Report Paul Murphy
The Francis Ledwidge Museum Committee had lost a friend in the late Tom Kerrigan, a former president of the committee and it had also lost a friend and benefactor in the late Henry Mount Charles, a commemoration at the museum has been told. James Doherty paid the tribute as part of the 108th anniversary of the poet’s death in World War 1 held in the garden of the poet’s home at Janeville, Slane.
He said that Henry Mount Charles had “thrown his doors open to the committee anytime he was asked”. There was also a connection between Henry Mount Charles and the Ledwidge family in that Henry’s grand uncle had also died in the First World War, just two days before the war ended in 1918, he said.
The day’s events, always held on the nearest Sunday to the date of the poet’s death on 31st July 1917, comprised a mixture of poetry, music and song. Museum committee chairperson Terry Wogan marked the occasion by appealing for new members of the museum committee. He said that “an open door” would be there to welcome in committee members.
Poems read to an attentive audience included House of Gold read by Colm Yore, The Shadow People read by Dianna Allen (“you feel you are in his poems when you are reading them”), To Matty McGoona read by Tomas de Faoite, June by James Doherty,(pictured above), To One Dead by Rosemary Yore, Dulce et Decorum Est (Wilfred Owen poem) and Soliloquy by Tom Flanagan, The Gardener by Rosemary Maye, A Little Boy in the Morning by Pat Casey. Music was provided by Paddy Reilly.
A wreath laying and citation was performed by Rosemary Yore, President, Francis Ledwidge Museum Committee. The Last Post and Reveille was played by bugler Francis Duffy of Navan Silver Band, The Green Fields of France was sung by Terry McHugh, Drogheda. A minute’s silence was observed. The event was supported by Meath County Council.
At a Poet’s Grave
When I leave down this pipe my friend
And sleep with flowers I loved, apart,
My songs shall rise in wilding things
Whose roots are in my heart
And here where that sweep poet sleeps
I hear the songs he left unsung,
When winds are fluttering the flowers,
And summer-bells are rung.
