This tradition of goodwill and generosity continued down through the centuries through periods of prosperity and dark times of famine. What is most remarkable is that the warmest hospitality was often to be found amongst the poorest of the poor. In Irish tradition, hospitality was not merely a virtue, but a duty. Indeed it could be said that the Irish had an almost superstitious fear of turning the stranger away from the door: Who knew who the stranger might be?

The duty of hospitality is beautifully expressed in the following lines, translated into English by the Celtic scholar, Kuno Meyer.

‘Bid the guests welcome, though they should come at every hour / Since every guest is Christ – no trifling saying this, / Better is humility, better gentleness, better liberality toward him.’

The responsibility for dispensing hospitality rested most heavily on the hosteller (in old Irish ‘brughaidh’). There were five or six ‘bruighean’ (hostels) in ancient Ireland. The host had to keep open house for all corners, closing the door against none, and he had to keep no reckoning no matter how often a guest chose to come, or how long he stayed. Each hostel had to have in readiness a hundred servants and a hundred domestic animals of each king: cattle, pigs, horses, sheep, goats, hens, bees, as well as a hundred beehives.

Occasionally hospitality was abused, as is shown in the story of Buchet. Buchet was a kind and generous host but his hospitality was abused by the twelve profligate brothers of his dearly loved foster-daughter, Eithne. There was not their like in Ireland for high living and extravagance and they frequently descended on the unfortunate Buchet with a host of servants, consuming everything within reach. Before long Buchet was ruined and was forced to sell his land and herds and to move to a woodman’s cottage near the seat of the high king at Kell’s, Co. Meath. This story, however, has a happy ending. King Cormac, riding in the forest, met the bewitching Eithne and made her his queen. He gave Buchet the bride-price of his foster daughter, including herds of cattle, bronze cauldrons and so much gold that Buchet could scarcely carry his wealth back to his former home. Ever afterwards, it is said, Buchet continued to keep open house and each night entertained as many as came. Fifty musicians played for the guests and there was so much song and music that, to this very day in folklore, men still speak with wonder of the ‘melodies of Buchet’s House’.

The rights of hospitality in medieval times can be broken down into three main sections: the right of any traveller to food and lodgings, the right of a king or overlord to billet his servants – known as ‘coshering’ and the right of a lord to be entertained by his tribesmen. ‘Filí’ (poets) with their retinue were always welcomed by chieftains. The chieftains or kings were afraid that they would be satirised by the ‘file’ if  they were less than generous. Some of the poets became so demanding that the chiefs met to consider banishing them completely. At the Council of Dromceat they met and couldn’t agree on what to do. They sent for Colmcille who had departed to Iona off the west coast of Scotland. Colmcille returned and pleaded on behalf of the poets, so they were allowed to continue.

In the Middle Ages, the hostel keeper (successor of the earlier ‘brughaidh’) was expected to keep open house. His table was usually lavish and he particularly welcomed powerful chieftains, princes and their servants and men of letters (poets, bards). However, any traveller could expect, not only free board and lodgings, but a warm welcome, be he beggar, wandering student, itinerant musician, juggler, clown, priest, or soldier. This was a natural result of the times; bad roads, lack of transport and political divisions, which made any man thirty miles from his native place, a foreigner. It was generally held by experienced travellers that food, lodgings and general comforts were best provided when a woman, be she wife or mistress, oversaw the servants and supervised the kitchens.

Perhaps the best remembered account of a great banquet in the old Irish traditions, and one that went into folk history, was that of Brian Ó Ruairc who, at Christmastime in the year 1951, held ‘open house’ int eh great hall of his castle at Dromahair, Co. Leitrim. The occasion was later celebrated in the folk song, ‘Pléaráca na Ruarcach’ and still later immortalised by Jonathan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, when he described it in verse.

The Great Famine of 1845-49 was to change everything and customs and traditions that had survived for two thousand years were swept away. Never again would unstinted and prodigal hospitality be taken for granted.

Gerard Shannon, author of ‘Rory O’Connor: To Defend the Republic’, writes on the connection between Dick Barrett and the subject of his new book, Rory O’Connor

The public memory of the Irish republican and revolutionary Dick Barrett looms large over Cork, especially the west of the county, during the revolutionary period of the early 20th century. Born in 1889, in Hollyhill, Ballineen, Co. Cork, Barrett, by the time of the Irish War of Independence, would emerge as a prominent leadership figure in the Cork No. 3 Brigade that encompassed West Cork. He would be the brigade’s quartermaster and later would ascend to the staff of the First Southern Division under General Liam Lynch. His comrade Peader O’Donnell later remarked how Barrett had once been close to Michael Collins, on the pro-Treaty side, and recalled Barrett as “a keen, searching mind with strong conspiratorial genius.”

Barrett remains best known for the circumstances of his death at the height of the Irish Civil War, when Barrett was opposed to the Anglo-Irish Treaty, regarding it as a betrayal of the Irish Republic as declared in 1916. On December 8, 1922, Barrett was executed before a firing squad along three other prominent republicans and anti-Treaty IRA leaders: Joe McKelvey, Liam Mellows and Rory O’Connor. All four had publicly opposed the Treaty and creation of the Irish Free State, a British dominion consisting of twenty-six counties of Ireland (the remaining six counties encompassing Northern Ireland). The National Army had imprisoned all four shortly after the defeat at the anti-Treaty IRA’s Four Courts garrison, of which Barrett was part, at the beginning of the Civil War. 

Their execution was an illegal reprisal, and on the instruction of the Irish government at the time headed by WT Cosgrave. Of particular cruelty was the fact the four men were put to death for an incident none of them had a part in: The assassination of pro-Treaty TD, Seán Hales, by members of the anti-Treaty IRA, the day before. Hales, in a great irony had been a close friend and comrade of Dick Barrett in the West Cork Brigade prior to the split over the Treaty. Hales’ family would even publicly condemn the executions of Barrett and the other three men.

Hales had been shot on Dublin’s quays because of orders issued by the anti-Treaty IRA leader, Liam Lynch. Lynch strongly opposed new government legislation that had allowed for the executions of republican prisoners, which had included the leading figure Erskine Childers. However, the executions of Barrett and his three comrades were illegal and outside the parameters of this. Their deaths were intended to demoralise the anti-Treaty members still fighting and prevent further shootings of pro-government TDs. In one of his last letters, addressed to his fellow prisoners in Mountjoy, Barrett wrote: “I hope you will all live through to the Faith of our National Fathers and when called on to do a great thing for Ireland, you will face it manfully. Do not bear ill will or dream of reprisals, the cause is too holy for ignoble deeds.”

Among the men executed with Barrett, most ambiguous today is undoubtedly the popular memory of Rory O’Connor. Ironically, at the time of his death at the age of 39, O’Connor was perhaps the best known of the four men. His background suggested an unlikely revolutionary, the son of a wealthy, prominent, Dublin-based solicitor. O’Connor had risen in the ranks of the Volunteers and became the IRA’s Director of Engineering. He also masterminded several high-profile prison escapes of republicans and IRA operations in Great Britain. O’Connor was also the first of the IRA’s General Headquarters Staff to oppose the Treaty. In April 1922, O’Connor would direct members of the IRA’s Dublin Brigade to seize the Four Courts complex on Dublin’s quays in defiance of the new pro-Treaty government. The Four Courts would be where Mellows and O’Connor would be arrested several days after the fall of the garrison at the start of the Irish Civil War on 28 June 1922. 

Most poignantly, one of those ministers that approved their executions months later was Kevin O’Higgins, then Minister for Home Affairs. Only over a year before, Rory O’Connor was the best man at O’Higgins wedding – several weeks before the signing of the Treaty. Both men shared a genuinely warm and close friendship. Days after O’Higgins wedding, he wrote to O’Connor and referred to him as “the bestest best man that ever rounded up a bridegroom”.

Over a year later, O’Higgins agonised over the decision to execute the four men. There was no signing of a death warrant as persists in popular lore, but O’Higgins was without question part of the collective cabinet decision, and the death of the four men became a central component of his legacy. Nearly five years later, and four years after the end of the civil war, O’Higgins was assassinated by members of the IRA’s Dublin Brigade while walking the streets of south Dublin – a particularly violent result of the executions on December 8, 1922. 

Gerard Shannon is the author of ‘Rory O’Connor: To Defend the Republic’, now available from Merrion Press.

Why is it inevitable? Simply put – what makes an empire, breaks it. An empire is built on the manipulation, suppression and exploitation of other peoples. It is only a matter of time – it could be decades, even millennia – before the suppressed will no longer put up with those injustices. From that friction, come the sparks that will burn red; the hot passions of resistance.

The Irish road for independence took many forms over eight centuries: diplomacy, politics, boycotts, monster meetings, economic wars, and outright rebellions. The War of Independence was all the more remarkable given the size of the opponent that the Irish had to overcome and lack of resources they had at their disposal. It was a David versus Goliath tussle. We must be careful not to underestimate just how inspiring that victory was for so many countries, who themselves were under the yoke of foreign rule. India is often cited as an example of one such country who took their inspiration from the Irish. Sir Henry Wilson, British general, imperialist and chief tormentor of the Irish rebels during the War of Independence, declared, ‘If we lose Ireland, we lose India’. How prophetic those words were. A prominent Indian nationalist, called V.J. Patel travelled to Ireland four times throughout the 1920s and 1930s, as he was a keen follower of the Irish independence movement. Not only that, he also formed part of an Ireland-Indian independence league who met in Dublin in 1932 and with De Valera. One British diplomat observed that ‘the Congress Party (the main Indian Party during British rule) are largely founding themselves on the methods by which the Irish Free State secured practical independence of Great Britain’. This type of relationship continued with the official visit of another Indian nationalist, Subhas Chandra Bose, who sought to learn from Ireland the methods to break the chains of their imperialist jailers. 

However, what is lesser known is the story of Pedro Albizu Campos, another revolutionary influenced by the daring resistance of the Irish. This Puerto Rican fought one of the mightiest empires of all – the United States of America. He met Eamonn De Valera and both influenced each other. Yet there was no fairytale ending for Campos, and Puerto Rico today is as far away from Independence as it ever has been, partly down to systematic years of making it too reliant on the USA, as well as the erosion of its identity and development of economic dependency. It’s part of the imperialistic playbook. Ireland itself was on a similar course to be subsumed as a province of the UK until the formation of the Gaelic League, the GAA and the significant development of the Irish Parliamentary Party, all in and around the 1870s and 1880s. The zenith of British colonial rule had been reached – the Irish language was on its knees. Education of the masses was conducted through English. Cricket (I kid you not), was the most popular sport in Ireland. Local governance was in the hands of the aristocratic unionists, while national politics was firmly ensconced in Westminster, in London.

Today Puerto Rico feels and smells like a piece of America: big cars, ubiquitous American chain stores, the American dollar. Baseball is their number one sport. (brought in by the Americas after occupation in 1898).  It has territory status, and thus is not a State. The US district courts operate in English though the primary language spoken by most residents at home is Spanish. The people have been given American citizenship since 1917, yet strangely they can’t vote in the Presidential elections or even be represented in Congress, yet are subject to their laws. Puerto Ricans don’t pay federal income tax, but neither do they benefit from federal funding in key areas such as Medicare or food stamps. The country’s largest party is the pro-American statehood status PNP (Partido Nuevo Progresista) whose candidate for governor won with over 50 per cent of the vote against an alliance party that includes the sovereign seeking, Independent Party PIP (Partido Independentista Puertorriqueño) on about 30 per cent. Is Puerto Rico past its moment in history where independence no longer matters? Or, is it at that point of its journey that Ireland faced in the 1870s/80s from where it sought to break from its Britishness or remain pacified and tamed.

Most Puerto Ricans like the idea of being able to work and travel in the USA and the separatist question is not an issue – depending on who you speak with. A younger generation are beginning to look into their past and connect to their Taino indigenous ancestors, though the language they spoke, sadly has become extinct. They are the generation similar to many people in Ireland who struggle to get on the housing market, made even harder by it becoming a holiday destination for wealthy mainland Americans who can benefit from ‘ACT 60’. This is a tax break on investment income, which is great for investors and people with excess money, but it means young people on local wages cannot compete and are driven out of the market. Now I know Ireland has faced its own housing problem, but without representation in Congress, how can the average Puerto Rican make their voice heard in the American Congress, which after all can overrule any laws made at a local level by the island’s parties? The aforementioned Alliance party [with the PIP] have at least made some groan in getting investors to legally invest more in local employment. 

Never has the need to know one’s history been so important, and perhaps the strongest indication of Puerto Rico becoming just another State was brought sharply into focus by a chance meeting I had with an 83-year-old Puerto Rican man. Sometimes it sounds cliché to say can we really know who we are if we don’t know our past? After striking up a convivial conversation, I was hungry to delve into the island’s past. I asked him what he thought of the ‘Ponce Massacre’ of 1937 where sixteen men, one woman and one child, were shot dead, and 200 more wounded, by police acting on the orders of the Military Governor Colonel Winship, who was appointed to the role by president FD Roosevelt. He stared at me as if I had slapped him in the face. “What is the ‘Ponce Massacre’?” He beckoned his family over, and three generations of puzzled eyes wondered how an Irishman might know more than them.

The answer was found in a corner book store, on a narrow street in San Juan, after another conversation with a guide in the local museum. When I asked her why the museum has such little information about Puerto Rico modern history, she asked me if I had read ‘Guerra Contra Todos los Puertorriqueños: Revolución y Terror’? With some luck I found the English translation ‘War Against All Puerto Ricans Revolution and Terror in America’s Colony’. It was here I learned about The Ponce Massacre, Pedro Albizu Campos and Eamonn De Valera, the economic exploitation of the sugar croppers for American companies, the laws that banned Puerto Ricans from speaking Spanish or even possessing a Puerto Rican flag, the mass round-ups, the inhumane incarcerations, the torturing of prisoners and the destruction of any revolutionary fervour. Perhaps the most terrifying thing is that the Americans even buried the history so deep, that the desire for independence has been forgotten by generations. This deserves its own telling and I intend to bring it to life in next month’s issue To do it justice, it needs a deep delve, but I had to paint the context of this most astonishing history. Its author, by the way, is not some underground radical. Nelson A. Denis is a writer, editor, film maker and served as an elected assemblyman for New York in the state legislature. It’s a remarkable story made all the more remarkable that it was the Irish Revolution that inspired Alibizu Campos in his attempt to overthrow an empire.

Thanks to four DNA testers, who have West Cork O’NEILL connections, we have now confirmed (or genetically proven prefer) the outline story for the origins of some of the O’NEILLs in West Cork. The latest piece of the puzzle landed the day before St Patrick’s Day. All four have taken the male DNA test known as ‘Big Y’.

‘Big Y’ is a male line DNA test provided by FamilyTreeDNA (FTDNA) and is currently the most detailed test of its kind. For the last 500 years or so, this essentially ties all unbroken male lines to family names. All four O’NEILL testers show that their male lines are genetically connected and unbroken.

The most recent result is important for a number of reasons. Firstly, it identifies a single C16th male (MRCA: Most Recent Common Ancestor) who was the father of two sons, whose lineages became O’MAHONY and O’NEILL. This confirms the detailed genetic work done by the O’NEILL project at FTDNA and matches the various annals of Irish history that document the split into both family names known today.

Two additional testers surnamed MAHONEY and MAHANEY connect with the four O’NEILLs at this historical period, estimated to be around 1550 from DNA alone. (Please refer to my previous articles regarding the deeper historical connection.) The tested MAHONEY traces his origins to Maryland in the US at about 1760.

As previously reported, a letter written by a member of the O’NEILL family from Knocks, outlined the basic story of a young boy arriving in West Cork following the Siege of Limerick (1690) and settling in Garranes and Ballinard. While it has been a challenge to match all the detail from the letter, it has been possible using standard atDNA tests to connect O’NEILLs from Knocks with those from Derrimilleen, Reenroe & Cashelisky, and to some overseas branches.

The young lad, Sean O’NEILL, married and was reported to have had five sons. These children were likely born in the 1720-1730 period. This is now confirmed by the Y-DNA tree. All four O’NEILL testers with West Cork origins connect at a single male MRCA, estimated from just DNA alone, to about 1650. This is likely to be Sean or his father. The testers then split into two pairs.

The two testers from Derrimilleen and Knocks share the same natural genetic mutation. The two other testers, who’s surnamed became O’NEIL (with one ’l,’ due to emigration to the UK and US) share an additional natural genetic mutation downstream of this, which supports their family narrative. The latter pair share origins from a man born around 1720 who settled in Drimoleague, before his descendants moved and settled at Cashelisky adjacent to their cousins at Reenroe. This indicates that their ancestor was most likely a son of Sean. The other pair are known to descend from the man known as Felim or Filem Mor (‘Big Felix’) of Ballinard.

A genetic framework now exists for anyone wishing to investigate their West Cork male lines (O’NEILL or O’MAHONY) to check whether they tie in or not using Y-DNA, specifically the Big Y test. Normal customer atDNA tests (as provided by FTDNA, Ancestry and MyHeritage, and so on) can help tie lineages together in the post-1800 period.

I am grateful, through my previous articles, that O’NEILL descendants have shared their family stories. They remain of interest but ideally would be supported by both atDNA and Y-DNA tests at some time in the future. Hopefully, the success of this project will encourage others to DNA test.

One of the main features of ‘collecting’ O’NEILL lineages in West Cork is that most seem to have a Felix in them. My current total is around 40 people of that name. Most of these lineages cannot be connected on paper to the main framework and it is noted that three of Seans sons are yet to be accounted for, so highly suggestive many O’NEILLs in the region may actually be genetically part of the same family. Of course, there will also be those families of the name that have different origins (not from Sean) but may find themselves connecting a little further back.

As a final comment, I would like to mention the ‘rule of three’. For both of the established O’NEILL branches, and the pair of MAHONEYs, there are currently only two tests for each. Once a third tester on any of the branches comes in then the Y-DNA project will provide even more detailed mapping downstream of the already established ancestors. This opens up more rigorous genetic support for any paper trail undergoing research.

If anyone wishes advice on how best to join the project(s) and test for their genetic origins, please contact me.

Questions for future articles can be emailed to DNAmatchingprojects@gmail.com. Private client services available. Follow the West Cork DNA blog on Facebook ‘My Irish Genealogy and DNA’.

Jessie Buckley has recently entered the hallowed pantheon of great Irish actors. Victory in the 2026 Oscars, in one of the blue ribbon events that is best leading actress, was achieved by her empathetic performance as Shakespeare’s wife, in the movie ‘Hamnet’. She is now occupying that rarefied place, up amongst the greats of Irish entertainers such as Cillian Murphy, Brenda Fricker, Daniel Day-Lewis, Neil Jordan, George Bernard Shaw, and Cedric Gibbons who, incidentally, is also credited with conceiving the design of the Oscar statute. 

Aside from being just old-fashioned good entertainment, are movies and books that have a historical backdrop, a help or a hindrance? Jessie Buckley’s victory has drawn even greater attention to the book ‘Hamnet’, written by Maggie O’Farrell in 2020. It has already made its way onto the English Leaving Cert curriculum, which of course is a tribute to the work’s literary value and popularity. But how true to life is it and should that matter? In this article, I want to explore a number of texts that are grounded in historical events or based upon a historical person and explore the positive and negative aspects upon their readerships. 

Let’s start with the novel ‘Hamnet’. Little is known about Shakespeare’s family life aside from a few basic facts. He got married at 18 to an older woman, Anne Hathaway, and had a number of children, including twins, one which was christened Hamnet. Shakespeare was the son of a glover who struggled financially and his son Hamnet did die during the time of the plague. A few years later he wrote, ‘The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.’ It may surprise you that, in terms of biographical accuracy, we don’t know much more about his family life. O’Farrell is particularly effective in how she fuses her understanding of Elizabethan society to enrich the backdrop of the book, enabling the reader to form a picture of how people lived and toiled in daily life. Her understanding of the horrors of the plague are well-researched and no doubt one of her main attributes was leaning into some Shakespeare’s very own narratives. O’Farrell imagines that William and Anne planned to get pregnant to force their marriage against the will of their unsupportive parents, which mirrors the storyline of a courting couple in a Shakespearean play called ‘Measure for Measure’. O’ Farrell also reimagines their youthful courtship along the lines of another of his better known plays, ‘The Taming of the Shrew’. The difficulty now, is that many readers/viewers are already forming the idea that this is how it actually happened.

On a positive note, any ‘historical’ book (or movie) that inspires someone to read, can only be a good thing. Perhaps many a generation, who were scarred from studying Shakespeare to simply pass an exam, may feel inspired to pick up Hamlet. Outside the cauldron of an exam, it remains a most wondrous and beautifully-penned play. Those who only watched the movie Hamnet, may well decide to take a chance with O’Farrell’s book, and enjoy engaging with the novel. The problem for some historians arises when fiction is conflated with truth. A good friend of mine was surprised that during a discussion of ‘Hamnet’ at her book club, some readers took umbrage with how horrid Shakespeare’s father was and wondered how on earth he went on to become a writer, forgetting that the depiction of his father is purely fictional. I have heard others profess the theory that the death of his son, Hamnet, inspired the great bard to write the play Hamlet – beautifully romantic, but a wholly invented narrative. It illustrates how the fiction can obscure the fact. We know nothing of their relationship and, by the time Shakespeare was writing Hamlet, his star had risen and he was writing commercially successful plays for the Globe Theatre. The novel/movie hinges greatly on a romantic ideal, of a grieving Shakespeare using his pain to exercise his own loss, by exploring the father-son relationship in his play Hamlet (and also the fact that the names are so similar has added fuel to the speculative fire). It’s a frivolous theory but, will probably seep into people’s take on Hamlet. To further puncture this romantic bubble (sorry), King Hamlet and father of prince Hamlet is a self-confessed sinner who, when appearing to his son as a ghost, briefly recounts the horrors he endures in purgatory, paying for the horrid sins he committed in his life, before weighing down his intellectual but ill-equipped son, with the burden of revenging his murder.  For all that we admire about young Prince Hamlet, he also shows himself to be a heartless brute to his ex-girlfriend Ophelia and mother, a coward, a procrastinator, and ultimately a murderer of innocent men. Is all this inspired by the memory of his eleven-year-old son? Closer to the truth is that Shakespeare – buoyed by the success of plays like ‘Romeo and Juliet’ – knew how to conjure up a great tragedy and was astute enough to give Elizabethan audiences what they held dearly: a good old supernatural plot, that would draw audiences into the Globe theatre and money into his pocket. He repeated the trick with more zest in the play ‘Macbeth’, not just with ghosts, but adding witches, continuing a winning formula. What O’Farrell has shown is how research and imaginative writing can transport people back to a bygone world. 

Perhaps the queen of this style of historical fiction was Hilary Mantel with her ‘Wolf Hall’ trilogy, also based in Tudor times. Her novels revolve around the relationship between King Henry VIII, and his chief minister Thomas Cromwell [not to be confused with Ireland’s nemesis Oliver Cromwell], during that tenacious reign where Henry moved heaven and hell to get his way and remarry, brutally disposing of wives like confetti, all in pursuit of an heir. This novel also leans into imagined fictions and invented conversations that bring the work alive. However, Mantel’s history is a lot more solid, as she works within the court politics, religious animosity between Catholicism and the emerging Protestantism and the well-documented annulments, executions and deaths that the helpless queens had to endure at Henry’s hands. Mantel [who almost bought a house in Ardfield, now occupied by a friend of mine, who never tires of telling me this] was of course a master of historical fiction and, in my opinion, a more nuanced and able writer than O’Farrell. Although she has a lot more material to work with than O’Farrell had, boy does she weave a most believable world of Tudor sexual morasses, politics and power plays. Like any historical fiction, no doubt people will quote her book, saying Thomas Cromwell said ‘this’ or ‘that’, without considering the dialogue is a figment of her well-researched imagination. 

Irish great, Colm Tóbín, is famously known for his historical fiction which he would claim is ‘inspired’ by the writings of those he depicts, such as the great German writer Thomas Mann in the novel ‘The Magician’ and American writer Henry James in ‘The Master’. Similar to Mantel, his research is extensive and he ‘finds’ the voice of both protagonists in his stories, sticking closely to real life narratives of events in their lives but finding that Midas touch, that breathes life into his characters and narrates them in a way that invites us to become a voyeur into their private world. That’s the real power of historic fiction and, in this case, Tóbín may well lead his reader to the actual novels written by Mann and James, once their interest is tickled by the power of his storytelling.

Another novel that has the perfect pitch between historic fact and imagination is the novel ‘HHhH’  by Laurent Binet, who brilliantly captures the days running up to the assassination of SS commander, Reinhard Heydrich, the Butcher of Prague, in 1942. That for me is the closest anyone has gotten to the perfect blend of history and narrative, capturing real events, the real time line and real people into a storytelling thrilling novel style, as opposed to a standard biography or history. I would totally recommend it for those interested in the mind-set of the Nazi regime and how it was controlling many parts of Europe. 

Closer to home and more problematic in my opinion is the Michael Collins movie directed by Neil Jordan. We are used to movies taking some liberties but the Collins movie goes to town. If it was just any movie, one might just accept that’s part of Hollywood playbook, but given that Collins is such an important historical figure and studied in schools, the movie has led to misleading information in the public discourse. There are more holes in it than Swiss cheese and, perhaps the most dangerous one connects De Valera’s appearance in Béal na Bláth with giving the order to assassinate Collins. For the record, while Dev was in West Cork on that day, it was Liam Lynch who was in charge of the anti- treaty IRA and their military strategy, as well as local commanders on the ground. Dev was not consulted or listened to on military matters, most certainly not at Béal na Bláth. The 1970s-style car bombs blowing up agents at Dublin Castle, while cinematically spectacular, was historically cringe worthy nor was Collins in the GPO during the 1916 Rising. The movie has had such a misleading impact that recently, while on a school tour of Glasnevin Cemetery, the tour guide, standing at Collins’ grave, told us that an American woman had recently arrived with flowers for the grave of Liam Neeson. I carefully reminded the group not to include that in their Leaving Cert answers! 

Ultimately anything that gets you reading fiction or interested in history is a good thing in my opinion, as long as you do a little bit of your own research and discover what is real and what is entertainment.

An archaeological survey at Cape Evans, Antartica, has uncovered a ski pole belonging to explorer and Courtmacsherry native Patrick Keohane. As reported in The Explorer Newsletter, the remarkable discovery was made by archaeologist Emma St Pierre. The ski pole has Keohane’s hand-carved initials on them.

Born at Barry’s Point just south of the village of Courtmacsherry, Patrick Keohane was a Petty Officer on Scott’s Antarctic ‘Terra Nova’ expedition between 1910 and 1913.

St Pierre told The Explorer that “Finding this ski pole was the highlight of my season on the ice. It is rare to uncover an item that can be directly linked to an individual, so this felt incredibly special. To find it amongst all the bamboo scattered around the site was a real moment. Thinking that this pole may have been used during Scott’s journey to the Pole is both exciting and deeply meaningful.”

Keohane was one of 15 men chosen to set out with Scott from their Cape Evans base on the 900-mile journey to the South Pole.

Keohane initially assisted with the ponies before moving into the man hauling sled teams once the ponies had been put down. Although disappointed to be turned back 350 miles short of the Pole, this decision ultimately saved his life, as the small polar party that continued sadly never returned. Keohane later joined the search party that found the bodies of Scott, Dr Edward Wilson and Lieutenant Henry Bowers in their tent.

Keohane’s ski pole has been stabilised for interim storage and will be scheduled for conservation work in the upcoming season.

A statue of Keohane erected between Broad and Blind Strand in Courtmacsherry, shows him looking across the water at the place of his birth.

In the past the marriage banns were read from the altar by the priest on three consecutive Sundays. These called on the faithful to come forward and declare if they knew of any impediments to the proposed marriage.

The bride never saw her groom after midnight on the wedding day. In weddings of the distant past, the bride left for the church mounted behind her father on a horse. She returned on her husband’s mount. Young men who had been invited to the wedding joined in ‘res na mbuidéal’ (the bottle race). They galloped through the fields and the first one at the church received a bottle of whiskey or poitín. With the advent of horse-drawn vehicles, the bride and her father left their home in the family trap. Their relatives followed and friends along the route joined the cavalcade. The groom, in his family’s trap, came last. Sometimes, musicians played in traps or even led the processions.

The wedding feast took place in the bride’s home. As the bride entered the home, her mother broke a light cake over her daughter’s head to ensure a life of plenty. The wedding feast lasted all evening and night; often the guests didn’t leave until the following morning.

In less affluent times, many households could only afford to invite close relatives, so mischievous, adventurous youths hid their features under long conical straw hats and gate-crashed the celebrations. The tradition developed and these ‘straw-boys’ became a feature of weddings. They wove ornamentations in their hats and tucked straw into their waist belts before grabbing musical instruments and arriving with great hilarity into the home. They were tolerated for the entertainment they provided. The group always included a seanbhean gáiritheach (laughing old woman) and a seanfhear saibhir (wealthy old man) and, at the height of the celebrations they would, respectively, dance with the groom and the bride. This would pass on to the couple long life, with a fair share of wealth and happiness. In some parts of Munster, the entertainment provided by the straw boys was called ‘bococking’ because a bacach (lame person) in the cast provided most of the fun. If the hosts did not treat the straw boys well, they climbed on to the roof and covered the chimney with sacks to smoke out the wedding party.

One old tradition states ‘marry in May and rue the day’ while another states ‘marry in April if you can, joy for maiden and for man’. Another custom was called ‘aitin (eating) the gander’ where the groom was invited to the bride’s house the day before the wedding and a goose was cooked in his honour. This is where we get the expression ‘his goose is cooked’! it was considered unlucky to marry on a Saturday and those who married in harvest would spend their time gathering. It was thought to be lucky to get married during a ‘glowing moon or a flowing tide’.

‘Would you like to be buried with my people?’ was an unromantic form of proposal, but if a young bride died, it was the custom to bury her with her own people. This may have happened to avoid embarrassment in the event of her husband remarrying and burying another wife.

Brides often carried a real horseshoe for luck, turned up so the luck would not run out. In olden days, couples ate oatmeal and salt at the start of the wedding reception when each would eat three spoonfuls as protection against the ‘evil eye’.

Mead was one of the oldest drinks in Ireland and it was traditionally drunk at weddings to promote virility. It was also drunk from special goblets a month after the wedding – ‘mí na meala’ (honeymoon). Traditionally this was to offer protection from the fairies coming to spirit the bride away and is where we get today’s ‘honeymoon’ from.

There are many proverbs in Irish concerning love and marriage. Here is an interesting one: ‘Is flame, fear teach gan bean’ (empty and cold is a house without a woman). A few other examples include: ‘Nil aon leigheas ar ghrá ach pósadh’ (There is no cure fr love except marriage). ‘Níl lia ná leigheas in aghaid an ghrá (there is no physician or cure for love).

At the wedding feast (bainis) a common toast was: ‘Slíocht sleachta ar shlioch bhur sleachta’ (may you have children and your children have children). Another proverb advises against marrying for money: An té a phósann an t-airgead, pósfaidh sé óinseach; imeoidh an t-airgead agus fanfaigh sn t-óinsaeach (the one who marries money gets a fool for a wife. The money will go but the fool will remain).

We also know that some of his manuscripts were written in Rosscarbery and that he was friendly with the poet, Diarmuid Ó Dálaigh, from that parish. The so-called hedge schools weren’t permanent; often the teacher taught only in the summer months. So it is possible that Ó Coileáin lived for periods in Rosscarbery. However, folklore connects him almost exclusively with Myross, so it was there, almost certainly, he spent most of his life.

He married a Coughlan girl from the area and they had either three or four children. Séan had the reputation of being “a bit of a ‘réice’ (rake)”; he used to be ‘árramhachán’ carousing in Union Hall, Leap, Rosscarbery and Skibbereen, sometimes not returning to his school for weeks. About a half-mile north of Stookeen Church there was a ‘síbín’ (shebeen) called Poll’s Shebeen where he used to drink. His wife, tired of his irresponsible behaviour, left him and returned to her own family. Séan was soon living with his wife’s sister, with whom he had a daughter. This relationship was also unhappy, probably because of Séan’s behaviour; so angry was she that one day, when Séan had gone missing again, she burned down the house, undoubtedly containing Séan’s books and manuscripts.

In 1814, when he was 60, Séan moved to Skibbereen, where he lived with his daughter (by his second wife). She had married an O’Driscoll man and lived in High Street. Séan Máistir (Master John), as he was always called, taught here for a few years and here he died on April 18, 1817. Séan Ó Driscoll, grandson of Séan Máistir, taught a school in Skibbereen for a while. He became involved in the Fenian Movement with O’Donovan Rossa. Apparently, he lost his job and emigrated to the USA, where he died about 1891. This man or his brother told Peadar Ó hAnnrachain that many of his grandfather’s books and manuscripts were stolen the night of his wake.

In all only eleven complete manuscripts of Ó Coileáin survive, nine of which were written between 1773 and 1781, a copy of his famous poem, ‘Macnamh an Duine Dhoilíosaigh’ that he sent to the poet Donncha Ó Floinn in Cork and some notes that are in the British Library in London. We know that he visited other poets, particularly Micheál Óg Ó Longáin (1766-1837), Donncha Ó Floinn and Séan Ó Mulláin, all from the Cork city area. We also know that Ó Longán and Ó Floinn borrowed manuscripts from him. We know that Ó Longáin visited Ó Coileáin in Myross and that he composed a ‘tuireamh or marbhna’ (lament) for him when he died. Another poet who composed a lament was Dónal Ó hIarfhlaighte (Donal Herlihy) who lived in Rosscarbery.

His fame as a poet, teacher, scholar and wit spread all over Carbery during his lifetime and his poems and doings were kept alive in the oral literature (béaloideas) well into the 20th century, as we have seen. It is said that scholars came from all over Carbery to his school; one of them, Donncha Ó Seachnasaigh from Reavouler, parish of Kilmacabea, became a well-known poet himself and he also wrote a lament for Séan Máistir. Daniel Donovan, in ‘Sketches in Carbery’, refers to him as “The Silver Tongue of Munster”. The great scholar John O’Donovan, translator of the ‘Annals of the Four Masters’, described  Ó Coileáin “as the last scholar, poet and historiographer of Carbery”. There were many other poets in West Cork in that era and later but none reached the excellence of Ó’Coileáin’s best work.

He is best known as the authors of two great poems, ‘Macnamh an Duine Dhoilíosaigh’ (The Musing of a Melancholy Man), also known as ‘Caoineadh Tig Molaga’ (Lament for Timoleague Abbey) and ‘An Buachaill Bán’ (The Fair-haired Boy). He translated ‘The Exile of Erin’ by Campbell into Irish and translated ‘Agallamh an othair leis an mBás’ (The Dialogue of the Patient with Death) into English) into English. Among his other writings which survive are: 1. A small Irish grammar, entitled ‘The Elements of the Irish Language’. 2. A dialogue on the invention of letters and the Commencement of the Irish Language. 3. A book on Ogham entitled ‘Of the cryptography or sacred and mysterious writing of the Irish called Ogham’.

He was also interested in history, folklore and genealogy. He wrote an account of the McCarthys of Gleann a Chroim, a branch of the McCarthy Reaghs, whose territory was in the Dunmanway area. He also wrote a history of the genealogy of the O’Donovan clan, particularly the Clan Cahill branch, on whose ancient territory he resided, their main castles being in Castledonovan near Drimoleague, Rahine in Myross and ‘Cloch an tSráid Bhaile’ (Glandore Castle). He entitled this work ‘O’Donovan’s pedigree, from the earliest accounts to the present time, collected from the public records, authentic manuscripts, well-attested pedigrees and personal information. By John Collins, antiquarian.’ He had begun to write a history of Ireland in Irish and had done some work on an English-Irish dictionary.

He also wrote poems of lesser quality than his great poems; among these are ‘O Mo Lao, mo chailín’ (O, my love, my girl) and ‘Bláth na Gréine’ (Myross Wood). In English he wrote ‘The Battle of Ross’ and ‘Sweet Castletownshend Demense’. There are many other short pieces in Irish and English, which the old seanchaithe (storytellers) could relate. These lived on in oral literature. Some were written down, but undoubtedly, many went unrecorded and were forgotten. Much of his work must have been destroyed when his house burnt down.

The ‘Machamh’ influenced the Anglo Irish writers of the 19th century; both James Clarence Mangan and Samuel Ferguson translated it into English.

In the poem he contrasts the former glory of Timoleague Abbey with its ruinous state in his lifetime. His passionate feeling, the clarity and fluency of language with which he describes the fate of the Abbey is very powerful and any translation could not do it justice. In the last three verses he comments on his own life and draws parallels between the Abbey’s decline with his own life. Once he was happy and full of life, but now he is old and poor. This is the final verse, followed by Ferguson’s translation:

Atá duaireas ar mo dhreach, / Atá mo chroí ‘na chrotal cnó. / Dá bhfóireadh orm an bás / Ba dhearbh m’fháilte faoine chomhair.’

Woe is written on my visage. / In a nut my heart would lie / Death’s deliverance were welcome- / Father, let the old man die.

Doubt has been expressed about Ó Coileáin’s authorship of the ‘Macnamh’. He was known to be a traditionalist, but it is in this knowledge that the Lament is found wanting. Ó Coileáin would have known of the history of the Abbey and its connection with the McCarthys. Such learning was native to Irish poetry of that era, but not a word is found in the lyrics about the history of the Abbey. The late Pádraig Ó Maidín wrote an exploratory three-part essay in ‘Agus’ (November and December 1962 and January 1963) win which he explores the arguments for and against Ó Coileáin’s authorship. O Maidín concludes that O Coileáin did write the poem. Fr Matt Horgan, who was a priest in Myross and a friend of O Coileáin, visited Timoleague Abbey for the first time on January 14, 1846 and he wrote a letter to the Cork Examiner the following day under the pen-name ‘Viator’. At the end of the letter he wrote: “Timoleague Abbey has been celebrated in recent years by my old, and alas, I must say it, late friend, John Collins, of Myross, one of the best Irish scholars and poets of late times. His musings in the deserted aisles of this ruined Convent are among the finest verses I am acquainted with; they may be seen in Hardiman’s Irish Minstrelsy and are to the Irish scholar what Gray’s Elegy is to the English. It is a fine, solemn and affecting piece of reflective poetry.

Since the ‘Macnamh’ is so unlike the rest of Ó Coileáin’s writings, it has been suggested that it was a once-off effort, prompted by Ó Coileáin’s reading of Gray’s Elegy written in a Country Churchyard, which he probably got from the same Fr. Horgan, who challenged him to write something similar in Irish. “If this is so, the Macnamh is just as Irish as Gray’s is English,” writes Daniel Corkery.

The faded glory of Timoleague Abbey described in the Macnamh aptly symbolises the decay of language and culture all over Carbery, indeed over the whole country. The poets that followed Ó’Coileáin, with no patronage, little or no education and a dying language, strove to keep alive the tradition of poetry but they never reached the perfection of Ó Coileáin’s best work. One can only reflect regretfully on the vast wealth of song, folklore and oral literature that disappeared in the rapid retreat of Irish, particularly after the Famine. We must be grateful to people like Peadar Ó hAnnracháin and Micheál Ó Cuileanáin, to name but two, who gathered as much as they could.

to be continued…

Pauline Murphy shares the story of West Cork man Patrick Joseph Sullivan who, from modest beginnings on the Sheep’s Head peninsula, went on to emigrate to the United States where he became a successful sheep rancher and later a US senator. It’s also claimed that he was friends with wild west outlaws Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid!

Patrick Joseph Sullivan was born on St Patrick’s Day 1865 to John Sullivan and Margaret (née McCarthy) Sullivan on a small farm in Kilcrohane on the Sheep’s Head peninsula.

At the age of 23, Patrick left West Cork for America. His journey began with a difficult Atlantic crossing. After arriving in New York City, he travelled onwards to Wyoming, where he found work as a sheep herder in Rawlins.

Within four years, Patrick had established his own sheep ranch. He later moved to Casper, Wyoming, where he expanded his business interests and became involved in oil. Over time, he became a wealthy and respected member of the community.

Patrick also entered public life. In 1894, he was elected as a Republican to Wyoming’s House of Representatives, serving until 1896. He later served as Mayor of Casper from 1898 to 1900 and returned again to the state House of Representatives. He was known as an approachable and good-humoured man, retaining the charm and wit of his West Cork upbringing. His circle of friends included people from many different backgrounds.

Among those said to have been on friendly terms with Patrick were members of The Wild Bunch, also known as the Hole in the Wall gang. The most well-known of the group, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, reportedly counted the Kilcrohane man as a friend and enjoyed his hospitality.

In 1893, Patrick married Hanora Mahoney, known as Nan, who was also from West Cork. The couple had five daughters: Margaret, Patricia, Eileen, Catherine and Evangeline. In 1909, Patrick built a large red-brick home for his family on the corner of 10th and Centre Street in Casper. The house still stands today and is now a registered historic home in Wyoming.

Despite his success, Patrick also experienced personal loss. In 1914, his youngest daughter, Evangeline, died at the family home in Casper at the age of 12, having been ill for some time with heart trouble. The National County Tribune of June 18, 1914 reported on her funeral, noting the many floral tributes and the large number of friends who attended to offer their sympathy to the family.

Patrick remained active in political life. He was Wyoming’s delegate to the Republican National Convention in 1912 and again served as state delegate in 1916. From 1924, he was appointed as a member of the Republican National Committee representing Wyoming.

In December 1929, he was appointed to the United States Senate to fill the seat left vacant by the death of Senator Francis Warren. He served until November 1930, when Robert Carey succeeded him. Time Magazine of December 16, 1929 described him as a wealthy sheep rancher who had prospered through oil and noted his Cork origins and straightforward manner.

After leaving the Senate, Patrick returned to his business interests. In April 1935, while on a Spring visit to Santa Barbara, California, he suffered a heart attack and died on April 8 at the age of 70. The body of the popular West Cork man was returned to Wyoming, where he was laid to rest in Highland Cemetery in Casper following a large funeral.

What binds all the great philosophers from Aristotle to Peter Singer is a voyage of self-discovery. Despite the many centuries and cultural nuances that separate them, time and time again, a common theme that emerges from so many of them, is to be virtuous and selfless. Aristotle believed that happiness comes from service to the community. Christian philosopher Thomas Aquinas, said the key energiser is love and thus acts of love towards humankind. The great fifth century Chinese philosopher Confucius preached that a person becomes whole when they fulfil responsible roles in society in a selfless way. Twenty-first century sage Peter Singer puts it that basically one wants to feel there is more to life than just consuming products and generating garbage. He asks what greater motivation can there be than doing whatever one possibly can to reduce suffering and pain?

The recent pairing of the Republic of Ireland soccer team and Israel in the same group has, once again, highlighted the tensions between the two nations that has developed since Israel’s military incursions into Gaza. It’s probably not a bad thing, since it has turned the spotlight back on the conflict that a UN report has called genocide, seeing that it has dropped out of the media cycle. Yet there have been 600 deaths and counting since Israel agreed to stop the bombing and a ceasefire. So what’s this got to do with a bunch of philosophers?

Prior to the draw, League of Ireland clubs such as Saint Patrick’s Athletic have bravely brought a case to UEFA against Israel’s continued participation in both international and club football. The case is black and white. In summary, the argument revolves around the fact that Israel’s continued participation is a direct breach of article three and four of UEFA’s statutes. By allowing Israeli clubs in occupied Palestinian territory, to participate in European competitions, UEFA are in breach of these statutes and indeed international law. By coincidence the recent draw has escalated this case further but so far both the Irish Government and the FAI have decided not to take a stand. Supporters of the boycott favour UEFA taking the lead on this with a ban – like they did previously with Russia and Yugoslavia – but Israel seems exempt from these rules. So what happens next? The Irish woman’s basketball team, when faced with this uncomfortable fixture, fulfilled it, in spite of many of the young women speaking out against it. Basketball Ireland said it would “damage the sport” and thus the game went ahead.  Will our government take action?  Mary Lou has said we should give Israel “the red card”, whereas Simon Harris said, “Ireland would miss out” The FAI likewise have said they “have no choice”. Will individual players take it upon themselves to take a stand? It’s difficult on one level given many may feel it could damage their career, but should we listen to the great men and women who believe that virtue and selflessness will lead to a fulfilled life above everything else? 

This article will look at some sportspeople who made the decision to do what they felt was right, even if it could have led to their own personal ruin. History has been kind to them for their brave actions and, in times of great moral ambiguity, we need more of our heroes to stand up. 

Muhammad Ali 

By 1967 there were almost half a million soldiers fighting in Vietnam. Black people were drafted in disproportionate numbers, something that Martin Luther King Jr highlighted in a famous speech he gave at the Riverside church in New York in April 1967. Always conscious of keeping the white political elite on board, he risked sanction with his direct confrontation; “We were taking the black young men who had been crippled by our society and sending them eight thousand miles away to guarantee liberties in Southeast Asia which they had not found in southwest Georgia and East Harlem.”

Muhammad Ali would take it further, which ultimately led to the loss of his boxing world title and his arrest and deny this brilliant and charismatic athlete from performing in a boxing arena for a further three-and-a-half years. Just a few short weeks after King’s speech, he refused to be drafted, as it went against his religious beliefs and, like King, his moral outlook. On April 28, he declared to the world “The real enemy of my people is right here (USA). I will not disgrace my religion, my people or myself by becoming a tool to enslave those who are fighting for their own justice, freedom and equality.”

Tommie Smith and John Carlos

Mexico City 1968. America marvels at the performances of their 200-metre sprint team. Carlos claims the bronze and Smith the gold, breaking the world record in the process. Since then there have been thousands of American medal winners that most people have forgotten, but these two athletes will be remembered forever for their brave stance. They walked into the area, shoeless, as a symbol of the poverty that had engulfed their communities. (Vietnam was costing the state 30 billion dollars a year and LBL’s ‘great society’ project was bankrupt). Carlos wore a necklace to symbolise lynching. More symbolically, they raised their clenched fists in the manner of the civil rights group, the Black Panthers, after they received their medals and during the national anthem. Afterwards they were sent home in disgrace, received death threats and endured financial hardship. When Smith was asked if he regretted that salute, he replied, “The only regret was that it had to be done.”

Tony Ward 

In 2026, Irish rugby has been obsessing about who should be the Irish number 10 for the national team – Jack Crowley or Sam Prendergast. There was a similar conversation in the early eighties, when Tony Ward and Ollie Campbell were the darlings of that era. They were both so good that they were selected for the Lions tour to apartheid South Africa in 1980. Both men jumped at the highest accolade in rugby, but it would have a negative effect on Ward. The reality of the situation appalled the young man: “When we arrived in Johannesburg airport I came face to face with the reality of apartheid when I went to the toilet and saw the sign ‘Whites only toilet – No Blacks’.” The following year, trade unions, the government and the Catholic church called on the IRFU not to tour South Africa. It fell on deaf ears and unbelievably they still went. Not Tony Ward (and a dozen others). After what he had seen firsthand, he refused to travel and his international rugby career was never the same again after. 

Naomi Osaka 2020

Osaka is one of the highest profile players in the women’s tennis circuit, winning four grand slam titles. During the US open of 2020, she wore seven masks bearing the name of black victims shot dead by police, to shine a light on the continued police violence in the USA that has been particularly hard on immigrants and the black community. In an interview she said, “For me it’s just spreading awareness. I feel like the more people know the story, then the more interesting or interested they’ll become in it. It’s quite sad that seven masks aren’t enough for the amount of names.” That was the same year the high profile case of George Floyd was choked by police officer Derek Chauvin in May 2020 on the streets of Minneapolis, where this last month Alex Pretti and Renee Nicole Good were killed by federal agents. Has anything changed? Thankfully Osaka’s career was not negatively affected for her brave stance.

Vladyslav Heraskevych 2026

Heraskevych, a Ukrainian Winter Olympic athlete engaged in a similar protest as Osaka’s. On his helmet, he wore what he called a ‘helmet of remembrance’ depicting twenty-four of his friends that have been killed by Russia in the war on Ukraine. He was disqualified from the competition on the grounds that the Olympic committee does not allow signs of political, religious or racial propaganda to be displayed. Heraskevych said it was to honour his dead friends and refused to back down. The IOC disagreed and he lost his Olympic dream because of his moral stance. 

It’s an eternal question that never goes away. Should sport and politics mix? Perhaps instead we should ask the question: Is every platform a legitimate one to voice concerns, raise awareness and shed light on injustice? Sadly, for many who have used their fame for such things – be it writers, sports people or musicians – the consequences have been negative. One thing is for sure, the aforementioned examples have lived up to the ideology of some of the greatest philosophers. What is it all about – love, selflessness, the service of your community and the betterment of all our lives. That is true happiness.

Rather than relying on local lore or well-worn narratives, D’Alton interrogates the available evidence – archaeological, geological, historical and anecdotal – to construct a grounded and nuanced account of The Mizen’s past. The result is a study that not only corrects common misconceptions but also uncovers overlooked aspects of the region’s cultural and physical history, from prehistoric structures and medieval trade to famine-era injustices and modern misinterpretations.D’Alton, also a published photographer, has filled the book with beautiful and unique views of The Mizen. ‘This Is The Mizen’ is a comprehensive and accessible exploration of a rugged landscape often seen but never before examined in depth.

A must-have history and guide for residents and visitors alike, it is available in selected bookshops and online at buythebook.ie. Softcover €30, hardback €60.

An extract (condensed) from the book telling the story of how Europe got to learn of the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, featuring Crookhaven, County Cork.

When an attempt was made on Donald Trump’s life during the 2024 US election the news went around the world in seconds. This is the world we live in. Consequently it is impossible today to believe that the news of the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln in 1865 took almost twelve days to reach the first place in Europe to learn of it: tiny Crookhaven in far West Cork.

Why Crookhaven? Julius Reuter, of the eponymous news agency, by 1863, was in a fight for survival with his customers to be the first with the news from the United States of America. He had a contract with the Associated Press (AP) in New York for the exchange of news. The American news was dropped off from Cunard liners at Roche’s Point, Cork, conveyed to Reuter’s office there and telegraphed to his subscribers throughout the United Kingdom. His news supply chain began in New York where the AP put newspapers and other dispatches onto Cunard ships departing for Southampton or Liverpool. Anything newsworthy that occurred during the following four days was telegraphed to Cape Race on the Avalon Peninsula in Newfoundland, and transferred to the trans-Atlantic liners which passed close by. This was the fastest method to get the latest news from America after the failure of the first trans-Atlantic telegraph cable in 1858, the Atlantic Ocean having proved a more formidable obstacle to the spread of the telegraph than the English Channel and the Irish Sea.

The outbreak of the American Civil War in 1861 threw the cotton industry in England into turmoil. Before the war, America’s southern slave states were the source of eighty per-cent of cotton used by the British textile industry. By August 1861 that figure had dropped to zero. As one-sixth of the English population was dependant on cotton for its livelihood, this caused widespread unemployment and enormous hardship, particularly in Lancashire. It also increased the British demand for up-to-the minute news from America to fever pitch.

It was a British inventor, Frederic Gisborne, who first identified the potential of Newfoundland as a suitable location for the exchange of news between the Old World and the New. Westbound news, deposited at Newfoundland, could be forwarded telegraphically to New York. Likewise, eastbound news, having left New York could be updated at Newfoundland. Newspapers and news-agencies would pay handsomely for this four-day advantage. When Gisborne realised that ships were not going to put into port he came up with a novel solution: intercept them at sea. He proposed that the telegrams be put in a barrel for the ship’s crew to throw overboard as they passed Cape Race eastward. Once the barrel was retrieved, its contents would be transmitted to New York. Although not implemented by Gisborne, this transfer method became operational when the AP became aware of the telegraph at Cape Race, and in 1859 stationed a ‘news boat’ – a small steamer – there and a boatman to operate it, one John Murphy. Updates to news already on the ship, were telegraphed to Cape Race, placed in a watertight metal container (much like a marker buoy) and then conveyed by the ‘news boat’ out to sea. According to a Reuter employee in Crookhaven, the watertight containers were about two feet six inches in height, conical in shape and ballasted with lead. Reuter contracted with the shipping companies, principally, Cunard, for the transport of the canisters between Cape Race and Cork. The canister arrangement suited the shipping lines who were on tight schedules: the fees were welcome; the ships did not have to put in to a port to collect the telegraphed dispatches any more; they didn’t even have to slow down as they collected and dropped off the news. From 1859, “Via Cape Race” began appearing in the headings of news stories in the Irish, English, and American newspapers.

Reuter’s business model was based on being first with news, which he sold primarily to the mercantile and banking communities. The invention and widespread adoption of the electric telegraph had created a new industry, the news agency, and Reuter’s, established in London, was one of the first. The scramble at Roche’s point presented his business with the greatest challenge yet encountered. With the war raging, and the outcome far from certain, Roche’s Point was no longer feasible as a telegraph terminus for Reuter.

The rapidly expanding telegraph industry in the UK was first regulated by the 1863 Telegraph Act, which allowed any incorporated company to construct telegraph circuits “…under any Street or public Road and over, along, or across any Street or public Road…”. For Reuter the timing was perfect. If he was to be first with the news he would have to intercept the liners further west, as close to the shipping lane as possible. He commissioned the Siemens brothers of London to construct a private telegraph line from South Mall, Cork to Crookhaven, which was operational by December, 1863 where he established an office, stationed a small steamer and employed four men. His staff used the Brow Head Napoleonic-era signal tower to sight liners which were signalled using rockets. He would have to intercept the liners south of the Fastnet but he would now have a three to five hour advantage over his customers and competitors. Once again he would be first with the news.

Good Friday, April 14, 1865 had all the signs of being a slow news night for New York’s journalists until the news that President Abraham Lincoln had been shot in Washington arrived at AP’s New York office at 11pm. The brief message read: ‘President Lincoln Shot.’

Pandemonium ensued. The scramble was on to find the next, fastest available steamer heading east which, it transpired, wouldn’t leave New York until 5pm the following day. However, further east, the Nova Scotian was preparing to depart from Portland, Maine, at noon on the 15th, five hours earlier and one day closer to Ireland. The AP had a private telegraph line to Portland and immediately telegraphed the news about Lincoln to be put aboard the Nova Scotian which would drop off the news at Greencastle, County Donegal.

Meanwhile, across the river in New Jersey, at midnight on Friday, April 14, an hour after the news of the shooting had reached the AP’s office, the Teutonia had cast off from Hoboken dock bound for Hamburg via Southampton. Reuter’s representative in New York, James Heckscher, one of his most trusted journalists, acting independently of AP, chartered a fast tug to chase down the Teutonia as she steamed out of New York harbour. Against the odds, the tug caught up with the Teutonia and Heckscher threw aboard his news that Lincoln had been shot (not killed, the president was still alive by the time Heckscher caught up with the Teutonia).

The terrible and important news that Lincoln had died from his wound Saturday morning at 7:22am, was in time to be telegraphed to Portland. The headline now changed from: President Shot to: President Assassinated.

The Teutonia was the first of the two ships to make landfall when she appeared off the Fastnet eleven-and-a-half days later at 8am, Wednesday, April 26. Her news was transferred to Reuter’s steamer and telegraphed to London from his Crookhaven office. The Nova Scotian, delayed by fog, but because she had departed after the Teutonia, carried the critical news that Lincoln was dead, which was conveyed ashore to Greencastle at 9:45am and telegraphed to London.

Reuter simultaneously distributed the first news dispatch to his business clients. This subsequently leaked to the wider public from a client, Peabody & Company, an American bank. This initially led to the news being thought a hoax perpetrated by market speculators. The arrival, two hours later, of the news that Lincoln had expired, carried by the Nova Scotian, as well as an official report from the American Legation, confirmed the accuracy of the dispatch telegraphed via the Teutonia from Crookhaven.

As for Heckscher: his valiant effort to provide Reuter with a news-scoop lost all significance once the Nova Scotian made landfall: President Lincoln had not only been shot, he had been shot dead.

At least it’s one less despot in the world I hear some of you say! What’s the problem if it makes life better for Venezuela? If their reasoning was simply to rid the world of despots, why not take out Putin of Russia, Kim Jong Un in North Korea, Khamenei of Iran, Netanyahu of Israel, Museveni of Uganda, Bashar al Assad of Syria? Well, we know their motivation because Trump told us… He wants their oil. It was brazen, bold, typical American imperialism, serving only American interest and not that of the country it supposedly ‘rescued’ from Maduro. In the meantime, María Corina Machado, the primary leader of the democratic opposition in Venezuela, has been side-lined by the Trump administration. This is the same woman who was recognised by the international community with the Nobel Peace Prize. Ignoring her pleas, Trump has declared he will now rule Venezuela; he brazenly posted a doctored map of the world on social media showing Venezuela, Canada and Greenland emblazoned with the ‘stars and stripes’. 

The current en vogue phrase coming out of the Oval office is ‘spheres of influence’, but this has been how the United States has conducted its foreign policy for centuries. The US, overtly and covertly, interfered and agitated within other countries for their own imperialist desires, despite the image of being anti-colonial. As far back as 1823, when the US was barely out of new nationhood nappies, the so-called Monroe Doctrine – named after President James Monroe – became the backbone of future US foreign policy. On balance, it was a way to protect itself, given that European countries still occupied large parts of the continent of America, the Caribbean and Canada. The crux of it explicitly stated that the US maintained a right to interfere in Latin America for its own purpose. However, this mentality was not confined to Latin America. When Britain and France were at their zenith at the turn of the 19th century, Spain was long in decline as a world power. During the Spanish-American war of 1898, President McKinley annexed the Philippines. After defeating the Spanish, America stayed for a while – almost fifty years – before granting independence to the Philippines in 1946.

Enter Theodore Roosevelt, a racist imperialist and someone who would make even Trump blush. He believed in racial supremacy and displaced thousands of native Americans, reportedly declaring “I wouldn’t go as far to say that only good Indians are dead Indians but…”. He is infamous for his role in the Panama Canal, which was then a province of Colombia. It remains one of the greatest engineering feats of the 20th century, albeit its construction came at a great cost to human life. Colombia refused to allow the Americans to complete the canal that the French had started but failed to finish. The United States did what it has often done: it supported an insurgency in Panama in 1903 to break the territory away from Colombia, enabling it to negotiate directly with the new Panamanian government and secure a highly favourable deal – an approach not entirely dissimilar to how Trump leveraged Ukraine’s urgent need for US military support to extract a major mineral agreement. This amounted to Panama granting the US “in perpetuity” the rights, power, and authority over a 10-mile-wide canal zone. They held it until Jimmy Carter, an anomalous and genuine president, halted drilling in Alaska through a land preservation act, installed solar panels on the White House, and returned control of the Panama Canal to its host nation in 1977, much to the disbelief of the hawks in Washington. During the Panama fiasco in 1903, Roosevelt’s administration also expelled the Spanish from Cuba, but compelled the Cubans to include a provision in their constitution that would allow the US to maintain a base at Guantanamo Bay indefinitely – unless both countries agree to change it, which, of course, has never happened. (Are you watching Greenland?!) It wasn’t the only Caribbean island to be bullied. The United States occupied both Haiti and the Dominican Republic, governing them through a military administration for nearly a decade, from 1916 to 1924. Ironically much of this happened under the watchful presidency of Woodrow Wilson who, speaking out both sides of his mouth, told the Europeans at Versailles in 1919, that they needed to dissolve their colonies and allow self-determination.

After World War II and the advent of the Cold War, President Truman, in 1947, created the CIA, with the objective to ‘conduct covert action abroad, as directed by the President’, as stated on their website (no joke). Covert is a key word here and probably the main difference between Trump and his predecessors. A country that for so long sold the world the line that they were the world’s policeman, had no one policing them! Countries that elected left-leaning governments became prime targets. The most famous example occurred during President Kennedy’s tenure – the Cuban Missile Crisis. Its roots were planted a year earlier, in 1961, when Kennedy attempted to overthrow Fidel Castro using CIA-trained Cuban exiles. That went disastrously wrong and undermined his reputation. He recovered somewhat in 1962, getting the Soviets to publicly withdraw missile bases in Cuba, while while secretly arranging for the United States to dismantle its nuclear bases in Turkey, which were within striking range of the USSR.

Chile elected their socialist leader, Salvador Allende, in 1970, in an open and fair election. He wanted to drag his population out of poverty and his programme of nationalisation went on to hurt capital interests in the USA. His rule was also an inspiration to other poor Latin American countries to follow suit. It was incredible that he won the election at all given that the US spent tens of millions of dollars on undermining the Chilean elections from 1964 on under the watchful eyes of President Johnson and then President Nixon. (I hope by now you see that whether the president is a Democrat or Republican, it amounts to just different shades of the same thing). When that failed, the CIA orchestrated a military coup in 1973, allowing general Pinochet to take over and begin his bloody regime including implementing torture and death camps. It also prompted the period of the ‘Disappearances’, during which any opponents were arrested and never seen again. This was also happening in Argentina under Jorge Videla and the military junta who, from 1976, got the green light from president Ford to, at all costs, go ahead with his violent repression of left wing opponents. President Ronald Reagan sanctioned the CIA to train the Contras, a group set up to dispose of leftist Daniel Ortega of Nicaragua. In this instance he failed, instead crippling the country with economic weapons and creating an improvised nation that has forced hundreds of thousands to flee illegally to the USA for a better life. A generation on and they now have to face ICE.

America’s best-known international geopolitical bullying is what the Vietnamese call ‘the fight between the elephant and the grasshopper’. This escalated into an all-out war between the military might of the US ‘elephant’ and the tiny Viet Cong ‘grasshopper’. While the Vietnam War was not strictly a covert operation, President Johnson downplayed its escalating costs even as many American cities faced deepening poverty and racial unrest. Even countries with little military or political power, like the mineral-rich Congo, became targets of US foreign policy. Patrice Lumumba was elected in 1960 as the first democratic leader of the Congo, a former Belgian colony. He leaned towards the communist ideal of nationalisation and socialist policies. President Dwight Eisenhower, a military hero who fought against the dictatorial power of the Nazis, had the CIA support a coup, after which Lumumba was tortured and executed in 1961. Another famous example of a socialist-leaning African leader whose administration was undermined by the US in the same era is Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana, who was overthrown abroad, in a 1966 coup orchestrated by the CIA.

Each of these events deserves an article in their own right and each makes a fascinating study of American foreign policy. In our own time, we have seen presidents Bush, Clinton, Obama and Biden conduct wars of ‘liberation’ in Kuwait, Iraq, Afghanistan, and for what? To destabilised countries, a move that ultimately enriches the US. Presenting these events together in this article (and this is far from a comprehensive list) illustrates the far-reaching and often harmful influence of US foreign policy around the world.

Political commentators have said that Trump and his policy makers are destabilising the world. While this statement is correct, you would be mistaken in thinking that Trump is an aberration. American presidents have been destabilising the world for over two centuries. The key difference today is that Trump makes no effort to conceal his actions or maintain the pretence that the United States acts as the world’s benevolent policeman – it never truly did.