Photographing in the steps of history

NEARLY 80 years ago, many soldiers, airmen and officers walked along the lakelands of an historic manor.

The manor in question?

Castle Archdale, a picturesque, vast forest and lakeside park, perfect for a day away to fulfil the urge for the outdoors.

Feeling the closing heat of the summer period, a friend and I took it upon ourselves to have one final day out before returning to studies and work.

Lunchtime of bank holiday Monday came around, and venture was on our minds. Suited in hiking gear and rainproof coats, we embarked to the far lands of Fermanagh and before long we arrived to the gates of the former RAF base.

As an aviation enthusiasts among nature lover, I was in my element. Armed like a soldier with my camera, my objective was a battle of artistic ambition.

We studied the convenient map placed in the car park and planned our route, although many detours were taken in our march across the park.

It was a perfect moody scene, the day was bright, but an overcast placed an emotive feeling of despondency from the end of a quick summer.

Despite this, we were in good spirits, taking in the fresh air of the woodlands.

Our first stop, the bird watchhouse – a scene of disappointment as our winged friends chirped in their choirs beyond the obscured windows of the cabin.

We were instead met with the appearance of a silent mushroom clove on our return to the main path.

My friend even pointed out a trio within the group, which looked like a ‘mummy’ mushroom with her two children.

A short moment of curiosity passed and we advanced our adventure, which brought us to a long hall of towering trees.

Beyond this was the courtyard garden, definitely a picturesque scene under the sun. It looked like a scene grabbed out of ‘Downtown Abbey’ – you could almost picture the Archdale family wondering upon the grounds during their residence.

After a walk through another tunnel of overarching trees, we got to the historic courtyard itself, branded with the tourist signage.

Yet, beyond the visitor friendly additions, the remnants of the military traditions were apparent. Before elevating ourselves up the stairs to the courtyard, I noticed the symmetrical entryways for the officer’s horses in the ground floor of the manor building.

The courtyard itself was a sight to see. It was easy to drift into immersion, imagining the airmen parading within this square.

We arrived at perfect time – four o’clock on the dot – meeting the bell which struck all four parts of its chime.

Although now offices, museum and a cafe, you could see the RAF officers through the windows, planning their flights and operations from within the safety of their forest fortress.

It was in this courtyard that we met the best guard dog of this air base. Unaccompanied, the soldier German Shepard patrolled the yard and even had the manners to enter the male bathrooms to urinate.

Entranced and under barking orders, this guard dog led us to the next part of our excursion back into the forest.

Not long into what was now becoming a hike, we crossed upon the most beautiful throne of a tree.

The branches grew upwards with gothic sentiments. At our level, the bark was bare and the branches resembled a tall church organ. However parted in the centre was the unnaturally seat shaped core, which we took full advantage of for a spooky photo opportunity.

A sense of foreboding doom gloomed over the skies as a sharp downpour confined us to the shelter from the surrounding forest.

Yet, this lasted mere minutes before we continued our adventure. Like a ray of sun between the clouds, we were met with a sign for refreshments. This brought us to the entrance to the caravan park, fronted by a historic WWII water pump station.

At first, nothing was out of the ordinary, we entered the shop, bought a quick, pricey, soft drink and sat at the adjoining benches. Although we soon noticed the odd, inquisitive looks being darted our way, as we realised our role as outsiders intruding into the enclave population inhabiting this enclosed area of the park.

Soon after, to lower suspicious tensions, we left, and arrived to the marina.

The locals here were much less dubious, and openly spoke to us, asking in their friendly tone, ‘what’s the quack’.

Of course they didn’t say that, for they were ducks, but their distanced yet unperturbed presence was welcomed.

Replicating the flying boats that once arose from the waters in Castle Archdale, the ducks showed their skillful take-off techniques as they took flight with a splash.

We left them to their operations and continued on our path before coming to a striking scene.

Beyond the war memorial was the vast open waters of Fermanagh’s natural beauty: Lush green islands beyond the smooth waves of the lakes before us.

This scene really summed up or whole visit, the fresh air, the respect for history, and the beautiful scenery of the inland waters.

A short lakeside walk and trip to the stone pier later and we were back at the car, covered in muck and hungry.

We reflected on our adventure in the car, en route to Enniskillen for a feed, flicking through the photos of the day and reminiscing on the guard dog that escorted us around the courtyard in the breathtaking Castle Archdale.