tell; people swap stories the way the English shake hands. I left the tourist information office not with leaflets but with tales of a sword too big to wield and a giant warrior. At the Hole in the Wall, greetings took the form of ‘What’s your story?’ and refreshments were served with a tale of unhappy love and a hanging. At Emain Macha, myths and legends were illustrated on a big screen and so enchantingly told that when I later stood on the mound, I was sure any archaeologist digging would find story on story on story, stratified.

I heard plenty of anecdotes where arrests and bombings unselfconsciously shared sentences with meals, marriages and markets days – a reminder that for many years, strife and struggle were the daily lot of many in Armagh, but it was hard not to feel optimistic as we explored the city. My fellow Parisians and I were the only ones in black. Everyone else seemed ready to put on the glam and get something going. As we walked through the Market Place Theatre & Arts Centre before closing, the receptionist put the Christmas tree lights back on for us and suggested a photo shoot. Every social interaction became a networking, sponsoring or social media opportunity. When my friend tried on a jacket that fitted like it was made to measure, a picture was taken and posted on the boutique’s Facebook page, and when the guide at Emain Macha heard our enthusiasm for myths and legends, she got out from behind the desk to share with us the excellent and beautifully illustrated Cúchulainn by Réamonn Ó Ciaráin. Wherever we went we got a small-town welcome so warm it was hard to see Armagh as a city, despite its two cathedrals and world-class museums.

It was at one of these museums – Armagh County Museum – that we enjoyed the highlight of our stay: a flash-fiction feast served up before a portrait of Seamus Heaney and his piercing eyes, painted by Colin Davidson. We feasted like gluttons on stories ranging in inspiration from the literary and celestial (A Clockwork Heart) to the local (Cás na dteifeach), and in setting from the domestic (Say’s Himself) to the parallel world of horror-erotica (Always and Forever). All pieces were read with finesse and generosity in a venue that made for a magical evening. It came to a close much too soon – which may explain why we were slow to go. I was most grateful to our kindly, informative hosts, who let us explore the museum’s treasures long after our time was up.

Next day: home to beautiful and indifferent Paris. I took time to reflect on all I’d brought back in head and heart, based on the writerly principle that if protagonists come out of a journey unchanged, they’ve not been anywhere. With such a wealth of happy memories and stories, it seemed only right to share this story by taking an uncustomary toe-dip into cyber-sea – to say a big thank you, Armagh, and à bientôt, j’espère.  

P.V. Wolseley

 

Armagh Literary Scene Presents...

I seriously cannot believe my good fortune - there's just so much going on in the literary scene in Armagh that I find myself swinging from one event to the next!

Last Friday night, I was proud to be included in a contingent from Women Aloud NI who were invited as special guests to the always wonderful Open Mic Night in the Abbey Lane Theatre. I'm a huge fan of this establishment and always have a grand old evening there but it was with a double pride that I presented it to my sistas from Women Aloud NI and vice versa. Each group wowed the other and rightly so. The readings were deep, rich, lewd and entertaining in equal measure and doubled down by the musical acts and poetry from regulars, it added up to a brilliant night. It filled me up with that "ah, my wee Armagh" glow that warms my heart so often these days.

The John O Connor Festival begins on the 1st November and I'm excited about volunteering, attending and reading at the festival.

To see what's on, have a look at the programme.

And last but certainly by no means least, Flash Fiction in Georgian Armagh is pleased to announce it's line up for the event taking place on 22nd November 2018 at 7pm upstairs in Mulberry Bistro during Armagh's amazing Georgian Festival. And what a lineup!

In no particular order, congratulations to,

Kerry Buchanan	Only a Clockwok Heart
Réaltán Ní Leannáin	Excerpt from Cití na gCártaí to be published in 2019 with Cois Life Press
Christopher Moore	Solitude
Maureen Boyle	Box Room
Eddie McClenaghan	The Night Before Christmas Was Cool
Rosemary Tumilty	Hunter’s Moon O’er Airgialla
Peter Hollywood	Mahogany
Doreen Mc Bride	Christmas Disaster
Kieran McGurk	Zaragoza
Terry Hickland	extract from the forthcoming novel The Piano Boat
Gaynor Kane	Jonah and the Whale
Cathy Carson	Wake Up Call
Patricia Hanlon	Extract from Kirsty's Vow
Rachel Toner	Inferno
Byddi Lee	A Thick Foundation

For more information on events during the Georgian Festival please check out their website.

Byddi Lee

Facing Change at the John Hewitt International Summer School

My brain whirls with such a kaleidoscope of thoughts and ideas that I hardly know where to begin. The theme of the John Hewitt International Summer School this year is “Facing change: shifting borders and allegiances.”

As I sit in the sun outside the Market Place theatre and look across the street, I’m transported back in time to see two little girls, my sister and I, swinging and tumbling on the bars between on the concrete bollards that spanned the black expanse of tarmac that once covered Market Street. This was our playground. I was an expert at hanging upside down by my knees like a little bat.

I share my flashback with my summer school friends by telling them I used to live there, point out which was our house, which one was my grandfather's tailor shop and most importantly which one was the sweetie shop. Someone says that it must have been lovely to live there, but I point out that it was 1970’s Armagh and the place did not look like it does now. Facing change in this way is a welcome thing. So much is better but as the talks and panel discussions highlight, we still have a way to go and the path can be rocky – especially apparent after the panel discussion “What went wrong?” on the very first day with Gregory Campbell, Brid Rodgers, Colm Gildernew and Trevor Ringland.

I hadn’t expected the political discussions. I try to keep local politics out of my writing. In fact, I try to keep all politics out of my writing, but that panel discussion left me feeling like all the emotional sand I’d used to cover my political opinions had stirred up and was now swirling around, muddying the waters. I’d wanted to shout at the panel, “Listen to each other.” Have we ever just asked simple questions like, “What do you want?” “What do you need?” Have we ever given simple answers? Can we simply be fair? Kind?

There were some beautifully uplifting moments too. It was a delight to listen to Liz Nugent and Claire Allan in conversation. These women were so supportive and generous to each other. It enforces what I always say about writers – we are never in completion with each other. A book can be read far faster than it can be written. If a reader loves two writers who have similar style/genres/subject matter then they will read both. Because of this week, I need to buy another bookcase! Also great to see Dave Torrens from No Alibis selling books in Armagh – perhaps he’ll consider a pop-up bookstore here in the run-up to Christmas?

My favourite speaker was Eli Davies. Her exploration of how literature portrays the role of women during the conflict here was inspiring. I fear the creative light-bulb moments she ignited… do I really want to ever write about those times from my own perspective…maybe sometime. The following day Monica McWilliams blew on those creative sparks, with her talk about Women Waging Peace as she infused me with hope for a better future.

If you ever get a chance to see Mikel Murfi’s The Man in the Woman’s Shoes and the sequel I Hear You and Rejoice don’t hesitate to go. Sometimes a piece of writing is just so brilliant it grabs a hold of you and just won’t let go. Even days later, there are moments when I laugh out loud or tear up simply thinking about these performances. Murfi savages the audience's emotions, mercilessly swinging us between gales of laughter to floods of tears. What is it about the human condition that we actually enjoy having our emotions thus pummeled?

Between the panel discussions and classes, over coffee or wandering around the city, new friendships were forged, old friendships strengthened, ideas shared, concepts explored. Thank you to the organizers of the John Hewitt Summer School for creating a diverse and stimulating programme that enables people to get together, to share and unite. This was the overall best part of the summer school experience – the way the attendees came together in a solid body, a meeting of minds, hearts and muses. The camaraderie was palpable, the laughter infectious and the tears too – especially for those of us who attended the Mikel Murfi performances.

I would also like to thank the Armagh, Banbridge and Craigavon Borough Council for sponsoring my bursary to attend the John Hewitt Summer School.

Thanks also to the wonderful women in Women Aloud NI who were a joy to be with all week long. Despite the things that make us different, it is the things we have in common that matter. Accepting our diversity makes us stronger and more adaptable, more able to face change, more happy to accept change. I loved having you here – please come back soon. Click here to read what my friend Angeline King thought of Armagh - you might be surprised, or you may know better and might not be at all surprised...

For a local like me, it was wonderful to see people come and enjoy Armagh. It is a special place, has been for thousands of years, all the way back to times of Navan Fort. There’s magic here, and I feel that magic touched us all last week, helping us to listen to one another, share with each other, giving us the tools to face change together because together is the only way humans will surmount the changes facing us in the near and distant future. 

Byddi Lee

Flash Fiction Armagh Presents

We had a fabulous response to the call for submissions for Flash Fiction Armagh.

The high standard of writing gave us some difficulty making our final selection, but we are delighted to present the following writers at our inaugural Flash Fiction Armagh on Thursday 22nd March 2018 at 7pm.

In no particular order, congratulations to:

Jay Faulker, Rain
Catherine Carson, Spectrum
Réaltán Ní Leannáin, Dílis
Damien Mallon, Reading The Trees
Pamela Brown, Mansfield House
Réamonn Ó Ciaráin, The Boy Corps of Eamhain Mhacha
Trish Bennett, Power of a Peeler
Karen Mooney, A Fond Farewell
Seán Ó Farraigh, Neamhchiontach go dtí go gcruthaítear a mhalairt
Christopher Moore, The Dark Hedges
Malachi Kelly, Scoring in the Seventies

Sharon Dempsey*, The Watcher 

So please come along and be a part of the first ever Flash Fiction Armagh.

A big thank you to Mulberry Bistro for generously hosting the event in their gorgeous upstairs room allowing us to keep the event free. No better location, with our beautiful Cathedral looking on through their windows! 

Byddi Lee

  

* Sharon Dempsey is unable to make it to the event in March, but we hope to see her at a subsequent event.

Full House at the Open Mic in the Abby Lane Theatre

The Open Mic Night at the Abbey Lane Theatre is a gleaming treasure hidden in a backstreet of Armagh City. Tucked behind a wall in a carpark where Linehall Street meets Abbey Lane, the door to the theatre bears little adornment. Once through that door, the stage is to the left and a large room stretches back to stairs beside an area with a sink and a structure that reminded me of our school tuckshop. Bare concrete walls play host to photos of happy groups of people in various costumes. I pick out some familiar faces.

Image courtesy of The Armagh Theatre group website.

Tonight is the last Friday of January and the first Open Mic Night of 2018. The stage has been set up with clusters of chairs and some little tables upon which sit little bowls of crisps, as if to say, “make yourself at home.” The rest of the room centres on a lonely blue chair and the Mic midway down the hall. I like the inclusive and intimate set up.

We pay our cover charge. Malachi Kelly welcomes us in. He has an easy way of managing to chat with everyone, giving each a fair amount of his banter without looking hassled or making you feel you’re in the way.

The burble of voices in the room rises as the seats fill in. Friends acknowledge each other, women embrace, men shake hands and clap backs. The audience is diverse – male, female, young, middle-aged, and older. There are people here from Lurgan, Belfast, and possibly further afield judging by the accents I hear.

The room is full, every seat taken, and a couple of young girls sit on the stairs having given up their seats to a more mature couple of late-comers.

Malachi takes the Mic, taps it a few times, then sets it aside. He starts, “In the name…” Those magic words, many of the audience know from school days as the way to quiet a crowd. Apart from the swell of gentle laughter, it works. Everyone settles in to listen and from what I can see are captured in the magic that the performers spin over the next couple of hours.

First up is Poet Mel Mc Mahon, originally from Lurgan reading poetry from his book  Out of Breath. I can tell from the pin-drop silence that he has connected with the audience and he carries us along with his mastery of words.

Next up is Thomas Healy on the harp and we let our minds melt with the resonance of the strings. Later in the evening, his soulful yet gritty poetry leaves a lasting impression.

Then Dymphna Ferran gets to her feet, looking like butter wouldn’t melt but brings the house down with her stand-up comedy act.  

When John Goodman starts to sing, a respectful silence settles over the listeners. It seems his reputation precedes him, and rightly so. Sung in an old tradition of reciting story, his voice is clear and melodic and the narrative easy to follow.

Colin Dardis, all the way from Belfast, reads poems so good that I get prickles on my scalp as his words wriggle under my skin.

We roll into the intermission with a beautiful song from Daniel Corrigan.

Even the break is a bit of craic as people move about, chatting with friends, congratulating performers. It’s nice to be able to approach people unselfconsciously and strike up a conversation. The atmosphere is simply that convivial.

Malachi launches the second half with what can only be described as a controlled riot. It’s time for the Limerick competition, too many contestants to name but all raising a laugh. There’s prizes – a meal for two, a bottle of wine, chocolates. I’m impressed at the list. To determine who wins, Malachi produces a Clapometer on his iPad. The audience decides it has one mission, and one mission only – to get that needle to the max, regardless of who said which limerick. It’s daft craic in its best Armagh fashion.

Finally, somehow, Malachi declares a winner and presents the meal for two…a couple of packets of Tayto crisps, delivered by air mail as he flings them over the heads of the audience. Local produce all the way!

Peter Carragher from Cullyhanna via Gilford enthrals the house with his aural storytelling, word perfect, without prompting from page or phone, an impressive feat which I think the younger generations would find hard to match.

Geraldine Daris O Kane reads a powerful poem that explores what it means to be human in our connections and our projections of who we think we are.

Young Louis O Donnell entertains us on his banjo. It is great to see the youth joining in and sharing their talents too.

Kevin Trainer has the whole place singing with him as he sings a song about Armagh characters from days gone by.

A somewhat experimental piece, the Mc Cools pull off a delightful narrated tin whistle instrumental. Musical talent is obviously a thing here in Armagh as singers Theresa, Michael Callaghan and Pat Prunty illustrate.

Tomas Healy

As the night comes to a close, again, we mingle. The Abbey Lane Theatre is a place with heart, a place to reconnect with old acquaintances and make new ones, a place to share stories and enjoy talent. It’s a place to enjoy a lovely night out on our doorstep, and I for one, am glad I discovered this place.

Open Mic at the Abbey Lane Theatre takes place on the last Friday of every month at 8pm and costs £5.

For more information check out their website – http://www.armaghtheatregroup.com/

Next Friday, the talented poet, David Braziel leads the charge. It promises to be a great nights craic so get down there early and grab the best seats!

 Byddi Lee

Slieve Gullion - Armagh's highest mountain

One of my New Years resolutions has been to get back into hiking. We plan to start slowly and build it up little by little. A great place for this is our very own local mountains in South Armagh, a half hour drive away.

Slieve Gullion is the highest point in County Armagh with an elevation of 573 metres (1,880 ft). We've climbed it before, in May 2016, with our nephews and friends (Super Man and Wonder Woman from the Mt Whitney trip). Unfortunately, the mountains that day were covered in thick fog and we were not able to see the small lake and two ancient burial cairns at the summit.

So when we found a Sunday in January that had crystal clear skies My Husband and I decided to have another go up Slieve Gullion even though it was only 2 degrees Centigrade.

It's been a decade since we spend time at this latitude at this time of the year. I never before realised just how tough the short days were. It gets dark at 4 ish, and the sun doesn't come up until 9 ish. I just feel lethargic all day. Some days the cloud cover is so thick that it feels like twilight all day long. I'm not complaining - at least I'm trying hard not to - I'm merely describing how it is...dark...

This lethargy means that it's a slow start in our household in the mornings - even slower than usual. We didn't begin our walk up Slieve Gullion until 3 pm with the result that we had to cut our hike short without getting all the way to the top but got to watch the sunset as we came back down again. An hour's walk was still a good start to our hiking plans - 3.7 miles and 900 feet elevation gain, according to Strava.

It gives us plenty of room to improve as the year progresses, as we get more hours of sunshine, and as the world around us slowly wakes up to springtime... I'm looking forward to it.

And no matter what time of year - the Irish sunset is hard to beat and can last for hours!

Byddi Lee

Flash Fiction Armagh - Call for Submissions

Flash Fiction Armagh is now open for submissions for inclusion at our public reading in our Flash Fiction event in Armagh City on 22^nd March 2018 at Mulberry Bistro.

Deadline for submissions is 28^th February 2018.  SUBMISSIONS ARE NOW CLOSED

What is Flash Fiction Armagh?

This is an event featuring Flash Fiction writers reading their work to an enthralled audience in Armagh. It differs from Open Mic in that the readers are selected ahead of time, based on their submission quality, and the evening follows a set programme.

Why?

Flash Fiction Armagh provides a platform for writers to experience immediate audience reaction to their work – a valuable resource for those who sit all day in a room by themselves writing. We aim to entertain and provide an opportunity to mingle and make friends. We encourage people to attend the event whether they write, read or prefer to listen.

And the best reason of all - it's a bit of craic. Flash fiction Armagh is based on Flash Fiction Forum San Jose, California. Hop over to their website to see how they do things. 

Reading at Flash Fiction Forum San Jose, Works Gallery, San Jose, California

Who?

Entries are encouraged from:

• ·         Experienced writers
• ·         Authors who can extract a short section from their books
• ·         Irish Language writers
• ·         New writers
• ·         Poets whose poetry reads like prose

How?

Please email your 200 – 750 word submission within the body of your email (no attachments please) to byddi@hotmail.com with Flash Fiction Armagh in the subject line.

Réamonn Ó Ciaráin, Armagh author of Laoch na Laochra: Scéal Chúchulainn, and Chúchulainn: Ulster’s Greatest Hero, will help me curate the submissions. 

It is free to enter, but please only submit up to three pieces of work.

You must be available to read at the event -  Thursday 22^nd March 2018, 7.00pm

If you are not selected for this date we reserve the right to invite you to read your submission at a subsequent Flash Fiction night.

We plan on having 3 or 4  per year, so no need to resubmit the same piece again.

We do not publish online or in print and you retain all rights. We don’t mind if you submit work that has been submitted elsewhere or that has already been published. Authors are welcome to bring copies of their books to sell.

When?

Deadline for submissions is 28^th February 2018.

Flash Fiction Armagh is Thursday 22^nd March 2018, 7.00pm

Where?

Upstairs in Mulberry Bistro, Armagh, 6 Cathedral Rd, Armagh, BT61 7QX. Awarded Best Newcomer 2017.

For more information about Armagh Writers and writing events in Armagh, have a look at their Facebook Page.

If you are a writer from or living in Armagh there is also a Facebook group.

Happy writing Flash Fictioners,

Byddi Lee

 

Happy Halloween from Hangman's Hill

Mist sifts through the trees, hanging there as if caught on the leafless branches like cold deathly fingers. Hairs rise on the back of my neck. The young trees are now too flimsy to support more than a birds nest, but I shudder at the thought of what might have been hanging in the same spot four hundred years ago.

Every night it's the same routine as I pull my bedroom curtains; A look that doesn't want to see, a held breath released in a relieved sigh and an imagination far too vivid for this view because, you see, we look out over the prime real estate of what was once Gallow's Hill.

I'd grown up knowing about this site in Armagh, but a part of me thought that it was just a spooky old wive's tale. It wasn't until the first night we'd moved in and the thought hit me as I looked out the bedroom window - What if I looked up and saw a ghost swinging by the neck from the tree.

"Catch yourself on," I told myself. I never saw any ghosts in Paris and those streets were bathed in the blood of past revolutions. Even where I lived in San Jose could well have seen the untold slaughter of the indigenous people. We live in a world bathed in echoes of the past and I, fortunately, do not have the finely tuned sixth sense to expose me to it.  However, an imagination like mine is a two-edged sword - great for building a world to set a trilogy in, but I'm also liable to scare the bejayus out of myself!

I was curious to see if I could, in fact, find out more about Hangman's or Gallow's Hill, (I've heard it called both) so myself and my Trusty Research Assistant (one rather cute 9-year-old nephew)  set off on a quest to see if we could find the exact spot on a map. The main library sent us to the Irish and Local studies Library - a history lesson in itself for the Trusty Research Assistant, as I told him it used to be the Armagh City Hospital and that I remembered having to go sometimes after school and wait for My Mum (his granny) who was a nurse there. The hallways still smelt of the old wards, I thought, but the library section had that comforting book smell. The Librarian was so helpful when we explained our quest and before too long a curly blond (mine) and a curly red (TRA's) head were bend over a huge table covered in piles of ancient maps of Old Armagh.

It was actually exciting to find the first (of several) maps with a road labelled "Gallows Hill."

"That's it!"
"Oh my God, it actually existed."
We grinned at each other, delighted with ourselves.

Because of copyright issues, we couldn't copy the old maps but we transcribed the position of not one, but two labels onto a google map. The blue line is where the Robert Livingstone map of 1766 (redrawn in 1835) shows Gallows Hill, and the purple line is how it is written on a later map, possibly a more generic area after the site was abandoned as an execution spot.

In the Archbishop's Palace Grounds (now a public park) there is a sign that tells us a little bit more about Gallows Hill.

This is the view from that spot - directly towards the ground at the back of our house. In the background you can see the bell of St Malachy's Church - that is definitely more than 150m north of the sign, so let your gaze rest just beyond the red foliage...and that's where it is...

The research was fascinating - I found the following anecdote  - Apparently, hangings were a big day out for the townspeople. Gruesome, I know, but when you consider the TV viewing we have nowadays, are we really all that different? Murders and mayhem right in the corner of our living room. However, on one occasion in 1721 the hanging spectacle was trumped by another event:-

1721. Primate Lindsey presented to the Vicars Choral a second organ for divine service, and a peal of six fine-toned bells for the Cathedral. On the day of their arrival it is said that an execution took place on Gallows-hill. The appointed hour arrived, and the crowd was in eager expectation for the appearance of the unfortunate victim, when intelligence came that the bells were on the Dublin road within a short distance of the city. In a moment the vast multitude dispersed,leaving the sheriff, posse comitatus and finisher of the law alone to discharge their painful duty. The horses were unyoked from the waggons and Primate Lindscy's merry bells were towed in triumph to their final resting place.

An excerpt from the Full test of "A record of the City of Armagh from the earliest period to the present time"

When researching this, I came across a lot of gruesome stories especially of murderers being hanged, but most records were post 1780 when the executions took place outside the Goal on the Mall.

Now thankfully all I have to look out at in the branches of the trees is a murder of crows! Hope it stays that way.

Happy Halloween!

Byddi Lee

The Craic'd Pot - Coffee Culture in Armagh

I had noticed the sign for the Craic'd Pot on my visit home back in March. It brought to my mind the coffee shops I'd seen in California - not the plague of Starbucks or Peets you see on every street corner, but more the "Mom & Pop" type coffee shops nestled into the likes of Palo Alto and Los Gatos - nice places, up-market places, places that made you feel you were on vacation.

As soon as I could after I moved home, I made a beeline for the Craic'd Pot to see what the craic actually was. I was not disappointed.

It had the ambience to match any upmarket Californian or Seattle coffee house, with that added Irish vibe - good craic (obviously) and great scones...

 

... not to mention the best-tasting coffee in town! Thank God they sell the beans so we can make the brew at home too - you know, for hurricane days, when you can't leave the house!

 

I loved the thought that had been applied to the decor. Every last detail attended to in such a way as to make me feel that I, their customer, was valued and worth the effort.

 

I was complimenting the staff on the cups and asking if they had been specially made for the business when a person bringing an armful of empty dishes appeared and confirmed that, yes, they had been specially made. This was my introduction to Scott King the owner.

Amazing staff - Sharon Donnelly and Ryan Little along with owner Scott King

Like myself, Scott, a county Armagh native, had travelled and lived abroad, though I considered his list of places that bit more exotic than mine - places like Dubai, Saudi Arabia, Vienna, Austria and Istanbul, Turkey. He spent 4 years at University in Scotland studying Management with Business Law and then went on to do a PGCE in Liverpool teaching Business Economics and eventually returning home to Armagh. By then he'd taught business for a while so decided it was time to stop teaching it and actually do it.

You could certainly see his expertise in marketing - Branding at its most functional level.

Not only is he a coffee connoisseur, he knows how to spread the love of the bean juice too - he gave us tasters of different varieties of beans made with various filtering techniques. Just fab!

But how did the grub match up?

Remember, this is a coffee shop. It doesn't claim to be a restaurant or a bistro, like other excellent places in Armagh such as 4 Vicars, The Moody Boar, Mulberry or the nearby Rumours. The Craic'd Pot has created its own perfect niche - light bites - both savoury and sweet.

The beverage menu is extensive, but they've kept the food really simple and it works! You can put together your own sandwich from a choice of ingredients - not overly extensive but absolutely in the Goldilocks range of "just right." There’s soup and all kinds of sumptuous tray bakes, cakes and buns to try too. One look at their Facebook page will have your mouth watering.

I had a panini with bacon, cheese and tapenade, with a side of salad ingredients of my choice.

Along with her salad choices, My Sister had the sausage roll - no ordinary sausage roll - this one had apple and herbs in it. And oh my, look at that pastry!

We had a delicious lunch, and a relaxing chat, enjoying the lovely surroundings and the friendly staff. It makes me so proud of Armagh to have such high-quality places for us to enjoy and to which we can welcome visitors to our lovely little city.

Come in and try a warm beverage here. I can guarantee you too will leave your cup like this!

 Byddi Lee

Hello Again Armagh

View of Lake Huron from Manitoulin Island

I remember the first time I moved to Armagh. I'm a genetic Armagh native but I wasn't born there, or even in Ireland - it doesn't mean I'm not Irish... Like my mother often told me - Jesus was born in a stable. It doesn't make him a donkey.

The Church I was baptised in, Wikwemikong Unceded Reserve

I was four years old when my parents moved back to Armagh after having lived in the Wikwemikong Unceded Reserve in Canada for 8 years. (By coincidence 8 years is how long we lived in California. Funny that.)

Armagh's version of the dark hedges - taken while on the Armagh Photo Walk

I vividly remember travelling home from the airport in the car. No seat beats - I'm from that daredevil generation who didn't bother with such safety features. Instead, I car-surfed in the gap between the driver seat and the passenger seat, a foot planted on the floor in each footwell of the backseat. Even with straight legs and ramrod back, my skimming of white curls was nowhere near the ceiling of the car. I did have, however, a birds-eye view of my Uncle's face in the rearview mirror. And he had a great view of me. He'd catch my eye and make faces at me, making me squirm with embarrassment but not enough to make me relinquish my perch - prime real-estate in a car for a kid of four years old. I was more bemused than amused at this strange man (who it unfolded is a very dear uncle, life mentor and family comedian!) but that was merely the beginning of my bewildering introduction to Ireland.

Gatelodge at Armagh Observatory

We stayed with my Granny for the first while in a whitewashed cottage with no inside toilet and a black and white TV. Oh the hardship - the TV, I mean. The toilet, I could somewhat cope with! We had a "slop bucket" under the bed if we "took short" during the night. My Mum and her siblings still laugh about how I said in a booming Canadian accent, "How come people in Ireland sleep in the bathroom." Bathroom was pronounced with a very long "A" - Baaath-room.

To this day, I still dream of living in a whitewashed cottage with roses around the door so the experience couldn't have been all that bad. There were kittens galore and a grumpy corgi called, "Dusty," that lived under the TV stand. He'd growl and snarl at anyone who approached, scrunching up his nose and baring his teeth. Us kids would copy him in making a "Dusty face." We never needed telling to leave him be. Dusty was perfectly capable of maintaining disciple among the hordes of grandchildren that visited Granny. And when I say hordes, I'm not exaggerating. Granny had nine children, and I am the third grandchild - of twenty-nine. And that is just on My Mum's side. My Dads side is a smaller collection, though more spread apart. I am the eldest of five cousins on that side.

St Marks Church, Armagh

There was always something going on at Granny's and my collection of fragmented memories includes getting stung by a wasp for the first time while playing on rusty metal barrels in the "street" which what we called the driveway. Granny's house was two miles out of town!

St Marks, Armagh

I always had a sense of "otherness" - In Wikwemikong, I was the odd child out with my fair skin and bald head amongst all the other children who all seemed to have beautiful straight, blue-black hair.

Even in school in Ireland, I felt that sense of "otherness." I was from Canada and that seemed to interest people but I wanted to be like everyone else. Having a curly bap didn't help matters. My Mum, unable to get a comb thru the frizz kept my hair short. In fact, she was so worried about how dry and frizzy my hair was that she took me to see the doctor. It wasn't until she walked into his office that she realized she was on a fool's errand - the doctor also had a head of frizzy dry curls (though no relation!)

Harvest moon over Market Street, Armagh

We moved out of Granny's into a flat in Market Street, beside my other Granny. My Aunties had a sewing shop in the same street. My cousins lived around the corner and I was thrilled to finally have cousins to play with. All the children back in Canada had large extended families and I had felt that I was missing out.

Over time, the fabric of Irish society wove me into their culture. My accent changed to an Armagh accent, which I still have today. (Thank God! Hey bai, I can only imagine the slagging I'd get if I came back with another North American twang.)

Now I can appreciate the cultural references that tie me to my peers in Armagh. Only recently I was describing having felt a mild earthquake in California - one that a true Californian wouldn't bat an eyelid at.

"You know that feeling as you walked through Lennox's and the floor flexed beneath you? It was like that," I said.

My Armagh friends knew exactly what I meant. Though that's a place and time reference younger people won't get.

The Mall, Armagh

When I was abroad, I was always "that Irish girl."  I didn't mind - it was my identity and I realised there was no escaping it, even after 8 years in California and another year in France. But at home, I have less to explain. People know what I mean when I ask, "What's the craic?" and say, "Thon's a quare feed." (Nothing to with internet.) Even My Husband speaks the lingo. I heard him the other day talking about some "yoke" and he wasn't referencing the yellow part of an egg.

I've travelled manys paths in my life, and am incredibly grateful to have had the opportunity to do so. Yet, I've never been as excited by a move as this one. And the world is still out there and still full of paths to explore

Bebamikawe Memorial Trail - Wikwemikong Unceded Territory

 Byddi Lee

"The end is where we start from..."

We knew that life in Paris would bring challenges. Weighing them against the fabulousness of living here resulted in an overall positive and life-enriching experience. I love Paris. I've loved living here - still love wandering the streets and gazing at the beautiful buildings. It's an amazing city. But I want to hold onto that amazement, so it's a good time to leave. Paris is not going anywhere and I can always come back for a visit. I feel like the person who is breaking up with another and saying that I still want to be friends!

We approached life in Paris with a huge dollop of humor - sometimes it's the only way to push through the infuriating bureaucracy, the randomness of the French opening hours and the crazy people you often meet on the streets. (Though I've earned that title on occasion myself!) We still laugh when we have to put our conversation on hold as a siren in the street below our apartment drowns us out with its wail.

We got used to a lot of what Paris threw at us - the traffic noise, the night-time party revellers and even the 6am street cleaning trucks that move slowly and noisily beneath the bedroom windows. My French has even improved such that my "Bonjour" is often answered now in French. I've stopped noticing the beggars so much. Have I become inured to them or had they, like the rest of the Paris locals, left for the summer months? However, my heart still breaks for the homeless as they try to find comfort wherever they can.

Homeless people sleeping in the Metro

I want to move on with fondness still in my heart for this city and for this apartment with its beautiful parquet floor and ornate cornices; with those windows that open onto the balcony from which I often observe the world below go about their business; with my desk by those windows giving me the quintessential Paris writers perch.

All year, I've gazed at the cafe below our window, thinking, "I should go there with my laptop and drink coffee and write." Yet, I only went there a handful of times and never with my laptop, only with other people - visitors from out of town. Because the truth of the matter is, I don't like to sit alone in a cafe no matter how writerly I may look with my laptop. I need people - lots of people - in my life. I'm a social animal, and I'm Irish, so the best place for me is a place like Armagh where everyone knows everyone and social interaction does not involve military precision.

So we're going before the little irritations of Paris become whopping pearls of annoyance - like, why are there always so many escalators broken in the Metro? Why is the parcel delivery still such a mystery?  And why don't French shops use AC? Why must the bottle bank below our bedroom window be emptied at 7am on a Saturday, a mere half-hour after the drunks have finished serenading us? And then there's the signage that stops three turns short of its destination...

Before these and many other annoyances take a firm hold, I want us to move on, move home! I want my family to drop in on me and I on them. I want to spend lazy weekends hanging out with friends. I want green fields. I want damp autumn winds blowing in my hair; a surprise snowy day in winter; the excitement of that first snowdrop in spring; birdsong insomnia in the summer;  cosy points of Guinness by the fire - possible all year long in Ireland. I want to feel excited again about a sunny day and to drop everything to take full advantage of it. But most of all - I want the craic!

We're lucky that my husband can work from home. So we decided to forgo the extortionate Paris rents and go home when the 1-year lease is up on the apartment. I'll miss the cheap cheese, caviar and wine and the architecture and the "mood" of Paris...

But I'll happily exchange it for delicious cider, artisan gins, Guinness, Tayto crisps, potato-bread, black pudding - Armagh is now being dubbed as "the food heartland" and there is a lot of culture that I'd never before appreciated. And let's not forget our own stunning architecture.

For a long time now I have yearned to gaze over the mists that lie in the hollows of the fields on our soft Irish days. It took me a decade and a couple of trips around the world to realize that there is one fair county in Ireland - I'm fortunate to call it home and even more lucky to be able to answer its call to come home.

" We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time" 

- T.S. Eliot

It feels like another new beginning, as exciting as any we've undertaken abroad, but without the homesickness and heartache of missing loved ones. All things considered - I simply can't wait to go home, back to the start of something wonderful.

Byddi Lee