Posted in Posts and podcasts

Who shall possess Tara? 1922

Plan of Tara Wakeman's handbook of Irish antiquities (1903). p. 166
Plan of Tara
Wakeman’s handbook of Irish antiquities (1903). p. 166

Freemans journal 23rd February 1922
Who shall Possess Tara?
THE HILL FOR SALE.

Tara Hill is in the market. Major Moore Brabazon, a member of the Meath family, is about to submit his Meath estate to the hazard of the auctioneer’s mallet. To the modern Greek, Thermopylae is immortalised ground; and so is Tara’s hill. The vital question is whether this precious heritage is to pass from one owner to another, or whether it is to become the permanent property of the Irish nation.
Tara has been strangely neglected; but specially secured as the property of the nation it would be more readily visited and more highly appreciated. Other ancient races, especially the Greeks, have revived their old games and sports. The ancient festivals of Beltaine and Samhain might be revived again in all their past glories on Tara’s Hill.
The Hill has no territorial beauty or distinction, only a low ridge of moderate dimensions; but these 330 acres of Royal Meath are very precious when we consider their historic value. Tara of ancient Druids and early kings, still haunted with the glory and glamor of ancient Ireland, hallowed by the hosts of pagan and Christian associations! The green grass of this holy and historic hill still sparkles with the’ dewy gems of legend, myth and romance during the fourteen centuries of its history.

Some outstanding features and events may be briefly noted. In the traditional period, away back in the twilight of the past, appears Ollamh Fodla, who founded the first Feis of Tara; here was- attempted the first tentative effort to found a primitive Parliament, and draw into concord and social intercourse the scattered element of Irish life. The meeting of Convocation took place every three years to preserve and improve the laws and customs, and also to verify history. It was a period of road-making; all roads led to Tara, and more than any other evidences indicate the influence and importance of Tara. The pagan epoch is demonstrated by the celebrated idol, Crum Cruach, and twelve minor idols.

 

Mound of the Hostages, Tara. Photo: biekje Wikipedia.org
Mound of the Hostages, Tara.
Photo: biekje
Wikipedia.org

On Tara Hill, on Easter Day in the year 433, St. Patrick silenced the Druids of King Laoghaire in the presence of the king. It was a notable event in the history of the Christian Church of Ireland, when the heroic missionary set ablaze the Paschal fire on the Hill of Slane. It marked the doom of paganism. St. Patrick’s first move was to utterly destroy and overthrow the shrines and temples of the national idol at Mo Slecht.
In 890 Malachy the Great reigned in Tara, and in the year before his accession defeated the Norsemen in a great battle at Tara, where vast numbers were slain. Many of the revolutionaries of 1798 were buried in the sacred soil of Tara. In 1843 Daniel O’Connell addressed a monster meeting, on Tara Hill in support of the Repeal agitation. The glamor of a famous love story adds romance to the glories of battles and the splendid hospitalities of royal kings. On the northwest, in a grove of trees, stands Rath Grania. Here at Tober Finn (the crystal spring) , the lovers, Diarmuid and Grania, the daughter of Cormac Mac Art planned their elopement. When the Irish Literary Theatre was founded in 1899 the Tara romance of Diarmuid and Grania was dramatised by George Moore and W. B. Yeats. The play was produced on October 21, 1901. The scenes were the Banqueting Hall of Tara and the house of Diarmuid.
There is another charming episode. Where the road leads up the hill there is a well, and here sat Carned, the beautiful grinder of corn, grinding at her quern all day long. King Cormac, as he passed up and down the slope, gazed up on the beautiful grinder, and finally he carried her off. There was no other grinder, and the people were threatened with starvation. Ua Cuind a noble prince, had compassion upon them, and he brought a millwright over the great wave, and in this way the first mill in Erin was erected.
The stone named Lia Fail, known as the Coronation Stone or the Stone of Destiny, was through centuries one of the greatest treasures of Tara. It is said that it was carried away on the pretence to crown a king in Scotland.
The stone is generally believed to lie under the Coronation chair in Westminster Abbey. In the seventeenth, century Isaac Butler visited Tara and noted some details. He comments on the glorious views over twelve counties.
‘On the north side of the hill at the bottoms’ he says, ‘the Earl of Meath has a large modern seat arid a fine avenue.’
The residence is now known as Tara’s Hall.
The ancient Church of Tara dedicated to St. Patrick, is the most precious of all its monuments. It was built on an ancient pagan fort known as Adamnan’s Tent or Pavilion. The church is unroofed, but its grey tower is a conspicuous object over many miles. The ancient cross of St. Adamnan still exists. When Isaac Butler visited Tara there were two tolerable inns at Tara. Now there are none. Let us hope that fairy music of the past will enchant some patriot to a generous and noble deed.

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The Irish Republic – Ukmerge Lithuania – 1922

Jon Sullivan Wikipedia.org

Jon Sullivan
https://widgetworld3.wordpress.com/podcasts/

BLAIRMORE ENTERPRISE 2ND MARCH, 1922
Irish in Russia Heard Peace News
Descendants of the Irish Brigade were deeply affected
Captain Francis McCullough, a former British Officer, writes to the Manchester Guardian from Ukmerge, Lithuania, date December 9:
I sat until late last night before a logwood fire in an Irish castle, surrounded for scores of miles in every direction by Lithuanian forests, deep in snow. The wail of the icy wind through the trees sounded like the keen of the banshee, and sometimes I could catch the distant howling of a wolf. No more suitable setting could have been found for the tales I listened to and told – tales of Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow, of the devastating Williamite wars in Ireland and of that awful period of persecution which followed the Williamite wars.
I held in my hands a sword which had been wielded at the Boyne – on the losing side – and I had examined a fragmentary record printed by order of the last Catholic Parliament which sat in Dublin over two and a half centuries ago. I had heard a violin give one of the saddest and most melting of all the old Irish melodies; and in return I had sung as best I could, in Russia, many of the Irish songs which I had learned as a boy in Ireland over twenty years ago, but have not forgotten since.
It was a strange night and a strange company. Everybody around me claimed to be Irish, but not one of them spoke Irish or English, for the noble Lithuanian family with which I am passing my Christmas holiday is descended from one of the Irish chiefs who left his native country after the fall of Limerick.
One member of the family was absent, young Rory, who had ridden in to town on some business connected with the estate, and who had promised to bring me back any news from Russia that he got hold of, for it is the Russian, not the Irish, situations that accounts for my being in this part of the world. Rory had not returned when I retired to my bedroom, and as I sat down in a chair to await him my mind became filled with thoughts of the “old, forgotten, bygone things and battles ong ago” which had occupied my attention for so many hours that night.
I was awakened by a knocking at my door and the voice of Rory. From the furs, which he had not taken off, and from the snow on his fox skin papakha, I concluded that he had just jumped off his horse and come straight to my room. His face was flushed and his eyes shone. “What is it Rory?” said I. “Any news form the Red frontier?”
“Great news,” he replied, speaking in Russian. “Peace is signed between England and Ireland. The Irish Republic is recognized. The horrors of the Civil War are now things of the past.” He mistranslated “Free State” as “Respublica,” but he had got the gist of the peace terms all right.
To me Rory’s message was more than news. It was the rolling back of the stone from a nation’s sepulchre. And my hosts, whose ancestors had left Ireland over two hundred years ago, were as affected as I.