This week’s roundup brings together a mix of stories, people, and traditions that continue to shape how Ireland is understood today. From history and folklore to language and memory, each piece reflects a different part of that picture. These are the moments that stood out this week, expanded slightly to give them a bit more space.

📜 On this week in 1868, James Connolly was born in Cowgate, Edinburgh, into a working-class Irish immigrant family whose life was shaped by hardship, labour, and displacement. Growing up in poverty, Connolly left school early and entered the workforce as a child, gaining first-hand experience of the conditions faced by labourers in industrial Britain.

These early experiences would define his political outlook. Connolly did not approach politics from theory alone, but from lived reality. By the time he moved to Ireland in the 1890s, he had already begun to develop a clear position: that national independence and workers’ rights were inseparable, and that one could not be achieved meaningfully without the other.

In 1896, he founded the Irish Socialist Republican Party, one of the first organisations to combine socialist principles with Irish republicanism. Through his writing and organising, Connolly argued that political freedom without economic justice would leave the majority unchanged in their conditions.

His role in the 1913 Dublin Lockout further cemented his position as a central figure in the labour movement. During one of the most significant industrial disputes in Irish history, he worked alongside workers facing severe hardship, helping organise resistance against powerful employers.

Connolly’s involvement in the Easter Rising of 1916 reflected this same belief in combined struggle. As Commandant-General of the Irish Citizen Army, he took part in the rebellion despite being seriously wounded during the fighting.

On 12th May 1916, he was executed at Kilmainham Gaol, reportedly tied to a chair due to his injuries. He was 47 years old.

More than a century later, Connolly’s writings continue to be read, not only as historical documents, but as part of an ongoing conversation about labour, identity, and the meaning of independence.

Among the rulers of the Tuatha Dé Danann, Nuada Airgetlám holds a distinct place, closely tied to early Irish ideas of kingship and legitimacy. His name, meaning “Nuada of the Silver Hand,” comes directly from one of the most defining moments in his story, preserved in the medieval text Cath Maige Tuired.

In this account, Nuada leads the Tuatha Dé Danann in battle against the Fir Bolg. During the fighting, he loses his arm. Under early Irish tradition, a king was required to be physically whole. The condition of the ruler was understood to reflect the condition of the land itself. Because of this, Nuada is forced to step down from kingship following his injury.

To address this, the healer Dian Cécht and the craftsman Creidhne create a replacement arm made of silver. The limb is not merely symbolic. It is described as fully functional, moving as though it were part of a living body. In later versions of the story, Dian Cécht’s son Miach surpasses his father’s work by restoring Nuada’s original arm completely, returning him to physical wholeness.

Nuada’s restoration allows him to reclaim his position as king. However, his story does not end in stability. He later faces Balor of the Fomorians in the Second Battle of Mag Tuired, where he is ultimately killed.

The narrative reflects more than a sequence of events. It preserves an older understanding of sovereignty, where the body of the king and the order of the world were directly connected. Though written down in a Christian period, the story retains clear elements of earlier belief.

In Ireland, saying someone is “away with the faeries” is used to describe a person who seems distracted, distant, or not fully present in the moment. Someone who misses what is being said, drifts off in thought, or responds slightly out of step might be described this way.

The phrase draws from older Irish belief, where the faeries - or Aos Sí - were understood as beings capable of taking or influencing people. Over time, that idea softened into everyday language, losing its literal meaning but keeping its sense of distance from reality.

Today, it carries a light, familiar tone. It is not harsh or critical. Instead, it suggests someone is caught up in their own thoughts, slightly removed from what is going on around them.

A quiet expression, rooted in older belief, still used in everyday conversation.

🖐️ Writing Against the Odds, Leaving a Lasting Mark

🎨 On this day in 1932, Christy Brown was born in Dublin, into a large working-class family where resources were limited but support was constant. Diagnosed with severe cerebral palsy, he was initially assumed to be incapable of meaningful communication or learning. His early years were shaped by physical restriction, but also by the determination of his mother, who recognised his awareness and refused to accept those limitations.

Brown’s breakthrough came when, as a child, he used his left foot - the only limb he could control with precision - to make marks on a slate. From that point onward, he developed both writing and painting through this single point of movement, building skill over time with patience and repetition rather than formal training.

His autobiography My Left Foot, published in 1954, brought international attention to his life, not only for its subject but for its voice. The writing is direct, unsentimental, and grounded in lived experience. Later works, including Down All the Days, expanded this further, offering detailed portrayals of Dublin life, marked by sharp observation and a willingness to engage with its harsher realities.

Brown’s work was never limited to personal narrative. It reflected the environment he grew up in, capturing both constraint and character within it. His painting followed a similar path, rooted in expression rather than technique alone.

Today, Christy Brown is remembered not only for the circumstances he overcame, but for the clarity and quality of the work he produced.

That’s it for this week. Thanks for taking the time to read and for continuing to follow along with Irish Roots. Each story, whether historical or everyday, adds to a wider understanding of how Ireland’s past still sits within the present. There’s always more to uncover, and more to revisit. Until next week, take care, and keep an eye out for the smaller details - they often carry more than they first appear to.