Letter from Mary MacDonagh, Sister Francesca, to her brother Jim MacDonagh upon the death of their brother Thomas MacDonagh, 9 May 1916
1
Poor Jim kept this
letter I wrote him
re Tomas death in
1916, all the years
till his own death
1926. Fintan got it
among his papers
& brought itto me 2 I enclose 3 poems considered masterpieces. Dont let them
out of yrkeeping .L. 5.9.16 Dearest Jim I have been waiting
ages to find a person
to take you enclosed by
hand to you. viz. poor
Tom's letter, & this, Treasure
forever. God knows
his hearts blood appears
in it. Poor fellow. I cant
yet realize the awful
tragedy that has taken
him from us for
ever. His last book is
nearly ready, & in the 3 preface. It is said, "They all
died bravely, but MacD died like a prince"
Well may we be proud
of him, & his name
will ring down the centuries
as a hero. His
name is revered &
hallowed in Ireland
as Emmets. As usual
he never thought of
himself. Always of
others, & even in that
awful last interview
he was calm buoyant
& utterly unselfish.Now Muriel's future will be
I think secured, & the chns
education will be seen
to. She is still looking
for a house. & now one
of the Plunketts will
get her one on nice road.
I only hope she will take
it & settle in at once
Jack is to get £100 per an
but I am sure Martyn
will increase it later.
It is very rushed just
now. & I'm certain he
will always get on.
Now for more news
Poor Joe has got his confé 4 thus, orders to go to Pudsey in
York, minus £57 a year. He
sent a protest saying he
cd not possibly live in
such a hostile atmosphere
that such a change was
never made of a man
in his position, especially
one that never was accused
of a fault during his
9 1/2 years service, that he
well knew the real reason
of the transfer, viz. being
brother of Toms, that he
means to get questions
asked on subject in
parliament, &c. Of course
they won't cave in. We
all know what England 5
stands for. You shd see how
people are treated here
murdered, robbed
chased, persecuted &
afflicted in every way.
Was the Skeffington
Inquiry held in Dublin
published in English
papers, it was horrifying
but only on a par with
the treatment meted
out to the unfortunate
Irish, but its good
enough for us. &
sufficient thanks for
the Irishmen who have 6 to you I ho I have just heard that they have not been able to
reach you. Perhaps it is better so. Yet Father
Aloysius is going to make another effort to
do something. God help and sustain you,
my love. But for your suffering, this
would be all joy and glory. Good bye. Your loving husband
Thomas MacDonagh I return the darlings' photographs.
Good bye, my love. 7 In Memory
They were hungry they were thirsty
as they waited there to die
Bare was the bitter prison ground
where they were forced to lie
We'll remember, we'll remember
Thank the God that we adore
Having drunk the cup of
Martyrdom, our heroes thirst no more
No longer, do they hunger, for above
the Feast is spread
And the rest is sweet in heaven
of our holy martyred dead
Tyrants hate can hurt no longer,
they are safe with God - & yet,
We'll keep their sufferings in
our hearts, & we shall
not forget
Uplifted on the winds of heaven
their souls are free at last
Though scornfully their noble forms 8 in prison clay were cast.
We'll remember, we'll remember,
hate for hate we backward fling
Building in our faithful hearts
for them, the Cairus of a King
We shall lace them with the
highest in the annals of our land
Through the thunder of the centuries
their memory shall stand
And we know no scorn can
hurt them, wheresoe'er
they lie — & yet
We'll keep their graves within
our heart, & we shall
not forget.
Weep not for them with useless tears
but think of them with pride
For gallantly they fought the fight
& nobly brave they died
We'll remember, we'll remember
their wounds, their blood, their
pain Tho' we know no pang was
wasted, nor one drop was
shed in vain
For our Nation has awakened
we have heard the
trumpet blast
The dreams of slaves are
shattered & we shall be
free at last.
Lo! the Dead arise triumphant
& the Living's task is set
The Cause is burning in our
hearts, & we shall not forget Sigerson Salutationby AE. Geo Russell
Your dreams had left me numb
& cold
But yet my spirit rose in Pride
Refashioning in burnished gold
The images of those who died
Or were shut in the Penal cell 9 Here's to you Pearse! your dreams. Not
mine
but yet the thought for this, you fell
Turns life's water into wine
I listened to much talk from you
Thomas MacDonagh, & it seemed
The words were idle but they grew
To nobleness, by death redeemed
Life cannot utter words more
great
Than life can meet with sacrifice
High words were equalled by high
fate
You paid the price, You paid the
price
The hope lives on, age after age
Earth with its beauty might be won
For labour as a heritage
For this, has Ireland lost a son
This hope into a flame to fan.
Men have put life by, with a smile
Here's to you Plunkett, noble man
Who cast thy torch upon the pile.
Here's to the women of our blood
Stood by them, in their fiery hour
Rapt, lest some weakness in their mood
Rob manhood of a single power
You, brave as such a hope forlorn
Who smiled thro' crack of shot & shell
Tho' the world look on you with scorn
Here's to you, brave ones, in the Cell 10 Heres to you, men I never met
But hope to meet, beyond the Veil
Thronged on some starry parapet
That looks down upon Innisfail
And see the confluence of dreams
That clashed together in our night
One river, born of many streams
Roll in one blaze of blinding
light
Dublin 1916 By A Newman
Priv. I Volunteer
You poured your spies upon her street
You ringed her round with steel
For four most hideous centuries
She lay beneath your heel;
You dug your forces round her gates
You built your barracks well
And in your castled heart devised
Foul deeds — too foul for hell
2
And there you planned the Epitaph
Of Ireland day by day 11 And watched our people fade & die
our language pass away
All undisturbed & all secure
You sat for centuries
And boasted of our loyalty
And fed the world with lies
—
But Dublin tore from off her face
The horrid mask she wore
And all the Nation's saw again
Her beauty as of yore
She hurled you from your Tyrant
seat
And clothed in flame & lead
She stood a capital unslaved
And risen from the Dead.
—
And tho' a few sad days shall pass
Till she is wholly free
And tho' you chain her once again
God holds her destiny.
For he shall smite you to the earth
And raise Her to a Throne
And for her ages of despair
That triumph shall atone 12 England is now trying to
engineer another famine
as she did before in
1847. She can't kill the
Irish quickly enough
so she subtly starves
them, commandeering
all she has. Get the
chr to pray for us
all. I can't yet believe
G has escaped. They
meant to do for him too Love to you all
Adieu Just write saying!
Your friend gave me
your message viz these letters
& I shall understand your with these letters
& I shall understand your
recd them. Do let me know how
G is getting on. What's he doing and where
living. After all. Keep this letter &
hand it down to yr children
With
love
Mary 13 Goodbye now. Morn noon
& night I grieve &
ever shall, for as well
as being my brother
he was my dearest
friend with whom I
cd discuss everything
& who never failed
me. I know God has
him in Heaven &
I forgive as he forgave
those who slew him
If I cd only explain
to you the ins & outs
of what led up to this
& what is still taking
place you cd understand 14 Bitter our Chalice yet it
is sweet —
If we but to the Saviour
turn,
And Sigh submissive
at his feet —-
My God Thy Holy Will
be done, —
What calmness brings
this hallowed prayer,
First breath'd by the Eternal Son
What strength our heaviest
Cross to bear,
"My God, Thy Heavenly
Will be done".
—
But if our necks, we
humbly bend,
Though sorrow force the
anguished groan 15 What incense to the
Throne we send.
By these sweet words —
"Thy Will be done"
—
Lines written by Arthur
Lynch who died at the
age of eighteen. Excuse writing written
for yourself this morning, This was sent to me
by a dear old nun
with letter of sympathy.
Her brother who died at 18
wrote it years ago
letter I wrote him
re Tomas death in
1916, all the years
till his own death
1926. Fintan got it
among his papers
& brought itto me 2 I enclose 3 poems considered masterpieces. Dont let them
out of yrkeeping .L. 5.9.16 Dearest Jim I have been waiting
ages to find a person
to take you enclosed by
hand to you. viz. poor
Tom's letter, & this, Treasure
forever. God knows
his hearts blood appears
in it. Poor fellow. I cant
yet realize the awful
tragedy that has taken
him from us for
ever. His last book is
nearly ready, & in the 3 preface. It is said, "They all
died bravely, but MacD died like a prince"
Well may we be proud
of him, & his name
will ring down the centuries
as a hero. His
name is revered &
hallowed in Ireland
as Emmets. As usual
he never thought of
himself. Always of
others, & even in that
awful last interview
he was calm buoyant
& utterly unselfish.Now Muriel's future will be
I think secured, & the chns
education will be seen
to. She is still looking
for a house. & now one
of the Plunketts will
get her one on nice road.
I only hope she will take
it & settle in at once
Jack is to get £100 per an
but I am sure Martyn
will increase it later.
It is very rushed just
now. & I'm certain he
will always get on.
Now for more news
Poor Joe has got his confé 4 thus, orders to go to Pudsey in
York, minus £57 a year. He
sent a protest saying he
cd not possibly live in
such a hostile atmosphere
that such a change was
never made of a man
in his position, especially
one that never was accused
of a fault during his
9 1/2 years service, that he
well knew the real reason
of the transfer, viz. being
brother of Toms, that he
means to get questions
asked on subject in
parliament, &c. Of course
they won't cave in. We
all know what England 5
stands for. You shd see how
people are treated here
murdered, robbed
chased, persecuted &
afflicted in every way.
Was the Skeffington
Inquiry held in Dublin
published in English
papers, it was horrifying
but only on a par with
the treatment meted
out to the unfortunate
Irish, but its good
enough for us. &
sufficient thanks for
the Irishmen who have 6 to you I ho I have just heard that they have not been able to
reach you. Perhaps it is better so. Yet Father
Aloysius is going to make another effort to
do something. God help and sustain you,
my love. But for your suffering, this
would be all joy and glory. Good bye. Your loving husband
Thomas MacDonagh I return the darlings' photographs.
Good bye, my love. 7 In Memory
They were hungry they were thirsty
as they waited there to die
Bare was the bitter prison ground
where they were forced to lie
We'll remember, we'll remember
Thank the God that we adore
Having drunk the cup of
Martyrdom, our heroes thirst no more
No longer, do they hunger, for above
the Feast is spread
And the rest is sweet in heaven
of our holy martyred dead
Tyrants hate can hurt no longer,
they are safe with God - & yet,
We'll keep their sufferings in
our hearts, & we shall
not forget
Uplifted on the winds of heaven
their souls are free at last
Though scornfully their noble forms 8 in prison clay were cast.
We'll remember, we'll remember,
hate for hate we backward fling
Building in our faithful hearts
for them, the Cairus of a King
We shall lace them with the
highest in the annals of our land
Through the thunder of the centuries
their memory shall stand
And we know no scorn can
hurt them, wheresoe'er
they lie — & yet
We'll keep their graves within
our heart, & we shall
not forget.
Weep not for them with useless tears
but think of them with pride
For gallantly they fought the fight
& nobly brave they died
We'll remember, we'll remember
their wounds, their blood, their
pain Tho' we know no pang was
wasted, nor one drop was
shed in vain
For our Nation has awakened
we have heard the
trumpet blast
The dreams of slaves are
shattered & we shall be
free at last.
Lo! the Dead arise triumphant
& the Living's task is set
The Cause is burning in our
hearts, & we shall not forget Sigerson Salutationby AE. Geo Russell
Your dreams had left me numb
& cold
But yet my spirit rose in Pride
Refashioning in burnished gold
The images of those who died
Or were shut in the Penal cell 9 Here's to you Pearse! your dreams. Not
mine
but yet the thought for this, you fell
Turns life's water into wine
I listened to much talk from you
Thomas MacDonagh, & it seemed
The words were idle but they grew
To nobleness, by death redeemed
Life cannot utter words more
great
Than life can meet with sacrifice
High words were equalled by high
fate
You paid the price, You paid the
price
The hope lives on, age after age
Earth with its beauty might be won
For labour as a heritage
For this, has Ireland lost a son
This hope into a flame to fan.
Men have put life by, with a smile
Here's to you Plunkett, noble man
Who cast thy torch upon the pile.
Here's to the women of our blood
Stood by them, in their fiery hour
Rapt, lest some weakness in their mood
Rob manhood of a single power
You, brave as such a hope forlorn
Who smiled thro' crack of shot & shell
Tho' the world look on you with scorn
Here's to you, brave ones, in the Cell 10 Heres to you, men I never met
But hope to meet, beyond the Veil
Thronged on some starry parapet
That looks down upon Innisfail
And see the confluence of dreams
That clashed together in our night
One river, born of many streams
Roll in one blaze of blinding
light
Dublin 1916 By A Newman
Priv. I Volunteer
You poured your spies upon her street
You ringed her round with steel
For four most hideous centuries
She lay beneath your heel;
You dug your forces round her gates
You built your barracks well
And in your castled heart devised
Foul deeds — too foul for hell
2
And there you planned the Epitaph
Of Ireland day by day 11 And watched our people fade & die
our language pass away
All undisturbed & all secure
You sat for centuries
And boasted of our loyalty
And fed the world with lies
—
But Dublin tore from off her face
The horrid mask she wore
And all the Nation's saw again
Her beauty as of yore
She hurled you from your Tyrant
seat
And clothed in flame & lead
She stood a capital unslaved
And risen from the Dead.
—
And tho' a few sad days shall pass
Till she is wholly free
And tho' you chain her once again
God holds her destiny.
For he shall smite you to the earth
And raise Her to a Throne
And for her ages of despair
That triumph shall atone 12 England is now trying to
engineer another famine
as she did before in
1847. She can't kill the
Irish quickly enough
so she subtly starves
them, commandeering
all she has. Get the
chr to pray for us
all. I can't yet believe
G has escaped. They
meant to do for him too Love to you all
Adieu Just write saying!
Your friend gave me
your message viz these letters
& I shall understand your with these letters
& I shall understand your
recd them. Do let me know how
G is getting on. What's he doing and where
living. After all. Keep this letter &
hand it down to yr children
With
love
Mary 13 Goodbye now. Morn noon
& night I grieve &
ever shall, for as well
as being my brother
he was my dearest
friend with whom I
cd discuss everything
& who never failed
me. I know God has
him in Heaven &
I forgive as he forgave
those who slew him
If I cd only explain
to you the ins & outs
of what led up to this
& what is still taking
place you cd understand 14 Bitter our Chalice yet it
is sweet —
If we but to the Saviour
turn,
And Sigh submissive
at his feet —-
My God Thy Holy Will
be done, —
What calmness brings
this hallowed prayer,
First breath'd by the Eternal Son
What strength our heaviest
Cross to bear,
"My God, Thy Heavenly
Will be done".
—
But if our necks, we
humbly bend,
Though sorrow force the
anguished groan 15 What incense to the
Throne we send.
By these sweet words —
"Thy Will be done"
—
Lines written by Arthur
Lynch who died at the
age of eighteen. Excuse writing written
for yourself this morning, This was sent to me
by a dear old nun
with letter of sympathy.
Her brother who died at 18
wrote it years ago
The letter discusses family life following the death of Thomas MacDonagh. The letter deals with personal matters and with issues of finance (pensions, the sale of his Thomas MacDonagh's books, inheritance for the children, concerns about payments from the USA), new housing arrangements for Muriel MacDonagh (wife), thanks to the Plunketts. The letter expresses concern for her brother, Jim, and his family. It urges secrecy for the correspondence between them. The letters are enclosed with three poems on Irish independence.
How to cite
Letters 1916, published by the Austrian Centre for Digital Humanities, Vienna, 2026 (https://letters1916static.github.io/letters1916-static/item__5512.html)