On a recent  broadcast of All the Saints of Ireland I was speaking about Saint Colum of Terryglass in County Tipperary and noted that although this is the site of his main church, his Life makes much more of his links to various islands. Iniscaltra, the island monastery which claimed Saint Colum as its founder, is one of the places featured in the article below looking at saints, solitaries and some hallowed islands. Published in the Australian press in 1927, it appears to have been syndicated from the American Catholic magazine Ave Maria. Author Marian Nesbitt does not confine herself to Ireland as she takes in sites in Britain and continental Europe, but since places like Lindisfarne and Iona have such strong Irish associations, our native holy men are to the fore:

Saints and Solitaries
And Some Hallowed Islands.

by Marian Nesbitt

IT has been frequently remarked that those who consecrate themselves wholly to Almighty God choose remote spots on the isolated hills for their dwellings; and practically the same thing may be said of islands, when we consider the number, of those saints and solitaries, who may, in very truth, be termed “Island Saints.” How many of the monks of old, in ancient Erin, loved water may be proved by a glance into such lovely sites as that of Cluainfois, about two miles west of Tuam, where the illustrious St. Jarlath founded a noted church and college of that name, which means, authorities tell us, “The Meadow of Retreat,” owing to the fact that the three Saints, Benen, Jarlath and Caillin, were in the habit of holding conferences there. The spot is singularly picturesque and well chosen, being on the slope of rich pasture land, whence a wide and beautiful view may be obtained of wood and field and valley, with the Clare River winding its silvery way through the verdant, low-lying meadow lands below; and over all that brooding peace which makes it admirably suited to its name.

It may be said without exaggeration that, whether it was the wide ocean, or the quiet lake, or the softly murmuring stream, the monks, not alone in Ireland and England, but in nearly all countries, “never built a monastery except close to the water, in one form or another.”

Thorney.

Orderic Vitalis thus describes Thorney (England): “There is a convent of monks, separated from all other habitations, built in honor of St. Mary, which is celebrated for the purity of worship which God receives there. The venerable Adelwold, bishop of Winchester, built this house, after the massacre by the Danes in which the Blessed Edmund, suffered martyrdom. He transferred to it the body of St. Botulf. ‘In this obscure asylum,’ adds the chronicler, ‘the monks were in safety while combating faithfully for God’.”

Then there were those water-meadows round Lincoln, when Ramsey Abbey was on an island; or Romney Marsh, where the Franciscans had a convent, in 1264. It was these wild, desolate and often unhealthy tracts of land, that the good religious made fertile and salubrious by their unremitting labour; the places where they had settled, remaining throughout the succeeding centuries to bear witness to the noble, work of those whom the Great Apostasy had so ruthlessly cast out.

Before leaving the coast of Britain, mention must be made of Lindisfarne, or Holy Island, from whose famous monastery “all the churches of Bernicia, from the Tyne to the Tweed, had their beginning.” The prospect from this island is beautiful. Across an arm of the sea, seven miles in breadth, can be seen the town of Berwick. Away to the south, Bamborough Castle stands forth on its bold promontory. In front is the grand stretch of open sea, and between the island and the mainland, there is a narrow channel, about two miles in width, which affords a fine picture of the distant shore, with its hamlets, villages and woodlands. It was to Lindisfarne that the holy Celtic monk, Aidan, came from another famous island, formerly called Hy, which “was Latinised into Iona,” “whose monastery,” says Venerable Bede, “was for a long time the chief of almost all those of the northern Scots, and all those of the Picts; and had the direction of their people.” It was founded by that holy Irish missionary-monk Columba; for which reason the island is often called I-colum-kill, the “Island of Colum of the Cells”; and it is one of the most fertile, and romantic of the Scottish islands.

Island of the White Cow.

Another Irish “Island Saint,” who lived in Lindisfarne, was St. Colman of Inisboffin; and Venerable Bede tells us that when, he (i.e., Colman) departed from Britain, he took with him all the Scoti (Irish) that he had assembled in the Island of Lindisfarne, and also about thirty of the English nation, who had been instructed in the monastic life, and retired to a small island, which is in the West of Ireland, at some distance from the coast. It was called, in the language of the Irish, Inisbofinde, that is the “Island of the White Cow,” because — so runs the ancient legend, — “a certain white heifer dwelt in an enchanted lake,” in the midst of the islet.

The lake is there to this day; and, if we may believe the islanders, the white cow still, from time to time, comes up out of the cold depths to graze upon the shore, as it did in the long past years, when St. Colman brought his monks to Inisboffin, and there founded the church and monastery, to be forever associated with his name. Not everyone can see it.

St. Colman also bought land on the mainland, and built a home for his English monks, who lived there, says St. Bede, “by the labour of their hands, after the example of the Venerable Father, under the Rule and Canonical Abbot, in much continence and singleness of life.” This small monastery of Magh Eo later on became a large and famous establishment, ultimately developing, it need scarcely be said, into the Episcopal See of Mayo.

“The praiseworthy Colman of Inisbofinde” would seem, however, to have preferred his rocky island fastness, exposed to all the wild fury of the Atlantic gales; for there, despising earthly goods, and keeping no money except for the poor, this holy monk spent the remainder of his life, venerated by all in his native land, as he had been in Northumbria, for his mortification, prudence and unobstrusive sanctity; there, too, he died on August 8, probably in the year 676, and there also he was buried. An earlier “Island-Saint” was that celebrated father of Irish monastic life, St. Enda of Aran, who, with the help of his followers, “changed the Pagan Isles of Aran into islands, of the blest.”

“Barra’s Lone Retreat.”

Another celebrated seat of sanctity and learning was that of Iniscaltra. During the Seventh and Eighth centuries, this school flourished exceedingly. Not a single modern habitation mars this beautiful island, which gleams on the calm waters of the lake like an emerald on a silver shield. Only a stately round tower, rising strong and changeless from the surrounding green, now marks the spot where holy men “chose to live unto God in secret,” withdrawing themselves from acquaintances and friends, in order that they might approach nearer to the Master, whom they had turned aside from the crowd to serve. Here, too, was the home of St. Columba of Terryglass. During his long sojourn on the island, we are told, the birds, ever beloved of Erin’s saints, grew so tame that even the most timid would perch on his hands or on his shoulder, familiar with him and happy with him as, later on, the feathered songsters of Umbria were with “the humble St. Francis.” When Nadcumius, one of St. Columba’s disciples, asked the Saint why the birds approached him so readily; he answered, with charming and holy simplicity: “Am I not a bird myself? Why should they fear me? For my soul always flies to heaven, as they fly through the sky.”

Lastly, there is that island on the north side of the Bay of Dublin, called ‘Ireland’s Eye,’ where was kept, in the ancient abbey founded there in the Sixth Century, a copy of the Four Gospels that was held in great veneration. Space forbids us to write of Beg Ery, on the coast of Wexford, with its abbey founded in the Fifth Century, and many other places hallowed by saints:

Sites of faith unchanged by storms, all unchanging in the calm,
Where the world-betrayed may hide them, and the weary heart find balm.

“Ave Maria.”

 Freeman’s Journal, Thursday 17 March 1927, p. 47

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