On this day in 1846, the Poet of the Fenians was born in County Westmeath, Ireland. John Keegan Casey was born at the tail end of An Gorta Mor – Ireland’s Great Hunger – so he knew desperation, injustice, and poverty at a very early age. The plight of everyone around him shaped him and ultimately motivated him to use his gift for poetry and song to inspire people to rise up against the English. His voice was heard far and wide and he wrote The Rising of the Moon, one of Ireland’s most popular and enduring “rebel” tunes at the tender age of fifteen.
John Keegan Casey’s words soon spread to all corners of Ireland thanks to The Nation, Ireland’s most popular Nationalist publication. They inspired defiance and rebellion everywhere they were heard. Though he used a nom-de-plume (Leo) while writing for The Nation, his identity was becoming well known anyway. It was further revealed when he chose to publish a book of his collected works, many of which had previously appeared in the publication. Not content to stop with his words, John moved to Dublin shortly after his book was published to put himself squarely in the Fenian movement. He was a prolific Nationalist speaker and a central organizer in Dublin before the Fenian Uprising of 1867.
That uprising failed and John Keegan Casey soon found himself sitting in the notorious Mountjoy prison. The English authorities imprisoned him without trial and clearly hoped that if he was locked away the power of his words would fade. They did not, but John did. He was malnourished and dispirited and his weakened body would trouble him for the rest of his life. He was confined for eight months and one of the conditions of his release was that he would leave Ireland, living in quiet exile in Australia. He opted for living in disguise in Dublin instead. The authorities may have broken his body, but they definitely didn’t break his mind.
Sadly, John Keegan Casey’s failing health meant that he only had a few years left in him. It is thought that he never fully recovered from his stint in Mountjoy and a fall from a cab did him in. He passed away at the young age of twenty-four. Thousands and thousands of mourners turned out to honor the Fenian poet in Dublin and his memorial stone in Glasnevin Cemetery is still visited regularly. It is adorned with nearly every Irish symbol you can imagine, including a wolfhound to symbolize John’s undying loyalty to Ireland. His songs continue to be sung across the island (and the rest of the world) to this day. His life was tragically short, but his words are still going strong over 150 years later.
There are so many important women in Irish history that I could work the rest of my life (which I probably will) and not get to them all. That said, Anne Devlin is the one who started it all. Without Anne I may never have had the jump start I needed to begin writing again. I may never have started a blog and certainly would not have written a book. But it’s not all about me – without Anne Devlin, numerous rebellions in Ireland could have been compromised. Important uprisings would not have happened. Patriots would most certainly have been jailed or killed. Her fortitude and silence against all odds and various forms of torture probably saved thousands of lives, though it cost her dearly.
On this day in herstory, Anne Devlin Campbell passed away – long after her incarceration in one of the most notorious dungeons and prisons in Ireland. It’s amazing that she lived so long given her brutal treatment there. She was an elderly, broke washerwoman living in relative obscurity when she died, but she was never broken. This is some of her tale that I wrote and continue to repost every year in remembrance of this powerful woman.
There have been various groups rallying around Moore Street in Dublin for the last few decades – and some have dedicated a good portion of their weekends and lives to protecting the area from wanton destruction. This weekend (and every other for that matter) you have a chance to stand with them, both literally and symbolically.
I must beg your pardon, if you’re still here. I can’t even believe how long it has been since I’ve had a minute to breathe, let alone write and research. It turns out that the greedy landlord problem is growing on both sides of the puddle – and I have recently been a victim of it myself. I lived in the same place for nearly two decades until this month when I was forced out of what might have been the last affordable place in the Bay Area.
When one thinks of Bloody Sunday, what usually comes to mind is the 1972 civil rights march in Derry, where English soldiers opened fire on marchers and brutally murdered fourteen innocent people. This incident shocked the world and spilled over into pop culture leading to multiple songs, movies, documentaries and more – making it one of the most notorious moments in Irish history. It was not the first “Bloody Sunday” in Ireland, but (thankfully) it was the last. There have been four dreadful days known as Bloody Sunday in recent Irish history and the second (and most deadly) one occurred on this date, November 21st, 1920, in Dublin.
There are many, many women in Irish history who never get the recognition they deserve for their contributions to it. Anne Devlin may be the most egregious example of that. Her strength and dedication to the Irish cause was truly like no other.
He was brash and tenacious. He was often obnoxious and nearly always a drunk. He was a brilliant writer, but in his words he was “more importantly, a reader.” He was a cocky, yet humble adventurer who was opinionated but always seemed ready to be wrong or surprised. Anthony Bourdain was not Irish but he had a gift of gab and a way with words that put him on par with many of the great Irish writers that he was inspired by. He was touched by Ireland on his first trip there and on his last he wrote “Heaven looks like this” in the guestbook at the Gravedigger pub.
On the second day of the Easter Rising, Kathleen Clarke fretted and wandered around the house, wondering how her husband Tom was doing. He was one of the leaders of the insurrection and was in the General Post Office headquarters with the other commanders, miles away from his wife. Kathleen had been asked to stay out of the fight by her husband who was counting on her to keep their business going, their family healthy, and if necessary, to protect his legacy when the Rising was over. She couldn’t do any of that if she took part in the battle and was arrested or hurt – so as unbearable as it must have been for her, she stayed at home.
Miraculously, the Clarke home wasn’t raided or attacked in any way on the first night of the rebellion. Kathleen spent a restless night in her home and then headed out to the garden in the morning to distract herself from what was happening around her. Planting and tending the garden was one of her favorite hobbies. April 25th, 1916, was a warm day and the ground was parched so she took a can of water with her when she started planting. Kathleen had just put it on the ground when she heard a hissing sound and her instincts kicked in. She ducked and remained still for quite some time. When she finally got up, she looked around to see what had made the sound. The bucket she had been holding seconds before had two bullet holes in it and the water was seeping onto the ground.
The Clarke house was not in the thick of the fighting but there were a lot of bullets flying throughout Dublin that week. In theory one of them could have randomly gone through the backyard at precisely that moment…but many (including the lady herself) think that Kathleen Clarke was deliberately targeted because of her husband’s actions and her own support for a free Ireland. She never found out whether she had been purposely fired on or not – but her own brush with death over Easter week did not stop her from accomplishing all of the plans she and her husband had made before it began. She immediately started a fund for the dependents of Volunteers and she kept her own family afloat, even after the English executed her husband for his role in the Rising. Easter Week cost her a child, a husband, and nearly her own life but she refused to let these losses cripple her and she never wavered in her support and her own fight for a free and independent Ireland.
On this day in 1916, Ireland’s Easter Rising began. All throughout Dublin men and women made their way to strategic outposts in the city with the hope that they could take them and last long enough for Ireland to be declared an independent nation. They were intent on overthrowing the English control of their homeland and went out with only that purpose in mind. Most other people had no idea of what was to come and they got up in the morning and headed to work as usual, unaware of how different their city was about to be.
Stephen O’Donohoe was a poor law clerk in Dublin. He was a family man with four children who struggled to get ahead but only barely managed to scrape by. Like many, he blamed the English rule in Ireland for his woes. He was one of thousands of men who joined the Fenian Brotherhood, a group dedicated to overthrowing the government and getting the English out of his country.
Thomas Farrell was from Williamstown and was a confectioner by trade. He joined the Fenian Brotherhood as well, and while it’s not clear if these two men knew each other, what is certain is that they are now tied together for all of eternity.
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