Thanks to Jim who sent me this interesting follow-up note to my YEATS post: Jean, Six years later a local newspaper reported on Yeats' contribution (1895) towards preventing a child being stolen by the waters: "On Tuesday last, at about three o'clock in the evening, when a large number of people were skating on the river at Cleveragh boat-house, a small boy named HOPPER, who was walking across the ice, suddenly fell through in about 20 feet of water, and would undoubtedly have been drowned only for the timely assistance which was rendered. The gentlemen present, including Captain BIDGOOD, Captain G. McNEILY, Colonel WOOD-MARTIN, R.B.McNEILY and W.B. YEATS, immediately formed a line by lying on the ice and grasping each other by the heels, but they were unable to get the boy out. The youngster had gone down twice when Captain BIDGOOD, R.A., Adjutant D.C.C. Sligo Artillery Militia, dashed up, and taking off his coat threw it to the boy to catch hold of. This , however, he was unable to do, and in his further endeavours to save the boy, the gallant Captain also went through the ice, and disappeared beneath the water. He quickly reappeared and supported the drowning lad, while renewed efforts were made to get both removed from their perilous position. Captain G. McNEILY who was first in the line which was formed, seized hold of Captain BIDGOOD. The boy was got out first, and then the great difficulty was to get out the brave rescuer, for every time he tried to clamber on to the ice it broke beneath his weight, and he fell back again. He was first got out onto the ice by the whole line pulling together, but in making his way across the weak ice, with the aid of a sleigh, it gave way and he was immersed again. Finally, a rope was procured at the boathouse, which Mr. R. McNEILY threw to him, and the Captain taking hold, was dragged out, just in time as he was becoming cramped with the intense cold, having been fully fifteen minutes in the water. Later in the evening another boy who was sliding went through a hole in the ice, but fortunately the water there was not beyond his depth, and he was got out with-out any difficulty. There had been a thaw and the ice was in a very dangerous state. Captain BIDGOOD and the other gentlemen mentioned were accorded great praise for their gallantry in saving another life at the risk of their own, as only for their prompt and timely assistance a home would have been left desolate. (Sligo Independent, 1895). > Jim McDonald Source: A Sligo Miscellany A Chronicle of People, Places & Events of Other > Days. by J. C. McTernan. Illustrated. Avena. 2000 >

Badai na Scadan is a song from Donegal which was composed by a grief-stricken father whose sons were killed in a shipwreck near Inisfree Island. Their boat crashed on a rock which was usually submerged but suddenly broke water. The entire crew was lost and the distraught father is searching all the local harbors for the bodies of his drowned sons. It was found in a book called "Twenty Five Irish Songs." BADAI NA SCADAN (The Herring Boats) The crew of the best boat that left Inis Fraoigh Making their way to the place where the herring boats were at anchor On a submerged rock they ended up and they were not rescued alas And my nice fair-haired boy who would play the fiddle and the pipe I have more regard for Eoghan than a score of the men of this world It is he who could provide and his death has greatly saddened the land Poor Macan is sad and so is wee Nora and their daughter And I feel certain that his wife's sorrow will last for a very long time. Feargal, my friend, if you are in Heaven of the Saints Ask the High King for help for them to be found on the shore here below If their bones were found - were it only on the rocks by his father's side That wretched man would be satisfied and his life would be greatly changed I wouldn't like your eye, alas!, to be afflicted and lost to joy Or your youthful white body to be tossed about on top of the waves The oars that you plied you used to bend away back past you Your hand was on the helm and you were expecting to be in heaven soon If you saw Big Eoghan as he searched shores and holes Looking for a sign of the boys who were stolen away out on the wave He walked (sought out) the harbours but he was not likely to find the like there Till news of them was got down at An Iomaire Cam (The Crooked Ridge) -- Translation by Eamonn O Donaill

In the Summer 1999 issue of "The World of Hibernia" magazine is a photo of a still-handsome, spry old gentleman with his pipe and his cane sitting on a park bench. He is wearing his best jacket, soft cap, bow-tie and a smile of satisfaction. After 71 years of self-imposed exile, Irishman William Geary has finally cleared his name. In 1928, while a member of the Irish police force (the Garda Siochana) in Kilrush, Co. Clare, Geary was accused of accepting an IRA bribe. Although the charge was never proven, Geary was dismissed from his position as a superintendent without charges or trial. "I left Ireland because I was ashamed and branded a traitor," said Geary, who has professed his innocence from the first day the charges were leveled. He left his homeland at the age of 29, vowing not to return until his name had been cleared. After decades of writing letters to seemingly indifferent Irish politicians, Geary finally prevailed in obtaining the contents of his personnel file. Upon reviewing the so-called evidence therein, Geary requested a formal review. On April 22, 1999, Irish Minister for Justice John O'Donoghue declared that an injustice had been done in 1928 and awarded the New Yorker a lump-sum payment of 50,000 pounds and a pension of 17,500 pounds a year. "It was an uphill battle, but the law sustained me in the end," Geary said, "I'm extremely happy." For now the sprightly centenarian hasn't decided whether he will re-visit Ireland, preferring instead to remember it as it was seven decades ago. "At my age I have no plans," he said. "I'll play it by ear."

Co. Tipperary - The Brule tribe was a branch of the Sioux Nation, a group that lived in SD and who, before the arrival of European settlers, led a peaceful existence. Regrettably, however, relations between the Brules and their new neighbors became strained and marked by frequent skirmishes. In 1855, in response to a Brule robbery that ended in the deaths of three white men, General William Harney, known to the Native Americans as "White Whiskers Harney," led a punitive expedition against the tribe, killing 85 Brules and taking many more captive. The Brule men pressed for peace, and a conference was arranged for the two sides to air their grievances. Among those present at the talks, though not a part of the negotiating team, was an Irish-born priest, Fr. Joseph Trecy. While the conference was in progress, Fr. Trecy heard a voice call out from the Brule ranks - "Brathair, an bhfuil Gaeilge agat?" Trecy, who had left Ireland in 1835 at the age of 11, recalled enough Iri! sh to translate the plaintive cry as "Brother, can you speak Irish?" Looking into the Brule delegation, which was decked out in full warpaint and clothed in deerskins, he thought better of the notion until the call was repeated. This time he answered in surprise, "Ta, cuid de" - "Yes, a little." At that moment a Brule Indian chief stepped out from the ranks and shook the priest's hand. The Irish-speaking Brule chief, he soon learned, was actually a Tipperaryman who, along with a companion, was wanted in the 1838 killing of an Irish landlord in Tipperary. The two men had escaped to NY, but were trailed by the authorities all the way to MO. In a last-ditch effort to elude captors, they befriended the Brules, learned their language, and before long became chiefs and took wives from among the tribe. Despite feeling welcome in their adopted community, the Irishmen apparently yearned for spiritual nourishment. The meeting with Fr. Trecy allowed them to catch up on their sa! craments, and before long the priest had baptized and married 40 Indian families as well. After his departure from the tribe, Fr. Trecy went on to continue his ministry, eventually becoming a chaplain during the American Civil War. He staunchly refused, however, to disclose the identities of the men from Tipperary or the name of the men they had killed. Thanks to the Brule's hospitality and Fr. Trecy's discretion, the Tipperymen were able to escape prosecution, eventually leaving the tribe and along with their wives and children, continue on with their lives in America. The mystery of their identities and the details of their crimes were never resolved. Yet, by the process of elimination, the case comes nearer to closure. There are three recorded cases of killings of landlords in Co. Tipperary in 1838. In two instances men were tried and hanged for the crimes, although a persistent rumor, never proved, suggested that others might have escaped. In the third case, the shooting of Charles O'Keefe in Thurles, after two early suspects were able to demonstrate ! their innocence, no additional suspects were ever charged. It is quite possible that the "Sioux chiefs" from Tipperary were the same men who shot Charles O'Keefe on October 27 1838. Unlike the story of Fr. Trecy, the fate of the Brule, Teton and Yankton tribes of the Sioux Nation is not a happy one. In treaty after broken treaty, they lost their lands and hunting grounds. -- Excerpt, "The World of Hibernia"

DUMB, DUMB, DUMB There was a jolly blade that married a country maid, And soon he conducted her home, home, home; In ev'ry household art she was comfort to his heart; But alas, and alas, she was dumb, dumb, dumb. She could brew and she could bake, she could wring, wash, and shake, And keep the house clean with her broom, broom, broom; She could knit, card, and spin, and do ev'ry thing; But what good was all that - she was dumb, dumb, dumb. To the doctor then he went with mournful discontent, Saying, "Doctor, dear doctor, I'm come, come, come; I'll pay you fifty pounds - and that in pure gold -- If you make my wife speak that is dumb, dumb, dumb." To the doctor then she went and he cut some little strings, And gave her tongue liberty to run, run, run -- O, 'Twas like a silly brute then her husband she abused, Saying, "You dog, I'll let you know I'm not dumb, dumb, dumb." To the doctor then he went with mournful discontent, Saying, "Doctor, dear doctor, I'm come, come come; My wife is turned scold and with her I cannot hold: I'd give anything at all to have her dumb, dumb, dumb!" "I could freely undertake for to make your wife speak, Though that was not easily done, done, done -- It's not in the power of man, let him do whate'er he can, To make a scolding wife hold her tongue, tongue, tongue." -- Anonymous

William Butler YEATS was born in 1865 at Georgeville, Sandymouth Avenue, Dublin, and was the first child of John Butler Yeats and Susan Mary POLLENFEX Yeats. The Yeats family produced many family members who distinguished themselves in the arts including William's artist father, his well-known artist brother, John Butler Jr. (Jack), and and his sisters whose examples of fine embroidery have survived. The Yeats family was often in Co. Sligo, where William's maternal grandparents lived. William loved to hear the old stories and superstitions such as the dreaded fear of fairies stealing away children if their parents were not vigilent. The Yeats family later moved to London. In 1923, William Butler Yeats won the Nobel Prize for literature. Although Yeats died in the south of France in 1939, his body was reinterred at Drumcliff, Co. Sligo, as per his wishes, where he and his siblings had spent many happy hours in the beautiful west of Ireland. This poem is about the Glencar waterfall of Co. Leitrim, a county which borders Co. Sligo. THE STOLEN CHILD Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water-rats; There we've hid our faery vats, Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries. "Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand." Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. "Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand." Where the wandering water gushes >From the hills above Glen-Car, In pools among the rushes that scarce could bathe a star, We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears Give them unquiet dreams; Leaning softly out >From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams. "Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand." Away with us he's going, The solemn-eyed; He'll hear no more the lowing Of the calves on the warm hillside Or the kettle on the hob Sing peace into his breast, Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. "For he comes, the human child, To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, >From a world more full of weeping than he can understand." -- William Butler Yeats, 1889

BIO: In the Summer 1998 issue of "The World of Hibernia," there is an article by Nicholas Furlong a Wexford scholar and descendant of a man who traded in his farming equipment for a firearm in 1798. His paternal great-great-grandfather, also named Nicholas FURLONG, left his rented farm, his wife, teenage children, and home in Rathaspeck to fight as an insurgent under the elected United Irish commander-in-chief, Bagenal HARVEY. Five days later Nicholas Furlong was killed at the seize of Ross. At the Battle of New Ross, Beauchamp Bagenal HARVEY, on horseback, and his men greatly outnumbered the English (20,000 to 2,000), yet they ultimately lost. Furlong was but one of the 30,000 men killed in a war in which the stakes were of world consequence, of far greater importance perhaps than the insurgents realized. At stake was the victory or destruction of England and the victory or destruction of revolutionary France, and in Ireland, it meant the victory of an equally impressive ideal, the concept of a brotherhood of the Irish as Irish instead of the sectarian tribalism's of Catholic, Protestant and Dissenter. It meant total independence for the Irish and for Ireland or, conversely, overthrow and emasculation. Such perceptions fueled the war and in a humiliated, exploited, robbed and mutilated Ireland, and now with the ringing tones of Thomas PAINE's (one of America's founding fathers for equality and religious freedom) "Rights of Man" in every available ear, the resort to arms by ordinary people became contagious. It was an easy matter to nourish the soil of revolt. The reason that Ireland was so hotly contested is because it was of great strategic importance to both the English and the French. Suddenly Ireland was no longer a pleasant island of indigenous culture and ancient language on the fringe of the known Western World. It was a secure and rich outpost situated on the direct seat route to North America, hundreds of miles farther out in the Atlantic than the home ports of England or France. Whoever controlled Ireland controlled the North Atlantic. The author wondered why did his FURLONG antecedent obtained a weapon of death and marched from a settled civilian life to war. Was it to get back lands from which CROMWELL had expelled his grandparents? Was he a convinced United Irishman? Was he an admirer of the gentle Protestant United Irish landlord, Cornelius GROGAN of Johnstown Castle? Was he a victim of the economic catastrophe that had devastated Wexford farming in 1797? The private family account that had been handed down tells of the rage of the "innocent" local men at the retreating Wexford troops, who set fire the thatched houses on their escape route and shot civilians on sight. For that, we were told, the menfolk in fury marched. However, on the discovery and publication of Loyalist Elizabeth RICHARDS' diaries and the Jane ADAMS diaries, it was clear that there was an active-service United Irish unit with three named officers of captain rank in the parish. Per the author, Patrick FURLONG, the teenage son of the killed insurgent, Nicholas of Rathaspeck, became head of the family and chief breadwinner. He married a neighbor's daughter almost immediately, and in 1800 their first son, Nicholas, was born. Today their descendants survive, and hopefully continue to prosper in a wide swath that extends from the parish of their antecedents in Wexford across the world to Perth in western Australia and Vancouver, on the north Pacific coast of Canada. The author also identifies that his maternal grandfather, John KINSELLA, was born in Co. Wexford in 1845, within a couple miles of Bunclody. He was reared among survivors, witnesses and participants of that battle. On June 1, 1798, Bunclody (or Newtownbarry, as it was known then) was the site of a remarkable feat of arms for the untrained Irish insurgents. The occupying English forces were driven out and joyful celebrations ensued, but when the Crown forces, under the command of Col. Henry L'ESTRANGE, discovered that they were not being pursued, they halted, turned their cannon around, and from the hill road raked the packed town square and main street. The losses among the insurgents numbered in the hundreds; the wounded among the fighting men and civilians alike. In the mountain-rimmed countryside, this completely unprecedented massacre, in which capture and recapture in an effulgence of blood and fire occurred on the one day, scarred the memory of minds of all participants and witnesses. Not one solitary word of the event or related business was passed on by his KINSELLA grandfather; down to his death in the early part of the 20th century, the topic was strictly taboo in his presence. Not one iota of information could be extracted from his eldest surviving daughter, Lena, who lived to the age of 93. This terrible silence about this period reflects "the horrible blank in folk memory," Life, work, survival with head down and shut mouth were the order of the day when the patriots were worsted in the game and when eviction at a landlord's whim thrived even up to the 1880s. The 1798 Rebellion introduced total and vicious war to Ireland to such a degree that, in the major areas of conflict, the memory, the legends, and the private family accounts still sear the consciousness, and the descendants of the revolutionaries regard them with affection and pride. Worsted in the game, certainly, but what a performance by a proud and humiliated people! In that year intellectual, enterprising heroes, Protestant and Catholic alike, joined in this fresh, liberating dream for human rights and self-respect. Were it not for 1798, with its bravery, accomplishment and awfulness, such inspirational giants as Edward ROCHE, Beauchamp Bagenal HARVEY, Henry Joy McCRACKEN, Michael DWYER, Fr. John MURPHY, Thomas CLONE, Matthew FURLONG, Cornelius GROGAN, John KELLY of Killanne, Fr. Philip ROCHE, Miles BYRNE, and others would never have entered the state of Irish, European, and world history from rustic obscurity. The very same may be said of the women. It was the widows, the mothers, and the sisters who saved Ireland after defiance was reduced to debacle. The farms, the businesses and the bread-on-the table demands stimulated their courageous contributions when normal life's battles had to be resumed. -- Excerpts, "The World of Hibernia," Summer 1998

THE SPUR You think it horrible that lust and rage Should dance attention upon my old age; They were not such a plague when I was young; What else have I to spur me into song? -- William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

WHEN YOU ARE OLD When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. -- Verse by William Butler Yeats, circa 1891, addressing his unrequieted love for Maud Gonne, Irish nationalist; it appeared in a vellum manuscript book entitled "The Flame of the Spirit," which he inscribed for her.

IT'S LITTLE FOR GLORY I CARE It's little for glory I care; Sure ambition is only a fable; I'd as soon be myself as Lord Mayor, With lashins of drink on the table. I like to lie down in the sun, And drame when my faytures is scorchin', That when I'm too ould for more fun, Why, I'll marry a wife with a fortune. And in winter, with bacon and eggs, And a place at the turf-fire basking, Sip my punch as I roasted my legs, Oh! the devil a more I'd be asking. For I haven't a jaynius for work -- It was never the gift of the Bradies - But I'd make a most illigant Turk, For I'm fond of tobacco and ladies. -- Charles James Lever (1806-1872)

Margaret sent me this additional information in response to post and kindly permitted me to send on to the list: Re: Irish Revolutionary -- Thomas J. CLARKE born Isle of Wight to Irish Parents "Just a side note - Thomas's son Thomas married one of my WALSH relations. That line eventually found its way back to the Isle of Wight. I had the pleasure of meeting and spending time with one of them about a year ago when he made a trip over here. He told of his grand dad who kept a letter written by Thomas in his jail cell in his billfold. Toward the end of his life the Nuns had a fit that such an "important document" be treated in such a way. So to the Nuns it went as remembrance of a man they thought was a Saint." Margaret

As late as 1830 most clergy in the American Catholic Church were English or French. After that time, the Irish influenced American Catholicism. and tended to be more conservative and authoritarian than their French, English, and German Catholic counterparts. They also tended to share a negative view toward the many reform movements taking place in America - whether it was the temperance crusade, abolitionism, women's rights, public education, or antipoverty initiatives, most Irish clergymen viewed them as just so many variations of evangelical Protestantism that preached the "wrongheaded" idea that society, rather than just individuals, could be reformed. The embodiment of this trend toward authoritarian clergy and hostility to evangelical Protestant reform was John HUGHES (1797-1864) bishop of NY. Born in Co. Tyrone, he came to the U. S. in 1818 and entered Mount St. Mary's seminary in MD. Ordained in 1826 he soon achieved a national reputation as a fiery pro-Catholic as he engaged in many high-profile "debates" in the pages of leading Protestant and Catholic newspapers. His detractors called him "Dagger John" because of his personality and the fact that he always drew a dagger-like cross under his signature. He became a leading figure in the reshaping of the American Catholic Church along Irish lines - that is a militant brand of worship that emphasized obedience, piety, regular worship, and reception of the sacraments - backed by an authoritarian clergy. Central to this plan was a program of institution building designed to insulate Catholics from the corrupting influences of American culture. This included a vast sy! stem of parochial schools, hospitals, and orphanages, plus separate fraternal societies. His outlook was understandable, given the hostile environment of this era. However, it can be said that Hughes' model of defensive Catholicism hindered the full participation of Catholics in American life until the mid-20th century. New York City already had a cathedral named in honor of Ireland's patron saint, but it was rather small and located in the heart of the city's "Little Ireland" district. Archbishop John HUGHES envisioned a bigger cathedral in a more central location. Modeled after the great European Gothic cathedrals, the new St. Patrick's Cathedral was to stand as a proud symbol of Irish Catholic power in the city and in America. So, in 1858, with money pledged by the city's wealthy Catholics, Hughes presided over a groundbreaking ceremony commencing its construction. Many New Yorkers dubbed the project "Hughes' folly" when they learned it would be built way uptown on Fiftieth St. and Fifth Avenue, and they also criticized the Church for building an expensive building when so many Irish Catholics lived in poverty. But Hughes wanted a prominent symbol of Catholicism and knew the city would grow northward. After many delays including the Civil War, the new St. Patrick's opened in 1879.! To this day it is the largest Catholic cathedral in the U.S. and the 11th largest in the world. -- Excerpts, "1001 Things Everyone Should Know About Irish American History," Edward T. O'Donnell, (2002).

TRIBUTES have been flooding in following the sudden death in America of world-renowned Belfast musician Derek Bell. Described by friends in the business as a ''musical genius", 68-year-old Mr. Bell was an accomplished musician who mastered a staggering number of instruments. A member of the legendary Chieftains group, Mr Bell received an MBE in 2000 for more than 30 years of devotion to his beloved traditional music. The Chieftains, of which Mr Bell was the only member from Northern Ireland, yesterday said his passing would leave a silence than could never be filled. Derek Bell was a classically trained musician, composer and professor who was also a much loved "bubbly character" in the field of traditional Irish music. A native of Belfast, Mr Bell lived in Bangor with his wife Stephanie but had been in America when he died, following a concert there. "Apart from his renown as a traditional musician and long-standing member of The Chieftains, Derek was enormously respected in the world of classical music. Derek made many guest appearances with the Chieftains before joining them full-time in 1974, featuring on four of their best-selling albums. A child prodigy who wrote his first concerto at the age of 12, Derek was a classically trained musician, being the pupil of such internationally renowned teachers as Leon Goossens and Madam Rosina Lhevinne. He studied at the Royal College of Music and at a number of the finest colleges throughout Europe and America. Best known for his skill on the harp, Derek only took up the instrument in his 30s when he took his first lessons with Sheila Larchet-Cuthbert, using a harp borrowed from a local arts council. His flair for the instrument was immense, catapulting him to the prestigious role as professor of harp with the Belfast Academy of Music. But he could also turn his hand effortlessly to the oboe, horn, cor anglais, hammered dulcimer and keyboards. His talents on the oboe and keyboards formed part of the trademark sound of the Chieftains, while his skills on the hammered dulcimer has lead to the recreation of the ancient Irish instrument, the tiompan. Among his list of appearances with the world's musical elite, Derek played with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, the symphony orchestras of Moscow, Budapest, London and Pittsburgh. Throughout his life, he played with the BBC Northern Ireland Orchestra, composed piano sonatas and a symphony in E-flat for orchestras and received the Manns Prize from the Royal College of Music for his musical talents. Sir James Galway, a friend of Mr Bell since they were students together at the Royal College of Music, said he occupied "a unique position in the music world". Excerpts, published reports 18/10/2002

Tragic loss of a 'musical genius' By Lesley Walsh TRIBUTES have been flooding in following the sudden death in America of world-renowned Belfast musician Derek Bell. Described by friends in the business as a ''musical genius", 68-year-old Mr Bell was an accomplished musician who mastered a staggering number of instruments. A member of the legendary Chieftains group, Mr Bell received an MBE in 2000 for more than 30 years of devotion to his beloved traditional music. The Chieftains, of which Mr Bell was the only member from Northern Ireland, yesterday said his passing would leave a silence than could never be filled. Fellow Belfast musicians Van Morrison and Brian Kennedy were among those who issued personal tributes in his memory. Derek Bell was a classically trained musician, composer and professor who was also a much loved "bubbly character" in the field of traditional Irish music. A native of Belfast, Mr Bell lived in Bangor with his wife Stephanie but had been in America when he died, following a concert there. In a statement from the Chieftains, its seven other members spoke of their great shock and sadness at the news of his death. "Following a recent concert in the US, Derek had remained behind for minor surgery and a number of routine health checks. "He had just been given the all-clear to return home, so his death has come as a great shock to all those close to him. "Apart from his renown as a traditional musician and long-standing member of The Chieftains, Derek was enormously respected in the world of classical music. "His passing has left a silence that will never be filled and anyone who has had the honour of meeting him will know the world will just be a much less interesting place without him." The statement, issued by band frontman, Paddy Maloney, and members Sean Keane, Kevin Conneff, Matt Molloy, Martin Fay, Michael Tubridy and Sean Potts, concluded: "We will all miss him terribly - Ar dheis De go raibh a anam." Van Morrison said: "Derek was a musical genius, and a great friend. He will be sadly missed." Brian Kennedy yesterday said he felt honoured to have worked with Mr Bell. "The world has lost an extraordinary talent and my heart goes out to his family," he said. Eamonn McCann of Wonderland Promotions, added his own words of shock and sadness. "Irish music has lost one of its finest ambassadors," he said. Derek made many guest appearances with the Chieftains before joining them full-time in 1974, featuring on four of their best-selling albums. A child prodigy who wrote his first concerto at the age of 12, Derek was a classically trained musician, being the pupil of such internationally renowned teachers as Leon Goossens and Madam Rosina Lhevinne. He studied at the Royal College of Music and at a number of the finest colleges throughout Europe and America. Best known for his skill on the harp, Derek only took up the instrument in his 30s when he took his first lessons with Sheila Larchet-Cuthbert, using a harp borrowed from a local arts council. His flair for the instrument was immense, catapulting him to the prestigious role as professor of harp with the Belfast Academy of Music. But he could also turn his hand effortlessly to the oboe, horn, cor anglais, hammered dulcimer and keyboards. His talents on the oboe and keyboards formed part of the trademark sound of the Chieftains, while his skills on the hammered dulcimer has lead to the recreation of the ancient Irish instrument, the tiompan. Among his list of appearances with the world's musical elite, Derek played with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, the symphony orchestras of Moscow, Budapest, London and Pittsburgh. Throughout his life, he played with the BBC Northern Ireland Orchestra, composed piano sonatas and a symphony in E-flat for orchestras and received the Manns Prize from the Royal College of Music for his musical talents. Sir James Galway, a friend of Mr Bell since they were students together at the Royal College of Music, said he occupied "a unique position in the music world". "Derek was an essential member of the Chieftains professionally and personally,'' he said. "He retained a real passion for folk music and will be sadly missed." Taoiseach Bertie Ahern said he was deeply saddened to hear of Mr Bell's death. "Derek was a gifted musician, a great character and one of life's true gentlemen. Since joining the Chieftains in the early seventies, he brought a new dimension to the group that helped them to make traditional Irish music accessible to an international audience. "His many millions of fans throughout the world will mourn his passing." Friend and music writer for the News Letter, Geoff Harden added his own fond memories of the great musician. "Derek was just a lovely, bubbly person and was always the character of the Chieftains and the butt of Paddy Maloney's jokes in their concerts. "He was a wonderful character and was so enthusiast about his music and about helping others in the music world." Published: 18/10/2002

MY FATHER, AT 86, REMEMBERS BACK When I was a small lad, six or seven, I'd walk the ten miles west with my mother to visit her people. The front of the house was covered in roses, pink and red, You'd smell them at night in bed; I thought I was in Heaven. It's a sight to think it's all gone. -- Vincent Woods, (contemp.) "The Leitrim Guardian"

Received this information back from Ted re my query regarding Thomas J. CLARKE. Thomas James Clarke On March 11, 1857, Irish revolutionary Thomas James Clarke was born of Irish parents on the Isle of Wight. He spent part of his early life in South Africa and the United States, as well as Ireland. At 21, living in the U.S., he joined the Clan na Gael and was sent to England as part of the Clan's bombing campaign. He was arrested and spent 15 torturous years in prison there before being released. He lived in the U.S. for a time, then returned to Ireland and helped reorganize the IRB. He was one of the leaders of the Easter Rising and the first signer of the Proclamation of the Republic. He was executed at Kilmainham Jail on May 3, 1916. 'This is the beginning, our fight has saved Ireland. The soldiers of tomorrow will finish the task.' -- Thomas Clarke, May 1916

SONG Awake thee, my Bessy, the morning is fair, The breath of young roses is fresh on the air, The sun has long glanced over mountain and lake -- Then awake from thy slumbers, my Bessy, awake. Oh, come whilst the flowers are still wet with the dew -- I'll gather the fairest, my Bessy, for you; The lark poureth forth his sweet strain for thy sake -- Then awake from thy slumbers, my Bessy, awake. The hare from her soft bed of heather hath gone, The coot to the water already hath flown; There is life on the mountain and joy on the lake -- Then awake from thy slumbers, my Bessy, awake. -- J. J. Callanan (1795-1828)

Sorry, PEARSE is the correct spelling. The post should have read: In addition to Thomas MacDONAGH of Cloughjordan, Co. Tipperary, the following were also executed: Joseph PLUNKETT of Dublin; Thomas J. CLARKE; James CONNOLLY from Co. Monaghan near Clones; Sean MAC DIARMADA of Glenfarne, Co. Leitrim; Eamonn CEANNT of Co. Galway; and Padraig PEARSE of Dublin.

Received this interesting follow-up note to my MacDonagh post yesterday. It should be noted that in addition to Thomas MacDONAGH of Cloughjordan, Co. Tipperary, the following were also executed: Joseph PLUNKETT of Dublin; Thomas J. CLARKE; James CONNOLLY from Co. Monaghan near Clones; Sean MAC DIARMADA of Glenfarne, Co. Leitrim; Eamonn CEANNT of Co. Galway; and Padraig PEARCE of Dublin. A chairde, On the day that Patrick Pearse was executed, another Irish Patriot named Thomas McDonagh also met his destiny. I find McDonagh's last letter to his wife to be a very moving and important insight into this hero, and I share it with you below. Siochain, Ted Meehan (Dublin's) Kilmainhan Gaol Midnight, Tuesday 2nd May, 1916 I Thomas MacDonagh, having now heard the sentence of the Court Martial held on me today, declare that in all my acts - all the acts for which I have been arraigned - I have been actuated by one motive only, The love of my country, the desire to make her a sovereign independent state, I still hope and pray that my acts may have for consummation her lasting freedom and happiness. I am to die at dawn, 3:30 a.m., 3rd. May. I am ready to die, and thank God that I die in so holy a cause. My country will reward my dust richly. On April 30th. I was astonished to receive by a messenger from P.H. Pearse, Commandant General of the Army of the Irish Republic, an order to surrender unconditionality to the Brittish General. I did not obey the order as it came from a prisoner. I as then in supreme command of the Irish Army, consulted with my second in command and decided to confirm the order. I knew that it would involve my death and the deaths of other leaders. I hoped that it would save many true men among our followers, good lives for Ireland. God grant it has done so and God approve our deed. For my self I have no regret. The one bitterness that death has for me is the separation it brings from my beloved wife Muriel, and my beloved children, Donagh and Barbara. My country will then treat them as wards, I hope. I have devoted myself too much to National work and too little to the making of money to leave them a competence. God help them and supprot them, and give them a happy and prosperous life. Never was there a better, truer, purer woman then my wife Muriel, or more adoreable children than Don and Barbara. It breaks my heart that I shall never see my children again, but I have not wept or murmured. I counted the cost of this and am ready to pay it. Muriel has been sent for here. I do not know if she can come. She may have no one to take the children while she is coming. If she does - My money affairs are in a bad way. I am insured for £200 in the New York Life Co. but have borrowed £ 101, I think. I am insured for £100 in the Alliance Co., but have a bank debt for £80. That brings less than £120 from these sources, if they produce anything. In addition I have insured my two children for £100 each in Mutual Co. of Australasia, payment of premiums to cease at my death the money to be paid to the children at the age of twenty one. I ask my brother Joseph MacDonagh and my good and constant friend David Houston to help my poor wife in these matters. My brother Joe, who came with me and stood by me all last week has been sent away from here, I do not know where to. He, if he can, will help my family too. God bless him and my other sisters and brotheres. Assistance has been guaranteed from funds in the hands of Cumann na mBan and other funds to be collected in America by our fellow countrymen there in provision for the dependents of those who fall in the fight.! I appeal without shame to the persons who control these funds to assist my family. My wife and I have given all for Ireland. I ask my friend David Houston to see Mr. W.G. Lyon, publisher of my latest book, Literature in Ireland, and see that its publication may be useful for my wife and family. If Joseph Plunkett survives me and is a free man I make him, with my wife, my literary executor. Otherwise my wife and David Houston will take charge of my writings. For the first time I pray that they may bring in some profit at last. My wife will want money from every source. Yesterday at my Court Martial in rebutting some trifling evidence, I made a statement as to the negotiations for surrender with General Lowe. On hearing it read after, it struck me that it might sound like an appeal. It was not such. I make no appeal, no recantation, no apology, for my acts. In what I said I merely claimed that I act honourably and throughly in all that I set myself to do. My enemies have, in return, treated me in an unworthy manner. But that can pass. It is a great and glorious thing to die for Ireland and I can well forget all petty annoyances in the splendour of this. When my son, Don, was born I thought that to him and not to me would this be given. God has been kinder than I hoped. My son will have a great name. To my son Don. My darling little boy remember me kindly. Take my hope and purpose with my deed. For your sake and for the sake of your beloved mother and sister I would wish to live long, but you will recognise the thing I have done and see this as a consequence. I still think I have done a great thing for Ireland, and, with the defeat of her enemy, won the first step of her freedom. God Bless you, my son. My darling daughter, Barbara, God bless you. I loved you more than ever a child has been loved. My dearest love, Muriel, thank you a million times for all that you have been to me. I have only one trouble in leaving life - leaving you so. Be sure , Darling, God will assist and bless you. Goodbye. Kiss my darlings for me. I send you the few things I have saved out of this war. Goodbye my love, till we meet in heaven. I have a sure faith in our union there. I kiss this paper that goes to you. I have just heard that they have not been able to reach you. Perhaps it is better so. Yet Father Aloysious is going to make another effort to do something. God help and sustain you, my love. But for your suffering this would be all joy and glory Your loving husband Thomas MacDonagh I return the darlings' photographs Good bye my love.

In his autobiographies ("Angela's Ashes" & "Tis") Frank McCourt tells his moving story about his mother who was born into a Catholic family in the slums of Limerick. When Angela Sheehan married a Toome, Co. Antrim man and they struggled to raise their large family in Limerick, her husband Malachy was looked up with great suspicion and contempt by her family and neighbors and in his attempts to find work. Because he was from the North and had a different accent McCourt was dismissed as a "sneaky little Presbyterian with an odd look and an odd way of talking." Depressed and irresponsible, he squandered the little money he earned on drink and several of Frank's sibings actually died of malnutrition. Some years later (1959) Angela visited her son, Frank, a school teacher and author in NYC: "Mam had moved into a small apartment... on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.." Frank recalls, "I remembered something she had told me months ago while we sat waiting for Thanksgiving dinner. 'Isn't it remarkable,' she said, the ways thing turn out in people's lives." I asked her what she meant. She replied, "Well I was sitting in my apartment and I was feeling lonesome so I went up and sat on one of those benches they have in the grassy island in the middle of Broadway and this woman came along, a shopping bag woman, one of the homeless ones, all tattered and greasy, rootin' around in the garbage can till she found a newspaper and sat beside me reading it till she asked me if she could borrow my glasses because she could only read the headlines with the sight she had and when she talked I noticed she had an Irish accent, so I asked her where she came from and she told me Donegal a long time ago and wasn't it lovely to be sitting on a bench in the middle of Broadway with people noticing things and asking where you came from. She asked if I could spare a few pennies for soup and I said instead she could come with me to the Associated supermarket and we'd get some groceries and have a proper meal. Oh, she couldn't do that, she said, but I told her that's what I was ! going to do anyway. She wouldn't come inside the store. She said they wouldn't want the likes of her." Angela continued, "I got bread and butter and rashers and eggs and when we got home I told her she could go in and have a nice shower and she was delighted with herself though there wasn't much I could do about her clothes or the bags she carried. We had our dinner and watched television till she started falling asleep on me and I told her to lie down there on the bed but she wouldn't, God knows the bed is big enough for four, but she laid down on the floor with a shopping bag under the head and when I woke up in the morning she was gone and I missed her." Sadly, discrimination, homelessness, poverty, hardship and hunger still exist, but it IS in our power to do something about it.