Irish Seisiún Newsletter
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Recent Mail

Irish Quiz of the Week
No Googling.
- What is a “currach”?
- How many provinces are there in Ireland?
- In Irish folklore, what is “the hungry grass”?
- Which Irish county is known as “The Kingdom”?
- What is the Irish word for “welcome”?
- What does it mean if someone is “acting the maggot”?
- What is Lughnasa?
- What does “give it a lash” mean?
- What is the largest lake on the island of Ireland?
- What is a “soft day”?
Email me your answers ([email protected]) and your name. The answers and the names of anyone getting all 10 correct will be printed next week
Irish Language
Tír gan Teanga, Tír gan Anam:
A land without a language is a land without a soul.

Submitted by our own
Anita

Some sad news this week
Anita’s brother passed away in Ireland after a long illness
She is on her way there now.
I’m sure we all want to send our prayers and condolences
To Anita and her family.
This instalment was written by Anita earlier
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Free Irish Classes
The classes are over zoom and are held at 12:00 eastern time the 1 st Sunday of every month.
It is basic conversational Irish and open to learners of all ages, especially beginners.
All are invited.
Hope to see you there!
slan go foill. Le dea ghui,
Anita
click here to register
This week’s Irish Recipe
This strawberry Battenberg loaf gives a classic bake an Irish summer twist
Chef Shane Smith’s chequered showstopper trades traditional pink sponge for real Irish strawberries and a homemade fruit purée.

Battenberg cake has long been a fixture of British and Irish tea tables, prized as much for its neat pink and yellow squares as its taste. Now Bord Bia’s Quality Kitchen has put a fresh, fruit forward spin on the classic with a strawberry version worth adding to the baking rotation this season.
Created by chef Shane Smith for the Dunnes Stores Quality Kitchen Stage, this strawberry Battenberg loaf swaps the usual food colouring for a genuine strawberry purée, made by simmering fresh Irish strawberries with sugar, lemon juice and a touch of cornflour until thick and glossy. That purée gets folded through half of a rich, almond studded sponge batter, giving one half of the loaf its natural pink hue and a real fruity depth, while the other half stays golden and buttery.
Once baked and cooled, the two sponges are trimmed, sliced into strips and glued together with strawberry jam to recreate that instantly recognisable chequerboard pattern, before the whole thing is wrapped in a smooth layer of white fondant icing. The result is a showstopping loaf that takes the fiddly reputation out of a Battenberg while keeping all of its charm, and it’s a lovely way to make the most of Irish strawberries while they’re in season.
Strawberry Battenberg loaf recipe
Serves: 6-8 people – Time: 35 min
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Ingredients:
Strawberry purée:
- 125g Irish strawberries
- 25g caster sugar
- ¼ lemon, juiced
- ¼ tablesp. cornflour
Sponges:
- 290g Irish creamy butter, soft
- 290g caster sugar
- 5 Irish free-range large eggs
- 165g plain flour
- 125g ground almonds
- 1 teasp. baking powder
- 25ml milk
Method:
For the strawberry purée, place the chopped strawberries, sugar, juice and cornflour into a saucepan and cook over medium heat, stirring frequently for approx. 5 minutes until thick. Chill until needed
Preheat oven to 180°C (160°C fan) and line two 2lb loaf tins with parchment.
Cream butter and sugar until pale and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, mixing well after each.
Add flour, ground almonds, and baking powder, then mix. Stir in milk to reach a dropping consistency.
Divide the batter into two bowls. Add the cold strawberry purée to one and mix. Pour into tins, smooth the tops and bake for 45–50 minutes until a skewer comes out clean.
Cool completely on a wire rack, then chill for 30 minutes to make trimming easier.
Trim off crusts and cut each sponge into four even strips lengthwise.
Glue strips together with the jam, alternating colours to form the classic chequered pattern.
Chill briefly while preparing the icing.
Roll the icing into a rectangle large enough to wrap the cake. Brush lightly with more jam.
Wrap the sponge in icing, smoothing and sealing the edges.
Trim the ends to reveal the pattern and store in a cool, dry place until serving.
* This recipe was originally publish on Bord Bia.
Poem of the Week

August
by Francis Ledwidge

Photo AI generated by Tommy Mac
She’ll come at dusky first of day,
White over yellow harvest’s song.
Upon her dewy rainbow way
She shall be beautiful and strong.
The lidless eye of noon shall spray
Tan on her ankles in the hay,
Shall kiss her brown the whole day long.
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I’ll know her in the windrows, tall
Above the crickets of the hay.
I’ll know her when her odd eyes fall,
One May-blue, one November-grey.
I’ll watch her from the red barn wall
Take down her rusty scythe, and call,
And I will follow her away.

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- Strength and Beauty: She arrives “beautiful and strong” at daybreak, shaped and browned by the long hours under the sun’s “lidless eye”. [1]
- The “Odd Eyes”: Her distinct eyes—”One May-blue, one November-grey”—represent her dual nature as a transitional pivot point between the bright youth of spring/summer and the fading, melancholic onset of late autumn. [1]
Stories and Tales

The pros and cons of marrying an Irishman
Before your Irish boyfriend puts a ring on it, review IrishCentral’s pros and cons of marrying an Irish man!

Before you take the plunge or allow your Irish boyfriend to put a ring on it, please review IrishCentral’s list of the pros and cons of marrying an Irishman.
It just might save your sanity, or at least prepare you for the madness that awaits!
Six reasons to marry an Irish man:
The family is extremely important to an Irishman.
Irishmen don’t sweat the small stuff – they have surprisingly great coping strategies. Stress isn’t in the vocabulary of an Irishman; chilled and relaxed is the way he embraces life.
An Irishman will go out of his way to do nice things for people who are important to him. He will pick your mother up from the airport even though his favorite team is playing on the television; he will sit with your best friend and listen to her woes, and he will take your brother to play golf even if he doesn’t like him.
An Irishman has a fantastic sense of humor. He makes light of serious situations, which can defuse an argument or simply make you feel better after a hard day’s work.
An Irishman’s loyalty to his friends is admirable. In addition to his family, an Irishman takes pride in his male friendships and goes out of his way to make certain his friends’ needs are met in a generous and heartfelt manner.
An Irishman’s heart is as big as the ocean. Although Irishmen might not be the best at expressing their emotions, more often than not their actions speak volumes.
And … six reasons not to marry an Irish man:
Mammy will always come first. He may love you, but he loves his mother more; you are destined for a life of comparison. “This is how my mother cooks it, this is how my mother does it…”
An Irishman doesn’t like to shop. He thinks it’s okay to wear the same pants and shirt you met him dressed in six years ago to your mother’s retirement party. If you want him to wear new clothes, then you’ll have to shop for him. And don’t ask him to come along with you to the mall.
An Irishman can’t dance. He doesn’t know his left foot from his right foot and therefore provides for a clumsy first dance mate at your wedding reception. And dance lessons prior to your wedding are out of the question. He would be too embarrassed if his mates discovered he took lessons.
An Irishman rarely shows emotion. The exceptional occasion is the death of a loved one or the loss of his favorite football team. Aside from that, an Irishman keeps his feelings behind lock and key, and the issue is rarely up for discussion.
* Originally published in 2010, updated in 2026.
Another Mayo story

Céad Míle Fáilte, and you are very welcome to this week’s Letter from Ireland.
Note: All pictures here were AI-generated by Tommy Mac
Well, the rains have finally arrived after six dry weeks, and the farmers have a smile on their faces again. How are things in your part of the world?
The other people who have a smile on their faces are people from County Mayo—and I would like to tie the reason for their smiles into a little journey through Irish custom and lore this week. So, I have a cup of Lyons tea by my side as I write, and I hope you’ll join me with a cup of whatever you fancy yourself as we start into today’s letter.
A Letter from a Mayo Descendant in Virginia
I received a letter this week from a reader called Jim in Virginia, USA. His family had left County Mayo in the west of Ireland four generations ago, and he was writing about a football match. When I say “football”, I’m talking about Gaelic football.
If you don’t follow Gaelic games, here is what happened. Last Sunday, County Mayo won the All-Ireland football final. They beat County Kerry in Dublin, and there were tears of joy across Mayo that day, and in plenty of Irish homes abroad too. Mayo had not won that final since 1951—seventy-five years of getting very close and losing, until most people had more or less given up expecting a win.
Jim, in his letter, said what a lot of people said that night. “So,” he wrote, “does this mean the curse is finally broken?”
I’ll come back to “the curse” in a minute. But Jim’s letter first got me thinking about my mother and the sorts of stories she used to share with us about curses and superstitions.
My mother grew up in east Galway, and she loved telling the old stories. On an evening, she’d share the story of a fairy fort in the field that no one would dig, or the whitethorn bush you would never cut, or the single magpie you’d salute so it wouldn’t bring you sorrow. She enjoyed telling them, and we enjoyed the shared fright they put on us.
There was one subject, though, that made her go quiet. Now and again, talk would turn to a family in the parish who had run into bad luck. It might involve cattle getting sick, or a crop failing when the neighbour’s field did fine. When we asked her to tell us more, she would lower her voice and say one word. “Piseog.”
A “piseog”, pronounced “pishogue”, is hard to explain if you didn’t grow up around it. It wasn’t quite a curse, and it wasn’t quite a spell. It was the idea that a person could wish harm on a neighbour and would try to ensure that harm actually happened. That someone, and it was usually out of jealousy, might bury rotten eggs in your field or leave spoiled meat on your land, and by doing that take the luck out of your farm and into their own.
What my mother didn’t spell out, but I understood later, was that to take the piseog seriously, you first had to accept that a neighbour of yours, someone you saw at Mass and met on the road, might want your family to fail. It wasn’t the magic that bothered most people; it was what believing in it said about a few people in the parish.
Ireland was a superstitious country not that long ago. Before electricity reached most of the countryside in the 1950s or later, life was harder and less certain. A family’s survival could depend on one cow not getting sick or on one good week of weather to save the hay. With so much outside your control, you hold on to the things you can manage.
So people were careful and held to specific habits and superstitions. You didn’t bring whitethorn blossom into the house, you didn’t hand someone a knife directly, and you threw spilled salt back over your shoulder. Nobody thought much about it as they did these things, and people needed whatever luck they could get.
One of those old habits has lasted longer than the rest, and you’ll still see it on Irish roads today. You don’t overtake a funeral procession. In some parts of the country, if you met one coming towards you, the custom was to stop, turn, and walk a few steps in the same direction before going on, and to bless yourself as it passed. And you certainly don’t drive past a hearse in a hurry. To pass the dead without that bit of respect was thought to bring the worst luck of all.
Now, this is where the story of County Mayo and their recent win in the football final comes in.
When County Mayo last won the All-Ireland football final in 1951, the team travelled home from Dublin in celebration. Somewhere along the road, in Foxford village by most accounts, the open lorry carrying them passed a funeral procession. The players were caught up in their win and didn’t stop or show any respect.
A priest at the graveside was said to be so angry that he cursed them as follows: Mayo would not win another All-Ireland while any member of that 1951 team was still alive.
The players themselves always said it never happened. Indeed, there’s no record of it, no priest was ever named, and even the village name changes depending on who tells it. But you can see how it took hold. Every year after that, when Mayo would reach a final and lose, the old story was there to explain why.
Then, eventually, the last surviving member of the 1951 starting fifteen, Paddy Prendergast, died in the autumn of 2021. Last Sunday, County Mayo returned to the All-Ireland final and won for the first time in seventy-five years
So, was there really a curse in the first place? Probably not. But it crossed the minds of plenty of level-headed people in Mayo last Sunday night anyway. You don’t have to believe something to feel it.
I think our ancestors understood that better than we do. Their lives were harder and less secure, and they maintained a lot of small habits and superstitions because of it. Many of those habits emigrated with them and lasted for generations, long after the farms they came from were gone.
So, let me leave you with one question this week: Have you inherited an Irish superstition?
Something you do, or something you’d never do, a word you avoid or a small habit you can’t quite drop, passed on by a grandmother or a great-grandfather who maybe never explained why.
Do Email Tommy Mac ([email protected]) and tell him what it is, and who you got it from. W
Thank you for reading and sharing this letter.
Slán for now,
Mike
P.S. Has the Letter from Ireland Become Part of Your Sunday?
This week’s letter was about the small beliefs and habits that travelled down through Irish families, often long after anyone remembered where they began.
The Letter from Ireland has become a small Sunday habit for many readers too.
There’s no publisher behind it. It’s Carina and me, here in Cork, writing and sending the letter each week.
Just over a thousand readers have become Plus supporters. They’re the reason it reaches everyone else for nothing, and the reason we can keep reading the replies that arrive each week and answering as many as we can.
If the Letter from Ireland has become part of your Sunday, come and stand with the readers who keep it going.
With sincere thanks,
Mike and Carina

For Mayo Fans
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The unbreakable rules of growing up in an Irish household
In every Irish household, there are unwritten, but ironclad, rules of conduct.

The Irish are justly famous for their hospitality but the flip side of this welcoming tradition is that, in every Irish household, there are unwritten, but ironclad, rules of conduct.
Many of these rules seem so normal to Irish people that to see them written down in black and white seems just as hilarious as the fact that we follow them without thinking.
The following list of ten things you should never do in an Irish household by blogger Robbie Dunne will remind Irish people everywhere of the quirks and oddities of growing up in Ireland.
Let the heat get out

When you walk into a room and don’t close the door behind you in the middle of winter, you’re asking for “a mouthful of abuse” or “a slap on the side of the head, depending on how close you are to the offended party.
Let the fire go out

To let the fire go out on your watch is seen as a sign of pure laziness and selfishness. “This might seem a little dramatic, but it is true. You will never be able to own your own house or live alone if you can’t simply ‘throw a few briquettes on the fire‘’.
Leave the immersion on

You can go to hell for this one. The ultimate act of laziness and selfish disregard is to leave the immersion on. The usual response from Irish parents is something along the lines of ‘where do you think the money comes from??’ while helpfully informing you that it doesn’t grow on trees.
Leave the curtains pulled later than 9 o’clock in the day.

Leaving the curtains closed usually means no one has bothered getting up yet so the usual Irish mammy response to forgetting to open the curtains in a room is, ‘”They’ll think we’re sleeping all day”’.
Throw your dinner in the bin

This is something you simply don’t do. Most farm households will have a scrap bucket for their dogs that everything from a leftover potato to the quarter of a dodgy Indian curry you brought home on a night out will make its way into.
Boil the kettle with no water in it

Making the mistake of boiling a kettle without water is simply a waste of good tea-making time, not to mention turning the mundane kettle into a lethal explosive device, according to many Irish parents. After we’ve been warned about the dangers of exploding kettles and picking bits of metal out of our faces for the next month, we learn to pick up that kettle and give it a good shake before boiling.
Make tea for yourself without offering some to the rest of the family

Irish families have a mental scoreboard in their heads, so although you may think you have gotten away with conveniently forgetting the rest of your family while making a lovely cuppa for yourself, it’s been noted, recorded and shelved on the mental scoreboard, and Irish grudges are not known for their brevity. The exception to the rule, Robbie reminds us, is the Irish son, whom the Irish mammy could simply never exclude from the tea round.
Eat a sandwich without a bag of crisps (chips)

The Irish sandwich is not something to be messed with, but when in another country, one has to settle for adding second-rate crisps with our sandwiches in wistful memory of the King or Tayto taste. The most fulfilling sandwich doesn’t quite hit the spot without a packet of cheese and onion to complete it!
Change the channel when your mother is watching Coronation Street

The Irish mammy is the queen of multitasking and juggles 20 things with one hand and does the ironing with the other while shouting at her children to open the curtains and keep the heat in, but when she finally settles in to watch her beloved soap, it’s more than your life’s worth to change that channel.
Never question what your father is doing out in the garden

No matter what bizarre fashion of digging, hammering, and noise-making that your father is putting all of his strength and concentration into, don’t ask why. There will never be a satisfactory answer to this question, so it’s better not to ask. Robbie Dunne’s mother would regularly answer his question with ‘“Leave him off, sure he’s happy”’.
Never try to disrupt the natural order by not sitting in the same assigned seats every time you’re sitting together

This can often be disrupted by a returning son or daughter who’s come home from college for the summer or the like, but in general, when families sit down to watch TV together, everyone has their favorite spot, and God help you if you don’t stick to yours.
Source: Robbie Dunne article on ‘10 things you don’t do in an Irish house’
* Originally published in 2013, updated in July 2026.

History of Irish emigration:
its tragedies and what we should embrace and celebrate
“There is a justifiable pride in the achievements of the Irish in so many diverse fields and in virtually every part of the world.”

One of the most startling statistics about Ireland is that half of all the people born here since 1820 have emigrated. It is estimated that more than 70 million people worldwide are of Irish origin. Indeed, there can be very few countries in which the Irish have not settled at some time in the past.
The classic picture of Irish emigration is of starving peasants fleeing from a country racked by the potato famine in the late 1840s. While this is not a false image – over one million people did leave Ireland during those terrible years – it is merely part of the story. Emigration has been a feature of Irish life since the earliest period of our history.
Phases of emigration
It was in the 16th century that the pattern of emigration was established in the aftermath of the English conquest under Elizabeth I and the imposition of the Anglican Reformation. There were four separate waves of emigration from Ireland resulting from the war during this period. In the 1580s, many Munster chieftains went to Spain and Portugal, where they found employment, particularly in the Spanish navy. For those obliged to leave Ireland after the conquest’s completion in 1603, Spain was again the main destination, though some settled in Brittany.
The third phase involved the transportation of whole regiments from Ireland to both France and Spain by Oliver Cromwell in 1652/3. A contemporary chronicler estimates that number at 34,000 men. In addition, an indeterminate number of ordinary people were transported at this time. The main destination was the West Indies, where the Irish could be sold as slaves, though some were also sent to Virginia. In the late 1660s, it was estimated that there were 12,000 Irish in the West Indies, which gives us some indication of the scale of the operation.
The final, and most celebrated, military exiles are those who left Ireland after the Treaty of Limerick in 1691. These are the “Wild Geese”. At least 20,000 men went to France in 1690-1 accompanied by wives, children, and other dependants. They fought in the French armies of Louis XIV until 1697. Most of them were then disbanded, and while some were left destitute and forced to take menial jobs, others became teachers of philosophy, rhetoric and mathematics, an indication of the high level of education which many of them possessed.
Working abroad
Spain soon provided welcome new opportunities. In the Spanish army, both an Irish and an Ulster regiment were established in 1709, later augmented by a third, to form the Spanish “Irish Brigade”. Though reduced in numbers, the original Irish Brigade continued to operate in the French army; both Austria and Russia also sought “Wild Geese” from Ireland. Recruitment in Ireland for various continental armies continued well into the second half of the 18th century, and many Irishmen achieved fame and fortune in this way.
A military career was by no means the only option available. From the late 16th century Irish merchants and traders had settled in virtually all the major port towns on the coast of western Europe.
Gradually Irish enclaves grew around them, with priests, bakers, tailors and innkeepers being particularly prominent. Irish commercial success in 18th-century Europe is perhaps best exemplified by Richard Hennessy, a Cork emigrant, who founded the famous Cognac firm.
18th century America
Emigration to America also began in the 18th century. It was predominantly, but by no means exclusively, from Ulster. This is somewhat surprising as Ulster was the most prosperous region in Ireland. The explanation appears to be an increase in rent for farmland, the precarious nature of the linen industry on which the modest prosperity was based, and the resentment of Presbyterians at the legal and social disabilities under which they had to live.
The Ulster Presbyterians, who by 1770 were emigrating at the rate of 12,000 per year, played an important role in the extension of the American frontier and formed the Scot-Irish element in the population of the New World. It is increasingly being recognized that Catholics also went to North America at this time. The Scot-Irish tended to emigrate as family units while the Catholic Irish sent as individuals, usually in early adulthood.
Great Hunger
The Napoleonic Wars briefly curtailed this trend, but after the peace settlements of 1815, an even more intense movement resumed. More than a million people left Ireland before the onset of the Famine in 1846. They went, in roughly equal proportions, to the USA and to Britain.
There is some dispute about the number of people who left Ireland during and immediately after the Famine. At least a million fled during the height of the crisis, and it is probable that the decade of 1846-55, as a whole, led to a loss of two and a half million people through emigration. But then an apparently unstoppable cycle had been set up, and a further four million were to leave Ireland by 1914. Emigration remained a key element of the Irish experience right up to the 1960s when it was finally and, as is now sadly evident, only briefly halted.
America and Britain remained the most popular destinations until 1921; thereafter, there was a pronounced shift toward Britain as the preferred destination. The geographical proximity of Britain and the feeling that exile there was not permanent or irrevocable probably explain why, in the 1946-51 period, eight out of ten emigrants from Ireland went to Britain. Throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, Irish people also went to Australia, New Zealand and Canada. At various times up to one-tenth of Irish emigrants could be found in those countries.
Where from?
In the 18th and early 19th centuries, emigration was strongest from the northern and midland counties of Ireland. During the famine, there was a shift to the south and west of these traditional regions.
However, the highest levels came from the north Midlands and the north-west. It was not until the 1870s that significant emigration from western Ireland began. Prior to that, people in this most depressed region appear to have had neither the resources nor initiative to seek a better life abroad.
Statistics for the period 1876-1914 show that emigrants to the USA were more likely to come from Connacht, while Canada and New Zealand drew from Ulster. However, the scale of emigration was so massive that people from every Irish county could be found at all major destinations.
City dwellers
In whatever country they settled, the Irish congregated in the large cities and in the most highly industrialized areas. This can be partly explained by the ready availability of work, but it contrasts sharply with their predominantly rural background and the keen sense of loss of a blissful, rustic way of life evident in emigrant ballads and songs. In all comparative analyses of American immigrants, the Irish stand out as the exception among nationalities in their rejection of opportunities in homesteading and/or ranching.
In 1940, nine out of every ten Irish in the US were in urban areas, while in Britain, the 1951 census shows one-third of the Irish there in London and two-fifths in Glasgow.
Single ladies
Another interesting feature is the large number of single Irish women who emigrated. Even before the famine, two-fifths of Irish emigrants to the US were women, and they frequently formed the majority of those leaving Ireland at many periods thereafter. This was, again, in sharp contrast to other European nations. The system of arranged marriages, dowries and the general drudgery of life for women in Ireland are the usual explanations for this pattern.
The profile of the average Irish emigrant remained largely unchanged throughout the 19th and 20th centuries. They were single, young adults seeking life anew before undertaking the commitments of marriage and family. They would usually send money to their parents and often arranged the subsequent emigration of younger brothers and sisters, but it was extremely rare for the Catholic Irish to bring their parents abroad.
Irish emigrants also had exceptionally low levels of return. Compared with other ethnic groups in the USA, few Irish either chose or were able to return to Ireland. This stark reality is underscored by the peculiar Irish practice of the “American Wake”, whereby the going-away party for a young emigrant was regarded by all as the final and irrevocable parting from family, friends, and country.
Emigration has been a bittersweet experience for the Irish and any discussion of it must reflect this ambiguity. There is a justifiable pride in the achievements of the Irish in so many diverse fields and in virtually every part of the world. Indeed, there is some merit to the complaint that we have neither sufficiently acknowledged nor rejoiced in this positive aspect of the subject. It has been curiously neglected in both the writing and teaching of Irish history. This reluctance to discuss one of the major formative influences on the development of Irish society stems from twin feelings of guilt and embarrassment that so many people have either chosen or been forced to leave their native land. There is, undoubtedly, a negative aspect to emigration, and while this needs to be faced and addressed, it should not obscure the fundamentally positive outcome, both for the individual emigrants and the Irish nation, that it facilitated. Celebration rather than lamentation should be our keynote in approaching this complex and fascinating topic.
* Liam Irwin was the Head of the History Department at the Mary Immaculate College Campus of the University of Limerick. At the time of writing, he was a Visiting Professor at Frostburg States University in Maryland where he was pursuing his research on Irish emigration to the USA.
** This article was originally published in the July 1992 issue of Ireland of the Welcomes, an Irish Abroad special.
* Originally published in March 2015, updated in July 2026.
* Originally published in 2022, updated in July 2026.
News From Ireland
From Bronx sanitation roots to the courtroom,
Dennis Ryan fights for New York’s working people
The Queens-based personal injury lawyer credits his Irish American, blue-collar upbringing
for shaping a career spent standing up for construction workers, firefighters and first responders.

Dennis Ryan grew up in Pelham Bay surrounded by union families, Irish dance, and the values instilled by a father who worked for the New York City Department of Sanitation. Today, as founder of his own Queens practice, he channels that upbringing into fighting for the very people he was raised alongside, from injured tradesmen to 9/11 first responders.
The legal profession has long been one in which reputation, relationships, and established networks open doors. Dennis Ryan forged a different path, driven by a determination to champion people who too often find themselves up against far more powerful opponents.
Long before he stood before juries fighting for injured New Yorkers, Dennis Ryan was a boy growing up in Pelham Bay, where construction workers, firefighters, police officers, sanitation workers and other union members weren’t just neighbors – they were family. It was an Irish-American, blue-collar upbringing that would shape not only the type of lawyer he became but also the people he would go on to represent.
“Construction workers, firefighters, police officers, sanitation workers and city employees,” Ryan says. “Those are the people I grew up with. Those are the people we represent now.”
They were his neighbors, his relatives and his family’s closest friends, many of them proud Irish Americans whose own parents and grandparents had crossed the Atlantic in search of opportunity.
Those values were rooted in a childhood where Irish identity and public service went hand in hand. Ryan describes himself as “100 percent Irish.” All four of his grandparents emigrated from Ireland, with family roots stretching across Galway, Tipperary, Mayo and Monaghan. His maternal grandmother first brought him to Ireland at the age of 11, beginning a lifelong connection with the country.
Now 43, Ryan is the eldest of three children and still sees himself first as the son of a New York City sanitation worker. The values of hard work, public service and loyalty that surrounded him growing up continue to shape the way he approaches every case.
Growing up in the Bronx, he didn’t consciously learn to be Irish. It was simply the air around him. His father, Michael Ryan, worked for the New York City Department of Sanitation and served as Vice President of its Emerald Society, meaning Irish dances, community events and celebrations were a constant part of family life. Ryan played Gaelic football as a youngster, while his younger sister, Claire, took up Irish dancing.
“I was kind of always surrounded by it,” he says.
Every St. Patrick’s Day, Ryan marches in New York City’s parade, continuing a family tradition that now spans three generations. His grandfather marched with the NYPD Emerald Society, his father with the Sanitation Emerald Society, and today Ryan takes his place with the Brehon Law Society, a New York-based organization for legal professionals of Irish heritage founded in 1978.
Just as influential as Ryan’s Irish roots was the blue-collar culture of the neighborhood in which he grew up. Three of his uncles worked as carpenters, many of his friends’ parents were city employees, and conversations around the family table often centered on fairness, workers’ rights and the role unions played in protecting ordinary families. Those lessons were reinforced by his Jesuit education, whose guiding principle, “men and women for others,” continues to influence how he practices law.

For Ryan, every case begins with a person, not a file.
Even so, the law itself fascinated him from an early age.
“My mother always loved legal dramas,” he recalls. “We’d watch films like A Few Good Men together.”
A history degree at Holy Cross naturally led him to St. John’s University School of Law in Queens. His first experience of personal injury law, however, came from the opposite side of the courtroom, defending insurance claims rather than representing injured people.
Working for an insurance company gave Ryan valuable insight into how insurers evaluated cases and developed legal strategies. It also left him questioning whether he was standing on the right side.
“There were times where you felt like you were winning for Goliath rather than David,” he says.
“You get a lot more satisfaction out of helping an individual than a big corporation,” he adds.
Representing injured people ultimately felt like a natural extension of the values he had grown up with. Ryan says those principles were reinforced by life in a union household.
“The union’s there to kind of fight for the rank and file,” he says. “I feel like personal injury is a bit of a natural extension of that.”
That commitment now extends well beyond individual cases. Each year, Ryan travels to Albany to lobby for stronger protections for workers. He has written on the subject for union publications, lectured at the New York State Trial Lawyers Association’s trial institute and now serves on the association’s Board of Directors, where he is one of its youngest members. He also co-chairs its Statewide New Lawyer Committee.
Then came a moment that made the decision deeply personal.
After the September 11 attacks, Ryan recalls that his father was working in sanitation at Ground Zero almost every day for the first six months. Like so many first responders and recovery workers, he later became ill and was forced to fight for disability benefits himself.

“Seeing the lawyers who took on those cases made me realize that’s the kind of lawyer I wanted to be,” he says. “Not the person on the other side fighting against them.”
Today, Ryan represents claimants through the 9/11 Victim Compensation Fund, continuing the same work that first inspired him as he watched attorneys fight for workers like his father.
From that point on, personal injury law became about far more than litigation. It became about standing beside the very people he had grown up admiring.
After nearly nine years at a Manhattan personal injury firm, Ryan took the leap and established his own practice.
Today, Ryan’s Queens-based practice has recovered millions of dollars for injured New Yorkers, representing clients involved in workplace accidents, construction incidents, and motor vehicle collisions. Since opening The Law Office of Dennis P. Ryan in April 2019, he has earned a reputation for taking cases to trial when insurers refuse to make what he believes are fair settlement offers.
“I probably started before I was completely ready,” he admits with a laugh.
Like many first-time business owners, he quickly discovered that law school teaches you how to practice law, but not necessarily how to run a business.
“There were definitely times that were daunting,” he says.
Ryan credits New York’s close-knit Irish American legal community with helping him navigate those early years. Through organizations such as the Brehon Law Society, he found experienced lawyers who were generous with both their time and advice.
“I’ve made great friends through it,” he says. “Not only how to be a better lawyer, but how to be a better business person.”
“It gives you confidence to see people who’ve done it successfully,” he says. “When you hit roadblocks, there are people you can lean on.”
“No one’s an island unto themselves,” he adds. “There are still other people who are there to help you.”
Seven years later, what began as a solo practice has grown into a team of seven, although Ryan says the firm’s expansion will continue thoughtfully rather than rapidly.
“We’re not hiring just for the sake of hiring,” he explains. “We’re looking for the right people so we can help more clients while maintaining the quality of service we’re known for.”

Ryan is equally quick to credit the people around him for the firm’s continued success. He points to Director of Operations Nick Hudson as someone whose strengths complement his own, particularly in modernizing the practice.
“If I only hired people who saw things the way I saw them,” he says, “we’d be banging our heads against the wall. I really value the innovative work my team members demonstrate. It ultimately makes things work better.”
Laughing that he is “a bit of a Neanderthal” when it comes to technology, Ryan says embracing artificial intelligence has allowed the firm to spend less time on administrative tasks and more time serving clients. But he is equally emphatic that technology remains just a tool. Every piece of AI-generated work is carefully reviewed by a member of the team to ensure accuracy, quality and the high standard of service clients expect.
The firm’s work has not gone unnoticed. Ryan was named one of the New York Times’ Top Attorneys in Metro New York in 2019, while Super Lawyers has recognized him as a New York Metro Rising Star every year since 2014, an honor reserved for just 2.5 percent of practicing attorneys under the age of 40. He has also been named to The National Trial Lawyers’ Top 40 Under 40 list and recognized by the Irish Echo as one of its Top 30 Irish Americans. He is licensed to practice law in both New York and New Jersey.
Away from the courtroom, Ryan remains committed to giving back. He volunteers as a mock trial judge at St. John’s University School of Law, supports the American Bar Association’s Military Pro Bono Project for active-duty service members and their families, and works with the Civil Legal Advice and Resource Office, which provides free legal guidance to low-income New Yorkers.
Running a growing law firm leaves little room for idle time, but Ryan has learned the importance of balance. Away from the office, he enjoys spending time with family and friends, playing softball with former high school teammates, golfing and cheering on the New York Mets alongside his brother, uncle and cousin. Building a team he trusts has also given him the freedom to remain active within the Irish American community and continue giving back beyond the courtroom.
For Ryan, success isn’t measured solely in verdicts, settlement figures or the growth of his firm. It’s measured in moments when a client leaves the courtroom knowing their future is a little more secure.
“For us, we have a lot of cases,” he says. “For most of these clients, this is their only case and so much depends on it.”
“It’s a person, and it’s a family,” he says. “It’s not just a case.”
Despite the awards, the growing practice and the professional recognition, Ryan believes his purpose has remained consistent.
“Those are the people I grew up with,” he says. “Those are the people we represent now.”
Emotional footage shows Glen Hansard’s final gig
just hours before fatal crash
Glen Hansard had been performing at a Dublin pub just hours before his fatal crash as tributes continue to pour in following the death of the Oscar-winning musician.

The 56-year-old died in the early hours of Wednesday morning in a single-vehicle accident on the R109 between Tinker’s Hill and Rugged Lane, at the Strawberry Beds near Lucan.
Gardaí [ police] and emergency services attended the scene where Mr Hansard received treatment, but he was declared dead a short time later.
As tributes continue to pour in for the Irish legend, one video clip has emerged of Glen performing just hours before his passing.
The musician was videoed singing and playing his guitar at The Wren’s Nest in Chapelizod.
Instagram page Live Forever Oasis Tribute wrote: ‘Last night in The Wren’s Nest in Chapelizod. You just don’t know when it’s your time!!
“RIP.”
Fellow social media users took to the comments, detailing their shock at the news of Mr Hansard’s death.
One wrote: “I think Ireland is going to feel a little empty without him, especially Dublin and even more other Irish artists! Not to mind the poor man’s family. Gone too soon.”
Another commented: “‘Time is the only thing that’s going to fix this now.’ I cannot believe that was a line in one of the last songs he ever sang.
“Just heartbreaking.”
A third said: “Time on the clock is almost 11.15 pm. Seems unbelievable he would be gone just hours after this.
“The world has lost an immeasurable talent. There will never be another Glenn. Rest easy friend. We’re all going to miss you.”
On Wednesday, Gardaí [Irish police] launched an investigation to establish exactly what happened in the early hours of the morning.
The musician came to prominence in the 1990s with his portrayal of Outspan Foster in “The Commitments”.
Since then, he went on to huge fame with his Oscar-winning song “Falling Slowly”, which was co-written with Markéta Irglová, for the movie “Once”.
Following that, Hansard formed his band, The Frames, which went on to produce critically acclaimed albums including “Fitzcarraldo”, “Dance the Devil” and “Burn the Maps”.
* This article was originally published on Extra.ie.
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Tír na mBláth is one of hundreds of branches throughout the world of Comhaltas Ceoltóirí Éireann (CCÉ) pronounced “kol-tus kyol-tori air-in“, the largest group involved in the preservation of Irish music, dance and song.
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