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The Slaughter of Dromtariffe
By Donna M. Shine
We stopped outside the graveyard gate
Preparing to browse around;
To see the ancient ruins
Of a church on hallowed ground.
As legend goes, in Cromwell’s day,
The Irish took a stance;
One thousand marched to Limerick
To prevent Ireton’s advance
The Pikemen hid in Knockbrack wood,
There sheltered from attack;
In greatest hopes that victory
Would send the English back
Lord Broghill’s men did intercept,
Forcing pikemen from the hill,
Then slaughtered man and horse alike,
Just killing at free will.
Then ‘cross Blackwater Broghill rode
Towards some who got a way;
They ran for sanctuary to Dromtariffe church
And there knelt down to pray.
Some fugitives and local folk
Were in the church as well;
When Maxwell set the church ablaze,
It burned like fires from hell.
The people shelt’ring there all died
In Sixteen Fifty-one,
Slain by ‘Butcher’ Maxwell,
Survivors there were none.
‘Tis said that local farmers
When they plough their grain,
Still find so many horseshoes
Where Irishmen were slain.
The stone walls of the church still stand
The green ivy above,
Caressing those who died within,
God rest their souls in love.
Within those walls grave-markers stand
To name the families there;
And beg each passing stranger,
“Please stop and say a prayer’.
‘Remember those of us who died,
But fought so hard that day,
To save our rights, to hold our land;
Now that we’ve gone away’.
And as I leave that hallowed clay,
Most bless’d in all the earth,
Right surely as I walk away,
‘Tis etched upon my heart.