Running From Ballyseede Castle
I’ll never forget that dark red door to Ballyseede Castle, or the stone lions that guarded it.
When my best friend, Marygray Proffitt and I showed up to work there in May of 1972, it was raining so hard we could barely make out its shape, much less its color.
It was miserably cold, wet, and dank when we arrived that afternoon. We’d traveled day and night on a plane from Knoxville to New York City and then on to Shannon Airport. We’d hoped once we got there that we’d have a chance to shower and rest before our employers put us to work.
It was not to be.
Ballyseede’s English proprietors, the Devlins (a pseudonym), made it perfectly clear that our wet hair and damp clothing were “not suitable.” When I dropped my heavy Samsonite on the tiled floor, I was reprimanded for being disrespectful, or as Mrs. Devlin had put it, I was a typical “spoiled rich American” who showed no respect for the property of others. (Me rich? Nothing could be further from the truth. I had barely been able to afford my airline ticket to Ireland.)
So, as “spoiled American girls,” Marygray and I were not afforded the opportunity to rest, but were to report to work in less than two hours so that we could begin to learn the Silver Service method of etiquetteone.
Just before our work shift, we were dispatched to our rooms in the dungeon, (you heard that right - the dungeon) where the “filthy” Irish employees lived.
We became skilled at Silver Service, but our short skirts and friendly smiles we shared with customers were too much for the Devlins, who turned us out into the rain in less than 3 weeks (without paying us, I might add.)
In the end, we found ourselves thumbing in the lashing rain, hoping to find new jobs.
We were broke and discouraged, but our adventure had just begun. We wound up running as fast as we could from Ballyseede Castle.
I’m not free to share more about our experience there. You’ll have to wait for my book, Searching For Danny Boy to come out. You won’t believe what we went through there.
Today, the modern Ballyseede Castle in Tralee, Ireland, is under new ownership, and has become a well known Irish Castle, reknowned hotel and cherished wedding venue. I would love to visit one day,( under different circumstances, of course.)
For wonderful photos and more information about staying at historic Ballyseede Castle, go here.
Ireland Taught Me To Love Myself
Ireland Taught Me To Love Myself
Apr 2
Ireland was the perfect teacher. She taught me how to love myself - to be proud of myself.
I began my adventure there as a recent college graduate along with my best friend, Marygrey, in the summer of 1972.
We started out green in a lush green land - so eager to please, yet so naive.
Our British employer at Ballyseede Castle in Tralee, Mrs. Devlin, was not impressed. Not with our American short skirts, our friendly American attitudes, nor our self-preserving laughter when times got tough. She grew tired of our determination to stay, called us "not suitable," and fired us after only three weeks.
It took the rest of the summer for us to become "expedient" as silver service waitresses (a simple bow will do, a big smile won't), but we persevered and found better jobs at the Aghadoe Hotel in Killarney. It was under the professional tuteledge of Dennis, the German maitre'd there, that we came into our own as valued employees and gained the courage to follow our dreams.
By the time our Visas expired (sadly), we'd become Ireland-savvy, self-confident, and proud. I finally loved myself for who I was, thanks to Mother Ireland and all she taught me.
Ireland was the perfect teacher. She taught me how to love myself - to be proud of myself.
I began my adventure there as a recent college graduate along with my best friend, Marygray, in the summer of 1972.
We started out green in a lush green land - so eager to please, yet so naive.
Our British employer at Ballyseede Castle in Tralee, Mrs. Devlin, was not impressed. Not with our American short skirts, our friendly American attitudes, nor our self-preserving laughter when times got tough. She grew tired of our determination to stay, called us "not suitable," and fired us after only three weeks.
It took us the rest of the summer to become "expedient" as silver service waitresses (a simple bow will do, a big smile won't), but we persevered and found better jobs at the Aghadoe Hotel in Killarney. It was under the professional tutelage of Dennis, the German Maitre'd there, that we came into our own as valued employees and gained the courage to follow our dreams.
By the time our Visas expired (sadly), we'd become Ireland-savvy, self-confident, and proud. Thanks to Mother Ireland and all she taught me, I finally loved myself for who I was.