Wednesday, May 22, 2019




There are thousands of candidates that would like you to vote for them on the 24th of this month (May, 2019) to ensure that they stay as financially comfortable as they are, or become ever wealthier, or obtain a position through which they can sell their political soul for the opportunity to become wealthy ; in the council elections alone, one or more of just under 2,000 wannabes are trying to convince you to gift them one of the 949 seats in councils throughout the State. The 'winners' will receive a seat in a political institution which purports to represent the views of 'the electorate' but which, in reality, represents the view of the highest bidder.

We again name 'the losers', regardless of who 'wins' - YOU, the voters! Or, at least, those of you who claim your ballot and fill it in in the manner that is expected of you.

But there is a way by which you can claim your ballot, fill it in - and exclude yourself from the 'Losers Circle' : by purposely spoiling it! Write a 'message' on it, such as 'NOTA', or something stronger, and place it in the ballot box. If enough of us do it, it will register with the 'powers-that-be' and, hopefully, force them to recognise that enough of us are not willing to participate in a faulty political system in which morally and politically-bankrupt 'blank canvas' party people do the bidding of their party bosses in the hope that, someday, they, too, will become party bosses.

'Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me' - don't get fooled (again) - vote 'NONE OF THE ABOVE' in the State elections on Friday, 24th May 2019 : you don't owe anything to those candidates, so give them just that : nothing.


From 'The United Irishman' newspaper, December 1954.

The speaker, Michael McCarthy, from Cumann Tomas MacCurtain, paid a moving tribute to the three men who died in Manchester, the 'Manchester Martyrs', and to all who followed in their footsteps down to the present day. He appealed for recruits for the Republican Movement, saying that there is only one way to drive the British troops out of Ireland and that was with rifles and Thompson guns. It is to be hoped that many other places in which commemorations in honour of the 'Manchester Martyrs' - Allen, Larkin and O'Brien - were held annually in the past will follow the example of the people of East Cork and revive those parades. Ladybridge, last Sunday, demonstrated, if demonstration be needed, that republican Ireland is on the march - our latest 'felons' have not sacrificed their liberty in vain.

The annual commemoration in honour of 'the Martyrs', under the auspices of the 'Cork City Manchester Martyrs Commemoration Committee' - representative of all republican organisations - was held at 12 noon on Sunday 12th November. In the morning the wreaths were laid on the grave of Brian Dillon at Rathcooney Cemetery, on the Republican Plot in St. Finbarr's Cemetery and at St. Joseph's Cemetery.

Padraig Cullinane, who spoke of the martyrdom of Allen, Larkin and O'Brien, asked those present to come into the Republican Movement to complete the task of freeing our country. A film was made of the ceremonies, and also of the Ladybridge Commemoration, which will shortly be shown in the Thomas Ashe Memorial Hall. Seamus Farrell, from the Commemoration Committee, and Michael McCarthy, were also on the platform.

(END of 'Cork Ceremony' ; Next - 'Sinn Féin National Collection in Cork', 'Cork Sinn Féin Concert' and 'Sinn Féin Public Meeting in Waterford', from the same source.)


Isabella Augusta Persse Gregory ('Lady Gregory', pictured), was born on the 15th March, 1852 (the youngest daughter of Dudley and Frances Presse), in a 6,000-acre estate (which, incidentally, was mostly destroyed in a fire in 1921) known as Roxborough House, near Loughrea in County Galway, and was schooled at home by a nanny, Mary Sheridan, who obviously passed-on her interest in Irish history to her pupil. On the 4th March, 1880, at 28 years young, Isabella married 'Sir' William Henry Gregory who was 63 years of age and 'owned' a large estate at Coole Park, near Gort, in County Galway, thus conveying on her the title 'Lady'. The couple had one son, Robert, born on the 20th May, 1881, who was killed while piloting a warplane during the 'First World War', a death marked by WB Yates in two poems - 'An Irish Airman Foresees His Death' and 'In Memory of Major Robert Gregory'.

As a 'Lady of Leisure' who now found herself in the 'Big House' she availed of the large library and, when not reading, accompanied her husband on business trips throughout the world. Her education, the library and her foreign travels sparked within her a love of the written word, and she quickly became a published author. Her husband died when she was 41 years of age but she continued to live in 'the Big House', where her interest in all things Irish was nurtured, to the point that she practically converted the house into a 'retreat' for those who, like her, were smitten by Ireland and its troubled history - Edmund John Millington Synge, William Butler Yeats (and his brother, Jack, a well-known painter), George Bernard Shaw (who described her as "the greatest living Irishwoman") and Sean O'Casey were amongst those who visited regularly and, indeed, she was believed to have had romantic connections with the poet Wilfrid Blunt and a New York lawyer, John Quinn.

Despite her privileged lifestyle or, indeed, perhaps due to it, as it afforded her the time to 'look within her soul', Isabella Augusta Persse Gregory, who had a regular 'audience' with the 'Upper Class' of the day, loudly declared to all and sundry that it was "..impossible to study Irish history without getting a dislike and distrust of England..".

A 'poacher-turned-gamekeeper' but, unusual in our history, one who 'turned' the right way. She died in that 'Big House' on the 22nd May 1932 - 87 years ago on this date - at 80 years of age, and is fondly remembered by those of us who share her convictions and agree with her "..impossible to study.." declaration. Incidentally, the 'Big House' scenario still exists in Ireland today, and continues to be a topic of heated conversation, and will hopefully remain so after the British withdraw, politically and militarily, from Ireland.




In dedicating to you this narrative, I have been influenced by one consideration only. I have no title to your friendship. I cannot claim the most remote affinity with your career in arms. There is nothing connected with this sad fragment of history, either in fact or hope, to suggest any association with your name or achievements. But as my main object is to show that Ireland’s failure was not owing to native recreancy or cowardice, I feel satisfied that of all living men, your position and character will best sustain the sole aim of my present labour and ambition.

In past history, Ireland holds a high place ; but her laurels were won on foreign fields, and the jealous literary ambition which raised adequate monuments to these stormy times denied to her swords the distinction they vindicated for themselves in the hour of combat. The most brilliant, unscrupulous and daring historian of France degraded the niggard praise he accorded them by making it the medium of a false and contemptible sneer. “The Irish soldier,” says Voltaire, “fights bravely everywhere but in his own country.”

Without pausing here to vindicate that country from such ungrateful slander, it is enough to say that you were not placed in the same unhappy position as the illustrious exiles from the last Irish army — soldiers of fortune in the service of a foreign prince. You were a citizen of this free Republic, and a volunteer in its ranks ; it was your country, and you and your compatriots who followed the same standard did no dishonour to those who were bravest among the brave on the best debated fields in Europe.

In the wreck of every hope, all who yet cherish the ambition of realising for Ireland an independent destiny, point to your career as an encouraging augury, if not a complete justification for not despairing of their country. It is because I am among those that I have claimed the honour of inscribing your name on the first page of this, my latest labour in her cause.

I remain, dear Sir,

Very respectfully and sincerely yours,


New York, Sept. 20, 1849.

'Who was Michael Doheny? For most of us he was the author of the neglected work 'The Felon’s Track'. For some he was the man who fled from the fiasco in Ballingarry in that bad summer of 1848 to walk 150 miles across Munster to little place called Dumanway, where he hoped to raise help in his efforts to escape from Ireland. Some others will know him as the writer of such hyperbolic verses as :

'I’ve tracked for thee the mountain side,

And slept within the brake,

More lonely than the swan that glides,

O’er Lua’s fairy lake...'

And for those with nationalist interests, he will be known as one of the prime movers in the 1840’s Confederacy in Ireland, and later one of the leading founders, in the United States, of the Fenian movement...' (from here.)

The Irish 'dissident', Michael Doheny, was born on this date (22nd May) in 1805 - 214 years ago - near Fethard, in County Tipperary, and became known as a poet and a writer. He was a member of the 'Young Irelanders', and was instrumental in establishing the 'Emmet Monument Association' in America. After a lifetime in the service of Ireland, he died on the 1st April in 1863, aged 58, in New York, and is buried in Calvary Cemetery, in Maspeth and Woodside, Queens, in New York.

'What fate is thine, unhappy Isle,

When even the trusted few

Would pay thee back with hate and guile,

When most they should be true!

’Twas not my strength or spirit quailed,

Or those who’d die for thee -

Who loved thee truly have not failed,

A cuisle geal mo chroidhe!


Born on a Dublin council estate, supporter of the British Army in Ireland and an admirer of Thatcher.

By David Thorpe.

From 'Magill' Magazine, May 2002.

Patrick Cosgrave went from St. Vincent's to studying history at UCD. He excelled academically, graduating with a first in history and a highly commended MA, and threw himself into university life, becoming auditor of the Literary and Historical Society and it was there, 'famously', that he persuaded the Society to adjourn to mark the death of Winston Churchill, one of Patrick Cosgrave's great heroes. With Professor Anthony Clare, he won 'The Irish Times National Student Debating Trophy' in 1962 and 1963, as well as the 'International Observer Mace' debating trophy in Britain. Professor Clare remembers Cosgrave as having "a great love for well-reasoned debate".

Patrick Cosgrave progressed to Peterhouse College in Cambridge, where he earned his PhD, his thesis being on the foreign policy of Sir Edward Grey in the Balkans between 1914 and 1918. He then moved into journalism and started by freelancing as RTE's London correspondent between 1968 and 1969, and began writing regularly for 'The Spectator' magazine, then as now a scion of the Tories. His hectoring style and the posh British accent he had affected since childhood meant he was the target of vitriol from certain quarters back home, as critics threw his poor Irish background in his face. It was a background he never denied but quickly shed, taking a British passport and attending Church of England services. He was proud to be known as a 'West Brit'.

His work for 'The Spectator' and a critical biography of the American poet Robert Lowell marked him as an outstanding young talent, and he would be appointed political and deputy editor of the magazine by the age of 29. A year before, though, in 1969, he was recruited by the Tories - he adored Margaret Thatcher from the start, taking every opportunity to raise her profile and viciously attack Ted Heath at the same time, through 'The Spectator'. When Thatcher became party leader in 1975, Patrick Cosgrave was recruited as a speech-writer and political advisor, and even wrote a tome on the Baroness in 1978, although it is fair to say this work belongs more to the genre of propaganda than of academia. But then came the bombshell... (MORE LATER).


From 'The United Irishman' newspaper, January 1955.

"We owe no allegiance to a foreign Queen", said the Omagh prisoners :

'One Queen, I own, and one alone

commands my meek obedience ;

No sovereign named by human law,

from her, draws my allegiance.

For her I live,

for her I strive,

and shall, 'till my life is ended.

And with my latest parting breath

her name it will be blended - 'Cathleen',

your dear name will be blended.

I love God's peace upon our hills

and fain would not destroy it ;

I love sweet life in this fair world,

and long would I enjoy it.

But when my Sovereign needs my life

that day I'll cease to crave it,

and bear a breast for foeman's steel,

and show a soul to brave it - Cathleen,

for your sweet sake to brave it.

O, glorious death on battle plain,

our foeman oft has battled ;

And proudest lovers of Cathleen

have Holy made the scaffold ;

not mine to choose, nor mine to care -

the Cause the manner hallows -

I'll court the steel or kiss the cord,

on green hillside or gallows.


for you I'll woo the gallows.

My life is then my Queen's to leave,

to order or to ask it ;

This good right arm to fend or strike,

this brain is hers to task it.

This hand that waits, this heart that beats,

are hers when she shall need 'em -

and my secret soul is burning for her trumpet call to freedom -

Cathleen :

Oh, sound the call to freedom.'

( Written by Seamus MacManus [Seumas MacManus?] )

(END of 'Their One Queen'; : next, from the same source - 'Ireland Not Discussed In Washington'.)

Thanks for reading, Sharon.