=================================================

		IN THIS ISSUE
=== Foreword
=== News Snaps from Ireland 
=== New free resources at the site
=== Mr. Og - short story      by Bree T. Donovan
=== Tourist Driving in Ireland by Susan Faulkner
=== Irish American - a poem    by  Marty W. Hill
=== Jewelry made from genuine Irish Coins!
=== Morning Song - short story   by A.W. Donahue 
=== Gaelic Phrases of the Month
=== Site of the Month: kirsean.com
=== Monthly free competition result

=================================================

FOREWORD
========

Hi again from Ireland where the sun has finally 
broken through to put an end to one of the 
wettest July's in years. We are always getting 
requests for souvenirs of Irish coins that are 
no longer in circulation, especially since 
Ireland joined the Euro. See below for some 
marvellous necklaces, cufflinks and more made 
from real Irish coins.

Many thanks to our contributors who have again 
sent us in their stories, poems and reports

Why don't YOU submit an article, story or poem 
for the next edition?

Until next time,

ENJOY THE SUMMER,

Michael


WE NEED YOUR HELP!

PLEASE - send this newsletter on to your friends 
or relatives who you think are interested in 
Ireland. By doing this you are helping to keep 
us 'free'.

Got something to say? Don't keep it to yourself!
Why don't you submit an article for inclusion
in the next edition? Go here for more information:
 
https://www.ireland-information.com/newsletter.htm

If you have an AOL or HOTMAIL account then you 
will get much better results by viewing this 
newsletter online here:
 
https://www.ireland-information.com/jul04.htm

The only way that you could have been 
subscribed to this newsletter is by filling 
out a subscription form at the site whereupon 
a confirmation notice would have been issued.

If you wish to unsubscribe then go here:
 
https://www.ireland-information.com/newsletter.htm

=================================================

NEWS SNAPS FROM IRELAND
=======================

RESISTANCE TO SMOKING BAN GROWS

The recently introduced ban on smoking in the 
workplace is being challenged by several publicans 
who are allowing the public to smoke on their 
premises. A Galway pub-owner was forced to close 
his doors after a high court injunction was 
brought against him by the local Health Board. A 
pub owner in Lettermore in Connemara has become 
the first publican to be fined under the new 
legislation. Despite receiving two warnings from 
a Health Board inspector the publican continued 
to allow smoking in his pub and was fined 
EURO 1200. Publicans who continually flout the 
new laws risk having their licences revoked.

A recent report on the effects of the smoking 
ban in New York however, has poured cold water 
on the repeated assertions by publicans in 
Ireland that the smoking ban has caused a 25% 
decrease in trade. The report found that 
business receipts in New York bars and 
restaurants have risen by 8.7% in the last 
year. Employment has also increased by 
over 10,00 jobs.

UN CLAIMS IRELAND SECOND IN POVERTY LIST

A UN report has found that Ireland is second 
only to the US in terms of relative poverty. 
In terms of absolute poverty however, Ireland 
is at an all-time low level of 5%. The UN 
report measured the difference between the 
richer and poorer sections of society and 
found that the gap between the two extremes 
is widening. The UN report states that a 
person is in poverty if they earn less than 
half of the average industrial wage.

The same report found that Irish people are 
the third wealthiest worldwide, trailing 
only Luxembourg and Norway. Ireland's GDP is 
US 36,360 (EURO 29,200), Norway's is US 36,600 
(EURO 29,393).

NEW TRANSPORT SYSTEM IS UNVEILED

Dublin has a new transport system. The 
light-rail 'Luas' system cost nearly 800 
Million Euro and is still being completed. 
The first line runs from Sandyford through 
Ranelagh and on into St. Stephens Green in 
the heart of Dublin City Centre. A second 
line from Tallaght to Abbey Street is due 
to be completed later this year. 

The Luas works have caused considerable 
disruption to the St. Stephens Green are 
and plans are being considered to make one 
half of the square into a car-free zone.

DEMOLITION OF BALLYMUN TOWERS BEGINS

The end is nigh for the infamous Ballymun 
Towers. Despite being beloved by film-makers 
the famous scene where a horse is brought up 
to a top floor flat in 'Into the West' will 
be long remembered), the seven towers are to 
be destroyed and replaced with brand new 
apartments. The total regeneration of Ballymun 
village will cost EURO 2.5 Billion and is among 
the largest building projects currently under 
way in Europe.

HOUSE PRICES CONTINUE TO RISE

The cost of a second hand house in Dublin rose 
by 8% in the first half of 2004. The supply of 
second-hand housing rose by 41% in 2003 
according to a recent survey. The average cost 
of a Dublin house is now EURO 367,000.

Perhaps one of the reasons for the continued 
escalation in prices is the willingness of 
Irish people to get into debt. Current 
estimates put Ireland's debt level at 
EURO 80 Billion, rising by EURO 1 Billion 
per month.


Voice your opinion on these news issues here:

https://www.ireland-information.com/cgi-bin/newsletterboardindex.cgi

=================================================

NEW FREE RESOURCES AT THE SITE
==============================

NEW COATS OF ARMS ADDED TO THE GALLERY:

The following 7 coats of arms images and family
history details have been added to the Gallery:

C: McCall
F: Fair
K: Kipping, Kilpatrick
L: Lloyd
S: McShanag
W: Wheeler

View the Gallery here:

http://www.irishsurnames.com/coatsofarms/gm.htm

We now have over 100,000 worldwide names available.
Get the Coat of Arms Print, Claddagh Ring,
Screensaver, Watch, T-Shirt Transfer or Clock for
your name at:

https://www.irishnation.com/familycrestgifts.htm

=================================================



=================================================

Mr. Og     		By Bree T. Donovan
======

The radio was playing loudly, a song the little 
boy would not be able to recall. The volume was 
necessary so that his mother would not hear what 
was happening in the next room. She stayed 
stationed at the kitchen sink peeling potatoes, 
her hands carefully and skillfully navigating 
the knife over the slippery, hard substance. 
Her husband's hands, slippery with the juice of 
the oranges he was forever eating were 
carelessly and callously making contact with 
the body of their small son. The potato peels 
began to blanket the sink as the song on the 
old fashioned radio reached the chorus, the 
cries of her son mingled with the music. It 
was a haunting sound, one that was frequently 
heard in the house and always met with her 
inaction. She would hear it reverberating in her 
ears until the day she died, long after her son 
was dead. She continued her peeling, gazing out 
the window to the garden she so lovingly tended.

Soon all was quiet, except for the muted sound 
of the child's whimpering. He huddled in a corner 
of his room clutching the soft, well worn teddy 
bear that his mother had made for him. The boy 
named him 'Mr. Og.'. The sting from where his 
father's hands collided with his skin was still 
strong, and fresh welts covered over existing 
bruises. Tears fell from his deep green eyes, 
landing on Mr. Og's velvet brown head. The 
child, Finn, placed a hand over his mouth so that 
his sobs would not be heard. His father was 
forever telling him he was weak, and even at the 
age of seven, Finn understood that crying after 
a beating would most certainly be considered the 
ultimate weakness. He gulped in air. His throat 
felt swollen and raw as he swallowed breath and 
tears. He closed his eyes, the long dark lashes 
shutting out the familiar sights of his room, 
his 'safe place', oddly, his father never 
confronted him here. Finn leaned his head against 
the wall the ringing in his ears was like the 
clanging of hundreds of telephones ringing 
simultaneously. 

This story is continued in the online edition and can be viewed here:
 
https://www.ireland-information.com/jul04.htm#story1




He tightened his grip around the bear and tried to calm himself. He was always in a heightened state of awareness, like a deer in the woods, forever wary of the hunter's gun. He never knew when his father would become upset with him. He had long since given up the effort of trying to anticipate what would set his Da off. Finn knew no matter what the immediate reason his father would offer, (today it had been that the boy did not finish his breakfast) underneath it all was his father's bitter anger over his son's disease. The child could not fathom all the twisted levels of his father's dysfunction, nor did he understand what being a diabetic meant. All the boy knew was that there were many times when he did feel weak and tired. Playing outside with his friends, he would often begin to feel as if 'the world was spinning.' He would ask the other boys if they felt the same. They would simply laugh at 'crazy Finn', but when he would lose consciousness, his playmates would run in fear, being thoughtful enough to summon Nuala, Finn's older sister.

His friends, the few that had chosen to remain knew that Finn's sister was the one to call when he was in trouble. They also were instructed, as was Finn himself that when he began to feel 'the world spinning' he was to eat a small piece of the candies she put into all his pockets, and return to her immediately.

As Finn sat in the darkened room now wiping his nose with a dirty shirt sleeve, the smell of oranges overwhelmed him. His father had been so close. It was if he had infused Finn's very clothing with the scent of his beloved fruit. The odour made the boy gag. He was thinking his father must be right. Finn desperately tried to fight off 'the spells' as his mother referred to them, but he was helpless to stop his body from succumbing to the unattended diabetes. What Finn did not know and would not until he had reached adulthood, was that his parents were the very ones responsible for 'the spells' by their indifference in ensuring he received the proper medication and care. They would make minimal effort to obtain insulin for him, and assist him with the proper nutrition, but all the scared little boy curled up in the shadows knew was that there was something terribly wrong with him, something that was his fault and prevented his father and mother from loving him. He buried his tear streaked face into Mr. Og and prayed once again that whatever it was he was doing wrong, the Lord help him to be the kind of child who would be worthy of his parents' love. 

He woke to the feeling of his sister's soft hands against his face. She whispered his name, and he could smell the plate of mashed potatoes and vegetables she brought for him. He looked at her with luminous eyes, the eyes of an old soul. Often times his mother would have to look away when her boy would stare up into her face. His eyes bore right through her very heart. They were emerald, like their beloved homeland, Ireland, but unlike anyone in their immediate family. She had a feeling that he was not of their family, even though she had carried his developing body for nine months, and delivered him not without great pain. She was still certain that he was not of this world. His eyes reflected a destination far removed from his present situation. Despite the horrible violence inflicted upon him that she most certainly was a party to in her refusal to confront it, he radiated a feeling of peace that was disturbing in its vastness. He was a dreamy little boy who was most happy walking alone lost in his thoughts. His mother wished she could see what he was thinking. He drew such wonderfully vivid pictures. She had unearthed some once under a pile of clothing in his room. The colorful depictions expressed his confusion and pain, but always there was strangely an element of joyous wonder of the world, even though she knew first hand the hell that was his home.

On her death bed she would say that her son's unearthly eyes never left her. She did not see him again soon after his seventh birthday. He would live only to age thirty, but to her, he would always be that peaceful, creative, angelic little boy. Finn was the one she called out to when she died. 

His sister sat before him now holding the warm plate in front of him. He was grateful for her presence, at least he would be safe for the rest of the night. He wanted more to sleep than to eat, but he knew it was useless to argue with her. When Nuala said to eat, he did so even though his stomach turned with every morsel that was ingested. After he had made the great effort of eating all that he could, she put the plate aside and smoothed the greasy hair from his eyes. He smiled at her, and the look of pure love and trust it reflected only confirmed the decision she had made earlier in the day. 'Come then love, let's give you a bath.' she said taking his small hand His smile faded. He never liked anyone to see him naked, but he also treasured the feeling of sinking deep down into the calming, warm water of the tub. Nuala was always gentle with him so he nodded his agreement. 

When she picked her brother up he tried not to cry out in pain, but as soon as his exposed, beaten body was in the water, she sat back in horror, seeing bruise on top of bruise. His eyes were so large in his sunken face. He looked like an owl staring back at her, pleading in silence for her help. 'My God!' was all she said and brought the child close to her. She began to cry tears of sheer disgust and frustration. 'Sweet Finny, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.' She wept into his chestnut hair.	
He broke free from her hold and put a soapy hand up to her cheek. 'Don't cry, Leela. I'm okay. Please don't cry.' His words made the tears push further from her eyes, but she desperately tried to compose herself for his sake. She looked into his wounded face and a fierce determination filled her whole being.
Looking down at her little brother's wounded body she made a vow that she would never break. 'You will be okay, Finny. I promise you that.' The boy believed her. He knew she always did the best she could to shield him from their father's rage, and that was enough for him. He slept that night, unbeknownst to his parents, cuddled next to his sister feeling the blissful escape that sleep offered.

The next morning the sun streamed into the room like golden strings of thread. Finn blinked his eyes open, and saw his sister hastily packing suitcases. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like a thousand pin pricks were jabbing at his skin. 'What are you doing, Leela?' he asked in a panic. It appeared as if she was leaving him. If she did, what was he to do? His mind raced and his eyes immediately began to fill with tears. She came to him sensing his fear. 
	
	'Finn, don't cry. I am not leavin' ya. We are going to be together, and no one will ever hurt you again.' The boy did not understand the gravity of her statement. He looked into her blue eyes, the color of their mother's, but Nuala's were much softer, and kinder. She was only seventeen years old, but she felt years older having lived in this house. He reached out and stroked her long, dark hair, much like his own. Everyone who saw them concluded they must be related. For years to come most would think them to be mother and son, and they became as much. He saw her reach for the all too familiar needle, while slightly raising the blue flannel pajama top to uncover his forearm.
Throwing his head back he squealed, 'NOOOO!' 
	'Shh... Now you know you must be my brave boy.' she soothed.	
Before the needle made contact with his skin, releasing the life sustaining insulin his body needed, he raised his head to look at her. 'But you just said no one was going to hurt me!' 
She paused holding the needle in mid-air, her heart so full of love for this child. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. 'No one but me giving you your insulin will ever hurt you again.'	
	He wrinkled up his mouth preparing for the unavoidable. 'I can be brave for that.' He said offering her his arm. 

Nuala quickly helped Finn dress. He stayed close by her side as she led him into the kitchen. Their father had left for work hours ago, and their mother was once again at her post doing dishes at the sink. She turned when she saw her two children enter. Nuala began to take things from the refrigerator: insulin vials that she bought with the money she earned from her job at the local grocery store after school, a bottle of milk and other small items the boy could not make out. He stood quietly waiting for his sister. Their mother was shocked to see the two in their coats and hats, suitcases in hand. It looked surreal to her. The children reminded her of the pictures of Irish who immigrated to America only to arrive at Ellis Island with no more than their suitcases and dreams for a better life. Finn and Nuala were not unlike their ancestral travelers in that regard.	
	Wiping her hands on a towel their mother spoke, 'Goin' somewhere are ya?'	
	Nuala stood in front of the woman she would no longer regard as their mother or as anyone of importance in their lives. 'Yes we are. I am taking him to where your sick husband can no longer hurt him!' Their mother stepped back in mild surprise. This was not the first time Nuala had stood up for Finn. She had even come between father and son during the abuse. When Nuala was home their father never raised a finger to Finn, because he would never raise a finger to his 'darlin' girl.' Nuala even threatened to take Finn away from them, but being that she was only a teenager, their mother dismissed her threats as an impossibility. What their mother did not know was that Nuala had made arrangements with a friend who was of age and rented her own flat, which she offered to share until Nuala could make more permanent arrangements. She stood in front of her mother now, a look of defiance on her otherwise pretty face. 
	
	'You will do no such thing. Now put all that back and get yourselves ready for school!' the mother commanded. She still did move from her place in front of the sink. She didn't feel any other demands would be necessary.	
Her daughter's eyes flashed with anger and resolve. 'The hell we will! You are worthless!' Finn looked to his sister astounded at her words and the venom they contained. 
	'You watch your tone with me lass!' their mother answered still smarting from the emotional slap from her daughter.
	'You watch this! You take a look at this!' the girl said pulling up her brother's white woolen sweater. Finn was baffled by his sister's actions, but he knew as always in this house, to stay still and quiet. He saw his mother's body sway slightly and he wondered if she too felt 'the world was spinning.' The bruises on her son's body were as vivid and colorful as the pictures he drew. But these were portraits of unbearable pain right there on the canvas of his skin, impossible to ignore. 

Nuala screamed hurdling all her disgust and frustration at her mother. 'Look at what you let happen to your son! Where were you? You will never see him or me again- not unless you and that brute of a husband of yours can admit what you have done to Finn!' Finn began to shake, frightened by his sister's outburst and seeing how it upset his mother. Nuala instantly regretted putting her brother in such a difficult but necessary position.	
	She knelt down to address him. 'Remember what we talked about Finny, no one is going to hurt you again.' She pulled his sweater back down over his trousers. He thought about the small vials of insulin in her bag and for once was grateful if indeed that was all the pain he would ever have to face. He trusted his sister more than anyone and he needed her more than anyone. His expressive eyes gave her his agreement. Their mother stood, trying to hold back her own tears of remorse, not saying a word. She knew she was as powerless to stop them from going as she had been from stopping her husband's abuse of her son. Years later she would realize with bitter regret that she was only powerless because of her own weakness and fear. She did not have Nuala's strong will. Strange as it was, the young girl possessed the unshakable purpose of her father, but she had used it to stand up for herself and her brother, rather than to berate and abuse as their father had. 
	
	'Say goodbye to your son!' Nuala spat as she moved towards the door with her brother in hand. Their mother neither moved nor spoke holding the gaze of those piercing green eyes for as long as she could, but Finn's eyes looked beyond hers. As his sister whisked him out the door, the last thing he saw was a full bowl of oranges on the kitchen counter. Then the door closed behind them. The two were just beginning their lifelong journey. They would never be separated for too long, and he never again felt a violent hand on his body. Because of his sister's brave actions, Finn grew into a gentle, loving man with a quick wit, contagious laugh and a great passion for helping the children of his country. Again and again he risked his life working against the violent forces that occupied Ireland, against men much like his own father who crushed all that was beautiful and innocent for their own selfish motives. Finn's thirty years of life were filled with the dreams and passions that most men who reach old age never realize. He fought against brutality, traveled to America, fell in love. Finn touched the world as an angel does when brushing his wings quietly against the earth and then is gone. 

Finn's mother went to his room after her children walked out. Her heart was heavy, but in a lighted corner, it was easy at the thought that her son would finally be safe. Sitting on his bed, her eye caught something lying on the floor. She knew immediately what it was by its simple shape. She had created it. She reached down and took Mr. Og into her hands. She pressed the bear against her cheek and let the tears she had held back for what had been ages to come. She knew where her son was going he would no longer need the comfort of the familiar bear. But she would hold on to the small stuffed animal until the day she died, and when she did, she passed it on to the woman that her son had given his heart to. 

Some thirty years later, that same woman, the keeper of Finn's heart would lie in her bed in the dark of night. She clung to the bear whose arms constantly needed sewing the face worn down to white patches in spots, and the once bright yellow ribbon around his neck tattered and faded. But the bear was a symbol of which she would never let go. The deteriorating bear represented the unbreakable power of love and life. Finn's hands, the hands that once touched her so lovingly and gently, had long since let go of the bear and her, by letting go of his life. But this bear was a precious reminder in the most simple and glorious of ways that the permanence of love and the strength of a promise long survives the grip of violence and death.  




Bree T. Donovan
Moorestown, NJ, USA





=================================================

YOU CAN HELP TO KEEP THIS FREE NEWSLETTER ALIVE!

Visit https://www.irishnation.com

where you can get great Irish gifts, prints, 
claddagh jewellery, engraved glassware and 
much more.

Timothy Meade got some family crest watches as 
gifts for his wedding groomsmen:

 Michael,

 The watches are amazing. They arrived at just the 
 right time. I really appreciate that you didn't 
 bill me for the extra shipping. It warms the 
 cockles of me heart.

 Thanks for making my wedding day just that much 
 more beautiful.

 Tim

See here for family crest gifts:
Visit https://www.irishnation.com/familycrestgifts.htm

==================================================

TOURIST DRIVING IN IRELAND       by Susan Faulkner
==========================

On arriving in Doolin, there was an article framed 
on the wall at our B&B, which I did not read until 
after the fact, that tourists cause between 5% and
8% of the accidents on Irish roads. 

There are probably several reasons for this:

* Most folks are used to driving on the 'right' 
  side of the road. 

* The driver is trying to sight-see along with the 
  passengers who have promised to help navigate

* Many of the streets, even in the cities, are 
  barely wide enough for 2 cars side-by-side and 
  folks tend to travel the middle until a vehicle 
  comes along

* The car itself and the locale are most likely 
  unfamiliar to the driver

* Some drivers are driving under the influence 
  of time change and corresponding jet lag

* We were told by our travelers insurance that 
  their car coverage is not accepted in Ireland 
  so tourists need to be sure to pay the extra 
  10 euros or whatever per day for liability.

We had an accident, luckily (?) with an American 
living in Australia, also driving a Hertz car, 
that I did not see until we were head-on on a 
dark rainy night on a curve preceded by a dip 
from which he had come. 

He said I was in the middle of the road, turned 
first slightly to the right (instinct prevailing) 
then toward the left (rational mind took over) 
where I was supposed to be. Neither of us had 
much room to negotiate as there were stone walls 
on both sides of a narrow road with no lines. 
We were both going slowly, but our right fronts 
hit doing damage to fenders, hoods,lights and 
pushing my bumper against the wheel. Best of all, 
no one was hurt, we proceeded to our B&B, two 
blocks away, together amiably we filled out the 
accident forms and called the Hertz company, 
and no garda (Irish police) were available at 
10:30 pm for what they called a minor accident. 
Mostly they were all stationed at Shannon 
airport for President Bush's security.

Next day a local mechanic checked out the car as 
undriveable and I rode with the tow truck driver 
to pick up another. My companions did wash, 
reorganized our stuff and relaxed, cozy in our 
B&B during the only wind and bad rain of our 14 
day visit. 

As we had not paid the 'extra charge for rental 
car insurance' we were liable for a total of 
936 euros including towing. That is about 1176 
American Dollars. There is a chance that my credit 
card will pay it - maybe! The reason we had not 
taken the 'extra car insurance' was because we 
had paid a lot for travelers insurance and 
thought we were covered. Trouble is, it is not 
honored for car accidents in Ireland or Italy.

After I picked everyone up we drove the new car 
only as needed. Hertz would not let me take the 
insurance and the liability was now Euro 2000. 
Scary thought!!!!! On top of the previous Euro 936.

All in all though, we had a wonderful third Irish 
trip, in B&B's from Dublin South along the coast 
up to the Burren and the Aran Islands. Must have 
walked 50 miles and learned so much. Two of us 
are going back next year as well. We stayed at 
several great B&B's and now really feel that is 
the way to go getting to know real Irish people, 
and getting tips on things one might never hear 
about.

I just thought this info could be helpful to 
others. Folks might like to check out more than 
one rental company via the internet and read 
carefully the provisions. They vary from one 
company to the other.

Susan Faulkner
Redding California

EDITOR'S NOTE: 

Susan was lucky! She had an accident with a 
fellow tourist who was likely to be more 
sympathetic to her. Apart from the United 
States, Ireland is the most litigious country 
in the world! People go to court here for 
anything. Our insurance costs are through the 
roof, mostly caused by personal injury claims 
and especially those related to car accidents. 

If you do have an accident with someone in Ireland 
the best thing you could do is call the police 
(the Garda) immediately. The person you had an 
accident with may seem to be reasonable and 
understanding, but there is always the possibility 
that they will later check in to the local 
hospital in order to make a (false) whip-lash 
claim. Get their car registration number, take 
pictures of the scene, get their insurance number 
(it is on the insurance certificate on the front 
window of their car) - call the garda!

Get free Irish tourist information here:

https://www.ireland-information.com/irishtouristinformation.htm

=================================================

IRISH AMERICAN		by  Marty W. Hill
==============

Hours spent wondering what the cool breath of 
your sea felt like on my skin
Where I came from, where you had been
The tear in my eyes reflecting your soul
In it's raw green winters
and soft trill of a church's toll
the damp of the earth 
where my family lies
nameless, unknown and tears uncried
No one can understand the emptiness
when you don't know who you are
You struggle to find a name
a photo with a face
under a sky with the same star
Ragged and unwanted we left our heart
knowing that we could never come home
the thousands of miles to keep us apart
Our mother's names dying when we did
never to be spoken
but the love of the land of our beginning
never unbroken
We search and wish to belong
A twist of fate of two lands
a love equally as strong
We are who we are 
our memories lost
our lives divided by poverty
with it's cold cost
We survived
We are the Irish of spirit
which will never die
Home is a land under two bits of sky

Marty W. Hill

=================================================

JEWELRY MADE FROM GENUINE IRISH COINS!
======================================

John and Janice Germain have been creating 
wondrous coin jewelry since 1972. Ireland now 
uses the EURO with all coins having the famous 
Irish harp on them. Now you can get fantastic 
mementos of Ireland's past coins that have been 
made into necklaces, cufflinks, money-clips, 
tie-tacs and even earrings!

All of the jewellery is create using genuine 
Irish two-toned Gold on Silver coins. These 
real coins are first layered in pure Bright 
Silver, then the figures of each are highlighted 
and brought to life with rich pure 24K Gold 
(this work is done by hand). This breathtaking 
and exclusive work turns these coins into 
stunning and true works of art. Each coin is 
hermetically sealed against wear in a clear, 
hard acrylic coating. 

You can view these unique Irish gifts here:

https://www.irishnation.com/irishcoinjewellery.htm

SUBSCRIBERS ONLY DISCOUNT! Readers of this 
newsletter can get a 10% discount on any order 
of Irish coin jewelry - valid until 
10th August 2004. When you place your order put 
the words NEWSLETTER DISCOUNT into the 'any other 
comments' part of the order form - easy!

=================================================

Morning Song			by A.W. Donahue 
============

'We'll keep the home fire burning,
keep the flame of Liberty alive-
For the fire burns bright
in our hearts tonight,
for the long lost prodigal's return
ever mindful of the prodigal's return.'
	-Irish Rebellion Song, circa 1920

Johnny Kavanagh woke in the small hours of the 
morning to his mother's sobs. She'd been crying 
for days, and it didn't seem like she would stop. 
He didn't understand why she cried so much, it 
kept him awake at night and left a pit of 
unexplained sorrow in the hollow just below his 
breast. His father was gone, he'd taken the broken 
bundle of bones that had been his brother to the 
parish priest to bury. That meant Johnny, too young 
to be a man and go with his father and too old to 
be a babe and comfort his mother, was lost in a 
silence broken only by a spark of rage he couldn't 
explain. He wasn't old enough to know sorrow in 
its true form yet, and his conception of pain was 
being smacked upside his head while wrestling 
with his dead brother.

When sleep proved impossible, he lit a fire in the 
low room where David's body had lain, stretched 
out like Christ on the table. His grandmother, 
the widow O'Shea, sat in the corner, smoking a 
pipe thoughtfully and looking every so often out 
the window into the lane. When the light caught 
her cheek in the right way, he could see the 
gleam of tears, other than that, Grandmother's 
grief was invisible. From the other room, he 
could hear Aunt Cathy whispering to his mother. 
A low rumbling came from his stomach, and he 
walked to his grandmother, who started a little 
bit when she spied him sulking in the 
near-shadows of dawn.

'My word, boy, I thought ye a ghost, ye looked 
just like yer poor brother,' she tisked in the 
back of her throat and took a drag on her pipe. 
The smoke she exhaled billowed on the air.
'I'm hungry,' he said, and pointed to his stomach.
'We all are,' his Grandmother said, but she only 
sat there, 'There's nothing to eat, naught in 
the whole city, it seems.'

This story is continued in the online edition and can be viewed here:
 
https://www.ireland-information.com/jul04.htm#story2



Little Johnny sighed and sat on the floor, 
sitting before the coals and poking at them with 
a twig. An empty pot hung over the orange-red 
rocks, and he eyed it. Maybe if he rubbed it, 
one of his father's genies would pop out and 
grant him three wishes. He didn't raise a finger, 
though. He may have been a boy, but he was old 
enough to know that stories were only stories, 
and that there was no such thing as magic. 
The English had killed it.

After awhile he stood up, restless, and walked 
over to his grandmother's window. He couldn't 
see anyone outside. The town was in grief, and 
black smoke overhead reminded him of the band 
his father sometimes wore around his arm. But 
he soon tired and sat back down on the floor. 
His eyes were drawn to the table where his 
brother had lain, and even with the light 
obscured by sadness he could make out blood, 
just a tiny bit, on one of the corners, where 
David's hand had dripped crimson tears.

They brought him in two mornings ago, and he 
still remembered the hail of curses to fall 
from his father's mouth, and the cold chill of 
his mother's screams. David's eyes were open, 
staring blankly at the ceiling. Johnny watched 
his father put pennies over them, and wondered 
why he was doing that, when they needed food 
so much in this house. There had to be better 
uses for coins, he was old enough to know that. 
Below his brother's pale face his chest was a 
red ruin, bone and blood and flesh twisted by 
hot lead. His father used his coat to cover the 
wound, but Johnny saw it, so did his mother. 
Maybe that was why she couldn't stop crying, 
the wound had scared her so bad, like dreams 
did to him sometimes.

The door opened and his father came in. He had 
a sack and he put it on the table. A loaf of 
bread fell out, and Johnny watched his father 
walk into the other room. There was the muted 
muttering of a shift change and Aunt Cathy came 
out, her red hair dazzling in the light of the 
sun, now breaking through the smoke. She said 
something to Grandmother, and then came over 
to Johnny, hugging him fiercely to her.

'And how are you today, me fine boy?' She asked, `
and stroked his hair. He leaned into her, 
enjoying her soft caress. After a moment he 
looked up at her, his eyes darkened by shadow.

'I'm hungry,' he said, and Aunt Cathy smiled.
'We're all hungry.'
This was so much of an echo that he looked at his 
grandmother, but she only sat there, looking out 
the window. It was now bright enough to see his 
sleeping rug in the opposite corner, and the 
picture of Saint Francis of Assisi hanging on the 
wall over the hearth. Aunt Cathy saw him looking 
and smiled grimly. From the next room he heard a 
loud wail and a muffled cry.
'My boy! My boy!'
It was his father's voice. A moment later his 
mother's rang out, loud and cold.
'Goddamn you, England.'
It was the first time he'd heard that phrase, and 
he didn't understand it. But it had a ring of 
menace to it that he couldn't ignore, and he 
looked towards the door, hoping he wasn't in 
trouble. It was that tone his mother used when she 
was mad at him or at his brother. Aunt Cathy swung 
her head up to listen, and when she looked back at 
him, she saw his fear.
'Don't worry, little one. 'Tis not you she storms 
about.'
Johnny nodded. He knew that, but it was good to 
be reassured. It had something to do with David. 
His brother had been so badly hurt that he wouldn't 
wake up, ever. Grandfather was hurt that bad once, 
and although death was a strange concept, he 
grasped its meaning. He would never see David 
again, nor would his mother or his father. Maybe 
that's why they cried. Maybe they would miss him 
too much. He hoped they wouldn't go to where he'd 
gone, and leave him alone with Aunt Cathy and 
Grandmother.

Cathy took up the loaf of bread and filled the 
kettle on the coals with water from a pitcher on 
the table, using the pot to stir the embers up 
into the semblance of a flame. She looked back 
at Johnny.
'No tay today, me boy. So we'll take our water 
hot.'
Johnny nodded and sat against the wall. His 
mother's sobs were gone now, as were his father's. 
But he sensed them just below the surface, 
waiting to be stirred up like trout in the river. 
He remembered fishing with Dave once, and how 
they'd come home, dripping wet and without a 
catch. Father had laughed and thrown their 
clothes on the grate over the fire to dry. As if 
commanded by his thought, his mother cried again, 
a shaking, shifting sound that ground against 
his ears and his eyes and tore at his heart.
Some time passed in silence.
'Poor souls,' Grandmother said from the corner. 
Her pipe was empty, but she sucked on the end 
still, trying to smoke what wasn't there. 
'May the Lord Jesus be with them and comfort 
them.'
'Amen,' Aunt Cathy said from the table. She 
wiped up the blood, but it took some doing. 
Her arms were sweaty and straining. 'There used 
to be a good bit o' singing in this house come 
mornings, but those days are gone now.'
'Aye,' Grandmother said, 'A shame it is, too. 
Yer sister had such a pretty voice.'
Johnny cocked his head, this he understood less 
than the grief from the next room. Why should 
his mother stop singing because Dave went away? 
Why should his father keep from the merry jigs 
and reels he was so famous for?
'Ah, water's boilin,' Aunt Cathy took the cups 
from the shelf above the hearth and poured 
steaming draughts into three of them. She handed 
one to Grandmother, but the old woman did not 
drink. She gave one to Johnny and he sipped at 
it, testing its heat. She took a long draught of 
her own and handed out slices of bread cut so 
thin he could see through them in places.
'This is no way for a human being to live,' 
Grandmother said, 'Drinkin hot water and eatin 
a waif of bread in the mornin. My father told me 
about the feasts they used to have in the time 
of Cuchulain. T'weren't any English here then.'
'Aye', Aunt Cathy said, and looked towards the 
bedroom door. 'But there'll be better times.'
'Amen, if that be a prayer.'
'If only it were.'
'Aye.'
Johnny sat in the corner, watching them. Outside, 
he could hear some children playing, but knew he 
wouldn't be joining them. He stared at the table 
and looked at where his brother, nearly a man, 
had lain, pennies over his eyes and chest covered 
by a cheap, torn coat. He looked at the hearth 
where his mother sang every morning in the Irish, 
her voice untangled by the tears that now kept it 
from coming without sobs. He needed to hear her 
sing, but Grandmother was right. It would be a 
great piece of time before anyone sang in this 
house again. A groan came from his stomach and he 
drank more water. It came again and he looked up 
at Aunt Cathy.
'I'm hungry.'
'We all are,' she said, but sliced him another 
piece of bread, this time a little thicker. 
'Take your time with that because it comes dear.'
'Aye,' said Grandmother, 'But not so dear as 
dignity, now does it, or freedom mayhap? Bread 
costs only a man's coin, but the things we really 
need, the things we crave, why... those things 
cost God's given blood, don't they?'

Aunt Cathy said nothing, but Johnny saw her nod. 
A tear rolled down her face, and he watched it 
drip into the fire, where it hissed on the coals.

By A.W. Donahue
(C) 2004

=================================================

YOU CAN HELP TO KEEP THIS FREE NEWSLETTER ALIVE!

Visit https://www.irishnation.com

where you can get great Irish gifts, prints, 
claddagh jewellery, engraved glassware and 
much more.

Anne MacDonald ordered a family crest plaque:

 Hello, Michael,

 Received my plaque, carefully wrapped, 
 in good order. It is splendid! I am 
 thrilled, and I know that my dad, for whose 
 81st birthday this was ordered, will love 
 it. I would like to order another one! 

 Everyone who has seen the plaque has been 
 really impressed, even those who, as my 
 daughter says are 'not into ancestor 
 worship!'

 Again, my hearty thanks for this 
 first-class product.

 Best wishes for happy holiday season.

 Sincerely, Anne MacDonald

View family crest plaques here:
https://www.irishnation.com/familycrestplaques.htm

=================================================

You can help to keep this FREE newsletter alive!

Visit https://www.irishnation.com

where you can get great Irish gifts, prints, 
claddagh jewellery, engraved glassware and 
much more.

Claire Latevola ordered an engraved ring:

 Dear Michael,

 I did want to let you know the watch I ordered 
 for my Sister's birthday, with the Nugent crest,
 was lovely. 

 She received it in short order and was delighted. 
 I recently saw it and was very happy with it. 
 Sometimes you feel you are taking a chance placing 
 such an order, but I would not hesitate to place an 
 order again thru your system.

 Again, thank you.

 Claire Latevola

Get your Family Crest ring here:
 https://www.irishnation.com/familycrestrings.htm

=================================================

GAELIC PHRASES OF THE MONTH
===========================
 
PHRASE: 		bean mo chroi
PRONOUNCED:	bann muh kree
MEANING:		Woman of my heart

PHRASE: 		Ta tu go halainn
PRONOUNCED:	taw two guh haul-inn
MEANING:		You are beautiful

PHRASE: 		An bposfaidh tu me?
PRONOUNCED:	on boes-igg two may
MEANING:		Will you marry me?

View the archive of phrases here:

https://www.ireland-information.com/irishphrases.htm

=================================================

SHAMROCK SITE OF THE MONTH: KIRSEAN.COM

Kirsean Family Websites offers a full range of 
functionality and ease for families wanting 
superb family websites and excellent value for 
money! Just add text and images...so easy!

Load up to 1000 photos!
A must for Family Historians!

http://www.kirsean.com

=================================================

JULY COMPETITION RESULT
========================

The winner was: mcnulty3@cox.net
who will receive the following: 

A Single Family Crest Print (decorative) 
(US$19.99 value)

Send us an email to claim your prize, and well 
done! Remember that all subscribers to this 
newsletter are automatically entered into the 
competition every time. 

=================================================

I hope that you have enjoyed this issue.

Until next time,

Have a great Summer!

Michael Green,
Editor,
The Information about Ireland Site.

https://www.ireland-information.com
Click here to contact us