Source: Athenry ADC’s publication –The Athenry Journal Vol. 2, No. 3 1996

Christopher P. Barrett was born in Athenry in February 1911 and died there in May 1986.  During his 75 years in his beloved Athenry he led a full active life and his involvement in all aspects of life there conveyed his love of family, religion and Ireland. He was proud to be a traditionalist and consequently his love of traditional values can be seen in his poetry, particularly in the following lines which have no title but are self explanatory.

   

I seek not power or glory

    I seek not wealth or fame

        Thankful I am, to be what I am

                                     For I honour and love His name

                                  Power and Glory must surely fade

                                   But that which I seek is for aye.

                               All I ask, that my lips may fashion His name

                               At the time decreed that I die.

 

Some of his work was published in the Tuam Herald, Our Boys and other magazines.  One in particular – ‘Ireland 1942’ – was published in “The Torch” in 1942 after some poor people were killed for groveling in a dump.  He was particularly proud of this as it signified his love of justice and he worked hard to maintain this. 

In this issue of The Athenry Journal we are very proud to print a small selection of his many poems.

IRELAND 1942

I saw an Irish mother with her children numbered six

      Astraggling to the dump heap to gather scraps and sticks

        Her face was pale and wan, her eyes were sunk and blue.

         I followed slowly in their wake my heart said ‘Go and See’

 

    This model of our Motherhood, our Christianity.

       I saw them grovel in the dirt like stricken beasts of prey

       And fill their baskets with the scraps the “Big shots” threw away

     “Go and See” in model Ireland what the worker’s lot must be

        No wonder that her sons must go to lands beyond the sea.

 

           The favoured few can sit and smile awallowing in wealth

            And crush the soul of Ireland, destroy her soul and health.

           Our sons that now ‘for all the world seen as a tainted race

          Dear God but thou alone can wipe the tears from Erin’s face

 

          To watch these little offspring’s ill clad and scarce half fed

           Brings back in vision bygone days we Irish hoped were dead.

           I could but stare and wonder as they homeward made their way

             And pray to God they soon would see the ‘Dawning of the day’

             When our sons who toil and strive all day to keep our nation’s name

          May pride, side by side, not slink around in shame.

 

 ANNE

 

     A love new-born, has just come into my life

     To help bear my joys, the care and strife

       Decreed by God that we be man and wife 

Sweet Anne.

 

        Decreed by God that friends thro’ life we be

      So hence in prayer I raise my voice to thee,

       To guide our faltering footsteps o’er life’s sea

My Anne.

 

    To grant thy mother be our mother too

    And shroud us in her mantle blue

    With guiding hand to lead us back to you

 Gentle Anne.

 

                    (This was written as a tribute to his wife Nan whom he had just met)

                                                 

 Lament for  Fr. Michael Griffin

 

   From Gurteen’s verdant pastures green

   He came, a youth, to fame unknown

    To reap the harvest of his God

     To walk the path of Life- Alone.

 

    By Corrib’s lovely shore he came

     With gentle mien, with noble brow

        To loving Souls he preached “The Word”

      His hand forever on the plough.

 

        Ochone, Ochone, the foemen came

         Left grief and sorrow in their lay

          The fight was on, each Irish heart

          In union strove their deeds to stay.

 

           No greater love hath man for man

          The words that his Creator spake

           Whate’ver befalls in joy or dread

            I’ll go, for God, for Ireland’s Sake.

 

       In quiet and unassuming way

        His noble gallant work he wrought

        To us for whom he strove and died

          How great the lesson that he taught

 

              Ere long, those fiends of lust and hate

             Foresaw in him a leader, true

            And in the darkness of the night

              Set forth their hellish work to do.

 

              And e’er their gruesome work was done

                It came, the Sun’s sweet golden light

               To show unto the whole wide world

           Secret of the night

 

            From shore to shore, o’er hill and dale

               Went forth a plaintive wailing cry

              Yet once again, those fiends of hell

                Dragged forth an Irish priest to die.

           

                  By Barna’s calm and rugged shore

                  They bore thy noble form to rest

                  Enshrouded in the flag you loved

                  They raised the cairn on your breast

 

                     That those who gaze should ever think

                        Of one that died for “Roisin Dubh”

                Who gave his all unto his God

                 Who gave his life for me or you.

 

                  God rest you Fr. Michael dear

                  Sweet be thy holy sleep and bright

                   Thy death was just as thou didst yearn

                      For Ireland’s cause, for Truth and Right.

 

                      Tho’ you’re gone your memory lingers

                    Deep in the heart of every Gael

                     Forever shall your name be honoured

                   Amid the heroes of Inisfail. 

 

                                                                                    C.P. Barrett

 

(This poem typifies his love for freedom and justice and the deep Republican tradition which was handed down to him)