Castalia 239

Not My War

Dear Friends,

At the outbreak of the First World War, Irish nationalists were divided. The leader of the Irish Parliamentary Party, John Redmond, encouraged the Irish to support the war. He had given his life to achieving Home Rule through parliamentary means, and a bill to this effect had just been passed, though with the major problem of Northern Ireland still unresolved.

As he saw it, by taking part in the war, Irish people would prove that they were ready for self-government, and by fighting a third party, Protestants and Catholics would come to see themselves as brothers.

But participation in the war was absurd. It was absurd for everyone, but less so for the Germans or the English; for the Irish, to defend the Empire was to defend something not their own.

Many felt,

'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky

Than at Suvla or Sud-el-Bar.

Foggy Dew by Fr. Charles O’Neill, arranged and performed by Ishmael Wallace

As down the glen one Easter morn

To a city fair rode I,

There armed lines of marching men

In squadrons passed me by.

No pipe did hum, no battle drum

Did sound its loud tattoo,

But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey swell

Rang out in the foggy dew.

Right proudly high in Dublin town

They flung out a flag of war;

'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky

Than at Suvla or Sud-el-Bar.

And from the plains of Royal Meath

Strong men came hurrying through,

While Britannia's Huns with their great big guns

Sailed in through the foggy dew.

Oh, the night fell black, and the riflеs' crack

Made perfidious Albion reel;

'Neath thе leaden rain, seven tongues of flame

Did shine o'er the lines of steel.

By each shining blade a prayer was said

That to Ireland her sons be true,

And when morning broke, still the war flag shook

Out its folds in the foggy dew.

Oh, the bravest fell and the requiem bell

Rang mournfully and clear

For those who died at Eastertide

In the springtime of the year,

While the world did gaze with deep amaze

At those fearless men but few

Who bore the fight that the freedom's light

Might shine through the foggy dew.

Back through the glen I rode again,

My heart with grief was sore,

For I parted with those gallant men

Whom I'll never see no more.

But to and fro in my dreams I go,

And I kneel and pray for you:

For slavery fled, O glorious dead,

When you fell in the foggy dew.

When, late last year, I discovered Foggy Dew, there was talk in America of a need for conscription. Like those Irish who did not wish to fight for the Empire, many Americans do not wish to fight for its successor. For them to defend the current order is to defend something alien.

Thank you so much.

With every good wish,

Ishmael