Holy well

What have we got in about last night's was Tub and the Crusher.

Oh, yeah, the Holy Well.

A Holy Well in West Inch.

What have we got in about there again, Mary? You know, so she, like, she remembers everything, you see.

Yeah.

But I don't think I've had anything, uh, really awful.

Although I have heard it about some places, maybe, like, is it Madron? I've heard some people that go and try to find the, the Holy Well down at Madron, where lots of people hang clooties on the trees and stuff.

Oh, right.

Um, I've heard stories about people almost feeling like they're being chased out.

We scratch our signatures into the visitor's book, feeling that we should mark our visit.

We stroll around to St John's Holy Well on the church grounds, whose water is said to contain a cure for sore eyes.

We sit on a white bench at the westernmost end of the graveyard, discussing Irish-language screenplays and Joe's latest short story.

Before us, rows upon rows of grey headstones face away from us to the east, some emblazoned with poppies, some with a starry plough.