"Anois teacht an Earraigh" or ''Cill Aodáin'' by Anthony Raftery, Antoine O' Raifteiri

I was reminded of what little credit I give sometimes Ireland's forgotten writers and poets, especially those who wrote in Irish, 'as Gaeilge'. This struck home when I read again Galway's blind poet, Anthony Raftery's ( Antoine O' Raifteiri ) beautiful poem, Cill Aodáin - though perhaps it is better known by the poem's first line, the joyous announcement, "Anois teacht an Earraigh" (Now Cometh the Spring).

"Anois teacht an Earraigh, beidh an lá dúl chun shíneadh,
Is tar eis na féil Bríde, ardóigh mé mo sheol...."

Yes, you know it too, or at least remember all or some of it. Reading it, or hearing in in my mind's eye or ear, brings me right back to my primary school days. You too? You can probably remember also the smell of chalk-dust and perhaps even the smell of the class-room's turf-fire and feel the cool, hard wood with the shiny patina on the old twin school desks with the ceramic ink-wells under your oh-too-cold bottom and your skinny legs with the knee-high socks and the long short pants. Enough of that trip down memory lane...'an bhuill cead agam dul amach?'

Sure we all learned it by rote in National School, as we did much of our 'learning'. Problem is, even though I knew the poem, I felt little empathy with it. I didn't realise then that his words were straight from the heart, and as rich and clear a description of Paradise or the Promised Land as any poet had ever imagined. Perhaps it was the cold classroom, or the fear of punishment, or the 'having to learn a stoopid Irish poem' attitude we all had, but so much of what we were taught could have enriched our lives so much more, had we but cherished it, or been taught how to love and appreciate it.

Antoine Raftery was born in an impossibly overcrowded 'tigeen' on a shared small-holding in Killaiden, near Kiltimagh in 1784. He had 8 brothers and sisters, but an outbreak of small pox took the entire family and left Raftery blind. He learned to play the fiddle and was a natural bard. Blind Raftery became the wandering bard of the west in the early19th century, moving from parish to parish, leaning on the generosity of the local folk who gave him shelter, food and drink, in return for his music and stories. Newspapers were not common and news was spread by word of mouth back then, or in songs and poems, as Raftery did. Like the bards of old he told and retold tales of valiantry, victory, wrong-doings and tragedy to the farmers and anyone who would listen, give him a bed for the night and share a jug of Poitin.

Raftery was well loved by the country folk.  He was illiterate, and thusknew all his poems and songs by heart, recounting them at will, or composing new ones on the spot for a challenge or for sport. He had no end of inspiration, what with rebellions, hangings, murders and evictions being so commonplace in that turbulent time, post the bloody rebellion of 1798, the consequences of which he witnessed first-hand in Mayo. He walked a land that had seen terrible retribution, with gallows and gibbets at every crossroads. Later on he saw the rise of land agitation, the Whiteboys and the beginnings of the land league. He composed hundreds of poems, many of which, thankfully, have been handed down and saved. His tale of the tragic drownings at Anaghdown ( Eanach Dhun ) in 1828, is a classic even today.

Raftery stayed in houses he knew he would be welcomed in and looked after. They were not 'Big Houses' per se, but confortable tenant farmers houses mostly that he stayed at. One such house was O'Dwyers in Duniry, near Abbey on the road between Loughrea and Woodford. Even today, the memory of his annual visits there is still remembered. He had many such stops along his well-travelled roads of east Galway where he spent much of his later life, but eventually he himself wore out. He was reputedly 'fond of the dhrop', and cranky, with a sharp tongue and caustic wit, so perhaps his true friends were few. Poor Ratfery fell ill and died in a cow-barn in the village of Craughwell one snowy winter's day in 1835. He was buried at night by torchlight, for reasons I still don't understand, in a small ruined church-yard cemetary between Craughwell and Labane.
So much for his wish to go home to Mayo and 'be amongst his people'.

Were it not for the poems that have been handed down to us by people who cherished his wonderful words, and the collectors who wrote them down, we may never have had the chance to get to know again his poem about the approach of Spring.

Co-incidentally, last Saturday, (19 February 2010) the Irish Times newspaper published a variant translation in English of his poem. I love how Raftery sets his sights (though he was blind) on the small, simple pleasures, much as we all do and did when visiting someone who was ill or just plain old. Take a minute out of your busy day to read these 16 lines and remember warmly your family and friends who may have shuffled on lately. Or perhaps, they have just gone to Mayo!

The Blind Poet's Vision of Spring;
With the coming of spring the light will be gaining.
So after Brid's feast day I'll set my course -
Since it entered my head I'll never rest easy
Till I'm landed again in the heart of Mayo.

I'll spend my first night in the town of Claremorris
And in Balla I'll raise my glass in a toast,
To Kiltimagh then, I could linger a month there
Within easy reach of Ballinamore.

I testify here that the heart in me rises
Like a fresh breeze lifting fog from the slopes.
When I think on Carra and Galen below it,
On Sceathach a' Mhile or the plains of Mayo.

Killeadan's a place where all good things flourish,
Blackberries, raspberries, treats by the score,
Were I to stand there again with my people
Age would fall from me and I would be restored.

Anthony Raftery (1784-1835). Translation by Michael Coady


The Full Irish version of "Anois teacht an Earraigh" Cill Aodáin
Anois teacht an Earraigh,
beidh an lá dúl chun shíneadh,
Is tar eis na féil Bríde
ardóigh mé mo sheol.
Go Coillte Mach rachad
ní stopfaidh me choíche
Go seasfaidh mé síos
i lár Chondae Mhaigh Eo.

Fágaim le huacht é
go n-éiríonn mo chroí-se
Mar a éiréonn an ghaoth
nó mar a scaipeann an ceo
Nuair a smaoiním ar Cheara
nó ar Ghaileang taobh thíos de
Ar Sceathach an Mhíle
nó ar phlánaí Mhaigh Eo;

Cill Aodáin an baile
a bhfásann gach ní ann,
Tá sméara is subh craobh ann
is meas de gach sórt,
Is dá mbéinnse i mo sheasamh
i gceartlár mo dhaoine
D'imeodh an aois díom
is bheinn arís óg.

Bíonn cruithneach is coirce,
fás eorna is lín ann,
Seagal i gcaobh ann,
arán plúir agus feoil,
Lucht déanta poitín
gan licence á dhíol ann,
Móruaisle na tíre ann
ag imirt is ag ól.

Tá cur agus treabhadh
is leasú gan aoileach
Is iomaí sin ní ann
nár labhair me go fóill,
Aitheanna is muilte
ag obair gan scíth ann,
Deamhan caint ar phingin cíosa
na dada da shórt.

Anthony Raftery is not well represented in stone or bronze today in Ireland, though his beautiful words live on through the generations. His statue in Craughwell, his grave in Killeenin cemetery, near Craughwell, Co. Galway and a bronze statue in Kiltimagh, Co. Mayo, Ireland.

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Thanks for visiting; 

First published by Brian Nolan on 1st February 2012. 

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''Galway Walks, Walking Tours of Galway''

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Contact; galwaywalks@gmail.com Phone 086-3273560

Titanic - The Galway Connection

GALWAY'S CONNECTION TO TITANIC

  

RMS Titanic was the greatest ship of her age. Thought to be unsinkable, Titanic was 882 feet long (this replica model, pictured above on the Prom in Salthill, was built by a Men's Shed project in Lahardane, County Mayo, to mark Titanic's 100th anniversary in 2012 is 1/10th scale). The real Titanic was built in Belfast to be the fastest liner in the world. Titanic struck an iceberg some 200 miles off Newfoundland, at 11.20pm on the night of the 14th of April 1912. She sank at 2.20 am on the morning of 15th April 1912, while on her maiden voyage to New York, from Southampton, England, via Cherbourg, France and Cobh (Queenstown), Ireland.

There were 2,223 passengers and crew aboard Titanic when she sailed from Queenstown (899 crew and 1,324 passengers) on the morning 12th of April 1912.

In total, 1,517 people died when Titanic sank (685 crew and 832 passengers). 120 Irish passengers boarded Titanic at Queenstown (42 survived, 78 died). 37 of the Irish passengers were from Connacht.

Nine passengers on Titanic were from County Galway. 2 others aboard had a very strong Galway connection.

Hanora "Nora" Healy, 29, of Athenry, Co Galway boarded the Titanic at Queenstown as a third class passenger. Her ticket cost £7-15s. Nora escaped the sinking in lifeboat 16. She died 11 March 1919 aged 36.

Andrew ‘Andy’ Keane, 20, Derrydonnell, Athenry, Co. Galway. He was a keen hurler and brought 2 county medals and a dozen hurley sticks with him on Titanic. He died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

Margaret Mannion, Loughanboy, Caltra. Co. Galway. She survived the sinking and returned to Ireland in 1919. She married Martin Hopkins of Ahascaragh. She died in Clontuskert on 15 May 1970.

Ellie Mockler, 23, Caltra, Co. Galway. She survived the sinking and in 1917 became a Mercy Nun in New York. She died in 1984, aged 95.

Martin Gallagher - Currafarry, Caltra, Co. Galway. A hero of the tragedy, he saved several women to escape certain death by helping them into lifeboats. He died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

Thomas Smyth – Chapelfinnerty, Caltra, Co Galway. He died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

Thomas Kilgannon - Currafarry, Caltra, Co Galway. He died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

John Flynn, Carrowhakin, Clonbur, County Galway. He emigrated to America some years previously and was only home on a visit. He died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

Patrick Shaughnessy, 24, Tynagh, Co Galway. He died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

Other Galway Connections;

Bruce Ismay, head of the White Star Line, the company that owned ‘Titanic’, was a captain of industry, an extraordinary entrepreneur, and the driving force behind the new breed of luxury liners purpose built to race across the Atlantic. He was vilified after Titanic sank and shunned as a social pariah. He left his life in London and moved to Connemara where he mostly lived from 1913 

Eugene Daly -Athlone, Co.Westmeath. 
A weaver and a talented piper, sailed on Titanic. Luckily he survived the sinking by clinging to an upturned liferaft. He testified at the Titanic hearings in New York. He married in New York and in 1921 returned to Ireland initially to Athlone. Later, he settled in Galway city and after his wife died in 1961, he flew back to America where he lived with his only child, Marion Joyce, in Missouri. He died on 30 October 1965. (see his story, Erin's Lament, below)


The Piper on the Titanic;

Erin’s Lament, Galway’s Gain - A Titanic tale

In April 1912, Eugene Patrick Daly, 29, a weaver from Athlone, County Westmeath, Ireland, was travelling to New York City, just one of 113 Irish passengers who unfortunately chose the Titanic to emigrate to the USA. He boarded the Titanic on the 11^th of April, 1912, at Queenstown (ticket number 382651). The ticket cost him £7-15s (seven pounds and fifteen shillings) or almost 6 months pay for a working man.

It has been confirmed in eye witness accounts of the Titanic’s call to Cobh, that Daly played "Erin's Lament", "A Nation Once Again", "Boolavogue" and other well known nationalist tunes on his uilleann (elbow) pipes (a traditional Irish instrument) for his fellow steerage passengers, as America, one of the two tenders to the Titanic steamed away from Queenstown harbour, bound for the gleaming liner that lay at anchor far out in Cork harbour, near Roches Point. It was both a heartening and a poignant moment listening to those traditional airs as the passengers left Ireland, most of them for the last time. In the Titanic Movie one of the band who played the dance music that Rose and Jack enjoyed below decks was playing an uileann pipes, no doubt a reference to Eugene Daly.

When Titanic sank, Eugene Daly was cast into the waters and no doubt he thaough his hour had come. However, amazingly Daly survived the Titanic’s tragic sinking by clinging to an upturned collapsible lifeboat (Collapsible 2). He credited his survival to his heavy overcoat. It had been his grand-father's coat and his mother had insisted on his wearing it. Though frost-bitten and near death, he was rescued, but he lost his precious pipes. He would later file a claim against the White Star Line’ for $50 for their loss. Similar pipes, possibly Daly's, were recently salvaged from the Titanic wreck and are now in the Titanic Museum collection.

Eugene Daly got married in America to Lil Caulfield from Co. Mayo, and whether he was homesick or inspired by the Irish Free State, he returned to Ireland in 1921. He suffered terribly from paronia on the return ship journey and never again set foot aboard a ship once they arrived home. With his new wife he moved to Galway where he found work in the Galway Woolen Mills. He lived at 7 St. Johns Terrace in Galway and was a popular musician in the city, playing pipes and flute in ceili bands around the city.

In 1961, after his wife died, he emigrated one last time to the USA, to Missouri, but this time by plane. He lived out his last days there with his only child, his daughter Marion Joyce.

Eugene testified at the Titanic Hearings in the Waldorf Astoria Hotel New York and his description of the sinking, the inadequate lifeboats and especially his eye witness testimony of a ship’s officer shooting third class passengers who were trying to board a lifeboat has been relied on heavily by historians of the Titanic and is the stuff of film legend now. His credible eye witness testimony of the chaotic scenes and passenger discrimination onboard Titanic was instrumental in the passing of new Lifeboat laws for passenger ships.  He helped save many lives in subsequent ship wrecks because of the new Lifeboat laws.

His account of the tragedy was used as research in many movies and stories about the great liner. He was unique amongst survivors in his willingness to recount the story whenever asked, as most other survivors, no doubt suffering from post-traumatic shock, or grief, rarely or never uttered a word on their brush with death when Titanic sank.

Eugene Daly died on 30 October 1965 aged 82. He is buried in St. Raymond’s Cemetery in the Bronx

Notes;
He lived at 7 Johns Terrace in Galway's 'West' district. He played music in Galway at various halls, but strangely never played the uileann pipes again, preferring to play the concert flute instead. He was invited as a guest of honour to the opening of the film about the Titanic, 'A night to remember' at The Claddagh Palace theatre in Galway and it is said he attended the showing every night of it's run there. 

Recently, I heard a story of how local children in the early sixties would chide him as having been a coward and dressing up in womens clothing, confusing him with Bruce Ismay, perhaps and not knowing the full story of his bravery and character. They taunted him with cries of  'Did ya get a white feather for your birthday from the Queen?' and worse I am sure. In Missouri he is remembered as a daily mass-goer and a community volunteer. I am not able to throw any light on why he is buried in the Bronx. His house in John Street is still there today. 

I tell this story and many more about Galway and its interesting past on my 'Walking Tours of Galway' and my 'Fireside Tours' at O'Connors Pub in Salthill. For more information see the Galway Walking Tours website www.galwaywalks.com or email me at galwaywalks@gmail.com for tour times and booking. Galway Walks - more than just a leisurelay stroll!

The above notes and story were prepared by me for the exibit of the replica Titanic at the Prom opposite the Aquarium.

Here's what was on show then:

From Mayo to Galway - with love, ' The Titanic' on the Prom!

Visitors to Galway, and locals alike, might be surprised this week by the graceful presence of the Titanic, 'moored' on Salthill's promenade, one of Ireland's best known seaside resorts. The replica 1/10 scale model of the famous ship, is on loan to Galway from the Mayo community of Addergoole, who celebrated the centenary of the ship's sinking last April. The commemorative events in the tiny Mayo village of  Laherdane were the focus of national and international media coverage, and 'the boat on the bay' is already attracting hundreds of curious onlookers to Salthill. The Titanic replica is 88 feet long, and is accurate in every detail, down to the portholes, smokestacks and anchors, and the decks are fully illuminated at night. 

Eleven young emigrants from Mayo lost their lives on the ship, a tragedy which devastated the local community, and prompted a group of local men from Addergoole to build a model of the liner. They worked tirelessly and in secret over a period of eight weeks, to ensure that the replica was in place for the opening ceremony in April this year. The 'gift' from Mayo is an acknowledgement and mark of respect to the nine Galwegians who boarded 'The Titanic' at Cobh in April 1912, six of whom lost their lives. "It was a real labour of love," according to Brian Nolan from Salthill, who is also a founding member of the Addergoole Titanic Society, "and while the locals are missing it terribly, it's great to be able to recognise Galway's loss on the Titanic too," he said.

Martin Gallagher, from Galway, was one of those who selflessly helped up to nine women into lifeboats before he lost his life. Another of the more well known Galway connections to the ship is Eugene Patrick Daly, a weaver, originally from Athlone, but who subsequently settled in St John's Terrace, Galway., where he worked at the Galway Woolen Mills, and was also a popular local musician.  Eugene testified at the Titanic Hearings in New York, and his credible eye witness testimony of the chaotic scenes and passenger discrimination onboard the Titanic was instrumental in the passing of new Lifeboat laws for passenger ships.

The West of Ireland connection to the ship extends to Connemara where Bruce Ismay, owner of the White Star Line, lived for thirty years.  He escaped the stricken ship on the last lifeboat, but his reputation never recovered.

In spite of it's tragic history, the Titanic and it's present-day replica continue to fascinate and attract the interest of passersby. Managing Director of Salthill Tourist Board Roger O' Sullivan, was impressed by the efforts of the Mayo community to keep the story alive, and he took the initative to bring the ship to Salthill in memory of the lost Galwegians. "The Titanic is just one of many welcome visitors to Galway this week, and is a continued boost for local business who are delighted with the increase in trade," he said. The arrival of the ship was celebrated at a launch in the Galway Business School in Salthill on Friday, where the Mayor of Galway Terry O'Flaherty welcomed the local tourist initiative.(pics in circulation)  

Situated on the prom, opposite the Aquarium, it's an ideal spot for a fun day out, with many visitors already enjoying close access to the ship for family photos. Titanic memorabilia and souvenirs are available from 10 am in the adjoining tent where talks on the boat's history will take place each evening at 7.pm, beginning on Saturday August 4th,and continuing until August 20th. 
Volunteers who would like to take part in promoting Galway's historic link with the ship, are invited to contact Brian Nolan directly on 086 327 3560.

The replica is now housed in a warehouse in Castlebar, awaiting sailing orders. Who knows where it will go next (after necessary repairs and refurbishment!

Our Achill's heel

Driving around Achill in the soft rain, her delight at seeing the old country was obvious. Every turn in the road we swapped stories of parallel lives in two different countries in the sixties, her in Cleveland, Ohio, me in Galway, Ireland. We had a lot in common. She had been a kindergarten teacher all her life in a leafy Cleveland suburb, my father had taught in a primary school in Duniry near the Slieve Aughty mountains, for 42 years. She said, 'My father was a fire-chief in Cleveland and he worked every hour he could to provide for his family, though money was never flush. A proud man,he instilled in us the motto, 'If you can't make it, you can't have it'. He built them two boats for sailing on Lake Erie and a cottage on the shore there for summer vacations. He could fix and make most anything. We never owned a new car, nor even a new sofa. Everything was pre-owned. He would come home from work of an evening, dressed in his captains uniform, wool suit, cap, gold braid. He'd boom, 'Anyone need a new bike? I passed a broken bicycle at 23rd and Dean, you want it, go down and get it, I will fix it up for you like new'. We always had great bikes and skateboards and ice-skates and never wanted for anything. He'd often say, 'If you know how to fix a broken shingle, you will never need to call a roofing contractor'. 'I adored the ground my father walked on', she finished, tearing at the memories. 

A mile later, on the coast road at Dooega, we passed this deserted farmhouse and I thought of her father back in Cleveland, and how he could fix a shingle and save a rooof, and I was ashamed at the dependent, throwaway society we have become, unable to keep our own house in order, fix our own roof, plant our own garden. 

 — in Dooega, Mayo.

April 1912 - The Journey (Mayo's Titanic connection)

Imagine them then, all fourteen of them, with probably another two dozen or more family and friends, fresh from the 'American Wake', ruddy-faced in the night air, all walking together on that 10th of April in the very early morning in 1912, having made it over the 'windy gap', from Lahardane to Castlebar, a last trek on the winding pathway through the lonely mountain pass, at night, like they were heading for the Mairgead Mor in Castlebar, only they weren't, were they? And sure didn't they all stop for one last look back at Nephin towering behind them, his head separating the scudding clouds, not wanting to see them leave. The valley below still with its winter hues and lovely Lough Conn in the distance beyond Nephin, glistening blue and silver in the weak spring sunshine. They were talkative, chattering about the possibilities, the wonders and the chance to make it big in that land of opportunity that America ever was for those strong and brave enough to make the journey.  They were headed to New York, New Jersey, St. Louis and Chicago, but first they had to cross the wild Atlantic.

They were a motley group, young and not so young, some barefoot, some sad, all expectant, in trepidation, scared yet excited, butterfly-stomached all the 14 winding, bohareen-miles to Castlebar. One of the ladies looked beautiful and proud wearing the new hat she had bought the week before from the shop in Crossmolina. Another brooded a little, troubled by the warning she had been given by the dark stranger at the last fair day in Lahardane.

No taxis back then, or cars, they likely walked most of it, in the dark, with their small suitcases, bags or whatever little possessions most of them carried, piled up on the train of five horse-drawn sidecars, the reliable carriages bumping over the rough road. Some of the group had bought new steamer trunks, wooden suit-cases, no wheels on them back then, nor smooth road to wheel them on either. How hard would that journey have been, walking behind the laden horse and carts, badly lighted by carburundum lamps, a silent procession as they made their way through the Windy Gap in the early dawn, to the town Castlebar, to the Railway Station and the waiting steam train. Most of them had never even seen a train before. They chatted quietly, nervously, their anxieties only matched by their excitement. Their companions on this first part of the journey were quiet too, thinking of the many times they had made this trip to Castlebar already only to return alone, another emigrant on their way, rarely to be seen again.

They arrive early for the 8.20am train and stand about the station watching as they engine is stoked into life, the steam hissing from the wheel pistons, the belching of black smoke from the stack, while the men have one last deoch a dorais in McGraths bar, well known to them from the cold fair days in October and November. Then finally it is time, and as the shrill whistle blows and the steam clouds billow about their feet, the final hugs, the bittersweet farewells, hands reaching up from the station platform, the tears and hand-shakes, their last kisses, (did they even kiss), and the train departs for Queenstown, white handkerchiefs fluttering from the departing windows.

It was to be an interminably long journey, over 12 hours, changing trains several times, going from one railway system to another, the Great Western, the Midland, the Southern. The passengers and their baggage move as one, from platform to platform, following the 3 experienced travellers in their group who have done this journey before, marvelling at their knowlege. Ireland was so big, who knew? The carriages were no better than carts, no in-carriage service, no bar-car, no soft seats, smoke and cinders from the engine's smoke stack sparking in the steam trail above the carriages, occasionally coming into the carriages through an opened window. They watched in wonder as an Ireland they did not know passed them by, the rich fields of Munster, nothing like their hard-scrabble holdings on the lower slopes of Nephin.

The pangs of hunger are now replacing the butterflies, as the trains wend their way south, through the counties of Mayo, Galway, Clare, Limerick, then Tipperary and finally Cork. Did the train tracks connect, or did they have to change trains each time, at Claremorris, or Athenry or Limerick, or Limerick Junction? Had they time to buy hot food at the stations, or did they carry just a bit of hard bread and a bottle of milk or cold tae? Very possibly they were tempted to buy something along the way, with the couple of farthings or ha'pennies they had in their pocai. They might have spent them, but not the bright sovereigns or guineas sewn into the lining of their jackets, ar eagla na h-eagla, jealously guarded for the long journey and the necessary grub-stake when they arrived over yonder! No, they likely nibbled whatever bread they had in their packs, drank a little milk from a glass bottle. It was a long, wearying journey indeed.

And then finally, at last, after an exhausting day's travel, they come to Cork, the first city most of them have ever seen. The bustle and din of the busy railway station in the centre of the cathedral city is amazing to them, but their fascination had to be ignored and bags guarded while they waited for the boat-train to Cobh, or Queenstown as it was then known, and a night's lodgings, 2/6 (two shillings and six pence...today about 15cents, but back then, a full weeks wages, if you had a job) for each person, so much money for a hard bed for one night. Cobh was an amazing transit station, the place full of boarding-houses, each crammed with travellers just like them, eager for their ships to come and take them away across the sea to hope.

Next morning, after a final prayer in the cathedral overlooking the harbour they settle in for the long wait. Ticket agents wandered to and fro amongst the crowds, bargaining, touting, urging groups of passengers to buy passage on the various liners that are due that day. Yet the Addergoole group were patient amidst the bustle of the steamer quay there, finally shuffling in line with over a hundred others, all waiting for the next tender, out to the ship itself which is far out in the great harbour, unseen. Finally they are all walking unsteadily up a ganway from the quayside onto their tender, itself huge, their ship surely, 'is this it'? No it is either The America or The Ireland, both of them ships in their own right, but here in Cobh, merely tenders, taxis to the Titanic, nothing like the mighty ocean liner that awaits off Roches Point. Underway now, they all cling to the rail, holding firm against the unfamiliar sway of the deck, the shudder of unimagined power from the engines, the rush of adrenaline, leaving Ireland, leaving home, perhaps forever.

A piper aboard pipes Erin's Lament and as the melancholic air floats across the waves, they huddle together on deck, looking shorewards, waving their kerchiefs to the well-wishers on steamers quay.

Despite their excitement, the tears flow.


Then out onto the harbour they steam, as in a dream, looking back at the church spire, a prayer on everyone's lips. Behind them the cathedral spire fades into the landscape as the vessel clears the harbour and steams towards Titanic.

The engines slow, a silence, the sea-mist clears and suddenly, looming above them, the huge black hulk of the Titanic, soaring high, like Nephin from the surface of the sea, a sea most of them have never even seen before, nor smelled nor tasted, such salt, the spray on their faces, carefully across the gangway into the hold, and now the 'luxury' of the steerage cabins, the music, the personalities, the food and warmth, the style and fashion, the electricity! The lights, so bright, each room ablaze with light and hope, how they must have blazed with pride and already a fairytale had come true, sure only a half-dozen floors now separated them from first class and the super-wealthy, they couldn't even imagine it and now it's true. Unbelievable!

Three days out, seasoned sailors all now, their sea-legs fashioned from the dancing they were doing each night, yet the doors to the stairs and the rooms above were locked, no promenading the deck for the girls from Addergoole. Their's was a journey of confinement, they could only look out the port-holes at the infinite sea beyond the steel hull of the ship. Tonight the 14th of April the Addergoole fourteen gathered together to celebrate Nora Flemmings 22nd birthday. Songs were sung and they danced a few steps to the tunes the piper from Athlone played. In third class that night there were 10 birthdays celebrated. The songs of travellers from Turkey, Ireland, England, Gernmany, Norway, Italy and Russia all intermingled and echoed around the great ship as the happy throng sailed on westward to their new destiny.

The din of their fellow travelers harmonised with the hum of the deck plates and the throb of the engines far below them in the hold of the ship, a not unpleasant sound, hypnotic, re-assuring, constant, lulling them to sleep far from Nephin's watchful gaze. As they rested and slept, their thoughts were with their families at home. What were they doing now, at home, were they asleep too, under the thatch, listening to the crickets by the fire-place, was it raining, did they miss them.

Suddenly, as in the distance, the mighty ship is groaning like a living being, an injured animal, the calamity has happened, the panic begun. Now the alarms sound, lights flicker, the floor tilts, no one down here knows the truth, the few crew are ashen, and do not tell. Most are awake and in their night attire, some wearing coats, all in corridors now, dozens of languages, all shouting, seeking their friends, their families amid the panic and the flickering lights. There is banging at the steerage exits but the doors are still locked, the men are wild-eyed, the women and children are crying and praying. The din and noise is louder now, the mighty ship is in it's death rattle, a metallic moan fills the ships cabins from stem to stern, momentarily silencing the panicked chorus from passengers and crew. Nothing can help them now, the ship is sinking and they are trapped below decks.

Finally, in answer to their prayers, better late than never, an opened door is discovered, or remembered, a door that leads to a ladder and allows them up on deck, the Addergoole fourteen move as one, holding hands, white-faced against the bitter cold, huddled against the wind. The scene that awaits them up on deck is shocking, from the slanting deck by the light of the stars, movement is reflected on the ocean where already some lifeboats float, now and then brightly illuminated by the intermittent white flares the crew set off. Some life-jackets are found and hurriedly donned, though there are none for the men. The cold is biting, but the trembling is from fear, fear of water, none of them ever swam and the water is a cliff-face down the side of the ship away. The deck lights are flickering on and off now, slowly dimming, their hopes fading.

Frightened knots of men struggle to lift two heavy lifeboats from one side to the other side of the tilting ship. Another group are fighting each other, frantically attempting to assemble a canvas kit-boat that has been hauled up onto the deck. Another of the lifeboat dangles helplessly over the side, trapped by tangled ropes on the davitts. Everywhere the screams and shouts of men and women is confusing and frightening.

One of the Lahardane group finds a pen-knife in her bag, a gift from her father. It is tossed to the boats mate, and he succeeds in freeing the tangled hawser. There is space on the boat and they are exhorted to jump in. Now the harried hesitation, who shall be saved? 'No, we will not be separated'. Three of the girls are persuaded to go and now the last lifeboat's lowered, there are no more. Stranded, the remaining eleven huddle together and pray, the dread certainty and the realisation of the journey's tragic end, the loneliness as the darkness and the salt sea soaks them for the last time, the moon reflects the cries, a last prayer, a plea for mercy, 'A Dhia, dhean trocaire, a Dhia na ghrasta, a Dhia, a Dhia!' The last few weak cries peter out as Titanic slips below the water and the darkness and the silence of the mighty Atlantic closes in. Oh the humanity!

Brian Nolan, April 15, 2012.

Note; For the full story see the Addergoole-Titanic Society's wonderful website http://www.addergoole-titanic.com/And on Facebook see 'Mayo Link' for the full story of the celebration of the centenary of the Titanic's sinking and this little villages outstanding memorial to their fourteen brothers and sisters who sailed on Titanic. Eleven of them drowned. three survived.

If you are ever in Mayo and at a loose end, please take a moment to visit the village of Lahardane. There is a beautiful 'Titanic Memorial Park' in the centre of the village, with 2 bronze statues, a bronze Titanic ship's prow, two partially re-built cottages and a view of Nephin that will take your breath away. They also built a one-tenth scale (88 feet long) replica of the Titanic that was anchored off Addergoole cemetary for most of Summer 2012. It drew quite a crowd.

If you have time go to the Addergoole cemetary where the families of the Addergoole fourteen have been traditionally buried. None of our fourteen were buried here, indeed the bodies of the eleven who were lost on the Titanic were never recovered for burial anywhere. It is a beautiful and poignant place, over-looked by Nephin to the west and sloping down to the shores of Lough Conn to the east, beyond the little 9th century monastic ruin of the original Addergoole Church. Take a moment to remember our young hopeful emigrants and say a prayer for them, their hopes and lives bundled up in a small bag, off in search of a better life...like so many millions of Irish men and women before and since.

Mayo and the Titanic - A Tale Worth Telling

My Brother Paul is the local Doctor (GP) in Lahardane, in the parish of Addergoole, in County Mayo, Ireland. It is a 'sleepy hollow' sort of place, an idyllic little village dominated by Nephin mountain to the west and Lough Conn to the east. Aside from his rural GP practice (yes he still does house calls), he has some pretty diverse interests, including volunteering as the Medic on Croagh Patrick each year for the Reek Sunday climb. He is also an avid cross-country walker, hiking up Nephin mountain or re-tracing the pathways of the ancient cattle-drover trails between Belmullet and Newport. Of course, needless to say, his activities have always provided me with plenty of fodder for my 'Blog from the Bog'


Anyway, for more than twenty years now, Paul has been researching a long-forgotten story about a group of fourteen emigrants from his parish, who went to America in 1912. He first heard of it from a very old patient of his, who before he died, recounted to Paul his personal memories of the people involved. He told Paul an astonishing tale of a group of brave young emigrants from Addergoole who just happened to sail to America on the Titanic! Go Figure, what were the odds on that? Only three of the fourteen from Addergoole survived Titanic's sinking and for nearly a hundred years only those families directly involved had any memory of this calamitous event. For the rest of the community, it was just too painful, too tragic and they stoically put it behind them as they struggled to move on with their lives.

Now Paul and a group of like-minded individuals from Mayo hope to commemorate the story of these tragic emigrants and build a fitting memorial to them, in time for the centenary of the Titanic's sinking, in 2012.

I helped them to create a web site http://www.addergoole-titanic.com to tell this extraordinary story and to provide some background for anyone interested in the history of emigration from Mayo and Ireland. Researching their story transported me to a different Ireland, an Ireland ravaged by famine, poverty, rebellion, politics, land-agitation and persecution, but under-pinned by people whose courage, faith, pride, hope and ambition never deserted them despite the hardships they endured.

Working on this project helped me realise how much Ireland has changed, how really fortunate we are to lead such un-troubled lives nowadays and how much we now take for granted.

I hope you find a moment to look through the web site and read about these fourteen ambitious young people and their eventual sad fate. If you do enjoy a good story and have an empathy to their tale, please pass it on to others who may enjoy it too.

So! Are you up for a challenge?
How many people from Mayo do you know? How many people do you know with at least 1 Mayo Connection? (Parent, Grand-parent, Cousin, Friend, An 'in-law', whatever?) How many of them would be interested to hear about a true tale of Hope, Heart and Heart-break?

A story so moving, everyone who ever left Mayo for a better life abroad should cherish and tell their children and grand-children! Can we put Addergoole and this astonishing Titanic Tale on the map? Can we get a few thousand hits on http://www.addergoole-titanic.com this week? Please tell your Mayo Connections to visit the web site or to visit their Facebook Page. http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=93489723478 or both!

You could even join their mailing list and come along and ring the bells in Lahardane on the anniversary each April 15, at 2.20am!

Now that's another story well worth telling!

Permission to dream

Spirit of Ireland - Energy independence anyone?
Check out http://www.spiritofireland.org/

This is one very ambitious project....one though that I believe makes a whole lot of sense!

Mind you, for Ireland this is a bit like a JFK 'Man on the Moon' moment! What I mean is whoever would've thought that such a nutty ambition would succeed in 1967? Men on the moon indeed! Or who could have foreseen that building the Hoover Dam would lead America, and the whole world, out of a 15-year depression?

Whoever would believe that we could create a water-filled valley in the west and use wind-power to constantly keep the water levels pumped up, while on the other hand using the stored sea-water to generate Hydro-electricity on demand! No pollution, no oil, no gas...just green energy, all day long, for free. (other than the capital development cost of course, which might be $30 Billion or so!). Not to mention the new aquaculture and tourism industries that would be supported by such a project!

Could Ireland really become a net exporter of energy within ten years using wind energy and hydro-electric power generation? Pipe Dreams perhaps? (no not pipelines....! pipes, sorry to be so politically un-PC) Or are we so afraid to fight for our own destiny, that we are waiting for our politicians to lead us forward!! Some hope that! (Actually there must be something good about this when our politicians have run a mile from it! Perhaps they have finally reached the Peter Principle of Politics....another pipe dream I'm afraid).

I know one of the Spirit of Ireland promoters, a really solid guy, not given to flights of fancy!Inspirational goals, charismatic leaders with humble personal aspirations, socially responsible, nationalistic, sustainable, creative, meaningful, achievable, renewable, green.
A clatter of clever cliches.

So why then are we becalmed, procrastinating in the doldrums...waiting for the other shoe to fall? Kerry, Galway, Mayo, Leitrim, Sligo, Donegal all stand to gain from this.

Jobs, industry, cheaper electricity, a future for our children...now there's a dream. Permission to dream?

Feel free to make a comment.

St Patrick climbed a mountain and so did we

Hello hello hello!?!
Such a funny word to shout from a mountain-top, and listen for the echo. There was no need for any such exclamations last week when my son David (9) and I climbed Croagh Patrick, Ireland's holy mountain, for the hillside was alive with talk and prayers and all kinds of accents and languages. Yes some hardy pilgrims even climbed it barefoot!
I was in the pub Saturday night talking to a new friend Peter, when he mentioned he was 'Doing the Reek' in the morning and how he used to start at Murrisk, but now prefers to take the slightly shorter and less travelled route from the back of the mountain, the eastern slope as it were. He said he would travel by Leenane in the morning on the way over, turn off at Delphi and make his way from there. I reckoned I'd still be asleep long after he had summited.
No such joy. Wide awake by 7am, I hit off to Galway and collected David from a sleepover at Granny's and then hit off. The ancient route of the Tochar Way pilgrimage was from Ballintubber, through Partry, on to Aughagower and on up the mountain. Patrick stayed 40 days and nights and was assailed by all sorts of temptations and dark thoughts. No way were we going that way, so we drove the ancient route, passing walking pilgrims on the way in glorious July sunshine and showers (the traditional 'mixed bag' of weather, the four seasons in one, rather like the characters in 'stones in your pockets'.
At Aughagower the village was asleep...it was only 10 am after all. Already the picnic table under the ruined round tower was occupied by a savvy French family, munching their dejeuner, al fresco. I was really taken again by this tranquil spot, with its four graveyards, separated by three tiny pubs. Nice of them to offer spiritual sustenance. The carved face on the lancet in the ruined church gazed warily at our pilgrims garb, no doubt he's seen it all before. The view up through the ruined round tower looked so like a well, but inverted. I am sure there was magic there had we but waited a while.
We left Aughagower on a winding back road and after almost pranging twice with too-fast escaping locals, we arrived at the base station at the back of the mountain, from where all the medical and mountain rescue folks on the hill on the day are marshalled. The Irish Airforce's latest helicopter was ferrying a few unfortunates off the mountain when we arrived. It's one impressive machine, and visible proof of our tax euros at work.
The climb was euphoric...whew, we made it. I was so out of breath initially, but soon got a rythm going. We made the climb, and 30,000 others also did it that day. Most had fine weather but the later pilgrims had low cloud to contend with...and I mean low, literally half the hill was covered in grey clouds...dangerous and takes from the views...and the views are what makes the climb up the Reek so special.
Met Dr. Paul Nolan at the half way stage, at the medical post were he does his thing with his team as medics on the mountain each year. I could tell he was enjoying every minute of it, his A&E on the Reek....sort of an Irish version of MASH. The volunteers from the IMR to the Order of Malta all were superb.
David was a mighty man a regular little Sherpa, no shirt, dashing over the loose shale and rocks like a Kerry goat! He had a blast, what a joi de vivre. He was all for swimming at Glassilaun beach afterwards, but the day eventually took its toll and he fell asleep as we drove home to Barna and Paddy's Cross via the stunning lake and mountain scenery around Doolough and Delphi. Has to be seen to be believed. Ireland still has the capacity to surprise, enthrall and inspire...yes, it was a drive through heaven, having almost expired and gone to hell and back on the mountain climb!
Driving through Leenane, stopped off at Hamiltons and Gaynors for a pint and a choc-ice. Thought fond thoughts of Joe Gaynor and the old Blarney days, all gone now, with O'Leary in the grave. Pretty soon we were back in Galway, and sipping pints where we left them the night before in the Twelve. Another day in Ireland with nothing to do!