St. Patrick's Day is all about the Irish and our beautiful country Ireland but did you know that there are many aspects of the big day that we can not claim as our own invention? Such as the St. Patrick's Day parade phenomenon, for instance? To get you up to date with all the weirdest and most wonderful St. Patrick's day facts, here are IrishCentral's top strangest titbits about our patron saint to have you all caught up on your St. Patrick's trivia by March 17. 

1. The Irish can’t claim credit for the invention of the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade

The world’s first recorded Saint Patrick's Day Parade took place in Boston on March 18, 1737, followed by the New York Parade, which first took place in 1762.

Ireland took over a century to jump on the parade float with the rest of the world and only had their first St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Dublin in 1931.

2. This St. Patrick’s Day we’ll all be wearing green, but shouldn’t it be blue?

The original color associated with St. Patrick was blue but because the Saint preached about the Holy Trinity through the symbol of the shamrock and the Irish ‘little folk’ were also associated with green, it became the most common shade in connection with him.

Parade committee organizers across the world wouldn’t take too kindly to us changing the color, so maybe we’ll leave it at green for now.

3. 100 lbs. of green dye was poured into the Chicago River in honor of St. Patrick’s Day

In 1961, business manager of Chicago’s Journeymen Plumbers Local Union, Stephen Bailey, received permission to turn the Chicago River green for St. Patrick’s Day.

Due to uncertainties about the amount of dye it would take to turn the river green, a massive 100 lbs of vegetable dye was used in comparison to the 25 lbs used today.

The Chicago River stayed green for a full week.

4. Saint Patrick banished the snakes from Ireland



… and not a snake in sight. Patrick is said to have banished the snakes from Ireland but in fact, Ireland never had any snakes as the weather was too miserable for the cold-blooded reptiles.

The banished snakes were thought to be symbolic of the pagan druid priests with whom Patrick might have had a few issues to iron out.

5. George Washington ordered that “St. Patrick” be the response to the password “Boston” on Evacuation Day



On Evacuation Day, March 17, 1776, the General Orders issued by Washington were that those wishing to pass through Continental Army lines should give the password “Boston,” to which the reply should be “St. Patrick.”

6. The resting place of Saint Patrick

Though never fully proven, Down Cathedral in the town of Downpatrick, Co Down, is thought to contain St. Patrick’s remains and, according to legend, he lies beside Saints Columcille and Brigit.

Apparently, he’s missing a few things like a jaw and a tooth, but these can be seen in Dublin Museum.

7. Saint Patrick’s Relics

A few of the Saint’s relics can still be viewed in Ireland today: St. Patrick’s Bell and shrines of the Saint’s jaw and tooth can be viewed in Dublin in the National Museum, while Patrick’s copy of the four gospels is held at the The Royal Irish Academy.

Saint Patrick’s Crozier, with which he banished the imaginary snakes, was venerated for centuries in Dublin's Christ Church only to be publicly burned in 1538 under the orders of the archbishop, George Browne.

Sounds like George had a few issues too.

8. Drink, drink, and yet more drink!

The global corporate-relations director of Guinness says 5.5 million pints of Guinness are sold on any given day, but this figure rises to an astounding 13 million on St. Patrick’s Day.

IBISWorld also reports that Saint Patrick’s Day 2012 brought in $245 million in beer sales.

Who’s up for making March 18 into International Hangover Day?

9. The Royal Dublin Dog Show was the place to be on St. Patrick’s Day



Due to strict laws on the curtailment of sales of alcohol on Holy Days in Ireland, from 1927 to 1961, the only place a thirsty Irish person could legally get a drink on Paddy’s day was at The Royal Dublin Dog Show.

One TD was reported to complain that it was a grand occasion “except for all the dogs.”

At the time, the church and state were worried that the Irish would drink too much on the day.

Turns out they were right. Oh well.

10. And after all that, he’s not even Irish!



Saint Patrick was actually born in Roman Britain at the end of the 4th century AD and taken to Ireland by slavers when he was a teenager.

The exact place of his birth is debatable as some say Scotland and some say Wales but, either way, he’s Irish now.

Sources: Ripley's and Rev Patrick Comerford

*Originally published in March 2014. 

Editor’s Note: John Philip Holland was born today (Feb 24) in 1841 in a coastguard cottage in Liscannor, County Clare. Today we celebrate the incredible life of an Irish engineer who developed the first submarine to be formally commissioned by the U.S. Navy, and the first Royal Navy submarine, Holland 1.

In 1904, two of the most innovative lights of the Age of Invention were reflecting upon the merits of their creations. The younger man, Thomas A Edison, “The Wizard of Menlo Park”, numbered the light bulb, the phonograph and the first motion pictures amongst his hundreds of inventions, and was an acclaimed star of the industrialized turn of the century world. 

In their correspondence, Edison was let known in no uncertain terms by his older associate and kindred spirit about the profound impact the latter’s showcase invention would have upon humanity.

''Submarines have assuredly come to stay, animated with the desire of helping to end naval warfare'' wrote the Irishman, John Philip Holland, father of the modern submarine.

He genuinely believed that so lethal was his creation that it would serve as a deterrent to war. Ten years later as Holland lay dying in August 1914 the Great War had just begun and within days the lethal potential of the Irishman’s submarine invention finally dawned.

The depths of the ocean have always spawned mass fascination from the time one of Holland’s contemporaries, the novelist Jules Verne, penned Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea to the ancient myths.  One of the most revolutionary developments in man’s quest for superior weaponry, the submarine’s mystique has always captured the public imagination, with its fascination for the underworld.

Just off the Atlantic coast from where Holland was born in Liscannor, West Clare on 24 February 1841 to a coastguard officer father and a Gaelic speaking mother, lay the legendary land of Kilstephen, or Cill Stíopháin. There are constant references throughout the ages to this mystical place, which is said to have been submerged at the time of the great 8th century earthquake.

Ironically, legend has it that once every seven years it rose above the surface of the waves but with it came a terrible curse.

It is written in the Annals of the Four Masters in 799A.D. ‘A great storm of wind, thunder and lightning happened this day before St. Patrick’s festival this year, and it killed ten and one thousand persons in the Territory of Corca Baiscainn, and the Sea divided the island of Inis Fithae into three parts.’

Holland would also have been aware of the religious belief that a monstrous eel burst forth from the depths of Liscannor Bay to feast on the corpses laid to rest at the graveyard, and that the local saint, MacCreehy tackled this great beast and slew it after a long fight.

Holland grew up close to where the Cliffs of Moher begin at Hags Head where the rock assumes the shape of a seated woman, a Sphinx like head looking eternally westward to the setting sun. He would have learned at the local school of the Spanish Armada ship, the Zuniga, which succeeded in landing and in getting some provisions in Liscannor. Holland knew of the sea’s secrets from the cradle.

John Holland was born at the beginning of a decade of famine in Ireland and a cholera epidemic raged in its wake. When defaulting-tenants were evicted from their cottages, landlords saw to it that the thatch was stripped off the roof to prevent impoverished families coming back. It was a process known as ‘leveling’ and the young Holland would have witnessed such tragedy growing up. To him it symbolized the tyranny of imperial domination, and it fired him to hit back.

Read more:Top Irish inventions that changed the world

When the English man looked out to sea, he saw the waves which Britannia ruled with its all-conquering navy, when the Irish man gazed upon the ocean, he heard beyond the sea of tears, the call of new lands. Holland’s mechanical genius was to be dedicated towards altering this state of affairs.  His invention was to change the course of modern warfare.

John Philip Holland- Philip was the religious name given him - joined the Order of the Irish Christian Brothers in 1858 and became a teacher. He was sent to the North Monastery in Cork for his first assignment and there he met Brother Dominic Burke a noted science teacher. Burke encouraged Holland’s scientific experiments.

In these formative years, he studied astronomy, and worked on the theory of flight which experts said was accurate.  Indeed, he later developed this theory in The Practicality of Mechanical Flight, published in 1891, which was hailed by peers as an extraordinary achievement at a time when the Wright brothers were contemplating the opening of a bicycle shop.

While in Cork city he started to experiment with small models of submarine boats and a pond in the school grounds was used to test his designs. He was thinking along the same lines of David Bushnell whose Turtle (a full-size model of which is exhibited at the Royal Navy Submarine in Gosport, Britain) was designed to attack British men-of-war in New York Harbor during the American War of Independence.

In 1862, the American Civil War was receiving worldwide publicity and Holland noted the use of ironclad ships in the battles. He also noted the use of submarine type vessels in the battles, such as the Confederate semi-submersible Hunley, which sank its much stronger Federal foe the Housatonic in 1864.

In 1872, Holland’s mother and his brother Alfred immigrated to the United State, and in that same year he decided not to take his final perpetual vows.  Instead in 1873 he departed for Boston in the USA carrying with him submarine designs, which formed the basis of his initial submission in 1875 to the US Naval Department. He soon after began courting his future wife Margaret Foley and they were to later have three sons and a daughter.

In 1874, he had found himself in a teaching post in St. John’s Parochial School in Paterson, New Jersey. It was here that John Philip Holland immersed himself in the working design of the submarine.

This Clare exile was soon to come to prominence in Fenian circles. There was much revolutionary fervor in the Irish American circles that Holland moved in.  At a New York fund-raising social for the Catalpa expedition, John’s brother, Michael, who was an activist, introduced him to members of the Clan na Gael leadership, who saw the potential of his designs in a covert naval war against Britain’s powerful fleet.

The US Naval Department had already rejected his submarine plans as impractical, “a fantastic scheme of a civilian landsman”.

The Irish World newspaper launched an appeal fund.  The successful testing of Holland’s 33-inch model submarine at Coney Island, New York, convinced the Fenian leadership to sponsor Holland’s $4,000 construction of a full-sized ‘wrecking boat’ from its ‘Skirmishing Fund’.  The success of this 14-foot model led to the $20,000 funding by the Fenians on a second venture by Holland in 1881. This craft, over twice as large as its predecessor and dubbed the ‘Fenian Ram’ by a New York Sun reporter, was also successful.

While Holland was engaged on a third prototype project, an internal rift developed amongst the Fenians, some of whom were growing impatient about slow progress on the diving boat. One group decided to take the ‘Ram’ into their own hands.  One source suggested that this was primarily to avoid legal sequestration while their monies were in dispute.

Led by John Breslin, with forged papers, they towed away the Fenian Ram and Boat No. 3 up the East River into Long Island Sound.  Just off Whitestone Point the prototype was sank, while the Fenian Ram was taken to Mill river in New Haven where it remained in a shed until the 1916 Rising, where it was displayed at Madison Square Gardens to raise money for dependents of the Rising in Dublin.  The Fenian Ram is today on display at Paterson Museum, New Jersey.

Holland was furious, declaring ‘I’ll let her rot on their hands’, and thus ended the great ‘Salt Water Enterprise’.

Holland went on to eventually sell the designs to his Holland VI model, which used a gasoline engine on the surface and electric motors under water as propelling machinery to the US and Japanese navies and ironically to the very power he had originally intended to employ the submarine against, the Royal Navy, although, due to the deception of erstwhile litigious colleagues, Holland never bore the full financial fruits of his labor.  He was, however, honored with the Fourth-Class Order of Merit Rising Sun Ribbon by the Japanese Ambassador for his distinguished service to the Japanese nation.

The New York Times, following Holland’s death in 1914 reported that “although he was interested in submarines, Mr. Holland was opposed to war, and his idea of submarines was to incapacitate war ships and not to destroy them and kill the men on them”. This was after all a man, who in his 1907 Sketches and Calculations, planned a 40-passenger submarine “for amusement at seaside resorts”, with large circular ports for viewing the underwater world. He also explored the peacetime uses of the submarine and discussed its potential role in scientific research. Within 40days of John Philip Holland’s death however the lethal potency of Holland’s creation was to unveil itself. One single submarine in one day alone turned a small area of the North Sea off the Dutch coast into a struggling mass of humanity when it claimed over 1400 lives in the sinking of three British light cruisers.

Although the Holland VI was formally commissioned into the United States Navy on 12 October 1900, the date it was officially bought, 11 April 1900, is celebrated by the US Navy as the submarine birthday. Another day when Holland is now perpetually commemorated is 1 May. It was on this date in 2006 that John Philip Holland Day was declared in Paterson New Jersey. The day is now established in tribute to the Liscannor born inventor of the ‘Modern Day Submarine’ John P. Holland.

The great Doolin musician, Micho Russell sang of Holland:

Come all you young Irishmen who walk upon the land,

There are feats indeed, and fairy creeds, that you might understand:

There is one of them that comes to mind, the likes was never seen,

He was John Philip Holland who invented the submarine.

Here's a short clip on Holland, from the History Channel: 

If you're looking to binge on some Netflix this weekend in honor of the Oscars 2017, why not put an Irish spin on your viewing stream and watch films or TV shows that have been made in Ireland or that star some of our best acting talents. There are plenty of choices available as if we do say so ourselves, as a nation we've created some great stars and some great films in our time. Just look at all the Academy Award hopefuls Ireland has this year!

To get you off on the right foot, we've compiled this list of some of the best movies and TV shows on Netflix with an Irish link. Enjoy!

1. Frank (2014)

This film may not be for everybody but Lenny Abrahamson's "Frank" features Michael Fassbender (unfortunately with a mask over his head for the majority of the film) in a remarkable story of a flamboyant, larger than life and extremely temperamental band front-man, Frank, who spends his whole life wearing a fake head.

Irish actor Domhnall Gleeson (son of Brendan) plays an aspiring musician who joins Frank and his relatively unstable and haphazard motley crew of musicians in this witty and quirky film that deep down is an incredible insight into the lives of those struggling with their mental health and trying to get by on the fringes of society.

A fantastic performance from Fassbender, in particular, who uses his voice and body to put in a wonderful performance.

2. The Secret of Kells (2009)

This stunning Oscar-nominated feature will enchant viewers young and old. The work of Kilkenny-based animation studio Cartoon Saloon, "The Secret of Kells" draws upon The Book of Kells, Ireland’s venerable and most famous illuminated manuscript, for both its unique animation style and its plot. Set in the eighth century in the Abbey of Kells, it centers on a boy named Brendan whose uncle, the Abbot Cellach (voiced by Brendan Gleeson) watches over Kells with a well-intentioned but stern eye, intent upon building a wall high enough to keep out the Viking invaders. Having narrowly escaped a Viking attack on Iona, Brother Aidan (Mick Lally) and his cat Pangur Bán arrive in Kells, seeking a safe place to complete the Book of Iona illuminated manuscript. Against Abbot Cellach’s wishes, Brother Aidan soon enlists Brendan’s help, which results in him venturing into the forest outside of Kells’ walls, where he meets a spirit named Aisling. Danger of the snake-like pagan deity and the Viking variety ensues as Brendan must choose between obeying his uncle and protecting the book.The animation is simply breath-taking - unlike anything else before this film, or since.



3. Whitey: United States of America v. James J. Bulger (2014)

If you're having courtroom drama withdrawal after finishing off docuseries "Making a Murderer," this may be the answer. Although this telling of the infamous life of the South Boston crime boss doesn't involve the lovely Johnny Depp, acclaimed documentarian Joe Berlinger takes on the tale of James "Whitey" Bulger including interviews with those involved in his sensational 2013 trial.



4. Sing Street (2016)

Many would think of the 1980s in Ireland as a particularly bleak time with plenty of unemployment and ferries loads of Irish people making their way to England to work. Sing Street does nothing much to dispell that idea or the nature of Catholic Church-run schools in Ireland at the time but it also manages to get that point across through music, song, and fantastic rebel nature that showed that Irish people were striving to pick themselves up.

Following the journey of a high school band in Dublin, a band simply established so its front man (played exquisitely by Wicklow actor Ferdia Walsh-Peelo) could get a girl, Sing Street is at it heart a tale of love - finding romance, falling out of love, and the strength of brotherly love - and it also has some great tunes and fantastic '80s outfits. What's not to love! The film also stars Aiden Gillan of Game of Thrones fame and Jack Reynor. 

5. Philomena (2013)

The outstanding "Philomena", based of true story book of the same name, is not an easy watch at times but essential viewing to understand the horrorific history of children in Ireland being unwillingly given up for adoption in the US by the Catholic Church, leaving single mothers in Ireland wondering of their chidren's fate, even when they marry and have further children. 

Starring Judi Dench and Steve Coogan, the character Philomena (played by Dench) may seem lie a typical friendly Irish Mammy but her experience is, unfortunately, one experienced by too many women in Ireland. She teams up with a floundering journalist (Coogan) to find the son she was forced to give up for adoption 50 years previous. Tissues and someone to hug are extremely neccessary for her tale.

6. The Commitments (1991)

Another musical classic set in Dublin in the 1980s but with a slightly darker and less PG humor than Sing Street. After scouring Dublin to find musicians with soul, an aspiring band manager builds a band of locals with tons of raw talent - yet zero experience. 

The result is plenty of drama and laughs with this adaption of a Roddy Doyle classic tale showing off Irish comedy at its best. Get ready to sing along with all the classics such as "Mustang Sally" and "In the Midnight Hour."

7. The Irish Pub (2013)

A documentary that looks at one of Ireland's best exports: A solid Irish pub. 

This film takes a loving look at the traditional Irish pubs and the people who run them, highlighting the friendships they share with their ever loyal customers. 

8. The Fall (2013)

This BBC miniseries thriller has been a game-changer in terms of how Northern Ireland’s capital is portrayed in popular culture. Corruption, local politics and sectarian violence still lurk in the background, but the series’ main focus is a hunt for a serial killer that could take place in almost any city in the world.

Gillian Anderson (of X-Files fame) stars as Detective Superintendent Stella Gibson, who is brought over from London to investigate a murderer (played by a terrifying and at times uncomfortably sympathetic Jamie Dornan) who is targeting young professional women around Belfast.

The series is smart, challenging and tricky, with just the right melding of sub-plots and red herrings to keep viewers constantly guessing. "The Fall" is also one of your last chances to see Belfast-born-and-raised Dornan in action before he became famous for playing the rich, dominant and frequently naked Christian Grey in the "50 Shades of Grey" film.

All three seasons of the thriller are now available to stream on Netflix.

Have we missed your favorite? Let us know in the comments section, below. 

In January, we asked IrishCentral readers to submit stories about their first trips to Ireland, with the four runner ups being published in the days leading up to March 1, the start of Irish American heritage month, and the first-place winner receiving $300. We have been absolutely blown away by the submissions and have so loved hearing about the first time you set foot in Ireland. This is the story that snagged third place, out of 68 wonderful submissions. We were positively enchanted by Diane's beautiful and vivid memories after 60 years. 

In June of 1957 as we disembarked from the Scythia, in Cobh, my mother was a nervous wreck fussing with bags, papers and her two daughters, Helena 11 and me, 9. We were all excited about this trip, but my mother’s return to Ireland after twenty years was overwhelming.  We could feel her anxiety.  We took the train to Dublin, spent a night at the Gresham ( part of mom’s bucket list?), and hired a car to take seven suitcases, two trunks and the three of us to Bawnboy, Cavan.

When we finally arrived at the gate of the farm, my grandmother, grandfather, Aunt Tessie and Uncle John Joe stood waiting. A very emotional scene followed. Though letters and gifts had been exchanged between Cavan and New York for years, nothing compared to the joy, tears and excitement of this reunion.

Once we settled in, our family made us feel like part of the place and we stayed for ten weeks. They didn’t have electricity yet. All the neighbors on the road before them had to agree to it before my grandparents would be eligible, but the oil lamps provided much more atmosphere.  The adults had long, long conversations which Helena found fascinating. I, on the other hand, enjoyed my grandfather’s company, a man responsible for running a farm.  Anytime he went out the door, I followed. The hay had to be placed in mounds to dry and then stored. Each new activity was great fun until I grew tired and went back up to the house. Later Helena and I would bring the tea and soda bread to my grandfather and John Joe, their only break.  John Joe, a very witty young man at the time kept us laughing all summer. Once Uncle Terence arrived, he and John Joe teased us endlessly and we loved it. If we weren’t working with them in the fields during the day, they were teaching us to be card sharks in the evening.

Later Helena and I would bring the tea and soda bread to my grandfather and John Joe, their only break.  John Joe, a very witty young man at the time kept us laughing all summer. Once Uncle Terence arrived, he and John Joe teased us endlessly and we loved it. If we weren’t working with them in the fields during the day, they were teaching us to be card sharks in the evening.

My Aunt Tessie taught me to step dance that summer, the seven hand reel. I wasn’t very good but she encouraged me, nevertheless. We were bunk-mates and she very good naturedly put up with my childish antics. In Ireland at that time, none of the shops used the brown paper bags we had in NYC. Instead they wrapped most purchases with newspapers, a fabulous idea in my eyes. When I played store, one of my favorite past times, I took every newspaper available and began my imaginary game. By the time any adult entered the room, every movable item was covered in newspaper.  

Most of my mother’s siblings returned home that summer, even though she was one of fifteen.  Uncle Cody and Aunt Nora lived nearby, but the rest had quite a distance to travel.  We were always awaiting the next arrival to round the bend. My Aunt Bridgie and Uncle Michael arrived with their three girls at the time. Aunt Kathleen was next and I was so proud to be with this beautiful woman in the royal blue suit who held my hand as we strolled through town.  Uncle Hugh, Aunt  Kitty, Aunt Nellie, Uncle Michael (there are three of them)  all came to see my mom. I have visited several times since but my first trip to Ireland told me about family.

In January, we asked IrishCentral readers to submit stories about their first trips to Ireland, with the four runner ups being published in the days leading up to March 1, the start of Irish American heritage month, and the first-place winner receiving $300. We have been absolutely blown away by the submissions and have so loved hearing about the first time you set foot in Ireland. This is the story that snagged fifth place, out of 68 wonderful submissions. 

"I've heard lots of Americans say their family had a castle in Ireland," my friend from Dublin said, "but you are the only one who can claim their family still lives in it!" I remember my mother telling me about it when I was a boy. For her 80th birthday, in 2014, my wife and I treated her so she could finally see it for herself. It was her first trip overseas, and our first trip to Ireland

We began our two week excursion in Dublin, then headed west through Cashel. We stopped in Lough Gur on our way to the Dingle peninsula, spending several days on the coast. Venturing back east we wandered through a bog, monasteries, and passage tombs, before ending our days in the land of my ancestors, an area once known as The Pale.

My ancestors were castle builders, so our first site was Bellew's Castle, a fortified medieval tower house that is now part of a school in Dundalk. We ended up going on a school day, so I'd resigned myself to just see the outside of the building, and taking Mom's picture with her hand on the wall. But as luck would have it, we arrived at break time. We met a teacher in the parking lot, then were introduced to Sister Triona, who gave us some history of the castle while taking us inside. We saw what was left of the original escape passage, and Mom had the thrill of her life when we got to climb onto the roof. I couldn’t help but smile when she climbed up that ladder and through the hatch faster than any of us.

Meanwhile, my wife stayed in the stairwell surrounded by school girls. They were putting on a play, and after learning we were from Alabama, they asked her to teach them the proper way to say "y'all." She had the best time watching them walk away laughing and practicing their new word.

Before leaving, Sister Triona invited us to tea, where we had a lovely visit and even got to meet the head of the school. I can't thank them enough for their gracious hospitality.

Our next stop was Bellew's Bridge, on the way to another castle. Out in the country in the middle of a pasture, Castle Roche was owned by my family for a couple hundred years. I was surprised once again at how fast my Mom climbed the hill to see those old ruins, smiling all the way. We had the whole place to ourselves, and the view was tremendous. We then drove to the rest of the sites on my list, giving us more photos, and more memories. Then at last it was time to see that castle.

Meeting the Lord and Lady of the estate was formal at first, but quickly turned familiar. After a tour of the building we were taken to their real pride and joy, the garden. Over lunch I got a first-hand account of some of the history of Ireland, and hearing it from a relative transformed me. They not only live where it happened 400 years ago, but have family stories filled with details you never learn in school. History was no longer the academic exercise of my youth. It became relevant in a way it never had before.

I thought I knew what to expect on this trip, and I was wrong. But I learned. I learned that a pint of Guinness really does go with Irish music, the two linked together on some deep level I simply cannot explain. I learned that a library can be a Cathedral in its own right, and that the sound of Evensong brings a church to life in a way no tour guide ever can. I learned that nothing can top an Irish B&B for hospitality, and that Dingle pubs are welcoming and patient with a stranger who wants to sit in on a session. I learned that there really is power in a stone circle, and that in the early morning mist, the storm beach at Minard Castle has a surreal quality that seeps into your soul, like you've stepped into a dream. And I learned to just stand still and soak in the view, because you can't put Dingle on a post card.

When planning a trip to Ireland, the biggest problem is not deciding what to see, but what to leave out. Now I know that nothing is truly left out, only put off for another time. And since I've been home I found two more ancestors, so Galway and County Tyrone have been added to my list. But then again, whenever I think of going back, I can hear a pub in Dingle calling my name…

If you need a break from your hectic life or just fancy cuddling up on the couch what better way to pass the time than by watching an Irish movie?

From the comic genius of the late David Kelly in Waking Ned Devine to the brilliant soundtrack in The Commitments, we've put together our choice of the top Irish movies that you'll want to add to your Netflix list.

10. Waking Ned Devine

Charming comedy set in a tiny, rural Irish town. When lottery winner Ned Devine is found dead - lottery ticket in hand and all - the townsfolk band together to fool the authorities into thinking Ned is alive, so they can receive the cash and share it. Starring Ian Bannen and Fionnula Flanagan.

9. Once

A beautiful, romantic, original musical set in the streets of Dublin. Glen Hansard of The Frames plays a street musician who meets fellow musician and Czech immigrant (Marketa Irglova). Together they work through pain, the past and new love through captivating music. Hansard and Irglova won the Oscar for Best Original Song (2007).

8. The Crying Game

The controversial film that put Irish director/screenwriter Neil Jordan on the map. Set in rural Ireland and bustling London, IRA member Fergus (Stephen Rea) develops a friendship with his captive, Jody (Forest Whittaker), and the kidnapping goes horribly wrong. Fergus then flees to London, where he seeks out Jody's girlfriend, Dil. An intense and thorny plot ensues.

7. The Snapper

Endearing Roddy Doyle novel-turned-screenplay. An unwed 20-year-old named Sharon Curly shakes up a working class Irish community when she becomes pregnant and refuses to name the father. Though full of quick wit and sarcastic banter, the dramedy has its touching, "family values" moments. Starring Colm Meaney and Tina Kellegher.

Here's a famous scene from the movie:

6. Intermission

A dark comedy with an Irish star-studded cast. Intermission follows the lives of a handful of dysfunctional characters whose choices all unwittingly affect each other's lives. Set in Dublin, the film takes on the grand themes of life, love and the law. Starring Cillian Murphy and Colin Farrell.

5. In the Name of the Father

Oscar-nominated film based on the real-life experiences of Gerry Conlon, the alleged leader of the Guildford Four. Daniel Day-Lewis stars as Conlon, a Belfast man wrongly imprisoned for the 1974 IRA bombing of a pub in the U.K. Nominated for seven Academy Awards including Best Picture, In the Name of the Father shows one man's 15-year struggle for his innocence and for truth.

 4. The Field

A story about an Irishman's love of his land from director Jim Sheridan. Bull McCabe (played by Richard Harris, who was nominated for an Oscar for the role) is a farmer in Ireland's rural west. When his field is threatened to be sold to an outsider, Bull will do anything in his power to stop it from happening. An unforgettable film about the conflict between "old" and "new" Ireland.

3. My Left Foot

A true story about an Irishman who overcomes his disability to become an amazing painter, poet and writer. Another film from Jim Sheridan, it documents the extraordinary life of Christy Brown (Daniel Day-Lewis), a working class Irishman born with crippling cerebral palsy. With the encouragement of his mother, played by Brenda Fricker, Christy learns to write and draw with his only functional limb - his left foot. Both Day-Lewis and Fricker won Academy Awards for their roles.

2. The Quiet Man

A beloved classic starring John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara. This romantic drama from director John Ford tells the story of Sean Thornton, a retired American boxer who relocates to Ireland to reclaim his family's farm, and Mary Kate Danaher, the fiery Irishwoman he falls in love with. Though its portrayal of Ireland may be a bit outdated, the film is a genuine tribute to Eire, and both an American and Irish favorite.

1. The Commitments

Legendary Irish film about a group of down-and-out Dubliners who form a soul band. Jimmy Rabbitte has dreams of creating the ultimate soul group, and succeeds in bringing together a bunch of talented, eclectic characters. But eventually personalities clash, and the survival of the band is threatened. This adaptation of the Roddy Doyle novel featured a relatively unknown cast at the time, but was welcomed with critical acclaim and a successful box office run.

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

"In America"

Touching film starring Samantha Morton and Djimon Hounsou, among others. Documents the adventures, struggles and triumphs of a family of Irish immigrants living in a rough neighborhood in New York City.

"When Brendan Met Trudy"

Yet another great product of Roddy Doyle's writing. Quirky, charming film about a teacher who meets and subsequently falls for a woman in a pub who turns out to be a burglar. 

* Originally published in 2013.

Artwork depicting the horrific conditions aboard coffin ships packed with Great Hunger Irish immigrants is one of the focal points of an exhibit featured in Connecticut's Knights of Columbus museum this year.

So named because the brutal passage aboard these ill-equipped vessels often meant death for passengers, the coffin ships ferried some 1.5 million Irish to North America during the later years of the 1840s as they fled famine and poverty in their native isle. With a further million dying of hunger in Ireland, Irish of all ages took their chances on passage to Canada or the United States, in a quest for refugee that is echoed today by the plight of Syrian refugees willing to risk their lives to cross the Mediterranean Sea.

Carefully curated by museum curator and registrar Bethany Sheffer, “Fleeing Famine:Irish immigration to North America, 1845-1860” focuses solely on the tragic journey that these Great Hunger immigrants were forced to undertake and attempts to re-enact at least a portion of the cramped and crowded conditions by transforming some of the exhibit space into a part of the deck of the ship. Thankfully, this reimagination lacks the disease and sickness that would also have accompanied the tired and hungry travelers on their perilous journey.

“With our space, it has its unique challenges,” Sheefer told IrishCentral. “What we did was include a fire pit that would have been on top of one of these ships and that's where they would have cooked their meals…”

“It would have been metal so we used brick and wood but it does give you an idea of all these people having to work on cooking over this tiny little fire pit.

“We based that off one of the images that's in the paintings so it's probably not completely to scale but it's enough that you get an idea of what it would have looked like. 

“When you go onto the ship [in the museum], it's obviously not meant to be exact but it does still give you a feel that you are boarding a ship.”

The images in question are six oil paintings from artist Rodney Charman, which he created through historical research to depict the grueling passage of the coffin ships. The museum acquired the magnificent recreations at the beginning of 2016 and used them as inspiration for this latest exhibition which will run until Fall 2017. Adding to this are bronzes from Ireland’s Great Hunger Institute at Quinnipiac University, who kindly allowed them to appear in Knights of Columbus museum for the year.

Read more: Why the real story of the Ireland's Great Hunger is not taught in U.S. schools

While most Americans learn in school of the Great Hunger in Ireland and of the wave of emigration it forced on its people, Sheffer admits that there were some details that still shocked her when she came to put this exhibit together.

“Actually the sheer numbers of people and how many were on a ship, that kind of thing, and the actual conditions that you would find in a famine ship,” she said.  

Although the awful journeys of the Irish immigrants in the mid-19th century is a horrible memory for many, within the exhibit also lies the hope of the American Dream for the million and a half who survived the passage. Outlined through panels throughout the exhibit is the story of a young Irish lad named Patrick, a genuine passenger on the Washington Irving whose family would build themselves from generation to generation to become highly influential to the US. Visitors will have to wait until the very end of the exhibit to discover just who exactly this Patrick is.

The story of success for Irish immigrants was also one close to the heart of Father Michael J. McGivney who founded the Knights of Columbus, the world's largest Catholic fraternal service organization, in New Haven in 1882.

“Both of his parents were Irish and they both came on famine ships,” explains Sheffer.

“We don't know 100 percent what ships they came on. We have an idea about the father but the mother's name is a lot more common so we couldn't narrow it down for that.

“Our focus is on the Knights of Columbus specifically [within the New Haven museum] but in the beginning, in our McGivney gallery we do talk about his origins and the fact that a lot of these founders were also of Irish descent.” 

“Fleeing Famine: Irish immigration to North America, 1845-1860” will be on display in Knights of Columbus museum, New Haven, until September 2017. You can find more information on their website here.

Read more: How much do you know about the Irish famine? Take the ultimate quiz

Editor's Note: Today (Feb 27) is International Polar Bear Day an annual event to raise awareness about the conservation status of the polar bear. The day aims to raise awareness about the impact of global warming and reduced sea ice on polar bear populations.

It encourages people to find ways to reduce their carbon output, such as by turning down their thermostat or driving less or to install an energy efficient insulation in houses.

For our part...here's the amazing tale of the polar bear's Irish roots!

A study of the DNA of ancient brown bear bones in Ireland proved that the maternal ancestors of modern polar bears were Irish.

By studying 17 sets of brown bear teeth and skeletons, found in eight caves across Ireland, in 2011 scientists found conclusive evidence of the connection.

The findings from these scientists located in Ireland, Britain, and the US were published in the journal Current Biology.

Up to this discovery, it was thought that polar bears were most closely related to the brown bears living in the islands of Admiralty, Baranof and Chichagof in Alaska's Alexander Archipelago. However, the analysis of the DNA passed from mother to child (mitochondrial DNA) shows that the Irish brown bear is unmistakably linked.

This proves that the two species mated opportunistically during the past 100,000 years. This means that the bears split from a common ancestor to become a new species somewhere between two million and 400,000 years ago. This means before or during the last Ice Age the two species came together and polar bears mated with the Irish brown bear.

Read more:DNA testing reveals the average British person is one-fifth Irish 

The study was the work of Prof Daniel Bradley, of Trinity College Dublin (TCD) and Dr. Ceiridwen Edwards, formerly of TCD and now at Oxford University who collaborated with Prof Beth Shapiro, of Pennsylvania State University.

Dr. Edwards said "It's amazing to think that Irish brown bears are the ancestors of the modern maternal polar bear lineage.

"As the hybridization between the two species occurred at a time when their home ranges overlapped, most likely during environmental stress, this has implications for polar bears in today's climate."

According to the BBC reports, Prof Shapiro said "While brown bears and polar bears are hybridizing today, our results suggest that a recent hybridization led to the capture of a mitochondrial DNA sequence that was present in the population of brown bears that were living in Ireland before the peak of the last ice age.

"That mitochondrial sequence replaced the previous sequence across the entire polar bear population."

Evidence of the Irish brown bear has been found across the island of Ireland. The best examples can be found in the Poll na mBear (Cave of the Bears) in County Leitrim. They were discovered by Eoghan Lynch and Barry Keenan in May 1997.

* Originally published in 2011.

The practice of bone-setting was once widespread in Ireland. The local bone-setter would treat patients using physical manipulation of the joints and sometimes massage or poultices.

Bone-setting was believed to be a gift that was inherited through a family lineage. The skill was not something that could be acquired through training. It was considered to be instinctual rather than learned.

Thousands of people used to travel to Drangan, County Tipperary, to be healed by famous bone-setter Jimmy Heffernan. The results of his work could almost be seen as miraculous.

In an RTÉ “Newsbeat” report on Heffernan that aired in January 1967, a farmer who was cured by him said: “I was crippled walking into him but when I came out, I was able to jump about.”

Heffernan was a farmer who started out practicing on farm animals and minor breaks in humans, but eventually left farm work to focus on bone-setting as a full-time practice. He did not advertise his services, but his work became well-known through word of mouth.

He would usually charge no more than a pound per session and often provided his care free of charge. Heffernan, who died in 2003, became so popular that people from as far away as England, Australia, and the United States would make the journey to see him.

Although you can still find bone-setters in Ireland today, their role in the community declined significantly in the latter half of the 20th century with the rise of osteopaths, chiropractors, and physical therapists.

"Newsbeat" was a half-hour program presented by Frank Hall that ran on RTÉ television from September 1964 to June 1971. The show reported on current affairs and issues of local interest from around Ireland.

Read more: Irish seventh of a seventh son makes international press as faith healer.

You can find the 1967 RTÉ report on Heffernan here.

H/T: UCC.

Were President John F. Kennedy’s Secret Service agents hungover and sleep-deprived on the day of his assassination? Could the president’s life have been saved that day?

When Kennedy was first shot, at 12.30 pm on November 22, 1963, the bullet went through his neck but did not kill him. It was another shot, five seconds later, that damaged his brain and skull and killed him. Between that first shot and the fatal blow were five seconds in which the president’s life might have been saved had his Secret Service agents not failed to take evasive action, suggests Vanity Fair, in an article adapted from Susan Cheever’s book "Drinking in America: Our Secret History.”

The article describes how JFK’s Secret Service agents responded during the shooting: “Roy Kellerman, the leader of the security detail, did not seem to know what was happening. He thought a firecracker had gone off. William Greer, (an Irish-born immigrant from Tyrone) at the wheel of the president’s car, did not immediately speed up or swerve away from the shots. Paul Landis, in the vehicle trailing Kennedy’s, did not jump forward to protect the president with his body; neither did Jack Ready.

"Clint Hill, riding a few feet behind and to the president’s left, was part of the first lady’s detail. After the fatal shot was fired, he leapt onto the rear of the presidential limousine and kept her from jumping off the back.”

As agent John Norris said in Bill Sloan’s book "J.F.K.: Breaking the Silence" and in an interview for Vincent Michael Palamara’s book "Survivor’s Guilt": “Except for George Hickey and Clint Hill, [many of the others] just basically sat there with their thumbs up their butts while the president was gunned down in front of them.”

According to the Vanity Fair report, nine of the 28 Secret Service men who were in Dallas with Kennedy that day had been out until the early hours of the morning. A few were sleep-deprived and had been drinking while traveling with the president. However, this type of partying by Secret Service members was not unusual.

In his 2008 book, "The Echo from Dealey Plaza," Abraham Bolden, one of the only African American agents in Kennedy’s detail, writes that he was later framed and sent to prison as retaliation for speaking out about the lax behavior tolerated within the department.

The day of the assassination, Bolden says, he was standing in the Secret Service office in Chicago, just after the president was shot, when he heard a fellow agent say, “I knew it would happen. I told those playboys that someone was going to get the president killed if they kept acting like they did. Now it’s happened.”

Bolden told VF: “The biggest problem I ran into with the Secret Service when I was an agent was their constant drinking.

“When we would get to a place one of the first things they would do was stock up with liquor. They would drink and then we would go to work.”

On November 22, he says, “their reflexes were definitely affected by, number one, the loss of sleep and, number two, the fact that [some may have] consumed that amount of alcohol.”

Being sleep-deprived while on duty was not uncommon among Secret Service members during JFK’s years in office.

In his book "The Kennedy Detail," agent Gerald Blaine recalled how he struggled to stay awake on numerous occasions: “Working double shifts had become so common since Kennedy became president that it was now almost routine. The three eight-hour shift rotation operated normally when the president was in the White House, but when he was traveling . . . there simply weren’t enough bodies.”

The agents also rarely had time to eat. Blaine says he typically kept a few bags of peanuts in his flight bag and the peanuts would often be the only thing he ate all day.

Journalist Seymour M. Hersh wrote in his book "The Dark Side of Camelot" that agents acknowledged that the Secret Service’s socializing intensified each year of the Kennedy administration, to a point where, by late 1963, a few members of the presidential detail were regularly remaining in bars until the early morning hours.

As JFK began his campaign for a second term, he traveled incessantly.

“Motorcades were the Secret Service’s nemeses,” said agent Gerald Blaine. “There were an endless number of variables ... and you could never predict how a crowd would react.”

At the start of Kennedy’s administration, his agents would typically hitch alongside the presidential vehicle on retractable running boards affixed to the car. However, this would block the president’s constituents from approaching him for a handshake or from having a direct line of sight to him. On the day of Kennedy’s assassination, the running boards of his car had been retracted and were, therefore, unable to accommodate his agents. Although some in Kennedy’s security force have subtly suggested the president brought trouble on himself through his aversion to the running boards, others have refused to blame him.

Agent Gerald Behn, the head of the White House detail, who was not in Dallas that day, said: “I don’t remember Kennedy ever saying that he didn’t want anybody on the back of his car.”

On the night of November 21, after the president and the first lady had retired to their suite, around midnight, the Secret Service agents headed out of the Hotel Texas in Fort Worth in search of food.

VF writes:“Word got out that there was a buffet with food a few blocks from the hotel. In fact, local journalists had kept the Fort Worth Press Club open so that visiting White House reporters could go and grab a bite. And just after midnight, nine of the 28 agents in the presidential detail walked over, in search of food. There was none. Even so, the agents stayed around for Scotch and Sodas, cigarettes, and a few cans of beer. Two of the agents then headed back to their rooms; seven continued on.”

CBS newsman Bob Schieffer, at the time a young night police reporter for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, recalled: “I went to the club when I got off at two a.m.”

Nearby was the Cellar Coffee House, a legendary hangout: “The Cellar was an all-night San Francisco–style coffee house down the street and some of the visiting reporters had heard about it and wanted to see it. So we all went over there and some of the agents came along. The place didn’t have a liquor license, but they did serve liquor to friends—usually grain alcohol and Kool-Aid.”

According to letters submitted to the Warren Commission, six of the Secret Service members stayed at the Cellar until about three in the morning. Paul Landis, who would ride in the car behind the presidential limousine, wrote that he didn’t leave until five a.m.

Agent Clint Hill told Vanity Fair that he left the Cellar before two a.m., went back to the hotel, and put in his breakfast order for six a.m. (He told the Warren Commission that he had stayed until 2:45.)

“Every one of the agents involved had been assigned protective duties that began no later than eight a.m. on November 22, 1963,” said Philip Melanson, an expert on politically-motivated violence, who would help oversee the archive of the Robert F. Kennedy assassination.

Twelve agents were specifically responsible for guarding President Kennedy and the first lady in the motorcade on November 22.

Vanity Fair describes the set-up that morning:

“In the lead car, directly in front of Kennedy’s, sat Agent Winston Lawson, along with Jesse Curry, the Dallas police chief. Behind the lead car, Secret Service agents William Greer and Roy Kellerman were in the driver and passenger seat of the president’s limousine, a 1961 midnight-blue four-door Lincoln (codenamed the “X-100”), which had been modified and reinforced for presidential use by the Ford motor company. This second car carried the Kennedys (codenamed “Lancer” and “Lace”) and the Connallys. Four retractable side steps and two steps with handles on the rear of the car had been added to allow security personnel to jump on or off, or be carried along. Modifications had widened its wheelbase and increased the car’s weight from 5,200 pounds to almost 7,800 pounds. Even for an experienced driver, it was a difficult vehicle to maneuver, especially on a route like the one in Dallas, which included some sharp right-angle turns.

“The third car, also configured with protruding side steps, was a 1955 black Cadillac convertible (codenamed “Halfback”), driven by Secret Service agent Sam Kinney. It was Kinney’s job to stay a few feet behind the presidential limousine at all times: close enough so that the two cars couldn’t be separated by someone lunging between them, but not so close as to cause a collision. Paul Landis, Jack Ready, and Clint Hill rode the running boards along the sides of this follow-up car. Inside, sat agents George Hickey, Emory Roberts, and Glen Bennett.

“Agent Hill—poised just a few feet behind the Kennedys, who sat in the backseat of the car in front of him—was nervous, according to accounts he has written about the events in Dallas in his books. The motorcade kept speeding up and slowing down, speeding up and slowing down. That morning, he frequently jumped off the running board to jog alongside the vehicle. Kinney, right behind him in Halfback’s driver’s seat, watched him struggle to keep pace with the cars.”

Hill recalled what happened after the first shot: “I described it as an explosive device. It resembled a firecracker, but a loud one, and it came over my right shoulder from the rear. I wasn’t absolutely sure what it was. I turned toward the noise.”

It took six seconds for him to reach the presidential limousine. Footage of the assassination shows that Hill was the only Secret Service agent within reach of the car to have moved toward the back of the limo. He climbed onto the president’s vehicle and pushed Jackie Kennedy—who had crawled up onto the trunk—back into her seat. It was too late to save the president.

Agent Jack Ready was also on the footboards, yards from the president. Behind him, in similar proximity, was Paul Landis, also from the first lady’s detail.

“I knew right away it was a gunshot,” said Landis. “I was a hunter. I’ve done a lot of shooting. There was no doubt in my mind, in fact.”

But although Landis noticed Kennedy “leaning to the left,” he said in the blur of the moment, he did not connect the sound of the gun and the president’s movements.

Landis, Hill, and Glen Bennett, who was inside their chase car, had all gone to the Press Club and then the Cellar the night before. According to the statements they made to the Warren Commission –  Hill, Ready, and Bennett had stayed until around three a.m.; Landis, for two hours longer.

When asked what might have impeded their actions that day, Landis said that the question of “the drinking was blown out of proportion ... So other than that, I think you could say, ‘lack of sleep.’ But you’re wide awake . . . going on adrenalin.”

Did being out all night factor into their slow reaction time? “That’s a tough one,” he told VF. “I don’t think that affected me. That’s an arguable point.”

Read more: Jackie believed Lyndon B. Johnson had John F. Kennedy killed

In contrast, the fourth car in the motorcade, housing Vice President Johnson and his wife, was guarded by other agents, including Rufus Youngblood. Youngblood had not joined the others the previous evening, and after the first shot, Youngblood, in line with his Secret Service training, pushed Johnson to the floor of the car and covered him with his own body.

A week after the assassination, President Lyndon Johnson ordered an official investigation of the events surrounding JFK’s death. The chairman of the investigation, Earl Warren the chief justice of the Supreme Court, was outraged to learn that a half dozen Secret Service agents had been out past midnight the night before the assassination.

Vanity Fair writes: “The revelation came not from depositions, but from a Drew Pearson radio report on November 30, 1963, followed up by his December 2 column in the Washington Post. Pearson, an establishment journalist well-known for speaking truth to power, was also a close friend of Warren’s.

“Pearson would later explain that his information about the Secret Service had come to him through Thayer Waldo, a Fort Worth Star-Telegram reporter who didn’t think his editors would dare publish a controversial story casting aspersions on the Secret Service. ‘Obviously, men who have been drinking until nearly three a.m. are in no condition to be trigger-alert or in the best physical shape to protect anyone,’ Pearson wrote. In fact, the head of the Secret Service, James Rowley, would later claim, in a report submitted to the Warren Commission, that he had known nothing about his staffers’ drinking until he read Pearson’s exposé.

“That column, now long forgotten, was a bombshell at the time, but one that never exploded. The Warren Commission duly questioned the Secret Service members about their activities the night before the assassination and found that, yes, some had been drinking. But in the 1960s the pastime of drinking heavily with peers or colleagues was considered acceptable behavior in many circles. Because of the lack of social stigma associated with overindulgence, it was hard for the panel’s members to know how to react.

"Senator Arlen Specter, who debriefed the agents for the Warren Commission, didn’t appear to consider their behavior a big deal. Indeed, the agents themselves were already devastated enough by the death of the president, whom most of them had revered. And although some of the men had broken the rules, many involved with the commission were eager to protect them from going down in history as the men who may have made mistakes on that fateful day.”

The 26 seconds of 8mm footage recorded by bystander Abraham Zapruder on his Bell & Howell movie camera that day shows that several of the Secret Service agents seemed momentarily suspended in place as the shots rang out.

The men in Halfback were bewildered,” according to William Manchester, the author of "The Death of a President."

“They glanced around uncertainly. . . . Even more tragic was the perplexity of Roy Kellerman, the ranking agent in Dallas, and Bill Greer, who was under Kellerman’s supervision. Kellerman and Greer were in a position to take swift evasive action, and for five terrible seconds they were immobilized.”

H/T:Vanity Fair

Some lives are crowded with incident.  Cork-born doctor Aidan McCarthy’s was a prime example.  He survived the historic evacuation of Dunkirk fleeing Nazi bombs, burning planes and sinking ships, to later become embroiled in jungle warfare in the Far East and then life under the appalling privations of a Japanese POW camp.

There’s something almost biblical about McCarthy’s travails in fact, as if he had pulled a short straw and been fated to foresuffer all, because like Job he ambles from torment to new torment.

Sturdy of frame and forthright by nature, his youth was spent in the prestigious Clongowes Wood College and thereafter he began his studies to become a doctor in University College Cork. It was his first misfortune to begin his practice in London in 1939.

We don’t get to choose the times we live in. If we haven’t already lived through a murderous global conflict we might even find the prospect a little exciting, as McCarthy certainly did when the war first broke out.

Stuck in the confines of an RAF seaside base in southern England and desperate to escape “the wooly confines of seaside suburbia” after war was declared, he announced his interest in getting involved in the conflict overseas.

He got his wish. In December 1939 he was delighted to receive his first overseas posting, as senior medical officer to the Number 14 Group in Northern France. At last he thought, action.

But when he arrived in France no one could tell him where the Number 14 Group was. Shortages of medical doctors meant that he soon had to act as physician to entire villages, exhausting work with no end in sight.

For months the allies waited for a never arriving German attack, until they even started talking of a Phony War. McCarthy spent these months testing the local prostitutes for venereal diseases. He hated the dank quarters in which they worked, the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume that hung about these places.

Little terrors abounded. Local Nazi sympathizers poisoned the local wells. Fountain pens were found lying around on the streets. If you unscrewed them they would explode in your hand blowing your fingers off.

On May 10 Hitler made his move and the invasion of Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg and France began. Immediately McCarthy and all around him felt like pawns on a chessboard played above their heads.

McCarthy’s travails as he escapes northern France through the rally at Dunkirk are gripping stuff. No sooner had he and his fellow officers reached the safety of a passenger ship than the Germans torpedoed it.

The quick thinking captain ordered the passenger to assemble on the opposite side of the ship keeping the waterline hole from flooding and allowing them to make it safely back to England. Luckily the weather was calm.

Later as the war progressed he found himself in Bandung, Java, where, after a series of unfortunate events, he was taken prisoner by the Japanese. At first things went well. The battle hardened Japanese soldiers treated them well, and for many it was their first experience of meeting white men.

But camp guards and interpreters quickly replaced these front line soldiers and suddenly the weather changed. Now they were shouted at, terrorized and abused. Prisoners who tried to escape were beheaded in front of the entire company.

The soldiers who ran the POW camps had been judged the least competent by their own peers and they knew it. This, in a culture that feared “loss of face” had a predictably violent outcome. If a commandant struck and officer, then the officer later struck a sergeant and the offence would pass its way on down to the POWs themselves.

This ingrained culture of brutal violence was how a small number of men kept control of a large number of prisoners, but it and the deteriorating food supply weakened the prisoners.

McCarthy’s travails throughout this time are as fascinating as they are horrific. He details how an America submarine attack on Nagasaki, where he is imprisoned, gave he and his fellow prisoners false hope only to be quickly extinguished.

Then he recounts how the largest atomic weapon ever unleashed on a civilian population devastated the city and decimated his prison, ending the war and destroying his former prison.

McCarthy turned 33 when the war ended and had seen enough horror to last several lifetimes, but in Ireland because he had no relatives or contacts in the medical profession he still could not find a job (he returned to England and worked for the RAF).

The sword referenced in the title was a gift from his captor and enemy Lieutenant Isao Kasuno. At the war’s end and after all they had been through the former enemies had no choice but make peace.

Dufour, $36.

He's most famous for being Ireland's patron saint, and is celebrated around the world, even by non-Irish people, on St. Patrick’s Day. This is not only the date of his death, but a celebration of his life, and a celebration also of all that is Irish.

Although accepted as being active during the latter half of the C5th, St. Patrick’s birth and death cannot be dated. Some records claim he came to Ireland in 432AD, and that he died on March 17th 462AD, others that he died in 492AD. The Annals weren't compiled until the mid C6th, and combine stories seen as both historical and mythological, and unfortunately, as such, they cannot be relied upon for accuracy.

Patrick himself wrote two letters which survived into present times, in which he recounts parts of his life. These documents are known as the Confessio and the Epistola, and give us a great insight not only into his life and motivations, but also into life in Ireland at that time.

Patrick was born into a Roman British family in the UK, possibly at Ravenglass in Cumbria. His father was a deacon named Calipurnias.

When he was just sixteen, Patrick was captured by Irish raiders and brought to either Slemish (in Irish Sliabh Mis), a striking mountain near Ballymena in Co. Antrim, or Fochill near Killala Bay (in Irish Cuan Chill Ala), the estuary of the River Moy, where he was sold as a slave, and subsequently worked as a shepherd for six years.

During this time, he seemed to go through some kind of spiritual epiphany, when he came to know God, praying up to a hundred times a day. (I would too, if I thought it might help me escape slavery and find my way back home!) In his Confessio, he claims he heard a voice in a dream instructing him to leave Ireland in a ship that was waiting for him in a port two hundred miles away.

Some say this port was in Wicklow. When he got there, there was indeed a ship about to sail for England, but the crew refused to take him at first. Patrick turned to prayer, which God duly answered, for before he had even finished his devotions, the Captain had a sudden change of heart, and agreed to take him on board.

After three days at sea, they landed, not in another port as expected, but in a strange wilderness where they wandered for twenty eight days without coming across any signs of civilization. At this point, they had run out of food, and the crew asked Patrick to pray to his God to provide for them. Clearly, their own pagan Gods had forsaken them. Patrick readily obliged, and immediately they came across a herd of wild boar. They killed many and feasted for two days, before continuing their journey.

Patrick returned home and devoted himself to Christianity. After a few years, he had a vision in which a man named Victoricus (probably Saint Vitricius, bishop of Rouen) gave him a letter which came from the people of Ireland, begging him to return and teach them the new religion. It was a calling Patrick could not deny.

Returning to Wicklow, Patrick was met with hostility from the locals, and sought refuge off the coast of Skerries, before continuing with his mission.

It is said that he founded his first church at Saul (in Irish Sabhall Phádraig, meaning 'Patrick's Barn') in Co Down. Apparently, strong currents had swept his boat through Stranford Lough and into the mouth of the Slaney River. The local chieftain, Dichu subsequently converted and gave him the barn.

It was here that he was brought when he died, and was buried nearby at Downpatrick. St Patrick's Memorial Church is reputed to be built on the site of his grave.

The Confessio and the Epistola are fascinating, because they seem to relate to some transgression for which Patrick was put on trial. It's not clear exactly what happened, but it is thought that the writing of the Epistola resulted in Patrick writing his Confessio, perhaps whilst awaiting the outcome of his trial.

Apparently, King Ceretic Guletic had taken some Christian Irish converts and sold them into slavery. Enraged, Patrick had tackled the King only to be confronted with ridicule. He therefore wrote the Epistola to Ceretic's warband, effectively excommunicating them all.

This leads to fellow Christians, once thought of as friends, making accusations against him which are not explicit in the letter, although he writes that he gave back all the gifts given him by wealthy women, that he did not take payment for all the baptisms he made although he made many thousands, or for ordaining priests, and that he himself paid for all the gifts given to the kings and judges.

These gifts may have been bribes intended to buy him the freedom to bring his religion to the masses. In any case, this protestation of innocence and denial of receiving gifts and money smacks of financial misdemeanour. Perhaps St. Patrick wasn't quite as saintly as once thought.

As well as his own letters, his life was recorded by two late C7th writers, Tírechán, and Muirchiu moccu Macthenni. Both drew upon the earlier lost Book of Ultán, written most probably by Ultan of Ardbraccan, who was Tírechán's foster-father.

Interestingly, they portray quite a different figure from the good saintly character we have been led to believe. They claim he was something of a tempestuous warrior, attacking druids and their idols, and cursing kings and their kingdoms. This ties in with some of the myths about him, which do not describe a peaceful benevolent man of God, but rather a zealous tyrant.

They also intimate that he targeted the conversion of females, preferably those of royal status and wealthy noblewomen, accepting gifts from them, and persuading them to become nuns and found religious orders, much to the chagrin of their families. He also targeted slaves and the poor, who were only too eager to find a way out of the drudgery and hardship of their lives.

There are many stories and legends in which St. Patrick makes an appearance. He must have been a very busy man indeed, if he truly was involved in all the events he is credited with.

Most famously, Patrick is said to be responsible for driving all serpents from Ireland. This is an interesting story, because, according to naturalist Nigel Monaghan, keeper of natural history at the National Museum of Ireland in Dublin, "at no time has there ever been any suggestion of snakes in Ireland, so [there was] nothing for St. Patrick to banish." He should know, having searched extensively through Irish fossil collections and records.

In the absence of a reptile population, this has been explained as a reference to ridding Irish shores of the Druids, who were known to revere the serpent, and the circle of life it represented. If he was as war-like as Tírechán and Miurchu claim, perhaps this story disguised an ugly truth, a battle or even a massacre... it would not be the first time in history that Christians waged holy war.

Closer to home, for me, is the story of Patrick saving the Irish from the worship of Crom Cruach on the plain of Magh Slecht in Co. Cavan. This is a grisly story involving the annual sacrifice of the nations every first-born child by smashing their heads on the idol stone known as the Killycluggin Stone, and sprinkling the blood around the stone circle in return for a good crop. Fortunately, Patrick showed up, smashed the stone, and banished the devil which flew out of it to hell.

As this was happening, 'three quarters of the men of Ireland' (the High King's warband), and the High King Tigernmas himself, were mysteriously slaughtered as they knelt in their devotions, allegedly by their own god, according to Christian observers. Sounds like the work of an army sweeping down upon them, to me.

We already know how sacred the number three was to the ancient pagans; it is a pattern seen repeated over and over again in all things considered important and powerful to them, such as the maiden-mother-crone aspect of certain female Irish deities, birth-life-death, mind-body-spirit, and so on. The pagans had long considered the shamrock as a sacred symbol, its three heart-shaped green leaves representing rebirth and the cycle of life.

It comes as no surprise, then, that Patrick should choose to use it to illustrate the Christian Holy Trinity. Clearly, it was a symbol the pagans resisted giving up, and the church was very clever at adopting the pagan customs they couldn't destroy, and using them to illustrate their own beliefs.

Today, there are many places in Ireland which still bear Patrick's name, or legacy. Croagh Patrick is a mountain in Co Mayo where he was said to have fasted for the forty days and nights of Lent before vanquishing the serpents of Ireland. At 764m, it is the third highest mountain in the county.

In pre-Christian times, it was called Cruachán Aigle, although it is not known what this means. Once the site of pagan pilgrimage for the summer solstice, it is now climbed by thousands of people every year on the last Sunday in July, some of them bare-foot or even on their knees, in honour of the Saint. There is a little chapel on the summit where mass is said. Sadly, the side of the mountain has been heavily eroded by the passage of so many feet.

The Hill of Slane stands 158m high in Co. Meath, and is said to be the burial site of Fir Bolg king Sláine mac Dela. A mound is located there, along with two standing stones which are all that remain of a pagan site. There are various other ancient buildings on the hill, including the remains of a church or abbey. From here the Hill of Tara can clearly be seen, and it was here that St Patrick was said to have lit a Paschal fire in defiance of the High King Laoire.

Patrick well understood the ancient sacred customs of the fire festivals; he knew that all fires across the land must be extinguished while the need-fire was kindled, and he knew that his fire on Slane would be easily seen by the King at Tara. The King demanded the fire was put out, but the story goes that even the Druids with all their magical powers were unable to extinguish it.

In the end, the King acquiesced to the Saint's higher power, and allowed him to continue his missionary work, although he did not convert himself. Surprisingly, the King didn't punish him for his inflammatory and disrespectful act; perhaps he didn't see the new religion as a threat. Patrick does make mention in his letters that he was once imprisoned for sixty days, but does not say what for, when or by whom; he also claims he was often beaten and robbed.

Curiously, Patrick has never formally been canonised by the Pope, and therefore is not actually recognised as a saint by some. In the early years of Christianity, saints were made on a local level by a local church very soon after their death... which perhaps explains why there are so many in Ireland.

St. Patrick's life is one of semi-historic, semi-mythological proportions. As with much of Ireland's early past, it is impossible to pull apart fact and myth. There is no doubt however, that he made a huge and lasting impact on the people of this land.

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*Ali Isaac lives in beautiful rural Co. Cavan in Ireland, and is the author of two books based on Irish mythology, “Conor Kelly and The Four Treasures of Eirean,” and “Conor Kelly and The Fenian King.” Ali regularly posts on topics of Irish interest on her blog, www.aliisaacstoryteller.com.

* Originally published in November 2015.

Dermot McEvoy is the author of "The 13th Apostle: A Novel of a Dublin Family, Michael Collins, and the Irish Uprising." This passage is taken from his latest book “Irish Miscellany: Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Ireland.” This chapter is entitled “Can’t tell the rebels without a scorecard?”

The motion picture that defines Ireland to many Irish-Americans is John Ford’s “The Quiet Man.” Although made over 60 years ago, many still believe that the sentimental Ireland depicted in the film was the “real” Ireland of the time. It wasn’t—and probably never was. The things about the movie that still resonates is those involved in it, especially its director, Irish-American John Ford, and two of its scene-stealing stars—Barry Fitzgerald and Arthur Shields.

Even today many don’t realize that Barry (real name William Joseph Shields) and Arthur were brothers. Fitzgerald was born in 1888 on Walworth Street in the Portobello section of Dublin. (As a child he played with the younger siblings of James Joyce who he called “a young man with a beard and very clever.”)

He was followed eight years later by his brother, Arthur. (Their house, right next to the Jewish Museum, is today marked by a plaque.) Their father, Adolphus, lists his occupation in the 1901 Census as “Press Reader,” but he was well-known in Dublin as a labor organizer.

One of the big secrets of the family is that, although the brothers made their living in part playing Catholic priests, they were all Church of Ireland. (It should be noted that their mother, Fanny Sophia, who was born in Germany, lists her religion in the 1911 Census as “Agnostic.” Their sister Madeline lists her religion as “Spiritualist”—very outspoken for women in early twentieth century Catholic Dublin!)

Arthur Shields is one of the great stories of twentieth century Ireland. He became involved early at the Abbey Theatre and worked there as actor, director and stage manager. (He was known as “Boss” Shields.) But, still unknown to many, is that he was also a patriot. In 1916 he was a member of the Irish Volunteers and was prepared to fight on Easter Sunday when the orders were countermanded.

Read more:Easter Rising 1916.

On Easter Monday the revolution was on again, and Shields went to the Abbey and retrieved his rifle from under the stage. He went around the corner to Liberty Hall and joined with James Connolly’s Irish Citizen Army. (Connolly, an ardent socialist and master labor organizer, admired his father and congratulated Arthur on his parentage.)

He then marched to the General Post Office in Sackville Street where he fought before evacuating on Friday. He was sent to Stafford Prison in England with another famous rebel—Michael Collins—and from there they were both sent to the Frongoch prison camp in Wales. Both would return to Dublin by the end of 1916, Collins to terrorize the British and Shields to return to the Abbey stage.

William Shields—known as Will to his friends—worked in the Irish civil service in Dublin Castle, which must have been an interesting place during the War of Independence. After the Easter Rising he joined his brother at the Abbey and befriended a playwright by the name of Seán O’Casey. While Arthur, tall and lean, was the romantic star of the theatre, Barry Fitzgerald—he took the pseudonym because he was still working in the civil service while moonlighting as an actor—was short and quiet, but had a comic magic that today would be simply translated as “star power.”

Barry’s relationship with O’Casey would soon have Ireland’s foremost playwright writing parts for him, including Captain Boyle in Juno and the Paycock and Fluther Good in The Plough and the Stars. In fact when that play premiered at the Abbey, riots broke out and little Barry was seen boxing outraged theatre-goers who attempted to take the stage.

Read more: Top ten Irish movies of all time (VIDEOS)

In his wonderful book, "Hollywood Irish", Adrian Frazier makes a very salient point about the two kinds of people—Catholic and Protestant—working at the Abbey. O’Casey, also a Protestant, burst on the scene after the Irish civil war with "The Shadow of the Gunman" and became the most prominent Irish playwright since John Millington Synge (also a Protestant).

Shadow was followed by "Juno and the Paycock" and then by "The Plough and the Stars". Plough proved to be an incendiary play in the Dublin of its day. It questioned much of the nationalistic dogma of the time and brought an earthliness—it contained whores, drinkers and looters—that upset much of the hierarchy in both government and Church.

It also created a chasm at the Abbey. The Catholics actors were very dubious and nervous about some of O’Casey’s tenets as expressed in Plough, while the two Shields brothers sided with their friend O’Casey. This chasm turned into an open wound when the Abbey, under Yeats and Lady Gregory, rejected O’Casey’s "The Silver Tassie".

The Shields brothers and O’Casey started to look for greener pastures. Fitzgerald and O’Casey found them in London, while Shields, for the moment, remained at the Abbey. But the (barely) state-subsidized Abbey was in terrible financial shape and it was decided that the Abbey Players would go on the road to America to keep the theatre afloat.

After the repressive, smothering atmosphere of Catholic Dublin in the new Irish Free State—Arthur Shields famously said that he didn’t want to “say your prayers in Gaelic”—the United States seemed wonderful and invigorating. It also gave the Shields brothers a chance to make real money for the first time, something almost impossible in their itinerant trade back in Dublin. America also contained something called “Hollywood” and the lure would take several years, but finally seduced, first Barry, then Arthur.

Both worked in John Ford’s film version of "The Plough and the Stars". While Arthur continued with the Abbey Players in many capacities, Barry stayed in Hollywood where after appearing in "Bringing Up Baby" with Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn, he became a familiar face. The brothers would be reunited for Ford’s "How Green Was My Valley" and "The Long Voyage Home". With the advent of World War II they were stuck in America and continued to work, mostly as reliable character actors.

Fitzgerald’s big break came when he was cast as the ancient Father Fitzgibbons (although he was only 56 at the time) in "Going My Way". To put it mildly, he stole the picture from Bing Crosby and was nominated for two Academy Awards, as Best Supporting Actor (which he won) and Best Actor (which Crosby won).

(It’s interesting to note the disparity in salary: Crosby was paid $150,000, while Fitzgerald only pulled down $8,750.) Fitzgerald’s dual nominations forced the Academy to change the rules in that no one actor could be nominated in two categories for the same role.

The Oscar made Fitzgerald a star and he went on to receive top billing in movies, including the seminal "Naked City" (1947). In this innovative Mark Hellinger production, filmed on the streets of New York in documentary style, Fitzgerald plays a tough New York homicide detective out to solve the murder of a model. For its time the film is full of forensic science. The movie led to the television series "Naked City" and without it there would be no "Law and Order" and "CSI". In fact, Jerry Orbach’s "Law and Order" detective Lennie Briscoe owes a lot to Fitzgerald’s Lieutenant Dan Muldoon.

Fitzgerald made a lot of films—some pretty good like "And Then There Were None" and "Union Station" and some awful like "Top o’ the Morning"—between "Going My Way" and "The Quiet Man". Shields meanwhile found steady character work in over thirty films and TV work during the same period. But John Ford’s "The Quiet Man" was to be the apex of both their careers.

"The Quiet Man" remains one of the most beloved films of all time, but it is interesting culturally as well. Fitzgerald plays the roguish matchmaker Michaleen Oge Flynn while Shields plays the kindly Protestant minister, The Reverend Mister Cyril Playfair. Another Abbey player of renown, Eileen Crowe, plays Rev. Playfair’s wife, while an Abbey up-and-comer by the name of Jack MacGowran made his movie debut, playing the fawning little squint, Ignatius Feeney.

"The Quiet Man", ironically, represents a changing-of-the-acting-guard for the works of both Seán O’Casey and Samuel Beckett. O’Casey wrote parts for Fitzgerald, which, in the years ahead, would be played by MacGowran. (MacGowran was on Broadway playing Fluther Good in "The Plough and the Stars" when he passed away from pneumonia in New York in 1973 at the age of 54; his last movie part was in "The Exorcist".)

And in the years ahead MacGowran would become Samuel Beckett’s favorite actor and Beckett would write parts specifically tailored to MacGowran’s talents. “Author and actor are so commonly rooted in spirit,” wrote Mel Gussow in the New York Times in 1970 about MacGowran’s one man show, Jack MacGowran in the "Works of Samuel Beckett", “that if Beckett were an actor he would be MacGowran, and if MacGowran were a writer he would be Beckett.”

After "The Quiet Man" Fitzgerald’s career tapered down and he made only four more films and a few television appearances. He died in Dublin in 1961. Shields continued to work steadily, especially in television. His last film appearance was with Charlton Heston in "The Pigeon That Took Rome" in 1962. Unsurprisingly, he played a Vatican priest, Monsignor O’Toole. He died in 1970 in California.

The Shields brothers are buried side-by-side in Deansgrange Cemetery, Blackrock, Dublin. Barry Fitzgerald headstone lists only his birth name, William J. Shields. Both, home at last.

---

Dermot McEvoy was born in Dublin in 1950 and immigrated to New York City four years later. He is a graduate of Hunter College and has worked in the publishing industry for his whole career. He is the author of "The 13th Apostle: A Novel of a Dublin Family, Michael Collins, and the Irish Uprising," "Terrible Angel," "Our Lady of Greenwich Village," and "The Little Green Book of Irish Wisdom." He lives in Greenwich Village, New York.

* Originally published in February 2015. 

You’ve heard the expression “the luck of the Irish” and probably thought it meant people from Ireland had “extreme good fortune.”

But the phrase originally had a different connotation. 

According to Edward T. O’Donnell, an Associate Professor of History at Holy Cross College and author of ‘1001 Things Everyone Should Know About Irish American History,’ the term is not Irish in origin. 

"During the gold and silver rush years in the second half of the 19th century, a number of the most famous and successful miners were of Irish and Irish American birth. . . .Over time this association of the Irish with mining fortunes led to the expression 'luck of the Irish.' Of course, it carried with it a certain tone of derision, as if to say, only by sheer luck, as opposed to brains, could these fools succeed."

The word luck itself is Middle Dutch in origin, according to Mental Floss. The word comes from ‘luc,’ a shortening of ‘gheluc,’ meaning “happiness,good fortune.”

The word was probably introduced into the English language in the 15th century as a gambling term.

For more stories from our St. Patrick's Day section, click here. 

Dermot McEvoy is the author of "The 13th Apostle: A Novel of a Dublin Family, Michael Collins, and the Irish Uprising." This passage is taken from his latest book “Irish Miscellany: Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Ireland.” This chapter is entitled “Can’t tell the rebels without a scorecard?”

The passage is published in honor of the centenary of the 1916 Easter Rising, which began on Easter Monday, 1916. 

You can find more on IrishCentral's coverage of the ongoing 1916 centenary year here.

In Ireland there will always be a throwaway reference to some (failed) moment in Irish history: “Sure Pearse and the lads didn’t have a chance in the GPO, did they?”

You can admit your ignorance, nod your head with false sagacity, or know that “Pearse and the lads” in question were involved in the Easter Rising of 1916, where they were brutally crushed by the British forces.

So here are some historical figures and moments that every (or would-be) Irishman (or woman) should have in their rebel vocabulary:

The Patriots:

Theobald Wolfe Tone, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, Robert Emmet - this group of “modern” Irish revolutionaries were from the landed Protestant gentry and were members of the United Irishmen who fought the British with only pikes in the Uprising of 1798. They were annihilated by British infantry at the Battle of Vinegar Hill in Wexford, a moment in Irish history eerily brought to life by Nobel laureate Seamus Heaney. In his haunting poem “Requiem for the Croppies” he recalls how the rebels of 1798—the “croppies” because of their short, cropped hair—moved swiftly in rebellion:

“The pockets of our greatcoats full of barley...

No kitchens on the run, no striking camp...

We moved quick and sudden in our own country.”

In defeat they were forgotten until their graves were marked when:

“…in August... the barley grew up out of our grave.”

The sacrifice of the United Irishmen was to inspire Irish patriots for nearly two hundred years:

Padraig Pearse -

The “President” of Irish Republic, the existence of which he declared on the steps of the General Post Office (GPO) on Easter Monday 1916. Under his command the occupying rebels held out for nearly a week before surrendering. He was executed on May 3, 1916, by firing squad at Kilmainham Gaol.

James Connolly -

Irish socialist labor leader, founder and commandant general of the Irish Citizen Army who was severely wounded in the leg in the GPO. His injuries were so severe that the British shot him in a chair at Kilmainham on May 12, 1916.

Thomas Clarke -

The cagey old Fenian and the real force behind the Easter Rising. His nurturing of such young rebels as Seán MacDiarmada, Joseph Mary Plunkett and Pearse would change the course of Irish history. Naturalized in Brooklyn while in exile, he was the only American citizen to be executed by the British, as a result of the skirmish, on May 3, 1916.

The Countess Markievicz–

Co-commander of St. Stephen’s Green in 1916 and the first woman to ever hold a cabinet ministry. Read more about Markievicz in Chapter 7, “Ferocious Fenian Women.”

Éamon de Valera -

The senior commandant of the Easter Rising who was not shot because of his natural born American citizenship. He would be for the next fifty years either Taoiseach (prime minister) or President of the Republic of Ireland. He died in 1973 at the age of 92.

Michael Collins -

The legendary IRA leader and the father of the modern Irish state. During de Valera’s absence in America during the War of Independence he systematically created an intelligence network that targeted British agents and spies. On the morning of November 21, 1920 his personal assassination squad eliminated most of the British Secret Service in Dublin.

Just over twelve months later he signed the Treaty that created what is today the Republic of Ireland. He died in an ambush on August 22, 1922 at the age of 31.

Sir Roger Casement -

The last of the sixteen rebels executed for their participation in the Easter Rising. Casement’s job during the Rising was to land rifles in County Kerry, which turned into an outright disaster. Captured by the British he was brought to London to stand trial.

During the trial his notorious “Black Diaries” were leaked to suppress calls for his exoneration by such notables as George Bernard Shaw and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The diaries—still controversial to this day—allegedly revealed Casement’s homosexual romps on two continents.

He was hanged by the British on August 3, 1916 in Pentonville Prison in London. W.B. Yeats wrote a poem about him with the haunting refrain: “The ghost of Roger Casement/Is beating on the door.”

Kevin Barry -

An 18-year-old medical student and IRA volunteer, he was captured in northside Dublin in an ambush that went awry in October 1920. Despite cries for mercy, he was hanged in Mountjoy Prison on November 1, 1920, All Saints Day. One of Ireland’s most popular rebel songs was written in his honor:

“Another martyr for old Ireland,

Another murder for the crown,

Whose brutal laws may kill the Irish,

But can't keep their spirit down.

Lads like Barry are no cowards.

From the foe they will not fly.

Lads like Barry will free Ireland,

For her sake they'll live and die.”

The 1916 Executions

The frenzy to execute the leaders of the Easter Rising began on May 3 and continued until May 12.

“I am going to ensure,” said General Sir John Grenfell Maxwell, general officer commanding-in-chief of the British forces in Ireland, “that there will be no treason whispered for 100 years.” Ignorantly, he began the process that would drive Britain out of most of Ireland for the first time in 700 years.

W.B. Yeats in his poem, “Easter 1916” remembered the sacrifice of those who rose up and were executed for their efforts:

“I write it out in a verse—

MacDonagh and MacBride

And Connolly and Pearse

Now and in time to be,

Wherever green is worn,

Are changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.”

Besides the aforementioned Pearse, Clarke, Connolly and Casement, the honor roll of martyrs executed by the British in May 1916 include:

Thomas MacDonagh -

 Poet, author, school teacher, he was the commandant in charge of Jacobs Biscuit Factory, another skirmish location. He was a close friend and associate of Pádraig Pearse and taught at Pearse’s school, St. Enda’s in Rathfarnham. He was married to Muriel Gifford, Grace Gifford’s sister. Executed by firing squad, Kilmainham Gaol, May 3, 1916.

Joseph Mary Plunkett -

One of the most mysterious leaders, he served as the movement’s foreign minister, traveling to Germany trying to drum up support for the coming insurrection. At the time of the Rising he was dying of tuberculosis of the neck glands. Michael Collins was his personal bodyguard and aide-de-camp.

Hours before his execution he married his fiancée, Grace Gifford, in the Catholic chapel at Kilmainham. Immediately after the wedding he was taken out and shot on the morning of May 4, 1916. (See more on Grace Gifford Plunkett in Chapter 7, “Ferocious Fenian Women.”)

Edward (Ned) Daly -

Commandant of the Four Courts. A member of the fiercely Fenian Daly family of Limerick. Brother of Kathleen Clarke and brother-in-law of Tom Clarke. Executed at Kilmainham, May 4, 1916.

Michael O’Hanrahan -

Vice commandant to Thomas McDonagh at Jacobs. Executed at Kilmainham on May 4, 1916.

William (Willie) Pearse -

The younger brother of Pádraig Pearse, which was the main reason he was executed. Although he held the rank of captain in the Irish Volunteers, he was not part of the senior leadership. He was a talented sculptor and his work can be viewed at the Pearse Museum in Rathfarnham, St. Andrew’s Church, Westland Row, and St. Stephen’s Green. Executed at Kilmainham on May 4, 1916

John (Seán) MacBride -

Was on his way to his brother’s wedding reception when he ran into the revolution and decided to take part, fighting at Jacobs. Husband of Maud Gonne and father of Seán MacBride, who would go on to win the Nobel Peace Prize in 1974. His hatred of the British led him to go as far as South Africa to fight against them in the Boer War. Although he was a romantic rival for Maud Gonne with William Butler Yeats, Yeats remembered him in “Easter 1916” as “A drunken, vainglorious lout…Yet I number him in the song.”

Éamonn Ceannt -

Co-founder of the Irish Volunteers, he commanded the South Dublin Union during the Rising. Executed at Kilmainham on Mary 8, 1916.

Con Colbert -

Commanded the rebels at the Marrowbone Lane distillery, not far from the Guinness Brewery. Executed at Kilmainham on May 8, 1916.

Seán Heuston -

A railroad worker, Heuston commanded the Mendicity Institute on the Liffey, holding off the British for several days. The nearby Heuston Railroad Station, where Seán worked, is named in his honor. Executed at Kilmainham on May 8, 1916.

Michael Mallin - chief of staff of Connolly’s Irish Citizen Army, he commanded, along with the Countess Markievicz, St. Stephen’s Green and the College of Surgeons during the Rising. Executed at Kilmainham on May 8, 1916.

Thomas Kent - along with Roger Casement, he was the only rebel not to be executed at Kilmainham. Executed at Cork Detention Barracks on May 9, 1916.

Seán MacDiarmada (John McDermott) -

Next to Tom Clarke, he may have been the most influential man behind the Rising. He was a master organizer and people were drawn to the movement because of his charismatic character. A former Belfast barman, he was stricken with polio in 1912. Executed at Kilmainham on May 12, 1916.

Yeats remembered the executed rebels in his poem, “Sixteen Dead Men”:

“O but we talked at large before

The sixteen men were shot,

But who can talk of give and take,

What should be and what not

While those dead men are loitering there

To stir the boiling pot?”

The Events:

The War of Independence - the name given to the struggle for Irish independence during the years 1916-1921.

GPO -

The General Post Office, O’Connell Street, Dublin, where the Easter Uprising began on Monday, April 24, 1916. It is the most important building in Irish history and is still functioning as an active post office.

Kilmainham Gaol -

This 18th century prison fortress is located on the south side of Dublin. In the weeks following the Easter Rising fourteen leaders were executed here by firing squad. There is a riveting, albeit disturbing, tour of the prison and the breaker’s yard where the rebels were executed and should be on every tourist’s must-do list.

Glasnevin Cemetery -

Located on the northside of Dublin minutes from the City Centre, this is the final resting place of many a famous Irishman from Parnell to Brendan Behan. It is, however, the place where most of the Ireland’s revolutionaries are planted, including Michael Collins and Éamon de Valera. You can visit the grave of Sir Roger Casement and Kevin Barry and visit the appropriately named Republican Plot where the likes of Cathal Brugha, Harry Boland, John Devoy and Jeremiah O’Donovan Rossa are interred. It was at Rossa’s grave in August 1915 that Patrick Pearse made his famous speech, proclaiming, “The fools, the fools, the fools, they have left us our Fenian dead.”

IRB versus IRA - everyone knows what the Irish Republican Army (IRA) is, but many are confused about what the Irish Republican Brotherhood (IRB) was. The IRB was formed in 1859 in New York City by John O’Mahony and its members were known as “Fenians,” because they were followers of the ancient Celtic warrior, Finn. It was a highly secretive organization, dedicated to freeing Ireland from British rule by force. Many of its members participated in the Rising of ’67 and spent time in prison. (They also invaded Canada twice from the U.S.) In the 1880s another branch called “The Invincibles” terrorized the British both in Ireland and England. Almost all the hierarchy of the Easter Rising were members of the IRB and its last head was Michael Collins. It effectively died with Collins in 1922.

Bloody Sunday -

There are three “Bloody Sundays” in modern Irish history. The first one occurred in 1913 when police charged striking workers in O’Connell Street; the second in 1920 when Michael Collins’s agents assassinated fourteen agents of the British Secret Service in Dublin and the British retaliated by firing into the crowd at a football match in Croke Park, killing another fourteen; the last occurred in 1972 when the British army, unprovoked, murdered fourteen civil rights protesters in Derry.

The Treaty -

The Treaty is the name given to the piece of paper Michael Collins signed on December 6, 1921 creating the Irish Free State, which eventually evolved into the Republic of Ireland in 1949.

Civil War - the conflict between pro- (Collins) and anti- (de Valera) Treaty forces in 1922-23. It left scars that have only disappeared in the last few years.

Béal na mBláth -

The area of County Cork where Michael Collins was gunned down. In Irish it means “the mouth or the gap of the flowers.” Brendan Behan’s mother, Kathleen, always called Collins her “laughing boy” and Behan wrote his most famous poem, “The Laughing Boy,” about Collins’s death:

“It was on an August morning, all in the morning hours,

I went to take the warming air all in the month of flowers,

And there I saw a maiden and heard her mournful cry,

Oh, what will mend my broken heart, I've lost my Laughing Boy.”

The Twelve Apostles - the nickname given to Michael Collins’s personal assassination Squad, famous for shooting most of the British Secret Service in Dublin on Bloody Sunday 1920. Members included:

Vinny Byrne, who started out in Jacob’s Biscuit Factory in 1916 at the age of 15 and by 1922 was a commandant-colonel in the Free State Army. Vinny was an extremely active member of the Squad and responsible for the slayings on Bloody Sunday at 38 Upper Mount Street. In old age he described for a joint BBC/RTE history of Ireland what happened that day: “I put the two of them up against the wall. May the Lord have mercy on your souls. I plugged the two of them.”

Mick O’Donnell and Paddy Daly were two of the leaders of the Squad. Daly, from Parnell Street, went on to be a general under Michael Collins during the Irish Civil War.

Charlie Dalton wrote a wonderful reminiscence of the War of Independence called With the Dublin Brigade, in which he describes the utter terror he experienced on Bloody Sunday.

The scope of the Bloody Sunday operation was so huge that the members of the Squad could not handle it by themselves. So members of the Dublin brigade were brought in to supplement them. One of these members was Seán Lemass, who shot British agents in Baggot Street. Lemass went on to serve in de Valera’s cabinet and was responsible for the establishment of both Aer Lingus and Ardmore Studios before he became Taoiseach in 1959. He was the first Taoiseach to travel to the North, trying to find common ground between the two governments of Ireland. He has, perhaps, the greatest quote about his short time in the Squad: “Firing squads don’t have reunions!”

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Dermot McEvoy was born in Dublin in 1950 and immigrated to New York City four years later. He is a graduate of Hunter College and has worked in the publishing industry for his whole career. He is the author of "The 13th Apostle: A Novel of a Dublin Family, Michael Collins, and the Irish Uprising," "Terrible Angel," "Our Lady of Greenwich Village," and "The Little Green Book of Irish Wisdom." He lives in Greenwich Village, New York.

Scituate, a pleasant seaside town thirty miles from Boston, was named the most Irish town in the United States, according to the 2010 U.S census.
 
All in all, 16 communities within the South Shore neighborhoods of Boston have the highest percentage of people of Irish descent in the United States.

Top of the list is Scituate, where almost 50 percent of residents are of Irish descent. At least 44 percent of the population in Braintree, Hull, Marshfield, Avon, Pembroke, and Milton claim Irish ancestry also, according to the U.S. Census Bureau.

Scituate, on Cape Cod bay, is close to Plymouth Rock where the Mayflower arrived. It has a population of a little over 17,000.

The data shows that the South Shore's "Irish Riviera" hasn't significantly changed since the last census in 1990.

Irish Americans continue to dominate the large majority of suburban Boston.

According to the 2005-2009 American Community Survey, 19 of the top-20 most Irish communities in Massachusetts are south of Boston.

A decade ago there were similar results. These same towns were among the top Irish-American communities in the state of Massachusetts, according to the 2000 census.

Richard Finnegan, professor of political science and director of Irish studies at Stonehill College maintains that the South Shore has long been home to a large Irish community.

The migration of Irish families from Boston to the South Shore, dates back to the end of World War II, and continued through the 1950s and 60s.

Professor Finnegan says that many gravitated towards the South Shore because of geography.

"If you live in Dorchester or Hyde Park, you don’t think of moving to Swampscott,’’ he said. “Where will I move if I can get ahead and move up the social ladder? Quincy, Weymouth, and down the South Shore," he told the Boston Globe.

He added that for many of the Irish in South Boston, Hyde Park, and Dorchester, their natural migration was to move south, because that’s where they went in the summer.

“When you’re on the south side [of the city] and looking to rent a beach house for a few weeks, you go to the South Shore,’’ he said.

This same pattern continues today. “Families move where their family and friends are,’’ said Finnegan.

Most-Irish communities named

(The top 16 are all south of Boston)

PERCENTAGE OF TOTAL POPULATION:

47.5 Scituate
46.5 Braintree
45.8 Hull
45.6 Marshfield
44.9 Avon
44.9 Pembroke
44.6 Milton
44.5 Abington
44.3 Whitman
44.2 Hanover
43.4 Weymouth
43.0 Walpole
42.2 Holbrook
41.4 Duxbury
41.2 Norwell
40.8 Hanson
17.4 Boston
23.7 Massachusetts

Source: US Census Bureau, 2005-2009 American Community Survey.

Read more:Numbers of Irish Americans not going down - here’s the proof

* Originally published Jan 2011.

Lent is officially upon us today with Ash Wednesday and during the next 40 days most of us (come on now), will trip up at some point on our resolutions. That forbidden chocolate/coffee/nightcap can prove all too tempting, and many of us just don’t have the discipline to make it through to the big day. The Irish haven’t traditionally been found wanting where willpower’s concerned, however.

As a predominantly Roman Catholic country, Lent has been of national significance in Ireland for hundreds of years. A quick look at the newspaper collection on Findmypast qualifies this - the Waterford Chronicle reported on 25 February 1860, “The Chapels of our city were densely crowded with the Faithful, anxious to commence the Holy Season of Lent by participating in the religious ceremony of the distribution of the Blessed Ashes.”

Depending on the area, these ashes were made either by burning the previous Sunday’s palm leaves or scraped from the remains of families’ turf fires. Whatever their providence, they were daubed on every forehead as a point of devout urgency.

This marked the beginning of almost six weeks of strict abstinence. This was no private nod to the calendar, newspapers even printed Lenten regulations. Everyone had to abide, and the call went far beyond abstinence from a treat or two.

According to tradition, children older than seven were not allowed milk during Lent. Younger children had only a little, and babies were to cry “three times” before they received any milk on fast days. Even the babes were tougher than your average adult today.

Read more: St. Patrick's Day during Lent: Can Irish Catholics eat meat and be merry?

Examples of these regulations can be gleaned from a number of late 19th-century Irish publications, which published the dictates of Paul Cardinal Cullen, Archbishop of Dublin, &c. Primate of Ireland as a matter of course.

This has been abbreviated from lists printed with various adaptations in the Cork Examiner and Dublin Courier (in 1859 and 1870 respectively) - though it appeared in myriad publications over those decades:

• Persons bound to fast are allowed to take only one full meal, of meager fare. (You were also allowed a small snack, but you had to remain hungry at all times).

• We grant permission to use flesh meat in Lent at one principal meal only, on Sundays, Mondays, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturdays.

• As secret societies are the cause of great evils, tend to promote impiety and infidelity, and are injurious to the public good, the Roman Pontiffs have excommunicated* all who engage in them. 

*solemnly excommunicated

• Drunkenness, a vice degrading in itself, and the occasion of innumerable evils, the reading of lascivious poetry and romances, immodest representation in degraded theaters, improper dances, so repugnant to the purity of the Christian morals, are to be avoided, not only during Lent but at all times.

* The polka was singled out as particularly offensive.

• Eggs are prohibited on all Fridays and the first and last Wednesdays in Lent; on all other days, they are allowed to those who are bound to fast, at the one principal meal.

• Fish and flesh meat cannot be used in the same meal on any day during Lent.

• Persons under their twenty-first year, or broken down by old age, or suffering from sickness, or engaged in hard labor &c. are exempted from fasting. Such as require a dispensation, can apply to any of the parish priests, provided there be just reasons for doing so.

• Dispensations obtained without proper cause are to no avail. (So unless you actively opted out, you were in for the ride)

• The faithful are exhorted to sanctify this holy season by prayer ... for forty hours.

• The faithful are exhorted to pray for the welfare of the Pope, now a prisoner in Rome, and to beg of God to deliver him from the hands of his sacrilegious enemies. (The faithful were also required to pray for France.)

• The faithful are commanded, under the threat of excommunication, to receive, each in his own parish church, the Holy Eucharist. (A humble and contrite confession was also required.)

• During Lent works of piety and charity are to be performed … such as providing Catholic education for Catholic children, thus preserving them from the immeasurable evils of mixed schools.

Have you ever upheld any of the above practices during Lent? Let us know about it in the comments section, below. 

For more stories on tracing your Irish heritage from Findmypast click here.

Dermot McEvoy is the author of "The 13th Apostle: A Novel of a Dublin Family, Michael Collins, and the Irish Uprising." This passage is taken from his latest book “Irish Miscellany: Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Ireland.” This chapter is entitled “Can’t tell the rebels without a scorecard?”Today Winston Churchill is thought of as an icon of democracy - especially by those who know nothing of Churchill’s personal history.

World War I was not very kind to Churchill. In May of 1915 the Lusitania was sunk under his watch when he was First Lord of the Admiralty. Earlier that same year he came up with his great Ottoman Empire adventure in Gallipoli where he found that “Johnny Turkey” was more than a match for the British and their Australian and French allies. Churchill’s campaign in the Dardanelles was an utter disaster which nearly collapsed Prime Minister Asquith’s government and would lead Churchill himself out of office and to the trenches in France.

By 1919 Churchill’s career was in dry dock, although he was back in Prime Minister David Lloyd George’s government as secretary of state for war. His problem this time was not the Turks, but he had another Dardanelle’s problem. In Dublin, under the direction of Michael Collins, guerrilla warfare was turning deadly.

In South Dublin there is one long thoroughfare—the streets named Camden, Wexford, Aungier and Georges—one has to pass if you’re coming from the Portobello Barracks in Rathmines and heading to Dublin Castle. Every day, convoys of British troops passed this way. The second battalion of the IRA took umbrage and started tossing hand grenades into the lorries. The British put chicken wire over their trucks so the grenades would bounce back to their originators, but a fish hook solved that problem and the carnage continued. Soon the British found that the only way to gain safe passage was to seat a well-known citizen as a hostage. The locals began to call this long thoroughfare the “Dardanelles.” The children soon retrieved a song from the Great War—some say written by Seán O’Casey—called “The Grand Ould Dame Britannia”:

What’s the news the newsboy yells?

What the news the paper tells?

A British retreat from the Dardanelles,

Says the Grand Ould Dame Britannia

By late 1919 Michael Collins, as director of intelligence of the IRA, identified the main reason why Irish rebels had always failed—the superior British intelligence agencies, fueled by informers. He decided to attack the problem at its origin—the “G” Division of the Dublin Metropolitan Police. This was the section that dealt with “political” dissidents, i.e., the IRA. Collins warned, then threatened, these intelligence coppers to get out and if they didn’t he would permanently remove them. To do this he established his personal assassination squad, which could only shoot on the orders of Collins and his two deputies, Richard Mulcahy, IRA chief of staff, and Dick McKee, commandant of the Dublin IRA brigades. Soon this Squad was calling themselves the “Twelve Apostles.”

In early 1920 Churchill decided that the Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC), the police force of the country, needed reinforcements. Churchill introduced the Auxiliaries, often known as the “Auxies.” Later a second group of temporary constables for the RIC was introduced. They were soon nicknamed the “Black and Tans” because of their rag-tag uniforms. Together, the Auxies and the Tans would terrorize the Irish people for nearly two years.

Collins continued the systematic removal of eager G-men and by the spring of 1920 he had a bigger problem on his hands that would soon bring him to the personal attention of Secretary Churchill.

Collins was the first Minister for Finance for the new country. Under this portfolio he was charged with raising a National Loan to feed the financial needs of the infant nation. Money was raised and hidden in banks in America and Ireland. The British had prohibited the Loan and were now in search of the money. They sent a man by the name of Alan Bell to Dublin to find the dough. Bell, a man in his sixties, had been playing with Fenians from the time of Parnell’s Land League. After he confiscated £18,000 in Loan funds, Collins decided he had to go. On the morning of March 26, 1920 he was pulled off a tram on his way to work at Dublin Castle by the Squad and shot dead. Mission Accomplished—no more bank examiners were volunteering for Dublin duty. This blatant act immediately caught the eye of Churchill and shocked him. “Really getting very serious,” he wrote to his wife Clementine. “What a diabolical streak [the Irish] have in their character! I expect it is that treacherous, assassinating, conspiring trait which has done them in in bygone ages of history and prevented them from being a great responsible nation with stability and prosperity. It is shocking that we have not been able to bring the murderers to justice.”

Churchill soon put a £5,000—sometimes embellished to £10,000—on the man responsible for Bell’s death. The man responsible for Bell’s death was Michael Collins—and a legend was born.

On the morning of November 21, 1920 Collins’s Squad struck the ultimate blow when they assassinated fourteen British secret service agents on “Bloody Sunday.” For all intents and purposes the war was over, but murder would rule on both sides until July 1921 when a Truce, with the help of King George V, was called. By October, against his own wishes, Collins found himself leading the Irish delegation—along with Arthur Griffith—at the treaty talks in 10 Downing Street because de Valera refused to go himself, although he was the president of the Irish parliament. Churchill sat opposite Collins and stared. But Churchill admired courage and over the weeks came to admire the Dublin Pimpernel, a man of action, just the kind of man Churchill saw in himself.

Churchill’s first instinct was always to be bellicose. Now his wife, Clementine, tried to temper that instinct which had always gotten Churchill into trouble. “Do my darling,” she wrote him, “use your influence now for some sort of moderation or at any rate justice in Ireland. Put yourself in the place of the Irish. If you were ever leader you would not be cowed by severity & certainly not by reprisals which fall like the rain from Heaven upon the Just & upon the Unjust. It always makes me unhappy and disappointed when I see you inclined to take for granted that the rough iron-fisted ‘hunnish’ way will prevail.”

Apparently, Clementine’s “Hun” reference had an effect. One night in late November with the negotiations stalemated Churchill invited Collins, Arthur Griffith, Lloyd George and Lord Birkinhead back to his townhouse for drinks. Griffith went upstairs with the prime minister while Collins, Churchill and Birkinhead remained on the ground floor.

And they started to drink. Cognac. Collins, always with a sweet tooth, wanted his spiked with curaçao. And they drank more. Soon the conversation turned ugly. The question of the loyalty oath to the king piqued Collins’s inner-Fenian. He suddenly turned on Churchill in such a threatening manner that Churchill, years later, wrote that “He was in his most difficult mood, full of reproaches and defiances, and it was very easy for everyone to lose his temper.”

“You put a £5,000 bounty on my head,” Collins bellowed at Churchill. Birkinhead was sure blows were about to be struck. But Churchill quietly took Collins by the hand and brought him to the other end of the room. There, on the wall, was a wanted poster from the Boer War for one Winston Spencer Churchill—for £25!

“At least I put a good amount on your head!” said Churchill.

Collins laughed and the tension was broken. From that day onward Churchill was part of the solution in Ireland, not the problem. Churchill, now secretary of state for the colonies, worked hand-in-hand with Collins and Griffith to birth the new Irish Free State. After the deaths of Griffith and Collins he continued to help the new state. It was a sign of growth and maturity on Churchill’s part that he could go from warmonger to peacemaker.

Upon Collins’s death Churchill wrote: “He was an Irish patriot, true and fearless... When in future times the Irish Free State is not only prosperous and happy, but an active and annealing force... regard will be paid by widening circles to his life and to his death...Successor to a sinister inheritance, reared among fierce conditions and moving through ferocious times, he supplied those qualities of action and personality without which the foundations of Irish nationhood would not have been re-established.” For the rest of his life, Churchill always referred to Collins as “General Collins”—high praise indeed.

After the firm establishment of the Irish Free State, Churchill would continue to hold office until the depression. Then, he found himself in the political wilderness. But, unlike Lloyd George, he would not find himself tripping to Berchtesgaden to prostrate himself before Adolf Hitler in admiration. Perhaps he had learned something from Michael Collins—never bend the knee to the tyrant.

* Dermot McEvoy was born in Dublin in 1950 and immigrated to New York City four years later. He is a graduate of Hunter College and has worked in the publishing industry for his whole career. He is the author of "The 13th Apostle: A Novel of a Dublin Family, Michael Collins, and the Irish Uprising," "Terrible Angel," "Our Lady of Greenwich Village," and "The Little Green Book of Irish Wisdom." He lives in Greenwich Village, New York.

William Balch, American minister, historian and journalist visited Ireland during the Famine year 1850. We pick up his journey as he approaches Millstreet in Cork in dreadful weather.

“Our road now lay, after a few miles, through a rough, wild, mountainous country much of the way. We passed along narrow defiles, through boggy meadows, and under lofty mountains, following a small stream to its very source in a large bog, from which we descended into a small valley running between two ranges of jagged, barren mountains, in which is situated the little dirty town of Millstreet. We passed several ruined castles on our way; among them Carrig-a-Phouca, somewhat in the style of Blarney, though more dilapidated, having been built by the McCarthy’s, in the early style of castle architecture.

In the course of the afternoon it came on to rain in torrents. We were wholly unprotected from the ”pelting of the pitiless storm.” An English naval officer, on the seat before us, was sheltered by a good mackintosh cape, a corner of which I borrowed without his knowledge, to shield my knees. He also had a large blanket under him, which he preferred to keep there, rather than offer it to us. An-other gentleman of the same nation, on the right, had an umbrella, which he contrived to hold just so as to pour an additional torrent upon one of our company, never offering to share it with us.

The poor fellows behind, and one for-ward, were as bad off as ourselves, except Mr. Red-coat, who bundled himself up with several cloaks and took it patiently. There was not a passenger inside, and had not been all day. Six might have been shielded from the storm, perhaps, from sickness and untimely death. But to enter was not permitted, inasmuch as we had taken outside seats, and neither the driver nor the guard had any option in the case — we suppose they had not. Humanity is the boast of John Bull. This is an illustration of it.

At Millstreet we stopped a few minutes, and most of the passengers took a lunch. A loaf of bread, the shell of half a cheese and a huge piece of cold baked beef were set upon the table in the dirty bar-room. Each went and cut for himself, filling mouth, hands and pockets as he chose. Those who took meat paid a shilling; for the bread and cheese, a sixpence. The Englishmen had their beer, the Irishmen their whiskey, the Americans cold water.

Our party came out with hands full, but the host of wretches about the coach, who seemed to need it more than we, soon begged it all away from us, and then besought us, ” Please, sir, a ha’-penny, oond may God reward ye in heaven.” A woman lifted up her sick child, in which was barely the breath of life, muttering, ” Pray, yer honor, give me a mite for my poor childer, a single penny, oond may God save yer shoul.”

Several deformed creatures stationed themselves along the street, and shouted after us in the most pitiful tones. Others ran beside the coach for half a mile, yelling in the most doleful manner for a” ha’penny,” promising us eternal life if we would but give them one.

We observed that the Englishmen gave nothing, but looked at them and spoke in the most contemptuous manner. We could not give to all, but our hearts bled for them. We may become more callous by a longer acquaintance with these scenes of destitution and misery; but at present the beauty of the Green Isle is greatly maiTed, and our journey, at every advance, made painful by the sight of such an amount of degradation and suffering [sic].

At one place, we saw a company of twenty or thirty men, women and children, hovering about the mouth of an old lime-kiln, to shelter themselves from the cold wind and rain. The driver pointed them out as a sample of what was common in these parts a year ago. As we approached, ascending a hill at a slow pace, about half of them came from the kiln, which stood in a pasture some rods from the road. Such lean specimens of humanity I never before thought the world could present. They were mere skeletons, wrapped up in the coarsest rags. Not one of them had on a decent garment.

The legs and arms of some were entirely naked. Others had tattered rags dangling down to their knees and elbows. And patches of all sorts and colors made up what garments they had about their bodies. They stretched out their lean hands, fastened upon arms of skin and bone, turned their wan, ghastly faces, and sunken, lifeless eyes imploringly up to us, with feeble words of entreaty, which went to our deepest heart. The Englishmen made some cold remarks about their indolence and worthlessness, and gave them, and gave them nothing.

I never regretted more sincerely my own poverty than in that hour. Such objects of complete destitution and misery; such countenances of dejection and woe, I had not believed could be found on earth. Not a gleam of hope springing from their crushed spirits; the pangs of poverty gnawing at the very fountains of their life. All darkness, deep, settled gloom! Not a ray of light for them from any point of heaven or earth! Starvation, the most horrid of deaths, staring them full in the face, let them turn whither they will. The cold grave offering their only relief, and that, perhaps, to be denied them, till picked up from the way-side, many days after death, by some stranger passing that way, who will feel compassion enough to cover up their moldering bones with a few shovels-full of earth!

And this a Christian country! a part of the great empire of Great Britain, on whose domain the ” sun never sets,” boastful of its enlightenment, its liberty, its humanity, its compassion for the poor slaves of our land, its lively interest in whatever civilizes, refines, and elevates mankind! Yet here in this beautiful Island, formed bv nature with such superior advantages, more than a score of human beings, shivering under the walls of a lirriekiln, and actually starving to death!

When you think of Ireland, what's the first emblem of Irishness that springs to mind? I'm betting it's not the harp, Ireland's official national symbol, but more likely the shamrock, the shillelagh, or the Leprechaun.

The Shamrock

Derived from the Irish word seamróg, meaning 'little clover,' shamrock refers to young sprigs of clover. It was coined by Edmund Campion, an English scholar in 1571, when he wrote of the 'wild Irish' people eating the plant. In fact, the Irish at that time included wood-sorrel as a herb in their diet, which looked quite similar to clover.

It is popularly believed that St. Patrick once used the clover in his preaching to symbolize the Christian Holy Trinity, although the first written account of this does not appear until Caleb Threlkeld wrote of it in 1726.

The clover was a sacred plant of the Irish Druids, due to the cluster of its three heart-shaped leaves. Three was a sacred number in Irish mythology, perhaps inspiring St. Patrick to 'Christianize' it in his teachings.

The Metrical Dindshenchas, a collection of ancient poems dating back to 11th century, known as 'the lore of places', indicates that the shamrock was important long before the arrival of St. Patrick.

Teltown (in Irish Tailten, named for Tailltiu, who was Lugh Lámhfhada’s foster mother) was described as a plane covered in blossoming clover. Brigid founded her religious order in Co. Kildare (in Irish Cill Darra, meaning 'church of the oak') in a blossom-covered clover field. These beautiful meadows were called St. Brigid’s Pastures, ‘in which no plow is ever suffered to turn a furrow.’ It was said that, although cattle were allowed to graze there from morning till night, the next day the clover remained as luxuriant as ever.

In later times it became traditional for Irish men to wear the shamrock in their hats on St. Patrick’s Day.

After mass they would visit the local drinking establishment to 'drown the shamrock' in 'St. Patrick's Pot.' This involved placing their shamrock in the last beverage of the day, draining the glass, then picking out the shamrock and tossing it over their left shoulder.

During the 18th century, the shamrock became popular as a national emblem worn by members of the Irish Volunteers, local warbands raised to defend Ireland against the threat of Spanish and French invasion.

Now, every year on St. Patrick's Day, the Irish Taoiseach presents a Waterford crystal bowl featuring a shamrock design containing shamrocks to the US President in the White House.

The Shillelagh

From the Irish sail éille (shee-lay-lee), meaning 'cudgel with a strap,' the shillelagh is a stick traditionally made from blackthorn or oak. Wood taken from the root was preferred, as it was considerably harder and less likely to split.

The stick would have been coated in lard or butter, and placed inside a chimney to 'cure,' thus giving it its black shiny surface. It would normally have a large knob at the top for a handle.

Although often thought of as a walking stick, the shillelagh was actually a weapon used in the art of Bataireacht (Bat-er-akt), an ancient Irish martial art, and means 'stick fighting.' It evolved over the centuries from spear, staff, axe and sword combat, and prior to the 19th century, was used to train Irish soldiers in sword fighting techniques. There were three types; short, medium and long, and it was used to strike, parry and disarm an opponent. It was considered a gentlemanly way of settling a dispute.

The Leprechaun

Known in Irish as the leipreachán, this mischievous little fellow is usually depicted as an old man, about 3ft tall, with red hair and beard, dressed in a dapper green or red coat and hat.

He makes shoes and hides his gold coins in a pot at the end of the rainbow. He is said to be intelligent, cunning and devious, a comical figure who loves practical jokes, a creature neither good nor evil.

As a fairy being, he is thought to be associated with the Tuatha de Denann, however, there is no mention of such a character in Sidhe or Denann mythology. It is more likely that he has arisen out of local folklore and superstition. Despite his enormous popularity, there is little known about his origins.

---

Ali Isaac lives in beautiful rural Co Cavan in Ireland, and is the author of two books based on Irish mythology, “Conor Kelly and The Four Treasures of Eirean,” and “Conor Kelly and The Fenian King.” Ali regularly posts on topics of Irish interest on her blog, www.aliisaacstoryteller.com

* Originally published in March 2015.