Impartial Reporter. 19-2-1885. Great Rejoicings in Dowra. On Wednesday, 11th inst., at Dowra, a most extraordinary case came up for hearing at the petty sessions court. Mr, R. H. Johnston, of Bawnboy, one of the local magistrates, summoned Mr. Henry C. Cullen, Ivy Lodge, Dowra, another local magistrates, for trespass in pursuit of game on the property of the Countess of Morley.
Mr. Moloney, R.M., Sligo, was in the chair. The trial, which lasted for upwards of three hours, resulted in a complete victory for Mr. Cullen, the case having been dismissed on the merits. On the decision being announced, the court, which had been thronged to suffocation, became almost empty, and on getting outside the enthusiasm of the people knew no bounds. Mr. Cullen, on seeing how matters stood, told the people that any display tending to wound the feelings of any man would be contrary to his wishes, upon hearing which they (always guided by his advice) quietly dispersed.
During the evening it became known that Mr. Cullen, who left town immediately after the trial terminated, had returned. The people once more assembled, and Mr. Cullen, who most reluctantly consented, was carried in an armchair upon stalwart shoulders at the head of a torch-light procession, accompanied by the Ballinagleragh fife and drum band to his residence about a mile from town.
The warmhearted men lustily cheered Mr. Cullen along the route, and at Ivy Lodge gave three cheers for his kind lady. Mr. Cullen is deservedly beloved by a people among whom he was reared and for whose welfare he incessantly laboured. He is about leaving this locality and a people by whom he is deeply revered and they take this opportunity of expressing their regret at his departure, because of his love of justice and fair play.—Communicated.
19-2-1885. Opening of Belleek Parish Church. On Tuesday, Belleek parish church which had been closed for some time, and was lately renovated and rescued from decay, was opened for divine worship. A large number of parishioners with friends from the adjoining parishes of Templecarne, Slavin, and Kilbarron were present. Rev. A. Watson, incumbent of the Parish, and Rev. Mr. Wilson, incumbent of Templecarne, conducted the services, whilst the sermon was preached by Archdeacon Stack. After the service Holy Communion was administered. The lessons were read by Mr. J. C. Bloomfield.
The various gifts to the church which have been lately described in the Reporter (Impartial) were in their places, and the inside of the church with its new seats, pulpit and reading desk, looked very well.
After the service, the congregation drove to Rossharbour, where Mrs. Moore, Cliff, laid the foundation stone of a parochial hall, beside the new schoolhouse. Mrs. Moore was also presented with an address and a silver trowel. The address thanked her for her efforts in. raising the £300 for the repair of tho church. When the stone had been laid a short address was delivered by Mr. J. C. Bloomfield. The speaker dwelt upon the necessity of loyalty to the Sovereign and walking in the true Christian path. Rev. A. Watson, Mr. R. L. Moore, and Archdeacon Stack also spoke. The references to Ireland’s union with England elicited warm applause. Mr. Watson entertained a large party to luncheon in the schoolhouse, at the close of which other addresses of a loyal and Christian character were given.
19-2-1885. EXTRAORDINARY SCENE AT CROSSMAGLEN. TWO CHAPELS CLOSED. An extraordinary riot took place at Crossmaglen Chapel on Sunday. It. seems that, after first Mass a number of persons closed up the chapel doors and took possession of the chapel for a length of time, and would not allow the Rev. Father Loughran or several of the most respectable inhabitants to enter. On the arrival of the Rev. Canon Rafferty, P.P., from Shela Chapel, (Parish of Upper Creggan)he endeavoured to enter, but was forced back, receiving many insults, and even assaulted but at last an entry was effected, and then the uproar and excitement was very great, and a free fight ensued. It seems that the removal of Father Mooney from the parish was the cause of this demonstration.
The Rev. Father Quinn, who succeeds the Rev. Mr. Mooney, was obliged to return from Glassdrummond Chapel without celebrating Mass, the chapel there having been closed up. More rioting took place on the return of the crowd from the chapel, and the police were obliged to turn out under arms, Mr. Hanratty, J.P., taking charge of them. Some severe injuries were inflicted, the persons with whom the closing of the chapel doors originated having, it is said, got decidedly the worst of it. During the row within the chapel, one of the supposed leaders of the movement was knocked down and kicked so severely that he is since under the treatment of Dr. Palmer, of Crossmaglen.
Mr. Hanratty, however, promptly ordered the streets to be cleared, thereby dispersing the people, who left for their homes.
19-2-1885. The riot at Crossmaglen is unhappily one of those scenes of unbridled license that occasionally disgrace the country. The congregation of Crossmaglen chapel resented the removal by the Bishop of a warm politician named Father Mooney by closing up the chapel doors and taking possession. The parish priest was insulted, and then a free fight took place. Another chapel in the same parish was closed up.
It would appear from recent signs of the time that instead of ‘Rome’ controlling the National movement, as the Orangemen allege, it is all the other way. Everyone is a politician now-a-days but it is an unhappy state of things in any church if politics arc to dominate religion.
One of the noticeable events of the present, stormy period is the revolt of the Roman Catholic laity against the clergy whenever the clergy clash with ‘National’ policy. Some observers find in the boycotting of priests and chapels a sign of the degeneracy of the age. Others hail it as a sign of the emancipation of the people from clerical control. Be this as it may—and different minds will view the matter differently—we quote this week a remarkable article written by a Catholic journalist on the late Cardinal McCabe of Dublin. Death has not saved the Cardinal from the censure of United Ireland in his capacity as politician and prelate. And yet it is said that the editor is a most devoted son of the church.
19-2-1885. DERRY HAS BEEN THE SCENE OF RIOTING between the Apprentice Boys and the Nationalists during the past week and this unhappy state of affairs culminated in two gross outrages. Two nuns were insulted and annoyed by the Orange mob, and in retaliation some Roman Catholic boys broke some windows in a church. We are happy to observe that the Derry Sentinel strongly condemns the outrage on the ladies. However men may quarrel, ladies have been hitherto free from insult. We trust the offenders in both eases will be detected and severely punished. Ladies and places of worship should be safe from all attack.
21-4-1951. PETTIGO REMINISCENCES OF 70 YEARS AGO. (1880s)
FERMANAGH HERALD. WE are privileged to publish this article, from the pen of J. T. LAWTON, who, at the age of ninety-one, is still hale and hearty in his home in Newfoundland. Mr. Lawton, as he relates, was a teacher, seventy years ago, in Pettigo, and his reminiscences will be read with deep interest. In a covering letter to the Editor, Mr. Lawton writes: “I am always glad to have an opportunity to say something about Pettigo and Ireland for, in my home in Newfoundland, my father, who was from Youghal, used to gather the exiled Irishmen around him on Sunday evenings, and read “The Nation,” then conducted by Charles Gavan Duffy, A. M. Sullivan and T D Sullivan. My chums and I got back by the dresser and played dominoes while the men of ’98 cursed William of the Boyne, Oliver Cromwell and the English.” On his approaching birthday, we add our congratulations to the many Mr. Lawton will be receiving, and wish him many more years of happy retirement.
DEAR MR. EDITOR — You expressed a desire some time ago to a former pupil of mine that I write a few reminiscences of Pettigo. They may perhaps be interesting, for the past has a glamour of its own that somehow invests the most trivial incidents with interest. None of us will hesitate to read of the romantic doings between Lord Byron and Lady Caroline Lamb, or what Napoleon the Third said to the Countess Montijo that evening in the Tulleries when he asked her to marry him, or what the thoughts of the Emperor Henry IV were during the three days and nights he stood barefoot in Canossa Castle grounds waiting for Pope Gregory VII to lift his excommunication sentence. Though in the present instance there are no such high personages involved, the historical incidents may be of interest.
I WENT to Pettigo to teach school in the autumn of 1882. I was then 22 years of age. Three years previously I had left my native country—Newfoundland—to follow a profession which I later did not find congenial. As my going to Pettigo changed the whole course of my life, I must first introduce the man who was responsible for it. He was the Rev. John Canon McKenna, Parish Priest of Belleek. He was a stocky, loud-voiced choleric man, over-bearing with inferiors but had a generous heart underneath it all. He was a friend to me. When I was leaving him—nine years later —he showed undisguised regret. I revere his memory.
Up to 1882 there had been no Catholic school in Pettigo. The Catholic children of the town went to the Protestant school. Canon McKenna had been trying for years to get a plot of ground whereon to build a school. He could not succeed. Every obstacle was put in his way by the Ascendant party. They objected to a Catholic school. Finally by a mere chance the Canon secured a small plot. There was a small piece of waste boggy land, adjoining a tenancy held by a Catholic, Barney Wiley—which the landlord, not getting any rental from, decided to sell to Wiley. Wiley bought it. A few months afterwards Wiley’s mother died and as he was unmarried he decided to surrender his tenancy and go to Australia, where he had a brother living. Canon McKenna bought this piece of waste land from him. It was about a mile from Pettigo and near Lough Erne.
SECTARIAN ANIMOSITY. The purchase of this land by Canon McKenna was the signal for an outburst of sectarian criticism and violent abuse; but the Canon who at this time lived at Belleek and had no house at Pettigo started to build. When the school was ready for occupation I received my first lesson in Irish bigotry. I had not been prepared for it. I had never seen anything of this intense hatred between religious sects in my country. There may be amongst the uneducated very poor an undercurrent of mutual suspicion; but it is never shown. Parishioners of the various sets help one another in their church buildings and social functions. The word “Protestant” is seldom used and is considered a breach of good breeding. The various religious sects are referred to as Roman Catholic. Church of England, United Church, and so on. The sectarian animosity of Pettigo grated on me intensely. It was a state of open warfare between the pupils of both schools from the beginning. They attacked each other going and returning from school. The Protestant teachers of Pettigo offered every inducement and threat to Catholic parents to keep their children at their school. There were hints that the landlord would interfere if Catholic parents sent their children to the Catholic School.
A SURLY HENCHMAN. For the first month I had only about fifteen pupils. The fighting between the pupils continued. On my way from the town to the school I had to pass by the Glebe fields. This was potato digging time. The incumbent—Mr. Davies —had a surly looking henchman digging his potatoes, and every morning he made it a point to send his dog through the hedge at me. One morning I was so fiercely attacked by the dog that a woman assistant digger had to come to my rescue. I can explain my non-retaliation to these savage reprisals only on the facts that I was young and totally unprepared for such boorish onslaughts and was mentally occupied in devising some plan for getting rid of the locality altogether.
SCHOOL CONCERT. IT must be remembered that the Catholic feeling toward Protestants was hostile. The following incident will show this. During the winter, in order to popularize the school I organized a school concert. It was certainly ambitious. The programme consisted of a Soiree, a lecture by Canon McKenna, a magic lantern show and a concert. I forget now whether the audience got home before midnight. I slump in my chair now when I look back on my audacity and my inexperience. But I thought I had a good show. I had been teaching the older boys the violin and their selection would make a hit. Then there was the lantern show with sleeping giants eating rats and other quadrupeds. The Canon’s description of his travels in Italy would be a change from his weekly talk about dues and oats collections.
But though the programme was wide enough to please the most covetous, I struck a few snags. I dealt for my household grocery supplies with a Protestant shopkeeper. Quite naturally I ordered the pastry and other eatables for the soiree from the same man. The eatables arrived early in the evening and I had them arranged very tastefully on the tables. The soiree was the first item on the programme. About twenty minutes before it was to open the housekeeper came to the schoolroom with two assistants, gathered up everything that was on the tables and threw it into the turf box in the porch. The housekeeper would brook no expostulation; there was a Catholic baker in the town and there was no need to take cakes or bread from a Protestant one.
“SIT DOWN, JOHNNY.” With some of my enthusiasm quenched, I had to send another order immediately to the Catholic baker. But the show finally got under way. In manipulating the lantern I accidentally burnt two of my fingers dead black. This was the most exciting part of the programme. Some of the audience were standing up in order to get a better view of the pictures. Those behind objected to this and caused no little turmoil. I heard one irate spinster call out:—
“ Sit down, Johnny Malrone, damn you sit down, isn’t my shillin’ as good as yours? ”
The proceeds of the concert were intended to go towards purchasing turf for the school fire but by the time the two bakers’ orders were paid for there was little left. The incident gives an idea of the intensity of sectarian feeling that existed in the community. One wonders what improvement or progress was possible where such antagonistic attitudes existed.
GRINDING SYSTEM OF EDUCATION. But incidents such as the foregoing were only bubbles on the surface. It is necessary to explain.The National system of Education , in Ireland under Castle government seventy years ago was one of the most grinding and impoverishing systems that could be devised. The system was called “ The Results System.” Half the teacher’s salary depended on the results of the inspector’s examination of the pupils. The School Inspector set a day each year for the inspection of a school. Beforehand, he sent a “form” on which the teacher filled in the names of his pupils who had attended 100 days during the year. Any child who did not attend school for 100 days was not examined. When the inspector came he examined every pupil individually, in every subject of the school syllabus. If a pupil passed in a subject he got an “X ” opposite his name; if he failed, he received an “O.” The teacher was paid graded amounts for all the passes according to classes, ranging from a shilling for spelling to two shillings for arithmetic. A 3rd grade teacher’s salary was £27.10s. A teacher with a small school may add ten or twelve pounds to his salary a year by “Results Pees.” The pay of such a teacher would be approximately two shillings a day.
FEAR KEPT CATHOLICS AWAY. BUT the most nerve-racking and degrading part of this system was the “Quarterly Attendance.” You could not get any salary at all unless your quarterly attendance had attained at least 30 pupils. I have already described the efforts of the Protestant teachers to retain their Catholic pupils. A large number of Catholic parents in opposition to the repeated insistence of Canon McKenna that they send their children to their own school, refused to do so. Their argument was (undoubtedly influenced by fear) that “they did not care to take them from the other teachers after being so long with them.” The problem seemed to have become embedded in a state of inertia and deadlock that I finally saw that unless matters began to change for the better I must quit. But under Canon McKenna’s urgent wishes, when the average for the first three months October- December did not come up to 308 I consented to hold on for another quarter. Hope is one of the strongest impulses of the human mind. The next three months might be better.
LIVING ON THREEPENCE A DAY. At the end of the March quarter the average was still below 30. Things were becoming desperate for me. According to the Central Board of Education’s rule I could get no salary. What was to be done ? I had no money. I was living on one shilling and nine pence s week or three pence a day. Where could I go? I did not have money enough to take me anywhere. I was in a strange country without relations, two thousand miles from my own home. To shorten the story Canon McKenna asked me how much money I wanted, I told him I had been living on three pence a day for the past six months and I could do it again, and I would not take more. He gave me what I asked. From the altar on Sundays he berated the parents who refused to take their children from the Protestant school. The luke-warmness of the Catholic parents in this matter, was undoubtedly due to the fact that he lived at Belleek—8 miles away, and did not see much of “his” Pettigo parishioners during the week except on Sundays? But some months after completing the school, he started the building of parochial house and was then a daily visitor to Pettigo. There-after school matters began to change for the better. At the end if the third quarter the average was slightly above 30. and there was an ample prospect of it continuing so. There was jubilation. It was one more illustration to the “stick-at-it ” moralists to put in their “self-help” books. After my “ Returns ” went on to the Education Board I received a cheque for nine months’ salary.
WATCHING THE INSPECTOR. I was aware that I could have done as I had known one or two other teachers were doing, namely falsifying the school records. I knew one teacher who had imported a young nephew of his to watch outside the schoolroom for the possible approach of the Inspector. The school was very conveniently situated for this proceeding in an elevated mountain district. The nephew lolled lazily in a comfortable chair by the schoolroom door and watched for the Inspector. The Inspector was liable to make a visit at any time. If the nephew saw the inspector coming he rushed to acquaint the teacher. The teacher hurriedly marked down the number of his pupils present. If the Inspector did not put in an appearance that day, the teacher after school hours made sure that he had at least 30 pupils present. The rule regarding dally registration was that only the pupils present at 11 o’clock were to be registered. Omitting the registration till after 11 o’clock was liable to bring a severe reprimand from the Education Board and a punitive reduction in the amount of “Results Fees” payable to the teacher. False registration was a risky and self-penalising business. If the register showed that a pupil had attended school 100 days he went in for examination. But by false registration he may have attended school only 60 or 70 days. What chance was there for him to pass the examination ? If he failed his failure brought complaints from the parents to which the teacher had to submit with a wry face.
LIVING ON OATMEAL AND MILK. I HAD taught school for nine months without receiving any salary. Have you heard of any workman in any part of the world who worked for nine months without pay? I did it. I could have got help from my friends in Newfoundland, but as I had disappointed them in giving up the profession they wished me to follow, I preferred to keep my wherebouts unknown to them. I was compelled to live on 6 cents (three pence) a day. My menu was oat meal, rice and milk. No tea, coffee meat, fish or vegetables. Two meals a day. You are wondering if I became a Communist. Well, the term Communist was not in vogue then. But I became something similar. Night after night I sat at my lodgings wondering, wondering if this society in which I was living had no brighter outlook. Every morning I met on the road to my school poor, unkempt haggard men who asked me for a “copper.” I had no more coppers than themselves. The pleasure I felt strolling by the Irish honey-suckle hedges (there are none in Newfoundland) was suddenly blasted when a poor under-privileged outcast asked me for a “copper?’ I felt a shriveling sensation when I had to say “none.” They were probably uneducated and could not demand much from society; I was educated. but financially on their level.
ASCENDANCY ATTITUDE. Then again the class distinctions grated on me. I need not tell an Irish editor the attitude of the Ascendancy class towards the Irish poor or middle class. They seemed to me to consider themselves superior beings. I had never seen anything like it before and I could not suffer it. Was this extreme poverty and rabid class distinction to last for ever?
STORY OF A PAMPHLET. DAY and night these problems of class distinction and grinding poverty occupied my mind. A London publishing house —The Modem Press—was issuing pamphlets on working class problems. I put my solution for the world’s maladjustments into shape and sent the manuscript to these publishers. I labelled it “The Nationalisation of Society.” I wanted them to buy it from me. They would not do this. I would have to pay part of the printing and they would pay me so much for every thousand copies sold. As I was not receiving any salary at the time, this arrangement was out of the question just then and my manuscript had come back. But when I did get money I adopted it. With that naivete which is so characteristic of youth I imagined that I was laying the foundation of the world’s regeneration.
Although I knew nothing then about Karl Marx’s theories, my pamphlet was thoroughly Marxian. It called for the nationalisation of all the means of production and distribution. No person could start a business of any kind without permission of the Government. As inventions threw people out of employment, inventions were to become a State property to be used for the welfare of the workers. I gave a copy of the pamphlet to Canon McKenna. I was blissfully ignorant of the fact that the theories expressed in it were anathema to the Church and that I might be liable to excommunication if I were to stubbornly maintain them. The following Sunday the Canon preached a long sermon on the Italian and French secret societies that were trying to destroy the Church. I knew the sermon was directed against my pamphlet, but he never referred to it afterwards, and the incident did not alter our friendly relations in the least. I may say I never received a half-penny from the Modern Press publishers since.
Sectarian hatred was like a poisonous miasma soaking unobtrusively through all phases of the community. I had been asked by a lady president of a charitable organisation to take part in a concert in aid of the organisation, presumably because I was known to be in favour of more toleration between the two sections of the town. A friend cautioned me. He said: “You better consult the Canon.” Amused I asked “ Why?” He replied “ He may not like for one of his teachers to be taking part in a Protestant concert.” Whimsically interested in what the Canon would say, I mentioned the matter to him. He sternly objected. It was not a part of my duty he said to patronise “these people” or help in supporting “their conventicles.”
ORANGE ARCHES. One disagreeable effect of. this absurd feeling was the likelihood of being brought into bad terms with Protestant neighbours without being in the least responsible for It. As a member of the chapel choir I organised a day’s outing to Bundoran. I hired 10 cars for the drive. It was the week after the 12th of July and Orange lilies still hung over the roads. They hung in a very drooping dilapidated condition and the drivers pulled some of them off as we drove along. The incident was so trivial and accidental that none of us made any remark about it. When we were returning at night fall the ditches on both sides of the road for a considerable distance, were lined with members of the Orange Association, ready, I presume to attack us if any attempt was made to interfere with the arches. Their demonstration seemed so childish and uncalled for that Father Kelly who accompanied us reported the matter to Police Headquarters at Enniskillen. A few days later, the Inspector of Police called upon me to ascertain the facts. The simple incident created much local gossip and had the effect ot embroiling me in unfavourable criticism as the leader of the excursion party. In my country no society would dream of putting aches across the street for other societies to pass under, and even if they were so boorish to do so, the others would pass it by unheeded. The only remark I could make to the Inspector was that I thought there were a lot of people in Ireland who needed a little more commonsense.
EFFECT OF THE TWELFTH. This undercurrent of sectarian feeling had its amusing side also for me. I lived about 100 feet from a neighbour—Mrs. Stewart. She was one of the kindest woman alive. There was nothing she would not do for you in case of an emergency. She was a daily visitor to my house. Her only son—a good fellow, too—was a member of the Loyal Orange Association. His mother apparently shared his prejudices. For about three days before the 12th of July she never came near the house. If she happened to be outside feeding her hens when I came in sight she darted inside suddenly, and did not come out till I had passed. This continued for about three days after the 12th when our relations became friendly as usual. In my short revisit to Pettigo 18 years ago 1 looked with sad recollections to her little, cottage which had been de-roofed and shattered in the revolution of 1916.
THE CAUSE. THE above incident showed me at the time that if the ruling class, who for political and other reasons, kept alive the embers of a centuries-old feud, would cease their nefarious propaganda, this sectarian hostility would not be apparent. What struck me was the bizarre phenomenon of a minority ostentatiously parading its prejudices and endeavouring to impose on a majority with confident impunity knowing they had the backing of the ruling class.
THE PASTOR AND THE CARETAKER. On the same visit I saw the parochial house and the little bit of boggy ground the Canon had struggled and fought to get. The house was in ruins. Just a short 50 years before, he had laid the first stone of it. Now, silence surrounded both him and the house. I dropped a tear in his memory. He had his faults, but also his good points. He had a brow-beating temper but there was one whom he never subdued. She was Miss Rorke—caretaker of the chapel. She was a woman of stern visage, self-contained. Her aspiring nose and tightly knobbed hair warned off any undue congeniality. She never answered a question at first offer, but had to say “Eh.” I remember one Saturday evening she was dusting the seats in the Chapel. The Canon who had been busy with some parish affairs was hurrying back to catch the train to Belleek “What time does the train leave”? he asked Miss Rorke.
“ Eh ”? she said. He repeated On the same visit I saw the parochial house and the little bit of boggy ground the Canon had straggled and fought to get. The house was in l’uins. Just a short 50 years before, he had aid the first stone of it. Now. silence surrounded both him and the house. I dropped a tear in his memory. He had his faults; but also his good points. He had a brow-beating temper; but there was one whom he never subdued. She was Miss Rorke—caretaker of the chapel. She was a woman of stem visage, self-contained. Her aspiring nose and tightly knobbed hair warned off any undue con-geniality. She never answered a question at first offer, but had to say “Eh.” I remember one Saturday evening she was dusting the seats in the Chapel. The Canon who had been busy with some parish affairs was hurrying back to catch the train to Belleek. “What time does the train leave”? he asked Miss Rorke. “Eh”? she said. He repeated the question. “The train,” she replied. “don’t be askin’ me about trains, I was never in a train in me life.” This reply seemed to nettle him and he vented his ill humour by reprimanding her sharply for putting some vestments in the wrong drawer. She attempted to explain “Hold your tongue woman,’’ he stormed, “wait till I’m done talking,’’ “Ah, ” she blurted out, ’’in the name of God when would you be done talkin.”
PETTIGO’S FIRST PHOTOGRAPHER. AFTER boarding for a year in a farmhouse I moved to the town. There had never been any resident photographer in Pettigo, and I fancied that as a pioneer photographer I could make some money on the side. So I purchased a camera and commenced learning. It was the days of the slow glass plate. You couldn’t take a photo of a street if there were any people walking about because a few seconds at least was needed for exposure, and the image would be blurred. The only feasible time was in the morning before people were about. I was up early sketching the streets. No one was about except Adam Reid. He was a retired old gentleman. He always was amused at me with my head covered with a black cloth and stood still while I photographed. When I strode away he usually made some jocose remark. I heard him say one morning to another bystander: “That fellow is cracked.’’
THE SIGNBOARD CAME DOWN. I developed my pictures in my bedroom. Owing to technical defects I could not get good pictures but I was so anxious to get the business on a paying basis that I hung out my signboard with prints that were far below the photographic standard. I had taken a number of free snaps for the sake of advertisement. One afternoon I passed through Flood’s shop where a few cronies were drinking in a side room. I heard one of them ask the others: “Boys, did ye see the picture the Master took of Barney D. Barney D was a shaggy, unkempt knockabout, but was not altogether bad-looking. “No, the others replied. ” Well, if ye ever see the divil— He did not complete the sentence, but I felt that Barney’s picture was not a boosting advertisement and I withdrew it, and later took down my signboard. Anyway I had the honour of being the first to start a “studio” in Pettigo.
PIANO FOR £3. When I imported a piano, I was told I was the first to introduce that instrument to that town but that was incorrect. I was the second. After giving up the photography I had some spare time and I decided to buy a piano. But what about the money? One could not get a piano for nothing. Recklessly I sent a note to Pohlmann and Co., of Grafton Street, Dublin, saying I wanted a piano and would offer £3 for one. Three pounds for a piano I I could hear the manager laughing. Believe it or not, I received a letter a few days later couched in the following words; “Dear sir: Your offer is ridiculously small; but we have a piano we can give you for £3 that may suit you.” I sent the £3 and received the piano. It was a heavy cumbersome affair, over six feet long. I had lodgings in an upstairs room of Mr. Michael Doherty’s at this time. The piano was unpacked in the street. With the help of the neighbours I tried to get it upstairs. The stairs was narrow and had a turn in it. The piano got jammed and would go neither up nor down. Everybody became a boss and the broadcasting of orders raised such a commotion that hundreds of spectators were lined up on the other side of the street. Finally, the piano was brought back to the street. The only way to get it to my upstairs room was through the window. Out came the window. Planks were laid against the window-sill and with four men upstairs with ropes and an unknown number below pushing the piano reached its appointed quarters.
THOUGH it is 60 years since I left it, there will always be a warm, bright spot in my heart for Pettigo. I often look back with happy memories of the mornings before school that I spent rowing on Lough Erne, my Saturday afternoons at Bundoran where I met other teachers—Brown of Mulleek, McGovern of Belleek, McGovern of Cornatressy, Lane of Lettercran and Reid of Kimmid. I suffered much there but there were compensations. It was there I married a girl from Keady. Two of my children now living beside me, were born there. From inquiries I learn that all these teachers are dead. I have a photograph of my pupils taken a short time before I left Pettigo. So far as I can learn, there are only a few of them alive. I still correspond with three of them— John Bannon of Pettigo, John Fogarty of Cardiff and John McCaffrey of Montreal. They love to talk about the old school days, and in a few months time I will be receiving their congratulations as usual on my birthday—my ninety-first.
15-4-1950. FERMANAGH IN EASTER WEEK. BY EAMONN MacAINDREIS (Eamon Anderson.)
“Right proudly high o’er Dublin Town
They hung out the flag of war
’Twas better to die ’neath an Irish sky,
Than at Suvla or Sud-el-Bar.
And from the plains of Royal Meath
“Strong men came hurrying through,
While Brittania’s sons with their long range guns
Sailed in by the Foggy Dew.”
THIRTY-FOUR long years have passed away since the beginning of the last fight for Irish freedom—a fight that must go on till the last square inch of Irish soil is free from the rule and laws of foreign invaders and native traitors. The Rising of Easter Week 1916 was the trumpet blast, which started to awaken the Irish people from the torpor and misery of the “Slave Mind.’’ O’Connell, greatest of our Irish “ Constitutionalist ” leaders died of a broken heart in Black 47 ” after his life-long efforts for “ Repeal of the Union ” had ended in dismal failure, and the corpses of a million victims of an English-made famine lay rotting in the fields and cabins and graves all over Ireland, whilst another million tried to cross the Atlantic, but at least a third of them never landed as they died of famine going over. Later in the last century came Butt and Parnell, also Constitutionalist leaders, who did their best during their lives. Parnell did his best during the whole of his short life for the reduction of rack-rents and the amelioration of the conditions under which the poor Irish tenant farmers had to live, and no Irish Catholic leader—except those who have shed their blood for Ireland— has as high a place in the affections of the Irish people, even to the present day, as the Protestant Charles Stewart Parnell.
SINN FEIN. In 1903 Arthur Griffith started the Sinn Fein movement. Although the name ’Sinn Feiners’ was given by the English to those who rose with the gun in Dublin in 1916, Arthur Griffith’s Sinn Fein policy simply meant passive resistance and he was, through all his life, totally opposed to resistance with gun. The words “Sinn Fein ” are Irish words meaning “We ourselves,” and one of the mottoes of the movement was “Burn everything English except English coal.” To withdraw all our elected representatives from Westminster, and start a National Assembly in Dublin (Just as was really done here after the General Election of 1918—years before the Treaty was signed). To keep all the money possible at home in Ireland and start home industries of all kinds with it, so as to stop emigration. A verse of the song “ Sinn Fein ” made about 1904 said:
“We cultivate each root and plant ’neath Irish skies;
We wear our Irish home-made goods, our flannels, tweeds and frieze,
And every product of the earth, old Ireland does contain
To keep Irish hands from foreign lands, is the motto of Sinn Fein.”
But although many of the brainiest people in Ireland joined and supported the Sinn Fein movement from the start it was not a success and a young man named Dolan went forward as a Parliamentary candidate in Leitrim in 1907 on the Sinn Fein policy, and was beaten, although not very badly—as he got all the votes of the survivors of the Fenian movement there. I think it was the same Dolan who was really elected for North Leitrim in the General Election of 1918, but any way I am glad, to say that most of us who were attending Kinawley School in 1907 took his part at that time, although some of us were only about 11 years old at the time. But I was just after finishing the reading of A. M. Sullivan’s ‘Story of Ireland,” which gave no very nice picture of British misrule in Ireland, and which ended with a description of the great 11 days snowstorm—from 5th to 16th March, 1867, which prevented or put a stop to the Fenian Rising. In 1914, when the first European War started, every able-bodied man in Ireland was drilling and some very disabled men too; First Carson started the Ulster Volunteers to fight against even a very mild form of Home Rule for any and every part of Ireland, and then John MacNeill started the Irish Volunteers to fight for it if necessary.
In a little village and countryside like this 160 men of the Irish Volunteers drilled almost every evening, their drill instructors being veterans of the South African War—only about a dozen years over at the time. And then came the first Great European War starting on 4th August, 1914. A Home Rule Bill, (awaiting amendment, was rushed through the British House of Commons, but not to take effect till the War was over, and, on the strength of that doubtful promise the Irish Party at Westminster made the terrible mistake of starting to recruit for the British Army. Some of us were very fond of reading the Dublin “Leader,” edited by D. P. Moran at the time, and, though not an “extreme” paper by any means, it was very severe in its criticism of the Irish Party for the stand they were taking. The christened the Irish Party “The All is Won Brigade” and said week after week “We do not desire the death of the All is Won Brigade, but that they be converted and live.” Also the question and answer—”When is a Home Rule Bill not a Home Rule Bill…” “When it is awaiting amendment”; also “We have always admired the Irish Party, but we now want to take the recruiting streamer out of their hats.” The ’Leader’ called the European combatants “The British pot, and the German Kettle ” and gave the recitation of an argument between the Pot and Kettle in which both cast up their misdeeds to each other:
“Upon a kettle, plenty black, its not for pot to make attack ” says the kettle; the pot cast up “ the Church of Rheims destroyed by fire,” but the kettle replied “Ah March, 1867, which prevented or think so much of Papist art— which must be full of superstition, of ignorance and Rome’s tradition.”
“When in doubt, consult the “Leader” was another headline in Moran’s paper. The recruiting policy of the Irish Party naturally split the Irish Volunteers from top to bottom. More than 200,000 took Redmond’s advice and joined the British Army—while John MacNeill, founder and leader of the Volunteers, was totally opposed to recruiting at all times. A party in Knockninny parish “who had never lost the old Fenian faith” (i.e., the faith in an Irish Republic) separated from, the rest and went out. and drilled by themselves, whilst we, the 160 Volunteers of the Fermanagh part of Kinawley Parish, avoided the difficulty by ceasing to drill altogether. ”
If an odd unfortunate man did join the, British forces, the saying always was: “He must have been drunk! when he threw himself away like that.
More than a year and a half of the Great War had passed away when the startling news came of the Rising of Easter Week. Although the fight had been going on from noon on Monday the news did not come to to our part of the county till Thursday morning, and I must say that very few understood it or approved of it at the time. However, that day I met an old man named Owen Jones on the road, who had been a long time in America in his day, and he said “It’s time for us to hear good news like this. What are these men only the Fenians? What is this only the Fenian Rising—50 years delayed?”
SIX FERMANAGH MEN. As far as I can find out up to the present at least 6 Fermanagh men; all of them living in Dublin at the time, took part in the Rising. Of course there may have been more, but anything I can find I will publish here—
le cúnamh Dé (With the help of God.). The names of the 6 men were;—George Irvine and a man named Wilson, both natives of Enniskillen; Philip Cassidy and Owen Green, natives of Mullaghdun; and two men named Maguire and Meehan, natives of Derrygonnelly. George Irvine was a captain in the Irish Volunteers, and a Professor in Trinity College. In the early part of his life he lived in East Bridge Street, Enniskillen. but left it when very young. On the 29th June, 1917, he was chaired through the streets of Enniskillen, by a great cheering crowd of Fermanagh Nationalists.
Wilson kept a boot shop in East Bridge Street about 50 years ago, but his place was burned—he lost his money and goods and then went to live in Dublin. Both Irvine and Wilson were Protestants. Owen Green was in business in Dublin at the time, and now owns and works a farm and drapery store at Kinlough, County Leitrim. He was wounded in the Rising and interned after it. Maguire and Meehan were also in business in Dublin at the time. I have not yet found out their present whereabouts, but it is believed they are in Glasgow. They fought in the G.P.O. Philip Cassidy (trocaire De are a n-anim) passed away in Dublin on 5th May, 1938. His remains were brought home and interred in Arney Churchyard, where a crowd gathers every year at Easter to pray for the repose of his soul. At the time of the Rising he was a young man in business in Dublin and bought his own rifle, revolver and uniform. He fought beside Patrick Pearse in the G.P.O. He had 6 brothers and 3 sisters. Two of his brothers have also passed away. Patrick passed away on 1st June, 1933 in Glasgow. His remains were also brought home and interred in Arney Churchyard. Charles was killed in an accident in New York. Henry emigrated to Australia and lives in Brisbane, Queensland. He is a great writer in Australian papers on Irish affairs and especially on the Border question.
Thomas Gregory is a Civic Guard in Ballyconnell, Co., Cavan. Maurice runs a business in Belmore Street, Enniskillen, while John runs a farm at Carrigans, Enniskillen. Miss Barbara Cassidy also lives with her brother at Carrigans, while Mrs. Alice Corrigan, another sister, lives at Mullaghdun, and Mrs. Annie MacManus. another sister, whose husband is a Free State Customs and Excise man lives at Dungarvan, Co. Waterford. John Cassidy has also suffered great hardships for his country during the trouble, which has left him disabled, long before his time. He did 21 years in the old prison ship in Belfast Lough, the Argenta. Some day before long, I must give the experiences of all the Fermanagh men who have suffered in this way, after having a chat with them one by one. Another man, named Tom O’Shea, who worked in Enniskillen for a while in his time, also took part in the Rising. He was a native of Donegal. He was sentenced to be hanged, was in Peterhead Prison for a while, and also in Derry Jail. I have heard that a number of Volunteers in the Belcoo district were away from home during the whole of Easter Week, but it is not known whether they were in the Rising or not.
George Irvine was over 50 at the time of the Rising. The others were all young men in their 20’s. Much has yet to be written about the War of Independence and Fermanagh’s part in it, but I am now going to finish up this article with a few extracts from the pen of Henry J. Cassidy—written about 5 years ago in the “Brisbane Leader ” on the evils of Partition in Ireland:
“Partly as a result of clever propaganda, many people have a vague sort of idea that the North- Eastern part of Ireland is somewhat like a piece of Great Britain placed on the wrong side of the Irish Sea. In reality this mutilated portion of Ireland’s Northern Province is in most ways about one of the most distinctively Irish parts of Ireland: It even includes one of Ireland’s all too few remaining native Gaelic-speaking districts (despite the fact that Irish is treated as a foreign language by the Six-County education authorities). The North-East corner has rather more than its proportionate share of links with Ireland’s patron saint and her glorious early centuries of Christianity. The ancient city of Armagh with its splendid Cathedral, is the Archiepiscopal seat of the Cardinal Primate of all Iceland, who is the lineal successor of St Patrick. The much-abused “Ulster” has been for such a long time misused and misapplied that it has come to signify in the minds of many people the term “Orangemen.”
In contrast to this loud-mouthed plantation “Ulster” there is the real original Ulster of the Red Branch Knights – an Ulster nurtured on countless generations of legend and folklore, history and tradition, blending and harmonizing with and being part and parcel of the inspiring legends, history and traditions of an unconquerable and indivisible Ireland. This invincible spirit of Irish patriotism is just as vital and indestructible in the Six-Counties cut off from the rest of Ireland, as in the 3 Ulster counties which were left to form part of “Southern Ireland.” “One learns with some misgiving that there is a number of quite sincere Irish patriots, who seemingly hold the belief that Partition must continue till the Orange brethren in the North-East can be won over in favour of a United Ireland. It would appear that these extremely moderate Irish people think their country should submit to mutilation and Six-County Catholics put up with being trodden in the dust for another few generations or so.
CHRISTMAS IN FERMANAGH COUNTY HOSPITAL.
CHRISTMAS is always a very happy time in Fermanagh County Hospital, where Miss McWilliam and her excellent nursing staff so well succeed in bringing an atmosphere of home and good cheer to the patients. As usual, the wards were delightfully decorated, streamers of holly and bunting and a profusion of flowers giving an appropriate effect of joy and happiness. Surgeon Fleming, Doctors Forester and Hamilton joined with Matron and nursing staff in dispelling the “away-from-home-for-Christmas feeling that patients might have had; and a happy, homely spirit made staff and patients one big happy family during the festival time.
A large Christmas tree was erected in the Children’s Ward, and this was laden with gifts and gaily coloured lights. The little ones entered into the spirit of the celebrations and, in a “ home-from-home ” atmosphere, enjoyed themselves immensely. An anonymous donor sent to Sister M. Maye, of the Children’s Ward, a parcel of gifts, “for some poor child” in the ward. These, and the other gifts, were distributed amongst the happy little ones, who quite correctly believe that for such as they, who are away from home for Christmas, Santa Claus has a special love and generosity. Other donors were generous in their supplies of holly, books, papers and toys. The Fermanagh. Male Voice Choir and the Methodist Church Choir visited the hospital before Christmas and provided nice selections of appropriate music.
Masses of holly and bunting, used tastefully to provide an effect of beauty and gaiety, struck a happy note in the Erne Hospital, where almost, a hundred patients spent a very happy time during Christmas. Special Christmas fare was provided, Sisters Donaghy, Condell and Murphy joining with the Matron, Miss McKay, and the other members of the nursing staff to lighten the burden of illness with which the patients faced the festive season. Presents were sent in by kindly people and these were distributed Carol singers and choirs supplied an enjoyable programme of music in the days leading up to the Feast. Dr. M. E. McBrien and other helpers from outside the hospital assisted the nursing staff in making the patients’ Christmas time a happy one.
27-1-1951. PETTIGO. Pettigo monthly fair on Saturday was small but the demand for all classes, of cattle had improved from the previous fair and prices showed a marked increase. Springer cows sold from £29 10s to £36 10s each; three-year-old heifers sold from £27 10s to £34 10s each; two-year-old heifers sold from £21 10s to £27 10s each; fat bullocks sold from £29 10s to £32 10s each; year-old calves sold from £10 10s to £11 15s each; dropped calves sold from £1 to £1 5s each; young pigs sold from £5 to £7 5s each; farming horses were unsaleable.;
Sympathy is extended from the residents of his native Grouselodge to the brothers and relatives and to the clergy of the diocese of Clogher on the death of the Very Rev. Denis Canon McGrath, P.P., of Bundoran, last week. The late Canon McGrath was beloved by the people of Grouselodge in which townland he was born and reared.
On Friday night a well attended dance was held in St. Mary’s Hall, Pettigo, the proceeds being in aid of the poor and needy of the district, The function was generously supported by all the business people of Pettigo village.
On Saturday Sergeant M. McCabe, from Dublin, took up duty as sergeant in charge of Pettigo Garda station which had been vacant since the transfer of Sergt. Dominic Noone a few weeks ago.
During the past week all the schools in Pettigo village and surrounding districts have been‘closed owing to the flue epidemic which is raging in the area. Many of the business houses in the village are carrying on with depleted staffs. A few cases of pneumonia are reported in the area.
During the past week-end there was heavy flooding in the Lettercran, Cashelinney and Tullylark districts of Pettigo as a result of the long, wished for thaw which set in on Wednesday. In many parts of the district, roads were impassable for motor traffic owing to the floods.
Mr. Andrew Gallagher, of Grouselodge, is the first farmer in the district to have the ground ready for this Season’s potato crop.
3-2-1951. PETTIGO. On Monday a pretty wedding took place in St. Mary’s Church, Pettigo, the contracting parties being Mr. Michael McCrudden, youngest son of the late Patrick and Margaret McCrudden, of Woodlands, Dooish, Ballybofey, and Miss Rosaleen Hilley, third daughter of Patrick and Alice Hilley, of Lettercran, Pettigo. Margaret Hilley (sister of the bride), was bridesmaid, and Mr. Joseph Hilley (brother of the bride), was best man at the ceremony with Nuptial Mass. Rev. J. F. Brennan, C.C., Pettigo, officiated.
The epidemic of flu is still claiming many victims both in Pettigo village and the surrounding districts. In many areas whole families are confined to bed. All schools in the district have been closed as a precaution.
On Wednesday morning the death took place at her daughter’s residence, Main St., Pettigo, of Mrs. Catherine Geelan (75). Deceased was widow of Sergt. Edward Geelan, R.I.C., who prior to his marriage was stationed in Pettigo. At the funeral on Friday to St. Mary’s Cemetery, Pettigo, the chief mourner were—Mrs. J. Egan, Mrs. A. Cox, Pettigo. Mrs. Jim Gallagher. Newcastle (daughters); Eddie Geelan, Coventry, Jim Geelan, Donegal (sons); John Egan, G. Dorrian. J. Gallagher, A. Cox, (sons-in-law); John, Vincent, Seamus, Desmond, Dermot and Monica Egan; Liam, Andrew, Eamon and Maureen Cox, Alan, Dorrian, Jim, Eamon, Kathleen, Bernadette, Anne, Breda, Gertie and Marie Gallagher (grand-children); J. Fogarty, Cardiff (brother); Mrs. P. J. Flood, Pettigo (niece); Mr. John Watters (nephew). Rev. Jas. F. Brennan, C.C., gave an eloquent panegyric and celebrated Requiem Mass and recited the last prayers at the grave-side.
FERMANAGH S MINOR TEAM. John O’Neill (Lisnaskea); Owen Clerkin, (Roslea), Patrick Murphy, (Kinawley), Tom Callaghan (Roslea), Tom McManus (Kinawley), Paddy McComb (Lisnaskea), Jas. O’Hanlon (Newtownbutler), Sean Gonnigle (Belleek), Eamon O’Grady (Gaels), Tommy Devanney, (Irvinestown), Paddy Casey (Devenish), John Maguire (Ederney), Brendan Shannon (Newtownbutler), Tommy McDermott, (Roslea), Peter Murray, Roslea.
Subs. – Liam Slevin (Belleek), Thomas Donohue, Terry Donegan, (Newtownbutler), Hugh Maguire, (Irvinestown) and Kevin Donnelly and Bennie Fitzpatrick (Gaels).
A MEETING of Fermanagh Co. Board. G.A.A., will be held in Parochial Rooms, Enniskillen, on FRIDAY, 16th FEBRUARY, at 8 p.m. sharp. All Clubs are requested to be represented.
TEMPO SYMPATHY. At a meeting of the Tempo G.F.C. on Tuesday night, a vote of sympathy was passed to the relatives and friends of the late Fr. D. McCaffrey, C.C.
CHANGES IN TEMPO TEAM? The year 1951 is expected to bring about changes on the Tempo team, as the better of the 1950 minors are anxious to fill the positions of their predecessors: These young players together with the remaining members of last years team should build up a fair defence and produce some good football:
Although Tempo. is officially a senior team, it would be unfair to grade them senior, as the result would prove to be a fiasco, and moreover, injuries which would be likely to occur would be the first step towards breaking up the team, which is beginning to prove its worth on the sports field.
The committee for the year 1951 is probably one of the largest of its kind in the county. Men who have hung up their boots are still in co-operation with the G.A.A. and devote, many of their spare hours in the club’s affairs. The officials are:—Eddie Connors (chairman); T. Doherty (vice-chairman), Phil McCarron (treasurer), and Hugh McCaffrey (secretary).
17-2-1951. PETTIGO. The death took, place at Tamlaght, Pettigo, on Tuesday after a prolonged illness of Mrs. Catherine Friel (82). At the funeral on Thursday to Carn cemetery the chief mourners were: James Dowd, Thomas Friel, Glasgow. Bernard Friel, do. (sons); Miss Mary A. Friel, Mrs. Catherine Simmons, Mrs. Winnie Friel (daughters); P. G. Simmons, James Friel (sons-in-law): Mrs. Thos. Friel, Glasgow (daughter-in-law); Thomas Herby, George, Cathleen, Maisie and Winifred Simmons (grandchildren). Rev. Fr. Brennan, C.C., Pettigo, celebrated Requiem Mass and officiated at the graveside.
On Monday night the last dance of the season was held in Cashelinney Hall, the proceeds being in aid of the hall repair fund. Mr. John J. Johnston, Skea, was fear a’ toighe.
Kesh monthly fair on Monday was very small, with practically no buyers in attendance; animals offered for sale were hard to cash.
The death took place at Montiaugh of Patrick McGoldrick (79), formerly a resident of Crilly, Pettigo. At the funeral on Friday morning to Lettercran, the chief mourners were Frank, Owen and James McGoldrick (brothers); Ellen Monaghan, The Cross (sister); Eddie Monaghan, Owne, Jas. J., Eugene and Jim McGoldrick (nephews). Rev. Fr. McKenna celebrated Requiem Mass and recited the last prayers at the grave-side.
On Monday of last week the heaviest snowfall of the season was experienced in the Pettigo district, where snow fell to a depth of 12 inches in a few hours. Many roads in the area are still unfit for vehicular traffic owing to drifts and ice.
On Ash Wednesday, February 7th, the Rev. James F. Brennan, C.C., Pettigo, distributed the ashes and recited the Rosary in Saint Mary’s Parish Church, Pettigo, and in Saint Patrick’s Church, Lettercran.
On Wednesday the death took place suddenly at Killeter of Thos. Irvine (57). The funeral took place to Killeter cemetery.
The flu is still claiming many victims in the Pettigo district.
Repair work by the Irish Land Commission on a bog road in the Grouselodge district had to be abandoned during the week owing to the heavy snowfall in the district.
24-3-1951. PETTIGO. The death took place at Ballymacavanny, Pettigo of Mrs C. Rooney (80). At the funeral to Pettigo Cemetery, the chief mourners were- Kathleen Rooney, Mrs. J Mulrine. Mrs. Mary J. Ward (daughters); Mr. J. Mulrine, Mr. Ward (sons-in-law); Miss Mary Mulrine (grandchild).
Prices at Pettigo monthly fair on Tuesday were—Springer cows, £35 to £39; three year old heifers, £31 to £34; two- year old heifers, £22 to £26; fat bullocks, £29 to £32; year old calves, £11 to £13 10s; dropped calves, 10s to 21s; young pigs, £5 to £7.
The death took place of William Vartue, of High Street, Pettigo (72). He was also well known to pilgrims to Lough Derg. At the funeral to Pettigo the chief mourners were; Mrs. Cochrane (sister); Henry and Geo. Morrow, Rebecca and Susan Morrow (cousins).
On St. Patrick’s Pay the annual pilgrimage took place to St. Patrick’s Well, Magherakeel. Almost 400 took part in the traditional station. The Rosary was recited by Very Rev. P. McGlinchey, P.P.
During the past week there have been losses of both cattle and horses in the Pettigo and Mullinmeen districts. It is believed that the shortage of fodder in. the district is the cause.
On Saturday the death took place at Belault South, Pettigo, after a short Illness, of John Martin (75). At the funeral to St. Mary’s Cemetery, Pettigo, chief mourners were: Thomas and Jas. Martin (sons,; Mrs. Catherine Martin (widow); Mrs. Mary MacMahon, Mrs. Peggy Ginn, Mrs. Jennie Wheatley (daughters); Patrick Martin (brother); John MacMahon, Bert Wheatley (sons-in-law); Phyllis, Marie, Kathleen, Margaret and Ann MacMahon (grandchildren); Wm. and Thos. Reilly (brothers-in-law); Mrs. W. Reilly, (sister-in-law); Thomas Reilly and John Reilly, (nephews) Mrs. P. Monaghan, Pettigo (niece); P. Monaghan, J. Friel (relatives).
Donegal Co. Council workmen are employed widening and paving the main Pettigo to Castlederg road at Grouselodge.
The death took place at her brother’s residence, Gortnessy, Pettigo, of Miss Fanny Porter, who had lived in the U.S.A., where she had spent her youth. The funeral took place on Thursday to Pettigo Cemetery; chief mourners being Bob and Willie Porter (brothers); Mrs. B. Porter (sister-in-law).
Quotes About Irish
Quotes tagged as “Irish”
“Never wrestle with pigs. You both get dirty and the pig likes it.”
― George Bernard Shaw
“I think being a woman is like being Irish… Everyone says you’re important and nice, but you take second place all the time.”
― Iris Murdoch
“Your battles inspired me – not the obvious material battles but those that were fought and won behind your forehead.”
― James Joyce
“Only Irish coffee provides in a single glass all four essential food groups: alcohol, caffeine, sugar and fat.”
― Alex Levin
“This is one race of people for whom psychoanalysis is of no use whatsoever.”
― Sigmund Freud
“To be Irish is to know that in the end the world will break your heart.”
― Daniel Patrick Moynihan
“Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.”
― W.B. Yeats
“The earth makes a sound as of sighs and the last drops fall from the emptied cloudless sky. A small boy, stretching out his hands and looking up at the blue sky, asked his mother how such a thing was possible. Fuck off, she said.”
― Samuel Beckett
“Writing in English is the most ingenious torture ever devised for sins committed in previous lives. The English reading public explains the reason why.”
― James Joyce
“Thankfully the rest of the world assumed that the Irish were crazy, a theory that the Irish themselves did nothing to debunk. They had somehow got it into their heads that each fairy lugged around a pot of gold with him wherever he went. While it was true that LEP had a ransom fund, because of its officers’ high-risk occupation, no human had ever taken a chunk of it yet. This didn’t stop the Irish population in general from skulking around rainbows, hoping to win the supernatural lottery.”
― Eoin Colfer, Artemis Fowl
“When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but ferociously tenacious.”
― Edna O’Brien
“You’re not falling for me, are you, Irish?”
“All I know is what the words know, and dead things, and that makes a handsome little sum, with a beginning and a middle and an end, as in the well-built phrase and the long sonata of the dead.”
― Samuel Beckett
“[Waiting for Godot] has achieved a theoretical impossibility—a play in which nothing happens, that yet keeps audiences glued to their seats. What’s more, since the second act is a subtly different reprise of the first, he has written a play in which nothing happens, twice.”
― Vivian Mercier
“Tír gan teanga, tír gan anam. A country without a language is a country without a soul.”
― Pádraig Pearse
“There’s no sense to being Irish unless you know the world’s going to break your heart.”
― Thomas Adcock
“If there were only three Irishmen in the world you’d find two of them in a corner talking about the other.”
― María Brandán Aráoz
“Americans may say they love our accents (I have been accused of sounding ‘like Princess Di’) but the more thoughtful ones resent and rather dislike us as a nation and people, as friends of mine have found out by being on the edge of conversations where Americans assumed no Englishmen were listening. And it is the English, specifically, who are the targets of this. Few Americans have heard of Wales. All of them have heard of Ireland and many of them think they are Irish. Scotland gets a sort of free pass, especially since Braveheart re-established the Scots’ anti-English credentials among the ignorant millions who get their history off the TV.”
― Peter Hitchens
“[Kurt Cobain] had a lot of German in him. Some Irish. But no Jew. I think that if he had had a little Jew he would have [expletive] stuck it out.”
― Courtney Love
“Never Fight ugly people—they have nothing to Lose.”
― “Irish” Wayne Kelly
“He had been thinking of how landscape moulds a language. It was impossible to imagine these hills giving forth anything but the soft syllables of Irish, just as only certain forms of German could be spoken on the high crags of Europe; or Dutch in the muddy, guttural, phlegmish lowlands.”
― Alexander McCall Smith, Portuguese Irregular Verbs
“Having placed in my mouth sufficient bread for three minutes’ chewing, I withdrew my powers of sensual perception and retired into the privacy of my mind, my eyes and face assuming a vacant and preoccupied expression. I reflected on the subject of my spare-time literary activities. One Beginning and one ending for a book was a thing I did not agree with. A good book may have three openings entirely dissimilar and inter-related only in the prescience of the author, or for that matter one hundred times as many endings.”
― Flann O’Brien
“The Celt, and his cromlechs, and his pillar-stones, these will not change much – indeed, it is doubtful if anybody at all changes at any time. In spite of hosts of deniers, and asserters, and wise-men, and professors, the majority still are adverse to sitting down to dine thirteen at a table, or being helped to salt, or walking under a ladder, of seeing a single magpie flirting his chequered tale. There are, of course, children of light who have set their faces against all this, although even a newspaperman, if you entice him into a cemetery at midnight, will believe in phantoms, for everyone is a visionary, if you scratch him deep enough. But the Celt, unlike any other, is a visionary without scratching.”
― W.B. Yeats
“As a member of the Protestant British squirearchy ruling Ireland, he was touchy about his Irish origins. When in later life an enthusiastic Gael commended him as a famous Irishman, he replied “A man can be born in a stable, and yet not be an animal.”
― Arthur Wellesley Wellington