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Itchy feet - restless Vikings and Normans; ignore them at your peril
I, must be for Ireland, a country that was overrun by two gangs of ‘gurriers’; the Vikings[1] in 795, and the Normans in 1169. You’d think that the trembling monks guarding their treasures would have had some inkling of unfriendly Viking activity in Europe, being one of the few groups with a chain of franchises all over the Continent, not to mention the head office in Rome. More maddening though, was the Norman intrusion. Yes, Ireland had more kings who were quick to take offence than it knew what to do with, and their petty, royal fiefdoms were in perpetual tugs of war. But the long-settled Viking communities in Ireland, who were seafaring traders with Europe, must have been aware of the spreading menace of the Normans. Maybe, like those blinkered monks almost four hundred years earlier, they were too preoccupied with amassing and protecting their valuables in their thriving port towns. Whatever the reason, a disorganised and preoccupied Ireland was not ready for the Normans. Just like the Viking marauders, the Normans came as a big surprise to the Irish, as would the financial crash in 2008 and Brexit in 2016; very few saw them coming.
By the eighth century Ireland had it all, apparently; an unsubdued Celtic community untainted by the Roman legions but embracing the Church of Rome; a refuge for scholars and a repository of the written word in an ever-darkening Europe. Of course, we’d had our troubles throughout the ancient mists of time, what with the Fir Bolg being defeated by the Tuatha de Danann who in turn were overtaken by the Melesians. No doubt, the earliest road signs were written in Ogham[2]; perhaps something helpful like ‘ritual killing, first field on the left.’ No sign would ever say ‘Beware of the Romans’; our enduring rickety roads would attest to that. Why the Romans did not invade us is a mystery; they had plenty of time before the fall of their empire. The Vikings and the Normans were not so reticent. Those young, warrior nobles were feeling a bit claustrophobic in their own back yards. They badly wanted to set up shop in a new country; all a fragmented and militarily backward Ireland was short of doing, was putting out the welcome mat.
Let’s not kid ourselves. If it wasn’t for the collapse of the Roman Empire, Ireland would have been eventually ticked off Rome’s ‘must have’ list. Agricola, the Roman Governor of Britannia from 77-85 AD, who completed the conquest of Wales and northern England, gazed longingly westwards. Reluctant to stop at Wales, that wily general wanted to bring the enigmatic Hibernia into the Roman family, realising it would be easier to hold onto Britannia if Roman armies surrounded it. The conquest never happened. Agricola was recalled to headquarters in 85 AD and Ireland, alone in western Europe, remained free of the Romans. Irish historians, Máire and Liam de Paor, describe it beautifully in their book, Early Christian Ireland[3]: ‘The story of Early Christian Ireland is, in the main, the story of the gradual absorption of Mediterranean culture by an unsubdued Celtic community, who yielded, not to Roman arms, but to Roman letters and religion.’
And so, we arrive in the mid-400s and the ‘official’ bringing of Christianity to Ireland by your preferred St Patrick depending on which scholar you agree with[4]. By the fifth century AD all tribes and groups in Ireland shared a common culture and Gaelic language. Having already enjoyed a long span of freedom from outside aggression, Ireland would, for the next four hundred years or so, be a haven of Christianity; art, literature and learning would reach their zenith under the patronage of the Church. But with Vikings taking to the north Atlantic, this peace was not going to last.
First Viking incursions
Sporadic Viking forays had already started in the seventh century, but large-scale Viking expeditions began in earnest at the end of the eighth century. Here’s what drove the Norse Vikings to Ireland. The population of Scandinavia began to increase in the seventh century and peaked in the tenth century. Independent Norse jarls[5] resented Harold Fairhair’s attempts to unite Norway under his crown. This rise in population coupled with the response to Fairhair’s unification were two of the most important causes of the Viking surge across Northern Europe from the seventh century. The Swedish Vikings headed for Russia and the Danish Vikings headed for England. Professor Sean Duffy in his exhaustively researched book, Brian Ború and the Battle of Clontarf[6], reminds us that ‘this Scandanavian expansion sometimes had as much to do with farming and colonising as with raiding and warring’.
The first Viking raid on Ireland took place in 795, most probably on Lambay Island off north Dublin; the islands of Rathlin, Inishmurray and Inishbofin would soon follow. Henceforth, all remote monastic sites were fair game for the Vikings. Up until about 830 the attacks were intermittent. But then the Viking, Turgesius landed in the north with a ‘great royal fleet’ and a determination to found colonies in Ireland. Turgesius eventually established a stronghold in Dublin. Master of his new universe, he established other bases on Lough Neagh and Lough Ree in the midlands and from these he wreaked havoc on all parts of Ireland. Most goods that came in at Dublin Bay went to wealthy monastic settlements, so these monasteries were prime targets for murder and mayhem; Turgesius even assumed the abbacy at Armagh. He was eventually captured and killed by the King of Meath. But the ravaging continued, further settlements were founded and the Viking sea-lord, Olaf the White, became King of Dublin in about 853. Under Olaf, Dublin emerged as a feisty little Viking realm.
Around this time a new Irish high king – Aed Finnliaith of the northen UÍ Neill, emerged. He had several successes against the Vikings, ousting them from the northern part of the country, consequently forcing them to turn their attentions on middle and southern Ireland. A Munster chronicler recorded this unwelcome development as ‘immense floods and countless sea-vomitings of ships and boats and fleets’. Despite these ‘sea-vomitings’, the Vikings never fully conquered Ireland. The explanation was likely back in Norway where dynastic struggles were a distraction, reducing the number of marauding ships and giving the Irish a window of opportunity to fight back. Furthermore, the kings of Viking Dublin: Sigtryg Gale, Godfred, and Olaf Cuaran, were constantly distracted from affairs in Ireland by their efforts to maintain control over their territory at York in England. Viking settlements began losing their notoriety and from 880 the Viking storm had all but subsided; soon, alliances between Vikings and the Irish became commonplace, the Vikings being used as pawns in the age-old inter-tribal fighting of the Irish.
The last Viking gasp
There was to be a final dying kick though. As it became increasingly difficult for the Vikings to invade other parts of mainland Europe they decided to redouble their efforts on Ireland. They returned in force and this time they were determined on conquest. But being seafarers rather than landlubbers, the Vikings still never managed to subdue the whole country. Henceforth, they would see their towns of Dublin, Wexford, Waterford, Cork and Limerick as convenient harbours and trading ports rather than the starting blocks of conquest.
But the Vikings still held too much power in Ireland in the opinion of Brian Ború of the East Clare Dál Cais tribe, who became High King of Ireland in 1002. In the two hundred years since the Vikings had arrived, Ireland had become a confused and turbulent cauldron of failed alliances between Irish tribes, and fluctuating relationships between the Irish and the Vikings. Brian Ború wanted to unite all the warring Celtic kingdoms under one rule and one High King. A perfect example of the dysfunctional Irish political landscape occurred in 1013 when Mael Mordha, the king of Leinster, revolted against Brian Ború after yet another failed alliance. Mael Mordha joined forces with the Vikings and attacked the kingdom of Meath who in turn summoned the help of Brian Ború. He answered the call and marched for Dublin with almost 5,000 warriors from Munster and Connacht. Mael Mordha had an army of 4,000 Leinster men allied to 3,000 Viking warriors. This was the prelude to what would become the Battle of Clontarf, which took place on Good Friday, April 23rd, 1014
The battle ended in defeat for Viking Dublin and Leinster. Most Viking and Munster leaders were slain, and Brian Ború was killed by Vikings fleeing from the battle, turning him into a blood sacrifice hero, whose deeds, in our romantic, childish history books, would only be equalled by Patrick Pearse. Indeed, anyone capable of swinging a battle axe at that time, wanted to be recorded as a participant in the Battle of Clontarf, much like every man of a certain vintage wanted his progeny to believe he fought in the GPO in 1916. This was not a battle between Vikings and Irish for control of Ireland, as many of us were taught in primary school; it was part of a struggle between Munster and Leinster. Notwithstanding, the power of the Vikings in Ireland was broken, but they remained as merchant princes of thriving port towns and cities, while most of their native Irish neighbours lived outside these prosperous enclaves.
A new invader
Any lessons learned from the Viking incursions in Ireland were well forgotten by the mid-twelfth century. Now another restless band of marauders landed on Ireland’s shores and these gentlemen were not for turning. Compared with the Norman invasion of England in 1066, the Norman invasion of Ireland in 1169 was, according to Professor F. X. Martin ‘a casual, almost an accidental affair,’ [7], and it changed the course of Irish history. This exceptional history lecturer in University College Dublin, and courteous Augustinian monk, often drove me to college if he spotted me at the bus stop. The backdrop to the Norman invasion of Ireland was that age-old leitmotif of Irish history - intertribal and internecine warfare. On this occasion, the main players were Dermot MacMurrough, King of Leinster and Tiernan O’Rourke, King of Breifne[8], who were constantly trying to overthrow each other. The catalyst that revved up the action was the abduction of O’Rourke’s wife Dervorgilla in 1152.
We also need to examine the behaviour of two other Irish kings between 1156 and 1166. Murtough MacLochlainn, King of Ailech[9], and Rory O’Connor, King of Connacht. They constantly struggled for political supremacy and they needed allies. Dermot MacMurrough supported Murtough MacLochlainn; Tiernan O’Rourke supported Rory O’Connor. Now all four provinces - Ulster, Leinster, Connacht and Munster were in the fray, making Ireland, according to one annalist, ‘a trembling sod’.
In one battle, Rory O’Connor defeated Dermot MacMurrough and reduced his power base to a small kingdom centred around Ferns in Wexford. Tiernan O’Rourke was still full of resentment after the abduction of his wife in 1152. Even though she was only held for one year, he never got over the humiliation and was determined to get even with MacMurrough. By 1166 MacMurrough’s position was weakening. His ally, MacLochlainn of Aileach was dead, Tiernan O’Rourke and other North Leinster tribes were gathering on his borders, and Wexford[10] town was ready to attack him from the rear. Ferns was captured and MacMurrough fled to Bristol.
A king scorned
With a large ‘Help Wanted’ sign, MacMurrough trudged around England, France and Wales looking for support to get his kingdom back. In France, he met the Norman King Henry ll of England who was happy to encourage the exiled MacMurrough in return for his fealty. Henry gave him an open letter inviting his English, Welsh, Norman, and Scots subjects to help the beleaguered MacMurrough. Interestingly, Henry had already shown an interest in Ireland in 1155. Pope Adrian lV (the only ever English pope) issued a bull commissioning him to invade Ireland, but the project was postponed because Henry was too busy.
When MacMurrough returned to Bristol with his royal letter, people were not queuing up to help him. He cleverly realised that the only place he would find recruits was along the Welsh border where Normans were worn down from constant warfare with the native Welsh. To put it bluntly, the young French speaking, Welsh-Normans knights were restless and land hungry with no particular allegiance to England, Wales or France; they were one step away from being mercenaries. They were good with boats and horses and experienced with bricks and mortar; they were ruthless and determined militarists – all the skills that the native Irish lacked. The showdown needed a leading player, a role ably performed by Richard FitzGilbert de Clare, earl of Pembroke, AKA Strongbow. MacMurrough shrewdly signed him up. Strongbow agreed to head an armed force to restore MacMurrough to power. In return, he wanted two things: MacMurrough’s eldest daughter, Aoife, and the right of succession to the kingdom of Leinster when MacMurrough died.
An impatient MacMurrough returned to Ireland in 1167 with a handful of Normans, Flemings and Welsh. He recovered his power around Ferns but was attacked by O’Connor and O’Rourke. He submitted to them and compensated O’Rourke for the abduction of his wife Dervorgilla. Then he sent out messages to his Norman contacts in Wales, promising them riches and land if they hurried to his aid. The first official Norman contingent of about 600 men landed at Bannow Bay in May 1169. They were a mixture of mounted knights in mail, foot soldiers, and archers on foot using deadly cross-bows. MacMurrough and his army joined them and they marched on Wexford.
The defenders of Wexford who came out to meet them were shocked. This was not the disorganised native Irish rabble - with axes, swords, slings, and javelins –that they were used to. They were faced with organised ranks of foot soldiers and archers flanked by horsemen armed with long lances, kite-shaped shields, helmets, and coats of mail. Wexford capitulated and an alarmed O’Connor and O’Rourke came to terms with MacMurrough. They agreed to recognise him as King of Leinster south of Dublin if he got rid of his foreign allies. MacMurrough acquiesced but this was simply a delaying tactic in the form of an empty promise.
Ireland for the taking
As the duped O’Connor marched away, MacMurrough wrote to Strongbow telling him to hurry up – Ireland was for the taking. Strongbow sent an advance party of 10 knights and 70 archers who landed at Baginbun. The advance party faced an army from Waterford city and outlying Gaelic areas. Like a scene straight from the Battle of Rorke's Drift, a herd of cattle secreted behind the Norman ramparts was let loose against oncoming troops and in the confusion the Normans defeated Waterford city. No mercy was shown; seventy of the leading townsmen of Waterford had their limbs broken before being thrown over cliffs. A new chapter in Irish history had just begun, and it would not end until 1922. The following rhyming couplet may not be elegant, but it is incisive: ‘At the creek of Baginbun / Ireland was lost and won.’
Soon afterwards, Strongbow landed with 200 knights and 1,000 troops. He took Waterford, and MacMurrough obediently reciprocated with his daughter Aoife. He and Strongbow then marched on the Viking city of Dublin, which, following a series of complex events, fell to the Normans in September 1170. Indeed, I personally benefited from this event as the trusty Norman knight, Milo de Cogan, who was a key player in the taking of Dublin, is an ancestor of my other half. Milo was rewarded with the Kingdom of Cork for his gallantry; my other half only inherited the story.
The success of the invasion finally piqued the interest of Henry ll, who triumphantly marched to Dublin in 1171, gathering humble submissions from the great and the good of the Irish establishment along the way. Now that Strongbow had done his donkey work, Henry removed Dublin from Strongbow’s clutches. ‘Thereafter Dublin’s ultimate overlord would be a foreign king in a distant land’.[11] As I said, the Normans were good with bricks and mortar and it didn’t take them long to construct Dublin Castle which, from 1204 until 1922 was the seat of English, and later British rule in Ireland. On January 16th, 1922, the last ever British Viceroy of Ireland handed Dublin Castle over to Michael Collins and the government of the newly-independent Irish Free State.
I, is for Ireland who, after the scourge of the Vikings, should have been better prepared to face the Normans. I, is for the itchy feet of the restless young Vikings and Normans who felt entitled to satisfy their cravings in Ireland. The entitled generation is not a new phenomenon.
© Berni Dwan 2017
[1] These mainly came from Norway and are also known as Norsemen
[2] Earliest form of writing in Ireland dating to around 4th century AD and used for about 500 years.
[3] De Paor, M. & W. (1968) Early Christian Ireland, Thames and Hudson
[4] Professor T. F. O’Rahilly; Professor J. Carney; Mario Esposito
[5] Chiefs
[6] Duffy, S. (2013). Brian Ború and the Battle of Clontarf. Gill and Macmillan
[7] Martin, F. X. in Moody, T.W. & Martin, F. X. (Ed.) (1967) The Course of Irish History, Mercer
[8] The Bréifne territory included current day Irish counties of Leitrim and Cavan, along with parts of County Sligo
[9] The Kings of Ailech belonged to the Northern Uí Néill and were based at a hillfort on top of Greenan Mountain in modern-day County Donegal
[10] Wexford and Waterford were still Viking towns in the 12th century; the descendants of the original Norse Viking founders administered them.
[11] Clarke. H. Dent, S. Johnson, R. (2008). O’Brien Press
Itchy feet - restless Vikings and Normans; ignore them at your peril
I, must be for Ireland, a country that was overrun by two gangs of ‘gurriers’; the Vikings[1] in 795, and the Normans in 1169. You’d think that the trembling monks guarding their treasures would have had some inkling of unfriendly Viking activity in Europe, being one of the few groups with a chain of franchises all over the Continent, not to mention the head office in Rome. More maddening though, was the Norman intrusion. Yes, Ireland had more kings who were quick to take offence than it knew what to do with, and their petty, royal fiefdoms were in perpetual tugs of war. But the long-settled Viking communities in Ireland, who were seafaring traders with Europe, must have been aware of the spreading menace of the Normans. Maybe, like those blinkered monks almost four hundred years earlier, they were too preoccupied with amassing and protecting their valuables in their thriving port towns. Whatever the reason, a disorganised and preoccupied Ireland was not ready for the Normans. Just like the Viking marauders, the Normans came as a big surprise to the Irish, as would the financial crash in 2008 and Brexit in 2016; very few saw them coming.
By the eighth century Ireland had it all, apparently; an unsubdued Celtic community untainted by the Roman legions but embracing the Church of Rome; a refuge for scholars and a repository of the written word in an ever-darkening Europe. Of course, we’d had our troubles throughout the ancient mists of time, what with the Fir Bolg being defeated by the Tuatha de Danann who in turn were overtaken by the Melesians. No doubt, the earliest road signs were written in Ogham[2]; perhaps something helpful like ‘ritual killing, first field on the left.’ No sign would ever say ‘Beware of the Romans’; our enduring rickety roads would attest to that. Why the Romans did not invade us is a mystery; they had plenty of time before the fall of their empire. The Vikings and the Normans were not so reticent. Those young, warrior nobles were feeling a bit claustrophobic in their own back yards. They badly wanted to set up shop in a new country; all a fragmented and militarily backward Ireland was short of doing, was putting out the welcome mat.
Let’s not kid ourselves. If it wasn’t for the collapse of the Roman Empire, Ireland would have been eventually ticked off Rome’s ‘must have’ list. Agricola, the Roman Governor of Britannia from 77-85 AD, who completed the conquest of Wales and northern England, gazed longingly westwards. Reluctant to stop at Wales, that wily general wanted to bring the enigmatic Hibernia into the Roman family, realising it would be easier to hold onto Britannia if Roman armies surrounded it. The conquest never happened. Agricola was recalled to headquarters in 85 AD and Ireland, alone in western Europe, remained free of the Romans. Irish historians, Máire and Liam de Paor, describe it beautifully in their book, Early Christian Ireland[3]: ‘The story of Early Christian Ireland is, in the main, the story of the gradual absorption of Mediterranean culture by an unsubdued Celtic community, who yielded, not to Roman arms, but to Roman letters and religion.’
And so, we arrive in the mid-400s and the ‘official’ bringing of Christianity to Ireland by your preferred St Patrick depending on which scholar you agree with[4]. By the fifth century AD all tribes and groups in Ireland shared a common culture and Gaelic language. Having already enjoyed a long span of freedom from outside aggression, Ireland would, for the next four hundred years or so, be a haven of Christianity; art, literature and learning would reach their zenith under the patronage of the Church. But with Vikings taking to the north Atlantic, this peace was not going to last.
First Viking incursions
Sporadic Viking forays had already started in the seventh century, but large-scale Viking expeditions began in earnest at the end of the eighth century. Here’s what drove the Norse Vikings to Ireland. The population of Scandinavia began to increase in the seventh century and peaked in the tenth century. Independent Norse jarls[5] resented Harold Fairhair’s attempts to unite Norway under his crown. This rise in population coupled with the response to Fairhair’s unification were two of the most important causes of the Viking surge across Northern Europe from the seventh century. The Swedish Vikings headed for Russia and the Danish Vikings headed for England. Professor Sean Duffy in his exhaustively researched book, Brian Ború and the Battle of Clontarf[6], reminds us that ‘this Scandanavian expansion sometimes had as much to do with farming and colonising as with raiding and warring’.
The first Viking raid on Ireland took place in 795, most probably on Lambay Island off north Dublin; the islands of Rathlin, Inishmurray and Inishbofin would soon follow. Henceforth, all remote monastic sites were fair game for the Vikings. Up until about 830 the attacks were intermittent. But then the Viking, Turgesius landed in the north with a ‘great royal fleet’ and a determination to found colonies in Ireland. Turgesius eventually established a stronghold in Dublin. Master of his new universe, he established other bases on Lough Neagh and Lough Ree in the midlands and from these he wreaked havoc on all parts of Ireland. Most goods that came in at Dublin Bay went to wealthy monastic settlements, so these monasteries were prime targets for murder and mayhem; Turgesius even assumed the abbacy at Armagh. He was eventually captured and killed by the King of Meath. But the ravaging continued, further settlements were founded and the Viking sea-lord, Olaf the White, became King of Dublin in about 853. Under Olaf, Dublin emerged as a feisty little Viking realm.
Around this time a new Irish high king – Aed Finnliaith of the northen UÍ Neill, emerged. He had several successes against the Vikings, ousting them from the northern part of the country, consequently forcing them to turn their attentions on middle and southern Ireland. A Munster chronicler recorded this unwelcome development as ‘immense floods and countless sea-vomitings of ships and boats and fleets’. Despite these ‘sea-vomitings’, the Vikings never fully conquered Ireland. The explanation was likely back in Norway where dynastic struggles were a distraction, reducing the number of marauding ships and giving the Irish a window of opportunity to fight back. Furthermore, the kings of Viking Dublin: Sigtryg Gale, Godfred, and Olaf Cuaran, were constantly distracted from affairs in Ireland by their efforts to maintain control over their territory at York in England. Viking settlements began losing their notoriety and from 880 the Viking storm had all but subsided; soon, alliances between Vikings and the Irish became commonplace, the Vikings being used as pawns in the age-old inter-tribal fighting of the Irish.
The last Viking gasp
There was to be a final dying kick though. As it became increasingly difficult for the Vikings to invade other parts of mainland Europe they decided to redouble their efforts on Ireland. They returned in force and this time they were determined on conquest. But being seafarers rather than landlubbers, the Vikings still never managed to subdue the whole country. Henceforth, they would see their towns of Dublin, Wexford, Waterford, Cork and Limerick as convenient harbours and trading ports rather than the starting blocks of conquest.
But the Vikings still held too much power in Ireland in the opinion of Brian Ború of the East Clare Dál Cais tribe, who became High King of Ireland in 1002. In the two hundred years since the Vikings had arrived, Ireland had become a confused and turbulent cauldron of failed alliances between Irish tribes, and fluctuating relationships between the Irish and the Vikings. Brian Ború wanted to unite all the warring Celtic kingdoms under one rule and one High King. A perfect example of the dysfunctional Irish political landscape occurred in 1013 when Mael Mordha, the king of Leinster, revolted against Brian Ború after yet another failed alliance. Mael Mordha joined forces with the Vikings and attacked the kingdom of Meath who in turn summoned the help of Brian Ború. He answered the call and marched for Dublin with almost 5,000 warriors from Munster and Connacht. Mael Mordha had an army of 4,000 Leinster men allied to 3,000 Viking warriors. This was the prelude to what would become the Battle of Clontarf, which took place on Good Friday, April 23rd, 1014
The battle ended in defeat for Viking Dublin and Leinster. Most Viking and Munster leaders were slain, and Brian Ború was killed by Vikings fleeing from the battle, turning him into a blood sacrifice hero, whose deeds, in our romantic, childish history books, would only be equalled by Patrick Pearse. Indeed, anyone capable of swinging a battle axe at that time, wanted to be recorded as a participant in the Battle of Clontarf, much like every man of a certain vintage wanted his progeny to believe he fought in the GPO in 1916. This was not a battle between Vikings and Irish for control of Ireland, as many of us were taught in primary school; it was part of a struggle between Munster and Leinster. Notwithstanding, the power of the Vikings in Ireland was broken, but they remained as merchant princes of thriving port towns and cities, while most of their native Irish neighbours lived outside these prosperous enclaves.
A new invader
Any lessons learned from the Viking incursions in Ireland were well forgotten by the mid-twelfth century. Now another restless band of marauders landed on Ireland’s shores and these gentlemen were not for turning. Compared with the Norman invasion of England in 1066, the Norman invasion of Ireland in 1169 was, according to Professor F. X. Martin ‘a casual, almost an accidental affair,’ [7], and it changed the course of Irish history. This exceptional history lecturer in University College Dublin, and courteous Augustinian monk, often drove me to college if he spotted me at the bus stop. The backdrop to the Norman invasion of Ireland was that age-old leitmotif of Irish history - intertribal and internecine warfare. On this occasion, the main players were Dermot MacMurrough, King of Leinster and Tiernan O’Rourke, King of Breifne[8], who were constantly trying to overthrow each other. The catalyst that revved up the action was the abduction of O’Rourke’s wife Dervorgilla in 1152.
We also need to examine the behaviour of two other Irish kings between 1156 and 1166. Murtough MacLochlainn, King of Ailech[9], and Rory O’Connor, King of Connacht. They constantly struggled for political supremacy and they needed allies. Dermot MacMurrough supported Murtough MacLochlainn; Tiernan O’Rourke supported Rory O’Connor. Now all four provinces - Ulster, Leinster, Connacht and Munster were in the fray, making Ireland, according to one annalist, ‘a trembling sod’.
In one battle, Rory O’Connor defeated Dermot MacMurrough and reduced his power base to a small kingdom centred around Ferns in Wexford. Tiernan O’Rourke was still full of resentment after the abduction of his wife in 1152. Even though she was only held for one year, he never got over the humiliation and was determined to get even with MacMurrough. By 1166 MacMurrough’s position was weakening. His ally, MacLochlainn of Aileach was dead, Tiernan O’Rourke and other North Leinster tribes were gathering on his borders, and Wexford[10] town was ready to attack him from the rear. Ferns was captured and MacMurrough fled to Bristol.
A king scorned
With a large ‘Help Wanted’ sign, MacMurrough trudged around England, France and Wales looking for support to get his kingdom back. In France, he met the Norman King Henry ll of England who was happy to encourage the exiled MacMurrough in return for his fealty. Henry gave him an open letter inviting his English, Welsh, Norman, and Scots subjects to help the beleaguered MacMurrough. Interestingly, Henry had already shown an interest in Ireland in 1155. Pope Adrian lV (the only ever English pope) issued a bull commissioning him to invade Ireland, but the project was postponed because Henry was too busy.
When MacMurrough returned to Bristol with his royal letter, people were not queuing up to help him. He cleverly realised that the only place he would find recruits was along the Welsh border where Normans were worn down from constant warfare with the native Welsh. To put it bluntly, the young French speaking, Welsh-Normans knights were restless and land hungry with no particular allegiance to England, Wales or France; they were one step away from being mercenaries. They were good with boats and horses and experienced with bricks and mortar; they were ruthless and determined militarists – all the skills that the native Irish lacked. The showdown needed a leading player, a role ably performed by Richard FitzGilbert de Clare, earl of Pembroke, AKA Strongbow. MacMurrough shrewdly signed him up. Strongbow agreed to head an armed force to restore MacMurrough to power. In return, he wanted two things: MacMurrough’s eldest daughter, Aoife, and the right of succession to the kingdom of Leinster when MacMurrough died.
An impatient MacMurrough returned to Ireland in 1167 with a handful of Normans, Flemings and Welsh. He recovered his power around Ferns but was attacked by O’Connor and O’Rourke. He submitted to them and compensated O’Rourke for the abduction of his wife Dervorgilla. Then he sent out messages to his Norman contacts in Wales, promising them riches and land if they hurried to his aid. The first official Norman contingent of about 600 men landed at Bannow Bay in May 1169. They were a mixture of mounted knights in mail, foot soldiers, and archers on foot using deadly cross-bows. MacMurrough and his army joined them and they marched on Wexford.
The defenders of Wexford who came out to meet them were shocked. This was not the disorganised native Irish rabble - with axes, swords, slings, and javelins –that they were used to. They were faced with organised ranks of foot soldiers and archers flanked by horsemen armed with long lances, kite-shaped shields, helmets, and coats of mail. Wexford capitulated and an alarmed O’Connor and O’Rourke came to terms with MacMurrough. They agreed to recognise him as King of Leinster south of Dublin if he got rid of his foreign allies. MacMurrough acquiesced but this was simply a delaying tactic in the form of an empty promise.
Ireland for the taking
As the duped O’Connor marched away, MacMurrough wrote to Strongbow telling him to hurry up – Ireland was for the taking. Strongbow sent an advance party of 10 knights and 70 archers who landed at Baginbun. The advance party faced an army from Waterford city and outlying Gaelic areas. Like a scene straight from the Battle of Rorke's Drift, a herd of cattle secreted behind the Norman ramparts was let loose against oncoming troops and in the confusion the Normans defeated Waterford city. No mercy was shown; seventy of the leading townsmen of Waterford had their limbs broken before being thrown over cliffs. A new chapter in Irish history had just begun, and it would not end until 1922. The following rhyming couplet may not be elegant, but it is incisive: ‘At the creek of Baginbun / Ireland was lost and won.’
Soon afterwards, Strongbow landed with 200 knights and 1,000 troops. He took Waterford, and MacMurrough obediently reciprocated with his daughter Aoife. He and Strongbow then marched on the Viking city of Dublin, which, following a series of complex events, fell to the Normans in September 1170. Indeed, I personally benefited from this event as the trusty Norman knight, Milo de Cogan, who was a key player in the taking of Dublin, is an ancestor of my other half. Milo was rewarded with the Kingdom of Cork for his gallantry; my other half only inherited the story.
The success of the invasion finally piqued the interest of Henry ll, who triumphantly marched to Dublin in 1171, gathering humble submissions from the great and the good of the Irish establishment along the way. Now that Strongbow had done his donkey work, Henry removed Dublin from Strongbow’s clutches. ‘Thereafter Dublin’s ultimate overlord would be a foreign king in a distant land’.[11] As I said, the Normans were good with bricks and mortar and it didn’t take them long to construct Dublin Castle which, from 1204 until 1922 was the seat of English, and later British rule in Ireland. On January 16th, 1922, the last ever British Viceroy of Ireland handed Dublin Castle over to Michael Collins and the government of the newly-independent Irish Free State.
I, is for Ireland who, after the scourge of the Vikings, should have been better prepared to face the Normans. I, is for the itchy feet of the restless young Vikings and Normans who felt entitled to satisfy their cravings in Ireland. The entitled generation is not a new phenomenon.
© Berni Dwan 2017
[1] These mainly came from Norway and are also known as Norsemen
[2] Earliest form of writing in Ireland dating to around 4th century AD and used for about 500 years.
[3] De Paor, M. & W. (1968) Early Christian Ireland, Thames and Hudson
[4] Professor T. F. O’Rahilly; Professor J. Carney; Mario Esposito
[5] Chiefs
[6] Duffy, S. (2013). Brian Ború and the Battle of Clontarf. Gill and Macmillan
[7] Martin, F. X. in Moody, T.W. & Martin, F. X. (Ed.) (1967) The Course of Irish History, Mercer
[8] The Bréifne territory included current day Irish counties of Leitrim and Cavan, along with parts of County Sligo
[9] The Kings of Ailech belonged to the Northern Uí Néill and were based at a hillfort on top of Greenan Mountain in modern-day County Donegal
[10] Wexford and Waterford were still Viking towns in the 12th century; the descendants of the original Norse Viking founders administered them.
[11] Clarke. H. Dent, S. Johnson, R. (2008). O’Brien Press
