He obtained employment at St Kieran's College in Kilkenny and, while working there, advanced his interest in Irish culture by joining the local 'Gaelic League' group and was quickly elected to a leadership role with same - '..by 1905 he had left the League and moved on to teach at St Colman’s College, Fermoy, where he also established himself as a published poet. Three years later he moved to a new position, as resident assistant headmaster at St Enda's, Patrick Pearse's school then based in Ranelagh. In 1911, after completing his BA and MA at UCD, he was appointed lecturer in English at the same institution. In 1912 he married Muriel Gifford, sister of Grace, who would later marry Joseph Plunkett in Kilmainham Gaol.
In the years prior to the Rising MacDonagh became active in Irish literary circles and was a co-founder of the Irish Review and, with Plunkett, of the Irish Theatre on Hardwicke Street. MacDonagh was a witness to Bloody Sunday in 1913 and this event appears to have radicalised him so that he moved away from the circles of the literary revival and embraced political activism. He joined the Irish Volunteers in December 1913 and was appointed to the body's governing committee.
In 1914 he rejected John Redmond's appeal for the Volunteers to join the fight in the First World War. On 9 September 1914 he attended the secret meeting that agreed to plan for an armed insurrection against British rule. By March 1915 he had been sworn into the ranks of the Irish Republican Brotherhood and was also serving on the central executive of the Irish Volunteers, was director of training for the Volunteers and commandant of the 2nd Battalion of the Dublin Brigade...' (more here.)
At the age of 38, he joined his comrades in challenging a then world power, England, over the injustices which that 'world leader' was inflicting in Ireland and, with six of his comrades, he signed a proclamation in 1916 declaring the right of the people of Ireland to the ownership of Ireland and to the unfettered control of Irish destinies, free of any external political or military interference. He was found guilty by a British court martial that followed the 1916 Rising, and was sentenced to death.
He was executed by firing squad on the 3rd May 1916 on the same day as Pearse and Tom Clarke. His friend and fellow poet Francis Ledwidge wrote a poem in his honour after his death (Ledwidge, the 'Poet of the Blackbirds', fought for the British in the 'First World War' and was injured in 1916 - he was recovering from his wounds in hospital when news reached him of the Rising and he let it be known that he felt betrayed by Westminster over its interference in Ireland) -
Lament for Thomas MacDonagh.
He shall not hear the bittern cry
In the wild sky where he is lain
Nor voices of the sweeter birds
Above the wailing of the rain.
Nor shall he know when loud March blows
Thro' slanting snows her fanfare shrill
Blowing to flame the golden cup
Of many an upset daffodil.
And when the dark cow leaves the moor
And pastures poor with greedy weeds
Perhaps he'll hear her low at morn
Lifting her horn in pleasant meads.
In his address to the court martial, Thomas MacDonagh said : "Gentlemen of the court martial, I choose to think you have done your duty according to your lights in sentencing me to death. I thank you for your courtesy. It would not be seemly for me to go to my doom without trying to express, however inadequately, my sense of the high honour I enjoy in being one of those predestined to die in this generation for the cause of Irish freedom. You will, perhaps, understand this sentiment, for it is one to which an Imperial poet of a bygone age bore immortal testimony : "Tis sweet and glorious to die for one's country."
You would all be proud to die for Britain, your Imperial patron, and I am proud and happy to die for Ireland, my glorious fatherland...there is not much left to say. The Proclamation of the Irish Republic has been adduced in evidence against me as one of the signatories. I adhere to every statement in that proclamation. You think it already a dead and buried letter - but it lives, it lives! From minds alive with Ireland's vivid intellect it sprang, in hearts alive with Ireland's mighty love it was conceived. Such documents do not die.
The British occupation of Ireland has never for more than one hundred years been compelled to confront in the field of flight a rising so formidable as that which overwhelming forces have for the moment succeeded in quelling. This rising did not result from accidental circumstances. It came in due recurrent reasons as the necessary outcome of forces that are ever at work. The fierce pulsation of resurgent pride that disclaims servitude may one day cease to throb in the heart of Ireland — but the heart of Ireland will that day be dead. While Ireland lives, the brains and brawn of her manhood will strive to destroy the last vestige of foreign rule in her territory.
There is always a chance of success for brave men who challenge fortune. That we had such a chance, none know so well as your statesmen and military experts. The mass of the people of Ireland will doubtless lull their consciences to sleep for another generation by the exploded fable that Ireland cannot successfully fight England. We do not propose to represent the mass of the people of Ireland. We stand for the intellect and for immortal soul of Ireland. To Ireland's soul and intellect, the inert mass drugged and degenerated by ages of servitude must in the destined day of resurrection render homage and free service receiving in turn the vivifying impress of a free people. Gentlemen, you have sentenced me to death, and I accept your sentence with joy and pride since it is for Ireland I am to die.
I go to join the goodly company of men who died for Ireland, the least of whom is worthier far than I can claim to be, and that noble band are themselves but a small section of the great, unnumbered company of martyrs, whose Captain is the Christ who died on Calvary. Of every white robed knight of all that goodly company we are the spiritual kin. The forms of heroes flit before my vision, and there is one, the star of whose destiny chimes harmoniously with the swan song of my soul. It is the great Florentine, whose weapon was not the sword, but prayer and preaching ; the seed he sowed fructifies to this day in God's Church. Take me away, and let my blood bedew the sacred soil of Ireland. I die in the certainty that once more the seed will fructify."
Thomas MacDonagh - born 1878, executed by Westminster 1916.
'TRIBUTE TO DEAD REPUBLICAN.'
From 'The United Irishman' newspaper, April 1955.
Oration given by Tomas MacCurtain at the grave of Domhnall Mac Suibhne, Ahane, Cullen, County Cork, who was laid to rest on March 7th 1955 -
"I have been asked, before we leave this graveyard, to say a few words over the grave of the old comrade whom we have buried today.
Domhnall Mac Suibhne was a man who did not, maybe, enjoy the popularity among the people around him which his talents and virtures deserved. He was so honest, so determined and so straight in his attitude to all the questions of principle which arise from day to day and he set for himself and maintained such a high standard in his own life, that the small-minded people in the political life of today could not bear to have his honesty and straight-forwardness receive its proper due, because his whole life was a reproach to those who deserted the principles which he preached and practiced, and went in pursuit of financial and social gains in the political life of today.
There are many who knew him in his youth and in the course of his life who could speak far better than I on the qualities of the man who lies here, but today they are silent because, if they speak, their praises of this fearless soul would sound very empty in the face of their own actions..."
(MORE LATER.)
ON THIS DATE (1ST FEBRUARY) 100 YEARS AGO - 'BIG HOUSE ON THE HILL' BURNED DOWN BY THE IRA.
By all accounts, Maurice Moore himself was a 'mixed bag', politically speaking, and the Moore clan themselves had the reputation as 'not the worst' to deal with : a family member from 'the old days', John, fought alongside the 'United Irishmen' in 1798 and was captured by the British and sentenced, by 'Lord' Cornwallis, to deportation and, during the attempted genocide ('An Gorta Mór'), it is recorded that no one died on 'their' lands from hunger during that period and no evictions took place.
The 'Senator Colonel' '..served with the Connacht Rangers in the Boer War and became involved with human right issues (and) is credited by many as the founder of The Irish Volunteers. He was appointed by the First Dáil as envoy to South Africa in 1920 (and) served in the (FS) Seanad from 1923 under both W T Cosgrave and E DeValera where he moved legislation for the return of Irish prisoners in English jails (and) was also deeply involved with the establishment of the co-operative movement in Ireland...' (from here).
Peadar O'Donnell, in his book 'There will be Another Day', touched on a meeting he had with the man : "..Senator Colonel Maurice Moore called at my home with the manuscript of a pamphlet he proposed to publish - 'British Plunder and Irish Blunder', and he hoped that I might use it serially in 'An Phoblacht'. I knew of Colonel Moore's sustained protest in the Free State Senate against the payment of land annuities to Britain, on the ground that the Free State was under no legal obligation to pay them. I did not seek him out, and 'An Phoblacht' took little notice of his speeches. For one thing I held it against him, as I held it against W.B. Yeats , that he allowed himself to be nominated to membership of so mean a body as the Free State Senate (and) for another thing, adventuring as I was beyond the limits of IRA policy in my use of 'An Phoblacht', it would not occur to me to link up with a Free State Senator who could invoke no better argument than British Acts of Parliament.."
However - regarding the burning of 'the Big House on the Hill' : the following letter, from George Moore, was published in 'The Morning Post' newspaper on the 14th February 1923, thirteen days after the fire :
I was sitting in my lodge reading when armed men who where perfect strangers to me came to the door and demanded the keys. I asked what for, and was told that a column was going to be put up for the night. I wanted to go over, but would not be allowed; other armed men were patrolling the road from Annie's Bridge to Murphy's Lodge. I had no option but to give up the keys, and suspecting what was on I pointed out to the leader that the house was not Colonel Moore's property.
This had no effect. I sat up all night, hoping that when all would be clear I could save even a portion of the library. At four o'clock I heard four loud explosions. At five I went to the place and found the whole house a seething mass of flames. I at once saw that all was hopeless. A fire brigade would be powerless, so firmly had the flames gripped the entire building.
I could do nothing but stand by and await the end with the same feeling that one has when standing by the open grave of a very dear friend. I do not say this in a 'Uriah Heapish' way, for I really loved that old house. To me it was a modern edition of King Tutankhamen's tomb. At six o'clock the roof fell in with a terrific crash. When the fire died down I got ladders up to the library windows, hoping to save even a few books, but nothing living could enter, so fierce was the heat.
When Mr Ruttledge returns I would like to have instructions as to what is to be done.
There is several feet of litter on the ground floor. I don't know if it be worth while to remove this – except steel or iron one cannot hope to find anything. In one sense, perhaps, the house had outlived its usefulness, but still it would be a pity even now to let it become a real ruin. If nothing else be done I would suggest building up all the lower windows to prevent people trafficking in and out as they please.
These lines will seem to many too simple to be considered as 'literature' ; the many like ornament. But the simple directness of the lines appeals to me ; I doubt the story could have been better told ; and if they recall to others, as they did to me, Virgil's celebrated words, Sunt laerimae verum ['These are the tears of things'], they will justify their publication.
– Yours, etc., George Moore, 121 Ebury Street, London, S.W.1'
The Moore family may indeed not have been 'the worst in the world' but their unfortunate connection, at that time, to the 'landed gentry', was their downfall on that particular occasion.
'THE BRITISH STORY...'
Roy Foster (pictured) in the British media.
By Barra Ó Séaghdha.
From 'Magill' Annual, 2002.
When Roy Foster, Carroll Professor of Irish History at Oxford, writes a book called 'The Irish Story', his British reviewers do not think of Ulster, of Scotland and Wales, of the English and British stories, of Europe or of Empire. They see a quaint little island mired in its faintly absurd history.
Roy Foster is a very intelligent and perceptive person ; he must be aware of the task of revision that this calls for.
Will he have the courage to undertake it?
(END of 'The British Story' ; NEXT - 'William Jefferson Clinton', from the same source.)
FUNDS AND FINE GAEL'S LEADER...
Michael Lowry has so far been the focus of media attention about Fine Gael fundraising.
But the party's current leader, Enda Kenny (pictured), hosted a £1,000-a-plate dinner two days before the second mobile phone licence was awarded. And other guests say that one of the bidders for that licence was in attendance.
By Mairead Carey.
From 'Magill' magazine, January 2003.
On one occasion, the (State) government had to send a helicopter to intercept Michael Keating, having discovered he was on his way to buy Adare Manor for the State!
He transferred his allegiance to 'The Progressive Democrats' when the party was founded in the late 1980's, and was rewarded with the position of deputy leader ahead of Mary Harney, but just two years later he stunned colleagues when he declared that he would not contest the next election.
He later returned to Fine Gael and contested a local election for the party in 1991, and still had contact with the party in the mid-90's.
In February 1997, the then State Agriculture Minister, Ivan Yates, signed a letter recommending a food company run by Michael Keating and a convicted fraudster named Peter Bolger to the minister of trade in the Gambia. Ivan Yates was unaware of Bolger's criminal conviction.
The letter described the food export project and said it would have the support of the department. The letter described Michael Keating and a named accountant as "well respected and highly professional. Their presence augurs well for the project.." Six months later Michael Keating was arrested in Dublin with bank drafts made out to Dublin drug dealer George 'The Penguin' Mitchell...
(MORE LATER.)
1ST FEBRUARY (ST. BRIGID'S DAY)- THE DAWN OF THE 'CELTIC SPRING'.
The 'Well' and surrounding land was 'owned' by William Francis Caldbeck Esq., who rented it to a Mr. Ormsby. The 'Commons' area at that time consisted of just two fields with a rough lane dividing them , and a natural spring which the locals named 'St.Brigid's Well' , in honour of St.Brigid who, according to folklore, would baptise so-called 'pagans' in the waters of the Well - and, in return, the locals payed particular homage to her on the 1st February each year : 'the Feast Day of St. Brigid', one of four major 'fire' festivals (known as 'quarter days' in Irish mythology - the other three such 'days' are Beltane, Lughnasadh, and Samhain). St. Brigid was a 'fire goddess', and a perpetual flame burns in her honour at a shrine in Kildare, not too far from the Clondalkin site.
Infants that died before they could be baptised were said to be buried in this immediate area as a lease signed by Caldbeck allowed for burials in a 'ground [area] of 4 perches...' and this and the fact that St. Brigid made regular 'pit stops' there soon ensured that the Well became a 'special place' , the waters of which were said to improve the eyesight of young girls , once their eyes were washed with a wet cloth which was then hung on the nearest tree to dry - as the cloth dried , the eyesight of the girl who had been washed with it improved. Another belief associated with St. Brigid is that of the 'Brigid's Bed', where single females of the area would each make a doll (a 'Brideog') to represent Brigid and dress it with as much colour as they could and then make a bed for the doll to lie in.
On St. Brigid's Eve (31st January), the girls and young women would gather together in one house to stay up all night with the 'Brideog', and are then visited by all the young men of the community who must ask permission to enter the home, and treat them and the doll with respect. We still have girls, young women and young men in this world today, but 'respect' for them is sometimes not up to that standard, unfortunately.
Thanks for the visit, and for reading,
Sharon and the team.