Links between Ireland and Belgium were forged during the great missionary endeavours of the early medieval Irish church when Irish saints such as Saint Foillan, Ultan and Fursey made their mark. Later the scholars in exile in the Irish College at Louvain recovered and preserved the Lives of those Irish saints who had laboured in Europe and in many cases reintroduced them to their countrymen. These links were recalled during the First World War when a particular appeal was made to Ireland to come to the aid of 'gallant little Belgium' and fight for the rights of small nations. The Irish also made a contribution to the poetry
associated with the Great War, and in the two poems below Katharine
Tynan (1861-1931) invokes the saints of Ireland for aid and protection. In the first
poem, she contrasts a peaceful idyllic scene in Ireland, where people
sleep soundly under the watchful presence of the Irish saints, with the
scene of devastation in war-ravaged Belgium, where the saints seem to be
silent. In the second poem a mother commends her 'little son' (probably
a big strapping lad!) to the protection of the Irish saints and the
heavenly hosts. I would like to dedicate this post to my own great-uncle
James, who died aged 19 in 1915 and is one of many who has no known
grave, but is remembered only as a name on the Menin Gate Memorial.
THE WATCHERS
THE cottages all lie asleep;
The sheep and lambs are folded in
Winged sentinels the vale will keep
Until the hours of life begin.
The children with their prayers all said
Sleep until cockcrow shall awake
The gardens in their gold and red
And robins in the bush and brake.
The fields of harvest golden-white,
The fields of pasture rich and green,
Sleep on nor fear the kindly night,
The watching mountains set between.
The river sings its sleepy song,
Nought stirs the wakeful owl beside:
Our peace is builded sure and strong
No evil beast can creep inside.
St Patrick and St Brigid hold
The vale its little houses all,
While men-at-arms in white and gold
Glide swiftly by the outer wall.
St Brendan and St Kevin pluck
The robes of God that He may hear--
And Colum: "Keep the Irish flock
So that no shame or sin come near."
What news of Belgian folk to-day?
How fare the village and the town?
O Belgium's all on fire they say,
And all her towers are toppling down.
What are her angels doing then,
And are the Belgian saints asleep,
That in this night of dule and pain
The Belgians mourn, the Belgians weep?
Katharine Tynan, Flower of Youth:Poems in War Time, (London, 1917), 18-19.
In
the second poem, A Woman Commends Her Little Son, an Irish mother calls
on a host of heavenly protectors to look out for her boy:
A WOMAN COMMENDS HER LITTLE SON
To the aid of my little son
I call all the magnalities --
Archangel, Dominion,
Powers and Principalities.
Mary without a stain,
Joseph that was her spouse,
All God's women and men,
Out of His glorious House.
The Twelve Apostles by him:
Matthew and Mark and John,
Luke, the Evangelists nigh him,
So he fight not alone.
Patrick, Columcille, Bride --
The Saints of the Irish nation;
Keiran, Kevin beside,
In the death and the desolation.
Listen, ye soldier saints,
Sebastian, Ignatius, Joan,
Be by his side; if he faints,
Strengthen my little son.
In the Side of Christ I lay him,
In the Wound that the spear made;
In the pierced Hands I stay him,
So I am not afraid.
On the knees of the Blessed Mary
And in the fold of her arm,
Refuge and sanctuary
Where he shall take no harm.
To the Wound in the Heart of Christ,
To the Trinity Three in One,
To the Blood spilled out, unpriced,
For love of my little son.
Katharine Tynan, Herb o' Grace: Poems in War-Time. (London, 1918), 49-50.
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