Public Rights Of Way

The light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.

With those words, William Butler Yeats memorialized the country house in Sligo where Irish revolutionaries Eva Gore-Booth and her sister Constance Markiewicz grew up and grew away from their privileged way of life.

One elegant home, appealing to both literary and historical interests. Edward Walsh and his wife Constance Cassidy purchased Lissadell House from a descendant of the two sisters and turned it into a tourist attraction. They became the caretakers of a residence filled with ghosts of poets and rebels, not to turn a profit but to cover the exorbitant costs of a dream they were happy to share.

The new owners felt that they had to control access to the grounds. After all, an old house requires a boatload of money to maintain, and what tourist would pay to see the facade and grounds if they could simply walk around at no cost?

It's the concept of public rights of way, in which the common folk can walk across someone's property. In a recently decided court case, Mr. Justice Bryan McMahon determined that people had been using roads through the grounds since at least the 1950's, and that meant a public right of way was implied.

The owners have to comply with a standard that was set before they made the purchase. As ordered, they have opened the gates and all are free to stroll the laneways and byways of Lissadell House.

Joe Leonard of the Sligo County Council is delighted about the judge's ruling, a triumph for the little man against the mighty estate owner. It's the mindset of those who fought and died to free Ireland from English hands, with the owners of the big country estates of English origin by and large.

Oh, and by the way, he does very much hope that the owners will continue their excellent work in maintaining the estate and developing a tourist trap that's bringing in people to Sligo who otherwise wouldn't bother with an out-of-the-way, sleepy little town.

The Mayor of Sligo, aware that the home attracted 40,000 visitors to the area, also hopes that the Walsh-Cassidy family will carry on as if nothing had changed.

So the owners, who also live in the house, lose all privacy for themselves and their guests, while the locals of Sligo can bike along the roads of Lissadell House. They can drift towards the house, to see who's coming and going. They might be tempted to pick a blossom or two from the garden, and there's no telling what a group of bored teens might do for amusement when they've grown bored with video games.

The Walsh-Cassidy family is uncertain if they'll continue, which will be a great loss to members of the Yeats Society and anyone traveling to Ireland with a curiosity about life in a big country house---the sort of life that created women with a keen interest in overturning the existing government.

It's a triumph for the rights of the general public of Sligo, but they'll soon learn what the term "hollow victory" means.

Those 40,000 guests aren't going to flock to the peace and quiet of Lissadell when there's all kinds of traffic on what once were private roads. Guests taking moon-lit strolls will not be delighted when someone from town comes running along.

Strangers in a strange place have a fear of being assaulted, and if they're not prepared for the lovely people of Sligo out and about, they'll go home with a sense of not being safe as guests of Lissadell House. That sort of word-of-mouth negative advertising isn't healthy for the bottom line.

Having been sued by the neighbors, Mr. Walsh and Ms. Cassidy may not feel so positive about the area they tried to help, no matter how much Mayor Lyons blusters about his hope that everyone will just getting along.

Dear shadows, now you know it all,

All the folly of a fight 

With a common wrong or right...