May 26th, 1887:MICHAEL DAVITT, the founder of the Land League, was no hero to The Irish Timesof the 1880s and it is no surprise that an anonymous correspondent heard and saw what he wanted to hear and see when he witnessed a return by Davitt to the village of Strade in Co Mayo where he had been born and his family had left for England when he was a child.
Mr Davitt at Strade
Having heard of the promised “great display of bands, banners, and boycotters” expected to greet Davitt, the writer decided to go and see for himself “by actual observation the spirit which really actuated the ‘masses’ in this the cradle of Land Leagueism”. He continued:
“The locality chosen was a green and luxurious valley, between two smooth-rolling hills, within view of the ancient Abbey of Strade , close to the road leading from Ballyvary, and said to have been the birthplace of Michael... In the immediate neighbourhood of the platform several tents were erected, the owners of which affected to sell cakes, oranges, ginger beer, and other harmless beverages; but I venture to assert that more poteen was drunk at that Sunday’s meeting in the immediate neighbourhood of the constabulary than ever was imbibed in one day in the picturesque village of Strade. I wandered about amid the crowd while the oratory was continuing, and as the object of this communication is not to interfere with the professional reporters, but to give a true account of the disposition of the people as evinced by their actions and conversation on the occasion, I abstain from quoting any of the violent language uttered on the occasion. I was surprised, however, to see the indifference which marked the conduct of all except about 2,000 who congregated close around the platform. There were between 3,000 and 4,000 people present, including women, bandsmen, constabulary, and foreign contingents. Many sat in separate groups apart from the crowd and out of hearing of the speakers. Occasionally I heard strange comments on passing events. One old lady near me exclaimed, ‘Oh, then, in troth he is no beauty at all at all. Where did he get them black whiskers and all that hair over his face? They were a nice, clane lookin’ set the Davitts, and sure there wasn’t a finer man in the parish than his own cousin John, that’s out in America this minute, and they say is a rich man, but would never have anything to do with politics, bad luck to them; it’s a little we’re getting’ by them.
‘Oh,’ says a listening male bystander, ‘what would you expect, isn’t it a queer thing to see ould Mat’s son up there comin’ in his carriage and pair and doin’ the grate man. By gorra, it’s a roarin’ thrade, betther than diggin’ or fachtorin’ any day, and look at – and – and the rest of them upon the platform beside him.’
After listening for an hour or so to similar comments I strolled away, leaving Mr Davitt to conclude his speech, and on my way was asked by several good-natured fellows ‘to take a sweet dhrop of the bottle’, which notwithstanding my courteous refusal they did not seem to relish my waste of taste in refusing.
I also ascertained from their conversation that but for the parish priests and curates of the several surrounding parishes 500 people could not have been collected by the branches of the National League, and even the exhortations of their reverences would not have been so successful but for the pleasure of picnicking on the verdant hills, the pleasure of which was greatly increased by the fineness of the day.”
http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/archive/1887/0526/Pg006.html#Ar00600