Places of interest
An interesting feature of the town is the former police barracks at the top right-hand corner of the market square which is quite unlike any other barracks of a similar vintage in Ireland. A popular but apocryphal story relates that the unusual design of this building is due to a mix-up with the plans in Dublin which meant Dungannon got a station designed for the Khyber Pass in Afghanistan and they got a standard Irish barracks, complete with a traditional Irish fireplace.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Dungannon
Dungannon (from the Irish: Dún Geanainn meaning "Geanann's fort") is a town in County Tyrone in Northern Ireland. It is the third-largest town in the county (after Omagh and Strabane) and a population of 11,139 people was recorded in the 2001 Census. In August 2006, Dungannon won Ulster In Bloom's Best Kept Town Award for the fifth time. It contains the headquarters of the Dungannon and South Tyrone Borough Council.
History
Dungannon's fortunes have been closely tied to that of the O'Neill dynasty which ruled most of Ulster until the seventeenth century and was the most powerful Gaelic family. Dungannon was the clan's main stronghold which made it by default the most important settlement in Gaelic Ireland. The traditional site of inauguration for 'The O'Neill', was Tullyhogue Fort,an iron age ceremonial rath some four miles northeast of Dungannon. The clan O'Hagan were the stewards of this site for the O'Neills.The last castle was located at what is today known as Castle Hill; the location was ideal for a fort as it was one of the highest points in Tyrone, and dominated the surrounding countryside with the ability to see seven counties depending on the weather. Its location ultimately led to the Army taking over the site for a security installation during The Troubles, only being returned to the local council in August 2007.
This castle was burned in 1602 by Hugh O'Neill, 2nd Earl of Tyrone as the English forces closed in on the Gaelic lords towards the end of the Nine Years War. In 1608, ninety-nine Irish chieftains and their followers, including Hugh O’Neill, set sail from Rathmullan, Co. Donegal, bound for the continent. What followed became known as the Plantation of Ulster and the town and its castle were granted to Sir Arthur Chichester, the architect of the Plantation.
The castle was partially excavated in October 200, by the Channel 4 show 'Time Team', uncovering part of the moate and walls of the castle.[1]
[edit] After the O'Neills
Dungannon remained the county seat of County Tyrone after the Plantation, but High Court judges who travelled to Dungannon to the courthouse were attacked in the village of Cappagh and the county town was then moved to Omagh[citation needed]. In 1973, the town became the seat of the new district of Dungannon.
In 1782, the town was the location where the independence of the Irish Parliament was declared by members of the Protestant Ascendancy who controlled the parliament at the time.[2]
The Troubles
Dungannon was one corner of the infamous murder triangle during the Troubles. For more information see The Troubles in Dungannon, which includes a list of incidents in Dungannon during the Troubles resulting in two or more fatalities.
History
Dungannon's fortunes have been closely tied to that of the O'Neill dynasty which ruled most of Ulster until the seventeenth century and was the most powerful Gaelic family. Dungannon was the clan's main stronghold which made it by default the most important settlement in Gaelic Ireland. The traditional site of inauguration for 'The O'Neill', was Tullyhogue Fort,an iron age ceremonial rath some four miles northeast of Dungannon. The clan O'Hagan were the stewards of this site for the O'Neills.The last castle was located at what is today known as Castle Hill; the location was ideal for a fort as it was one of the highest points in Tyrone, and dominated the surrounding countryside with the ability to see seven counties depending on the weather. Its location ultimately led to the Army taking over the site for a security installation during The Troubles, only being returned to the local council in August 2007.
This castle was burned in 1602 by Hugh O'Neill, 2nd Earl of Tyrone as the English forces closed in on the Gaelic lords towards the end of the Nine Years War. In 1608, ninety-nine Irish chieftains and their followers, including Hugh O’Neill, set sail from Rathmullan, Co. Donegal, bound for the continent. What followed became known as the Plantation of Ulster and the town and its castle were granted to Sir Arthur Chichester, the architect of the Plantation.
The castle was partially excavated in October 200, by the Channel 4 show 'Time Team', uncovering part of the moate and walls of the castle.[1]
[edit] After the O'Neills
Dungannon remained the county seat of County Tyrone after the Plantation, but High Court judges who travelled to Dungannon to the courthouse were attacked in the village of Cappagh and the county town was then moved to Omagh[citation needed]. In 1973, the town became the seat of the new district of Dungannon.
In 1782, the town was the location where the independence of the Irish Parliament was declared by members of the Protestant Ascendancy who controlled the parliament at the time.[2]
The Troubles
Dungannon was one corner of the infamous murder triangle during the Troubles. For more information see The Troubles in Dungannon, which includes a list of incidents in Dungannon during the Troubles resulting in two or more fatalities.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
A Man Called Harry Brent
Jacqueline
TX : 29th March 1965
Synopsis : When Carol's employer Tom Fielding is killed by a total stranger, the police, led by Carol's ex-fiance, Alan Milton, find enough evidence to involve her present fiancé, a man called Harry Brent. Naturally, Alan is determined to find out more about him.
TX : 29th March 1965
Synopsis : When Carol's employer Tom Fielding is killed by a total stranger, the police, led by Carol's ex-fiance, Alan Milton, find enough evidence to involve her present fiancé, a man called Harry Brent. Naturally, Alan is determined to find out more about him.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Highway 61
Highway 61 Revisited: America at the Crossroads, Still
by Steven Laffoley
"Put on some more hippie music," writes a reader, "to reaffirm your idiotic beliefs." His is one of a half dozen email letters I receive, thrown like digital Molotov cocktails through the ethereal e-space onto my computer screen after I wrote an essay about America and Dylan's Like a Rolling Stone.
"WAKE UP!" screams the next message in bold caps, "and who knows, you may someday see the real world and find your place in it." I consider what constitutes the "real world" in modern day America, with little success - until the next letter arrives: "I love watching you liberals consumed by your hatred of [President Bush] a man who is moral and just and right."
And then it hits me: "Real world" America is about blind rage and deep divides.
So I think about the words "moral," "just," and "right" and try to apply them to the President. And I try to understand the letter writer's point of view. But, frankly, I can't. He's right, I guess: I don't live in the "real world" anymore. So I walk away from the computer, pour a glass of wine, and heed the first letter's advice, returning to my "hippie music," travelling again down Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited.
Strangely, as the title song begins to play, I think again of the "real world" and of the real Highway 61, that tar-topped, road-river winding its way through America's heartland, from the Gulf of Mexico to the Canadian Border, dividing America east from west. And it occurs to me that Highway 61 speaks to America's other divides, historic and present - white from black, rich from poor, conservative from liberal. Highway 61 tells the long story of America at the crossroads, sometimes making deals with the devil, sometimes not.
Consider: at one end of Highway 61, near the Canadian boarder, sits Duluth Minnesota, birthplace of Bob Dylan. I imagine the young folk singer, sitting at the mouth of that highway, deep in the woods, soaking up the American history and music that rolls upcountry like deep river water, from Louisiana and Mississippi and Tennessee, finally pooling in the pine woods of Minnesota, a perfect place for the young poet to drink from.
There, Dylan just knew: to travel Highway 61 is to understand America.
Rolling south from Duluth, through red-state farmlands into Tennessee, Highway 61 runs through Memphis, the great crossroads of American music: country and gospel, rhythm and blues - the bubbling witches' brew of Rock and Roll. So too, Memphis is the home of the King, of Elvis - the human crucible of America's divides.
There is Elvis the conservative and Elvis the liberal - at one moment the polite, deferential, southern good ol' boy; the "no, ma'am," "yes, sir" obedient soldier, and at the next moment the rebellious, pelvic thrusting archetype of unbridled sexuality haunting the heart of American conservatism.
Then there is Elvis the racial divining rod. Hear him sing An American Trilogy, his kitsch singsong of Confederate American pride. "I wish I were in the land of cotton." The fat Elvis. The Vegas sellout Elvis. The prescription drug addict Elvis. Elvis as pure white America. And Elvis as pure rich America.
And yet, Elvis is pure black America, and pure poor America, the modern channelling spirit for America's three hundred years of the oppressed and negated poor, singing laments for hope, for peace, for justice, for freedom. His voice intertwines with the other Memphis King, Martin Luther King, Jr., "Free at last, Free at last, Thank God Almighty, We are free at last." "Glory, Glory," sing the Kings, "Hallelujah!" America united on Highway 61.
Of course, the two Kings die, not so far from each other, near Highway 61, casualties of America's worst excesses, casualties of America's deepest divides. Highway 61 calls again, with its rolling, rhythmic story to be told, winding south, through Mississippi, where comes the echoes of countless plantation slaves, working in the heat of the sun to the picking rhythms of "field hollering," the mystic seeds from which grows the Blues, from which grows all America's music and all America's story.
Still moving on, outside Clarksdale, Mississippi, at the junction of Routes 49 and 61, a young, skinny guitar player, Robert Johnson, sells his soul to the devil for talent and fame, for the dark American dream. "I went down to the crossroads and fell down on my knees," sings Johnson perhaps regretting his deal, "asked the Lord up above for mercy, save poor Bob if you please."
A prayer for America at the crossroads, on Highway 61.
Further along that highway, a car driving blues singer Bessie Smith and her lover strikes another, slow moving, car. Bessie's car flips and rolls, crushing Bessie's left arm and ribs. She dies on the way to the hospital. Later, John Hammond, that writer and musical alchemist of America's Highway 61, the man who discovers Bessie Smith and Bob Dylan, writes that Bessie dies when turned away from a White's Only hospital. His facts are wrong. But his words speak truth about America at a crossroads.
All America's blues on Highway 61.
Then finally, after 1400 miles, Highway 61 lands in the Big Easy, New Orleans, birth mother of modern America. If Bob Dylan sits at one end of Highway 61, then Louis Armstrong sits at the other, each a siren of America's story. Hear Armstrong sing Black and Blue and What A Wonderful World, at once speaking of America's dark, irreconcilable divides, and next singing of America's hope, a nation united.
Then again, Highway 61 ends at the New Orleans Superdome, America's forgotten island of the damned and dispossessed, reminding all America that the highway still tells the unrelenting story of rich and poor, white and black, conservative and liberal.
I finish my glass of wine while Dylan sings Desolation Row, the last track on Highway 61 Revisited. And I think again of the angry letters I received. But this time I smile and take comfort in knowing that America has long wrestled with its darkest impulses at the crossroads, at knowing that America sometimes makes a deal with the devil - but also, that sometimes, just sometimes, it doesn't.
Steven Laffoley is an American writer living in Halifax, Nova Scotia. You may e-mail him at stevenlaffoley@yahoo.ca or steven_laffoley@yahoo.com. He is the author of Mr. Bush, Angus and Me: Notes of an American-Canadian in the Age of Unreason.
###
by Steven Laffoley
"Put on some more hippie music," writes a reader, "to reaffirm your idiotic beliefs." His is one of a half dozen email letters I receive, thrown like digital Molotov cocktails through the ethereal e-space onto my computer screen after I wrote an essay about America and Dylan's Like a Rolling Stone.
"WAKE UP!" screams the next message in bold caps, "and who knows, you may someday see the real world and find your place in it." I consider what constitutes the "real world" in modern day America, with little success - until the next letter arrives: "I love watching you liberals consumed by your hatred of [President Bush] a man who is moral and just and right."
And then it hits me: "Real world" America is about blind rage and deep divides.
So I think about the words "moral," "just," and "right" and try to apply them to the President. And I try to understand the letter writer's point of view. But, frankly, I can't. He's right, I guess: I don't live in the "real world" anymore. So I walk away from the computer, pour a glass of wine, and heed the first letter's advice, returning to my "hippie music," travelling again down Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited.
Strangely, as the title song begins to play, I think again of the "real world" and of the real Highway 61, that tar-topped, road-river winding its way through America's heartland, from the Gulf of Mexico to the Canadian Border, dividing America east from west. And it occurs to me that Highway 61 speaks to America's other divides, historic and present - white from black, rich from poor, conservative from liberal. Highway 61 tells the long story of America at the crossroads, sometimes making deals with the devil, sometimes not.
Consider: at one end of Highway 61, near the Canadian boarder, sits Duluth Minnesota, birthplace of Bob Dylan. I imagine the young folk singer, sitting at the mouth of that highway, deep in the woods, soaking up the American history and music that rolls upcountry like deep river water, from Louisiana and Mississippi and Tennessee, finally pooling in the pine woods of Minnesota, a perfect place for the young poet to drink from.
There, Dylan just knew: to travel Highway 61 is to understand America.
Rolling south from Duluth, through red-state farmlands into Tennessee, Highway 61 runs through Memphis, the great crossroads of American music: country and gospel, rhythm and blues - the bubbling witches' brew of Rock and Roll. So too, Memphis is the home of the King, of Elvis - the human crucible of America's divides.
There is Elvis the conservative and Elvis the liberal - at one moment the polite, deferential, southern good ol' boy; the "no, ma'am," "yes, sir" obedient soldier, and at the next moment the rebellious, pelvic thrusting archetype of unbridled sexuality haunting the heart of American conservatism.
Then there is Elvis the racial divining rod. Hear him sing An American Trilogy, his kitsch singsong of Confederate American pride. "I wish I were in the land of cotton." The fat Elvis. The Vegas sellout Elvis. The prescription drug addict Elvis. Elvis as pure white America. And Elvis as pure rich America.
And yet, Elvis is pure black America, and pure poor America, the modern channelling spirit for America's three hundred years of the oppressed and negated poor, singing laments for hope, for peace, for justice, for freedom. His voice intertwines with the other Memphis King, Martin Luther King, Jr., "Free at last, Free at last, Thank God Almighty, We are free at last." "Glory, Glory," sing the Kings, "Hallelujah!" America united on Highway 61.
Of course, the two Kings die, not so far from each other, near Highway 61, casualties of America's worst excesses, casualties of America's deepest divides. Highway 61 calls again, with its rolling, rhythmic story to be told, winding south, through Mississippi, where comes the echoes of countless plantation slaves, working in the heat of the sun to the picking rhythms of "field hollering," the mystic seeds from which grows the Blues, from which grows all America's music and all America's story.
Still moving on, outside Clarksdale, Mississippi, at the junction of Routes 49 and 61, a young, skinny guitar player, Robert Johnson, sells his soul to the devil for talent and fame, for the dark American dream. "I went down to the crossroads and fell down on my knees," sings Johnson perhaps regretting his deal, "asked the Lord up above for mercy, save poor Bob if you please."
A prayer for America at the crossroads, on Highway 61.
Further along that highway, a car driving blues singer Bessie Smith and her lover strikes another, slow moving, car. Bessie's car flips and rolls, crushing Bessie's left arm and ribs. She dies on the way to the hospital. Later, John Hammond, that writer and musical alchemist of America's Highway 61, the man who discovers Bessie Smith and Bob Dylan, writes that Bessie dies when turned away from a White's Only hospital. His facts are wrong. But his words speak truth about America at a crossroads.
All America's blues on Highway 61.
Then finally, after 1400 miles, Highway 61 lands in the Big Easy, New Orleans, birth mother of modern America. If Bob Dylan sits at one end of Highway 61, then Louis Armstrong sits at the other, each a siren of America's story. Hear Armstrong sing Black and Blue and What A Wonderful World, at once speaking of America's dark, irreconcilable divides, and next singing of America's hope, a nation united.
Then again, Highway 61 ends at the New Orleans Superdome, America's forgotten island of the damned and dispossessed, reminding all America that the highway still tells the unrelenting story of rich and poor, white and black, conservative and liberal.
I finish my glass of wine while Dylan sings Desolation Row, the last track on Highway 61 Revisited. And I think again of the angry letters I received. But this time I smile and take comfort in knowing that America has long wrestled with its darkest impulses at the crossroads, at knowing that America sometimes makes a deal with the devil - but also, that sometimes, just sometimes, it doesn't.
Steven Laffoley is an American writer living in Halifax, Nova Scotia. You may e-mail him at stevenlaffoley@yahoo.ca or steven_laffoley@yahoo.com. He is the author of Mr. Bush, Angus and Me: Notes of an American-Canadian in the Age of Unreason.
###
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Twilight in the River Pavilion
I lean on my rustic gate
Above the swift river
In the evening and hear
The distant sound of women
Beating clothes. The little bridge
Arches over the fishes
And turtles. Once in a great while
Someone crosses. A reflection
Appears on the water, then is gone.
--Chiang She Chuan, translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Above the swift river
In the evening and hear
The distant sound of women
Beating clothes. The little bridge
Arches over the fishes
And turtles. Once in a great while
Someone crosses. A reflection
Appears on the water, then is gone.
--Chiang She Chuan, translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Twilight Comes
Twilight comes over the monastery garden.
Outside the window the trees grow dim in the dusk.
Woodcutters sing coming home across the fields.
The chant of the monks answers from the forest.
Birds come to the dew basins hidden amongst the flowers.
Off through the bamboos someone is playing a flute.
I am still not an old man,
But my heart is set on the life of a hermit.
--Weng Wei, translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Outside the window the trees grow dim in the dusk.
Woodcutters sing coming home across the fields.
The chant of the monks answers from the forest.
Birds come to the dew basins hidden amongst the flowers.
Off through the bamboos someone is playing a flute.
I am still not an old man,
But my heart is set on the life of a hermit.
--Weng Wei, translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Death of a Naturalist--Seamus Heaney 1965
All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water
In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampotfuls of the jellied
Specks to range on window-sills at home,
On shelves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.
Then one hot day when fields were rank
With cowdung in the grass the angry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like sails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water
In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampotfuls of the jellied
Specks to range on window-sills at home,
On shelves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.
Then one hot day when fields were rank
With cowdung in the grass the angry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like sails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Pyramids found on Maurtius
29th March, 2009
Seven pyramids have been identified on the African island of Mauritius. Remarkably, in construction, they are identical to the ones found on the island of Tenerife, an island on the opposite side of the continent. It underlines the likelihood that one civilisation sailed to various islands off the coast of Africa and constructed these structures.
The island of Mauritius is part of the Mascarene Islands and is in the Indian Ocean, about 900 kilometres (560 miles) east of Madagascar. The island is 61 km long and 47 km wide, and sits just north of the Tropic of Capricorn. In origin, it is a volcanic island.The historical record shows that the island was known to Arab and Austronesian sailors as early as the 10th century; Portuguese sailors first visited in 1507. Mauritius was first plotted on a map in 1502, made by the Italian Alberto Cantino. The Arabs called the island Dina Harobi, while the planisphere identifies all three Mascarene islands (Reunion, Mauritius and Rodrigues) and calls them Dina Margabin, Dina Harobi and Dina Morare.It is suspected that prior to the Arabs, Mauritius was known to certain people living on the African shores, as well as the famous Sea Peoples, a confederacy of seafaring raiders, which included the proto-Phoenicians. The Greek account of Periplus relates the story of Hanno (Hannan), the Carthaginian navigator, who lived in the 5th century BC, and who traversed the Straits of Gibraltar at the command of ships that would explore the African coastline along the Atlantic Ocean. Herodotus describes a Phoenician expedition leaving the Red Sea and traversing the “sea of the south”, and, following the orders of the Egyptian Pharaoh Necho II (610-595 BC), entered back into the Mediterranean Sea through the Straits of Gibraltar, which means they circumnavigated Africa.
The seven small pyramids that have been identified are located on the south side of the island, in a plain known as Magnien, between the Indian Ocean and Creole Mountain and Lion Mountain, at 20°26’.8.15”S and 57° 39’2.60”E. Their foundation is rectangular and in height, they do not exceed twelve metres; they have between 6 and 11 terraces. In appearance, they are similar to the pyramids located on another volcanic island off the – western – coast of Africa, Tenerife; similar structures also exist on the Mediterranean island of Sicily, which is also volcanic in origin.There are many parallels between the pyramids of Mauritius and Tenerife. On both island, the pyramids are part of a complex: a series of pyramids grouped together in one location. On both islands, the pyramids are made from lava stone and the construction does not use any mortar or other connecting agent. Some of the structures on Mauritius have been partially dismantled, with the stones remployed nearby. In one coating of basalt rollers, there can be found limestone blocks underneath, no doubt of coral origin.The Tenerife pyramids equally do not surpass 12 metres in height, and detailed photographs of the terracing makes it clear that one cannot distinguish whether one is observing a pyramid on Tenerife or Mauritius. In the case of “Mauritius Pyramid 1”, access to the upper platform is via a central staircase. This has been restored in a whiter stone, and is therefore more visible. Not all pyramids have such an access – again on par with their Tenerife cousins. It suggests that there is a commonality between the two islands that is beyond the coincidental.
Some of the Mauritius pyramids, with their platforms, could have been used for astronomical observations. This too would be on par with Tenerife, specifically at the Guimar complex. If this correlation were to apply to the Mauritius pyramids, these pyramids should be aligned to solar phenomena, and specifically the terraces associated with the pyramids should be aligned to the two solstices. Initial calculations suggest that this is indeed the case, though on-site verification needs to occur. Specifically Mauritius Pyramid 2 is likely to be aligned to the summer solstice (which in the Southern hemisphere occurs on December 21) and one should be able to observe a double sunset. The first sunset would occur behind the Creole Mountain, the second behind the neighbouring Lion Mountain. A double sunset behind a mountainous horizon is also a phenomenon observed at the Guimar complex in Tenerife.
Seven pyramids have been identified on the African island of Mauritius. Remarkably, in construction, they are identical to the ones found on the island of Tenerife, an island on the opposite side of the continent. It underlines the likelihood that one civilisation sailed to various islands off the coast of Africa and constructed these structures.
The island of Mauritius is part of the Mascarene Islands and is in the Indian Ocean, about 900 kilometres (560 miles) east of Madagascar. The island is 61 km long and 47 km wide, and sits just north of the Tropic of Capricorn. In origin, it is a volcanic island.The historical record shows that the island was known to Arab and Austronesian sailors as early as the 10th century; Portuguese sailors first visited in 1507. Mauritius was first plotted on a map in 1502, made by the Italian Alberto Cantino. The Arabs called the island Dina Harobi, while the planisphere identifies all three Mascarene islands (Reunion, Mauritius and Rodrigues) and calls them Dina Margabin, Dina Harobi and Dina Morare.It is suspected that prior to the Arabs, Mauritius was known to certain people living on the African shores, as well as the famous Sea Peoples, a confederacy of seafaring raiders, which included the proto-Phoenicians. The Greek account of Periplus relates the story of Hanno (Hannan), the Carthaginian navigator, who lived in the 5th century BC, and who traversed the Straits of Gibraltar at the command of ships that would explore the African coastline along the Atlantic Ocean. Herodotus describes a Phoenician expedition leaving the Red Sea and traversing the “sea of the south”, and, following the orders of the Egyptian Pharaoh Necho II (610-595 BC), entered back into the Mediterranean Sea through the Straits of Gibraltar, which means they circumnavigated Africa.
The seven small pyramids that have been identified are located on the south side of the island, in a plain known as Magnien, between the Indian Ocean and Creole Mountain and Lion Mountain, at 20°26’.8.15”S and 57° 39’2.60”E. Their foundation is rectangular and in height, they do not exceed twelve metres; they have between 6 and 11 terraces. In appearance, they are similar to the pyramids located on another volcanic island off the – western – coast of Africa, Tenerife; similar structures also exist on the Mediterranean island of Sicily, which is also volcanic in origin.There are many parallels between the pyramids of Mauritius and Tenerife. On both island, the pyramids are part of a complex: a series of pyramids grouped together in one location. On both islands, the pyramids are made from lava stone and the construction does not use any mortar or other connecting agent. Some of the structures on Mauritius have been partially dismantled, with the stones remployed nearby. In one coating of basalt rollers, there can be found limestone blocks underneath, no doubt of coral origin.The Tenerife pyramids equally do not surpass 12 metres in height, and detailed photographs of the terracing makes it clear that one cannot distinguish whether one is observing a pyramid on Tenerife or Mauritius. In the case of “Mauritius Pyramid 1”, access to the upper platform is via a central staircase. This has been restored in a whiter stone, and is therefore more visible. Not all pyramids have such an access – again on par with their Tenerife cousins. It suggests that there is a commonality between the two islands that is beyond the coincidental.
Some of the Mauritius pyramids, with their platforms, could have been used for astronomical observations. This too would be on par with Tenerife, specifically at the Guimar complex. If this correlation were to apply to the Mauritius pyramids, these pyramids should be aligned to solar phenomena, and specifically the terraces associated with the pyramids should be aligned to the two solstices. Initial calculations suggest that this is indeed the case, though on-site verification needs to occur. Specifically Mauritius Pyramid 2 is likely to be aligned to the summer solstice (which in the Southern hemisphere occurs on December 21) and one should be able to observe a double sunset. The first sunset would occur behind the Creole Mountain, the second behind the neighbouring Lion Mountain. A double sunset behind a mountainous horizon is also a phenomenon observed at the Guimar complex in Tenerife.
Locally, as Stéphane Mussard experienced, the people claim these pyramids are merely stone piles, thrown together in efforts to clear the fields for growing sugar cane. Even the dismissals are therefore shared with those of Tenerife, where other complexes on the island (e.g. Icod de los Vinos) are equally labelled by locals as the result of farmers clearing their fields from unwanted stones. If this were true, the question is why some of the pyramids on Mauritius still have official panels, dating from the first half of the 20th century, which identifies the site as a protected site of historic interest? Remarkably, however, since, the site has lost its protected status, no doubt the consequence of a change in government (Mauritius was under British rule until 1968). It is clear that those dismissing these pyramids as “piles of stones” are afraid to see their agricultural lands repossessed, or having to conform to certain regulations that come with protected archaeological sites. It is nevertheless clear that with proper help, the government should be able to highlight the economic benefits of tourism to the local economy, which will hopefully result in scientific research carried out on the site.
The man responsible for the identification and promotion of the Guimar complex was Thor Heyerdahl, a pioneering sailor of Norwegian origin, who argued that our distant ancestors were able to navigate the oceans and organised various expeditions to prove his point. Heyerdahl found a pyramid in the Maldives, on Gan. This pyramid was aligned to the sun and measures 8.5 metres in height. It was baptised “Hawittas”. Heyerdahl argued that the Maldives were located on an Eastern maritime trading route that was used by various ancient civilisations, coming from the Middle East.The ancient Egyptians used the Phoenician fleet to carry out expeditions, and it is known that the Phoenicians constructed astronomical temples that were perfectly aligned to the cardinal points and solar phenomena. With the discovery of identical pyramid complexes on Tenerife, Sicily and now Mauritius, it is clear that these are remnants of a seafaring culture, which has left traces on islands on various sides of the African continent.
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All images © Stéphane Mussard.
Bio
Antoine Gigal is a French writer and researcher, and the Egyptian correspondent for the French ‘L’Egypte’ magazine.Gigal’s early years were spent in Africa and South America, where her father worked as journalist and diplomat. This has taken her all over the world exploring diverse cultures and civilizations. She studied at Sorbonne Paris III University and the National Institute of Oriental Languages and Civilizations (INALCO), where she graduated in Chinese and Japanese languages and civilizations.Speaking Arabic, Spanish, Italian and French, for the last 20 years, she has lived mainly in Egypt, and calls Paris her second home. Gigal lectures extensively on Egypt and leads several study tours of Egypt every year. Gigal has travelled to even the most remote archaeological areas and is able to gain access to monuments not open to general public. With the eye of an astute detective, Gigal has made a name for herself in France as someone who is able to bring new and first-hand information about the mysteries of ancient Egypt. As such, she is co-founder of Giza For Humanity (http://www.gizaforhumanity.org/).Her website is http://www.gigalresearch.com/.
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