Last Manuscript of the A Gnew

The Last Manuscript of the Agnew

1568

Brían Ó Gnímh has no riches, other than his own manuscripts. Tonight he will depart Dunluce Castle with his soft, satin ceremonial cloak returned to him, his rod in hand. 

The call is made for Ollamh Flatha. Brían rehearses the opening line of ‘The tale of Guile’s daughter’, a tale he will tell as a metaphor for falling from grace and as an apology for seeking out a foreign patron. He closes his eyes to dismiss the images of Glenshesk, the bloodbath he witnessed two years ago, and he prays for the soul of Séamus Mac Dhòmhnaill, 6th chief of Clan MacDonald of Dunnyveg, dead in captivity in his sixty-fifth year. All seemed lost then.

He practises this tale, an ancient one in which a daughter must forfeit her duties of hospitality. She has no food to offer, just as Brían had no means for hospitality last year for four travelling princes, who supped on a meal as plain as that of their horses. So low had he fallen that he was no better than a common cainte. He must keep his status as ollamh, even if he has been a poor biatach — even if he has been a poor host. Never again will he return to such niggardly ways. Never again will his mind be so distorted by fear and war. Adversity has made him distressed, like the murdhucan sea bird, the siren he watched scream from his fortified tower in Ballygally. He must recover the name of scholars lost in the monasteries of Galloway, where his forefathers’ manuscripts burned. He must recover the name of Somhairle Buidhe Mac Domhnaill, descendant of Margery Byset and Eòin Mòr Tànaiste Mac Dhòmhnaill, whose alliance in 1399 gave Clan Donnell claim to the Glens of Antrim.

Clan Dhòmhnaill needs Brían as much as Brían needs Clan Dhòmhnaill: he is no fool, but he will blind them all with poetry so that they believe his need is greater than theirs. Such is the art of diplomacy that Brían learned from his grandfather, Séann Ó Gnímh, who travelled Alba and Eireann seeking patronage and was set up by the O Neill family in Bally O Scullion, near Antrim. Such is the art of diplomacy that he learned from his father, An Fear Doircha, who travelled Alba agus Eireann seeking patronage and was set up by the MacDonnells at Priestland near Dunluce. Brían may have erred, but he knows his worth: he is at the top of his profession and his status will allow him to elevate that of the MacDonnells across all of Ulster. He will restore their name among the Gaels of Ulster, and for the sake of the MacDonnell reputation, he will call upon poetry to justify the murder of Séann O’Neill. 

Brían closes his eyes and rhymes the names taught to him by his father. Brían, son of An Fear Doirche, son of Seaán, son of Cormac, son of Maol Mitnigh Óg, son of Maol Mithigh Mór, son of Gille Pádraig, son of Séann of Dun Fiodháin, son of Maol Muíre, son of Eóin. He says like a psalm. 

Brían will be married tonight to his true patrons of love and blood. He will chronicle the battles of Somhairle Buidhe Mac Domhnaill once again.  He will provide him legal counsel and educate the youths, Domhnall Gorm and Alastair. He takes his rod and walks down the corridor to the throne room, accompanied by his entourage. Tonight he will sleep under his master’s roof. Tomorrow he will find a new home for Aibhlín and their infant son, who will be worthy of the name of a prince, Fear Flatha Mac Gnímh.

1611

Fear Flatha has been fasting to ready his body for the task. He lies in darkness on sheepskin after five days of nothing but water from the springs of Ben Moal Rhuarí. He has pledged to write a poem to Fear Dorcha, who is one of the Magennises of Iveagh, County Down. Only he will know it to be a lamentation on the loss of his father, the great Ó Gnímh, famed across the whole of Éireann agus Alba, who is now in a golden house. Only he will know it to be a lamentation for the death of his beloved wife, Catríona, in childbirth last year, and for his brothers, Séann, who died in battle, and Brían, who was not made to survive a fever brought by famine.  

Fear Flatha once resented his father’s calling. The lands bestowed to him at Cill Uachtair parish in the barony of Glenarm were not guaranteed when his patron was warring with the MacQuillans and the English.  Fear Flatha’s father built up great flocks as the family moved from location to location, but such riches were of little consequence in war.  There is no permanence in the allocation of poetic land. Poetry has brought his family little land and even less fortune, and now that threads of lore will no longer be spun, artistry and lyrics no longer woven, poetry is to be silenced, hidden in vaults. 


This is an imagined history of the Agnew sheriffs and Agnew bards of Kilwaughter, which is based on historical research. To keep reading this story, click 'read more.' You may also like my new novel: The Secret Diary of Stephanie Agnew.

What fate then for his family, who survived the dark years and who pledged loyalty to a foreign Queen in 1602?  They are not made, like the MacDonnell men, to lead war or ships. They are not made, like their tenants, to yoke ploughs. How will Fear Flatha’s kin live when the glory of the Gael is despised and their own inheritance hidden? His son must give away his treasures. His descendants will dedicate themselves to the plough. The keepers of poetry will not pay for it when they have militiamen and sheriffs to keep. Where will Fear Flatha go to find guardians of this futile art that has been handed down to him? 

Fear Flatha’s tears overwhelm him. Rhymes come easy. Alliteration flows. The metre finds its ready beat. And as he praises Magennis of Iveagh, the subject of his poem, he begins to see clearly: he must rescue father’s school. He must keep the name alive. He is not old. He is forty-one and has four daughters and a son who will carry his name and learn his profession. He is able in mind and body. The English crown will accept poetry if it thinks it can control it, pay for it, hear a praise poem for its plundering. Only the poet knows the true meaning of the poem. Fear Flatha will lavish his poetry on lords and on people who do not sit in castles. He will be known throughout the land. Fear Flatha prays to God for the gift that comes with hunger. 

1618

Fear Flatha Ogneeve of the five quarters of Bally Agnew in the parish of Killochter in the barony of Glenarm emerges into the morning light. He looks out from Lisdrumbard beyond hens in the yard to damp hazy fields of barley fields and oat fields and fields of cattle and sheep at the ridge of a hill overlooking Beann Mhadagáin to the south, but he will not be heading south today.

His servant has readied the horse gifted to him by Randal MacSorley MacDonnell; “Arranagh”, as he is known to Fear Flatha — Viscount to those with a taste for English titles. Today Fear Flatha departs for Portpatrick in Scotland. 

He descends the hill towards the Latharna River and past all the quarters owned by his kin who have earned the trust of Randal MacSorley MacDonnell. Fear Flatha knows them all, the Catholic Agnews, the Protestant Agnews, those who speak the Inglis of Alba, those who speak the Erse of Alba. They go by any name attained by a scribe — A Gnew, O Gniuu, Ogneiff, Ogneeve.

The Agnews of Lochnaw in Galloway are distant relatives, allied by marriage to the Presbyterian Shaws of Greenock, who were planted in the parish of Cairncastle after a period of adventuring through the Ards with the Agnews and Mac Dougalls of Galloway. Patrick Agnew and his wife, Janet Shaw, are to build a fortified house at Cill Uachtair beside the old rath of the Bissets, which was inherited by the MacDonnells. John Shaw and his wife, Isobel Brisbane, are to build a fortified house in Ballygally, where Fear Flatha’s father, Brían, once lived. The Shaw’s Castle is set to be a stronger building than the one his father occupied as a youth on the rock at the Ballygally Head. It is to be a broader pile situated in a tamer bay. 

A pact has been made among the Gaels whose kin are now divided by religion. The Presbyterians are to fill the militias and keep watch on the old monastic sites, lest a Catholic rising be planned. If the Catholics lie low and protect their Presbyterian cousins, they will keep the land given to them in the time of Somhairle. Fear Flatha has seen many battles in which brother has turned on brother. He knows that distant cousins will turn on one another when the time comes.

There are men by the name of John on every legal document Fear Flatha has seen. Fear Flatha too is sometimes described as John if the scribe cannot think of name starting with F, like Francis, Frank or Frederik; though he is mostly Tadhg or Bard, which are common enough words that even the Inglis of Galloway know them. Fear Flatha is an Ollamh Flatha. He has tried to sound it out for them — Olav Flaha — but there is little teaching those who would lump all poetry together and not understand the distinctions of the professor. 

​This is an imagined history of the Agnew sheriffs and Agnew bards of Kilwaughter, which is based on historical research. To keep reading this story, click 'read more.' You may also like my new novel: The Secret Diary of Stephanie Agnew, a contemporary novel which draws lightly on some of the historical research behind this blog.
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Today Fear Flatha is on a genealogical commission for Randal MacDonnell. He has been rewarded £5, two stallions and fine carved furnishings in the Saxon style for his house. He will stay in Lochnaw with his distant kin, hereditary sheriff, Patrick of Lochnaw, who was put up in Fear Flatha’s home on his last visit a month ago. Patrick of Lochnaw’s man in Cill Uachtair is building the fortified house, but there is no permanent dwelling yet. 

Lochnaw has shown Fear Flatha friendship and has enough knowledge of the old ways to observe Fear Flatha’s home in Baile Uí Ghnímhu as a destination for noblemen. Fear Flatha’s daughter, Sorcha, provided a feast for Patrick’s followers on that last visit and Fear Flatha heard her explain the Irish genitive to a man who only speaks a few words of Galloway Erse — that belonging or possession can change the sound of a word from v to uu — Ognive to Ogniuu. Few understand the possessive at a time when possession is king. Belonging is lost in this year, 1618.

Fear Flatha boards the boat at Olderfleet. He has in his hand a letter from Patrick of Lochnaw, with details of a servant who will meet him at Portpatrick. He studies the Inglis on the page. It is not a Classical language like Irish, but rather a collection of dialects that change with the wind. French words proliferate. There are no rules. 

The journey to Lochnaw Castle, hidden in the Rhins of Galloway, is short — the castle is only a few miles from Portpatrick. He is given a simple meal upon arrival. The Agnews still keep the custom of sharing the table with those who work the land, and he is witness to two tongues that are not distinct. Galloway Erse is now crowded with new inventions, like kirk instead of cill. Galloway Inglis is filled with words in Gaelic, like tober instead of well. Each language is as muddled as the language of Shakespeare. Inglis is filtering down to the senior servants, which means it will win in form what it loses in words. Today there is much borrowing and lending. 

Fear Flatha sees the future of east Antrim in Galloway. The voices he hears are those of folk who will farm the land at Cill Uachtair, which the sheriff spells Killochter. There is much talk among the lower class of farmer of the opportunities in Ireland. Fear Flatha warns them that the forests are thick with blossom and not gold.

The castle at Lochnaw is old. Andrew, the sheriff’s son, plans to build a new one, like the castles underway in Ballygally and Killochter, which are to be paid for through a tax from the farmer in exchange for safety from rebel Irish. The existing castle is filled with damp, which is marked on spores on the older documents, the first of which makes reference to the Agnev De Insula, Agnew of the Isles. Fear Flatha tells Andrew, son of the sheriff, that the progenitor Gníomh was a sheriff too, deputising for his kin in Ireland at Dunfane before moving onto Galloway in the 1300s. Movement is part of the Gallowglass and poetic heritage. Roots are tenuous.

Fear Flatha also notes the crest of three red hands of Ulster on Lochnaw Castle. He counsels Andrew to save some of these artefacts if a new dwelling is built. Andrew is only eighteen and will be keen to modernise. He speaks Scots with a touch of French, unlike his father, who finds Irish words on his tongue faster than the Inglis he searches for. They call the Inglis of court Scottis.

Young Andrew is curious about his ancestors from the Isles. Fear Flatha does not have all the answers. He sees that the ‘O’, grandson of, is ‘A’ in the papers related to many Galloway men, like Adair, Adrain and Ahannay. In the past in Galloway, they dropped the ‘A’ and took the ‘Mac’ in relation to sons; but the names now have no movement and are fixed. Even in Killochter, this is so. The title Ó Gnímh is no longer limited to a chief. There are multiple people in the quarters who carry the name. 

Andrew takes his name from the first sheriff of 1426, and Fear Flatha seeks to understand how Andrew came to be a name for his distant Scottish cousins. Was it simply a story of a saint? Gnímach O’Gnímach may have been translated or christianised to Andrew O’Gnímhach or Nevin Gnev, or perhaps the letter A was called upon to replace Alastair, the family sept of Clan Mac Donnell. Fear Flatha has seen Daniel for Donnell and Alexander for Alastair. He has seen John for Iain, Eoín, Séann and a whole range of names that bear no resemblance to John. 

The first sheriff of Lochnaw called his sons Gilbert, Patrick and Andrew — Gille Brigte, Gille Padraíg and Alastair. The 2nd Sheriff was Andrew, who named his son Quentin. An old seal exists from 1487 on which Quentinach Gnev is written. Quentin kept the family tradition of intermarriage with the MacDoughall sept, one of the three main branches of Somerled. 

Andrew is well-mannered and has shown Fear Flatha all the scholarly enthusiasm that a teacher enjoys, but he is set to be a soldier and not a scholar, and Fear Flatha thinks it a pity that the firstborn pedigree they speak of now — this primogeniture — should dictate his fate. Fear Flatha’s brother, Séann, was first born, but he showed no talent for poetry and so he did not have to suffer it and instead was put to the sword and died under Somhairle Buidhe. And gentle Brían Og, his brother who was never able to write, did not know the ways of the scholar at all. Fear Flatha may teach the art of swordsmanship and military strategy in his school in Latharna, but he did not inherit the active or brave deeds carried out by his brother or forefathers. He sees in the family archives the name of Sir Niall Agnew, who was in Glenluce Abbey in Galloway in 1426. Maybe Fear Flatha has inherited the scholarly skills of the great priests and monks of Galloway.

Fear Flatha has been assessing the faces of the people in Galloway, not only in Lochnaw, but at port of Stranraer, which is now granted as a new royal burgh. Andrew and Patrick have the fair skin of the Scandinavian like their Killochter cousins. Fear Flatha is dark like the Irish. It is a shame that religion has come between kin. In time, Fear Flatha could have married his son Maol Muíre to any one of the fair-skinned Lochnaw girls. 

​This is an imagined history of the Agnew sheriffs and Agnew bards of Kilwaughter, which is based on historical research. To keep reading this story, click 'read more.' You may also like my new novel: The Secret Diary of Stephanie Agnew, a contemporary novel which draws lightly on some of the historical research behind this blog.
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1625

As Fear Flatha rides across Sallagh towards Glenarm, he observes hundreds of boats moving like ants on a liquid highway towards the Mull of Kintyre, the Paps of Jura, the Rhins of Galloway. The sky is the pink of July, the isles a soft green on the horizon. He travels alongside his son and thinks of the changes he has seen in the last ten years, the changes brought about by his patron.

Randal “Arranach” Mac Sorley Mac Donnell has made of rough tracks smooth ways; he has drained bogland, planted crops and replaced trees. Fear Flatha has posed as a loyal citizen since the princes of Ulster fled in 1607, but he recalls what his father said: it’s just a bargain for time. Fear Flatha isn’t so sure. The fortified houses at Ballygally and Killochter symbolise a more permanent migration for the incoming Scots.

Maol Muíre shows the promise of a great poet, but he has no passion for it. Fear Flatha’s wife, Catríona, was fond of St. Mary’s chapel, and when she died in childbirth, Fear Flatha called his son Maol Muíre, devotee of Mary. Fear Flatha rarely visits Galloway now, but he knows that there are no devotees of Mary left in the Rhins of Galloway: those old monks who renounced the Pope have long died, having lived out their days quietly in remaining monasteries. 

Fear Flatha is concerned that his son might change his faith. Young Catholics are radicalised by Scottish priests, who speak the tongue of the people. They preach in Irish and English, and the young men, who do not wish to hear Latin words, are brought into their fold. Fear Flatha’s father was once seen as a modernising man for buying a Gaelic bible — a matter of contention with Fear Flatha’s grandfather, according to family lore. Fear Flatha talks to his son of the great scholar, Maol Mithigh Mór, and his son, Maol Mitnigh Óg, and all those kin who were monks — they have no place in history now that their manuscripts have been burned. 

Maol Muíre and Fear Flatha rhyme the names together as they did when Maol Muíre was a boy — Mac “Son of”, they begin. Maol Muíre, son of Fear Flatha, son of Brían, son of An Fear Doirche, son of Seaán, son of Cormac, son of Maol Mitnigh Óg, son of Maol Mithigh Mór, son of Gille Pádraig, son of Séann of Dun Fiodháin, son of Maol Muíre, son of Eóin, the first “Gníomh”, son of Aonghus Mor, son of Alasdair, son of Domhnall, son of Ragnall, son of Somairle, King of the Argyll. They say it all like a psalm. 

Fear Flatha has been told that his family goes back to the three Collas of Ireland, who were banished from their native land and sent to Alba, Scotland, before the time of Saint Patrick. Will any of this matter to his descendants, years from now? History is as vulnerable as the parchment.

An ollamh — a master poet — has neither the money nor the security to build tall stone edifices, like those of the Scots Patrick Agnew and John Shaw. He must leave a legacy of ink instead of one carved in stone. Fear Flatha’s family manuscripts are bound in leather, wrapped in layers of linen and stored in a stone chest far from chimney or thatch, but the threat of fire is always on Fear Flatha’s mind: his father  survived many battles, but he almost lost his life when fire went up on Ben Moal Ruarí. He was not a farming man and did not know the tradition of burning heather before the summer months. 

They are descending the road to Glenarm, to the new house of MacDonnell, where “Arranagh”, the Earl of Antrim, will meet them. Fear Flatha advises Maol Muíre to be careful where he places his trust. There are unspoken words sitting on the tongue of the Earl of Antrim just as there are unwritten words sitting on the page of Fear Flatha. Maol Muíre can turn to the Lochnaws if needs be. Leases are to be renewed. John Ó Gnímh of Ballyhempton will sign the lease for his lands, including Greenland and Ballycraigy. This is a reward for being the second of his line to be born of the Protestant faith. Fear Flatha will scribe John's name Ogneeve so that the English can pronounce it.

Fear Flatha’s family still have much to be thankful for in the way of land. They have the five quarterlands of Baile Uí Ghnímh at the head of the wood. They have the freehold land by Ben Moal Ruarí, and Altscale, next to the Ben, from which their school in Lisnadrumbard is run.  Sheriff of Lochnaw has the rest Drumnadonaghy, Drumahoe and Lealies. Fear Flatha’s cousins, Donnell and Fear Doirche, who are sons of his uncle Maol Muíre, have Rory’s Glen and the townland of the great well.

The poorer Protestants still hold onto their crucifixes here, but Fear Flatha has seen the whitewashing of chapels and the cill at Ballyhempton being rebuilt for a home. He has also seen the white-washing of the church at the mouth of the Latharna River under John’s brother, who calls himself Gilbert. He is not as staunchly Presbyterian as his Shaw cousins, who are puritan in their ways. 

The ideals of these radical young men caused much consternation in the beginning —  the loss of feast days, the plundering of chapels for gold, the exposure of women to all sorts of evil, the loss of poetry. Fear Flatha thanked God that his mother, Aibhlín, did not have to live to see what was brought in from Scotland — the hard drinking, the behaviour of young people going about with too much power having little earned it. The fair cornfields were once blighted. The corn was once without blossom on the ground. But it has all passed. The extremes of youthful temperament have not entirely borne out. Even those who would see Christmastide pass without thoughts of Mary have softened. The harp was played when the roof was raised on Cill Uachtair Castle two years ago. There was dancing too. And when Fear Flatha read a poem his father had composed about the cuckoo falling, there was not a dry eye among the Ogneeve militiamen at the feast.

​This is an imagined history of the Agnew sheriffs and Agnew bards of Kilwaughter, which is based on historical research. To keep reading this story, click 'read more.' You may also like my new novel: The Secret Diary of Stephanie Agnew, a contemporary novel which draws lightly on some of the historical research behind this blog.
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But names have lost their religion. In Galloway, Gille Padraig, follower of Patrick, no longer follows Patrick, but is Kilpatrick or Patrick. In Galloway, Maol Muíre, devotee of Mary, is no longer devoted to Mary, but is Moore, Morra or Murray. In Galloway, Gille Brigde, follower of Brigid, no longer follows Saint Brigid, but is Kilbride or even Gilbert. What will become of the female saints? And how will they know all their fathers going back to the Three Collas if they do not learn their names? The Fear — the man — is dying. 

Fear Flatha will see Patrick of Lochnaw later today. He has no leases to sign, but he has come in by boat from Portpatrick to bear witness. He wrote that he has business with his old friend Arranach. Patrick, it seems, looked up to Randal as a brother when they were both fostered together with the sheriff’s maternal Stewart family on Arran. 


1637

Fear Flatha journeys south from Dunluce. The Glens are temptresses on the coldest days with the clearest skies. It is hard to keep an eye on the track.  Randal’s son, Alastair — Alexander — has inherited the barony of Glenarm, barely a man. What will he know at 21? And how will he control anything when he is travelling on the grand tour, like an Englishman? He called in all the leases last April, and the leaseholders from Killochter had to sign once again for their lands. It was an illegal act. Patrick of Lochnaw declined the invitation to sign in person, citing an engagement with the Earl of Cassilis, but Lealies, Drumnadonaghy, Drumahoe and Ballyedward will be kept in his estate for another 77 years in exchange for twenty pounds sterling and a supply of oats. 

Fear Flatha does not know what to make of the document he saw in Dunluce Castle with the name Farfess O Duygnenan of Connaught, lessee of land in Toberdornan, in the barony of Dunluce, the first named lessor being Sir Randall McDonnell. It is not the first time an Ó Duibhgeannàin ollamh has courted the MacDonnells; Fear Flatha recalls that they stayed at Dunluce for a long spell in 1613. Now a second plot of land is to be given to them. Fear Flatha at least has some work with the O’Neills.
 
Fear Flatha will soon sign Lisnadrumbard and Altscale over to Maol Muíre, who is gifted in matters of land management and is prepared for any eventuality. Tension is tangible in all quarters. Rumours persist of an uprising from the Irish. Fear Flatha still travels throughout the country, despite his 68 years, and he finds families divided down the middle, brother against brother, father against son. He has made arrangements with Patrick of Lochnaw, who will protect the livelihood of his Catholic kin, even if it means that Fear Flatha and his cousins lose their leases. Temporary cabins for women and children are being built high up away from any strategic route. Those Gaels who organised themselves into Presbyteries have been excommunicated from Protestant churches; though the Agnew Presbyterians have held onto the old church at Inbhear an Latharna under Reverend Dunbar. 

The Presbyterians have lost all sense of loyalty. They serve only God, and not any king or master or clan. This will make them nomads. Last year a great ship was built in Olderfleet harbour that would set sail for America in the wake of Pilgrims. Patrick of Lochnaw’s nephew, Andrew, was on board. Tempests raged, the rudder broke and by a miracle they have attributed to God, they made it back home. Reverend Livingstone preaches now to thousands. Many more young Catholics have converted than would have been the case if the Eagle Wing had reached America. 

Today’s transaction was simple. Fear Flatha witnessed the signing of John’s right to the Killochter Castle lands. John's brother Patrick has died and John and his wife, Eleanor Shaw, will take up the two quarterlands. Gilbert, John's brother, witnessed the transaction. The militia captains of Antrim and Down now marry on the basis of their Presbyterian convictions. They have potential enemies on all sides.

​This is an imagined history of the Agnew sheriffs and Agnew bards of Kilwaughter, which is based on historical research. To keep reading this story, click 'read more.' You may also like my new novel: The Secret Diary of Stephanie Agnew, a contemporary novel which draws lightly on some of the historical research behind this blog.


1642

Maol Muíre Agnew has been travelling across the country for chief MacDonnell. He will return to Dunluce in the morning, but first he must visit his father, Fear Flatha, who is in poor health and in hiding with the women and children at Mullaghsandall. 

Randal MacDonnell forfeited his crown loyalties and rebelled last September. He had been building up swordsmen in the woods. All his lands from Latharna to Coleraine have been confiscated by the crown. Scottish Covenanting Presbyterian armies under the Lochnaw Agnews have been billetted at Killochter and take up the castle. They have signed a covenant and will not make an oath to the King.

The fort of the bards is without a bard: the High School has no pupils. Last May, Maol Muíre sub-leased his lands to soldier Patrick Maxwell. As his quill touched the page, he had the pressentiment of never seeing his lands again, and so he reflected upon it for a moment and wrote the word Tadgh in the Irish script. Maybe one day someone will remember.

Maol Muíre does not know how his wife and children survived the winter on such meagre rations, but he finds them in good spirits. He brings no good news, but the honey, oats and barley cheer them. He has been a go-between for all parties, and this has given him the chance to stop with them. He is trusted by the Presbyterians of Killochter, and he is trusted by Randal MacDonnell. He reports to his father that Captain John Ó Gnímh of Kilwaughter has taken the Presybterians from the quarters to hide in the church at Inver. His granddaughter, Helen, daughter of Patrick, was born there before Christmastide. Maol Muíre is wise enough not to venture near the harbour, but he has heard that trees are cut down in a hurry to make ships and forts. A temporary wooden fortification towers high above the tower of Inver.

The Presbyterians in the parish of Cairncastle are gathered under the roof of the Shaws. In autumn, when Alister Mc Coll MacDonnell — Collkittagh — landed at Larne from Scotland with Friar Patrick, the English redcoats from Carrickfergus allowed them to proceed on account of a false promise of crown loyalty, and they made their way north, attempting to take Ballygally Castle. The Presbyterian soldiers of Latharna under Captain John Agnew held them back. Rumours abound of atrocities, and revenge has been swift and cruel. Gael has turned on Gael, Agnew on Agnew, Magee on Magee, MacAllister on MacAllister. 

The Magees, who came to Ireland from Islay with Sorley MacDonnell were massacred with pitchforks and staves in the dark month of January by William Gillis, James Boyd, William Boyd, Alexander McAlister, John MacMaster and John Nelson, and this has sent everyone into a riotous state of mind. Only Bryan Og survived. One woman, chased by a soldier, hurled herself and her baby off the Gobbins. Maol Muíre does not share this story with his wife and children. Nor does he share the story about the Presbyterian child drowned in Glenarm. He suspects their lives will be coloured forever by tales of 1641.

Maol Muíre and his father discuss the financial affairs of Randal the younger, son of Randal MacSorley, who was in debt to the tune of £50,000 before the rising. Maol Muíre is not privy to his administrative matters, as his father once was, but word spreads like fireweed in a forest empty of trees. Randal’s life is conducted in England. How will he pay his debts off with an annual income of £6,000? Warring will hardly improve his lot. 

Maol Muíre walks up to the top of Sallagh with his wife, Siobhán. Out beyond Agnew’s Hill, he sees the feathered head of Hen mountain in the Beanna Boirche. He turns one hundred and eighty degrees, following the contour of the Rhins of Galloway up to the Maol Chinn Tìre. All along the horizon shapes emerge through clouds. He senses awe and fear in his wife’s hand, and he shivers. An army of men is marching across the water in the mystic light between land and sea. The phantom shapes become clearer. It is a long line of small vessels. All the soldiers in Scotland must have come to the Presbyterian cause. If he departs now and rides fast, he will make it to Glenarm. If he departs now and rides fast, he will witness a massacre. He hesitates. He could remain here with his family, or he could fulfil the task set by his master.

​This is an imagined history of the Agnew sheriffs and Agnew bards of Kilwaughter, which is based on historical research. To keep reading this story, click 'read more.' You may also like my new novel: The Secret Diary of Stephanie Agnew, a contemporary novel which draws lightly on some of the historical research behind this blog.

1645

Fear Flatha can no longer abide the pain. All poetry is lost. The is war on three sides now. A confederacy of Catholics fights both the Scots and the English. His grandson Eoín sits with him. At fourteen, he knows too much of the troubles. Fear Flatha watches him write. He will not be a strong scribe, but he is a faithful and kind boy. Fear Flatha tells him that he is named after the first Eoín Gnímh, a Gallowglass soldier of the MacAllister sept of the MacDonald clan. And he turns to him and tells him that he has an important task for him. Eoín’s shoulders expand. The request is simple. Save the family manuscripts, whatever the cost.

Fear Flatha tells his grandson that he has witnessed war and famine and the burning of houses and forests. He says Captain John Ogneeve will not renege on the promise he once made to allow Fear Flatha to be buried in the graveyard adjoining the castle, where his father lies. Fear Flatha knows it to be holy ground of the true faith.  He closes his eyes and listens. Eoín kneels by him and bows his head in prayer. Hail, holy Queen, Mother of mercy, hail, our life, our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve: to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this vale of tears. Turn then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us, and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus, O merciful, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary. Amen.

Fear Flatha’s lips are dry, but he manages some more words. Eoín joins him.
 
Eoín, son of  Maol Muíre, son of Fear Flatha, son of Brían, son of An Fear Doirche, son of Seaán, son of Cormac, son of Maol Mitnigh Óg, son of Maol Mithigh Mór, son of Gille Pádraig, son of Séann of Dun Fiodháin, son of Maol Muíre, son of Eóin, the first “Gníomh”, son of Aonghus Mor, son of Alasdair, son of Domhnall, son of Ragnall, son of Somairle, King of the Argyll. 

They say it together like a psalm.

1654

John Agnew of Killochter is in Glenarm with his cousin James Shaw of Ballygally. They are standing as witnesses on behalf of Patrick of Lochnaw, who is making a claim to his old lands, which were confiscated in 1652 and divided among Cromwellian soldiers. Cromwell, the tyrant, who came to Ireland in 1649 after overthrowing King Charles of England is hated by the Catholics for massacring thousands of civilians and by the Presbyterians for his plan to send them to the remotest parts of Connaught. John’s name was on his list alongside his sons Patrick, William and Francis. All those who had helped Cromwell were to lose what they had built up — his agent, John Blair; his cousin, James Shaw; Robert, Alexander and Andrew Adair of Ballymena; John McDowall; Reverend Dunbar; John Hannay; Alexander Stewart; James Stewart; and the Lord Ardes. It was Livingstone, the minister of Stranraer, who convinced Cromwell to do something for the Presbyterians: the tempest in the Atlantic that sent him home on the Eagle Wing in 1636 has paid dividends to John Agnew.

Lochnaw complains of the state of affairs on his Irish lands, for there is not a plough to be yoked. If only he knew how the farmers have suffered. John has been loyal to Lochnaw, but he knows that his nephew and namesake, son of his brother Patrick, has had difficulties over land at Ballykeel. Lochnaw has long squabbled over the rights of old boundaries. It is a feature of age but also of hard times in Scotland. John’s servant was party to a letter handwritten by Lochnaw to say that he had not ten pounds to spare for his son, Andrew. It’s only a matter of time before the Lochnaws give up the lands in Latharna.

Andrew of Lochnaw has been managing the sheriff’s lands since 1645. He and his brother, Colonel Alexander Agnew, came to Ireland in the war and took over the bardic estates too, letting the Agnew poet's five quarterlands and half of Lisnadrumbard to fellow country man Captain Alexander Dundassse. The five quarterlands is in a terrible state. Many Catholic tenants are in hiding. Maol Muíre died the night that the Scottish soldiers arrived in 1642, but John knows where to find Maol Muíre’s son, Eoín. John will not blame a Catholic Agnew for a MacDonnell war.

John has a list of questions before him, as he works with Lochnaw and Shaw to salvage something of fourteen years of devastation. The questions are in English. John and his cousin must first confirm if they knew of lands held by Sir Patrick Agnew from the Earl of Antrim before the late Rebellion of 1641. Captain John gives his testimony. He is 68 years old and knows the history of Killochter as well as old Fear Flatha did.

John of Kilwaughter explains to the interrogator that he was an agent for Sir Patrick Agnew for thirty years before the rebellion. Like his brothers, Gilbert and Patrick, he was a militiaman in Larne in 1613, when he came to Killochter under Randal MacDonnell, and he was a friend of the first earl, Randal MacSorely MacDonnell, sharing his cup and his table. John knows Randal’s handwriting well. Shaw too, now sixty years of age, knows the handwriting of the late earl. All the leases, including the sheriff’s, were kept at Shaw’s Castle, a safehouse for Cairncaslte through the rebellion. 

John had brought in tenants from Galloway and given them his word that they would be protected, just as Randal MacDonnell, the 2nd Earl of Antrim, had given his word that he would warrant and defend the premises against all persons. And so they set about clearing forests and turning up the land and worked day and night to meet the demands of rent that John had set to to fulfil his own obligations to MacDonnell; not only money for the lease but a supply of good clear oats. And what for? Four long years living at Inver in the old church, while the golden oats and barley fields became forests of wild weeds. Four long years of imprisonment, of babies birthed by women who were weak with hunger. John should have known the make of the man in 1636 when he broke his father’s contracts.

The fortification was built to secure all their futures — the Protestant landowners and the Catholic landowners. John’s deepest regret is that relations will never be the same again with his friends, like Maol Muíre. Their sons will not know the friendship they had. At 68, John has managed to remain on Irish soil, and there he will die, the second son of the new castle of Killochter — a man with the blood of the Gael on his hands.

​This is an imagined history of the Agnew sheriffs and Agnew bards of Kilwaughter, which is based on historical research. To keep reading this story, click 'read more.' You may also like my new novel: The Secret Diary of Stephanie Agnew, a contemporary novel which draws lightly on some of the historical research behind this blog.
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1659

Kilwaughter is without a father. Captain John Agnew, who kept watch over the lands of Kilwaughter for almost forty years, died in his sleep this morning at seventy-four years of age. He died an Irishman. 

Patrick rifles through his father’s private papers. He hopes to find some missing piece about the man whose beginnings he knows little about, other than that he was 25 years old when he came to Ireland from Galloway with his father — and that he and his brothers, Patrick and Gilbert, were militiamen for MacDonnell. He knows, also, that they went first to the Ards peninsula with the Shaws, and that some kin remain in the parish of Ballyphilip.

Patrick finds some letters and sees one in the Gaelic script addressed Ó Gnímh. Patrick cannot understand the script but knows it is a letter from Fear Flatha —  the signature is written Flutu Ó gnée to his untrained eye. Patrick’s grandfather grew up a Catholic boy in the Rhins of Galloway in the 1550s. His grandmother had nothing of Galloway in her and all the Protestant zeal of the Shaws of Greenoch, who opened the first Presbyterian church in Scotland in 1591. Her side of the family is well documented.

Patrick was led to believe that his grandfather, Patrick, was the son of the 6th Sheriff of Galloway, but a few days before her death in 1639, his grandmother, Janet, whispered a tale into his mother’s ear. Patrick’s mother, Elleanor, is a niece of old Janet and the pair of them often connived to look down on the Galloway side of the family. Janet said her husband was born into sin in an age when the men of Galloway took three or four wives and had heirs who were born of concubines. She said it knowing well the ways of the modern kirk and all the cases of three-fold or four-fold fornication cited at the last Antrim meeting. Janet, the crafty old woman, died peacefully with a smile on her face. In a last utterance, she said that Patrick the 6th Sherriff had taken pity on his own cousin, a young girl of sixteen with Agnew blood, who had fallen from grace. He had married her, as a third wife, though she carried the child of the man who had troubled her.*

Patrick looks out the window of his bed chamber on the third floor, past the mill, and towards the shore. The Rhins of Galloway are clear on the horizon today as though they sit at the other side of a river. He will dispatch the news of his father’s death to Patrick of Lochnaw, who was a hard task masker, demanding meticulous rent returns of all the tenants. Patrick’s father’s mark is on the land in a way that an absent landlord’s will never be. Whatever debt of kin ties was owed to the Lochnaw family by his father and grandfather has been paid ten times over. Patrick will inherit his father’s lands as an independent man. And he will never trust a MacDonnell.

The land is now golden once again with crops. Patrick sees the potential of the lime quarry and the rope factory he lately invested in. In time, he will buy the sheriff’s lands. In time, he will buy the five quarters of the Agnew’s lands. The kin of the master poets can no longer own the land — the crown would not permit it — but he will sublease what he can to the kin of Fear Flatha, who did not renege on the pact of mutual security that was made in 1613.

​1669

Eoín Agnew is working for Patrick of Kilwaughter to collect the hearth money. He must take employment where he can find it. He is helping the agent John Blair, who has all but given up collecting rent for the Lochnaw family. 

Ireland is now a colony and Latharna is in a poor state. Land has been stripped from Irish Catholics, though Randal MacDonnell’s land has been restored to him after a term in an English goal. The Presbyterians think of themselves as independent, but they have no freedom in their daily lives, which are controlled tightly by the kirk. Still, they keep peace in Killochter and do not give their Catholic neighbours any trouble. Eoín’s father told him of the Gaels who converted to the Presbytery in 1613. There have been few conversions since the rebellion of 1641.

Eoín assesses the list for Ballyhampton and sighs. These men cannot afford tax: John Adam, Patrick Adrane, John Agnew John Esler, Ninian Loughrigg, Edmund McGillworum, Francc McFfallon, Arch Murkelen, John Rogers. In Ballykeel, another list of poor farmers: Charles Adam, James & John Archbald, George All, John McCanell, John McCarron, Patrick McCaghy, John Mountgomery, John Murdock, John Ore, John Steele, William Thompason. Adam Wyley. 

Headwood is all that is left of the Agnew five quarterlands — all that is left of Fear Flatha’s legacy. Eoín’s sons, Donaghy and Patrick; his brother, Edmund Grom; and his nephew Patrick have a bill to pay for the hearths of their dwelling. So too do William Alexander, John Ballentine, Robert Carson, David Dunn, John Hill, William Lawdor, Dan Magge, Dan McAlletter, Robert McAmunt, Philomy McArdahur, John Miller and Gawen Moore. 

In Rory’s Glen, the old Mullughboy are Thomas Brechsha, John Knox, Robert Knox, Widow McGubb, Ninean Montgomery, Thomas Nicholl, James Read, Patrick Steward, Thomas Steward and John Younge. In Drumnahoe, the Sheriff of Lochnaw’s land, are Shane Adrane, John Blaire, Widow Blare, William Brown, John Carre, Hugh & Robert Magge and David Wallis.

On the two quarters they call the demesne Patrick Agnew of the big house must pay for his hearths too, likewise Alexander Agnew and James Blare. Every servant with a cabin and chimney pot is to be taxed: William Asler, James & John Glascho, Alex Miller, Andrew Seawright, John Seawright, John Sewright, Hugh Sewter, Symon Wallis, William White. 

Eoín has heard that Andrew Agnew has built himself a new castle in Lochnaw. He has much debt to pay to the Crown for his Cromwellian sympathies. It is not a time for building castles. 

Eoín, son of Maol Muíre, grandson of Fear Flatha, scans the rest of the townlands in Cairncastle and Larne. There are now around 150 hearths in Larne. Farmers must work in linen, rope making and sail making if they are to build more hearths, and pay more tax. Tax will dictate their fate.

1700

Edward Lluyd leaves Kilwaughter Castle after dining with Patrick Agnew of Kilwaughter and makes his way to the home of Eoín Agnew. MacEngels, a groom of Patrick Agnew’s accompanies him. They ride past plumes of white dust from a quarry on a path of white limestone before rounding a sharp horseshoe bend and rising in a westerly direction. 

There are few trees — nowhere now for future rebels to hide, according to Mac Engels, who talks in a Scottis tongue as broad as the new migrants and reports that the conditions of land tenure are not being met. Many Scottis Presbyterians crowded into Latharna in the 1680s seeking religious refuge. They sit alongside Catholics neighbours as though the Williamite wars never occurred, and Lluyd can not quite understand the lay of the land. The MacDonnells have been on the losing side twice in less than fifty years, once during the 1640s and then again in the recent Williamite wars, when Alexander MacDonnell was locked out of the city of Derry by apprentices. Still, they resume their lands. Mac Engels tells him that all the gulls of the Isles congregated above the European ships when Prince William arrived, and he talks animately of Danish soldiers marching up the white limestone of the castle of Kilwaughter behind a Danish prince. Every townland has its tale of war.

Lluyd has been travelling through Ireland for long enough to see a patchwork quilt of identity. He has met MacAlistairs who are fervently Catholic living within the same townland as MacAlistairs who are fervently Presbyterian, and here now the Agnews are living in this unusual harmony, which must be tentative after all that Ireland has seen. Llyud has not yet met any Anglicans.  

Mac Engels spins short but telling yarns. Alexander and Randal MacDonnell had too much blood of the O’Neill of Tyrone in them, he conjectures. Their mother was Ellís, daughter of Síobhan O’Donnell and Aodh Mór Ó Néill, who fled for the continent in 1607. Blood flows like glar west of the Bann, says MacEngels, whose own family is Presbyterian and refuses to conform to the ways of the Protestant. He expects Randal the fourth earl to find himself Protestant in time. Faith is a guarantor of land. Randal has not the stomach of his great forefather Sorley.

Eoín’s home is a one-storey farmhouse built of stone, rounded at the corners and clean with limewash. Its proportions are generous. Inside, there are some interesting articles of furniture in the English style. Lluyd introduces himself and explains that he has been sent by the Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archaeology of Oxford, Englan. A museum is a house for storing antiquities, he adds. Mac Engels pipes up in his broad Scotch that he might dispatch his grandmother as a curiosity as she still speaks the old tongue of Galloway. He laughs heartily and departs. Eoín introduces himself to Edward as a ploughman. He is well groomed, short in stature and with dark skin. The hand offered is not that of a labouring man.

Eoín’s daughter, Catríona, leaves a plate with salted herron and oat biscuit and cup of ale in front of him. She fusses over him, offering him a bowl to wash his hands and linen to dry them, speaking to him in a blend of Irish and Scottis. Lluyd offers her a jar of tea, and to Eoín he gives the gift of a book and ale procured from a merchant at the market in Olderfleet.

Eoín asks questions about Oxford University and listens attentively to the answers. He states his own educational training under the tutelage of his grandfather when they were in hiding and declares that only the most highly educated men composed in dán díreach — straight verse. Eoín learns that the ollamh Fear Flatha was familiar with 350 tales, and a respected gentleman in matters of case law. He cites a legal battle in which his great grandfather won Rathlin for the Queen of England. Fear Flatha served the MacDonnells, O’Neills and even some foreign patrons.

Lluyd first came across the work of Fear Flatha Ó Gnímh in the Leabhar Cloinne Aodha Buidhe — Book of Clandeyboye. Eoín says that it was he who delivered the manuscripts to Ó hUiginn, who in turn was commissioned by Cormac mac Airt Ó’Neill of Clandeboye to compile the book. He says the Ó’Neills provided patronage mainly to the Ó hUid, ollamh of the the ten townlands of the Braid, but that they were also generous towards his father and to the Ó hEachaidhéin master poets.

Eoín removes three large stones from the wall opposite the hearth and searches for the manuscripts, and Lluyd is saddened that it will be such a swift transaction. It is an easy purchase — too easy. Lluyd can see that Eoín now wishes to be alone.

Lluyd prays for a safe journey across the water and a safe journey through the highways of England. He has in his hands gold. 

​This is an imagined history of the Agnew sheriffs and Agnew bards of Kilwaughter, which is based on historical research. To keep reading this story, click 'read more.' You may also like my new novel: The Secret Diary of Stephanie Agnew, a contemporary novel which draws lightly on some of the historical research behind this blog.

1711

There are wildfires on Agnew’s Hill. Families have rushed down from the Agnew townlands to seek refuge. Animals are in the yard and all around the east end of the two quarterlands. Every room in the castle is filled with people, around thirty of them in the grand hall. Jane Ogivlie has been staying at her brother’s house while her husband has been called away to Islandmagee on some obscure matter — a  case involving a young woman who claims to be possessed by the devil. The devil has had a busy night.

Gawen Moore comes in with a scarf over his mouth. Gawen once told her that he is her distant kin — grandson of Feardorragh MacMulmorrow and great grandson of the poet Brian Agnew. He alerts them that they all need to move and take the animals with them. He tells them to pray for rain. What punishment has been sent to the people of Kilwaughter? Have they not suffered enough?

They are all outside, valuables heaped onto the backs of donkeys, makeshift carts trailing the meagre belongings they had when they came from Scotland only months ago. Jane has no time to go back to Ballyloran. Her husband’s poems and articles and the book he has been writing on the history of Kilwaughter are all now at peril from fire.

They reach the path by the Larne River and follow the gentle sound of water. The fire has spread like pointed orange teeth across the long summit of Agnew’s Hill, but it has not yet travelled downwards. The bog must surely be wet enough to stop it. 

Jane is awakened by the rush of adrenaline. Lately she has felt the tug of her sixty-three years, but this morning she is alive. Two churches are in sight, one which takes the name meeting house, the other St. Cedma’s, where her older sister, Helen, was born the year 1641. The people of Larne will not understand what has hit them this morning, for every cow, pig, horse and hen from Kiwaughter is making a dawn chorus. 

Larne looks more like a village every day. The lines of cabins housing poor Scots begin to look like lanes, and here and there on the hills is dotted the odd building in slate, which is the fashion for those men making money from shipbuilding and ropemaking. A few more houses and cabins sit out by the Curran point, surrounding the fortified house. The townlands are still spoken of in Irish, but the main track to Cairncastle is now the Roddens, and the old priory of Gardenmore — old folk say it was holy land, a great garden of paradise — is now Kirk Hill. Broad Scotch is the tongue of the lanes. 

Some families take off to find family and friends. Jane could go to her uncle Gilbert or travel to Ballygally to her Shaw cousins, but she stays with the farming families of Kilwaughter and leads them to the meeting house, where there is a view of the fire.

Patick Agnew, son of Owen, the last poet of Agnew’s Hill, speaks no words. He sits alone on a wall looking across to the the bard’s fort. A grey line of cloud sits above the fire, rendering the mountain twice its height. Life soon stirs among the residents of the village, and they come with offerings of oats. There is chatter in the way there is in times of turmoil. Soon, all is black, the mountain a smudge on a landscape painting. The rain is travelling in the direction of Larne. 

Jane’s brother, Squire Patrick, arrives in plain country garb laden with water. He talks of flames like lava and a blizzard of orange shards shooting across the land for an hour, sparking fire on thatch. He nods to Patrick of Agnew’s Hill to follow him to the carriage.

The devil has been busy at the bard’s fort. Four blackened roofless stone buildings all face inwards to a communal courtyard of wet, black ash. They walk into the main house. The floor is covered in fat rafters and charred rubble. Patrick walks to a corner and moves away three large stones. He lifts a black cup, the handle shining silver. Jane recalls hearing that a Scottish soldier had once found a communion cup, wooden cross and a brass candlestick in a stone nook when the Catholic Agnews were fighting with the MacDonnells in the 1640s. The candlestick follows. Patrick moves his hands across and pulls out some paperwork, charred so black that it falls apart in his hand. A gust of wind catches it and it falls around them like black blossom.

Patrick is speaking in English. He tells them of the Welshman who came in 1700. He switches to Irish and Jane cannot fully understand. She recalls the word Banva from a poem that her father had belonging to Farflaha. There is sunshine as the wind strikes up again. A magnificent tornado of grey snow storms across the horizon. Jane holds out her hand and watches ash fall through her fingers, as though all the manuscripts of the land have been fired, soaked and torn up by the devil. This time Patrick speaks in English. By the evil eye of Balar, the golden fair cornfield is blighted, the corn is without blossom on Banbha’s fresh ground — a blessing be upon her soul.



* The story of the sixteen year-old girl has been fabricated. The fire depicted at the has been made up, but wild fires did happen on Agnew's hill.

Angeline King is the author of The Secret Diary of Stephanie Agnew, a contemporary novel which draws lightly on some of the historical research behind this blog. Click here to read The Secret Diary of Stephanie Agnew. 
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The Secret Diary of Stephanie Angew