Letter from Mary MacDonagh, Sister Francesca, to her brother Jim MacDonagh upon the death of their brother Thomas MacDonagh, 9 May 1916 Letters 1916-1923 Mary MacDonagh, Sister Francesca

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 Austrian Centre for Digital Humanities Vienna, AT 2026

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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.

 National Library of Ireland NLI MS 44,322 /5. Collection List 131 https://letters1916.ie/item/5512 English Mary MacDonagh, Sister Francesca 1916-09-05 Jim MacDonagh Female Politics Easter Rising Ireland 1916 Politics Personal Relations The Rising Tide (1917-1919) Civil War (1922-1923) War of Independence (1919-1921)

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 Poor Jim kept thisletter I wrote himre Tomas death in1916, all the yearstill his own death1926. Fintan got itamong his papers& brought itto me 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 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 chnseducation 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 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 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 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. 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 inour hearts, & we shall not forget Uplifted on the winds of heaven their souls are free at last Though scornfully their noble forms 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 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 Heres to you, men I never metBut hope to meet, beyond the VeilThronged on some starry parapetThat looks down upon InnisfailAnd see the confluence of dreamsThat clashed together in our nightOne river, born of many streamsRoll in one blaze of blindinglight Dublin 1916 By A NewmanPriv. I VolunteerYou poured your spies upon her streetYou ringed her round with steelFor four most hideous centuriesShe lay beneath your heel;You dug your forces round her gatesYou built your barracks wellAnd in your castled heart devisedFoul deeds — too foul for hell 2And there you planned the EpitaphOf Ireland day by day 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 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 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 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 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 Mary MacDonagh, Sister Francesca Letter from Mary MacDonagh, Sister Francesca, to her brother Jim MacDonagh upon the death of their brother Thomas MacDonagh, 9 May 1916