Wexford was the home of Dermot McMurragh, who first invited the English into Ireland. The ruins of his castle and his tomb are near Ferns, but Wexford is not particularly proud of McMurragh.
Wexford has been called by an Irishman, “the most agricultural county in Ireland,” and we could well believe it as we swept over its green pastures and cultivated farms.
We sighted the city of Wexford at 4:00 o’clock. As we circled around over the city, I observed its excellent harbor, with a complete breakwater, and also its spacious docks. The city looks like a city in Palestine on account of its narrow streets, but it is a clean, prosperous looking place.
We alit, as usual outside the city, and left our aeroplane for the night in charge of a friendly farmer. We made our escape as quietly as possible from the gathering crowd, and soon found the quiet of a good hotel. The Redmond family, noted Irish leaders, reside in Wexford, and the spirit of the dislike to England is very pronounced.
We saw two magnificent churches called the Twins, on account of their similarity. These show the religious zeal of the people. The business part of the town showed their commercial enterprise.
The Quay is a busy place as steamship lines run to England, and there is much traffic in merchandise between Wexford and England, but there is none in affection.
Before retiring for the night we met an interesting old Irishman, whose whole soul was controlled by hatred of Cromwell and England. He had none of Mr. O’Neill’s charity for ancient wrongs, and, as he told us of Cromwell’s Wexford campaign, we could sympathize with him a good deal. To show us how Ireland regarded Cromwell, he quoted from an Irish poet, a few lines, which ran something like this:
“From Drogheda that man of guilt
To fated Wexford flew,
The red blood reeking on his hilt