Irish History: Supplementary Lessons

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XLIX, Issue 40, 12 October 1922, Page 17

Irish History: Supplementary Lessons

A friend in need is a friend indeed. When we promised to supply the children with lessons on the Gaelic League and Sinn Fein we were in fear and trembling lest we should have to write them ourselves. Fortunately we have a contributor who loves Ireland and knows the minds of children. To her we turned for help, and not in vain. So, E.D. this week gives us an introductory paper which not only the young people but their elders will welcome. Her genius and , her experience have enabled her to write a beautiful lesion for the school children, and it will in due time be followed by others. Teachers are requested to cut out and use these lesson for their classes. THE GAELIC LITERARY REVIVAL. (I) Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman who lived with her children in a wonderful country. Her sons were quick-tempered but very loving. Sometimes they quarrelled, just as you, children, sometimes quarrel. But their rage was as brief as a toi-toi fire. Now they had a very powerful neighbor, and one day he stepped into their mother and said: “Your sons need a master. I shall keep order here!” From that day she grew old, until at last she was the most sorrowful old woman in the world.. She would sit and beat her head against the wall and say, “Woe T Woe! Woe!"What is there I have not lost? This is the house God gave me but in it I have no say. My sons are faithful, but they have to leave me, and those that do not ■ go are like to starve. The foot of the stranger is heavy on my floor. What is there I have not lost? Woe! Woe!” Truly she was the (most sorrowful old woman in all the world. Her eyes were almost blind from weeping and her 'children’s sons could scarce believe that she was ever beautiful; From their pity and their suffering they too began to weep and to say, “What is there we have not lost? Woe!, Woe!” , Not all, however, wept. One or two began to go apart and to say: “What good are tears? His foot falls heavier every day!” But all their efforts failed and they met death instead of triumph. And sometimes the stranger raised his head and said to them, “Ye say ye are a people! Show me some sign by which God has marked you! Show me something that none hath but you and that none can take from you! Then will I believe!” And through the pauses of his shout came the sob of the old woman; “What is there I have not lost? What is there I have not lost?” '■ ■■ ' . Little by little her sons grew stronger. Day by day slip crept a little nearer to her own fire. Bog by bog, field by field she got back her land. But she still had no say and no mastery arid she continued to sigh, “What is there I have not lost?” But, her children were, more content, except the sons of those who in the beginning .had:gone and muttered apart: “It was better when they cried with her. Now they care more for their fields than ■for her tears. 'They are forgetting that,we are a people! .How can , we make them remember?” Arid for some years they were troubled trying to find a way. ; ' ; ; ; Then one day they, went to see their mother, “Rise ilp, dear/gribtfer,; for ■•fra/ bring you jby!■;,:;.Wa : ; have found

something that you have hot utterly lost!' We have found the sign' by which God has [ marked us! Now must : he believe for none other hath it wholly and none can take: it from us.” And she besought them trembling, “What is that?” And they answered blithely: “The tongue of our fathers!” ' • Children, the old woman was Ireland, and the sons, who brought the great tidings were the men of the Connradh na Gaedhilge, the Gaelic League. " ;/,■ They had nothing to do with politics. They sought only to bring back the people to the musical tongue of their fathers, the tongue of Hugh O’Neill, the tongue of Columbanus. From old manuscripts they gathered glad songs and proud stories. Ah! and the wonder of it! In the hills and the far valleys they found old men who would be judged unlearned and ignorant yet who knew by heart in Irish the Iliad find Odyssey. Many a scholar found himself envying his old gardener. The more they learned the more they marvelled at the holiness, the sweetness, the courtesy of that ancient tongue. Instead - of “Good-day!” “The blessing of God on you!” instead of “Hullo!” “God and Mary to ye!” Surely those are fine greetings! ■ Men like Dr. Douglas Hyde can never be thanked enough for their labor, but, indeed they do not ask thanks was a labor of love. Someone who met Dr. Hyde recently says he is so joyous over his discoveries that ho is like a merry, mischievous boy! And the whin caught the flame from the furze! The Irish who wrote in English took up the grand old tales and their works became so famous, that Synge and Yeats are known on the Continent as well as Ibsen or Claudel. But the greatest of them all said, “I too could write in English books like those. But I will write instead in our own tongue because there is a thing greater than fame and that is Ireland.” So he wrote the most wonderful things that Ireland has yet known, nor did he write in vain for soon no child in all .the land will not, re-tell his tales with joy. , -.. He loved children above all creatures. “If you die for Ireland, die laughing!” he said to his pupils. “The old Fianna had the gallant gesture! We have forgotten it.” Pride and generosity and faith were what he asked of them. x. , , In An Bi the little boy who know’s he will die if he takes the King’s place asks it even as a favor, saying nobly, “Let me do this little thing. 0 King!” In another play it is the cry of a hoy that summons to earth the Archangel Michael and all the chivalry of heaven. “Stand forth, young Michael!” he cries aloud, and the awful Saint appears. /•'’ , ' , ' When he writes of Christ it is as a small boy soothing old Matthias by the shore. When he thinks of Christ it is as a small boy in an orchard between apple boughs. Let us then love Patrick Pears© for his gifts to Ireland. And loving him, let us try to follow him in his pride and his faith. In Ireland every child has a copy of O’Growney’s little grammar. Any child here could master at least the first hook. Get your father or your grandfather to help you. If you learn only a few phrases it is still something. It keeps you in touch with the new Ireland that is even dearer than the old. —E. D.

Profession Ceremony at Villa Maria, Riccarton The impressive ceremony of Profession in the Order of Our Lady of Mercy, took place on the 24th ult. (Feast of Our Lady of Mercy), in the convent chapel of the Sisters of Mercy, “Villa Maria,” Riccarton, when Sister Mary Michael (Miss Annie McKeefry) made her holy profession. Very ,Rev. Dean Regnault, ■ S.M., celebrated the occasional: Mass ; and officiated at the ceremony, the Mass being served by Mr. J. H. A. McKeefry (Duiledin), brother of the newly-professed, who was present with his father and mother. Mr.' and Mrs. McKeefry are to be congratulated on having their only two daughters professed Nuns in the Order of Mercy. ' , ; •