My ‘Simple’ Ireland Welsh Project
Right, so I got this task a while back. Seemed dead simple on paper: put together a little something about ‘ireland welsh’ connections. You know, for a small heritage display. ‘Shared roots,’ ‘Celtic cousins,’ that sort of thing. I thought, piece of cake. Grab a few pictures, write up some common myths, maybe a nice map. How hard could it be?
Famous last words, mate. The moment I actually started digging, I mean really digging, it was like opening one of those trick cans where a snake jumps out. Except it wasn’t one snake, it was two, and they were having a very loud argument about who was more snake-like, or if they were even related.
First, I went looking for ‘shared symbols.’ Easy, right? Shamrocks and dragons? Well, no. One is distinctly Irish, the other Welsh. Okay, maybe ancient Ogham script? Found some in both places, cool. But then someone who actually knew their stuff told me, ‘Ah, but the way it was used, and the later development of the languages, worlds apart!’ And they weren’t exactly smiling when they said it, more like I’d insulted their nan.
So I thought, okay, I’ll focus on music. Surely there’s loads of crossover there. I found a few tunes that sounded vaguely similar if you squinted your ears. But then I talked to this old fella who played the pipes, proper traditional stuff. I innocently asked if an Irish Uilleann pipe tune would sit well next to a Welsh Pibgorn piece for a ‘sampler’ track. He looked at me like I’d suggested putting ketchup on his Sunday roast. He then spent a solid hour explaining, very passionately, why that was a terrible, terrible idea. Something about scales, modes, and ‘the soul of the music,’ most of which went straight over my head, but the main message was crystal clear: don’t just chuck ’em together like they’re interchangeable pick’n’mix sweets.
My grand plan for a nice, harmonious display board started to look more like a diagram of a minor historical feud.
- Attempt 1: A timeline showing ‘Celtic development.’ Got bogged down in very polite but very firm arguments about which saints were ‘more’ influential and whether King Arthur was Welsh, Cornish, or basically just a story someone made up.
- Attempt 2: Side-by-side folklore. Ended up with two completely different sets of heroes and magical creatures that barely nodded at each other across the page.
- Attempt 3: Food. I had this bright idea for a ‘Celtic tasting corner’ leaflet: Irish stew and Welsh rarebit. Nearly caused a diplomatic incident. Apparently, they don’t ‘go’ together on the same plate, or even in the same paragraph for some folks.
It all kind of hit the fan when I was trying to pick a background colour for the actual display. I thought a nice, neutral green would be fine, you know, pastoral. ‘Too Irish!’ said one advisor. ‘What about red, for the dragon?’ said another, very pointedly. I was stuck in a green-versus-red standoff for nearly a week. My ‘simple’ little project had turned into a logistical and diplomatic nightmare. I felt like I was trying to negotiate a peace treaty, not design a bit of cardboard.
Why am I blathering on about all this? Because I learned something pretty important from that whole mess. That ‘ireland welsh’ thing, or any combined cultural label really, when you hear it, it sounds like a neat, tidy package. But often, it’s not. It’s two (or more) proud, distinct things, each with its own history and its own way of doing things. Trying to just mash them together without understanding the deep, important differences? You just end up making a hash of it and, frankly, annoying everyone involved. My little heritage display ended up being two separate small displays, side by side, each with its own colour scheme. And everyone was much happier. Sometimes, separate and respected is way better than a badly forced, awkward ‘together’. That’s my big takeaway, anyway. Learned that one the hard way, through too many cups of weak tea and polite but firm disagreements.
