One Irish Summer

by William Eleroy Curtis

A few miles down to the south of Glendalough, on the other side of the divide, is the village of Ennisworthy, where the great Grattan lived between the sessions of the Irish parliament, and where many scenes are associated with his memory. It was near Ennisworthy or Vinegar Hall that one of the fiercest battles was fought between the British troops and the Irish rebels on the 21st of June, 1798. The rebels threw up hurried earthworks around a ruined windmill and defended them with pikes, scythes, and other agricultural implements, for those were all the arms they had. The British assaulted the hill and massacred or captured the entire force. Five hundred are said to have been killed in the engagement.

The little place is called Ferns, is a favorite resort of rich Dublin people, and has many interesting historical associations. It was the seat of government of Leinster in early times, and the home of Dermot MacMurrough, who betrayed Ireland to the Normans. His castle, which stood upon an eminence overlooking the town, is believed to date back to the sixth century and was besieged and burned and partially destroyed several times. Near by is the ruin of an Augustinian monastery, with a tower seventy-five feet high, which was founded by MacMurrough in 1160, and in which he is buried. The Protestant Church of Ireland has a cathedral here and an Episcopal palace built in 1630 by Bishop Ram, then in charge of the ecclesiastical affairs of this diocese. Being of very advanced age when he built the house, he placed the following inscription over the entrance:

“This house Ram built for his succeeding brothers:

Thus sheep bear wool, not for themselves, but for others.”

We walked from the station at Wexford along a very narrow street to a deceptive hotel called the White’s. It has a dark, narrow, uninviting entrance, but extends back into the middle of the block like the roots of a tree, and contains comfortable beds, neat sitting-rooms, and a dining-room, wherein toothsome, orange-colored salmon just from the river and most excellent gooseberry tarts are served.

Wexford is very different from Dublin and every other place in Ireland that we saw, because of its narrow streets, which are more like those of a Spanish or oriental town, some of them so narrow that you can almost shake hands through the windows with your neighbor across the way. And it is a very clean town. And furthermore, all the children we met looked as if they were just from a bath. We saw troops of them in the street on their way to school with “shining morning faces” and neat jackets and frocks and wearing shoes and stockings, which is a rare sight in Ireland, therefore a welcome one to see. The contrast in the dress and general appearance of the people of Wexford and those of Dublin is so striking as to cause comment.

In a large plaza in front of the railway station is a monument in honor of John Edward Redmond, uncle of John and William Redmond, the present leaders of the Irish party in the British parliament. He represented this district in the House of Commons for many years and did a great deal for the town and the neighborhood. He got a breakwater, which makes the harbor safe, a bridge across the River Slaney, and an appropriation to construct a macadamized road along its banks. The Redmond family have lived here for generations and have been prominent in local affairs. Most of them have been engaged in the leather business and have had large tanneries. The inscription upon the monument to John Edward Redmond reads:

“My heart is with the town of Wexford. Nothing can extinguish that love but the cold sod of the grave, and when the day comes, I hope you will pay me the compliment I deserve of saying that I always loved you.” Last words of J.E. Redmond, 1865!

A deputation of farmers which appeared before Mr. Russell, the secretary of agriculture, at Dublin, asserted that Wexford is “the most agricultural county in Ireland.”

There is every appearance of prosperity about Wexford. The people are well dressed, the cattle are sleek, the horses are the best we have seen, and we are quite prepared to believe the assertion that this is the “Garden of Ireland.” There is a good deal of commerce at Wexford also, going out as well as coming in from a fine harbor which is formed by an estuary from the sea at the entrance to the Irish Channel. There is a long breakwater to protect the ships against storms; and quays, three thousand feet long, with double lines of railway track, and modern machinery for loading and unloading vessels. There are steamship lines to Liverpool, Bristol, and other markets in that hated and despised territory called England. Several sailing ships are now tied up at the dock which bring over coal and take back barley to make the British beer, for this is the headquarters of the barley trade in Ireland.