THE LAD WHO CAME HOME
By Teresa Brayton in the New Jersey Monitor.

They used to whisper of him in the place where he was born
The grasses and the wee wise things that gossip in the morn,
One said "He used to love us well but now he never comes
Since he put a flag above him to the beating of the drums."
Then on a rainy evening he was borne to them again
To lie in death's great silence in the shadow of the glen
Wrapt in his country's flag was he, her drums his dirge did call
The lad who had died for liberty in the name of Donegal.

DAN BREEN

In Tipperary and Dublin I visited all my old friends, and was welcomed everywhere. In August I decided to give up racing. At that time the I.R.A. was devoting special attention to the Northern Areas, endeavouring to equip and train the units there, so that when the fight would be renewed, they would play a more active part, and relieve some of the pressure from the Southern Counties.

I was anxious to give a hand in this work and went to the North, where I met Charlie Daly, who was since executed by the Free State during the Civil War. Daly, who was a Kerryman, was one of the finest and ablest soldiers I ever met. I spent five weeks with Charlie, training the Northern boys in the use of the gun and the bomb. It was hard work for all of us but I enjoyed it, as I saw much of Ulster in our long walks and pleasure drives. To make it more exciting, we went into Belfast itself on a few occasions.

(Newspaper cutting from Dan Breen. "My Fight for Irish Freedom.')

Kerryman. 1924
Written in Memory of

CHARLIE DALY, TIMMY O'SULLIVAN & DANNY ENRIGHT

Tell me why the crowds are waiting in the city's busy street,
What's the subject the're debating as in solemn groups they meet
Why the shuttered shops and windows in the early evenings gloam.
Break the news, but break it gently, there are soldiers coming home.

Chorus.

Coming home to join the column
That now sleeps in mother loam
March with stately step and solemn
There are soldiers coming home

'Twas not in the field of battle with the victors smile of pride
Where the guns and rifles rattle that our soldier heroes died
But inside a gloomy prison there they found an early tomb
By a brutal bullet driven, those young soldier lads went home

Chorus.

Hear the march of that great column with their faces sad and pale
Hear their steady step and solemn and the pipers plaintive wail
Raise the old flag up at half-mast lightly tap the muffled drum
For a gloom around is now cast, there are soldiers coming home.

Chorus.

Make their graves upon the hillside where the fought in days gone by
Fire three volleys o'er their graveside where our soldier boys will be
Let us wipe out feud and faction and when freedom's day shall come
Let us prove ourselves in action like those soldiers coming home.

CHARLIE DALY. "RAGS, ROBES AND REBELS"
Liam Mac Shabhann.

Laughing his winsome way
Into the dind and gay
Hearts of Tir Chonaill
Many a summer day
Hearing the cry of it
Under the sky of it
Growing to love the grey
Land of O'Donnell.

High on the mountain dome
Into each cabin home
Little ones hold him
Anywhere he may roam
Welcoming words would greet
Comfort and laughter sweet
Till on an evening's gloam
Somebody sold him

Yet he had loved them so
Children with laughter low
How they had thrilled him
Oft' in the turflight's glow
Who'll take the blame of it
God! and the shame of it
When in the dark Drumboe
One day - they killed him

True hearts remember yet
When in the cabins met
Dungloe to Derry
Many an eye is wet
When they but tell of him
Dare Donegal forget
Daly of Kerry

A MAN FROM KERRY.
Liam O'Sheridan

When the writer was a prisoner in Collinstown in January, 1921, several prisoners were brought in one morning. He was very much impressed by the nobility of one of them, a young man from Kerry. This young man spent his spare time teaching the writer Gaelic. He was released after an identification parade and went to his work of organising Ulster. He fell before a firing squad of Irishmen in Drumboe Castle. His name was Charlie Daly.

I met a man from Kerry
A true knight of the Gael
And none so pure and worthy
E'er sought the Holy Grail
I sensed in him a stainless soul
A heart both staunch and true
Where a pure white flame was burning
Of love for Roisin Dhu.

He brought into our prison den
An old world kindly grace
And we learned to love his manly form
His grave and gentle face
He raised our drooping spirits
As the days dragged slowly on
And meanest soul grew noble
When he spoke of Freedom's Dawn

He taught the olden Gaelic songs
That told of chieftains bold
Who ranged the Kerry hills and glens
In gallant days of old
Of Kerry bards who fanned the flame
When Freedom's fire burned low
And of her still unconquered clans
Who feared no foreign foe.

A week passed by, he went his way
And every eye grew dim
We knew the dangerous path he trod
And prayed to God for him
His task to raise the fiery cross
From Donegal to Down
That gallant man from Kerry
I met in Collinstown.

One dlay I heard the mournful tale
My hero was laid low
He fell before a firing squad
Away in dark Drumboe
I mourned his loss in bitter grief
For many a weary day
And his name is written in my heart
For ever and for aye

Tho' days are dark and clouds obscure
The sunlight for a space
A golden glory soon will dawn
Upon our Gaelic race
For I know they are praying for us
The brave lads who are gone
And that noble soul from Kerry
That I met in '21.