In a quiet moment Thinking of nothing, In a quiet place Where I hear my heart beat, My soul aches For one who is absent, And I, Oh I Am so lonely for you.
END
Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
Almost twenty years ago this month; on Wednesday 15th August 1998, an act of terrorism known as the ‘Omagh Car Bombing’ took place, in Omagh town, [ Irish Óghmaighan or Ómaigh meaning “The virgin plain” ], in Co. Tyrone, Northern Ireland. The bombing was carried out by a group calling themselves the Real Irish Republican Army, (IRA), latter a Provisional IRA break away splinter group, who totally opposed the IRA’s ceasefire and the Good Friday Agreement or Belfast Agreement. Latter had been agreed on 10th April 1998, and overwhelmingly further approved in two referendums in both the North and South of Ireland, in May 1998.
The Good Friday Agreement gives prominence to the ‘principle of consent’, which affirmed the legitimacy of an aspiration to a United Ireland, while recognising a current wish for the majority of people living in Northern Ireland to remain part of the United Kingdom (UK).
The bombing, on that day, killed 29 people (including a woman pregnant with twins) and injured 220 others. This death toll was higher than any other, one, single incident of terrorism during the period that history records as ‘The Troubles’, (1968-1998).
On the eve of the Sabbath in August, they crucified Jesus again, Bombing the good and the gentle, the women, the children, the men. Our people are weeping forever, their blood on the streets of shame, As history and history makers mock with the old refrain.
Oh, more than our tears for the trouble, oh, more than mere words for the dead. Oh, heaven and pity embrace us and gentleness rule us instead. What now for the Gentle Seer? What now for life’s joyful song? And I long, how I long for the music that is neither right nor wrong.
On the eve of the Sabbath in August, when we the people have died Innocence bombed to oblivion on the altar of dubious pride. On the eve of the Sabbath in August, forever in time to be, The good, the innocent, the gentle will praise humanity.
Will triumph, as triumph they must, when sad, shameful history is done, When hearts, now fashioned in metal, are loving in unison. On the eve of the Sabbath in August, whoever, whatever to blame, Oh, love now where is your grandeur? Oh, history where is your shame?
End
Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
“Military Manoeuvres”, a wonderful painting from 1891, by the artist and Royal Hibernian Academy member Richard Moynan. [It should be noted that Richard’s wife; Susanna Mary Moynan, was born here in Thurles, Co. Tipperary and both were married in the Thurles district in 1884; the same year the GAA was founded.]
We whipped a spinning wooden top along the road With a flick from a bamboo stick and twine, Or followed glossy, coloured marbles in the street, Or, playing beds, hopped on a chalky line. We climbed into our hobby house in the tree, With bamboo rod and gut we fished for eels, Or built a U.S. Fort Apache strong, And from cakes of mucky mud made magic meals. In that summer long ago, just out the road, We drank the sparkling water from the well, And played our secret agents in the trees Vowing to die before we’d ever tell. We hurled the morning, afternoon and night, And pucked the leather ball along the road. And quarrelled with a frenzy, in our fights That movie stars would never have allowed. We splashed in the mighty ocean of the “Lake”, Fighting naval battles we had known, And drank our Sunday lemonade and biscuits ate Under a great oak tree we called our own. And there we spun our yarns and told our dreams And thought the day eternal and a joy, And back to the road, to play our childhood games Before the bed and a comic to enjoy. The times were hard and little was there then And everyone was poor and just the same, But we were boys and mad to conquer men And fight for glory, fortune and for fame. We had our little thoughts and childhood dreams Within our happy world of family way back then, An ideal country of the mind, it seems, Gone, but in memory to warm our hearts again.
End
Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
How can you ask me to pretend, To smile and go my way indifferent, And busy myself with useless things And not cry, Though the tears are bursting from behind my eyes.
How can you say “time makes a difference” And I shall forget it all, When I really don’t want to forget, But to gently remember The time and times we shared In the moments before yesterday.
How can you say you’re sorry And not wonder Why the earth will not stop wheeling, Why the stars don’t lose their sparkle And why, oh why My sad heart will not break to sorrow.
But even as I ask the questions I know that I am sorry, too, And ask forgiveness, For I’m not myself at all Since she left this place Forever.
End
Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary. [With my Thanks]
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