Wyrms

White Worm

Bram Stoker, author of Dracula, also wrote “Lair of the White Worm”.  This is based on the old English word Wyrm.  The Wyrm was a giant legless and flightless serpent.  A cross between a Dragon and a Snake.

In Gaelic a Wyrm is called a Péist.  Pronounced like the English word “pest”.  Ireland is a country with no snakes, but many placenames suggest that they were once home to mighty Wyrms.  Poulnapeasta translates as “Hole of the Beast/Worm” and idiomatically translates as “Dragons Lake”

In the tale ‘Hunting of Sliabh Truim’ there is a péist with ‘ears as large as the gate of a  fort’ and ‘tusks as big as a tree’.

Irish mythology is full of warriors slaying dragons in lakes and Monks destroying dragons with the power of Christ.  Scattery Island in the Shannon Estuary, St Senans Isle, was home to a beast slain by St. Senan.

The story of St. Senan describes his encounter with the Wyrm as follows:

and then they went to seek the monster, to the place in which it abode.

When the monster heard them it shook its head, and its hair stood up upon it, and its rough bristles, and it looked at them hatingly and wrathfully. Not gentle, friendly, mild was the look it bestowed upon them, for it marvelled that anyone else should come to visit it in its island. So it went to them strongly and swiftly, insomuch that the earth trembled under its feet. Hideous, uncouth, ruthless, awful was the beast that arose there.

Longer was its body than Inis na h- Urclaide. A horse’s mane had it ; an eye gleaming, flaming in its head, and its mien savage, forward, angry, edged, crimson, bloody, cruel, bounding. Anyone would think that its eye would go through him when it looked upon him. Two very hideous, very thick feet under it ; behind it a mane. Nails hard as iron on it, which used to strike showers of fire out of the rocks of stone wherever it went across them. A fiery breath it had which burned like embers. A belly it had like the bellows of a furnace. A whale’s tail upon it behind. Hard, rending claws upon it, which used to lay bare, on the path they came, the surface of the ground behind the monster. Equally did it traverse sea and land when it so desired. Then the sea boiled from the greatness of
its heat and from its virulence when it entered it.

Now when the monster came savagely to the place where Senan was standing, it opened its maw so that, as it drew nigh the cleric, its entrails were clearly seen over the maw. Thereat Senan lifted up his hand and made the sign of Christ’s cross in its face. Then the monster was silent, and this is what Senan spoke to it :

‘ I say unto thee,’ saith he, ‘ in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, leave this island, and hurt no one in the district over which thou wilt go, nor in the district into which thou wilt come’.

The monster went at once at Senan’s word out of the island till it reached Dubhloch of Sliabh Collain. And it did no hurt to anyone till it came here, nor after arriving ; for it
durst not oppose Senan’s word.”

Was Ireland a nest of Dragons in ancient days?  Or is it possible that the Early Christian Church used serpents and dragons as metaphors for Pagan Gods?

 

Advertisements

Chicken Wire

Fox

I guess the truth is in the title.  Chicken wire is great at keeping chickens in.  Not so great at keeping foxes out.

Lost 2 today.  Down to the last one.

The Hen and the Fox; by Aesop

The Hen roosted high on her perch;
Hungry Fox down below, on the search,
coaxed her hard to descend.
She replied, “Most dear friend!
I feel more secure on my perch.”

 

Happy Birthday Rugby

RWC-2015

William Webb Ellis, alleged inventor of Rugby, was born on this day in 1806.  The Rugby World Cup trophy is named for him, the William Web Ellis Cup.  We next compete for it in Japan 2019.

In the History of rugby written by Edmund Van Esbeck, the late Irish Times Rugby Columnist, he surmises that Ellis learned about the game in Ireland.  His father was a Cavalryman and was stationed for a time in Ireland.  The young Webb Ellis would have seen the local Irish lads play Cás, the gaelic version of football, which uses hands as well as feet.

It was only natural then, when he attended Rugby school, that he should take the ball in hand and run the field to score.  Rugby school adopted the new style and set the first laws of the game.

Today tiny little Ireland play the mighty United States of America.  On the rugby field an island of less than 7 million people take on a nation of over 327 million people.  What hope do we have?

While we wait for the Kick Off here is a rugby poem by an ex-lawyer turned poet.  It’s a poem in the tradition of Banjo Patterson, the bushmen and the diggers.

Why we play the game; by Rupert McCall

When the battle scars have faded
and the truth becomes a lie,
when the weekend smell of liniment
could almost make you cry,
when the last ruck’s well behind you
and the man who ran now walks,
it doesn’t matter who you are,
the mirror sometimes talks.

Have a good hard look son
that melon’s not so great
the snoz that takes a sharp turn sideways
used to be dead straight.
You’re an advert for arthritis,
you’re a thorough bred gone lame
and you ask yourself the question;
why the hell you played the game?

Was there logic in the head knocks
in the corks and in the cuts?
Or did common sense get pushed aside
for manliness and guts?
And do you sometimes sit and wonder
how your time would often pass
in a tangled mess of bodies
with your head up someone’s arse
with a thumb hooked up your nostril
scratching gently on your brain
with an overgrown Neanderthal
rejoicing in your pain?

Mate, you must recall the jersey
that was shredded into rags
then the soothing sting of dettol
on a back engraved with tags.
Now it’s almost worth admitting
although with some degree of shame,
that your wife was right in asking
why the hell you played the game.

But then with every wound reopened
as you grimly reminisce it
comes the most compelling feeling yet
Christ! you bloody miss it.
You see, from the first time that you lace a boot
and tighten every stud
that virus known as rugby
has been living in our blood.

When you dreamt it
when you played it
all the rest took second fiddle
and now you’re standing on the sideline
but your heart’s still in the middle
and no matter where you travel
you can take it as expected
there will always, always be a breed of people
hopelessly infected.

If there’s a team mate
then you’ll find him
like a gravitational force
with a common understanding
and a beer or three of course.
And as you stand there telling lies
like it was yesterday old friend
you know that if you had the chance
you’d do it all again.

You see, that’s the thing with rugby
it will always be the same
and that my friends I guarantee you
is why the hell we play the game.

Bloody Sunday

TippDub

Eighty eight years ago for the admission price of a shilling, you could have participated in a massacre.  British Auxiliaries and RIC entered Croke Park in Dublin during the Tipperary V Dublin football match and opened fire indiscriminately at the players and spectators.

It was the lowest ebb of the British Empire and mirrored the Amritsar Massacre, also known as the Jallianwala Bagh massacre in April 1919, only one year before.

What led to British Irregulars taking such action?

On the morning of Sunday 21st November 2018, under the orders of Michael Collins, military commander of the IRA, 15 men were shot.  The assassinations wiped out the pride of British Military Intelligence in Ireland, the Cairo Gang.

The attack in Croke Park was a direct response to the IRA action.  It was followed later that night by the murder of three IRA prisoners held in custody by the British Security forces.

This day, like no other, undermined the legitimacy of British Rule in Ireland and led ultimately to a truce in July 1921 and the eventual end of British Rule in the Republic.

Over Seventy innocent bystanders were wounded or killed in the football ground, victims of anger and frustration.

The Hogan Stand in Croke Park is named after Michael Hogan who was shot and killed on that day.

John Moynes

JM

A poem from John Moynes, author of “Scenes of Moderate Violence” available here:  Scenes of Moderate violence

How succinctly this sums up all that is wrong in the workplace.  You know, when you throw yourself body and soul into a project, and then you hear whispers and mumblings filter back to you, originated by people who don’t have the decency to pick up the phone to you or tell you to your face.

And remember this, if you find yourself criticizing someone else, but not to their face, just stop.

 

Moynes

Superlatives

Stockdale

Jacob Stockdale scores the games only try, closely supported by Josh Van Der Flier

In the years to come I want to come back to this moment.  The second Irish defeat of the All Blacks, and the first on home soil.

A game of superlatives.  Two teams who left every inch of energy and commitment on the park.  A clash of giants, an epic battle, the stuff of legend.  If all that sounds too much, it is not.  In fact it will be very difficult in the years to come to express to people just how important his match was.

The Haka had a different character.  This intimidating tribal challenge and statement of intent was never expressed with greater intensity.  And yet, for the first time Ireland stood toe to toe with the All Blacks on equal terms.

As we begin preparation for the Rugby World Cup in 2019 this was a unique fixture.  The number 1 in the antipodes against the number 1 Northern Hemisphere team.  Ireland V New Zealand.  In the end the only difference between the sides was the try by Jacob Stockdale and the Sexton conversion.

Despite the loss New Zealand retain their number 1 position in world rankings.

Final score Ireland 16 – 9 New Zealand.

Man of the Match:  Peter O’Mahony

Kapa o pango

Let me become one with the land
This is our land that rumbles
And it’s my time! It’s my moment!
This defines us as the All Blacks
It’s my time! It’s my moment!
Our dominance
Our supremacy will triumph
And will be placed on high
Silver fern!
All Blacks!
Silver fern!
All Blacks!
Hi Ya!

Peter

Haka

The Spartan General

Monty

Colonel Montgomery accidentally caught in Churchill Photograph

Born on this day in 1887 Bernard Law Montgomery was a hero of two world wars.

Son of an Ulster-Scots Church of Ireland Reverend Minister from Inishowen in Donegal.  Born in Surrey and grew up in Tasmania where his father was appointed as Bishop.

When he attended military college he was almost expelled for “rowdiness and violence”

He was already an adjutant in the British Army when WW1 broke out.  He fought in the famous retreat from Mons and was shot in one lung.  He recovered and returned to duty to fight again at Arras and Passchendaele.  He finished the war with a rank of lieutenant colonel and it was in this capacity that he was caught in the photograph above in a prophetic juxtaposition with Winston Churchill.

He married Betty Carver in 1927, widow of an Olympic Athlete who died in WW1, mother of two sons.  She had a moderating effect on Montgomery, smoothing out the negatives in his character, his violence, his intractability, his single mindedness.  The qualities that made him a successful battle commander did not serve him well in the 20’s and 20’s.  She helped him greatly to advance his peacetime career.

In a tragic set of circumstances she died of an infected insect bite that gave her blood poisoning and she died in his arms, leaving him grief stricken.

When WW2 commenced Montgomery immediately demonstrated his fitness as a battle commander.  He retreated from France with his command intact, ordering a night time march to reach Dunkirk, and returning to Britain with minimal casualties.

His abrasive manner ruffled feathers at military command and he was openly and frankly critical of the command of the BEF.  He had a reputation for physical and mental toughness and insisted on the physical fitness of all his men, including the senior officers.  He was ruthless in sacking men he saw as unfit to command.

When Winston Churchill sought a commander to replace Auchinleck in North Africa he was convinced to select Montgomery.  His transformation of the 8th Army and his defeat of Rommel at 2nd El Alamein are the stuff of legend.

From then on the march of Monty was the March of Britain.  Tunisia, Sicily, Italy, Normandy, until he tarnished the polish of his legend in Arnhem with that Bridge Too Far in Operation Market Garden.  Had he succeeded Monty could have ended the war a year earlier.  But perhaps not.

Peace time was not good for Montgomery with no understanding wife to iron out his worst tendencies.  He upset many with his memoirs of the war and even faced legal challenges to what he wrote.  He demonstrated himself as the worst kind of bigot with his stances on issues such as apartheid and homosexuality.

 

Montgomery: by A.P. Herbert

Field Marshal, few, and foolish, are the lands
that do not hail the baton in your hands.
They labelled you a ‘showman’. But we know
good showmen must have something good to show:
One does not capture by the showman’s art
the people’s confidence, the soldier’s heart.
They said you were ‘eccentric’. We could do
with several abnormalities like you:
It needs a not quite ordinary man
to start at Alamein and take Sedan.
Master of craft, and horror of the Huns,
one hundred salvos from a thousand guns!
September 3, 1944

Monty2

Normandy 1944 at the height of fame.