Darlene's Tea House on Barnettville Road near Blackville

Much has been written about Darlene’s Tea House on the Barnettville Road just outside the village of Blackville. The turn of the century building, with its hardwood walls and floors, filled with antiques, fine china teacups, lace and hand-embroidered tablecloths, was once a country store at the centre of the community, where people gathered to swap stories and learn the news. Stocked with puncheons of molasses among other things, later one could buy nickel bottles of ginger ale and lime rickey there.

Not much has been written about the woman responsible for Darlene’s Tea House, whose passion for feeding people ignited with her first batch of cookies at age 11. Yet, it’s difficult to speak of the Tea House without speaking of Darlene Jardine and vice versa, she’s part of the whole experience. People come from all over the world as much for the rustic décor and home cooking, as they do to visit with Darlene and enjoy her company. Her passion for her Tea House is infectious and people are naturally drawn to the business woman who has turned her dreams into reality. But success hasn’t always come easy and Darlene has overcome her fair share of obstacles to get where she is at today.

She has many fond memories of growing up in a large family with six brothers (one deceased) and one sister.

“It was the best childhood that any kid could have,” she says. “We always had lots of food, lots of fish.”

She recalls how much she loved it when her father would make Yankee toast, bread and molasses fried in bacon fat.

In 1956, the family suffered a set-back when their home burned to the ground. Darlene and her siblings were separated and scattered amongst relatives for about a month. Her father was away working, cooking in the Quebec lumber camps, and didn’t know his home had burned until he returned.

She remembers the family seemed to be poorer after that. “But there was always a lot of love.”

Darlene's food is prepared and served with love.

At the age of 15, Darlene was the first one in her family to get married. “I was just a child.” She says there wasn’t much work around in the 60s and they had some hard times. In the early years of her marriage she saw more empty plates than meals. “I was poor. You live and learn. Just because you have bad times, doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Darlene’s mother-in-law worked at the hospital and would bring leftovers home to her and her two children. “I was a child, raising a child,” Darlene remembers. She didn’t have a lot of support at that time. Her parents were raising young children of their own. Her husband had a drinking problem. One time one of her boys got really sick from being malnourished. Eventually, her husband’s drinking meant they just couldn’t live together, so they separated, though never divorced.

“I don’t regret marrying him,” she says. And she’s not the kind of person to let tough times hold her back. “I think hardship makes a person stronger.”

“Those were different times,” Darlene recalls. Store-bought packaged food wasn’t a big part of people’s lives, like it is now. Mothers cooked meals everyday and baked any sweet treats. Darlene had to learn to cook to feed her family. And she learned well.

She wouldn’t go to culinary school until her early 30s, but she fed her family and worked in many restaurants.

“Graham Tricket taught me a lot,” Darlene says. She worked with the chef for years at the Village Inn restaurant. “I didn’t realize that Graham was teaching me all the time, until I went to school.”

She loved her courses. At the Village Inn her focus had been on meat, but in culinary school she was drawn to baking. After school she continued to cook in restaurants, but Darlene never felt quite satisfied in those kitchens. She longed to create her own menus and felt stifled when she had to produce whatever menu management wanted. Itching to feed her creativity she took a position at an outfitter’s lodge where she gained total menu control. And once she experienced the adrenaline rush of being able to design her own menus, she knew she wanted her own restaurant.

Darlene is the kind of loving caring person who always wants to feed somebody. She’s happiest when she’s in the kitchen. She’s especially happy when the people she’s preparing food for are family.

Darlene prepares bread and molasses for her granddaughter.

“Food made with love tastes better,” she says. And Darlene has a lot of love to give. Her granddaughter, Aisha, is a big part of her life. “I love her very much,” Darlene says. “I wish my husband had lived to see her.”

The years of being on her feet working in kitchens for 16 hours a day took a toll.

Her health became an issue, and she had hip replacement surgery. The surgery was successful and after a lengthy recovery period of six weeks, she felt better than ever.

This was a good thing, not just for Darlene, but for the many loyal customers who trek from all over to enjoy her old-fashioned hospitality. “It’s like falling from Heaven into Grandma’s house,” one guest signed in the guestbook. The adoration of her customers is obvious from all the gifts she has received. She receives gifts regularly from people who want to give her things to add to the charm and ambiance of the Tea House. She has been given everything from hardwood flooring and antiques to teapots and teacups.

Customers were heartbroken when Darlene encountered a personal obstacle a couple of years ago which forced her to close the Tea House.

“I never intended to give it up,” she says. She took a position with the Irving’s Boston Brook Lodge and enjoyed cooking for the Irving family and their guests.

“They were very nice people, but the whole time I was there, my heart was here,” she says.

Darlene’s Tea House was closed for two summers. A close family member remembers those years, “A lot of people kept asking when she was going to re-open. The entire family was harassed by ex-customers.” They laugh about it now, but Darlene couldn’t stay away. “I miss this place when I’m not here.”

Soon after re-opening in 2005, she hosted a beautiful wedding of over 80 people, and never looked back. The dining room is licensed now, serving beer and wine, and the Tea House now accepts VISA, MasterCard or debit cards. Darlene opens every spring on April 15th when the salmon season begins, and she closes for a winter break after hosting many Christmas parties in mid to late December. To learn more about Darlene’s Tea House, find specials or view the menu visit www.DarlenesTeahouse.com.

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January in Print
The deadline for the January print edition is November 1st.

Please direct all submissions and inquiries to editor@breadnmolasses.com

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Blake Lindsay

By Blake Lindsay

People often ask me, “Why are you no longer a deejay on the air somewhere?” I’m happy to explain with a story that has an unenthusiastic beginning, however has a very positive reassuring ending like some of my favourite trials. If you are experiencing a career transition, or know someone who is, I hope this life lesson I learned will help.

Like many others in the industry I keep asking, “Why in the world has broadcasting taken such a turn over the last decade or so?”

I’ve read and heard about the many occupations ranging from our auto industry to banking, the broadcasting business to our medical trade and more, feeling the downbeat blow from consolidations, and budget cuts which cause lay-offs. I believe that technology has certainly helped us more than hurt us, but the steadily improving automation with some of these new machines, has definitely taken several jobs away from people. I became personally impacted by these ongoing changes in the summer of 2001.

I had worked with KISS-FM in Dallas Fort Worth for more than seven years, which seemed to me like a respectable milestone that I was excited about continuing. I loved performing each weekend, especially when I had the opportunity to fill the shoes of our morning man Kidd Craddick during his vacations. Then, one day, all three of us part-time staff were laid off. This was yet another test along the way to transformation. Transformed people must be resilient and spring back when faced with obstacles and career setbacks.

Over the last several years, consolidation and computerized voice tracking has maximized the use of on-air personalities by canning one voice and automating its use on multiple radio stations within the same chain of ownership. One deejay or newscaster can be a talent on two or three radio stations a day, thousands of miles apart. Periodically a listener, who is unfamiliar to this concept, will call the local station hoping to speak with the personality they are hearing on the air, but that individual is not live or local to chat.  Honestly, engaging in on-air conversations was one of the many things I enjoyed about being a deejay. I know that radio is only one of many careers being affected in this way.

Much to my surprise, I became re-energized in 2005 concerning my broadcasting career. My radio mentor John King asked me to cut a few promos for WJEL. The station was preparing to celebrate their thirtieth anniversary on September 3. I was pleased he wanted my participation in their celebration and readily agreed to produce a few promos. I certainly didn’t consider this promo opportunity would be priceless experience, in a brand new role, known in the broadcasting business as voice talent imaging. Imaging is the common word, which simply means branding. For example, my voice is instrumental with communicating the purpose of listening to that specific station. In some instances, I might promote the station’s upcoming events, contests or perhaps the station’s identifications. Learning this fresh skill, and getting some practice was more valuable to me than money would have been at that time. I was also thrilled to be finally concluding my four-year absence from my broadcast profession or for me a type of hobby. When you truly enjoy what you are doing it seems to go beyond work resulting in a keen sense of contribution and fulfillment.

I get a real kick as I reflect upon this coincidence that launched a brand new broadcast niche. Here, more than 20 years after I was an on-air student, my first station to broadcast on was as well responsible for being my initial voice imaging assignment. I had been hopeful for a new broadcasting channel to fill my vacancy and voice talent imaging was absolutely my answer. It brought me additional excitement as WJEL received two noticeable power increases since I had been an on-air student. The station benefited from the improved signal.

When I agreed to perform imaging for my mentor and friend John King at WJEL, I asked my friend Jim, who has a simple production studio in his home, if I could make special use of his facility. He gave me the green light and we had a blast. Since Jim was 30 miles from my residence and I needed additional time in the studio, I learned exactly what equipment I required and purchased the right production tools. Now I have my own in-home studio to perform audio production. With expanded use of email, I send my work over to my client in a matter of minutes as opposed to a day or more through the regular mail system.

A lesson, which was reinforced to me here, is that there is really no self-made successful person. It takes other people to be a success in life. Think about that. You need colleagues, partners, employees, or clients and possibly all of the above. Collaboration and building strong partnerships such as this are critical to be successful in today’s fast paced world of rapid change.

As my friend Zig Ziglar would say, “Learn to win here before going there!” This is precisely what occurred for me. Before long, my next door was opening. Another friend, Larry, purchased a radio station in Paris Texas. I sent him a sample to hear from my fresh voice talent branding for WJEL. After listening to it, Larry was confident my imaging would also help him launch his brand new station in a full-size way. I created custom-made production for Larry’s specific needs and he was pleased with the outcome. These two radio stations were enough to provide plenty of experience and momentum to develop my new knack in broadcasting.

My mentor and friend John King, plus Larry and Jim all were active in helping me develop right into voice talent production, yet another career which has transformed into a hobby. My brand new business is called Blazin’ Blake Productions, using the radio handle, which I am known for, on hit music stations. My voice is also heard on several commercials, broadcast nationwide.

Blazin’ Blake Productions is growing, and I am pleased to be making progress with this brand new trade. I currently perform voice production for four radio stations, and a local TV program. I additionally help people with professional audio on their websites, explaining in 10 to 60 seconds, a quantity of key benefits their trade accomplishes. This also keeps my broadcast communication skills sharpened.

That is another life lesson learned. Try to make every engagement or opportunity a win-win. John’s request for promos to billboard WJEL’s upcoming reunion was the precise push I needed to see my brand new vision through. My personal voice production illustration I am sharing can happen to all of us in a variety of ways. This has really helped me maintain my commitment in staying open-minded. I continue to strive toward personal mastery, good technique, and effective execution in the hopes that what I am able to do is a service to others.

It is intriguing how sometimes the occasional unsolicited career changes that we encounter usually find some way to challenge us by making us even stronger rather than stopping us. I encourage anyone in a job or career transition to be resilient and to positively look for a new door to open when one seems to close. Life is a series of entering and exiting. I have learned that how you exit one event or era affects how you enter the next. So exit gracefully and well as you enter into the next opportunity.

I have also learned that when we are forced to seek new and perhaps better opportunities our hidden talents frequently emerge. That is the process of being transformed by turning the lemons of life into lemonade. Doing our very best to remain hopeful, resilient, stay confident, and keep a positive attitude is most important through these career changes and professional transformations. I absolutely believe deep in my spirit that when one door closes another one is about to open. That open door might be just a step away or around the corner. The main thing is to just hang in there, and keep knocking and seeking because soon a new door of opportunity will open. You have to believe that or life challenges will have you instead of being able to meet learning challenges head on and become transformed in the process. As the good word says, be transformed by the renewing of the mind.

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Mommy Susie

Mommy Susie
by Debby Frost

We called our grandmother Mommy Susie. We called my grandfather Daddy Bill. Dad was Daddy Jack and Mom was Mommy Renie. She was born Susan Margaret Ross in 1901 at Oak Point and married Bill Bowie. A formidable woman, she was married at 18 to a man who was 14 years older. She had one son, my father, when she was 20. She loved music and loved to dance. My grandfather played the fiddle and she would accompany him on the piano.

Mommy Susie always worked and was always busy at a time when not many women went to work. She was a midwife and delivered a lot of babies in Oak Point. She drove ambulance in the First World War. My grandfather used to work at the base and she worked right along with him. She cooked for several restaurants in town and always said the best tomato sandwich was made by someone else because it was a pleasure to sit down and have someone else make her meal.

My grandmother helped raise us seven kids as she got older because she lived with us and Mom worked. I remember when I was small, travelling around to the neighbours with her when we went to visit before we lived there. We would go to Donald and Virginia Ross’s or Tick and Meely’s and have a meal. Donald made really great homemade bread. Sometimes we’d go to a house party and they were great, lots of fiddling, guitars and stepdancing.

Mommy Susie (far left)

Mommy Susie was such a good cook. Molasses cookies always abounded in the buffet. There was usually sugar cookies too and cake. She cooked up a storm at Christmas time with gumdrop cake and fruitcakes. She used to make wedding cakes for people too. My father was a good cook too. He must have gotten it from her.

My grandparents were one of the few in the old days who had a car so if anybody wanted to go somewhere it was her they called.

In 1959, she was with my grandfather and some nieces on their way home from town and there was a bad accident. They hit the side of the Bartibog Bridge and went through it into the river. Everyone had minor injuries but Mommy Susie had a compound fracture of her leg. Daddy Bill splinted it until she got to the hospital but the bone had pushed through the front of her leg. She had multiple surgeries on it and at one point they wanted to amputate but she wouldn’t let them. After a year or so of casts etc. they fashioned a brace that went from her toes to her knee. She wore this and used a walker for the rest of her life. She learned to walk again with the walker and never let it keep her back. She had a stroke in 1960 and even though she lost the use of one side, she came back and made the most of the movement she did have. She learned to walk again, this time with the added burden of having a hand that wasn’t doing too good hold her up on the walker.

She lived with us at the base after she came home from the hospital. I remember I was scared of her cast (I was only 5) and so before I went into the room, we had a little game. I’d knock on the door and she would call out, “Who’s there?” I would say, “It’s the happy gang!” (From the TV show) and she would say, “Come on in.” While this was going on, she would hide her cast with a towel or blanket. We would then proceed to play cards. She taught me to play rummy. We played a lot of games of cards during that year.

My dad was in the Air Force and when we moved back from Bagotville, Quebec in 1967, we moved in with my grandmother. My grandfather had died when we were in Bagotville in 1965.

Every night she would climb on her hands dragging the bad leg up the stairs. One of us kids would take the walker up. She would unlace the brace and take it off to go to bed and put it on in the morning and make her way downstairs the same way she went up–pulling with her hands and body. Perseverance personified. She would not give in and sleep downstairs.

She never complained but she did get short tempered sometimes. I remember her being upset one time and she took off down the driveway and back the road. The road was muddy and her shoe stuck and came off the bad leg. She waited for someone to come and get her out and by then the temper was gone. Sometimes she would just go out to the garage and sit on a chair. Stubborn was a good way to describe her and that’s what got her through life.

She did for everybody. From the days when she delivered babies or when she drove the ambulance, to the days she cooked in the restaurant or when she drove people to town for their groceries. She was a member of the St. Anne’s Altar Society church group in Bartibog.

When we lived with her, she was crippled but still wouldn’t let it get her down. It was a familiar sight to see her sitting at the end of the table with a board wrapped in cloth, ironing. She still cooked some and loved us kids. She would do anything for us that was in her power. We were the usual children, good and bad by times. Trying her patience was one of our pastimes.

Mommy Susie and baby Dale

In later years she had another stroke and couldn’t stay on her own so she went to Mount Saint Joseph nursing home. By then she was in a wheelchair and was quick to say a word or two to anybody she knew, and she knew a lot of people. My son was a baby and my mom and I would take him to see her every Saturday and she would put him on her lap with pride and show him off to the other residents as she wheeled him to the fridge to pick up a dish of ice cream.

She was a kind brusque old woman, who grew from a kind hardworking young woman with many trials and tribulations along the way. Many people came through her life and nobody forgets her. We named our youngest after her in the hopes that she will have the strength that Mommy Susie had.

Born in Chatham, NB, Debby Frost has also lived in Oak Point and for the past 35 years or so in Barryville. She is a Provincial Registry Coordinator for Service New Brunswick and has worked in the Land Registry for 32 years.

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My Battle with Parkinson’s
By Ryan, age 32, NB

It is 4:30 in the morning and I can’t sleep. Tonight is worse than usual. Most nights I can piece together probably four to six hours of actual sleep in between moments of discomfort. During these times, I have to get up to walk around to try to shake the stiffness out of my body. These little “walks” involve me shuffling out to the living room, thinking about lying on the couch, then deciding against it, knowing the struggle I will face whenever I decide to get up off the couch. Usually I decide to sit at the computer, check on my fantasy teams, email, banking, etc. The computer has a chair with arms of which I can use to push myself up to a standing position when I am done and decide to try another attempt at sleep. If I could just roll over in bed, I might be able to avoid this nightly routine.

When you have Parkinson’s Disease (PD), you have to face hundreds of these mini battles every day. Whether it be putting on a jacket or a shirt, making a meal, or typing (what I have typed so far has been a slow and frustrating task; my pills have not “kicked in” yet). These small tasks, which most people do without thinking about, a person with PD has to fight to get accomplished. My days now are filled with little frustrating “battles” . . . I will use that word a lot.

I have just turned 32 years old. I should be in the prime of my life, fit, having kids, working on advancing my career. I still am doing most of these things, but I have had to change my plans due to this unexpected bump in the road.

I used to be a teacher (I still tell the customs officers that’s what I do when I cross the border). I taught school in various places to different aged children for five years. I had to give up teaching a year ago. It was getting too difficult to stand in front of a group of teenagers with my arm flailing about, and spasming uncontrollably. This whole problem actually started my first year teaching on a native reserve in Northern Ontario. You could say ever since then, I never taught with a clear mind. I still don’t know if I would have loved teaching if I was “healthy,” but I think I would still be doing it.

Teachers have a hard job, but rewarding in many ways. I admire the good ones who do love their job, and give so much to their kids. It is not a job where you can slack off on days where you aren’t feeling tiptop. You must be on point at all times. Now I have times during the day when I feel (almost) normal, and I have times when I can barely move. I had to look for a different career path (I’m still trying to figure that one out).

As far as being fit, if you were to look at me, you would think I was in great shape. I am lean and in the right light I have a hint of a “six-pack,” which I always wanted. Unfortunately it took Parkinson’s Disease for me to get it. Because my body is always moving (usually uncontrollably), and my muscles are usually tensed up, I burn more calories than most people. I have dropped about 20 pounds in the past few years. I am now a lean, mean 6 foot, 175 pound fighting machine. At least this disease is good for something.

Although this weight loss is not entirely due to the disease. I exercise more than I ever did in the past. I have to. I try to start my day with some stretching and weightlifting, if you can call it that. My biggest dumbbell is 10 lbs. I then go on the treadmill for a while to loosen up. I usually have to wait for my pills to kick in before I can go on the treadmill, otherwise, I will almost fall flat on my face. The doctors call this a “shuffling gait,” When I am not feeling my best, my steps are short, my arms are stiff at my sides, and it feels like I could topple forward at any time. The thing is, if I stay on the treadmill too long, or work my body too hard, it really wipes me out for the rest of the day, or at least until I take my pills again.

And every evening my dog makes sure I take her for a walk. She doesn’t let me off the hook either. She will bark and whine until we go for our stroll around the neighbourhood. I put on my MP3 player and we walk. Sometimes we walk briskly and confidently, other times she practically pulls me up the street, and I try to keep up. It just depends on the night.

Actually when I write this down, it doesn’t seem like much. Maybe I should be doing more. Exercise is the only thing that will slow the progression of this disease-the ONLY thing. Sure diet is important, and a positive attitude really helps, but exercise is the key. There are no pills to slow this freight train down, no cure, nothing (yet). But hopefully, that is all about to change.

Well, I might try to get another hour of sleep (5:59).

April is Parkinson’s Awareness month. “You are not alone.” There are 19 chapters/support groups in the Maritimes. To contact the one nearest you, call the regional office at 1 800 663-2468 or go to www.parkinsonmaritimes.ca.

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Blarney Castle

A Touch of Blarney
By Frederick (Ben) Rodgers

Many readers will dismiss this story as mere coincidence, but those of you with a touch of Irish may well believe it, as do I.

In the summer of 1962 in Plymouth, England I was serving aboard the Royal Navy submarine HM/SM Taciturn. On weekend leave I suffered a severe head injury as a front seat passenger in a shipmate’s car. Three weeks in hospital and 30 stitches later I was sent home on sick leave. Whilst on leave my brother-in-law suggested I claim damages and took me to a solicitor. I recounted what little I remembered about the accident and gave the lawyer a newspaper clipping, the only real information I had.

When sick leave expired I was posted to HMS Dolphin, the submarine base in Portsmouth. I remained there until declared fit for sea duty almost one year later in May 1963. I reported to the drafting office for my next assignment. I had long since forgotten the solicitor or any hope of receiving compensation.

Frederick, 1955

The submarine base maintained a complete spare crew. If a submarine found itself short a crew member, due to health or such, a replacement was usually available. It was to spare crew I now found myself posted. I was given several forms to fill in and deliver to appropriate departments.

It was important the pay office knew my whereabouts if I expected to be paid. It was equally important the post office had my new address if I hoped to receive mail. However, the first priority was to transfer with my kit to the spare crew accommodation. By the time I moved into my new accommodations it was already late. I decided the forms could wait until the following morning. That night I quickly fell asleep.

Suddenly a blinding light shone in my face. Behind it, someone shouted, “Are you Rodgers? You’ve got 10 minutes to get your ass aboard the submarine Totem, she’s about to sail.”

I landed onboard as they were about to remove the gangway. I was unshaven, unwashed and now underway. The boat was heading out to operate in the Irish Sea with a visit to the City of Cork on the weekend. Thursday at sea being payday, everyone was paid. Everyone except me that is! I was almost broke with maybe five shillings to my name. The chance of borrowing from a shipmate was nil. Not a permanent member of the crew, loaning me money was high risk. I could disappear as quickly as I had arrived.

Saturday morning, alongside in Cork City I was free to go ashore. Opposite our gangway was a pub. It didn’t open until noon. However, with a discrete tap on the side door my shipmates and I were quickly ushered inside.

The interior was dim, blinds still down. We ordered pints of Guinness and headed to a table by the fireside. As our eyes became accustomed to the gloom we saw a Garda (Irish Policeman) standing at the bar.

“’Tis British sailors breaking the law I’m seeing here?” he said. We froze. After a pause he continued, “Ah well! Sure ‘tis breaking the law to let salty young seafarers like yourselves go thirsty.”

Kissing the Blarney Stone

A few pints later and my funds reduced by half I returned onboard for lunch. Levity in a seaman’s mess usually increases after the daily noontime issue of rum. This was the case aboard Totem. Someone suggested we head out of town to Blarney Castle to kiss the famous stone. Having imbibed a tot and two pints of Guinness, kissing the Blarney Stone seemed an admirable idea.

The bus fare depleted a further sixpence from my dwindling funds.

Arriving at the castle we were directed to climb a circular stairway to the top of the tower. Here we found the Blarney Stone and an enterprising photographer. For one shilling he would take our photograph kissing the stone. We readily agreed, we surely needed a record of our lips touching this famous stone. After paying the photographer I couldn’t afford return bus fare and had to walk the five or so miles back to town. I returned aboard Totem, depressed, my feet aching and my pockets empty.

A dance was hosted for Totem’s crew that night promising lots of girls in attendance. I knew I wouldn’t be doing any dancing even if my feet recovered in time.

When I entered the mess I noticed the mail had arrived. I showed no interest as there would be none for me. Like my pay doc’s, my change of address was sitting in my locker back at the base. Therefore I was stunned when a shipmate asked if I’d got my letter? What letter? It had to be a mistake. It couldn‘t be for me.

Nevertheless, on the table was a large official-looking white envelope with my name clearly printed on the front. I quickly tore it open to find it contained several typed pages. But what immediately caught my attention was the attached cheque. It was from my lawyer, a settlement for my injuries in the sum of one thousand pounds. Never in my life had I held such a huge sum of money in my hands.

The first question that came to mind was how this letter found me? How was it possible? The fleet mail office didn’t have my new address.

Now my second question?

A few hours earlier I had kissed the Blarney Stone with only small change in my pocket. Now I was rich beyond my wildest dreams. Coincidence? Or the Luck of the Irish? You decide!

Frederick (Ben) Rodgers

Frederick (Ben) Rodgers served a total of 25 years in the British and Canadian Navies. Now retired and living with his wife, Linda, in Ebenezer, Prince Edward Island, he has published a 400 page memoir titled Lily & Me and is presently working on a sequel. For more information visit his website at www.irishroversbooks.com.

The Blarney Stone — Myth or Legend?
The Blarney Stone has woven around itself a unique tradition of myth, legend and romance. It is said that the secret of the holy stone was given to Cormac MacCarthy, King of Munster by the local witch whom he saved from drowning in the lake behind the castle.

It is also said that the stone was brought back from the Crusades and made into two halves. One is the Stone of Scone also known as the Stone of Destiny, the other half was given to Cormac MacCarthy by Robert Bruce of Scotland in gratitude for the Irish army of 4000 men, which was sent to help him at the Battle of Bannockburn in 1314.

Whatever its origins, through the centuries the stone has succeeded in strengthening the mystical romance and legend that reaches to the four corners of the world, as is evident by the thousands of people who visit Blarney Castle every year just to kiss this mysterious stone in hope of receiving the gift of eloquence or perhaps to capture a little of the mystique that is the Blarney Stone.

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