Category: Gaeilge (Page 2 of 3)

Dé Domhnach sa Teach Lóistín

July 31, 2011 / eric / 1 Comment

The title of this post means “Sunday in the Boarding House” which is how I have spent this day. I did not go to church today – my choices for worship on An Cheathrú Rua are either Roman Catholic Mass as Gaeilge (“in Irish”) or Roman Catholic Mass as Gaeilge le ceol as Gaeilge (“in Irish with music in Irish”). Since I don’t follow Irish well enough to comprehend the sermon or the music, and I’m not permitted by the Catholic Church’s rules to receive Communion, neither of those options is terribly inviting. There are no non-Roman churches of any sort in this area.

The closest Anglican (Church of Ireland) parishes are St. Nicholas in Galway or the parish in Roundstone. Each is a minimum of 45 minutes driving time away (and could be longer with bad weather or traffic). Traffic was a guarantee in regard to Galway today because this is the last day of the Galway Races, an annual major horse racing event; I drove to Galway yesterday (having forgotten about the races) and experienced huge pedestrian crowds and bumper-to-bumper traffic. In the other direction (which I had driven on Friday) there was weather; today was a rainy, windy day in the Connemara! So I decided to chill and to study all day, which I basically did. Not sure how much of my flashcard review will stick and then become accessible in conversation, but it seemed a good use of the day.

During the afternoon a couple of magpies showed up in the garden outside my window and spent a long time in what appeared to be play. Eurasian magpies are striking birds with contrasting black and white feathers. The black feathers occasionally flash an iridescent green. I didn’t take a picture of them, but here is a picture from Wikicommons showing off the striking contrasting coloring of a magpie in flight.

Eurasian Magpie in Flight (from Wikicommons)

Back now to the studies … flashcard, flashcard, flashcard….

A Drive Through the Bog

July 31, 2011 / eric / 4 Comments

On a recent afternoon I had one of those introversive episodes when I needed to get away from everyone, from the teach lóistín (“boarding house”) where I am staying, away from housemates, host family, school, and so forth. So I told my bean an tí (“landlady”) that I wouldn’t be home for dinner, got in my rental vehicle (an Opel Astra), and drove away.

My first and only planned stop was at a famine house in the northern precincts of An Cheathrú Rua which I had seen from our school bus when returning from one of our “tours”. Unfortunately, I discovered that the property is fenced off by a vicious looking barbed wire fence, so the photos I had hoped to take, and did take, are all from a distance. I’d hoped to go inside it and take some interior shots, but alas ….

Famine House, An Cheathrú Rua

I then drove to what passes for a “main highway” in these parts; from an American perspective these are very narrow roads on which the Irish drive at unreasonably high speeds. I turned toward Leitir Moír, deciding on a moment’s notice that since I am familiar with the Irish folk song Peigín Leitir Móir (I can even sing part of it), I should be able to say that I’d been to the town. I have now been … it’s not much; it’s just a small Irish town with a “city center” consisting of a Roman Catholic church, a small park (and car park), a community activity center, and little grocery store. But the song is still catchy and fun – if you want to hear it, click here for a YouTube video of an Irish folk singing family singing it.

After Leitir Moír, I decided to go to Cloch na Ron (the Anglicized name of which is “Roundstone”, although the Irish actually means “rock of the seals”) and maybe have a bite to eat. That turned out to be a drive through “the bog” which is the area where locals “cut turf” to be used as fireplace fuel during the winter. I took some pictures of turf cutting along the way and enjoyed the views of the Twelve Bens which are the mountains of the Connemara. Lots of people go “hillwalking” among these mountains, a very popular holiday (vacation) activity for the Irish.

The Twelve Bens from Derryrush Road

It is estimated that bogs cover about one-sixth of the available land in Ireland, which gets more of its fuel from peat than any country except Finland. In Ireland, many families have an inherited right to cut turf for domestic use which has been handed down for hundreds of years. This inheritable right is called turbary.

The Bog, Showing Family Turf Cutting or "Turbary" Areas

Here in the west of Ireland, the bog is technically a lowland blanket bog. These are unique in that they are formed in a rainfall-rich locale where the supply of minerals is kept up and the acidity down. The makeup of the bog material includes vegetation of many types.

According to tradition, turf is not cut until after St. Patrick’s Day after the March winds dry the boglands. Early May is generally the turf-cutting time in the West of Ireland, although it continues through the summer months and is still going on while I am here. My host family has gone out to the bog to cut turf, although I’ve been unable to go along because of classes a that the Acadamh. While driving the Derryrush Road from An Cheathrú Rua to Cloch na Ron, I witnessed an old man in rubber boots stacking footings and took the photos you see here. (In retrospect, I wish I’d pulled over – if I could have found a wide enough, dry enough spot to do so – and asked the old man about his activity … 20-20 hindsight!)

In some areas, before turf is cut the top layer of heather and roots is stripped; this can be done by the time consuming process of mowing the vegetation and then cutting back the top layer of soil, or by burning. Burning requires a permit, which is often difficult to obtain.

The Bog, Showing Turf Cutting "Ridge"

In this area, they don’t seem to strip the bog first. The top layer is fairly sparse here, so the turf is simply cut through the top surface. Generally, it takes one man a week of cutting to prepare a year’s worth of turf fuel.

Antique Slane (Modern Tools Have Steel Blades)

Turf cutting is done with a sléan or slane, a long-handled turf spade with a shaped steel end. Slane styles vary from county to county. The direction of the cutting varies from place to place. In this area, turf is cut in a vertical direction; where the bog type is what is called a red raised bog, it is cut in a horizontal direction.

Dried Sods Ready to Burn in the Fire

The depth of a single piece of cut turf is called a spit or a bar. A vertical turf bank is measured in numbers of bars to a depth of a slane (twelve to eighteen inches in this area.) A good bank might be six bars deep; I’m told that a day in the bog is difficult work and taxes the strength of even the fittest person. The bog is very wet and the trenches created as turf is cut fill almost immediately with water; cutters usually wear high gum or rubber boots. The lowest row of bars is the wettest, but they say that when dried they make the best fuel.

The cut turf is removed to open ground to dry. The soggy sods, as the brick shaped cuttings are called, are laid out on the ground to dry for a week. They are then stacked upright into a footing which continues the drying procedure.

A Field of Footings Next to the Trench or Ridge from which they were cut

Close-Up of Footing

Once the footed turf is somewhat dry, sods are piled into a rickle. When it is finally dry, the turf is carried home to be stacked against an east-facing wall or in a covered shed for protection from westerly winds.

A "Rickle" or Pile of Turf Ready to be Transported Home

In the past, turf cutting was only fuel available to many families living in the Connemara, where it is illegal to cut it other than by hand. Many families still use turf for homeheating, although today it can be purchased in compressed briquettes in supermarkets throughout Ireland. I’m told that turf burns cleaner than coal; it has a very a pleasant smell which, together with the smell of mown heather, has come to really be the scent of Ireland to me. There’s nothing quite so comfortable as sitting by a turf fire on cold, damp day with a mug of tea (or in my case, coffee) in hand. I’m told that scones cooked over a turf fire have an especially lovely flavor – I’ve not had (nor do I anticipate having) that experience, but I can imagine that it is true.

After my drive through the Bog along Derryrush Road, I connected with one of the small “highways” of Ireland and made it to Roundstone, which was a bit of a mess. It is a fishing village turned vacation resort. One very narrow street along the waterfront, several B&Bs and a few pubs/eateries. It was a “mess” because next Thursday is the running of the Tour de Bog, a bicycle road race that begins and ends in Roundstone and they were setting up signs, starting/ending line, viewer stands, etc. Some guy with a trailer was trying park it on the main street where there was patently no space to park it! So a long line of cars waited about fifteen minutes for the fruitless maneuvering to end.

I finally parked in the free public parking area and walked to a local pub – had a pint of Smithwick’s ale with the barkeep, a woman about my age who bemoaned the Irish economy and the fact that at 6 p.m. on a Friday evening she had absolutely no business. For the first twenty minutes or so, I was the only customer in the place, then a French family entered and since they had very little English and she had no French, I served as translator.

I finished my beer, bade my new friends farewell – “Adieu!” and “Bon nuit!” to the French family, “Slan!” and “Oíche mhaith!” to the Irish tavern owner – headed back to the car where I noticed that the music shop of Malachy Kearns, reputed to be the best bodhran (Irish drum) maker in Ireland, was open.

I bought a bodhran there in 2005 when Evelyn and I made our first trip to Ireland. We also bought a CD that I really, really liked, but which we gave to a friend (after making a bootleg copy for ourselves, a copy which has since disappeared). I thought I might find another copy but, alas, the stock at Malachy’s store has been replaced with Celtic Woman and a bunch of touristy “moods” CDs that you can find in any Celtic-Gaelic store in the USA. So I bought nothing.

I headed back to An Cheathrú Rua, covering the same roads in the reverse direction (I thought “Jack the GPS” might take me a different route, but no). I got back to town just in time for a really good lecture on “the function of music in the Irish tradition” by Breandán Ó Madagáin, an elderly professor from NUIG. Old he may be, but he has a great singing voice. He really knew his stuff. I had a chance to talk with him briefly about my project and he gave me a copy of an ethnomusicology article he had written which references and briefly discusses the hymnal I’m working on.

After the lecture, I headed for home and bed.

A Visit to Inis Oírr

July 25, 2011 / eric / 6 Comments

On Saturday, 23 July 2011, the students of the Acadamh na hOllscolaíochta Gaeilge boarded a bus, traveled 45 minutes to Ros á Mhil, boarded a ferry (Banrion na Farraige, “Queen of the Sea”) and journeyed to the smallest of the Aran Islands. Inis Oírr (Inisheer), a name derived from Inis Oirthir meaning “island of the east”, is the most eastern of the islands. About 3 square kilometres in size, Inis Oírr is a walker’s paradise. Posts with a “walking man” symbol mark a route around the island which can be completed in about four hours; we didn’t have quite that amount of time and covered only about half of the trail.

The island is a limestone pavement rising to a highest point of 60 meters above sea level. The flora and fauna include many extremely rare species, some of which are under conservation order. Fifty-seven species of birds, thirty-two kinds of wildflower and grass (including a species of darnell grass and one of cornflower found nowhere else), and three types of bumblebee share the island with about 250 human beings.

The heights of Inis Oírr seen from the island's pier

Inis Oírr has been inhabited for more than 5,000 years; arrowheads and flint from the Stone Age have been recovered at various locations on the island. Later evidence, from the Bronze Age, comes from urns and bones excavated at a burial site called Cnoc Raithní (“hill of ferns”).

Christianity came to the islands before the end of the first millennium. Near the swimming beach next to the ferry pier is the island’s graveyard. Here one finds the buried church called Teampall Chaomhain (“St. Caomhan’s church”). This is a 10th Century church said to have been founded by St. Caomhan (“Kevin”), a disciple of St. Enda the Patron Saint of the Aran Islands. (This St. Kevin is said to be the older brother of the St. Kevin who founded the monastic community at Glendalough.) The church was nearly buried by drifting sands, but has now been excavated and is kept clear of sand by the residents. It is a beautiful and peaceful place looking out over the ocean.

Further inland is Cill Ghobnait (“St. Gobnait’s church”) or Teampall Beag (“small church”) which was built in 11th Century and is dedicated to Saint Gobnait. It is built on a site which may have had an early church from before the 9th Century and does include the remains of a clochán or hermit’s beehive cell. Although Saint Gobnait is linked to Ballyvourney in County Cork, she is believed to have been a native of County Clare (the closest mainland county to the islands). The islanders believe she fled to Inis Oírr and lived in the clochán. (What she may have been fleeing from, we were not told.) Around the ruins of the church here three outdoor altars (which may mark graves), two bullaun stones, and the clochán. (Bullaun stones are basically holy water fonts. Local folklore often attaches religious or magical significance to them, including the belief that rainwater collecting in a bullaun stone’s hollow has healing properties.)

Cill Ghobnait - Teampall Beag

Altar of St. Gobnait's Church

Stone altar outside St. Gobnait's Church and Bullaun Stone

Remains of clochán or hermit's beehive hut at St. Gobnait's Church

In medieval times, the Aran Islanders lived in “chiefdoms”, the largest example of this is the hillfort at Dún Aonghasa on Inis Mór. The Aran Island chiefs were powerful and wealthy men who controlled the western sea passages; they contracted with the merchants of Galway keep the approaches to Galway Bay free from pirates in exchange for protection money, but apparently were not against a bit of pirating themselves. The islands became known as a haven for foghlaí mara (“sea plunderers”, i.e., pirates).

In the 14th Century, Inis Oírr became a base of the powerful O’Brien family and Caislean Uí Bhriain (“O’Brien’s Castle”) on was built here. The castle was taken from the O’Briens by the O’Flaherties of Connemara in 1582. It was occupied by them and others until 1652, when the Aran Islands were surrendered to Cromwellian forces.

O'Brien's Castle

In the early 19th Century, it was feared that Napoleon might invade Ireland and watchtowers and Martello towers were built all around the island nation, including a watchtower on Inis Oírr. The French never came and the watchtower became a school and an additional building was built next to it. Children would be schooled for the first several years in this local school and then would travel by boat to schools on the other islands or to the mainland.

Napoleonic era watchtower

School building constructed next to, and incorporating, watchtower

Inis Oírr’s history is strongly linked to the sea; the sea provided food for islanders to live on, and protected them from famine. The cargo vessel Plassey was shipwrecked off Inis Oírr in the 1960s, and has since been thrown above high tide mark at Carraig na Finise (a beach) on the island by strong Atlantic waves. The islanders rescued the entire crew from the stricken vessel, the wreckage of which has become a tourist attraction on the island. Unfortunately, with our limited time we were unable to see the ship wreck.

This marks my third visit to the Aran Islands. Evelyn and I visited Inis Mór, the largest, in 2007; I visited Inis Meán with another class from the language school in 2008; and I have now made this visit to Inis Oírr. Although the 21st Century has certainly come to these islands (automobiles and diesel tractors are found on all of them; cell phone reception is superb; one assumes the residents have access to the internet), there is still something timeless and ancient about them. Life clearly moves a different pace. Travel writer A.J. Neudecker has said that “Little Inisheer … is bottled tranquility.” I can see how two or three days on this island would be very restful!

My Daily Walk: The Rocks and the Flowers

July 25, 2011 / eric / 4 Comments

An Áras Mháirtín Uí Chadhain (the Martin O’Kyne Center) is located in the village of An Cheathrú Rua on the western coast of Contae na nGaillimhe (County Galway). The name was Anglicized to Carraroe during the time the British Empire ruled Ireland.

There are various stories as to what the Irish name An Cheathrú Rua actually signifies and how it came to be. The word ceathrú means “quarter” and is used in the same way the English word is used, as in ceathrú tar eis a hocht (“quarter after eight” o’clock) or an cheathrú Laidineach (“the Latin quarter”). It is in this latter sense that it is used to name this area.

The debate and the differing stories enter the picture when one considers the word rua. In one sense the word can be translated as “red” or “russet”, most commonly when referring to hair color. With that information you might think that perhaps this is an area populated by large numbers of red-heads, but that is not the case nor is that one of the stories about the area’s name. Rather, the argument is made that the color of the soil on this peninsula (for that is what An Cheathrú Rua is) is a particular auburn color, like that of red hair. Another story dependent on this meaning of rua is that it refers to the blood spilled when a man was killed several centuries ago in a fight outside a public house (one which still exists today).

Rock-walled Fields of Inis Oírr; An Cheathrú Rua has similar terrain.

The etymology favored by most people is based on an alternative meaning of rua: wild, fierce, or rough. The terrain of An Cheathrú Rua is very rough! Like much of this part of Ireland, the ground is rocky and uneven. Granite stones, which are plentiful and readily available, are the preferred building material for homes, other buildings, and the fencing of fields; stones cleared from the small, uneven fields have been used for centuries to wall in those same fields. (One finds this all over the northern half of this island nation and on the offshore islands; I have included in this post a picture from Inis Oírr, one of the Arann Islands, which shows many rock-walled fields terracing the island’s hillside. More about Inis Oírr in a later post.)

I take a daily walk along some of the winding roads through these rocky fields. (All the road here are winding and narrow; there’s no such thing as a straight road in Ireland!) Along any of these paths, I pass the tumble-down ruins of old stone cottages. These are referred to as “famine houses” for many (if not all) of them date from about 165 years ago, the time of the potato blight and the Irish Famine. Two Irish terms are used to name that time in the country’s history: An Droch-Shaol (meaning “The Bad Life”) and An Gorta Mhór (“The Great Hunger”). As people left the rural areas seeking food in the cities or to emigrate to America, Australia, or other places, they simply packed up and left their homes which, over time, deteriorated and partially collapsed; many of these refugees were evicted from their homes by landlords who were responsible for paying a yearly £4 per person tax on their tenants and who, without those tenants producing income, were unwilling to do so. But the Irish people build their stone homes well, and granite and mortar take time to erode, so the walls of many of these now-ancient structures still stand and those who live amongst them, out of respect for the dead, are loath to tear them down.

Famine House, An Cheathrú Rua

And so these stark reminders of the past are with us everyday. As I walk amongst the homes of the living and the dead, I am also greeted by flowers of all sorts. Though this is a rough countryside difficult to farm, it is lushly overgrown both with the gardens planted by the residents and, along the roads and in the fields, many sorts of wildflowers. Like the Arann Islands a few miles out in the Atlantic and the Burren of County Clare to the south, the climate, the winds, and the sea currents have conspired to bring to this area a variety of plants not usually found growing together. (This is especially true in County Clare where one finds tropical and arctic varieties growing side by side.) I thought I would share with you some of the flowers I see each day.

Fuchsia on Rock Wall

Spear Thistle

Field Bindweed

Wild Blackberry

Potts' Montbretia (orange) and Fragrant Orchid (purple)

Meadow Buttercup

Wild Angelica

Common Ragwort

My Typical Day in the Gaeltacht

July 24, 2011 / eric / 2 Comments

I thought I would share with you the usual daily schedule at an Áras Uí Chadhain: an Acadamh na hOllscolaíochta Gaeilge ag An Cheathrú Rua (the Irish Language Center of the National University of Ireland in Galway at An Cheathrú Rua). Here’s my typical day during the last week:

I get up at about 6:30 a.m. (before anyone else in the house) and brew a four-cup pot of coffee in our host’s French press. I do a chapter of work in a basic Irish grammar book (this is on my own, not something assigned by the school which is more concerned with speaking than with writing the language).

About 8 a.m. the rest of the house is up and functioning and by 8:30 a.m. we have our breakfast (“bricfeasta” as Gaeilge).

Uí Fátharta Home (Taken in July 2008)

The seven of us students walk to the school at about 9:10 or so and arrive in time for classes at 9:30 a.m. Two of us are in the “meánrang” (pronounced “mahn’-rahng”, the intermediate class), four are in the feabhaseoirí (pronounced “fouse’-i-ori”, the improvers, which is the elementary class for those who have had a minimum exposure to the language), and one is in the “búnrang” (basic class) for rank beginners with no Irish at all.

Classes run until 11 a.m. which is tea time (“sós” which means “break”) – we have tea or coffee or whatever until 11:30 a.m. and then it’s back to class until 1 p.m.

Lunch (“lón“) runs from 1 to 2 p.m. More class time from 2 to 4 p.m. (with no break). At 4 p.m. there is some sort of lecture (archeology, music, Irish orthography, folk lore, etc).

At 5 p.m. we walk back to the house; our bean-an-tí (pronounced “ban’-uh-tee”, landlady) feeds us dinner at 5:30 p.m. and that usually takes more than an hour.

Shortly after 7 pm. we walk back down the hill to the school for an evening lecture from 7:30 to 9:00 p.m. (these are the same sorts of lectures as in the afternoon, but usually more specialized or more in depth).

At 9:00 p.m. we return home and do our homework, which usually takes me until 11 p.m. At that point, I either go to bed (this happens most often) or I walk down the hill to have a pint at the pub across the street from the school (“An Chistin” which means “the kicthen”, also known locally as “tígh sea” – “tee shay” which means “house of the O’Shays” because that is the name of the family who has owned and run the place for generations) and have a pint. In either event, I am usually in bed by midnight (“meánoíche“, prounounced “mahn’-ee-khuh”) or shortly thereafter

This is the pattern three of the six days in a week. One day each week there is a “turas” or tour of some local area – Kylemore Abbey and the National Connemara Park, the Arann Islands, into Galway, etc. On Wednesday afternoons we are given the afternoon off, but those become intensive study times with others in our class as we prepare for the oral tests that happen on Thursday afternoons: each week we are expected to converse with two instructors about a particular subject. We know in advance what the subject will be, so we can get together with classmates and practice conversation about whatever (this week it is our favorite music – type, performers, compositions, concerts, etc.)

In general the weekly pattern is

Monday – basic pattern
Tuesday – basic pattern
Wednesday – morning basic with free time in the afternoon; after-dinner lecture.
Thursday – morning basic with conversation exam in the afternoon; after-dinner lecture.
Friday – basic pattern
Saturday – tour
Sunday – free (but filled with homework)

You can see that there is not much time for other activities! I try to take a walk of a couple of miles every day and, when I can, to take some photographs, but there is almost no time for writing posts to this blog!

Today (Sunday, 24 July 2011) I attend the Sung Eucharist at St. Nicholas Collegiate Church in Galway (a 45-minute drive each way) and did take some pictures of the church. I will make every effort to write a posting about that and hang some pictures here later in the evening, but right now …. I gotta study!

The Holiness of Creation – 17 July 2011

July 17, 2011 / eric / 1 Comment

It is said that there are forty shades of green in Ireland … there are probably more. There seem also to be at least that many shades of gray in the skies of Ireland the past couple of days. Since my arrival here, there have been clouds, wind, and rain. Irish words I learned three years ago come easily to mind: scamallach (cloudy), gaofar (windy), báisteach (rain).

Today, the wind is blowing hard enough that the trees and bushes in the front yard of my teach lóistin (boarding house) are bent far over and whipping about violently. The clouds, seeming low enough to touch, race by overhead, and throughout the day sheets of rain – some of hard, coarse droplets; some of sharp, stinging mist – have come and gone. From time to time a seagull struggles to move against the wind finding ways to travel into the blustery headwind, knowing instinctively when to rise, when to dive, when to tack.

The Windblown Skies of An Cheathrú Rua

My housemates are away today – the Acadamh has offered a bus tour to Ros Muc and the cottage in which Patrick Pearce, a hero of the founding of the modern Republic, spent his life. I have made this journey before and so I have opted not to take today’s bus ride. It has given me a chance to study grammar, review vocabulary flash-cards, and read a bit.

But the rain beats against the window and the wind blows so hard the house, though solidly built of concrete block and stone, vibrates; I am constantly distracted by this weather. “Tá an aimsir go-holc,” exclaims the bean-a-ti (literally “woman of the house”, the term – pronounced “BAN-uh-tee” – means both “housewife” and “landlady”). Yes, I think, the weather is wretched.

Olc is an interesting word: its basic meaning is “evil”, but it is used in a variety of ways which would be supplied by different words in English. (Go-holc is a form which would be translated into English by the addition of the adverb “very” to adjective.) It can be used to describe anything from simple “bad luck” to “wretched weather” to “moral evil”. Similarly, a word used to described good weather, álainn, can mean “beautiful”, “delightful”, or “perfect”.

I have been convinced for some time that a people’s spirituality is informed by their language, by its structures, by its grammar, by the alternative meanings of words.

It would, I think, be unlikely to find an English speaker describing the weather as “evil” – wretched, perhaps, and bad, certainly – but “evil” is a term we would reserve for other uses, to describe that which is morally reprehensible, something which can’t be said of the weather. Similarly, while we might describe the weather as “perfect” for some activity, we would not generally describe the weather as simply perfect in its own right.

Thinking of these descriptive terms for the weather I am reminded of a verse of scripture, Matthew 5:48, perhaps most familiar in its King James Version form: “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.” Although álainn is not the word used in the Irish bible’s version of this admonition of Christ, I can’t help but think that the secondary meaning of the word might suggest to the Gaelic soul a link between the occasional perfection of nature and the perfection of God (or, negatively, between the “evil” of the weather and the Evil One).

Celtic Christianity views the mission of Christ less as a “redemption” of a “fallen” creation than as the “completion” of an “incomplete” creation. I believe the use of these morally and spiritually charged adjectives to describe the weather and to describe nature has contributed to the spirituality which informs this theology. There is a hymn in Dánta Dé which sings the praises of the holiness of all nature and is reflective of this Celtic spirituality.

First, the Irish:

Naomhtha cearda Mhic Mhuire;
Naomhtha ó thus A thrócaire;
Naomhtha grian is neoil nimhe,
Dhá fhiadh eoil na h-aimsire.

Naomhtha a bhfuil thall n-a thigh,
Naomhtha gach dúil dá dhúilibh,
Naomhtha an ré a’s na réaltain,
Naomhtha an Té ó dtaisbéantar.

Naomhtha na síona saobha,
Naomhtha an fhearthain Abraona;
Naomhtha an tsoinionn go ngné ghil,
Naomhtha doinionn Dé dúiligh.

Naomhtha ceathra na cruinne,
Naomhtha cloche ‘s caomh-dhuille,
Naomhtha an teine, giodh h-í ain,
‘S gach ní eile dá n-abraim.

Naomhtha an ghaoth lonn ag labhairt,
Naomhtha fairrge ‘s fíormamaint;
Naomhtha gach aon-mhaith d’ar fhégh,
Naomhtha ‘n éanlait ‘san aedhir.

Naomhtha na coillte fá chnáibh,
Naomhtha an fhíneamhain abaidh,
Naomhtha gach toradh dá dtig,
Naomhtha an talamh ó a dtáinig.

Naomhtha an tráigh ‘s an tuile,
Naomhtha fás na fiodhbhaidhe,
Gníomha naomhtha learg is luibh,
Naomhtha an Ceard do cruthaigh.

Naomhtha fós fóghar na dtonn,
Naomhtha siúbhal na srothann,
Naomhtha an riasg fraochdha ‘s an féar
Naomhtha an t-iasg ‘san aigéan.

Naomhtha A thionsgnamh ‘a A thoil,
Naomhtha oibreacha ‘n Athair,
Naomhtha A cheard ‘s A chreidiomh,
Naomhtha A fhearg ‘s A fhoighideadh.

Naomhtha teaghlach A thoighe,
Naomhtha an Trionóid tóguidhe,
Naomhtha A iomrádh ag gach aon
Naomhtha ró-ghrádh A ró-naomh.

And the English translation by Úna ní Ógáin:

Holy are the works of the Son of Mary
Holy, from the beginning, His mercy,
Holy the sun and the clouds of heaven,
Two guides of knowledge of the seasons;

Holy all yonder in His House,
Holy each creature of His creatures,
Holy the moon and the stars,
Holy He from Whom they are revealed.

Holy the wild tempests,
Holy the rain of April,
Holy the fair-weather, with bright looks,
Holy the rough-weather of God the Creator.

Holy are the quadrupeds of the Universe,
Holy the stones and the gentle leaves,
Holy the fire, though it be destructive,
And all else of which I speak.

Holy the strong wind’s speech,
Holy, sea and firmament,
Holy, each good thing which was recounted,
Holy the birds in the air.

Holy the woods bearing clusters,
Holy the ripe vine,
Holy each fruit that cometh,
Holy the earth whence it came.

Holy are the shore and the wave,
Holy the growth of the woods;
Holy works are hillock and herb,
Holy the Artificer Who created them.

Holy too the voice of the waves,
Holy the travelling of the streams,
Holy the wild moor and the grass,
Holy the fish in the ocean.

Holy are His designs and His will,
Holy, the works of the Father,
Holy His workmanship and His faith,
Holy His anger and His patience.

Holy the household of His house,
Holy the exalted Trinity;
Holy, for all, to converse of Him,
Holy, the great love of His great saints.

Quarry Bank Mill – 13 July 2011

July 17, 2011 / eric / 1 Comment

After attending the midweek Eucharist at St. Bartholomew’s Church in Wilmslow, my host Sally M. took me to see the Quarry Bank Mill, one of the largest cotton producers of the English Industrial Revolution. The Mill was founded by Samuel Greg from Belfast, Northern Ireland, and stayed in the Greg Family until 1939 when Alexander Carlton Greg gave the Mill and the family estate to the National Trust. It is now a well-preserved and highly educational historical site encompassing not only the Mill, but the Apprentice House in which young pauper and orphan children who worked in the Mill were lodged, Styal Village where the older workers and their families lived, Quarry Bank House where the Gregs lived next door to the Mill, and Mrs. Greg’s gardens which provided her with enjoyment and fresh vegetables for the children living in the Apprentice House.

I was able only to visit the Mill itself due to lack of time, but hope some day to return and see the rest of the site.

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

The Mill is a marvel of early industrial technology presented in such a way that the visitor really appreciates the “improvements” in cotton production from the cottage industry it originally was when a woman would spin all day to make enough cotton to work on her loom all day the next day producing about 8 inches of yard-width cloth! The water-wheel and later steam driven machines could turn out yards and yards of thread, yarn, and cloth in a few hours. In addition, there are exhibits about how looms are set up to make patterns and about the way in which patterns not woven into the fabric are printed on it.

I’ll just show a few pictures here and add a few comments.

This is an exhibit showing a spinning wheel in the background and hand-loom in the foreground. A volunteer in period dress explained the way in which these machines were used by women in the cottage-industry days of cotton production.

Loom exhibit, Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

One of these volunteers is showing the operation of a flying-shuttle loom, an improvement on the hand loom which made the work go faster; this loom also has an improvement which makes it possible to change the threads of the weft so as to add colored stripes or bands to the cloth. The other is setting up a spinning jenny seen in the next picture, a machine with which one woman could produce not just one, but up to 16 bobbins of thread at a time.

Loom exhibit, Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Spinning jenny exhibit, Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

These two machines spin yard and thread onto hundreds of bobbins; the third then takes those threads and rolls them neatly onto a drum for use on the mechanized looms as the warp.

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

These two machines are individual mechanized looms now run with electrical motors for demonstration purposes.

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

But, of course, the Greg mill didn’t rely on individual machines … a hundred or more machines were set up together, all running off a central power source (either water wheel or steam turbine). One room of the mill is set up to show what this was like and while were there a worker set only three of the machines working – the noise was deafening! I can’t imagine what it must have been like to work there with all of the machines running.

Here is a picture of the several looms together; the next picture is the bank of bobbins which feed the looms.

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Men would run the looms; the apprentices (young boys about nine years of age) would go under the looms to clear jams or tie broken threads while the looms were working. As we went through the exhibit, there were several displays telling us about boys who had died from injuries received while working on running machinery.

The last display I want to share in this posting is the display of printed cotton cloth. I thought my daughter, a print maker, would appreciate this pictures of the cylindrical drums used imprint the cloth and the press on which they are used.

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

The Gregs were enlightened mill operators for their day. They provided fresh food and reasonably good housing for their apprentices, as well as rudimentary education. But let’s face it, the working conditions of the 18th and 19th Centuries were horrendous. One also must face the fact that large scale industrial production of cotton cloth put a vital cottage industry to death and changed an entire society.

Hand weaving of cloth and the making of clothing by hand was a staple activity of Gaelic life, as well as of English life, prior to the Industrial Revolution. In their collections of rustic charms, Douglas Hyde in Connacht in Éire and Alexander Carmichael in the islands and highlands of Scotland both recorded many songs sung by women as they worked the looms or finished the cloth; these songs reflect the rhythm of the looms or, in the case of those sung during group work like the waulking of the cloth, provided a rhythm for unified activity. (Wikipedia has a brief article about Scottish waulking songs.)

However, it was not only in these work songs that the making and working of cloth found its way into the folk songs of the Gaelic people: it was also in their love songs! The following is a song Dr. Hyde collected from Walter Sherlock of County Roscommon (because this post has gotten rather long I won’t record here the Irish, only the English). The title is The Tailoreen of the Cloth. (The ending “-een” or “-ine” added to Irish words means “little”, so in this song treasureen is a way of saying “little treasure”; tailoreen, “little tailor”. Céad fáilte is Irish for “a hundred welcomes”.)

I will leave this village
Because it is ugly,
And I go to live
At Cly-O’Gara?
The place where I will get kisses
From my treasureen, and a Céad fáilte
From my soft, young little dove,
And I shall marry the tailor.

Oh, tailor, oh, tailor,
Oh, tailoreen of the cloth,
I do not think it prettier how you cut your cloth
Than how you shape the lies;
Not heavier would I think the quern of a mill,
And it falling into Loch Erne,
Than the lasting love of the tailor
That is in the breast of my shirt.

I thought, myself,
As I was without knowledge,
That I would sieze your hand with me
Or the marriage ring,
And I thought after that
That you were the star of knowledge
Or the blossom of the raspberries
On each side of the little road.

(From Douglas Hyde, Love Songs of Connacht, page 37)

The many working songs of weaving women and love songs like this reflect a way of life ended by the Industrial Revolution so brilliantly displayed by the Quarry Bank Mill.

My Day in Wales (Part 2)

July 11, 2011 / eric / 0 Comments

I left Llantwit Major, where I had surveyed the Church of St. Illtud (see My Day in Wales (Part 1)), and having given serious consideration to driving the 101 miles from there to St. David’s where the primatial Cathedral of the Church in Wales is located, I set out to do just that. It really is a lovely cathedral and there are well-preserved ruins of a monastery founded by St. David there. (Here is a link to the Cathedral’s website.) I got onto the M4 motorway and started driving west, but a little bit beyond Swansea, stopping for petrol and a Diet Coke, discretion got hold of me and I realized that I really didn’t want to spend two hours driving there and then to face three hours getting back to Hay-on-Wye. So I went back to my original plan, which was to drive to the village of Penderyn and visit the only whisky distillery in Wales.

I didn’t take any photos at the distillery; I simply enjoyed the tour in the company of an American family from Florida and their friends from Wales. The whisky at Penderyn was lovely – if you ever have a chance to sample any, do so. They have three finishes – standard, which is aged before bottling in bourbon barrels then finished in madeira casks; sherry, which is aged in the bourbon barrels then finished in sherry casks; and “peated”, which is aged and finished in barrels previously used for Laphroig Scotch. Penderyn is not the first whisky made in Wales. Welsh monks made whisky in the middle ages, but the practice died out. The last commercial distillery before Penderyn was R. J. Lloyd Price’s Welsh Whisky Distillery Company established in 1887 at Frongoch. However, it was not a success and was sold in 1900 to William Owen of Bala for £5,000. The company made its last batch of bottled whisky in 1903 and was finally liquidated in 1910. That last batch met with an ignoble end when the horse cart it was being carried on fell over and all the bottles except two were smashed! One of the two is at the Penderyn Distillery today and the other is supposedly owned by Prince Charles, the Prince of Wales. However, our guide told us that the Prince’s steward is reportedly unable to locate the bottle! The bottle at Penderyn is on display and we were told that it is believed that, at auction, it would fetch a price of £300,000! For one liter of whisky! (The Frongoch product must have been pretty good … a cask of it was given to Queen Victoria by the local lodge of Freemasons when she visited the area in 1900 and she is reported to have gone through it rather quickly.)

The Penderyn products are pretty good, too! They didn’t have any of the peated available for tasting, but the standard and the sherry were delightful. They also make a gin and a vodka. Not being a vodka drinker I didn’t try that, but the gin is superb. More like the Dutch oude jenever than a traditional English dry gin. (The distillery has a very good and informative website which I invite you to view for yourself.) I only tasted very small sips of these spirits because, after all, I was on the road and still had to drive to Llanthony Priory and then back to Hay-on-Wye.

Driving through Wales today, I was struck by contrasts. From Cardiff to Swansea and beyond the M4 motorway is a broad, modern expressway on which cars and lorries zip along at 70 mph. Actually, many race by at even faster speeds. I’ve gotten the impression that in the United Kingdom “speed limits” are really “speed suggestions”…. Off of the motorway, on roads labeled as “A” roads, it’s a somewhat different story. “A” roads are two lane highways (one each direction) which back in the States (or at least in Ohio where I now live) would have a speed limit of no more than 45 mph and in many places, 35 mph. Here they generally are posted at 60 mph! And then there are “B” roads … these can be anything from something equivalent to a city residential street back home to a cow path!

My friends Ruthie and Clive live in Tylers Green, Penn, Buckinghamshire. To get to their home, my GPS (or “sat nav” as they are called here in the UK) directed me up a street called “Cock Lane” at the beginning which was a sign saying, “Single Lane Track with Passing Areas” … and that’s exactly what it is. I traveled on another road today with the same sign on display. Here’s few photos of that road taken from the driver’s viewpoint in my car:

Single Lane Track with Passing Areas, Black Mountains, Wales

The speed limit along here, by the way, is 30 mph! I did not drive anywhere near that speed; to travel these 9.2 miles took me 45 minutes. I met several vehicles coming the other way and often one or the other of us would have to stop and back-up to find a “passing area” where the other waved a thank you and we each went our way.

Single Lane Track with Passing Areas, Black Mountains, Wales

This particular single lane track with passing areas runs from Llanthony Priory to just outside Hay-on-Wye, a distance of 9.2 miles. Shortly after I took the photos above, the road got even narrower, and darker as trees growing along side arched over it forming a verdant tunnel. But then, rather quickly and unexpectedly, the roadside bushes and trees just disappeared and though the road got no wider, the vista broadened considerably.

Single Lane Track with Passing Areas, Black Mountains, Wales

I was in a mountain valley that was lush and green and filled with grazing sheep. It reminded me of the scenery in that great old movie starring Maureen O’Hara, Walter Pidgeon, and Barry Fitzgerald, How Green Was My Valley, a movie about growing up in a Welsh mining community (a young Roddy McDowall played a principal character). I don’t know where that movie was filmed, but my B&B host tells me that the area I drove through was where the outdoor scenes of another movie were filmed – An America Werewolf in London!

High mountain valley, Black Mountains, Wales

Sheep Grazing, Black Mountains, Wales

Shortly after I stopped to take the pictures above, I rounded a curve, topped a summit, and was treated to a breathtaking view of the Wye River valley. Even though the day was overcast at the time, the view was magnificent.

Wye Valley from Black Mountains summit, Hay-Llanthony Road

I was on this road driving from Llanthony Priory in the Black Mountains to my B&B in Hay-on-Wye. In the third and final installment of this description of my day in Wales, I’ll have pictures of the Priory. See My Day in Wales (Part 3).

Driving this sort of road (or any road, for that matter) is one of the times when I especially pray for God’s protection. In Dánta Dé there is a morning hymn (described as a ceol na ndaoine or “folk music”) which seeks God’s protection as “king of the graces” when “in each way that I shall take in the road that I wish to go.” First, the Irish Gaeilge:

A Rí na ngrás thug slán mé ó oidhche aréir,
Buidheachas naomhta do gnat do Rí na gCréacht;
Do bhrigh Do Pháise, a Árd-Mhic, dídean mé saor
Ó ghníomharthaibh Shátain gach lá is go críc mo shaoghail.

‘Athair na gcómhacht fóir mé ó phéist an uilc
Anns gach anach a ngeóbhad san ród ‘n ar méin liom dul,
Go cathair [Do Ghlóire] a gcómhnaidhe téidhim ar dtús
‘S a n-ainm na trócaire treóruigh féin mé indiú.

And the direct English translation:

O King of graces, Who brought me safe from yester-night,
Holy thanksgiving (be) always to the King of the Wounds:
By the power of Thy Passion, O High Son, protect me safe
From the deeds of Satan each day to my life’s end.

O Father of powers, save me from the serpent of evil,
In each way that I shall take in the road that I wish to go,
To the Throne [of Thy Glory] always first I go,
And in Mercy’s Name lead me Thyself to-day.

Neolithic Britain – 9 July 2011

July 10, 2011 / eric / 0 Comments

Today, 9 July 2011, I walked the hills of southeastern England visiting two fascinating sites that may date back as many as 5,000 years!

First I visited the village of Uffington, Oxfordshire, and the hill south of town on which one finds a massive depiction in white chalk of a horse. I tried to take a picture of it, but from ground level that is very difficult to do and (on this day) the site was crawling with several hundred early elementary school students on school outings. So here’s a picture from Wikicommons:

The Uffington White Horse from the Air

I walked up to the area where the head of the horse is seen in this picture. It was an overcast and hazy but warm day – a good thing because it was also very breezy. It was about a mile or so walk up the hill from the car park via the Ridge Path, which took me through the Uffington Castle, which isn’t what you think it is at all … not a castle in the medieval sense. Uffington Castle is all that remains of an early Iron Age hill fort. It is composed of two circular earth berms (with a circular ditch between them) surrounding about 32,000 square meters (nearly 8 acres). There is an entrance in the eastern portion, near the White Horse and another at the south (through which I entered). An entrance in the western side was apparently blocked up a few centuries after it was built. I was able to take a picture of the “castle” (although it doesn’t look like much). This picture is taken from the eastern entrance of the southeastern quadrant; the southern entrance can be seen at the right of the picture.

Uffington Castle, Oxfordshire, UK

As you can see, the White Horse is a highly stylised prehistoric hill figure, 110 m long (374 feet), formed from deep trenches filled with crushed white chalk. The figure is believed, and scientific tests have shown it, to date back some 3,000 years, to the Bronze Age. The purposes of its creators is completely unknown. It is not of Celtic origin, but G.K. Chesterton used it as the setting for part of his Catholic allegorical and poetic retelling of the story of the Saxon king Alfred the Great, who defeated the invading Danes in the Battle of Ethandun in 878, which is entitled The Ballad of the White Horse.

Before the gods that made the gods
Had seen their sunrise pass,
The White Horse of the White Horse Vale
Was cut out of the grass.

Before the gods that made the gods
Had drunk at dawn their fill,
The White Horse of the White Horse Vale
Was hoary on the hill.

Age beyond age on British land,
Aeons on aeons gone,
Was peace and war in western hills,
And the White Horse looked on.

For the White Horse knew England
When there was none to know;
He saw the first oar break or bend,
He saw heaven fall and the world end,
O God, how long ago.

As retold by Chesterton, Alfred and his Saxons set out from the White Horse and Alfred gathers there three great chieftains, Mark a Roman, Eldred the Franklin who is a Saxon, and Colan who is a Celt. In describing Colan, Chesterton includes these priceless lines:

For the great Gaels of Ireland
Are the men that God made mad,
For all their wars are merry,
And all their songs are sad.

After visiting the Uffington site, I went to Avebury to see the largest “henge” in Britain (possibly the largest man-made earthwork of its kind in all of Europe). A henge (the word is derived from Stonehenge and was coined in the mid-20th Century) is an earthen berm circular with an interior circular ditch. Because the ditch is on the inside, not the outside, of the berm, henges are not considered to be defensive fortifications. One scholar, however, has suggested that they are defensive in that he believes they were built to contain something and protect those outside from what was inside – and what was inside was divine energy. The Avebury henge contains many standing stones that are laid out in peculiar formations, some circles, some straight lines, some curving formations not forming full circles. Here are some photos of the standing stones.

Standing Stones near World Heritage Center Shop, Avebury, UK

Stone Circle portion within the Avebury Henge

This is a map (from Wikimedia) showing the Avebury henge and the position of the standing stones (and theoretical stones completing the circles). It does not show the Avebury village buildings which have been built within the henge. The henge has a circumference of about 3/4 of a mile.

Map of Avebury Henge (non-free material from Wikimedia)

I am intrigued by the idea that because the ditch and bank face inward, in the opposite order that they would be placed in a defensive ring fort, something “dangerous” or “powerful” was understood to be inside the enclosure. The proposal is that henges were designed mainly to enclose ceremonial sites seen as “ritually charged” and therefore dangerous to people, that whatever took place inside the enclosures was intended to be separate from the outside. In other words, the henge may have been a means by which neolithic society set aside “sacred space” in much the same way that modern human beings do with churches, mosques, temples, and so forth.

The hymn An Aluinn Dún (The Heavenly Habitation), which was set out in an earlier post, is about sacred space (heaven, particularly). The Celts and the Gaels have a special sense about sacred places; they marked them, but did not attempt to set them off or guard against them in the way henges seem to do. In fact, holy caves and holy wells were understood to be places of refreshment, “thin places” between our world and the spiritual realm, not something to be feared, but something to enjoy, somewhere to grow closer to God.

Connections: Friendship, Stones, and Walls

July 5, 2011 / eric / 1 Comment

I inhabit a world of instant connections, or so I believe. Back home in the States almost anywhere I go I can pull out my laptop, turn it on, find an available WiFi network, link to it with little or no problem, and be instantly connected with the internet. I can check my e-mail, access informational websites, Skype with family and friends – in a word, be connected.

Not so Great Britain. Except for the fact that the housekeeper Clovenfords Country Hotel had to keep unplugging the router to plug in her vacuum cleaner, there was no problem my first lodgings. The next evening, however, I discovered that there is no connection at all on Lindisfarne. Holy Island simply seems unwired. There times my phone couldn’t even send a text message. Now in Whitby, I’m finding that although the B&B where I’m staying advertises “free WiFi”, its router keeps cutting in and out (without the excuse of an interfering house keeper) – good thing its free! I’d be really angry if I was paying for this. (Note: The next day things improved immensely – I actually think the problem was with the ISP because my computer kept showing that I was connected to the router, but the router wasn’t connecting to the internet.)

This matter of “being connected” brings me to the sorts of places I’ve visited the past few days – the Duddo Stone Circle (2200-1400 BCE), Hadrian’s Wall (c. 120 CE), Bede’s Monastery of St. Paul at Jarrow (681 and c. 12th Cent. CE), Lindisfarne Priory (687 and 1150 CE). These are ancient places of varying purposes but all, in a sense, are monuments to human connectedness, our connections to one another and our connections to the divine.

Duddo Stone Circle

No one is quite sure what the Duddo Stone Circle is all about. It may have marked a burial site, but that cannot be proven because Victorian and early 20th Century excavations disturbed any cremation chamber that may have been there. It may have been a religious site of some sort, but who can tell. It is dated to the Bronze Age principally because of its size. Archeologists tell us that the final phase of stone circle building occurred during the early to middle Bronze Age (c.2200–1500 BCE) which saw the construction of small circles like Duddo, probably by family groups or clans rather than the larger population groups need to build the larger circles and henges.

The purpose of stone circles and henges is forever lost to us. They may have been religious; they have been astrological or astronomical observatories of a sort; they have been talismanic. Still, whatever the Duddo Stone Circle’s purpose and whoever its builders, it remains today as a monument to community and cooperation, to the human need to connect that which is greater than the individual. Though they have fallen been stood again over time, there they remain perhaps 4,000 years after their initial placement on that hillside in Northumbria.

Housesteads Fort and Hadrians Wall

Hadrian’s Wall was built between 122 and 128 CE right across the island of Great Britain; it is 73 modern miles long! About 70 percent of this fortification (more than 50 miles) is made of squared stone outer walls with a fill of rubble and clay between them; these walls were 10 feet thick and 20 feet high! The remainder (mainly west of the River Irthing) was made of turf stacked 20 feet thick and 10 feet high. Forts were built every five to ten miles and turrets or guard posts every mile. It was built by the Roman Legions and they did it, including the forts and turrets, in six years! I visited Housesteads Roman Fort near Hexham and was fascinated by the orderliness of its layout and massiveness of the section of the wall to which it is connected. The wall and its forts are monuments to organization and communication, it nothing else, and sections of it are still standing nearly 1900 years later!

Carrawburgh Mithraeum Brocolitia

However, the ruins of Hadrian’s Wall are not simply the remains of a secular, military fortification of massive proportions. There is evidence that Hadrian believed it was his duty by “divine instruction” to build the wall to protect the Roman Empire. Furthermore, along the wall there are worship sites. A goodly number of Rome’s Legionaries were Mithraists, followers of a mystery religion which competed with Christianity in the early centuries and with the Christian Church (after made official by Constantine) eventually wiped out. Along the wall are evidences of Mithraic worship sites called Mithraea. One such Mithraeum is found at Carrawburgh near Housesteads Roman Fort. (For some reason it has been given the Celtic-based name Brocolitia, which probably means “badger hole”.

Lindisfarne Priory

The monastery and the priory were founded by the Celtic missionaries from Ireland at about the same time and renewed five hundred years later. Lindisfarne and Jarrow were re-established as monastic communities by Benedictines from Durham Cathedral in the 12th Century and, if not for the savagery of Henry the Eighth’s disestablishment of the monasteries in the 15th Century, they might still be standing and might still be functional communities today. Like Duddo and Hadrian’s Wall before them, the still-standing ruins of these monasteries are testament to power of human connection and of human desire to connect to that which is greater.

While the Celtic ethos is certainly community-based, as the nature of the Celtic monastic communities of Ireland and those in Britain and Scotland in places like Lindisfarne, Jarrow, and Iona show, the hymns in Dantá Dé do not reflect that. The hymns Ní Ógáin selected are all, for the most part, hymns of individual prayer. However, there is one hymn which refers to God as “King of the friends,” or as Douglas Hyde translated it, “King of friendship.” The notes describe is as a morning hymn and as folk music (ceol na ndaoine, literally “music of the people”) “through L Grattan-Flood, Mus. Doc.” This is the Gaeilge original:

A Rí na gcarad, a Athair an tSlánuightheor’,
Fág in mo sheasamh mé ar maidin drádhachóir;
Déan-sa mo theagasg gan mearbhal, a Shlánuightheoir,
Agus sábháil m’anam ar cheangal an Aidhbheirseor’.

A Rí cruinne, do bheir loinnir ‘sa ngréin go moch,
Dílte troma agus toradh ‘na ndhiaidh go grod,
Innsim Duit-se mo chulpa agus féachaim is glaodhaim Ort,
Agus ná leig tuitim níos fuide bham féin san olc.

And this is a versified translation which Ní Ógáin attributes to Dr. Hyde:

O King of friendship, our Saviour’s Father art Thou;
O keep me erect, until evening shall cool my brow.
O teach and control, lest I unto sin should bow,
And save Thou my soul from the foe who follows me now.

O King of the world, Who lightest the sun’s bright ray,
Who movest the rains that ripen the fruit on the spray;
I look unto Thee, my transgressions before Thee I lay,
O keep me from falling deeper and deeper away.

Friendship, community, connectedness … these are the things that last and those human works which result from them last, as well. God is the King of the Friends, the King of Friendship. If we trust in God and in one another, the things we accomplish will be kept erect like the Standing Stones at Duddo. They will not be inconsistent, like internet connections. They will not fall “deeper and deeper away” but stand like Hadrian’s Wall and the walls of the ancient monasteries, testaments to the power of friendship and of faith.

Category: Gaeilge (Page 2 of 3)

Dé Domhnach sa Teach Lóistín

A Drive Through the Bog

A Visit to Inis Oírr

My Daily Walk: The Rocks and the Flowers

My Typical Day in the Gaeltacht

The Holiness of Creation – 17 July 2011

Quarry Bank Mill – 13 July 2011

My Day in Wales (Part 2)

Neolithic Britain – 9 July 2011

Connections: Friendship, Stones, and Walls

Looking for Something …. ?

The Archive

Subscribe

Blogroll

News Sources

Administration

Copyright

Looking for Something …. ?

The Categories

The Archive

Subscribe

Blogroll

News Sources

Administration

Copyright