Since there's no new burials, there's no money for keeping it up. Weeds overgrow everything like a scene from a B horror flick. Many of the graves have damage like this one here.

Of course, just like anyone else, Henry had to investigate...

and this is what he saw. Six feet down -- slippers sticking up through the earth. The coffin had a brass handle showing.

Even though the place was pretty deserted, we chanced to meet some locals who were visiting one of their buried uncles. They explained to us why the graves were prone to the kind of damage we'd seen. The graves are like small cellars with brick or stone walls underground. They're covered with cement or stone slats so the grave can be uncovered so that more relatives (who die later) can be buried with their already departed loved ones.

If a married daughter dies, her family usually takes her body to their gravesite to prevent her being buried with a potential second wife in her surviving husband's family grave.

The drive around the Dingle Peninsula took us about three hours. Green hillsides, blue misty horizons, small stony towns and wind that can yank your teeth out. It's one of the most beautiful and 'Irish' looking places in Ireland.

Overlooking the ocean one finds the piety of the Irish.

Overlooking the parking lot, one finds the perversity of an Irish name.

Next to the Ring of Kerry

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