By THOMAS E. HEALY,
_Editor of "Sport," Dublin_.
On the face of the earth there is no nation in which the love of
clean and wholesome sport is more strongly developed than in the
Irish. Against us it cannot be urged that we take our pleasures
sadly. We enter into them with entire self-abandon, whole-hearted
enthusiasm, and genuine exuberance of spirit. There is nothing
counterfeit about the Irishman in his play. His one keen desire is to
win, be the contest what it may; and towards the achievement of that
end he will strain nerve and muscle even to the point of utter
exhaustion. And how the onlookers applaud at the spectacle of a
desperately contested race, whether between horses, men, motorcars,
bicycles, or boats, or of a match between football, hurling, or
cricket teams! It matters not which horse, man, car, cycle, boat, or
team is successful: the sport is the thing that counts; the
strenuousness of the contest is what stimulates and evokes the
rapturous applause. At such a moment it is good to be alive. Scenes
similar to those hinted at may be witnessed on any sports-field or
racetrack in our dear little Emerald Isle almost any day of the year.
All is good fellowship; all is in the cause of sport.
No one can question that in some departments of horse-racing Ireland
is today supreme. The Irish devotion to the horse is of no recent
growth. Everybody knows how, in the dim and distant days when King
Conor macNessa ruled at Emain, the war-steeds of the Ultonians
neighed loudly in their stalls on the first dramatic appearance of
Cuchulainn of Muirthemne at the northern court. Cuchulainn's own two
steeds, Liath Macha, "the Roan of Macha", and Dub Sainglenn, "Black
Sanglan", are celebrated in story and song:
Never hoofs like them shall ring,
Rapid as the winds of spring.
To read of the performances of Cuchulainn and his war-horses and his
charioteer and friend, Laeg macRiangahra, at the famous battle of
Rosnaree, and again at the last fight between the Red Branch Knights
and the forces of Queen Medb of Connacht, does truly, in the words
used by Sir Philip Sidney in another connection, stir the heart like
the sound of a trumpet.
As time went on, the Irish war-horse became more and more famous, and
always carried his rider in gallant style. Stout was the steed that,
bestridden by Godfrey O'Donnell at the battle of Credan-Kille,
withstood the shock of Lord Maurice Fitzgerald's desperate onslaught,
and by his steadiness enabled the Tyrconnell chieftain to strike
senseless and unhorse his fierce Norman foe. More celebrated still
was the high-spirited animal which Art MacMurrogh rode in 1399 to his
ineffectual parley with King Richard the Second's representative, the
Earl of Gloucester. The French chronicler who was a witness of that
historic scene tells us that a horse more exquisitely beautiful, more
marvellously fleet, he had never seen. "In coming down," he says, "it
galloped so hard that, in my opinion, I never saw hare, deer, sheep,
or any other animal, I declare to you for a certainty, run with such
speed as it did." Edmund Spenser, the poet of _The Faerie Queene_,
writing in 1596, bears this striking testimony to the Irish
horse-soldier and inferentially to the Irish horse: "I have hearde
some greate warriours say, that, in all the services which they had
seene abroade in forrayne countreys, they never sawe a more comely
horseman than the Irish man, nor that cometh on more bravely in his
charge." The feats performed at the Battle of the Boyne, in 1690, by
the Irish horse-soldiers under Hamilton and Berwick were really
wonderful, and well-nigh turned disaster into victory on that
memorable day which decided the fate of nations as well as of
dynasties. And surely those were fleet and stout-hearted steeds that,
on August 12, 1690, carried Sarsfield and his chosen five hundred on
their dare-devil midnight ride from the Keeper Hills to Ballyneety,
where in the dim morning twilight they captured and destroyed William
of Orange's wonderful siege-train, and thereby heartened the
defenders of beleaguered Limerick.
Writing in 1809, Lawrence, in his _History and Delineation of the
Horse_, said: "From Ireland alone we import [into England] many
saddle horses, as many perhaps as 1,500 in a year; upwards in some
years. The Irish are the highest and steadiest leapers in the world.
Ireland has bred some good racers, and the generality of Irish horses
are, it appears, warmer tempered than our own; and, to use the
expression, sharper and more frigate-built."
It is not to be wondered at therefore if in such a country there
developed an ardent love of the noble sport of horse-racing. The
Curragh of Kildare, the long-standing headquarters of the Irish Turf
Club, was celebrated far back in the eighteenth century as the venue
of some great equine contests; and to this day, with its five
important fixtures every year, it still holds pride of place. There
are numerous other race-courses all over the country, from
Punchestown, Leopardstown, Phoenix Park, and Baldoyle in the east to
Galway in the west, and from The Maze in the north to rebel Cork in
the south. Horse-racing has not inappropriately been termed the
national pastime of Ireland. The number of people now giving their
attention to it has called for a notable increase in the number of
race-meetings, and stake-money is being put up on a more generous
scale than at any previous time in the history of the sport. For
example, the Irish Derby, run at the Curragh, was in 1914 worth
£2,500; and there are besides several stakes of £1,500 and £1,000.
The result of this forward policy is that increasing numbers come to
our race-meetings and that the turf has never been more popular than
it is today. Men and women of wealth and position find in the
national pastime a pleasant method of employing their leisure, and in
expending their surplus wealth in its pursuit and in the raising of
horses of the highest class they realize that they confer a real
benefit on the country.
It is, of course, now universally known that Ireland has an
international reputation as a country eminently fitted for
horse-breeding. If proof were needed, it would be found in the
extensive purchases effected by English, French, Italian, German,
Russian, and American buyers at the great Dublin Horse Show held in
August every year. Horses bought in Ireland have seldom failed to
realize their promise. The English classic races and many of the
principal handicaps on the flat have been often won by Irish-bred
horses, such as Galtee More, Ard Patrick, Orby, Kilwarlin,
Barcaldine, Umpire, Master Kildare, Kilsallaghan, Bendigo, Philomel,
The Rejected, Comedy, Winkfield's Pride, Bellevin, Royal Flush,
Victor Wild, Bachelor's Button, Irish Ivy, and Hackler's Pride. If
only a few of the star performers are here set down, it is not from
lack of means to continue, but merely from a desire to avoid the
compilation of a mere string of names. In France, too, the Irish
racer has made his mark. It is, however, in the four-and-a-half
miles' Liverpool Grand National Steeplechase, the greatest
cross-country race in the world, the supreme test of the leaper,
galloper, and stayer, that Irish-bred horses have made perhaps the
most wonderful record. The list of winners of that great event
demonstrates in an unmistakable manner that we are second to none in
the art of breeding steeplechase horses. Among many other noted
Irish-bred winners of this race there stand boldly forth the names of
The Lamb, Empress, Woodbrook, Frigate, Come Away, Cloister, Wild Man
from Borneo, and Manifesto. In fact, it is the exception when another
than an Irish-bred horse annexes the blue riband of steeplechasing.
Closely allied to horse-racing is fox-hunting, and fox-hunting, as
well as the hunting of the stag and of the hare, has flourished
exceedingly in Ireland for a long time past. A great deal of needed
employment is one of the results. Dogs are specially bred and trained
for each of these branches of sport. Irish foxhounds, staghounds,
harriers, and beagles have a high reputation. More native to the
soil, and so interwoven with the history of the country that it is
often used as one of its symbols, is the Irish wolfhound. This is
probably the animal to which Aurelius Symmachus, a Roman consul in
Britain, referred when, writing to his brother in Ireland in A.D.
391, he acknowledged the receipt of seven Irish hounds. The wolfhound
played a sinister part in the Irish history of the eighteenth
century, for, as Davis says in his poem, "The Penal Days":
Their dogs were taught alike to run
Upon the scent of wolf and friar.
The Irish wolfhound is now very scarce, and a genuine specimen is a
valued and highly coveted possession. The greyhound, too, figures
prominently in present-day sport, and in many parts of the country
are held coursing meetings, which frequently result in several
spirited contests. A famous Irish greyhound was Lord Lurgan's black
and white dog, Master McGrath. Master McGrath achieved the rare
distinction of winning the Waterloo Cup three times, in 1868, 1869,
and 1871. When it is remembered that the Waterloo Cup is to coursing
what the Liverpool Grand National is to steeplechasing, or the Epsom
Derby to flat racing, the merit of this triple performance will at
once be apparent.
Compared with the sports in which horse and hound participate, all
other outdoor pastimes in Ireland take rather a minor place. Still,
the Irishman's love of sport is diversified. Few there are who have
not many inclinations, and as a nation our taste in sport is
catholic. We take part in nearly every pastime; in many we excel. The
prize ring has fallen from its high estate, nor is it the intention
here to try to cast any glamour over it. The subject is introduced,
in a passing way, for the sole purpose of showing that, in what at
least used to be the manly art of self-defense, Ireland in days gone
by as well as at the present time has more than held her own. The
most conspicuous of the representatives of her race in this
department are perhaps Heenan, Ryan, Sullivan, Corbett, Maher,
McAuliffe, McFarland, and McGoorty. There is one other prize-fighter,
Dan Donnelly by name, who became a sort of national hero, of whom all
Irishmen of his day were not a little proud, because he laid the
English champion low, and whose performance, now haloed by the
antiquity of more than a hundred years, we may with equanimity, as
without offense, contemplate, with perhaps a sigh for the good old
times. The famous encounter between Donnelly and Cooper took place on
the Curragh, and after eleven rounds of scientific boxing Donnelly
knocked his opponent over the ropes and won the world's championship
for the Emerald Isle. The spot where the battle came off has ever
since been known as Donnelly's Hollow, and a neat monument there
erected commemorates the Dublin man's pluck and skill. A ballad
recounting the incidents of the fight and, as ballads go, not badly
composed, had a wonderful vogue, and was sung at fair and market and
other meeting place within the memory of men who are not now more
than middle-aged.
A search in other domains of sport will be by no means barren of
results. Take running, for instance. Who has not heard of the
wondrous little Thomas Conneff from the short-grass county of
Kildare? Who does not know of his brilliant performances on the
track? We in Ireland, who had seen him defeat Carter, the great
Canadian, over the four-mile course at Ballsbridge one summer's eve
now nearly twenty golden years ago, knew his worth before he crossed
the broad Atlantic to show to thousands of admiring spectators in
America that Ireland was the breeder of fleet-footed sons, who lacked
neither the courage, nor the thews and sinews, nor the staying power,
to carry them at high speed over any distance of ground. May the
earth lie light on Conneff, for in a small body he had a great heart!
Then there was the mighty runner, James J. Daly, a true hero from
Galway, the idol of the crowd in his native land as well as in the
United States. Daly was the champion long distance cross-country
runner of his day at home, and he showed before various nationalities
in the Greater Ireland beyond the seas that he could successfully
compete with the best from all countries.
In high jumping, Patrick Davin, P. Leahy, and Peter O'Connor were for
long in the foremost rank; Daniel Ahearne was famous for his
hop-step-and-jump performance; Maurice Davin, Matthew McGrath, and
Patrick Ryan have, each in his own day, thrown the 16-pound hammer to
record distance; in shot-putting there are Sheridan, Horgan, John
Flanagan, and others bearing true Irish names, who are right in
front; and before their time we had a redoubted champion in W.J.M.
Barry. All previous performances in the shot-putting line have,
however, been recently eclipsed by Patrick J. McDonald, of the
Irish-American Club, who at Celtic Park, Long Island, on May 30,
1914, made a new world's record by putting the 18-pound shot 46 feet
2-3/4 inches. The climax of achievement was reached when T.F. Kiely
won the all-round championship of the world at New York. The
distinguished part taken by Irishmen or sons of Irishmen in all
departments of the Olympic games is so recent and so well known as to
call for no comment. Ireland is far indeed from being degenerate in
her athletes.
In international strife with England, Scotland, Wales, and France at
Rugby football, Ireland has likewise won her spurs. She has never
been beaten by the representatives of Gaul; and though for long
enough she had invariably to succumb in competition with the other
three countries, such is not the case nowadays, nor has it been for
many years past. The Irish team has ever to be reckoned with. In
Association football, too, Ireland is coming into her own. This
branch of the game has developed enormously within a comparatively
few seasons. The people flock in their thousands to witness matches
for the principal league contests or cup ties. But the greatest
crowds of all go to see Gaelic football, the national game; and to
hurling, also distinctively Irish, they foregather in serried masses.
Since the Gaelic Athletic Association was founded both football and
hurling have prospered exceedingly. They are essentially popular
forms of sport, and the muscular manhood of city and country finds in
them a natural outlet for their characteristic Celtic vigor. The
Gaelic Association has fostered and developed these sports, and has
organized them on so sound a basis that interest in them is not
confined to any particular district but spreads throughout the length
and breadth of Ireland.
When the America Cup was to be challenged for, into the breach
stepped the Earl of Dunraven and flung his gage to the holders of the
trophy. This distinguished Irish nobleman furnished a contender in
his Valkyrie II. in the fall of 1893, and his patriotic spirit in
doing so stirred the sport-loving Irish nation to the greatest
enthusiasm. His lordship was not successful, but he was not
disheartened. He tried again with Valkyrie III., but again he was
only second best, for, though his yacht sailed to victory in home
waters, she proved unequal to the task of lifting the cup. No
Englishman was prepared to tempt fortune, but not so that sterling
Irishman, Sir Thomas Lipton, who, win or lose, would not have it laid
to the charge of Ireland that an attempt should not be made. His
Shamrock, Shamrock II., and Shamrock III.--surely a deep sense of
patriotism prompted nomenclature such as that--each in succession
went down to defeat; but Sir Thomas has not done yet. Like King
Bruce, he is going to try again, and Shamrock IV. is to do battle
with the best that America can range against her. All honor to Lord
Dunraven and to Sir Thomas Lipton for their persistent efforts to
engage in generous rivalry with the yachtsmen across the sea.
Lawn-tennis, cricket, and golf we play, and play well; to rowing many
of us are enthusiastically devoted; and at handball our young
men--and some not so young--are signally expert. The champion
handball player has always been of Irish blood. Baseball we
invented--and called it rounders. It is significant that the great
American ball game is still played according to a code which is
scarcely modified from that which may be seen in force any summer day
on an Irish school field or village green. Perhaps something of
hereditary instinct is to be traced in the fact that many of the best
exponents of American baseball are the bearers of fine old Irish
names.
This brief and cursory review of Ireland at Play must now conclude.
It is scarcely more than a glossary, and not a complete one at that.
It may, however, serve to show that Ireland's record in sport, like
her record in so many other things set forth in this book, is great
and glorious enough to warrant the insertion of this short chapter
among those which tell of old achievements and feats of high emprize.