Hello and welcome to another issue of Ireland’s Own. We bring you this week’s issue from a very sunny south east, and I hope you are enjoying the warm weather in your part of the country, or world, and that the sunshine isn’t too overbearing. We have the perfect offering for you this week, while you relax in the shade. Our cover story is on ‘Heavenly Walks Through Dublin City’. Gerry Breen takes a look at the new book by Gregory and Audrey Bracken, and guides you in the direction of some lovely walks to take the next time you visit the ‘Big Smoke’. In his Role of the Irish in WW2 Series, Con McGrath shares part two of the story of Offaly-born Fr. John Claffey, who worked with Monsignor Hugh O’Flaherty in Rome, hiding Jews and prisoners-of-war from the Nazis. Francis Kaye recalls the anticipation and then the simple pleasure of getting the weekly comics like the Dandy and Beano, the staple diet of so many Irish childhoods. On a journey along the west coast of Ireland for his new travel book, Paul Clements became fascinated with the Seagod Manannán mac Lir and he found many twists and turns in the story of one of Ireland’s most captivating mythological figures. ‘Slick Willie’ Sutton, the infamous Irish-American bank robber, is profiled by Paula Redmond. The book under review this month is The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins. Eileen Casey continues her look at the life of some former Preisdents of the USA. This week it is the turn of Theodore Roosevelt. And in his Ireland in 1916 Series, Eamonn Duggan looks into the murder of Francis Sheehy-Skeffington. We have all this for you to enjoy plus your weekly favourites including Cassidy, Dan Conway, Marjorie’s Kitchen, songs, jokes, puzzles, pen pals and much much more. Enjoy the read, take care in the sun, and I look forward to talking to you next week.
Seán Nolan, Editor, Ireland’s Own
Sing along with your favourite Irish songs – My Wild Irish Rose If you listen I’ll sing you a sweet little song, Of a flower that’s now droped and dead, Yet dearer to me, yes than all of its mates, Though each holds aloft its proud head. Twas given to me by a girl that I know, Since we’ve met, faith I’ve known no repose. She is dearer by far than the world’s brightest star, And I call her my wild Irish Rose.