Who were the Irish at the Somme?

By E.M. Powell

2016 marks the centenary of Ireland’s Easter Rising. The events of Easter 1916 marked a crucial turning point in Irish history and ultimately led to Irish independence. But while the Rising was indeed pivotal in Irish history, it was taking place against a background of one of history’s bloodiest and most horrific conflicts: the First World War, in which around 17 million soldiers and civilians were killed. That Ireland supplied 200,000 men to fight Britain's cause against Germany is often overlooked. Many lost their lives or were terribly wounded.

Much of that grievous loss and harm took place at the Battle of the Somme, in Northern France, in which Irishmen from both sides of the political divide fought.

The first day of the Battle of the Somme, July 1 1916, was the worst in British military history. Some 19,240 men were killed. By the time the battle ended in November of 1916, over 3,500 Irish soldiers had died, with thousands more wounded.

It was Ulstermen who suffered the worst casualties on that first day. The 36th Ulster Division lost 5,500 officers and men—killed, wounded or missing. The men of that division behaved with the utmost bravery. Four Victoria Crosses were awarded to officers and men of the Division for their gallantry, two of them posthumously. But their sacrifices counted for little. They were the only British division to reach the German second lines, yet made little ground overall.

But Ulster was not the only Irish province to suffer losses. The 16th Irish Division, consisting mainly of men from Munster, Leinster and Connacht had 4,330 casualties in September at the Somme, of whom 1,200 were killed. There were also Irish soldiers who fought in other divisions as part of the regular army or in the newly raised battalions. The total number of Irish casualties will never be known.

Neither was it just Irish men who were at the Somme. Irish women were there, too. Professional nurses and volunteers in the Voluntary Aid Detachment (VAD) and the Red Cross tended to the dying and wounded, and drove ambulances. One estimate puts the number of Irishwomen who served as VADs at 4,500. Some lost their lives or were wounded.

The dead and wounded Irish may have come from both sides of the political divide in an Ireland that was in political turmoil in 1916. For those who did return, that turmoil would continue. Home did not bring peace.

It is easy to claim or blame the dead for one’s own political ends. Yet on this, the evening before the centenary of that appalling battle, perhaps we should pause to consider these words from those who were there: one statement from one side of the Irish struggle, one from the other:

'There is nothing but the mud and the gaping shell-holes - a chaotic wilderness of shell-holes, rim overlapping rim - and, in the bottom of many, the bodies of the dead.'

‘Not a few of the men cried and I cried.’

These words have no politics. They are what we should commemorate. And strive to never have to utter them again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Images courtesy of & © Alison Morton.

MIW member E.M. Powell was born in Cork City into the family of Michael Collins.
She now lives in Manchester with her husband, daughter and a Facebook-friendly dog. Her medieval thriller Fifth Knight series has reached bestseller lists in the U.S., the U.K. and Germany.
Book #3, THE LORD OF IRELAND, was published by Thomas & Mercer on April 5 2016. She is also a contributing editor to International Thriller Writers The Big Thrill magazine, blogs for English Historical Fiction Authors, and reviews fiction & non-fiction for the Historical Novel Society and is part of the HNS social media team. Her website can be found at www.empowell.com.

To find out more about MIW's Somme 100 Commemoration, please click here.

Who Shall Divide Us: Poem for Somme 100

By Patrick Slevin

The Connaught Rangers was an Irish Infantry regiment of the British Army. Known as The Devil's Own, they fought at Guillemont and Ginchy in the Battle of the Somme. In just over a week's fighting the 6th Battalion lost 407 men and 23 officers. This poem is about the men who fought, lived and died in those French fields. Their company motto was 'Quis Separabit' (Who Shall Divide Us).

WHO SHALL DIVIDE US

All to one side like the town of Ballyvary,

They were eager for that boreen. Once barefoot

Boys, they dragged their boots, ankle deep in slutch

With blistered souls. Smudged lamps hovered like

The townsland stretch but no sleans were slung across

Broken backs. Smoke lingered white, still, in the

Night, as they ached their way forward to ‘The 

Bold Fenian Men’. Sporadic cracks split the

Grey, red punctured skies, they felt the dead crossing

The back of their throats. Dark eyes shouted behind 

Unshaven faces, washed with cold drizzle.

Teeth rattled amongst them like Gerry’s own 

Gun. Crouched, closing eyes, no time for jigs 

Or forty-five, they could have heard the sap, 

if only it grew. In the silence, in 

The seconds, before the whistle blew, frost 

Bitten pale hands clenched un-farmable soil. 

Green hearts and dry mouths weren’t warmed by 

Brave words, they didn’t take bets on who’d be

First to Berlin. As dawn descended, the

Screeching skreel screamed through the high sided gulch.

One banshee’s wail for that Guillemont field.

In formation they stuttered to German 

Alarms, the bodhron halted, no encore was

Called. Emeralds lay scattered, The Devil’s Own jewels.

The harp strings broken, ‘Who Shall Divide Us’

Remained unspoken. The breathing cried

Prayers. Desperate for peace and for home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Text © Patrick Slevin

Patrick Slevin lives in Stockport. He has been writing poems and stories for many years.

To find out more about MIW's Somme 100 Commemoration, please click here. 

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Irish Soldier of the Somme

By Martha Ashwell

My childhood school friend was Claire Dignan (a derivative of Duignan), third generation Irish and living in Manchester.  This is the story of her father’s experience as a British soldier fighting in the First World War.  His account is personal to me because I knew him and loved him. 

 Growing up with an English accent, Tom attended a small Catholic school which he left at the age of thirteen.  When the call to arms came he naively joined the queues of young men seeking to defend his adopted country. Tom was just one of so many who learned to traverse the narrow line between life and death.

Tom Dignan
Image courtesy of the Dignan family

IRISH SOLDIER OF THE SOMME

One rainy day in April 1851 the Duignan family disembarked at Liverpool. They came from a place called Mohill, County Leitrim, Province of Connacht.  Seven of them, there were; some were deathly pale, some had rosy cheeks.  The older lads were strong like their Da but the weaker ones, boys and girls, were trailing, touching their Mammy’s skirt as it dragged heavily across the cobbled quay.  

They settled first in Macclesfield.  Maybe the lads found work on the land.  Then, on to Manchester where they put down roots and worked their way as best they could.  Times were hard and the years passed slowly, long day following long day.  They missed Mohill and the people they loved.  They missed the green fields and high wind-swept skies.  

Generation grew from generation; deaths and births went hand in hand.  The natural passing of life and its subsequent renewal affected them just like everyone else.  They made friends; some of their own kind, others who were neighbours and church people like themselves.  Integration secured them another land to love - England.

In 1898, Tom was born.  He was a strong independent lad with a bright smile and clear eyes.  He loved his family but he craved adventure.  Tom hadn’t much interest in politics but he always knew right from wrong.   At seventeen and a half he signed up for war. His military induction included a visit back to Ireland, somewhere near Dublin, where he received basic training.  As a Catholic, he attended Mass on Sunday with his other Catholic comrades.  They had to leave Mass early to avoid the condemnation they received from some of the worshippers who didn’t look kindly on any man dressed in British uniform.  It hurt Tom to think that he was scorned and despised for doing his duty.  

He fought at Ypres and then at the Somme.   Tom was shot by a German soldier while fighting to defend a railway station which had been captured by the British side.  It was bad, very bad!  The bullet just missed Tom’s femoral artery.  They carried him out to the hospital site dodging the bullets and shells.  He’d lost so much blood, they feared he would die but somehow he managed to cling on. A few weeks later they sent him home, home to England where his family had been praying for his safe return.  He became another statistic!  Another lie!  

Tom recovered and lived on with the effects of his injuries.  He limped through the years but maintained his sense of humour and his sense of proportion.  He never complained; he had no regrets.  He married, and he and his wife raised four children.  He trained in accountancy and worked long hours in the city ensuring that his own children were free to make the choices they wanted as they grew up and left the family home.  Eventually, eight grandchildren were born and they were the joy of his life.

Tom was loved for his humour and kindness and for the twinkle in his eye.  

When he was asked, ‘What would you do if you met the soldier who shot you?’  

He answered, ‘He was probably just a lad like me!’  

‘I’d kiss the bastard and thank him!   Thank him for releasing me from hell on earth. 

By trying to take it, he gave me my life.  If your time’s up, it’s up!   Mine had some way to go.’ 

‘It wasn’t the same for all the lads who fought so bravely for King and country.’  

‘I’ve no regrets, though!  I did what I had to do.’

There’s more than a little bit of Ireland in England today.  For all the wrongs that have been done, England has provided succour to those who left to escape the hunger, the lack of work, the deprivation of land and inheritance.  For the Duignan family the Irish heart remains.  The English influences are deep-rooted and Tom’s children and grandchildren have prospered in their adopted country.  Yet, there’s still a strong and enduring pull to Ireland and the little town of Mohill deep in the Irish countryside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The text in this post is © Martha Ashwell

Martha Ashwell lives in Stockport and is a member of the Manchester Irish Writers.  She loved writing as a child but only started writing seriously about four years ago.  She has written poetry and prose which has been performed at The Irish World Heritage Centre in Manchester. 

Her main achievement to date is the publication of her personal memoir ‘Celia’s Secret: A Journey towards Reconciliation’. Find out more by visiting her website at http://marthaashwell.co.uk/home/

To find out more about MIW's Somme 100 Commemoration, please click here. 

Somewhere in France: Poem for Somme 100

By Kathleen Handrick

Godric Kean was born at Crook and Billy Row, Durham in 1866. He was of Irish Heritage and began his working life as an Apprentice Tailor, following in his father's occupation.

He then studied for the priesthood in England and Fribourg, Switzerland and was ordained a priest for the Salford Diocese in 1896. He was appointed to St Mary's Oldham, my family parish, in 1911.

Father Godric Kean
Image courtesy of Oldham Archives

In April 1915 he left Oldham together with other diocesan priests to become chaplains to the armed forces. Father Kean joined the 12th Durham Light Infantry. The Battalion arrived in France in August 1915 and entered the Battle of the Somme on 3rd July 1916 and was involved in the capture of Contalmaison on 12th July 1916.

Several letters from Father Kean were published in the local Oldham newspaper at the time.  His letters indicate that he was most enthusiastic about his role as a minister to the troops and he wrote eloquently and graphically of the events he witnessed.

My piece is a 'Found Poem', inspired by Godric's letters to the people of Oldham.

SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE

Deo Gratias -Thanks be to God 

all here are filled with hope. 

Cheerful - almost joyful. 

How shall we be when

our victory is crowned!

I love so much this military life.

Our excellent fellows

on the march, in the trenches.

Their gallant conduct 

without fear or shame.

Inspired, sublime ideals.

Ready for the sacrifice ahead.

Our soldiers cannot be beaten

in spirit. We are ready to face

this modern warfare.

Oh, the darkest of times are here.

Encircled by imminent danger,

thundering onslaught from every side,

explosive shells screaming and tearing.

Mine after  mine,

village upon village

drenched in blood!

I do my duty.

Churches without masses

Children without schools

Parishes without padrés.

Burials in the dead of night

Plain wooden crosses.

Cemeteries everywhere.

The French, our proud allies, 

Brave fighters, excellent artillery.

Thousands lie slain!

Gas shells overcome those who 

could not be beaten fairly.

See, the heroic Munsters dying.

Conquered, poisoned.

The thick of the battle, the great offensive   

Our courageous men in action, 

how tolerant in their agony.

Glorious beings destroyed, 

shattered by shrapnel.

Excruciating pain yet 

unaware of sufferings.

We push on; slowly but surely. 

Every inch of soil soaked in blood.

The price of progress is high.

The Saxons, the Wurtemburgers, 

The Prussian Guards all against us. 

Their bravest, youngest, strongest. 

Their blood flows too freely.

How great their torment.

Starved, no food to sustain.

That proud eagle ensnared,

caged by bayonet bars.

Our kind hearted men offer comfort,

tea, coffee, cigarettes.

Such compassion in this deadly place.

What a time is this! 

What sights I see! 

And yet, I thank God. I am honoured.

 Blest by these brave men.

I cherish them and this army life! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kathleen Handrick is retired and lives in Oldham with her husband and family.  She joined MIW in 2013 as a novice writer and enjoys participating in the writers’ events. Her Irish roots are in County Mayo.

To find out more about MIW's Somme 100 Commemoration, please click here. 

Manchester Irish Writers Somme 100 Commemoration.

By E.M. Powell

2016 marks the centenary of Ireland’s Easter Rising. The events of Easter 1916 marked a crucial turning point in Irish history and ultimately led to Irish independence.

The Government of Ireland has been leading a national and international programme of events to commemorate that important anniversary. In the words of the Embassy of Ireland, its aim has been

‘to remember 1916 and that pivotal period in our history, to reflect on the past 100 years, and to re-imagine our future.’

Manchester Irish Writers marked 1916's centenary in our own commemoration of writing, '1916: The Risen Word' in March of this year at the Irish World Heritage Centre. We have since published many of our pieces on our blog and will be doing so for the remainder of this year.

But while the Rising was indeed pivotal in Irish history, it was taking place against a background of one of history’s bloodiest and most horrific conflicts: the First World War, in which around 17 million soldiers and civilians were killed. That Ireland supplied 200,000 men to fight Britain's cause against Germany is often overlooked. Many lost their lives or were terribly wounded.

Much of that grievous loss and harm took place at the Battle of the Somme, in Northern France, in which Irishmen from both sides of the political divide fought.

The Battle of the Somme commenced on July 1 1916 and lasted until November. A major programme of commemorative events is planned here in the UK and abroad.

Manchester Irish Writers have produced our own commemoration of words to honour the Irishmen who fought and died at the Somme, as well as the enduring impact of their service on their own lives and those they left behind.

Our poems, prose and stories will be published here on our blog from Monday June 27 to Sunday July 3 2016. Links to each post will be on our Facebook Page, which you can find here.

We warmly invite you to join us in our tribute of remembrance and reflection. A link to each post will be added each day.

Monday June 27 2016: 'Somewhere in France' by Kathleen Handrick. A poem inspired by the life of an Oldham priest who went to the Somme.

Tuesday June 28 2016: 'Irish Soldier of the Somme' by Martha Ashwell. The story of the life of a much loved family friend.

Wednesday June 29 2016: 'Who Shall Divide Us' by Patrick Slevin. A poem about the Connaught Rangers, an Irish Infantry regiment of the British Army that fought at the Somme.

Thursday June 30 2016: 'Who were the Irish at the Somme?' by E.M. Powell. A post on the history of the Irishmen and women who were at the Somme.

Friday July 1 2016: 'July 1st 1916' by Bridie Breen. A poem to commemorate the centenary of the Battle of the Somme.

Saturday July 2 2016: 'Testimonies of Trauma: The Somme and other Battles in World War 1' by Rose Morris. A post that commemorates Irish writers both in World War I and those who wrote of it after.

Saturday July 2 2016: 'The Widow Quinn' by Kevin McMahon. A poem about the widows of the Irishmen who served and how, in parts of Ireland, they were shunned.

Sunday July 3 2016: 'More Like Rugby Than Football' by Des Farry. A post looking at brief moments of normality occurring in a terrible conflict which is set against a sports background and draws some comparisons between both.

Sunday July 3 2016: 'Lest We Forget' by Bridie Breen. Our final post is a poem that calls on us all remember those caught up the conflict.

We hope our writing has informed and given pause for reflection. Thank you for joining us in this important week of commemoration.

My Mother's Life in Manchester in 1916

By Barbara Aherne

As the Proclamation was read in Dublin, back here in Cheetham Hill in Manchester, my mother was almost 10 years old. Her family, the McHerrons had arrived from Belfast at the turn of the century and the Titanic disaster in 1912, with its Belfast connections, had been a significant event in the household. Now, in 1916 she was witnessing the effects of the First World War on her neighbourhood.

My mother as a girl outside St. Chad's church. 

In North Manchester there were rows of terraced houses around the Cheetham Hill road area. It was a diverse area but its residents were predominantly Jewish. Mother said she was often asked to go into a Jewish household to light the gas stove or the fire on Friday evening as she was passing, at the start of the Sabbath. Sabbath was from sunset Friday to sunset Saturday.

My mother’s family were parishioners in the parish of St. Chad. There was a large Catholic population with many Irish immigrants too but often the local English and Jewish neighbours would call my grandmother ‘the Scotch woman’ because of her strong Ulster accent. My uncle was head altar boy until his untimely death at the age of 18 in 1921, due to a burst appendix, causing acute peritonitis, for which there wasn’t any cure in those days.

My grandmother, Mary Doyle nee Wood.

Life then was obviously very different to present times. There were still horse drawn carts and carriages on the roads, and bicycles, if you were lucky enough to have one. Parents were also very strict with their children, manners were very important. Women and girls wore very long dresses and coats, almost down to their ankles and did not wear trousers, as it was considered to be unladylike. My mother used to help the housekeeper in St. Chad’s presbytery. If mother answered the door and said to the housekeeper, “There is a lady at the door,” the housekeeper would reply, “is she a lady or is she a woman?” as there was a difference in those days. Not every woman could be called a lady!

My Aunty May

Manchester then consisted of just the town centre and surrounding suburbs. It was very industrial with factories in places like Ancoats and Moss Side. Cheetham Hill was full of clothing factories with workers often working in dire conditions. There was a lot of poverty in the Manchester area and the working class families living in newer housing estates were quite privileged.

My mother was fortunate and learned to type and do shorthand and got employment with a mail order company as a secretary. She was seventeen and a half when her father died in 1924 and she became the main wage earner in the family.  Irish families entertained themselves with storytelling, music, song and dance often in the home but sometimes they congregated in the local public houses. They managed to survive in spite of the poor conditions in some families.

Female workers at the factory of Churchill Machine Tool Co Ltd,
Pendleton, Manchester, 1916

My mother’s father worked at the Victoria Hotel in Manchester, and as far as I know was never in the army. He would have been about thirty seven in 1914. My mother always said he had poor health due to a rheumatic heart. They could also tell which were his boots because of the shape. His joints and particularly his feet had become misshapen.

St. Chad's church today. 

Whilst the war events in France were discussed widely in the newspapers and locality, happenings in Dublin were very low key. The Manchester Evening News of April 26th 1916 states that the ‘Country is Tranquil outside Dublin’; that censorship was vital to prevent neutral countries like America from gaining a false impression of the importance of what had taken place and that the Pope recommended the people to remain quiet. The Irish situation at that time was not discussed within the family. If my mother asked questions my grandmother would say “it is none of your business.”

Although my mother took me to the Gaelic League in the 1940s to learn dancing and the Irish Language, my parents never discussed anything regarding the history or politics of Ireland and it is only in my later years that I have learned more about Irish history.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
Text & images © Barbara Aherne.
Image of Pendleton factory is Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.

Barbara Aherne has been a member of Manchester Irish Writers for many years. Born in the city in the 1940s, she has always lived in Manchester. Both of her parents were from Irish families. Her mother introduced her to Irish music and dancing at a young age. Barbara joined Seán Dempsey’s group of dancers when they moved into the Irish World Heritage Centre in the 1980s and has been a member ever since.

She is also a long-standing member of the Irish language group at St. Kentigern’s in Fallowfield. Her first piece of writing was done for Alan Keegan’s book “Irish Manchester.” She is interested in her family’s history and has recorded stories her mother told her from when she was a young girl.

Barbara wrote 'My Mother's Life in Manchester, 1916' for MIW's commemorative event, '1916: The Risen Word', which was performed at the Irish World Heritage Centre, Manchester on March 10 2016. MIW received the generous support of the Embassy of Ireland for this event.

Both Sides of the Divide: Poem

By Martha Ashwell

A great deal is written about the qualities and virtues of brave men and women who fight in wars but one side does not have a monopoly on such qualities. Both sides share the same talents and weaknesses. Both sides contain good and bad people. One individual is aimless, another finds purpose – winners and losers on both sides.

One person’s power means another person’s weakness or submission – in the end gain cannot be measured. Death and loss affects everyone. We all share the same human emotions, no matter what our cause. We can all understand our own point of view but what about the opposite point of view? We keep telling the stories but there comes a time when we need to consign history to the past and move forward.

I wrote this poem for us all to remember. To be proud. To give and accept forgiveness and be reconciled. 

BOTH SIDES OF THE DIVIDE

Poets and musicians,

Traitors and dreamers,

Saints and sinners,

All existed

On both sides of the divide.

Brave men and cowards,

Heroes and heroines,

Scoundrels and lords,

All were fighting

On both sides of the divide.

Aimlessness and purpose,

Glory and honour,

Victory and defeat,

All were present

On both sides of the divide.

Pride and shame,

Guilt and regret,

Love and hatred,

All were felt

On both sides of the divide.

Power and weakness,

Gain and loss,

Man and boy

Fought side by side

On both sides of the divide.

Widows and widowers,

Parents and children,

Sadness and tears

Flowed so bitterly

On both sides of the divide.

Now I see clearly, so clearly.

For healing time has intervened.

Our cause was noble, even divine

Everyone said so!

On our side of the divide.

Tell your children,

Speak of valour.

Hide the blood soaked bodies

Deep in the earth you love

On our side of the divide.

Honour your dead.

Uphold their memory.

Let freedom endure.

Gun shots reverberate

On our side of the divide.

Change the text of Revolution

To a softer sound.

Hearts and minds seek resolution

Hands at last unbound

On our side of the divide.

Put grief in a box and

Place it gently in the grave.

Accept what has passed.

Seek reconciliation

On our side of the divide

Forgive your enemies.

Forgive your brothers.

Move forward in accord.

Embrace true peace and gain true freedom

On ALL sides of the divide.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Martha Ashwell lives in Stockport and is a member of Manchester Irish Writers.  She loved writing as a child but only started writing seriously about four years ago.  She has written poetry and prose which has been performed at The Irish World Heritage Centre in Manchester.

Her main achievement to date is the publication of her personal memoir ‘Celia’s Secret: A Journey towards Reconciliation’.

Find out more by visiting her website at http://marthaashwell.co.uk/home/

The text used in this post is © Martha Ashwell and the images are © E.M. Powell.

Martha wrote 'Both Sides of the Divide' for MIW's commemorative event, '1916 - The Risen Word', which was performed at the Irish World Heritage Centre, Manchester on March 10 2016. MIW received the generous support of the Embassy of Ireland for this event.

Michael Rogers, Seanachai: Monologue Part II.

By Kathleen Handrick.

This is the second part of my fictional monologue spoken by Michael Rogers, who was a prisoner amongst the hundreds detained in Frongoch Internment Camp, Bala, North Wales after the 1916 Easter Rising. He was a contemporary of my grandfather, the two families living beside each other in North Mayo, a place steeped in Irish history, being the site of the French Landings in 1798.

Michael was described as one of the greatest Seanachai (storyteller) of his time by Eoin MacNeill. 

In the first part of the monologue, Michael talks to new arrivals in Frongoch and you can find that here. In this, the second part, he recites a story to them given to him as a child from an old neighbour, Mickey Forde, who witnessed the arrival of the French soldiers in 1798 at Kilcummin, in the parish.

Michael's Story of Lacken, North Mayo 1798

Look at ould Mickey Forde now. He must have been nearly eighty when I was but a child. He'd sit down by the back strand, waiting for the men to bring up the mackerel. Then we'd all go along to his cabin for a bit o’ kitchen and then, there'd be singing and dancing and storytelling... oh ’twas great sport we had.

Would you ever believe now that Mickey was a garsún in '98.  Just think on that a young boy...in ‘98!
Come.  Éist liom anois.

Listen now and I’ll tell ye the story just the way Mickey would be telling me when I was a youngster.

I was roaming above in the fields and I saw three strange ships anchored below in the bay. I ran like the hare to tell my father but he couldn't be found. There were neighbours and strangers running and roaring everywhere -crying out that the French had landed! We children were told to stay at home and not go wandering abroad.

Commemoration at Kilcummin
© Kathleen Handrick

But me, well now, I was an adventurous kind of lad, and a day or two later, I crept out to the crossroads. Suddenly, I heard a tremendous sound – like thunder -  yet the afternoon was a fine one. I scrambled down beneath a hedge and looked along the Foghill road. I saw, coming towards me over the rise, a great dark cloud. There were sparks of light flashing here and there and, as the vision came closer, I thought my ears would burst with the deafening sound.

'Twas the foreigners - marching to the beat of a fife and drum. They were led by a horseman wearing a long green coat and a tall fur hat, sitting upright and bowing his head to the one or two countrymen who were standing in the fields. He looked most fine.  As the soldiers passed me by, I saw it was the sun, striking the buttons on their jackets, that was causing the flashes of light to blind me.

Statue to commemorate the first French Soldier to die on Irish soil in 1798.
© Kathleen Handrick

I heard again the sound of another horse and as it came nearer, I saw it was a gig and in this gig, there was a man, like none I’d ever seen before.  He was dressed in the grandest style- a wide black hat upon his head and a splendid uniform with gold on his shoulders and jacket. There were even more soldiers marching behind him.

 Now ... I thought then, my mind had been affected by this happening, because there - to my astonishment– following all this were my own people – a great crowd of them talking and shouting excitedly.  They were carrying pikes and pitchforks –sticks and loys- and there- in the midst of them was my father!

St Cummin's Church
© Kathleen Handrick

I scurried back home to my mother and found her with the women kneeling in prayer at the holy well.  They stayed there, waiting for news ... on their knees praying - and all the time, they say, you could hear the uproar from Killala, above in Cashel.

Now my lads, Mickey would tell me that story often and I would be at his feet – just like you now - and I’d never tire of it.

Yes, his father did return - a beaten man but others ... alas, they never came back.

Poor Mickey, the Lord have mercy on him. He went to meet his maker in heaven, still longing for the day his father's dreams would come true.

Images & text of this post © Kathleen Handrick.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kathleen Handrick is retired and lives in Oldham with her husband and family.  She joined MIW in 2013 as a novice writer and enjoys participating in the writers’ events. Her Irish roots are in County Mayo.

Kathleen wrote ‘Michael Rogers’ for MIW's commemorative event, '1916: The Risen Word', which was performed at the Irish World Heritage Centre, Manchester on March 10 2016. MIW received the generous support of the Embassy of Ireland for this event.