File 307 - Poems prompted by the closing of Mungret College

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IE IJA SC/MUNG/307

Title

Poems prompted by the closing of Mungret College

Date(s)

  • 1972 (Creation)

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2 items

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Name of creator

(14 April 1896-26 October 1981)

Biographical history

Born: 14 April 1896, Forkhill, County Armagh
Entered: 29 March 1921, Manresa, Roehampton, London / St Stanislaus College, Tullabeg, County Offaly
Ordained: 31 July 1933, Milltown Park, Dublin
Final Vows: 02 February 1936, Coláiste Iognáid, Galway
Died: 26 October 1981, Coláiste Iognáid, Galway

by 1935 at St Beuno’s, Wales (ANG) making Tertianship

◆ Fr Francis Finegan : Admissions 1859-1948 - Clerk before Entry; Transcribed from ANG to HIB 05 January 1922

◆ Irish Province News
Irish Province News 57th Year No 1 1982
Obituary

Fr Francis McSwiggan (1896-1921-1981)

Born in Forkhill, Co Armagh, in 1896. Fr McSwiggan entered the Society at Manresa, Roehampton, on 29th March 1921, and came to Tullabeg during his noviceship. We (fellow-novices of his, who had entered on 31st August 1921) understood that he had been working in England, and so joined the Society there. As he was hoping to work in Ireland, the transfer to the Irish noviceship was arranged.
He was then 25 years old, while most of us, just out of school, were 16, 17 or 18. “Mac”, as we came to know him, was quiet, not talkative, with little sense of humour. He was not amused by the fiddle-faddles which sent young novices into fits of giggles.
Noviceships are normally uneventful, the one event of his noviceship which stands out in memory was his vow-day, Easter Sunday, 1923, when he could easily have been shot dead. We novices were out on a long-table day walk to Bellair hill some eight miles away. The road from Tullabeg to Ballycumber, after passing the Island chapel, crossed the railway line from Clara to Ferbane and Banagher. The hump-backed bridge over the line has since been demolished and the railway itself is closed.)
The Civil War was on at the time, and the “irregulars” (as those of the IRA who would not accept the Free State were called) had blown up a railway bridge over a stream about two hundred yards from where we crossed the line. They had set in motion a train from Clara, with no one on it, and when it came to the blown-up bridge, it overturned and rolled down the embankment.
On their walk, several novices went down the line to inspect the wreckage. It was guarded by Free State soldiers under a jittery young officer, who was highly suspicious of several groups of young men converging on him across the bog. Someone explained that we were clerical students out for a walk: but when he saw three more standing on the bridge staring down, he yelled and signalled to them to move off. Perhaps they did not hear him. They did not move, just stood staring; “Mac” in the middle, Fr Charlie Daly (Hong Kong) and if I remember aright Jock Finnegan who later left us. Seizing his rifle and taking aim, the officer announced in lurid language that he'd soon shift them to hell out of that. An older novice prevailed on him not to fire: they were only four fellows and hadn't heard him: he (the novice) would run up the line and get them to move on: which he did. Thus Fr “Mac” could easily have been shot dead on his vow-day.
Instead, a long life of faithful devoted work was opening before him. The 1923 Status sent him to Milltown for philosophy. In 1926 he went as Doc to Belvedere for four years, going on to theology in Milltown (1930-34, ordained 1933) and tertianship in St Beuno's (1934-35). Fr Geddes, the Instructor, asked the next year's tertians where those of the previous year had gone. “Wot?”, he exclaimed, “Fr McSwiggan, Prefect of Studies at Galway! Is he then supposed to be a very learned person?”
Whatever about that, he filled the post for five years before going to Clongowes for four years teaching, when he was a very popular confessor with the boys. In 1944 he moved to the big study in Mungret for two years, then back to Belvedere teaching till 1956, when he transferred to St Ignatius, Galway, as operarius, long in charge of the Apostleship of Prayer. Of those years, those who lived with him, All of us, however, who knew him are glad to think of him enjoying at the end his Master's welcome: Euge, serve bone et fidelis ... (Mt 25:21).

Mac, as he was known to those who lived with him, was a man of his period and his North of Ireland upbringing. He grew up in the faith of the minority, a minority that had to struggle for its rights and even its existence, and whose members were second-class citizens, for the most part poor and despised. Because of this a certain amount of iron and hardness had entered his soul, a certain intolerance and dogmatism, Everything in faith and morals as taught and interpreted in his upbringing, schooling and training became de fide definita, to be held rigidly: everything was either black or white; nothing was shaded or grey. He had a touch of bigotry in him, and if by chance he had been born into the other faith, he would have been a fundamentalist, an extremist.
His views were rigid, but in application to the individual and in giving direction tempered by his innate kindness, so it is easy to understand how he was a popular confessor to the boys in Clongowes and later from 1956 onwards, in the church in Galway, till deafness first and ill-health later forced him to give up church work. He carefully prepared his sermons, but his delivery was not the best: he was inclined to rush and elide words. He was assiduous in hearing confessions and indefatigable in bringing holy Communion to the sick and housebound.
For many years he was Director of the Apostleship of Prayer, which entailed the giving of the Holy Hour month after month. To increase the attendance he tried various ways: promise cards, handbills etc.; but berated those in attendance for the shortcomings of those who did not attend and who did not respond to his efforts and appeals. As Director he visited various schools in the city to promote devotion to the Sacred Heart and to increase the circulation of the Messenger. In his earlier years, as a priest teaching in the colleges, as well as giving retreats here and there around the country, he spent a good part of what was left of his summer holidays acting as chaplain to the staff and children of Sunshine House. Balbriggan. In later years when attached to the church he spent his villa period doing supply work in Liverpool. He was a man of zeal, a hard worker and a man of prayer.
He was very competent in Irish and keen on poetry. He even made some translations of Irish poetry into English, faithfully reproducing the metre, internal shyness, assonance and other features of the original in the translations. Unfortunately he wrote these (as he wrote his sermons) on odd scraps of paper or in already-used copybooks between the lines or in the margins, so few will have survived. In his last years, when he was more or less confined to his room, he became interested in puzzles, intellectual problems and short stories. He tried out his puzzles on his friends, and often spoilt the stories by enjoying their humour so much that he would break down with laughter before his hearers could see the point. He was fascinated by the universe and awed by its vastness and complexity, so he took an interest in astronomy and space exploration. To the end his mind remained clear and sharp and he kept it so with these interests.
Being a man of a fixed mould of mind, even more perhaps than others who had received similar formation and training, he found the post-Vatican II period disturbing and found it hard to accept some of the new thinking, new developments and adaptations: some of these he criticised quite openly, and his criticisms could be quite harsh! He was a keen observer and a sharp critic of the faults and failings of Ours, for he judged us all by the yardstick of his own self, and if we did not measure up to that, he let us know. Yet while his criticism was often sharp and hurt somewhat, because of some innate human quality in the man, no one ever resented it too much: all still had an affection for “old Mac”.
His death must have been the easiest event in his whole life. On 26th October 1981 he took his lunch in his room and lay down to rest, Shortly afterwards the good nun who looked after him came and found him on the point of passing away. She called the Minister, who anointed him, and before the end of the rite he had gone to his Lord and Master without stress or strain like a child dropping off to sleep. May he rest in peace.

Name of creator

(18 June 1924-29 September 2011)

Biographical history

Born: 18 June 1924, Dublin City, County Dublin
Entered: 07 September 1942, St Mary's, Emo, County Laois
Ordained: 31 July 1956, Milltown Park, Dublin
Final Vows: 02 February 1959, Loyola, Eglinton Road, Dublin
Died: 29 September 2011, Cherryfield Lodge, Dublin

Part of the Milltown Park, Dublin community at the time of death.

◆ Jesuits in Ireland : https://www.jesuit.ie/news/sadness-and-style/

Sadness and style
Fr John Redmond died peacefully in Cherryfield on 29 September at the age of 87. How would we like to remember John? In two scenes, from the start and the end of his adult
life. With a group of fellow about-to-be novices he hired a chauffeur-driven car and proceeded in style from Dublin to the noviciate in Emo. Other photos from this time show him handsome, stylish, full of charm. There is a transparent innocence and optimism in his face. He never lost that innocence. In his seventy years as a Jesuit, John schoolmastered and ministered as a priest. But he suffered from serious illness, initially depression, later accompanied by physical illness. Last month, after a particularly traumatic spell in hospital, he returned to Cherryfield literally weeping with joy that he would be able to die at home.
One remembers too a picture of the Belvedere Cricket Team from the college annual of 1942. A close friend describes it: “In the middle, small, confident, nonchalant in his blazer and whites is John the team captain (also a disconcerting slow bowler and steady bat). In the row behind, tall and angular, Dermot Ryan, namer of metropolitan parks. The photograph celebrates a victory and is full of life and promise.
Another memento from that time marks his victory in the Belvedere debating society. Classmate Garret Fitzgerald’s rapid-fire delivery had for once met its match. It was a wonderful consolation to the family that in his final days he returned to Cherryfield. Then he was at peace – like the man in Luke who was sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. That is how I will remember John, at peace at the end, as he was on that sunny day of cricket. I know he gave his best as a Jesuit for 70 years, even if he thought his best was not good enough. He never ceased to think of and pray for all his family and to thank God for all his good companions in the Society of Jesus. It is with thoughts such as these that I comfort myself.”
John’s contemporary, Dick Cremins, preached at the requiem Mass in Cherryfield:
“An early memory: in Emo we were gathered at the back door, waiting to go in after recreation. I said or did something unusual, at which he exclaimed encouragingly, “Brother Cremins, you missed your vocation!” Then his hand on his mouth, as he realised that in another sense this was not something one novice said to another. Even then John was the life and soul of the party.
In our years of formation, in Tullabeg and Milltown, he continued as a cheerful spirit, always engaged in the choir and on the stage. That was the man I left behind when I went to what was still Northern Rhodesia. We lost touch until 50 years later when I returned home and found he had become the Hermit of Cherryfield. He was odd, withdrawn, and never left his room. On the few occasions when I met him, I found him gracious, although I believe this was not the experience of every one, including his family. I heard then how he had isolated himself and given up work – until in the end there was no place for him except in this nursing home.
One of our contemporaries, Michael O’Kelly, who was a strong young man and one of the best footballers of our time, began in Tullabeg to complain about a pain in his knee. My reaction was to say to myself, “Why doesn’t he snap out of it and get on with life?” It was a cancer. In a short time his leg was amputated above the knee, and he died before he could be ordained. I learned not to take the pains of others so cavalierly.
Likewise, we should not underestimate John’s sufferings: isolation, depression (those who have never known it wonder why he didn’t snap them out of it), low self-esteem, a feeling of being useless and achieving nothing (what could be worse for a Jesuit?). John’s achievement was a life of suffering borne with great fortitude and who knows how much prayer. For that we give thanks.
Edmund Campion (d. 1581), in his Brag, spoke of being “merry in heaven” with his persecutors, a word he borrowed from Margerie Kempe (c. 1400). We pray that John may be merry with the Lord and that with help of his prayers we will join in their merriment when our time comes.

◆ Interfuse

Interfuse No 147 : Spring 2012

Obituary

Fr John Redmond (1924-2011)

18 June 1924: Born in Dublin.
Early education at St. Vincent's CBS, Glasnevin and Belvedere College
7 September 1942: Entered the Society at Emo
8 September 1944: First Vows at Emo
1944 - 1947: Rathfarnham - Studied Arts at UCD
1947 - 1950: Tullabeg - Studied Philosophy
1950 - 1952: Crescent College - Teacher (Drama, Choir, Games)
1952 - 1953: Clongowes - Teacher (Drama, Games)
1953 - 1957: Milltown Park - Studied Theology
31st July 1956: Ordained at Milltown Park
1957 - 1958: Tertianship at Rathfarnham
1958 - 1962: Loyola House - Teacher of Religion and Philosophy at Bolton Street
2 February 1959: Final Vows at Loyola House
1962 - 1975: Gonzaga College: Spiritual Director to boys; Teacher; Prefect; Sports Trainer
1964: Teacher (rugby, cricket, games); Sub-minister; founded Vincent de Paul for boys in the school
1975 - 1985: Belvedere College - Teacher; Spiritual Father to students
1976: Spiritual Father to Students IV, III, II, I
1981: Assisted in Gardiner Street Church
1985 - 1994: Gardiner Street - Assisted in Church
1994 - 1997: Milltown Park - Pastoral ministry
1997 - 2004: Sacred Heart Church, Limerick - Assisted in Church
2000 - 2004: Assistant to Prefect of Health
2004 - 2011: Cherryfield Lodge - Praying for the Church and the Society
from 2006 : Attached to Milltown Park Community

John Redmond was admitted to Cherryfield Lodge in September 2001 following heart surgery in the Mater Private Hospital, and recovered well. He became a full-time member of Cherryfield Lodge in 2004. Following the death of his twin sister Peg, his condition deteriorated, particularly in the last year. After 2 days in a coma, he died peacefully in Cherryfield Lodge at 9.30pm on Thursday 29 September 2011

Obituary : Paul Andrews

John entered the Jesuits in 1942, at a time when such an action was piously spoken of as “giving your life to God”. One was offering the Lord a chalice full of sweet wine, the whole of one's future. John made the offering with joy; he had a quality of optimism and enthusiasm which was infectious, and stood out even among the bright sparks who went with him to Emo. A couple of them joined him in hiring a chauffeur-driven car to carry them from Dublin to the noviciate. He wanted do it in style.

As we look back on his long life as a Jesuit, we can see how inadequate is the image of a goblet of sweet wine. Our lives and relationships are inevitably a mixed drink, bitter-sweet. We can see in retrospect what a mixture it was, at once richer and more painful than when we took vows. John's remarkable mother may have had some inkling of this. In his journal of jottings and quotations, John notes an extraordinary memory. On 18 June 1942: Upon my telling mother, with great joy, that I was going to join the Jesuits, she replied: “You do not know what you are doing!!!”

People have warm, happy memories of John in those early days: handsome, smiling and gifted in many directions. Despite his small stature he was a sportsman who could captain the Belvedere cricket team, swing a golf club, play a respectable game of soccer; and a debater who won the school prize ahead of the rapid-fire delivery of his classmate Garret Fitzgerald. He was at ease on the stage, singing, dancing, acting. And he was the best of company, with an unaffected charm.

He read English in UCD, and he left behind a journal with a telling collection of the literature that spoke to him, pages and pages of meticulously transcribed poems and prose. He obviously loved the romantic poets, Keats, Laurie Lee, Browning: The year's at the spring and day's at the morn... He copied at length St Augustine's account of the death of his mother Monica, and strong pieces from St Patrick, Newman and Fulton Sheen. Gerard Manley Hopkins features more than any other poet, but here we begin to see John's own history. He moves from Hopkins' wide-eyed love of nature: Look, look up at the stars! to the desolation of his late sonnets: I am gall, I am heart-burn. God's most deep decree Bitter would have me taste. My taste was me.

That gradual move from joy in the world around him to an overwhelming sense of his own inadequacy, is the story of his life, and difficult to understand from the outside. John taught in Bolton Street College of Technology for four difficult years, difficult because he was in strange territory with few of the old signposts to help him. He could not take for granted that his students were open to religion, much less that they were pious. Yet a recent encounter reveals another side of his ministry. David Gaffney was visiting houses in the parish of Esker when he met a parishioner outstanding for his devotion to the community and the parish. As they chatted, the man told David: As a young man I had no time for religion, really disliked it. But then I went to Bolton Street Tech and was taught by a priest called Father John Redmond; and he made such good sense of religion that it has stood to me ever since. I told John this story on his deathbed, but do not know if he was conscious enough to savour it.

John would have had little sense of success. In 1962 he moved into Jesuit schools, first Gonzaga, then Belvedere, as spiritual father, teacher and trainer of sports. He founded the Vincent de Paul Society in Gonzaga, and introduced generations of boys to an awareness of the poverty not far from their doors. He led pilgrimages to Lourdes, and could show a dazzling smile to the camera in the group photograph. But gradually in his middle years, in the nineteen sixties and seventies, he fell prey to the black dog of depression, which goes hand in hand with feeling unloved. The self-confidence needed to meet people, or to impose himself in a classroom, deserted him. He would look at his life, at his achievements, and wonder: is there anything there? Did I make any difference?

The changes in the church did nothing to cheer John. The new form of the Mass, which opened its treasures to so many Catholics, remained alien to him. The turmoil that followed Vatican II in the Church and in the Jesuits stirred him to anxiety and anger. That firm, well-rounded faith, nurtured in the hallowed parish of Iona Road, nursery of countless vocations, seemed to have less and less to say to the world around John.

His reaction to depression was to retire. It is not that he was neglected. While he did meet sometimes with the snap-out-of-it sort of advice, that was not the general pattern. In Gonzaga, Belvedere, Crescent, Milltown and Cherryfield, in varying degrees, his Jesuit colleagues agonised over how he could be lifted. Good professional help certainly mitigated some of the pain and damage. But increasingly through his seventies and eighties he tended to withdraw not merely from work but from his human contacts both with Jesuits and with his other kith and kin. Dick Cremins, a near-contemporary, was astonished on return from Zambia to find that the charming and sparkling young John he had known in the 1950s had become the hermit of Cherryfield. He could still be lovely company when the black dog was put outside the door. But most of the time he suffered, especially at losses like that of his twin sister Peg.

John's Requiem Mass was on the feast of a Scottish Jesuit martyr, St John Ogilvie. The government forces that captured him in Edinburgh, tortured him at length in the hope he would betray other Catholics. They crushed his limbs under huge weights. They pricked and pierced him with needles continuously for nine days and nights to keep him without sleep – but he maintained his patience and even gaiety right up to his last moment, when he was hanged in Glasgow.

John Ogilvie gave his life to God as a young man; John Redmond over nearly nine decades. It is only at the end that we can see what is meant by "giving our life to God". His tortures for the most part were not physical but interior, and they lasted for years. They climaxed during a terrible spell in hospital in his last month. When George Fallon arrived to drive him back to Cherryfield, the exhausted John broke down in tears of joy that he would be able to die at home. On the third page of his journal he had copied out Newman's prayer. Let me end with it:

“May He support us all the day long, till the shades lengthen and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over, and our work is done. Then in his mercy may He give us a safe lodging and a holy rest and peace at the last”.

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Poems written by Frs John Redmond and Fr Frank McSwiggan SJ prompted by the closing of Mungret College.

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2010; 2022

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