Born: 01 November 1878, Kinsale, County Cork
Entered: 07 September 1893, St Stanislaus College, Tullabeg, County Offaly
Died: 1974
Left Society of Jesus: 1908
Educated at Mungret College SJ
by 1902 at Valkenburg Netherlands (GER) studying
Came to Xavier College, Melbourne, Australia for Regency 1903
◆ The Mungret Annual, 1974
Obituary
John Bithrey
John Bithrey, when he died at the age of ninety-six, must have been easily the senior member of the past pupils of Mungret. His family history is interesting. His grandfather, a merchant of Kinsale, ruined by the famine, emigrated to Australia, and built up a pros perous business. His daughter, deciding to return to Ireland, met on the ship the first officer, an Englishman of French descent, who later became her husband and settled in Kinsale. John, the only son of the family, came to Mungret in 1889. All his life he had the happiest memories of his schooldays. A few years ago, a letter appeared in The Irish Times criticising the religious teachers. John replied with a very moving tribute to his former masters in Mungret.
In 1893 he entered the Society of Jesus and did a brilliant course of studies, taking his MA in Classics in the Royal University. He studied philosophy with the German Jesuits in Holland, and in 1903 went to Australia, where he taught for five years at Xavier College, Melbourne. On his return to Ireland in 1908, he was found to be in delicate health, and was advised not to continue in the religious life. Almost immediately he obtained a teaching position at Mount St Benedict's, Gorey, and, after a few years, was appointed inspector of secondary schools, one of the commissioners who interviewed him being the redoubtable Dr Mahaffy.
John Bithrey was never a conventional inspector, and the originality of his views and methods not infrequently caused a . flutter in the staid dovecotes of the Department of Education. But in the schools all over Ireland his attractive personality made him a welcome visitor, and his love of learn ing for its own sake was a constant source of inspiration.
He was a man of rare culture, a classical scholar of the first rank, well read in English and French literature, an excellent pianist and a good mathematician, Every year he used procure the Honours Leaving Certificate examination papers in mathematics, and work through them for his own satisfaction. In his retirement, his favourite occupation was the reading of the Latin and Greek authors with which he was so familiar. Many instances could be given of his intellectual powers, but one must suffice. When he was over ninety, the writer had a discussion with him as to the value of the writing of Latin and Greek verse, which was formerly part of the curriculum. A few days later, John produced a really beautiful version of “She is far from the Land” in Latin elegiacs. It is well that we have the memory of men like John Bithrey to reinind us of a culture which is fast becoming rare in our hurrying world.
◆ The Mungret Annual, 1902
A Modern Pilgrimage
John Bithery SJ
Happening to be in the neighbourhood of Aachen (Aix-la-Chapelle) during Gat the month of July, 1902, and hearing much of the pilgrimage then being made to that city, I determined to enrol myself among the pilgrims. What I saw and heard I shall describe as briefly as I can, hoping it may be of interest to readers of the “Annual”.
Leaving the pretty little Dutch village where I had been staying, I caught the 5 am, train, and, after an hour's journey, arrived in Aachen, The city was a veritable flutter of flags and banners as for a royal pageant, but I had no wish to pause and admire the decorations, as I was anxious to bear Mass. The Masses in the Dom (also called the Cathedral or Münster) were all over, so I had to make my way to the hurch of St. Tames, which was a good distance ts but where I was able to satisfy my devotion.
This duty being performed, I had still a few hours on hands before the ceremony of showing the relics would begin, and I determined to employ them by a visit to the Rathhaus. This splendid pile, erected in 1376 on the site of Charlemagne's palace, is, after the Dom, perhaps the most interesting feature in a city where interesting features abound. Making my way with difficulty through the streets and squares, they were already crowded with pilgrims, I ascended the steps to this fine building. I had a delay of some minutes in a spacious hall of waiting, and from the many texts with which the walls were blazoned, all teaching the secret of imperial mastery, I picked out the following as one of the best :
“Die drei den meister machen sollen, os Können Wissen und Wollen”.
as a translation of which I, with fear and trembling, submit :
“Would'st thou the rod of empire wield? To Strength, to Force of Will, and Knowledge all things yield”.
Then, my tribute of 25 pfennige (2jd:) to the genius loci being magnanimously accepted, I was permitted to ascend the grand staircase. I at length emerged on to a gorgeous landing with the glories of the Coronation Hall opening out in front, and above me, on either side, two paintings, of one of which I shall speak again. The hall is so called because it was the scene of the coronation festivities of thirty-seven kings or emperors, the last to be crowned there being Kaiser Ferdinand I, in 1531. It is a massive room, yet the proportions are so perfect that one has quite a false idea of its size, till one walks across, first to the pillars in the centre, and then to the windows on the far side. In performing this journey one traverses quite an ocean of: pavement. The room is hung with eight paintings, about some of which permit me, gentle reader, to say a few words." The first represents the opening, in 1000 A.D, by Otto III of Charlemagne's tomb in Aachen. According to the legend the great kaiser was found sitting on a marble throne, sceptre in hand, gospel-book on knee, and clad in his robes of state, and in the painting he is so represented. Very striking is the contrast between the gloom of the grave, the pale light of the torches and the bright band of sunlight streaming down through the opening above. The third picture represents the victory . of Charlemagne over the Saracens at Cordova. Being a battle scene, it is full of movement, yet it is monotonous in its grey colouring, and there is a curious rigidity in its lines. The central figure is that of Charles seated on his charger and swinging his sword in a splendid up-cut at the barbarian chief. The latter is throned on a lofty chariot drawn by teams of oxen, and would be inaccessible but for the giant stature and reach of his opponent. The seventh picture treats a subject which is full of interest for the pilgrim, namely the building, in Charlemagne's lifetime (he died in 814) of the Octagon, or Chapel Royal, which still stands and forms the central portion of the great Münster.
The first four fresco-paintings were done by the Aachener, Alfred Rethel; the second four by Joseph Kehren. That all eight are not the work of one liand, is clear even to the uninitiated : the colouring of the last four is rich and luscious, that of the others a ghostly grey, the last four are marked by gracious and harmonious curving, the others are stiff and rigid, and leave an impression of perpendicular lines; there is, indeed, impetuous movement in the battle scene, yet it is due-to the subject treated and not to the artist. One word about the painting on the right as one stands on the landing looking towards the hall. The back-ground is a thick tangled wood, along the front rushes a white foaming torrent, bounding fiercely over the boulders in its path; emerging from the wood are Ronan soldiers, stalwart warriors in full panoply. On the far bank of the stream stands a young Roman officer in gorgeous uniforin, with the proud bearing of his class. On the near bank kneels a page, holding a silver goblet to the water, while away to the left, behind a rock, crouches the most frightful-looking bag with, by the most captivating of contrasts, the dearest fair-haired little girl imaginable by her side. The contrasts in the painting are of extraordinary power. The dark hag, the fair-haired girl; the black wood, the bright opening where the sky peers in; the gloomy boulders, the white stream with its wrath of silver foam, and finally, the big almost brutal soldiers worn with war, and the well-knit form of their general, full of athletic grace and beauty.
(Neither from guide nor guide-book could I get a satisfactory explanation of this painting, nor even the remotest hint of an explanation. I am myself convinced that the young officer is Drusus, step-son of Augustus, who met his death in 9 B.C., in his fourth canipaign against the Germans. He had penetrated as far as the Elbe, and being about to cross it with his troops was confronted by a woman of superbuman size, who bade him return Disregarding the warning, the attempt to cross the river, according to the legend, failed utterly; a panic seized the superstitious soldiers, and in the reckless retreat which followed, a retreat which resembled a rout rather than a rear-movenient, the young general was thrown from his horse, and received injuries which shortly after resulted in death.
That the painting is not a literal representation of this legend, is clear; the stream is too small for the Elbe, the hag is not of superhuman size, and how does the little girl come into the scene? Yet I believe we have the key to the picture in the legend.)
It was on the stroke of 10am, and however unwilling, there was nothing for it but to leave this scene of beauty. The crowds in the streets were now of immense proportions, and it was only by shoving here and shouldering there, and taking good-humouredly in turn a fair share of the same treatment, that I could make progress. Not merely the squares and streets, but every roof-top was thronged with men and women, canvas awnings having been erected to keep off the rays of a burning sun. It was a sight calculated to warm the heart of the Catholic, especially the Irishman, rich with memories of his own island home beyond the sea. At this time there was a great movement in the assembled masses; hither and thither swayed the crowd, restless with expectancy, and tortured by the sun's heat, yet there was no disorder, only the surge to and fro, and the low, deep, murmurous sound, like the roar of waves on a distant strand. I had now met some friends who bad an invitation to the roof of the city library, but we were not to be satisfied with the first available position, and were determined to reconoitre, and see if something better was not to be had on the squares and streets. But no ! there was hardly standing room, and the sun's blaze was maddening on these open spaces ; pushing, therefore, eagerly a-head, we made our way up through the library out on to the roof... Here most of the roof-tops were beneath us, and gaily they shone in their array of canvas awnings, coloured parasols, and bright dresses; only above us and beyond us, in the glory of its architecture, there standing out in the clear sunlight of the forenoon, the Dom with its flutter of banners, Behind it lay the Rathhaus with its stately towers, and behind that again, the blue sky. Just as we reached the roof, the procession filed into the verandah of the belfry tower, from which the exposition was to take place; first a cross-bearer accompanied by two acolytes in white surplices, bright red caps, and purple soutanes; then four halberdiers in ancient costume, their halberds sloping on their shoulders; and lastly four clerics bearing on their shoulders the sacred casket which contained the relics. Around the verandah they passed, with measured step and reverent mien, and then were lost to our view. I would ask the reader to follow carefully the following remarks about the position of the verandah, as it will make the account less confused. The verandah was in shape a square, two sides of which, and two only, the south and west, were Visible to us; the relics were to be exposed three times on each side, three places being prepared for the purpose. Thus of each relic there were to be twelve expositions, six of which were visible to us. When the procession had disappeared, a choir of forty or fifty members with some reed instruments, took up their position on the west side. Then a priest, of giant stature, appeared at the south side, and in a voice that sent every syllable rolling distinctly towards us, announced the first relic, the robe our Lady wore at the time of our Lord's birth. The announcement made, two halberdiers advanced and flung a red cloth across the place already prepared, and over this again a priest laid the sacred object. It was held in position-just then the wind came in ugly gusts.-—by the wands of two other priests. The robe, a broad, well-preserved, yellowish garment, was thus held for several minutes in each of the prepared places, the choir meanwhile singing several simple touching hymns. When the relic had been thus three times exhibited on the south side, the choir moved on out of sight, and the priest, with the voice like thunder, made the same announcement from the centre of the west side. Here the same ceremony was gone through, and so on for the north and east side. In this morning exposition the most interesting relic was Our Lady's robe. The other three, viz., the swaddling clothes in which Christ was wrapped at his birth, the cloth on which the head of St. John the Baptist was laid after his decapitation, and the cloth which covered our Divine Lord on the cross; were not really exposed; we saw merely the cloth casing in which they were enclosed. For each relic the ceremony was the same, except that for the fourth and most important: one, the announcement was longer, prayers were recited for various intentions and answered by the thousands beneath, and the blessing was given with the relic each time it was exhibited. The time during which all this took place seemed short, yet when everything was over, and the roar of the multitude; till then hushed in prayerful silence, arose once more, the belfry clock was ringing out the liour of noon-two hours had flown.
Leaving the roof quietly and silently—a kind of spell had fallen on us all-we climbed down through the many storied library out into the street. The most interesting part of the day was still before us, as we were now to be allowed into the Dom, to see close at hand the sacred relics, and the costiy shrines and caskets in which they were kept, Forming ourselves into close order, it was hopeless for an individual to try and stem the stream of people in the street, we made our way to the Cathedral. The dark, massive, iron-bound, almost repulsive-looking door opened as by magic on our arrival, and passing in we entered on a dark, stony corridor, which led to the Octagon. Here we paused to gaze on this work of the ninth century, its many-cornered beauty, its arched and pillared stateliness ; then glancing at the gorgeous chandelier which dates from the twelfth century, we turned into a chamber on the right, where caskets, almost without number, of relics the inost sacred were exposed to view. The collection was a very shimmer of gold, silver, and precious stones, gleaming darkly in the sombre light of the Cathedral chamber. Turning away from the treasure, all was dark, cold, clammy; turning towards them the eye was dazzled by a dance of light, which flashed from pearl and gem, in goid and silver setting. Here was the triumph of the goldsmith's craft. Here were objects whose historical interest was only surpassed by their artistic value, which was again outshone by the worth of the spiritual treasure they enshrined. Here was the hunting horn of Charlemagne-he is.venerated, with Papal sanction, as a saint in the archdiocese of Köln-here the solid crucifix he always wore at his breast, whether in the fever of the chase or the fiery heat of the battle; here, too, the sceptre of imperial rule, wielded by him and by the thirty-nine kings or kaisers crowned in the city of his love. Here, above all, were relics beyond number of our Lord, of His holy Mother, and of Saints from every time, all enclosed in the most costly caskets. It would be impossible to describe them all, impossible to describe any one adequately, as it was impossible for us, in that hurried half hour, to appreciate adequately any single reliquary of the many before us. Suffice it to quote the testimony of of experts who pronounce all to be of great artistic value, work in most cases of the sixteenth, in some of the eleventh century, and to say that the two largest and most admired are the Marienschrein and the Karlschrein; the former of which holds the four chief relics (exposed in the morning), and the latter the remains of Charlemagne. Of the most important reliquaries I secured a few photographs, but they are not worth reproducing, as they give a miserably inadequate notion of the reality.
Leaving the chamber of treasures we passed once more under the Octagon up to the sanctuary, a passing from the land of vision to that of faith. Here we saw close at hand the swaddling clothes of the Child Jesus; the cloth of John Baptist, with its large, vivid, almost horrible blood-stains; the cloth that covered our Lord on the cross, also blood-stained; and finally the plain, unadorned robe of our dear Lady. There was a priest sitting close by and each of us had a beads or a crucifix touched to the sacred relic. There were other points of interest also. It was here that, in 1146, the saintly abbot of Clairvaux preached the crusade against the Saracens, these very walls rang with his voice; there, under the Octagon, was the sepulchral stone of Charlemagne, with its simple inscription <Carolo Magno;" there, in the chancel, is the resting-place of Kaiser Otto III, who died in Italy, but whose dying wish it was that he should be buried here in the cathedral of the city that crowned him; the pulpit yonder with its exquisite carving was the gift of Kaiser Henry II. It was a strange bridging over of the centuries, the scene in which we stood; a spanning of the first, the ninth, the eleventh, the sixteenth, and the twentieth ; a theme to dream on. I, for one, could not resist the spirit of reverie, and passing out I hardly heeded the stream of pilgrims, the long cold corridor; I only thought of all we saw, the relics of Jesus and Mary, the chapel of Charlemagne, and the shrines of wondrous beauty. I had travelled a good distance before I woke, and it was the feverish rush of an electric car with its clangourous bell that first roused me. :. ! But how did all these relics come to Aachen? When Charlemagne had built his Chapel Royal he was anxious to adorn it with a collection of relics; to objects connected with Christ and His Saints he had the same devotion as the Knights of the Round Table or the Crusaders. If he preceded both of these in time, he was yet animated with all their spirit. His fame was world-wide, and his power as far-reaching. He collected from Jerusalem, Rome and Constan tinople a collection of relics not to be rivalled even in the Eternal City itself. That he should have got sacred objects from Terusalem or Rome does not surprise, us, but how were such things to be found in Constantinople? The answer is easy. This was the city of Constantine and of his saintly mother Helena. It is well known that the latter frequently visited the Holy Land and built there churcbes without number; she found innumerable relics, the most important being the Cross on which our Saviour was crucified, and brought the great majority to the city of her son, whence Charlemagne sécured them for Aachen.
But the pilgrimage? how did it spring up? Its history need not keep us long. The first took place in the lifetime of Charlemagne, on the 13th June, 8og. Invitations to come and see his chapel and his treasures were sent out to all parts of his great empire, and eagerly accepted. Streams of devout pilgrims flowed to Aachen, from the lands of the Danube to those of the Ebro, from the peoples of Italy to those of the Northern Seas. The chronicles of the time fairly ring with praise of the hospitality of Aachen, and of the personal solicitude, which Charlemagne showed to each of the travellers. The first experience being such a pleasant one, people were naturally anxious to repeat it, and so year by year, on to the beginning of the eleventh century, the pilgrimage was renewed. It was then however resolved, from motives which are not very clear, to limit the occurrence to every seventh year, with the stipulation that the solemnity was in future to last fourteen days, instead of the shorter period till then in-vogue. With this change the pilgrimages were continued through the middle ages, and we have many an interesting contemporary account as to how things went on those occasions. An eye-witness, for example, of the pilgrmage of 1510, by name Philip von Vigneulles, describes his entry into the city by night, after a long march; there were 20 5 a.m. trains at that time; the blaze of lights around the Dom was visible, he says, for miles round, and looked like a huge fire. As to the crowds in the city, his experience was the same as mine, namely, that individuals were at a discount, and only organised parties could make headway. Putting their strongest at the front the remainder clung on behind, and woe to the individual that lost hold, it meant, says the eye-witness with delightful nužveté, losing for at least a week not merely one's party but also oneself. Again he tells us that the man who dropped a gold piece had to he content to let it lie, it being a physical impossibility in the throng to stoop and pick it up. We read that in the year 1496 the number of pilgrims was one hundred and forty-two thousand, the largest contingent being the Viennese, under which title were included not only Austrians but also Hungarians : and we learn that the favourite bill of fare of the gallant Hungarian was bread, beer, beans, and bacon-quite a monotony of b's. It very soon became known what the strangers liked in the way of food, as the hospitality of the citizens was unbounded; and what does the traveller appreciate more in a strange land than the food he is accustomed to at home? Nopp, the historian of Aachan, tells us it was a point of honour in the city that each burgher should have a guest to entertain and house at his own expense. “The man who had no guest," continues the historian, "went about
like a suspect, or a dog without a tajl!" Things .. were not, no doubt, always so prosperous; there came the dark days of war, of persecution, and of famine; there came above all the sad days that beheld the fall of whole nations from the Faith, yet though the number of strangers diminished, never was the solemnity omitted, and if the lands of the Ebro and the Danube no longer paid their tribute of devout pilgrims, the Catholics of the Rhine, the Moselle, and the Maas valleys made up for much by their intense piety. Yet even this numerical diminution was but temporary; in the middle of the century we buried not long ago, the pilgrimage received a new impetus; and the septennial gathering now bids fair to equal, if not surpass, anything of the past; in the year 1860, for example, on one day alone were numbered sixty-five thousand pilgrims. Wonders, too, are worked. Even so recently as this year a miraculous cure was effected by the touch of one of the holy relics. But even when the sick and the diseased return to their homes unhealed, their confidence is no whit diminished; no! their tedious pain is rather sweetened, and their sorrow brightened, by the memory of our dear Lady's robe, the hem of which they touched in Charlemagne's Pfalzkapelle, in Aachen's storied city.
◆ The Mungret Annual, 1966
Memories of Mungret
John Bithery
Mr John Bithrey, MA, was an Inspector of Secondary Schools 1913-43. A distinguished Classical Scholar, he has been interested chiefly in Latin, Greck, French and English literature; and his editions of texts are still in use in Secondary schools. He is author of “Our Secondary Schools and Other Essays”.
Mr Bithrey, who was a boy at Mungret 1889-93, is now one of our oldest Past Students. He is still active and does a considerable amount of writing, We are greatly indebted to him for the most interesting memoirs below which he so kindly consented to write for the “Mungret Annual”.
“Remembrance wakes with all her busy frain Swells at my breast and turns the past to pain”.
Oliver Goldsmith (1728-'74) If any names are found printed on my heart when I die, the name of Philip Brady, priest of the Society of Jesus, will take a leading place.
He taught me Greek - (Parry's Greek Grammar), Latin (Allen's Latin Grammar); he saw to it that I kept up my piano practice and that I wrote regularly to my mother in Kinsale; I had four sisters, but I was her only son and she missed me. No one ever had a truer or better friend than I had in Philip Brady. Nothing can describe the interest he took in me (I was not quite ten when I entered Mungret) or the affection he lavished on me. It is impossible for me to exaggerate his goodness to me, nor have I ever been able to repay it.
One First Prefect in my time was Father Matt Maguire, once a gentlemnan farmer in the North of Ireland and (I fancy), a late vocation. He had a pony and trap, which he drove with great elegance, and his special friends were Joe Tyrrell, (whose brother was a prominent furrier in Dublin)
Joe was a boy of great charm; Billy Sampsen, whose father was a doctor in Scarriff, Co Clare (a big lovable, generous fellow was Billy) and my tiny self, Jack Bithrey from Kinsale whom Father McCormack (a Cork man and a fine cricketer) used to mimic repeating the words in my Cork accent, then very marked, with its ups and downs of musical pitch, but lost long ago. These drives with Father Maguire were most enjoyable.
There were two Rectors in my time, the first was Father Head, a small, squat, grim-looking man, who walked along the corridors with eyes fixed sideways on the skirting of the passage. The second was Vincent Byrne (wbose sermon on Aloysius Gonzaga was regarded as a masterpiece of oratory and a thing of great literary beauty and who took an active part in the kind of “gravel football” played by the Seniors in those days.
The Choir master was a Jesuit Scholastic, Thomas Taaffe, a delightful singer, a brilliant teacher, a most charming man, tall, well-spoken, well groomed. His singing of the Kerry Dances was something never to be forgotten. His choir music was delightful. He had been trained in Belgium and he had the most lovely Ave Verums, Tantum Ergos and other pieces of Church music. I was in his choir. I was supposed to have a sweet voice. Also in the choir was Johnny Martin of Wigan, Lancashire, who had a splendid voice and who used to sing with such fervour and energy that I could see the veins stand out on his neck. He was a splendid fellow and he became a splendid Jesuit of the Irish Province in later years. Much of the music was too high in pitch for me, but Mr Taaffe had a wonderful harmonium on which he was able to lower or raise the key of any piece, so as to fit the voice. I have never anywhere else met such a wonderful device for raising or lowering the pitch of a song. My eldest sister, Mary, was a good musician - so was my mother - and had won a scholarship in the Cork School of Music. She went to it twice a week and never came home without a sultana scone for me, her brother, God rest her soul! She was a famous organist and accompanist in Kinsale and she had the wonderful gift of being able to transpose any accompaniment at sight. No wonder she was so sought after as an accompanist.
Once a year Mr Taaffe got a free day for his choir, and took us for a picnic. In the evening we had a special supper and a sing-song. These sing-songs I shall never forget for three reasons :
“The Kerry Dances” sung by Mr Taaffe, “The White Squall” sung by Michael Garahy and “O Native Music” - that most lovely song in which ex quisite words are married to most exquisite music - music and words by Samuel Lover- sung by Brother Carter. Brother Carter had charge of the Priests' Refectory. He had an exquisite tenor voice, and his singing of this lovely song was something quite unforgettable. My Own contribution was Wallace's “In Happy Moments”, from that gifted Waterford man's opera Maritana. Yes, the Mungret choir in my time made the most lovely music, Mr Taaffe also taught me French and Roman History, and it was a privilege to be taught by him. His lessons were most carefully prepared and were delightful to listen to.
There were two saints in Mungret in my time. Father Michael Browne, Prefect of Studies, Head of Our Lady's Sodality, fine preacher, fine scholar, a man delightful to meet, tho' extremely austere in life and Brother McEvoy who had charge of the kitchen and who was reputed to spend his summer evenings praying amongst the tombs in the cemetery near the front gates of the College Grounds.
Mr Taaffe was a scholastic, not a priest. An other Scholastic was Harry Potter, a splendid athlete and a brilliant acrobat whose performance on the parallel bars and the horizontal bar were the admiration of all. Like Mr Taaffe he was handsome, very well groomed, of sanguine temperament and very pleasant to meet. Another scholastic I remember was named J F K O'Brien, son of a famous member of Parliament, I think; a cricketer, but somewhat delicate in health.
Amongst the lay boys of my time were Michael Garahy, George Byrne, Pat Connolly and John Martin (already mentioned) all of whom became distinguished SJs, Michael Garrahy (of Offaly) a preacher, Geo Byrne, a Chinese Missionary, Pat Connolly, founder and first editor of Studies, and John Martin, late Rector of Xavier College, now a very famous school teacher in Melbourne, Australia. Bat Coghlan also became a Jesuit and was well known in Galway as a Confessor and a speaker of Gaelic. I remember also Jack Devine, gifted pianist and pencil artist. Oliver St John Gogarty of Dublin and William Sullivan of Bantry were both with me at school. Willie, no doubt, was one of the famous Bantry family. The O'Mahony's of Bantry, Florence and his two brot hers, were also there; two Egans from Tullamore, Pat and Harry; two Stephensons from Waterford, Raymond and his brother. I remember too, Jim Carbery of Dublin, a splendid looking fellow, lithe, tall and supple, a trained boxer. He quarrelled with a big country fellow and they fought it out beyond the ambulacrum, with referee, seconds and scouts to give warning of danger. It was a famous fight, a contest between skill and training (Carbery) and brute strength and courage, and the verdict was a draw. The big country man had a black eye. Jim Carbery, who sat next to me in the study hall (tho' years older), confessed that his ribs were black and blue and sore from the hefty body blows received. Jim was a pretty fearless and rebellious spirit.
What Apostolic students do I remember? First comes Joe Wright of Templemore, a fine cricketer. Joe had money and often went to Limerick City. He never came back without a bag of good sweets for me, bought at Kidds, then a famous confectionery in the city. Joe, like all the apostolics, got his BA (Mental and Moral Science) at the Royal University of Ireland, an examining body like London University, was ordained in Rome and served in the USA. He is, I suppose, dead long ago, God rest his soul! Jim Coyle, already mentioned, became a strict pastor somewhere in the USA. In later years he rescued a woman from an unscrupulous man and was assassinated by the man for his pains. I remember Andy Killian, later a Bishop in Australia; I remember apostolics named Galvin and Stenson; splendid men all the apostolics were, giving a wonderful example of industry and of religious devotion.
One other memory I have, of the skating on Lough Mor during a winter - I forget the year of hard and continued frost. I also rernember Mr Taaffe bring picked members of the choir to visit the Limerick Chapels of Repose on Holy Thursdays. We walked in and back, and I remember his brushing the dust off his shoes using a handkerchief - before entering the city. He liked to be well dressed and well groomed. Indeed there was something quite aristocratic about him and about the others members of the Jesuit community, and it often struck me that in manners, speech and bearing, they resembled what I imagined to be the officers of a crack English Cavalry regiment.
I would like to add that the only examinations the lay boys did were the London Art and Science Examinations. I remember we had two hours each day for Latin, We did Allen's Grammar and Bradley's famous book thoroughly. But the chief thing about the Mungret College training of those days was that when a boy left, he had formed a habit of study, a habit of working to a time-table; he had learned to say his prayers regularly and very especially to have a devotion to Our Lady, the Mother of God -no mean equipinent with which to face the world.
Who were the distinguished Past Pupils of Mungret? Leaving out of account the ecclesias tics, I would say Joe Walsh of Killenaule, Foun der of the Irish Foreign Affairs Department, its First Secretary, and later Ambassador to the Vatican. He was a man of great ability. He was much after my time, but I had the privilege of knowing him and I knew him to be a most loyal and fervent supporter of the Past Pupils' Mungret Union.
Next I would select Frank Fahy, a famous Ceana Comhairle in his time and not unworthy of his great predecessor, Michael Hayes.
Hugo Flinn was Trade Minister in one of President de Valera's governments and was a dis tinguished Minister. Hugo was in Mungret with me. I knew his family in Kinsale. They came every summer for the fishing season. The father, a wealthy mer charyt in Liverpool, bought all the fish he could get in Kinsale, brought it to Liverpool in his own ships and sold it there, making a very great pro fit. Hugo's two brothers went to Clongowes. Joe became a famous Jesuit and organised the Pioneer Movement. Tom became a Chartered Accountant and practised in Dublin.
Jim Veale, an Apostolic, was Prefect of Juniors, a splendid type of man of fine physique. I rernember him for two reasons. Once on the free day, we walked to Patrick's Well to get the train to the Earl of Dunraven's place. We were late starting, and we had to run the last half mile. I was then tired, and seemed likely to be left behind; so Jim Veale took me under his arm, like a rugby football, and brought me to the train in time. The other reason was this, the calves in the fields were creatures full of curiosity. Jim, who had a great spirit of fun, used to crawl towards them on all fours, and it was most amusing to see the calves gather round him. Then he would suddenly rise, and they turned and galloped, panic stricken away.
There was, in my time, a student: named Jim Roberts, and when the annual sports fell due, I remember the severity of his training for the mile. He always won the race. He took the opening laps at a slendy race, but he did the final lap with what might be called a sprinter's speed and outdistanced 21] (nponents. What his later career was I nevet heard.
The gentlemen of Limerick - O'Donnells, Spillanes and others - played a cricket match with us once a year. They were much too good for us. having learned their cricket at Stonyhurst or Downside. But Father Whitaker SJ, who was then on the staff of the Crescent College, always pime and plaved for us. He was a good bowler. He was a superb batsman and he was always sure to make 60 or 70 runs for us. He had learned his cricket at Tullabeg: a very famous Jesuit school, outside Tullamore.
I remember a Michael Danaher of Limerick, a lay boy in my age - he died quite recently, I believe, at the fine age of 92 or 93.
I remember the Cuffes of Dublin, Charlie, a charming boy, who later became a Jesuit, Tom, a big fellow, and Willie. The father was a famous cattle dealer, I think.
I remember often looking over at the Cratloe Hills and wondering what lay beyond them, I remember the Apostolics of the 1st Arts writing on a blackboard “Nil sine magno vita labore dedit Primis Certibus”. They were reading Horace. I remember their speaking of the “Magnetic Dip”, something they had learned from Science lectures of the Abbe l'Heritier, who came from Lord Emly's home (whose chaplain he was) to teach Science to the University students. I did not know what the phrase meant, but it was jocosely applied to the slope of the head of one of the leading apostolics, a stately giant of a man who carried himself like an archbishop or a cardinal, and whose name, alas. I do not remember.
About the Choir I wish to add something. It consisted of tenors, baritones, trebles and altos, There was little unison singing. Mr Taaffe was a strict choirmaster. He insisted on accurate timing, “Do not drag”, he used to say at the rehearsals; “do not drag”; yet he could achieve excellent ac celerandos and effective rallentandos.
I have mentioned his lovely Ave Verums but his most enchanting hymn was “Jesu dulcis memoria” in which the lovely words were matched by even lovelier music. Another was the Advent hymn “Alma Redemptoris Mater” a lovely tune which he himself used to sing as a solo, the choir coming in for the refrains.
He had certain soloists, of which I was one. I had a very limited range, but within the range, I was considered to have a very moving voice and to sing with great expression and feeling. With his harmonium, of course, he was able to lower the pitch to suit me.
I have already referred to the two hours a day we had for Latin. I myself, and the class to which I belonged, was taught by Father Brady at first, and his translation of Virgil's “Aeneid” into English was well worth remembering. About line 50, where Juno, extremely angry, enters the land of the stern winds, to make trouble for the hated Aeneas who is at sea, we have the words “Nim horum in patria, loca feta furentibus castris”. I have never forgotten Father Brady's rendering of the last four words : “a country big with blustering blasts”. It was a fine, sonorous phrase and it gave us all, I think, a good sense of what was meant by felicity and eloquence of expression.
Once, I remember, we, each of us, had to sign a form, giving inter alia the position of the male parent. I was then sitting near George Byrne, later famous as a Chinese Missionary. He wrote, I well remember, “Gentleman”. All the other boys near me wrote “Farmer”. I remember writing “Captain in the Mercantile Marine” since my father commanded one of the passenger sailing ships which is these days plied between Plymouth and Sydney, New South Wales. It was a three months voyage each way, so he was away six months at a time and we saw very little of him.
I remember George Byrne for another reason. He was clever with Indian clubs, which he was able to swing with great skill. He was, we thought, a little vain of his skill, so we played a nasty trick on him. In the room there was a bracket overhead containing two oil lamps made of glass. We got him to stand under the lamps and asked him to give us an exhibition. Each club struck a lamp, smashed it to smithereens and the oil came pouring over him, I am sorry to say we screamed with laughter; but I must add, he took it very good humouredly and did not retaliate in any way, either by word or by action.
One final memory of Jim Carbery, he was a man of splendid physique. There was something sinewy and yet sometiring snake-like, colubrine, sinuous about hin, he was a very picture of sup pleness and elasticity, an immense imposing figure he had, This ease and swiftness of movement gave him 2 great advantage in his fight against the burly giant of Offaly. He was able to slip aside and evade the blows; able to weave in and out of the combat area and to avoid the six inch punches which can be so deadly in the in-fighting. What happened to him in later life, I never heard.
Let one end with one more memory. Near me in the study hall during my first year was Larry Devereux of Wexford. He was always well supplied with tiny chocolates which, I fancy, his mother used to send to him, One evening I noticed him turning over and over the leaves of his English-Latin dictionary. His search seemed to be fruitless, so I whispered “What are you looking for, Larry?” "The Latin word for the definite article “The” he replied and I was able to tell him there was no such Latin word. It did not exist in the Latin language, Larry fought in the South African War, 1900-1901 and that is all I knew of him.
At a later stage my Latin class was taught by Father Guinee, who was, I think, a Cork man. He used to write the solution of the compositions (Bradley's Aids) on the blackboard, Sometimes there was a slip in gender, or in case, or in mood, and we were not slow to point it out to him. But he had always a very clever reply. It was: “I, just wanted, boys, to see if you would notice it, I - am glad you did notice it”.
Father Guinee was sent to Australia and many years later was buried in Melbourne, I think.
The following tribute by Mr. Bithrey is from the Preface to his Edition of Vergil Aeneid Book I. (Dublin: Browne and Nolan Ltd., 1948):
“I wish, in conclusion, to mention the name of Father Philip Brady, of the Society of Jesus, at whose feet I first read Aeneid I nearly fifty-five years ago in Mungret College, Limerick, and who, from the time of our first meeting until his death, honoured me with a friendship that never faltered, a most unselfish and wonderful friendship. May his place in Heaven be high amongst those qui sui memores aliquos fecere merendo”.
