Irish Famine: A Holocaust by Any Other Name

By E. G. Ruttledge

This book is a revelatory book on the Irish "famine". A misnomer if ever their was one. The book dissects the well known story with, a razor sharp intellect, new novel historical knowledge and with the passion of a fired up writer, on top of his game. He hopes it to be as good as "The Great Hunger",the biggest selling Irish history book of all time!
Thus he claims, this is, the penultimate book on the Irish famine-Holocaust.
He tells the story well, with great passion and enthusiasm for the subject.
We start with ancient Ireland and quickly learn about Irelands extremely important role in developing the bedrock upon which both Europe and Christendom now stand. Next we discuss pre-famine Ireland. Then quickly move onto the main course, the horrific Irish Famine itself. Told like never told before!
This books makes a clean sweep of the traditional Famine story and brings it into the Twenty First century,with a crisp analytical very, very engaging style.
If you think you know about the Irish Famine, think again! Prepare yourself, to be bowled over with a magisterial sweep of an old hoary story, which is unceremoniously tossed into the delete bin of Famine historiography.
This book delivers, with robust vigour, panache,probity and bare faced honesty,for those seeking the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667892719

Book preview

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Irish Famine

A Holocaust

by Any Other Name

© 2023 E. G. Ruttledge.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-66789-270-2

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66789-271-9

Cover picture by Novikova-Asheulor Natalia

copyright c/Depositphotos Inc. USA

Text that forms a Hyperlink is only there for reference purposes. For your further research. They are not intended to be used as real Hyperlinks.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First of all, a very big thank you to Mary who worked wonders to understand my rough drafts, which resemble more Egyptian hieroglyphs, than a piece of written English text.

Also, a hearty thanks to Madg, who advises me on what to leave in and what to leave out. A hard task for any historical writer with books, upon books, upon books, of interesting notes. Also, a hearty thank you to Irish Writers Union for advice with contract and encouragement along the way, especially when starting off.

If there are any grammatical, or formatting mistakes, that my fault. I’m not an author for: - Penguin, HarperCollins, Macmillan, or Simon & Schuster. I work on my own and computers are not my strong point. You may come across a number for a footnote that does not exist. I originally was going to do separate notes, but half way thru decided to mainly leave any footnotes in text. Yes, I know it sounds silly, footnotes in the text, but that’s just the way I write

Lastly, I may skip from English spelling to American spelling, or use words like thru or through, or even start a sentence with And. Once again, it’s not the way it’s written; it is more important what it says. So, struggle on, I hope it’s worth it in the end.

Best Wishes

ALSO,

BY SAME AUTHOR

WHY WE FOUGHT

this is a revolutionary book about…

The American Revolution

The true story of how the American revolution was very much an Irish affair to a large extent. It was essentially a battle between the British Red Coats and their hired mercenaries the Hessians; versus mainly the Irish in America. Both Catholic and Presbyterian Irish were determined to eject the British from America. It was the Irish who did most of the fighting, they supplied it with food when most would not. They paid for it in opening up Americas first bank funded by the Irish in Philadelphia, they organised the importation of arms from both, Spain via New Orleans, and France via the eastern seaboard. Irish merchants handed over hundreds of ships to start the American Navy, and they manned its navy too!

Every American General stood up to the British when they said they would hang the Irish as traitors. Washington himself and all his generals, made it quite clear to the British generals if they carried out such a threat Washington was more than willing to hang British officers toot sweet. Washington was not joking!

Who said the American Revolution was mainly a war between the Irish in America and the Crown forces? Well actually, every British serving General under oath, in testimony to the British Houses of Parliament!

Bet you didn’t know that!!

DEDICATION

This little book is dedicated to all our stolen dead, whose lives were

one of constant suffering, anxiety, and cruel tribulations;

likened... to the Passion of Christ.

Who experienced only harsh torment in their short-lived life’s.

To all of Irelands hungered & starved Children, now dead and buried.

To all Irish children who died alone, separated from their mothers

and fathers, sisters and brothers. To all who died in

Agony, totally famished down to their very skinny bones.

Many died at sea, escaping the perpetual purgatory

Many died, in trying to get to the promised land... America!

May the souls of all the faithfully departed, through the mercy

God now rest in peace……. Wherever they succumbed,

to give up their last breath, upon this little sod.

…….. They died in their millions!

Contents

A Little Interesting & Entertaining Introduction

PREFACE

A Little Irish Aside

1. EARLY IRELAND

2. PRE-FAMINE IRELAND

3. GONE WITH THE WIND

4. POVERTY STRICKEN WRETCHEDNESS

5. APOCALYPSE NOW

6. HEART OF DARKNESS

7. FAMINE QUEEN, OR GOOD SAMARITAN?

8. FAMINE FARCE!

9. EXODUS, DYING TO BE FREE

10. A POLICY OF MASS STARVATION, FOR SURE!

11. THE BLESSED UNION

12. DEATH BY DESIGN

13. I AM NOT A LONE VOICE CRYING IN THE WILDERNESS

14. THE BIG HOUSE

15. ENGLAND’S UNDERBELLY

A Little Interesting & Entertaining Introduction

Well, where does one begin to explain this book that you are about to read? Well, let us start at the foundation to this project; my love of history and where that all began...

Soon after leaving school in 1978, I found myself working for Shell Oil company in a petrochemical refinery; situated over the canal, 4miles from where I lived. At night, the flare from the refinery would light up all around and cast a shadow upon the back-bedroom wall.

As a young boy, I had watched a Thames television series called World at War. It was narrated by Laurence Olivier a fine British actor and a man with exquisite voice-over capabilities. His tone, his articulation, his emphasis, his pauses, all went to make this not only a work of documentary history, but also a work of art in television communication; the music, the voice-over, all went to accompany a fine narrative and visual performance of storytelling. So, the germ was sown into this young boy’s mind, a latent affection for historical knowledge told well.

It all lay hidden in the mind and only needed the yeast of stimulation to make it grow. That yeast came to me in the form of a man called Bruce. Bruce was an ex-British Tommy (slang for British Soldier) from WWII.

After watching the World at War TV series, I would often ask any British Tommy’s who came into my realm, about WWII. What was it like? The proverbial answer was It isn’t like the bloody movies, always the same refrain; It ain’t like the bloody movies. It was hard to get them to open up and usually they would sooner forget.

My father told of me of a chap who was at Pegasus Bridge, one of the first to land in occupied France many hours before the lauded actual invasion itself. I was fortunate enough to bump into this man whilst out walking my dog. He was on a bridge overlooking the M62, a main arterial motorway connecting Manchester and Liverpool which ran behind my house, half a mile away; cutting a deep trench through the moss or large market garden area of rich arable black soil used for growing vegetables. He was peering aimlessly at the traffic which passed rapidly below.

Hello; my dad Paddy says you were at Pegasus Bridge ... one of the first into occupied France? Without turning to face or look at me, or even acknowledge my presence or willingness to communicate, he just uttered yeah. You must be very proud to be one of the first in? …… no response. Which was what I was getting used to hearing! Should I carry on with another question or query or just leave it? The man certainly was not forthcoming. I decided to beat a retreat and walk on. Well, I’ll see you then. He never looked up or took his gaze off the traffic below. So, I left him deep in his thoughts.

Questions to Tommy’s about their experiences during WWII were laughed off, shut down or, it ain’t like the bloody pictures you know. Bruce was an ex-Tommy and when I asked him about his experiences, he too would reply "it ain’t like the bloody pictures you know."! Bruce worked on the polystyrene plant, making that crumbly white stuff which comes in packaging; we drank, chatted, and worked together. Now in this plant was another man, whom I shall call Ernie unlike all the other ex-British Tommy’s’ Ernie was full of it." He whistled military tunes, marched into work at so many paces per second and was only too willing to chat about the famous British Parachute Regiment. This was unusual in my experience of British Tommy’s.

Having a cup of tea with Bruce in the plant’s little tearoom, one day I just happened to mention this observation to Bruce; well Bruce exploded like a Saturn five rocket on the launch pad of Cape Canaveral. He rose into the air, both feet off the ground and exploded like a premature firework, one or two feet from the tearoom floor. What the bloody hell does he know? He only spent the whole of the war at Ringway Airport, he has never been fighting… the blood, the guts, the shit! If he had to crawl on his belly over dead people just to have a shit or pee or crawl half a mile to get a hot cup of tea, he would not be so happy to sing his tunes! He’s never had to put his crawling hands into someone’s blown up faces, crawl amongst the dead and dying, crawled amongst the blown-up detritus of blown-up human bodies, your mates! He wouldn’t be so full of himself.

I hit the beaches on D-Day and crawled on my belly all the way to Berlin, because if you dared to lift your head up, you had it blown off. Bruce was livid with rage, incandescent a mouthful of fury torment and awfully bad repressed memories.

I was assured in my assumptions that Ernie was different, he had not experienced the true horrors of war, the blown-up humans, your pals, acquaintances, fellow tea drinkers. When Bruce finally touched back down onto the tearoom floor, he opened up about his experiences for the first time, in my presence. Following that explosive episode, we got on great. I would ask questions and Bruce was only too willing to extrapolate and relate upon any issue. Bruce had experienced extreme post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). I was so surprised; I thought PTSD was something new, something only the boys returning from Vietnam experienced! Bruce explained that after the war he was finding it extremely hard to adjust back to normality. He missed the buzz, the intense excitement, the very real adrenalin rush, but not the horror. He could not find a job, any job, that he could hold down, he was a stunt man for a while leaping off buildings into boxes of cardboard placed below.

I was so surprised about all this daring do. Eventually he got a job which gave him succour, respite, and excitement and in his own words saved his life – he joined the British Fire Brigade. With its moments of excitement, strict drill, comradeship, Bruce was saved, and he eventually married, had children, and returned in one piece, back into normality.

Whilst we were having a cup of tea in the tearoom one day, Bruce mentioned to me about Diem Bien Phu; he knew I was inquisitive about WWII and he thought I must have heard about it. I was perplexed what’s Diem Bien Phu? Bruce explained that at the end of WWII the French wanted to reoccupy French Indo China. The Vietnamese had other ideas, they had been occupied by the Japanese and had had enough of foreign occupiers. France, according to Bruce wanted to reoccupy French Indo China to get back some military pride, acumen, and glorification and possibly, as I would learn later, some valuable resources and exploitation to earn hard currency to payback America for its Marshal aid after WWII. Diem Bien Phu, Bruce explained was a French debacle!

As WWII came to its climatic end in Europe, a lot of battle-hardened troops who had fought on the Nazi side, were at a loose end. They all collectively thought, what would happen to the Belgian, French, Dutch and Norwegians who had fought on the Nazi side, would they be welcomed home? Would they have a home to go back to? These battle-hardened soldiers along with German Waffen SS and German Wehrmacht soldiers were given in many cases, a reprieve or second chance at life and liberty, you could face the consequences of your actions or you could join the French Foreign Legion or the French army and be sent to S.E. Asia as part of the French Union’s Far East Expeditionary Corps.

Now Bruce like every other Tommy of both World Wars had nothing but admiration for their deadly foe the fighting German soldier, they all feared the German soldier with tremendous dread, respect, and battlefield awe. If you did not respect the German enemy, you were either dead or about to become dead.

Only the foolish and the dead did not respect the mighty German Wehrmacht! This was another idiom often quoted by ex-Tommie’s.

Bruce explained that the army the French sent to Vietnam was full of some of the best battle hardened combative, martial orientated professional soldiers the world had ever seen. These soldiers knew ultimately every dirty little trick in the book, how to ambush, how to sabotage, take prisoners, deep patrol and booby trap and mine every innocent looking piece of furniture, vehicle, cupboard, food, or piece of military equipment. In a word this was the finest toughest army Europe had every fielded. Six years of combat on the Eastern front, France, Germany, and Italy had seen to that; and they were crushed toot sweet (sic) by the Vietnamese army. (Americans should have taken notice!) They were surrounded by the Vietnamese just as the Americans would be at Khe Sanh later on. They were surrounded and reduced to an ever-smaller encampment day after day, week after week, from an operational area of 7 miles by 3 miles along the valley floor of Diem Bien Phu, the mightiest European Army was slowly reduced to an area of 3000 yards by 3000 yards. This small area was defended with absolute resolution and determination. French pockets were repeatedly taken, overrun, and retaken by the French. This went on week after week of dogged determination Stalingrad style. Finally, the French were beaten into the ground with a massed attack of 25,000 Viet Minh.

North Vietnam had won its very hard-fought freedom and beaten into the ground; the finest army Europe had ever sent into the field in 2000 years of history. The Vietnamese rice farmers had won a calamitous battle against Europe’s finest battle-hardened rugged soldiers. That night, I went home and got out an encyclopaedia and looked up Diem Bien Phu. The historical yeast had started to rise; and from that night onwards I would spend virtually every night and evening ending with me reading a history book. I absorbed it like a sponge.

From Vietnam, I quickly moved into Irish history and read a large amount upon that sorry story of occupation, misrule, land appropriation, mass land clearances of people off their own land and farms. Ridicule and political, social, and religious disenfranchisement, it is all there awaiting to be discovered.

My pursuit of historical knowledge eventually led me to university and to Magee College in Northern Ireland, where I studied Peace and Conflict studies – really a form of contemporary history i.e., 18th, 19th, and 20th century history. I loved its broad strokes and sweep across the historical chessboard of contemporary world history.

Now let us get down to the rub of the matter, you should have by now discerned my love of history and historical matters. Nothing happens in a vacuum, all historical events have their precedents, causes, lead in, consequences and after-effects, shocks, and dispersions.

While I was studying in Ireland, I noticed one peculiar thing about old Irish Country people. Their attitude to death was not normal! A death in their locality resulted in much heart beating, sighing, remorseful bleating, and psychological remorse, as if the end of the world had been announced and not that some old codger who they barely knew had just passed away at the age of eighty. Why did Ireland’s old people behave in such a way? Now I am not saying that everyone could observe this phenomenon but for acute, observant, psychologically connected persons this experience was common and bewildering. What was the cause behind this physical manifestation and display?

Now it just so happened that whilst at university, I would often cross the border to spend an afternoon drinking with a fellow Irish descendant from Britain. We would meet up in his local and spend a pleasant few hour discussing our assignments, he studied the same course as me, and as this was the pre-mobile phone era, I would wait in the pub for his arrival.

One day whilst waiting for him to turn up, my thoughts coalesced upon this peculiar trait of old Irish country people; something had to cause this peculiar outrageous behaviour. Little upon little my thoughts cast back in time to any trauma that could produce such an effect about death, upon later generations.

Slowly but surely, I narrowed my search down to the infamous Great Irish Famine.

The mass deaths, mass burials, mass expulsions, mass evictions, human bodies littering the streets of Ireland’s cities, towns and villages, Irish glens, valleys, byways and ditches, the smell of death strong enough to overcome the stench of one of the deadliest pathogens in humanity’s history; phytophthora infestans, the deadly silent potato blight, the mass killer. The deadly deliverance that swept slowly, imperceptibly silently, secretly across Ireland and Europe’s potato fields and got to work undetected, unnoticed as the people worked the land and waited for the harvest and nobody waited more anxiously or celebrated with more relief and relish over the potato harvest than the Irish cottiers. It was their lifeblood, their only lifeblood, their only anchor to life. If this potato anchor failed then they were all cast adrift upon a veritable sea of want. Or in Irelands case a sea of want, amidst a veritable abundance.

This mass psychological experience, this horrific collective experience had resulted in the Irish at the time seeing death everywhere, all powerful all-consuming. Death became an aberration to dread. Death was the end of the world, death was closing in fast all around, no hope, no repose, no consolation, only death knocking on each and every door, of an emaciated people, children’s fathers, and mothers. Irish mammies! Sisters and brothers, all weak, withered down to barely flesh and bones, kids too.

This experience I concluded had brought on in those people who survived this historical trauma a reaction to death which was all consuming, all overpowering, displayed with an unnatural outpouring of wanton grief, too much for the average human mind to console, or comprehend, or even acknowledge. It was, as if the world was on a precipice of all consuming fire and brimstone.

I rationalised that the old people in Ireland had witnessed their mother’s and father’s reaction to death, who had in turn witnessed the reaction of their own mother’s, father’s, and grandparent’s reaction to death. I reasoned that this passed down deadly reaction was learnt behaviour. That old country people in Ireland at the end of the 20th century were acting out this reaction to a normal death.

With each generation the reaction was watered down, dissipated through their genes, but still observable to those intuitive souls who were sensitive enough to catch up on this vibe. Like a great aftershock of the famine, the last pungent smell of the infestation was discernible in the old people’s reaction to an ordinary death. Having come to this conclusion I was personally satisfied with my historical deduction, so I returned to my drink and glances at the pub door.

Quite satisfied, I never returned to Irish history for 25 years, but I did disclose this observation at a lecture in Trinity College, Dublin.

After my Peace and Conflict B.A. at Magee College, I left and went to Trinity College Dublin to study a Diploma in Education. Now at Trinity the lectures varied in scope and subject, somehow a main lecture got into teaching Irish history, and sure enough the famine was mentioned as an historical subject to teach. Well up, I chirped with my observation which was listened to and passed on. At the end of this final lecture of the day I packed by bag and queued up to exit the main hall. Down the corridor I went into a large wider corridor, along the large wider corridor, and down a flight of stairs, into the main entrance; out of the main entrance and into the vast open- air quadrant of that, which welcomed students into this vast establishment. I had only gone a couple of paces into the quadrant when I heard a voice try and catch my attention. I turned around to see three female, mature students.

You know what you said in there was so right, do you speak Irish? No, I don’t. Did you read the old Irish poets? No, I didn’t.

The three seemed a little let down; they then went on to inform me that my observation about how the famine had affected the old people of Ireland down to this day, how I was so right to make the analogy that old people’s reaction to death today. (1997) I had explained in the lecture this learnt over the top reaction to any death in Ireland by its old country folk, was akin to the background radiation of the big bang, apparently visible as static electricity on old television sets when you switched them off. The horrific Famine was the all-consuming big bang and the static flashing on the old television cathode ray tubes, yes that static, was the faint radiation still visible from the original big bang all those eons ago. I had used this analogy, simile, in the lecture to explain this phenomenon. These three mature students were so enthralled that I had said what I said.

The famine in 1997 was only now beginning to become a subject for polite discussion. I too was mightily enthralled that these three agreed with my thinking, (I did not tell them I was greatly thankful for their confirmation – I just thought it). The three students told me how Irish poets had been saying the same thing for over 100 years in the Irish language. They thought I must speak Irish. They invited me to their meetings, I think they were Sinn Feiners, I cannot be exact, but I got that impression from the meetings they informed me about. Anyway, we departed, me now in the full inner glow of a confidence that Irish poets in the Irish language had come to the same conclusion years before me, I was vindicated in my thinking!

I never touched Irish history again until I left Trinity. One year after leaving I was invited to a friend’s house in the back of beyond, in the midst of the Wild Atlantic Way, coast of north Donegal. Or more accurately, in the middle of a desolate, bleak and bare, rain-soaked part of upper Ireland. The course: to my friend’s house on my ordinance survey map looked easy enough; a road, a minor one; led from Letterkenny to Falcarragh along the windswept Atlantic coast of Ireland. Obviously, this straight road was the quickest to take, it all seemed so simple and straightforward on the map.

As I left Letterkenny and penetrated further into the barren lands of North Donegal bog, I quickly realised that the roads were not in the right place at all! Roads that should have appeared, were not to be seen, and other roads came out of nowhere! A whole junction appeared where junctions should not be, and it was getting late and dark. Into the wilderness of Ireland, I had driven and was bogged down in its thick sludgy bad bog lands, like treacle it pulls you down even the weather and clouds were being sucked down into this barren place of solitude. No street signs! No signposts! I was lost in a wilderness which bore no relation at all to the map in my hand, no matter which way I turned it!

I was lost in a barren land, a windswept, treeless, solitary place, denuded of any human activity or hindrance. Eventually I came upon a solitary figure by the roadside, a farmer with his tractor pulled in, loading his turf* up. I pulled the car over and asked him for directions to Falcarragh. Well, he replied he wouldn’t take this road to Falcarragh, better to turn back and take the major road to Falcarragh. I showed him the Ordinance Survey Map and pointed to the brown line on the map which signified a road. He assured me that the brown road went over the mountains and was quite rough in parts, best to turn back, he advised me. I hated the thought of having to retrace my steps. For the last twenty miles, only to take a much longer diversionary route.

*Turf is a woody bracken filled soil which is cut like treacle and left to dry out over the summer. Once dry it is burned like coal with a very aromatic scent coming off it.

I’ll go on mate, I answered.

As I looked around the spot where I had stopped, my eyes passed over the mountains which ran about four hundred yards from the road, parallel to its path. My eyes ventured along the bleak tree-less mountain scape. I noticed a strange phenomenon along the mountains’ sides; unusual lines ran up the mountain sides quite high up. What’s that? I asked the farmer pointing at these strange lines which did not look natural at all. They’re lazy beds he replied. Lazy beds? I replied with utter astonishment; up there? What in God’s name were people doing growing potatoes in this God forsaken part of Ireland halfway up a mountain side?

Even today, with all the backing of Monsanto or Bayer you would not grow potatoes up there, high on mountain sides. That was absurd! What in God’s name were Irish people doing growing potatoes up there? Utter madness! Utter madness!

And for the next 25 years that is where these thoughts lay, in the bog lands of Donegal and safely locked away in the delete bin, of my human brain.

So, most nights or evenings, I would learn more history about a very wide variety of various topics, until one day whilst doing a Google search on some obscure historical fact, entity or whatever, I happened by chance, not design, to stumble like you do onto a web page that I’m not sure I asked for. The web page I stumbled onto was the enhanced parliamentary papers of food imports into England from Ireland.

I always knew as most Irish people do, that Britain imported food from Ireland during the famine, but before my eyes, were the lists, of the amounts of food Britain imported in from Ireland during these famine years. I have never seen these lists in any Irish historical book about the Famine. To my eyes these lists were dynamite. Instantly, that very second, I knew these lists had to be got into the public domain. The Irish people deserved to read and see these lists. I had never seen them before, and I had read quite a few Irish history books. The die was cast and so, without further ado, I set about researching the famine.

I had already decided that my famine book would not just deal with the famine, but more importantly, put it in its historical setting, and place British actions in their own historical settings. I would also write about the famine influences upon world history i.e., the liberation movements within South America, the North American Civil War, English society during the 19th century, English actions in India and China and England’s actions in the 20th century. I would later have to scale back and down by famine book into separate books on these interesting sub subjects.

Could the sins of the 19th century be bestowed upon its 20th century sons and daughters? I am a great historical believer that things do not happen in a vacuum, there is always an historical setting to take into account. It was with this scholastic determination in mind that I set out to write this book.

This book is my interpretation of the Great Irish Famine, its causes, its precedents, its influences, and its aftershocks in what type of social and historical setting it took place in. Did the famine and its victims and fleeing emigrants have any effect on any other parts of the world? These are historical arguments that I wished to answer and elucidate to you the reader.

I COMMIT THIS WORK TO THE GENERAL READER AND THE PUBLIC FOR THEIR CONSIDERATION.

PREFACE

The book you are about to embark upon is a book written upon many levels, about many, in my opinion; connected facts. You will of course read about the Great Irish Famine or the Famine that never was!

You are about to read about early Ireland, pre-famine Ireland, and the so-called Famine itself. Plus, at the end you will learn about the deprivation and extreme poverty and inhumane treatment of the English poor people, themselves, at about the same time as the horrific famine.

So happy reading and good luck.

May this journey thru the pages of history, bring you much wisdom, knowledge, historical foresight, revelation, human insights, and lasting empathy for the bitterly cruel, famine that never was.

I shall leave you off with two revelatory incidents:

A Little Irish Aside

I shall start you off with two revelatory incidents, which I think say something about how the Irish phenomena, and how they are treated, in mainland Europe today. These two incidents highlight the easy esteem and respect that Europeans show to their fellow man and womankind.

My brother-in-law used to play in an Irish band, and he had a tour of the American air force bases in Europe. They travelled from one airbase in Italy to one in Germany. They were late when they arrived at their small German hotel. The proprietor was brisk and did not roll out the welcome mat for his late arrivals. At breakfast, the same cool manner and when he was serving them tea the German proprietor suddenly realised that the band were from Ireland. When he realised, they were Irish a total change came over him. Out came the drink and the craic was mighty. Why didn’t you tell me you were Irish? he exclaimed. We could have had a drink last night. So, my brother-in-law said to me always let people know you are Irish, and the attitude totally changes for the better. Well, we will see!

In Italy, some years later, I was in a rush to catch a train from Naples to Rome, to catch a flight out of Italy. I paid for the train ticket and asked when the train was due. Right now, he told me, so off I went onto the platform and sure enough the train pulled in. So, rucksack in hand I got on board and sat down into a half full carriage. About ten minutes into the journey the conductor came down the aisle saying billets, billets. I got my train ticket out handy for him to inspect when he came to me, he looked at my ticket and proclaimed no stampo, no stampo. I had no idea what he was talking about no stampo? I apologised for not having stampo, but my profuse apologies cut no ice with the conductor who had more than a funny resemblance to Jonathan Winters the U.S. comic. I showed the conductor my aeroplane ticket, I was leaving Italy today. Still no ice. He insisted I owed him 35,000 lira or some other silly amount, I was quickly trying to work out what 35,000 lira actually was in real money. I insisted he get the inspector and sat down. He left the carriage.

When the Jonathan Winter’s look alike had prowled off, everybody else in the carriage started to applaud and give me verbal encouragement! One man identified himself as Swiss and said they were always ripping us off. A Dutch lady next shouted you show them. There was much applause and verbal encouragement from my fellow train travellers. Eventually the conductor returned with a small man who looked like Super Mario with a peaked cap. Now I thought we will get some sense.

I immediately went to apologise and show the inspector my aeroplane ticket. Silencio! he shouted. You owe us 35,000 lira. I told him I did not owe them anything. I explained I had bought my train ticket and showed them the time it was bought. I still was unsure about stampo. I showed them my plane ticket all to no avail.

When I had been waiting for the conductor to return with the Inspector. The United Nations bureau of fellow travellers tried to explain to me in pidgin English that on the platform was a yellow box and I was supposed to stamp my ticket there before boarding a train. I never even saw a yellow box! All I was worried about was getting on the right train. Anyway, Super Mario now insisted I pay up immediately with the 35,000 lira or he would have the train stopped and I would be arrested by the police… Well, I never!

I thought to myself these people are really silly, I apologised for not stamping my ticket. I showed them the time the ticket was bought just 1 minute before the train arrived, I showed them my flight ticket out of Rome, that day. I was never coming back to even try and use my ticket again. Both looked at me with stern looks. I was still trying to figure out what 35,000 lira really was. They both looked sternly at me waiting for an answer in the affirmative. What was I going to do? Enough, I thought. I said, stop the train then. They both departed, I was left alone looking out the train window which was travelling along nicely to Rome.

Once the two train employees left, more applause, and much verbal encouragement, you show them they all shouted.

The train was making good progress and I genuinely thought the two Oompa Loopas had forgotten about it, or given up the ghost in their quest to fleece me for 35,000 lira which I worked out was either £15 or £25. Maybe I should just have paid up? But as each 5 minutes passed; I became more confident the two had retired from their threat. After about 25 minutes the train started to slow down for no perceptible reason. We seemed to be stopping in the middle of the countryside, sure enough we came to a halt in the middle of nowhere in between Rome and Naples.

I started to get a little worried, maybe this was really all for me. Eventually after about 4 minutes the police arrived. I looked around to see my fellow European travellers, all now incredibly determined to ignore me totally. All were looking out of the window with good intent, and great determination. I was definitely on my own.

Two female carabinieri entered the carriage dressed in dark blue, heavily made up, well-built girls with a tommy gun slung across their chests. The two girls did not smile, they were handsome, well-built strong girls who would pretty up any female rugby team. Behind the two well-built unsmiling girls came a male carabinieri. He had a peaked cap too, but had a pistol in a holster around his waist, he was in charge. He came forward, I began to apologise profusely for this situation. I had my passport and train ticket in hand as evidence. No sooner had I begun than he sharply replied silencio, passporto! I showed him my passport and went on to explain that I did not know that I needed to stamp my train ticket and I was sorry for this hiccup. Silencio! he sharply reiterated, he very slowly thumbed through my passport looking at each page with great concern. Eventually his eyes lit up with astonishment and amazement, he looked up at me and said: -

Eirish, Eirish….

Si, si, Eirish I replied

The chief carabinieri officer looked at the two female officers.

Eirish he said looking at them. The two well-built girls now broke into a smile and started laughing very heartily, the two tommy guns bouncing up and down on their well-built chests.

Then the carabinieri chief turned to the two train employees, I am not sure what he said but he did not seem too pleased, he shouted a tirade, and both railway employees in synchronicity stepped backwards followed by another tirade Rapido and another joint step backwards. The three then turned on their heels and left…... I gathered the incident was closed.

The train restarted and we all arrived in Rome in one piece, apart from the conductor and inspector who were suffering from heavily bruised egos and pride.

That alone does not justify a pan European friendliness to people from Ireland. No! Another tale will suffice. Whilst in Rome the previous days prior to going to Naples I was in a big youth hostel more like an extremely large hotel. When you arrive, you hand in your passport and they assign a dormitory which is separate for males and females. When you leave you pay your bill, and they hand you back your passport.

On the day I departed for Naples from Rome I was in a long line of fellow travellers and guests. At the end of the line a nice middle-aged Italian woman was handing back passports and taking the bill payments. She never looked up, smiled, or interacted with the guests now leaving.

Japanese guests were in directly front of me, then, Germans, French, Italians, and Dutch. She looked like a middle-aged Sophia Loren with short skirt, heels and blow away hairdo, not badly made up, but definitely a few miles on the clock. The Japanese in front of me paid their bill all three of them and she handed them their passports back without even a glance upwards from the computer till.

I paid mine next, and she then went to get the passport kept next to the till. When she glanced at my passport her eyes lit up and she broke into a lovely warm smile. Eirish? she said looking straight into my eyes, Si Eirish I replied. She crossed her legs and she lifted one arm and outstretched her hand in a cheeky gesture and gave a hand down wave, Ciao Baby! she exclaimed. I was delighted and honoured Ciao Baby. No sooner had I placed my rucksack on my back than the middle aged good-looking Italian woman was back into her world of obscurity and indifference. Ciao Baby indeed!

So, without further ado let us turn the pages and go back in time to see what Ireland was like before the invasion and occupation by the French speaking Normans, whom later Irish history books would call the English. The English did not exist yet. I am not sure whether England existed yet as an entity. England was made up of Celtic speaking Britons, Germanic speaking Anglo Saxons, Jutes and Old Norse another German variant was spoken by the Vikings and the ruling Norman elite who spoke French. It was these old French speaking peoples that invaded Ireland. All of these groups would coalesce into the English.

Let us go back in time and cast a cold eye upon the scene, when Ireland was last ruled, and run by the Irish, for the Irish; in the medieval period of English, French speaking Norman history.

John Francis Maguire writing

Father Matthew’s Biography

The history of the Irish famine is yet to be written and no event of modern times more requires an …. impartial pen than that terrible calamity which filled the island with horror for which a parallel can only be found in the pages of Boccaccio or Defoe which counted it’s victims by the hundreds of thousands. Which originated in emigration that has not yet exhausted the strength of its fatal current…… That history is yet to be written and will be best written when time shall have brought with it a more impartial spirit and a cooler judgement than exists at this moment. While the memory is still too vivid and the sympathy too keen for a task so grave and so important.

1863

MURAL From catacombs Rome. Very early Christians sharing a meal together as fellow Christians, and as taught by the great teacher himself. Christ!

To break bread in his name and honour. An act of solemn remembrance. Not just for now, but forever in perpetuity. Sadly, to say H.M.G. forgot about its Christian principles, of a shared meal…. And created a selfish unchristian Holocaust, in its place.

To its everlasting infamy and shame.

CHAPTER 1

EARLY IRELAND

The Early Years

Ancient Ireland was an agricultural place inhabited since at least, 10,500 BC if not many years before that. Modern man is constantly pushing back in time the habitation of man and womankind by thousands and indeed tens of thousands of years, in many places throughout the globe. These ancient Irish built an enormous number of Neolithic monuments, some involving quite advanced mathematics and advanced feats of engineering. The largest new Stone Age farm system in Europe is to be found in Ireland along its western Atlantic seaboard in Co., Mayo, the Ceidé Fields.

The Irish people belonged to a pan European civilisation, that spanned from modern day Scandinavia, the Orkney Islands, Scotland, Britain, Ireland, France, Spain and down into Morocco and along the Mediterranean as far as Malta if not further East. This ancient Neolithic civilisation was based all along the Atlantic coast of Europe, and North Africa.

In some respects, the Stone Age Irish were better off than their 19th century Irish counterparts under English rule. Their diet was more varied, their clothes would have been much superior and their habitation, it could be argued was also to a much higher standard. That is one hell of an assessment for so called progress; for example: -

In many respects’ parts of Ireland under 19thcentury British rule were more like the third world, than an integral part of the richest nation upon earth at that time, the Union of Great Britain and Ireland.

Irish Neolithic culture was vibrant, and enormous efforts had been placed upon solar religion and engineering projects in stone to accommodate the religious outlook. These monumental stone works were primitive compared to Egyptian stonework, but they predated it by some thousands of years. Ireland thus has the largest concentration of ancient megalithic monuments in Europe. This culture seemed to take great ceremony over death, and elaborate rituals were performed. We think, to bury the dead or burn them and preserve their ashes.

In contrast, By the nineteenth century the mass of the Irish people experienced severe hunger every year, wore patched up rags for clothes; and in the middle of the 19th century very little rituals would be performed over their Christian dead bodies, as they died in their millions; all over the: land, lanes, ditches, fields, roads, villages, and inside insane clogged up slaughterhouses, of a thoroughly, well-deserved reputation of ill repute.

There were two major invasions of peoples into Ireland, one from the Basque country of northern Spain and another further east and later on from the Black Sea area of south east Europe and possibly the eastern Mediterranean, including Egypt. 10,000 BC is the date for the earliest human remains found so far in Ireland.

The first humans hunted with spears, bows and arrows, and harpoons tipped with razor sharp flint blades. They ate fish, seashells, cockles, mussels, nuts, berries, and various cultivated cereals, and variety of wildlife. These initial Irish would have been hunter gatherers, moving from place to place as the seasons dictated and where the food supply was abundant. They stretched animal skins across wooden frames to make seasonal shelters. These shelters slowly developed into more permanent residences and settled agriculture took off. Ireland has the largest ancient intact farm field system in the whole world. These Irish farmers grew cereals and domesticated animals, sheep, goats, cows, they produced their own pottery too. Deer came to Ireland and these magnificent animals were successfully hunted for food.

This successful burgeoning agricultural system had enough clout to build Neolithic, megalithic constructions over the entire Western seaboard of present-day Europe, into North Africa, and along the Mediterranean coast of North Africa, out towards Malta, and possibly further east. Certainly, similar ancient megalithic structures appear in present day Russia, Japan and Korea these Dolmens and other identical structures have exact symbols and markings on these ancient megalithic stones, that are far too similar, for there not to have been some connection, communication or correspondence; i.e., a global system of an ancient megalithic culture. From Europe all the way to Japan, Korea, Ireland, Scandinavia, Morocco, Malta, Siberia, possibly New Zealand, all over the globe, similar Neolithic constructions go up far too similar not to have had some connection in pre-history. Their similar constructions i.e., dolmens, their identical markings all show communication of a shared religious outlook, or religious concept, many are celestial in nature, and point towards a common thread of humanity.

The early Irish worked metal well. Ancient Irish Mines in Cork and Kerry are thought to have produced 370 tonnes of copper but only about 0.2% of this copper has been found in Ireland! What happened to the rest of all that copper mined in Ireland? The other 99.8%; where did it all go and end up? They certainly went to an awful lot of trouble and tremendous effort to mine and smelt it into a workable product. In pre-historic America too, approx. 4,000 BC – 3,000 BC. In what is now Michigan there was an extremely large amount of incredibly pure copper, which was mined, but by whom? Some authors estimate a colossal 1.5 billion pounds of copper was mined then and there, but where did all this very pure copper go? It certainly did not stay in America*

* Copper mining in Michigan, Wikipedia.

Miners left a pollution trail in the great lakes 6,000 years ago.

And European mines were certainly not able enough to supply all the copper that was used in, copper and Bronze Age Europe. So, one could assume the ancient Michigan mines did supply the very hungry European market. Indeed, pure copper ingots of such purity, which only Michigan could have produced, has been found in Europe! **

** Graham Hancock official website; commercial Michigan Copper in Mediterranean for scientifically excellent overview. of ancient American copper and where it went.

Ancient Ireland had an incredibly old craft tradition. The Irish mined a good quantity of gold in ancient Ireland and produced much exquisite gold ornamentation. The Irish Celtic language is at least 2,500 years old. Written Irish records appear about 600 AD. Ireland had its own classical Irish literature which is equivalent to the earlier world-renowned Greek Iliad or Odyssey by Homer. These Irish sagas are an important and integral part of ancient European culture. Irish hurling is one of the fastest and most exciting games in the world and one of the oldest games in the world. It has been played in Ireland for thousands of years. Ireland like Greece had its own Gaelic games festival, called (not the Olympic games) but the Tailteann games, games of strength, speed, plus a drama festival and storytelling. So, both brains and brawn were on show together, in this intercommunal gathering.

Around 600 BC Ireland was influenced by a pan European peoples’ culture; called Celtic, which originated from central Europe. The Celts were the first truly modern European peoples. They stretched from France, Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Italy, Spain, Britain, Ireland and into the Black Sea area and probably Turkey. These Celts were superb metal workers, and horsemen. They liked jewellery and ancient bling. The Celts had their own highly learned scholars known as Druids who practised medicine, astrology, mathematics, poetry, memory, law giving, governance, civil, cultural vitality, and integrity through a solar religion. (The Druids probably pre-dated the Celts, by many years if not thousands of years)

The Celts produced and drank prodigious amounts of wine and held many festivals and feasts throughout the solar calendar year. The Celtic Sagas are amongst Europe’s oldest stories. Ireland has the largest reservoir of Celtic stories in Europe.

Ireland slowly became Christian; Christian missions in Ireland appeared surprisingly quite soon after the birth of Christianity in Palestine and Judea A.D. 33. Certainly within 200 years of Christ’s, crucifixion, Christian missions in Ireland were being established, and propagated. Around the 5th century A.D., St. Patrick, probably a Christian Welshman, or a Christian Englishman but certainly not an Irishman was kept as a slave in Ireland. He escaped to either Wales, Scotland or England and decided he must return to Ireland to Christianize them. St. Patrick’s mission was mainly to Northern Ireland. Christians did exist in Ireland before St. Patrick but only in small numbers.

Other missionaries preceded Patrick, but St. Patrick was the most successful. St. Patrick preached the gospel, baptized people, and held large gatherings throughout Northern Ireland. He introduced Latin learning into Ireland, set up its first embryonic scholastic schools. (Seats of Latin learning) Armagh in Northern Ireland became the Episcopal centre for Christianity throughout the whole of Ireland in 5th century AD.

Ireland has a big and long tradition of scholastic excellence. Newgrange, a Neolithic monument, uses advanced astrological alignment and mapping in its construction. Druids were regarded as some of the cleverest people of ancient Europe. Many spent up to 20 years in study to attain the privilege of becoming a Druid. The love of learning in Ireland soon began to embrace Christianity.

The early Irish illuminated manuscripts of the early gospels, and they are regarded as one of the treasures of early modern European culture. Not only did the Irish monks illuminate books, but they also set out to illuminate the minds of ordinary Europeans, during that bleak time in Europe. i.e., The Dark Ages Not only did Irish monks produce beautiful gospels to an exceedingly high standard, but they also began to produce exquisite works of sacred and ornamental art in metal too (the Ardagh chalice or the Tara brooch).Both Minutingly* extremely intricate works of high craftsman/woman ship. (*I know it’s a new word. A bit like, On and offable)

Irish monks set out from Ireland to teach the good news of Christ and also the secular studies of classical Greece, mathematics, science and theology. These Irish monks set up monastic settlements across Western Europe and each monastic settlement put out new monastic settlements. Soon Western Europe, far from being immersed in the Dark Ages was being illuminated with beacons of intellectual pursuit and hospitality. These monasteries, improved farming methods and began to improve the minds of Europeans into classical studies.

These Irish monks not only illuminated Europe with science and theology, but they also set out into the wild Atlantic Ocean and reached Iceland. Some speculate the Irish monks could have reached America via Greenland. If they could sail from Ireland and Scotland to the Faroes and on to Iceland, they certainly had the capability to sail to Greenland and on into Canada. This is what the Vikings did hundreds of years later. The Catholic Vikings did reach North America.

St. Brendan may have reached N. America, hundreds of years before Christopher Columbus or the Vikings. Certainly, the Irish were a sea faring nation par excellence, in pre-history, and into the modern era, i.e., after Christ’s death.

Some