BALLINTUBBERT HOUSE, CO. LAOIS Here is the unremembered gate, Two asses, a grey and a black, Have ambled across from the rough lawn As if they'd been told to greet The revenant. Trees draw graciously back As I follow the drive, to unveil For this drifty wraith, composed and real The house where he was born. Nothing is changed from that sixty-year-old Photograph, except My father's young face has been brushed away. On the steps down which he strolled With me in his arms, the living are grouped, And it is my son, Sean Who stands upon the dishevelled lawn To photograph us today. I walk through the unremembered house, Note on the walls each stain Of damp; then up the spacious stair As if I would now retrace My self to the room where it began. Dust on fine furnishings, A scent of wood ash -- the whole house sings With an elegiac air. Its owner is not at home -- nor I Who have no title to it And no drowned memories to chime Through its hush. Can piety Or a long-lost innocence explain it? By what prodigious spell, Sad elegant house, you have made me feel A ghost before my time? -- Anglo-Irish C. DAY-LEWIS, Poet Laureate, England Note -- Cecil DAY-LEWIS was born in Ballintubbert House, Ballintober, Queen's (now Co. Laois) Ireland, the son of Frank & Kathleen DAY-LEWIS, his father a Protestant clergyman. Although they moved to England within the next two years, C. DAY-LEWIS never forgot his Irish roots. He began writing poetry at the age of six, attended Oxford, wrote mystery novels under a pseudonym, taught for seven years, was a visiting professor at Harvard in 1964-65. C. DAY-LEWIS received the honor of being chosen Poet Laureate of England in 1968. Much of his poetry has been published in the USA.

SEEING THINGS I Inishbofin on a Sunday morning. Sunlight, turfsmoke, seagulls, boatslip, diesel. One by one we were being handed down Into a boat that slipped and shilly-shallied Scaresomely every time. We sat tight On short cross-benches, in nervous twos and threes, Obedient, newly close, nobody speaking Except the boatmen, as the gunwales sank And seemed they might ship water any minute. The sea was very calm but even so, When the engine kicked and our ferryman Swayed for balance, reaching for the tiller, I panicked at the shiftiness and heft Of the craft itself. What guaranteed us -- That quick response and buoyancy and swim -- Kept me in agony. All the time As we went sailing evenly across The deep, still, seeable-down-into water, It was as if I looked from another boat Sailing through the air, far up, and could see How riskily we fared into the morning, And loved in vain our bare, bowed, numbered heads. -- Seamus Heaney, from "Seeing Things" (1991)

Sorry to be a bit pedantic - but the harebell is NOT the bluebell. Different flowers and times of flowering altogether. The harebell is indeed the wild campanula, and a beautiful little thing it is too, usually found in grassland or at the roadside edge or between the rocks on the mountainside from mid to late summer and sometimes on into Autumn. The bluebell is a relative of the hyacinth and carpets the woodland floor normally in May. A glorious expanse of blue, but a fearsome spreader...... Mary On 4 Jun 2009, at 08:00, irelandgenweb-request@rootsweb.com wrote: > > > Check out the Ireland GenWeb website at: http://www.irelandgenweb.com/ > It is a good place to get help with your family research. > Help wanted: County Coordinators > Add you surname to the Ireland Surname Registry at: > http://www.connorsgenealogy.net/IrelandList/ > > Today's Topics: > > 1. "Harebells over Mannin Bay" -- Cecil DAY-LEWIS b. 1904 > Queen's Co. (Laois) IRE (Jean R.) > 2. Re: "Harebells over Mannin Bay" -- Cecil DAY-LEWIS b.1904 > Queen's Co. (Laois) IRE (Mary Egger) > 3. Derry-born Seamus HEANEY (contemp.) - "The Toome Road" (Jean R.) > > > ---------------------------------------------------------------------- > > Message: 1 > Date: Wed, 3 Jun 2009 10:15:22 -0700 > From: "Jean R." <jeanrice@cet.com> > Subject: [Irish Genealogy] "Harebells over Mannin Bay" -- Cecil > DAY-LEWIS b. 1904 Queen's Co. (Laois) IRE > To: <IrelandGenWeb-L@rootsweb.com> > Message-ID: <8e0101c9e46e$ea4bee30$451ecac6@jean> > Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed; charset="iso-8859-1"; > reply-type=original > > HAREBELLS OVER MANNIN BAY > > Half moon of moon-pale sand. > Sea stirs in midnight blue. > Looking across to the Twelve Pins > The singular harebells stand. > > The sky's all azure. Eye > To eye with them upon > Cropped grass, I note the harebells give > Faint echoes of the sky. > > For such a Lilliput host > To pit their colours against > Peacock of sea and mountain seems > Impertinence at least. > > These summer commonplaces, > Seen close enough, confound > A league of brilliant waves, and dance > On the grave mountain faces. > > Harebells, keep your arresting > Pose by the strand. I like > These gestures of the ephemeral > Against the everlasting. > > -- Cecil Day-Lewis, late Poet Laureate of England (born Co. Laois, > Ireland) > > Note - harebells/flowers; pins/mountains; ephemeral/short-lasting; > Mannin > Bay/Galway > Lilliput/tiny > > > > > ------------------------------ > > Message: 2 > Date: Wed, 3 Jun 2009 11:41:10 -0500 > From: "Mary Egger" <campsiehills@sbcglobal.net> > Subject: Re: [Irish Genealogy] "Harebells over Mannin Bay" -- Cecil > DAY-LEWIS b.1904 Queen's Co. (Laois) IRE > To: <irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com> > Message-ID: <E8EEB7CC6D3D434AB6551E2B568B9275@MaisieEggerPC> > Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed; charset="iso-8859-1"; > reply-type=original > > No wonder he was made poet laureate! Such glorious imagery! > > The harebell is known otherwise as the bluebell, the national flower of > Scotland (campanula rotundifolia), and songs have been composed on "The > Bluebells of Scotland".. Not to be confused, the national emblem of > Scotland is the thistle. > > Thank you again, Jean, for the inclusion of so much wonderful poetry. > > Maisie > > ----- Original Message ----- > From: "Jean R." <jeanrice@cet.com> > To: <IrelandGenWeb-L@rootsweb.com> > Sent: Wednesday, June 03, 2009 12:15 PM > Subject: [Irish Genealogy] "Harebells over Mannin Bay" -- Cecil > DAY-LEWIS > b.1904 Queen's Co. (Laois) IRE > > >> HAREBELLS OVER MANNIN BAY >> >> Half moon of moon-pale sand. >> Sea stirs in midnight blue. >> Looking across to the Twelve Pins >> The singular harebells stand. >> >> The sky's all azure. Eye >> To eye with them upon >> Cropped grass, I note the harebells give >> Faint echoes of the sky. >> >> For such a Lilliput host >> To pit their colours against >> Peacock of sea and mountain seems >> Impertinence at least. >> >> These summer commonplaces, >> Seen close enough, confound >> A league of brilliant waves, and dance >> On the grave mountain faces. >> >> Harebells, keep your arresting >> Pose by the strand. I like >> These gestures of the ephemeral >> Against the everlasting. >> >> -- Cecil Day-Lewis, late Poet Laureate of England (born Co. Laois, >> Ireland) >> >> Note - harebells/flowers; pins/mountains; ephemeral/short-lasting; >> Mannin >> Bay/Galway >> Lilliput/tiny >> >> >> Check out the Ireland GenWeb website at: >> http://www.irelandgenweb.com/ >> >> Great place to get help with your family research. >> >> County Clare has been adopted! >> >> Help wanted: County Coordinators >> ------------------------------- >> To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to >> IRELANDGENWEB-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' >> without the >> quotes in the subject and the body of the message > > > > ------------------------------ > > Message: 3 > Date: Wed, 3 Jun 2009 22:59:46 -0700 > From: "Jean R." <jeanrice@cet.com> > Subject: [Irish Genealogy] Derry-born Seamus HEANEY (contemp.) - "The > Toome Road" > To: <IrelandGenWeb-L@rootsweb.com> > Message-ID: <9aa601c9e4d9$aa5b0de0$451ecac6@jean> > Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed; charset="iso-8859-1"; > reply-type=original > > THE TOOME ROAD > > One morning early I met armoured cars > In convoy, warbling along on powerful tyres, > All camouflaged with broken alder branches, > And headphoned soldiers standing up in turrets. > How long were they approaching down my roads > As if they owned them? The whole country was sleeping. > I had rights-of-way, fields, cattle in my keeping, > Tractors hitched to buckrakes in open sheds, > Silos, chill gates, wet slates, the greens and reds > Of outhouse roofs. Whom should I run to tell > Among all of those with their back doors on the latch > For the bringer of bad news, that small-hours visitant > Who, by being expected, might be kept distant? > Sowers of seed, erectors of headstones ... > O charioteers, above your dormant guns, > It stands here still, stands vibrant as you pass, > The invisible, untoppled omphalos. > > -- Seamus Heaney, from "Field Work" (1979) > > > > ------------------------------ > > To contact the IRELANDGENWEB list administrator, send an email to > IRELANDGENWEB-admin@rootsweb.com. > > To post a message to the IRELANDGENWEB mailing list, send an email to > IRELANDGENWEB@rootsweb.com. > > __________________________________________________________ > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > IRELANDGENWEB-request@rootsweb.com > with the word "unsubscribe" without the quotes in the subject and the > body of the > email with no additional text. > > > End of IRELANDGENWEB Digest, Vol 4, Issue 115 > ********************************************* >

Thank you for your observation, and not wishing to be contentious, but I had always heard that the harebell was a "rose by any other name," the bluebell. The harebell/bluebell being the national flower of Scotland, I was curious to see if there was a distinction, so off to check the dicitonaries:. I have capitalised both words for no other reason other than to make a distinction between both words as they are defined in the dictionary. In Chambers Twentieth Century Dictionary, published Edinburgh, Scotland, HAREBELL is defined as the Scottish BLUEBELL (Campanula rotundifolia). To follow up on your description, I then looked up BLUEBELL, which states: In S. Scotland the wood hyacuinth, in Scotland and N. England the HAREBELL. In The American College Dictionary, this definition under BLUEBELL: 1. any of various plants with blue bell-shaped flowers, as the HAREBELL (BLUEBELL of Scotland), or a liliaceous plant, Scilla nonscripta, of the Old World, 2. the lungwort, Meritensia virginica, of the U.S. I then looked under HAREBELL: 1. a low campanlulaceous herb, the BLUEBELL of Scotland. Campanula rotundifolia, with blue, bell-shaped flowers. 2. a liliaceous plant, Scilla nonscripta, with bell-shaped flowers. Maybe the harebell/bluebell grows at different times in Ireland. Incidentally, a friend on this side of the Atlantic returned from a trip in May to Argyll, Scotland, where she sent me a photograph of where the woods were carpeted with bluebells, and so May seems to be the month when this lovely little flower "proliferates." Mary, I think, in this instance, that harebell and bluebell can be interchangeable, but I am not going to argue the point as I am not a horticulturist and must rely on the dictionary for the definitions. Maisie ----- Original Message ----- From: "Mary Simpson" <mary@msimpson.demon.co.uk> To: <irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com> Sent: Thursday, June 04, 2009 5:16 AM Subject: Re: [Irish Genealogy] IRELANDGENWEB Digest, Vol 4, Issue 115 > Sorry to be a bit pedantic - but the harebell is NOT the bluebell. > Different flowers and times of flowering altogether. The harebell is > indeed the wild campanula, and a beautiful little thing it is too, > usually found in grassland or at the roadside edge or between the rocks > on the mountainside from mid to late summer and sometimes on into > Autumn. > The bluebell is a relative of the hyacinth and carpets the woodland > floor normally in May. A glorious expanse of blue, but a fearsome > spreader...... > Mary > On 4 Jun 2009, at 08:00, irelandgenweb-request@rootsweb.com wrote: > >> >> >> Check out the Ireland GenWeb website at: http://www.irelandgenweb.com/ >> It is a good place to get help with your family research. >> Help wanted: County Coordinators >> Add you surname to the Ireland Surname Registry at: >> http://www.connorsgenealogy.net/IrelandList/ >> >> Today's Topics: >> >> 1. "Harebells over Mannin Bay" -- Cecil DAY-LEWIS b. 1904 >> Queen's Co. (Laois) IRE (Jean R.) >> 2. Re: "Harebells over Mannin Bay" -- Cecil DAY-LEWIS b.1904 >> Queen's Co. (Laois) IRE (Mary Egger) >> 3. Derry-born Seamus HEANEY (contemp.) - "The Toome Road" (Jean R.) >> >> >> ---------------------------------------------------------------------- >> >> Message: 1 >> Date: Wed, 3 Jun 2009 10:15:22 -0700 >> From: "Jean R." <jeanrice@cet.com> >> Subject: [Irish Genealogy] "Harebells over Mannin Bay" -- Cecil >> DAY-LEWIS b. 1904 Queen's Co. (Laois) IRE >> To: <IrelandGenWeb-L@rootsweb.com> >> Message-ID: <8e0101c9e46e$ea4bee30$451ecac6@jean> >> Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed; charset="iso-8859-1"; >> reply-type=original >> >> HAREBELLS OVER MANNIN BAY >> >> Half moon of moon-pale sand. >> Sea stirs in midnight blue. >> Looking across to the Twelve Pins >> The singular harebells stand. >> >> The sky's all azure. Eye >> To eye with them upon >> Cropped grass, I note the harebells give >> Faint echoes of the sky. >> >> For such a Lilliput host >> To pit their colours against >> Peacock of sea and mountain seems >> Impertinence at least. >> >> These summer commonplaces, >> Seen close enough, confound >> A league of brilliant waves, and dance >> On the grave mountain faces. >> >> Harebells, keep your arresting >> Pose by the strand. I like >> These gestures of the ephemeral >> Against the everlasting. >> >> -- Cecil Day-Lewis, late Poet Laureate of England (born Co. Laois, >> Ireland) >> >> Note - harebells/flowers; pins/mountains; ephemeral/short-lasting; >> Mannin >> Bay/Galway >> Lilliput/tiny >> >> >> >> >> ------------------------------ >> >> Message: 2 >> Date: Wed, 3 Jun 2009 11:41:10 -0500 >> From: "Mary Egger" <campsiehills@sbcglobal.net> >> Subject: Re: [Irish Genealogy] "Harebells over Mannin Bay" -- Cecil >> DAY-LEWIS b.1904 Queen's Co. (Laois) IRE >> To: <irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com> >> Message-ID: <E8EEB7CC6D3D434AB6551E2B568B9275@MaisieEggerPC> >> Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed; charset="iso-8859-1"; >> reply-type=original >> >> No wonder he was made poet laureate! Such glorious imagery! >> >> The harebell is known otherwise as the bluebell, the national flower of >> Scotland (campanula rotundifolia), and songs have been composed on "The >> Bluebells of Scotland".. Not to be confused, the national emblem of >> Scotland is the thistle. >> >> Thank you again, Jean, for the inclusion of so much wonderful poetry. >> >> Maisie >> >> ----- Original Message ----- >> From: "Jean R." <jeanrice@cet.com> >> To: <IrelandGenWeb-L@rootsweb.com> >> Sent: Wednesday, June 03, 2009 12:15 PM >> Subject: [Irish Genealogy] "Harebells over Mannin Bay" -- Cecil >> DAY-LEWIS >> b.1904 Queen's Co. (Laois) IRE >> >> >>> HAREBELLS OVER MANNIN BAY >>> >>> Half moon of moon-pale sand. >>> Sea stirs in midnight blue. >>> Looking across to the Twelve Pins >>> The singular harebells stand. >>> >>> The sky's all azure. Eye >>> To eye with them upon >>> Cropped grass, I note the harebells give >>> Faint echoes of the sky. >>> >>> For such a Lilliput host >>> To pit their colours against >>> Peacock of sea and mountain seems >>> Impertinence at least. >>> >>> These summer commonplaces, >>> Seen close enough, confound >>> A league of brilliant waves, and dance >>> On the grave mountain faces. >>> >>> Harebells, keep your arresting >>> Pose by the strand. I like >>> These gestures of the ephemeral >>> Against the everlasting. >>> >>> -- Cecil Day-Lewis, late Poet Laureate of England (born Co. Laois, >>> Ireland) >>> >>> Note - harebells/flowers; pins/mountains; ephemeral/short-lasting; >>> Mannin >>> Bay/Galway >>> Lilliput/tiny >>> >>> >>> Check out the Ireland GenWeb website at: >>> http://www.irelandgenweb.com/ >>> >>> Great place to get help with your family research. >>> >>> County Clare has been adopted! >>> >>> Help wanted: County Coordinators >>> ------------------------------- >>> To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to >>> IRELANDGENWEB-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' >>> without the >>> quotes in the subject and the body of the message >> >> >> >> ------------------------------ >> >> Message: 3 >> Date: Wed, 3 Jun 2009 22:59:46 -0700 >> From: "Jean R." <jeanrice@cet.com> >> Subject: [Irish Genealogy] Derry-born Seamus HEANEY (contemp.) - "The >> Toome Road" >> To: <IrelandGenWeb-L@rootsweb.com> >> Message-ID: <9aa601c9e4d9$aa5b0de0$451ecac6@jean> >> Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed; charset="iso-8859-1"; >> reply-type=original >> >> THE TOOME ROAD >> >> One morning early I met armoured cars >> In convoy, warbling along on powerful tyres, >> All camouflaged with broken alder branches, >> And headphoned soldiers standing up in turrets. >> How long were they approaching down my roads >> As if they owned them? The whole country was sleeping. >> I had rights-of-way, fields, cattle in my keeping, >> Tractors hitched to buckrakes in open sheds, >> Silos, chill gates, wet slates, the greens and reds >> Of outhouse roofs. Whom should I run to tell >> Among all of those with their back doors on the latch >> For the bringer of bad news, that small-hours visitant >> Who, by being expected, might be kept distant? >> Sowers of seed, erectors of headstones ... >> O charioteers, above your dormant guns, >> It stands here still, stands vibrant as you pass, >> The invisible, untoppled omphalos. >> >> -- Seamus Heaney, from "Field Work" (1979) >> >> >> >> ------------------------------ >> >> To contact the IRELANDGENWEB list administrator, send an email to >> IRELANDGENWEB-admin@rootsweb.com. >> >> To post a message to the IRELANDGENWEB mailing list, send an email to >> IRELANDGENWEB@rootsweb.com. >> >> __________________________________________________________ >> To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to >> IRELANDGENWEB-request@rootsweb.com >> with the word "unsubscribe" without the quotes in the subject and the >> body of the >> email with no additional text. >> >> >> End of IRELANDGENWEB Digest, Vol 4, Issue 115 >> ********************************************* >> > > Check out the Ireland GenWeb website at: http://www.irelandgenweb.com/ > > Great place to get help with your family research. > > County Clare has been adopted! > > Help wanted: County Coordinators > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > IRELANDGENWEB-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the > quotes in the subject and the body of the message

Hi Mary - Thanks so much for sharing. Blue is my very favorite flower color! Cecil DAY-LEWIS was, indeed, an outstanding poet. A son, actor Daniel DAY-LEWIS, gave a very moving performance in the highly-acclaimed film,"My Left Foot," the true story of Christy BROWN, paralyzed except for his left foot who, with the help of his indomitable Irish mother, became an author and artist. Jean ----- Original Message ----- From: "Mary Egger" <campsiehills@sbcglobal.net> To: <irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com> Sent: Wednesday, June 03, 2009 9:41 AM Subject: Re: [Irish Genealogy] "Harebells over Mannin Bay" -- CecilDAY-LEWIS b.1904 Queen's Co. (Laois) IRE > No wonder he was made poet laureate! Such glorious imagery! <snip>

THE TOOME ROAD One morning early I met armoured cars In convoy, warbling along on powerful tyres, All camouflaged with broken alder branches, And headphoned soldiers standing up in turrets. How long were they approaching down my roads As if they owned them? The whole country was sleeping. I had rights-of-way, fields, cattle in my keeping, Tractors hitched to buckrakes in open sheds, Silos, chill gates, wet slates, the greens and reds Of outhouse roofs. Whom should I run to tell Among all of those with their back doors on the latch For the bringer of bad news, that small-hours visitant Who, by being expected, might be kept distant? Sowers of seed, erectors of headstones ... O charioteers, above your dormant guns, It stands here still, stands vibrant as you pass, The invisible, untoppled omphalos. -- Seamus Heaney, from "Field Work" (1979)

No wonder he was made poet laureate! Such glorious imagery! The harebell is known otherwise as the bluebell, the national flower of Scotland (campanula rotundifolia), and songs have been composed on "The Bluebells of Scotland".. Not to be confused, the national emblem of Scotland is the thistle. Thank you again, Jean, for the inclusion of so much wonderful poetry. Maisie ----- Original Message ----- From: "Jean R." <jeanrice@cet.com> To: <IrelandGenWeb-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Wednesday, June 03, 2009 12:15 PM Subject: [Irish Genealogy] "Harebells over Mannin Bay" -- Cecil DAY-LEWIS b.1904 Queen's Co. (Laois) IRE > HAREBELLS OVER MANNIN BAY > > Half moon of moon-pale sand. > Sea stirs in midnight blue. > Looking across to the Twelve Pins > The singular harebells stand. > > The sky's all azure. Eye > To eye with them upon > Cropped grass, I note the harebells give > Faint echoes of the sky. > > For such a Lilliput host > To pit their colours against > Peacock of sea and mountain seems > Impertinence at least. > > These summer commonplaces, > Seen close enough, confound > A league of brilliant waves, and dance > On the grave mountain faces. > > Harebells, keep your arresting > Pose by the strand. I like > These gestures of the ephemeral > Against the everlasting. > > -- Cecil Day-Lewis, late Poet Laureate of England (born Co. Laois, > Ireland) > > Note - harebells/flowers; pins/mountains; ephemeral/short-lasting; Mannin > Bay/Galway > Lilliput/tiny > > > Check out the Ireland GenWeb website at: http://www.irelandgenweb.com/ > > Great place to get help with your family research. > > County Clare has been adopted! > > Help wanted: County Coordinators > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > IRELANDGENWEB-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the > quotes in the subject and the body of the message

HAREBELLS OVER MANNIN BAY Half moon of moon-pale sand. Sea stirs in midnight blue. Looking across to the Twelve Pins The singular harebells stand. The sky's all azure. Eye To eye with them upon Cropped grass, I note the harebells give Faint echoes of the sky. For such a Lilliput host To pit their colours against Peacock of sea and mountain seems Impertinence at least. These summer commonplaces, Seen close enough, confound A league of brilliant waves, and dance On the grave mountain faces. Harebells, keep your arresting Pose by the strand. I like These gestures of the ephemeral Against the everlasting. -- Cecil Day-Lewis, late Poet Laureate of England (born Co. Laois, Ireland) Note - harebells/flowers; pins/mountains; ephemeral/short-lasting; Mannin Bay/Galway Lilliput/tiny

Seems that he may be from that part of Ireland having to do with Mored Bogs swamplike areas in Ireland. Not sure about his wife Mary or Maria or Mary Maria. She may have connections to Urquhart/Shaw/Wallace/ Dwyer/Ferguson. Just a guess she may have been from Scotland just across the border from Ireland/No Ireland. Does anyone know of this area of Ireland that I am looking for? Thanks so much

RAIN (Donegal) All day long The gray rain beating, On the bare hills Where the scant grass cannot cover, The gray rocks peeping Through the salt herbage All day long The young lambs bleating Stand for covering Where the scant grass is Under the gray wall, Or seeking softer shelter Under tattered fleeces Nuzzle the warm udders. All day long The little waves leaping Round the gray rocks By the brown tide borders, Round the black headlands Streaming with rain. -- Seumas O'Sullivan (born 1879)

"To A Man After The Harrow" Patrick Kavanagh Now leave the check-reins slack, The seed is flying far today- The seed like stars against the black Eternity of April clay. This seed is potent as the seed Of knowledge in the Hebrew book, So drive your horses in the creed Of God the Father as a stook. Forget the men on Brady's hill. Forget what Brady's boy may say For destiny will not fulfil Unless you let the harrow play. Forget the worm's opinion too Of hooves and pointed harrow-pins, For you are driving your horses through The mist where Genesis begins. First published in The Irish Times....6 April 1940. A reflection from his days in Co Monaghan

I WAS A LABOURER I was a labourer in the smoky valley, within the high walls, the tall dark walls of the mills, where the hills go up to the wild moor. I am a dog of the dales, broad is my speech, and my ways are not the smooth ways of the south, but hard, and used to keener weather. All week I worked among the looms while the cloth slacked out and the shuttles clacked swiftly, as the woof was shot through the warp and through my brain dim with the webs of years. All week I was the servant of the loom, chained to the steel for the promise of meagre coin, six days a week, but Sunday comes soon, and I am my master for the waking day that found me with my whippet on the moor. O my faithful lass! Soft was her fell; her eyes were like deep pools stained with peat, shafted with light; and intelligent. She was long in the body, but strong of limb and rib, and her muscles moved under the skin like currents in a bay of the river. She was swift as the wind or as the summer swallow, and I would pit her with the local dogs, backing her swiftness with my sweaty coin and many a shilling have I won with her to spend on some wet evening in a pub or buy the tickets at the picture palace when I took out the girl I meant to marry -- but that is all forgotten with the flesh. I was a labourer in the smoky valley: I am a brittle bone projecting from the sand. -- Sean Jennett (born 1910)

ON ST. BRIGID'S FEAST DAY Spring's greening shawl warms winter earth ushers in the season of birth, re-generation. We bind the reeds gathered to weave St. Brigid's blessings around hearth and home. Soon the migrant swallow will return to old haunts kept safe in memory. I think of Liscannor and the swallows nested there the year before at St. Brigid's Holy Well. How wise the mother bird To fashion beginnings where cool waters splash music soft upon the stones, where the glow of hearth fires burn bright in prayers, kindling the light of hope. A light for skies darkened at summer's end by the shadow of swallows preparing to make their way. Fledglings rising in a spray of flight on wings of plenty. Swallow, and all who leave our shore, let stars and sun, the scent of familiar landmarks help you to your wintering places, make fast the map of landscape so that you never forget the path that takes you back. -- Eileen CASEY, orig. from the Midlands, living in Dublin, a freelance journalist, poet and fiction writer.

Dear Kris & Jean There is/was also a tradition, where the woman's son was an ordained catholic priest, that in death her hands were bound with the same linen cloth used to bind her priest son's hands after they were anointed during the ordination ceremony. Peter Wilkinson ----- Original Message ----- From: "Jean R." <jeanrice@cet.com> To: <irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com> Sent: Friday, May 29, 2009 1:56 AM Subject: Re: [Irish Genealogy] Irish burial or funerary traditions >Lace item > Hi Kris - There was a tradition of fine Limerick lace ficu (ficus) applied > to dress bodices for modesty and decoration - and likely burial gowns - > for > the well to do. Jean > ----- Original Message ----- > From: "K. IOVANNA" <3crow@comcast.net> > To: <irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com> > Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 10:58 PM > Subject: [Irish Genealogy] Irish burial or funerary traditions >Lace item > > >> >> >> >> Greetings Listers, >> >> >> >> I would like to know if there is a tradtion >> >> involved with burial gowns for Irish women. >> >> >> >> also specifically if there is a piece of lace >> >> made for the gown of a woman or child >> >> called a the Fischea[sic] possible word >fascicle? >> >> >> >> this word was in a letter that describes >> >> this item as an addition to the burial gown >> >> worn by the deceased who was Sarah Eliazabeth Buckley >> >> and of Irish heritage. she had resided in Sullivan Maine >> >> and died in 1905 in Sullivan Maine. >> >> >> >> Kris > > > Check out the Ireland GenWeb website at: http://www.irelandgenweb.com/ > > Great place to get help with your family research. > > County Clare has been adopted! > > Help wanted: County Coordinators > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to > IRELANDGENWEB-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the > quotes in the subject and the body of the message > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

SNIPPET: Eugene O'NEILL was one of the greatest playwrights in American history. Through his experimental and emotionally probing dramas, he addressed the difficulties of human society with a deep psychological complexity. O'NEILL's disdain for the commercial realities of the theater world he was born into led him to produce works of importance and integrity. Born in a hotel on Broadway in 1888, Eugene O'NEILL was the son of Ella QUINLAN and the Kilkenny, Ireland-born actor James O'NEILL. Eugene spent the first seven years of his life touring with his father's theater company. Eugene O'NEILL was among the leading dramatists of the America theater. Four of his plays were honored with the Pulitzer Prize. New York Times, June 15, 1988 The Stars Align for 'Long Day's Journey' (Neil Simon Theatre) By FRANK RICH When people see a ghost, they are anticipating death, and that is unmistakably what Jason Robards feels as the thick fog of despair rolls into the Tyrone household for keeps in Eugene O'Neill's "Long Day's Journey Into Night." Robards, in the role of the family patriarch, James, is sharing midnight whisky, recriminations and confessions with his son Edmund when he hears the dreaded sound of his wife, Mary, thrashing about offstage in a morphine stupor. James had hoped against hope that Mary would be well again. In the moment, he must recognize that the hope, like the young convent girl he married so long ago, has vanished - and that Mary is, as Edmund has warned, "nothing but a ghost haunting the past." Once the recognition arrives, Robards's eyes seem to retreat into their sockets, the wind seems to leave his body, his physique seems to shrivel within his regal but frayed smoking jacket. We don't yet see the ghost he sees - the final spectral visit of his wife is still minutes away - but such is the apparitional reach of Colleen Dewhurst's Mary and the horror in Robards's expression that we experience the alarming, involuntary shudder of a glimpse into the grave. Mary Tyrone is not the only ghost to be seen in "Long Day's Journey," as revived in repertory with "Ah, Wilderness!" as part of the First New York International Festival of the Arts. O'Neill's autobiographical play gives us a quartet of haunted Tyrones - each character haunted by O'Neill's own family, which was itself haunted by failed promises and blasted dreams and all the rest of what Mary calls "the things that life has done to us." The production at the Neil Simon Theater is shadowed by theater history as well. Robards and the director, Jose Quintero, restored O'Neill's reputation three decades ago with their legendary Circle in the Square revival of "The Iceman Cometh." Their partnership continued with the triumphant 1956 American premiere of "Long Day's Journey," then crested again, with the luminous addition of Miss Dewhurst, in the 1973 Broadway restoration of "A Moon for the Misbegotten." Given the rare constellation of talent - and the further astrological constellation of the O'Neill centenary - one almost inevitably arrives at this "Long Day's Journey" expecting to find salvation in the guise of what is nearly everyone's first or second favorite American play. The rewarding, if imperfect, production actually at hand is best approached with more rational expectations. Like other renditions of this work, Quintero's staging illuminates one parent-child axis - Mary and Edmund -more brilliantly than the other. But the evening is never less than essential theatergoing. One cannot assume that there will be another chance to watc o/these three great theater artists explore the writer who has been their consuming passion for virtually their entire professional careers. A somewhat subdued first act aside, an exploration is what this "Journey" proves to be. As life does more things to all of us, O'Neill's play takes on new colorations and meanings with repeated encounters; it's unlikely that Quintero has the same view of the text now that he did over 30 seasons ago. The current version has the bare-bones simplicity and sepulchral darkness of the director's 1985 "Iceman Cometh" - as befits the abstract, dreamlike, classically unified quality of the nominally realistic late O'Neill masterworks. The production's acting revelation is Miss Dewhurst's extraordinary, almost shockingly unsentimentalized Mary. One sees just how little the author forgave his mother and understands just what Kenneth Tynan meant when he said that Mary, while "on the surface a pathetic victim," was "at heart an emotional vampire." Miss Dewhurst has a rending tragic dimension, to be sure. When she is left alone in her shabby summer home to contemplate her loneliness, the panic and longing on her pained face seem so lacking in focus that we see the internal chaos that drives her to drugs. Yet this Mary, for all her ethereal beauty and maternal silver hair, is no Dewhurst earth mother - she's a killer, forever twisting the knife in old familial wounds. The actress makes us constantly aware of how Mary repeatedly plays one son against the other and follows her strangled pleas for help with manipulative denials that she needs any help at all. Her declarations of love come with a nasty sting ("I know you didn't mean to humiliate me," she tells James by way of thanks for her second-hand car) or with a cruel infliction of guilt ("I never knew what rheumatism was until after you were born," she tells Edmund so he can take the blame for her addiction to the painkiller). Campbell Scott, the impressive Edmund, is her born victim. With his pasty face, jet-black hair and long, delicate fingers, the soft-spoken Scott is the image of the Irish-American artist as a consumptive young man, absorbing each shock into his burdened soul until he just can't take it anymore. His belated, angry lashings out at his mother, brother and father drive the final act. It is when Scott rises over his seated father, berating him for the miserliness that will send the son to a state sanitarium, that Robards's eyes and phlegmy voice take their final plunge into his lifetime's reservoir of shame. Explaining the sources of that shame - the bitter childhood poverty at the hands of "the Yanks," the sacrifice of his Shakespearean acting ambitions to "money success" - Robards, as always, gives resonant, ruefully comic voice to every barroom pipe dreamer in the O'Neill canon. Before the illusion-stripping final act, however, the actor, like the unreconstructed matinee idol he plays, relies a bit too easily on his trademark vocal and facial gestures; the performance wants for shading. As Jamie, the profligate son Robards created in 1956, the talented Jamey Sheridan lacks his theatrical father's air of Broadway dissipation. Sheridan is still the earnest, self-righteous Arthur Miller son he was in the last revival of "All My Sons" -an injured straight arrow taking to drink rather than a sneering cynic greasing his own skids into hell. Such a Jamie can't quite provide the histrionic bridge to Mary's final mad scene, but Miss Dewhurst, her skin now as parchment-pale as the old wedding dress she clutches, completes the journey into night nonetheless. We see what Edmund meant when he talked about being "a ghost within a ghost": Breaking through Miss Dewhurst's drug-ravaged face is the skeletal image of the demure, innocent girl she once was. "The past is the present - it's the future, too," is how Mary earlier explains the affliction of living every day with the painful awareness of who one is. While death can disperse the ghosts of the Tyrones, their agony, accessible to any family, will eternally claw at us from the play O'Neill wrote in tears and blood.

There is an article of clothing called a fichu, which is a triangular scarf used to fill in a neckline of a woman's dress. It was used in daily life, not just for burial. Mary Kay

Added Note: Lace fiscus apparently was made in a number of places in the world to include Carrickmacross, Monaghan, Ireland, and I saw references to it on the Internet in relationship to vintage shawls, collars and inserts on men's shirts and cuffs. Lace-making was taught at schools in the UK and Ireland in years past to poor girls to give them a way to earn a living. >From the Internet: A fichu is a type of scarf that is usually made of lightweight fabric. Fichus are often square but folded in half to create a triangular shape before wearing. Fichus are worn over the shoulders and may be tied in a loose knot in front, held closed with a pin, brooch, or pick, or else the ends might be tucked into the wearer's other garments. Alternatively, the fichu's points might extend past the wearer's front to their back, where they are then fastened with a knot or pin. Both historically and in modern times, most fichus are made of linen fabric, although they are often edged in lace and are sometimes made entirely of lace. The term "fichu" is derived from the past participle of the French word "ficher," which means "to fix." The English word "fichu" should not be confused with the French word "fichu," which is a curse word roughly approximate to the English "damn." Before the 1700s, the fichu was generally worn by servants, ladies who were poor, and elderly ladies, all of whom often received upper class ladies' hand-me-down dresses with the fashionably low-cut necks of the period. While the ladies needed clothes and sometimes required those donations of clothing to satisfy their needs, they were unwilling to sacrifice modesty for the sake of fashion. To solve this problem, they wore fichus to cover the exposed areas around their necks. At first, the rich and fashionable ladies scoffed at the poorer ladies' use of the fichu as a cover-up. However, the fichu gradually became more popular among the upper classes as an accent to other clothing and finally became a standard article of clothing. This occurred during the first half of the eighteenth century, and fichus were worn until the late 1800s or early 1900s. Ironically, as fichus became popular among the upper classes, more and more women of limited means - even those who did not receive hand-me-down dresses - took to wearing fichus in order to imitate the styles of the richer ladies. (You were wondering about the term "fascicle" - It means a bundle or cluster. There are muscle and nerve fascicles; other meanings include a small cluster of flowers, a bundle of thin leaves of pines, and a discrete section of a book issued or published separately.) Jean

Hi Kris - There was a tradition of fine Limerick lace ficu (ficus) applied to dress bodices for modesty and decoration - and likely burial gowns - for the well to do. Jean ----- Original Message ----- From: "K. IOVANNA" <3crow@comcast.net> To: <irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com> Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 10:58 PM Subject: [Irish Genealogy] Irish burial or funerary traditions >Lace item > > > > Greetings Listers, > > > > I would like to know if there is a tradtion > > involved with burial gowns for Irish women. > > > > also specifically if there is a piece of lace > > made for the gown of a woman or child > > called a the Fischea[sic] possible word >fascicle? > > > > this word was in a letter that describes > > this item as an addition to the burial gown > > worn by the deceased who was Sarah Eliazabeth Buckley > > and of Irish heritage. she had resided in Sullivan Maine > > and died in 1905 in Sullivan Maine. > > > > Kris

Greetings Listers, I would like to know if there is a tradtion involved with burial gowns for Irish women. also specifically if there is a piece of lace made for the gown of a woman or child called a the Fischea[sic]           possible word >fascicle? this word was in a letter that describes this item as an addition to the burial gown worn by the deceased who was Sarah Eliazabeth Buckley and of Irish heritage. she had resided in Sullivan Maine and died in 1905 in Sullivan Maine. Kris