Pilgrimage West
By Vera McFadden

Saint Patrick

Saint Patrick's day is celebrated not just in Ireland but world wide, as throughout the years so many people have emigrated to different countries and brought the traditions and practices with them.

Saint Patrick first came to this country as a captive and he was sold as a slave. He was only sixteen when he was captured by Irish raiders led by Niall of the Nine Hostages. It was about the year 432.

Patrick was bought by a farmer and sent to watch flocks on Sliabh Mis - Slemish. He felt bewildered, lonely, anxious in this place, and in his trouble he began to pray, and God let him be aware of his comforting, protecting Presence. When later he had a dream about a ship which would take him home, he knew it was a message from God. So he set out and travelled about two hundred miles until he came to the ship. Many years later, he was captured again, but God let him know that this captivity would last only for two months, and on the sixtieth day he escaped.

It was another dream that led him back to Ireland. In this one he saw a man called Victorious coming from Ireland with many letters. He gave one to Patrick and the first words read: "The Voice of the Irish", and he heard them calling, "We beseech you, boy, come and walk among us once more." Patrick later became a priest and then a Bishop, and he was sent to Ireland to evangelise.

He landed at Saul in County Down, where he was given a great welcome. At Slane he lit a fire before the ard ri traditionally lit the first fire at Tara. Because of this, he was brought before the ard ri for questioning, and he said he had lit a fire which would never go out, as the bonfire he had lit was symbolic of the light of faith in this country. Patrick's mission was very successful in Ireland, more than Palladius or any of the earlier missionaries like Declan who had been active in the Waterford area. Of course their message would have spread to other places, preparing the ground. Another reason for his success was the fact that he knew the Irish already, as he had been here before, though in a different role. This had given him the opportunity to become familiar with the Irish customs and way of life. He knew that they had a spirituality which thought in threes, so they would be able to accept readily the doctrine of the Most Holy Trinity. Surely he also understood the language after his years of bondage here. So Patrick was well qualified for the Irish mission, but the greatest asset he had was that he was powerfully guided by the Holy Sprit, as can be seen from his writings, the "Confession" and the Letter to Coroticus".

Patrick travelled throughout many parts of the country, founding churches, ordaining priests, baptising. The main church was at Armagh - Ard Macha, Height of Macha, a local princess. Another famous foundation was at Downpatrick (Dun Padraig - Patrick's Fort). where the saint is said to be buried, though the rock that bears his name is not the actual site of his grave. No one knows where that is, nor do they know where Colmcille or Brigid are buried, for the remains of all three saints were, like others, moved to safer more secret places due to Norse invasions, and these secret burial sites are now long forgotten.

However there are many places associated historically or traditionally with Saint Patrick, and some of these have a centuries-old turas or pilgrimage connected with them. One of them is at Grianan Aileach which is only a few miles from where I lived as a child.

Of course Saint Patrick's Day was always well celebrated in Derry. There was always a special atmosphere of exuberance about the seventeenth of March. Each year in the various little classrooms of the girls' school at Rosemount village rehearsed the songs, "Dochas Linn, Naomh Padraig" and "Hail, Glorious Saint Patrick". We hadn't a clue what the words of "Dochas Linn" meant, but we had the pronunciation right.

Then near the feastday we were marched in a two deep line down Creggan Road to Saint Eugene's Cathedral with other lines from the boys' school and the convent school also converging on the church.

We filled the pews. Behind the altar rails there was a big banner with a picture of Saint Patrick at the water's edge, ordering the snakes off Irish soil. He was wearing a bishop's green hat and long green vestment. Years later, I was to learn that in fact there had never been any snakes in Ireland, and that his attire in the picture was not the costume of his period, but at the time that picture portrayed him as a powerful figure and that is the way most of us would still visualise him.

On the feast day, which was a holiday, no self respecting person would appear in public without some shamrocks pinned to the coat lapel. Everyone searched for shamrocks in the park or the country hedges which were not very far from home. It had to be carefully identified from clover. For a few days before, my mother had little bunches of shamrock sitting in a cup of water on the kitchen window sill. That seemed very important to her. I wrote the following in memory of her:

Shamrock

You never forgot Patrick's message
And in honour of the Trinity
You made sure we all had green springs
On the seventeenth
"Don't forget your shamrocks!"
You would remind us
From you we learned
To try to serve the Deity.
We were not allowed to forget
This purpose of our lives.
"Where's your sharmrock?"
Reminding symbol
For a millennium and a half
Link with Patrick's message
Of the Three in One and one in Three
Link with the Supernatural
The trefoil has become
A message from me to you.
You gave me shamrocks yearly.
Now I leave shamrocks on your grave.
I'll remember.

The luckier among us also had a special badge for the great day. The badges provided splendid backgrounds for the shamrocks. They came in several shapes - cut out as harps, Tara brooches, big shamrocks, etc. from green, red, yellow and gold tinfoil, the more luxurious of them decorated with sequins and most of them with green tassels or two pieces of green ribbon, some of them with a medal of Saint Patrick himself

Saint Patrick's night was the night of the ceilidhe mor and everyone tried to wear something green. I loved that colour, and still do, though my mother had a traditional belief that it was unlucky. I remember saving up to buy a green kimono which was in the window of Cooke's shop in the Strand Road, and feeling great on Saint Patrick's night when I wore it at the ceilidhe mor in the Guildhall.

Back