END

END

In Clonfert one evening St Brendan sat listeningTo St Berrind’s tales from abroadOf magnificent sea-creatures and marvellous birdsAnd the Land of the Promise of God.

So taken was Brendan by it all that, next morningWhen the brothers assembled to prayBrendan said, ‘Brothers, I need your advice’,They listened to hear what he’d say.

‘I am determined, brothers,’ he said‘Let it blow fair wind or illto set sail in search of the Land of Promise,That’s if - and only if - it’s God’s will.

‘What’s your advice brothers, what do you say?’They spoke with one voice, heart and mind‘You are our Abbot; your will is ours.Where you go we follow behind.’

They built a boat - that looked not unlikeA banana - with black leather skin.They gave it a mast, a sail and a blessingAnd that was what they set sail in.

They sailed out West; sometimes the windCarried them swiftly along,Sometimes it died down, so they rowed and they rowedAnd battled many a storm.

They fasted their bodies and feasted their eyesOn the wonders of God at sea -An island completely covered in sheepBig as cows and white as could be.

A Paradise of Birds with the purest white feathersChanting Psalms to the beat of their wings.Brendan listened in amazement to one bird explaining‘We’re what you might call “spiritlings”’

On another island a mysterious wellWhose water, though clear, ran deepThe more brothers drank, the deeper they sankInto a deep, deep sleep.

Then a beast ploughed the sea, making waves so great It seemed certain the boat would capsize,Spouting foam from its nose, it bore down on the brothersWho definitely now, feared for their lives.

But another monster, spitting fire and flamesRose up suddenly, as if ‘on cue’,Attacked and killed the first, then returnedWhere it came from, out the blue.

From the Island of Smiths a fierce, fiery peopleHurled huge burning rocks at the boatThese fell in the sea, which boiled up around themAnd hissed and steamed and smoked.

But in North winds or South winds, in East winds or West,Whatever their direction, God guided;Through Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter, Pentecost,Whether hungry or thirsty, God provided.

One evening a sudden gust of wind filled the sail,The boat almost ran aground.It took all the brothers’ strength and skillTo bring her safely around.

END

Eventually they landed. ‘Twas God’s breath filled our sail,’‘We are here’, Brendan said, ‘by God’s grace’But although he didn’t say it to the brothers, he thought‘There’s something fishy about this place.’

That day was Holy SaturdayA day of fasting and prayerThe brothers got out of the boat and knelt downBut Brendan kept a vigil in there.

The day drifted quietly towards eveningBefore silently fading from sightIn the empty boat on that island in the oceanBrendan watched through the dead-of-night.

Stars broke out like beads of sweatGlistening on night’s blackened brow,The wind held its breath like it dared not disturbThe saint’s concentration now.

He cast his mind like a fishing lineWith the hook on the end, ready-baitedInto the depths, while his body sat stillIn the boat, and waited, and waited.

And still he sat motionless, his thoughts and his mindSinking down deeper and deeperAs though he might fathom something of GodIn the nature of the sea and its creatures.

On Easter Sunday morning the brothers sang MassAnd then collected some wood.Brendan said his Mass in the boat while the othersLit a fire to cook some hot food.

They put some meat in a pot of waterWhich they hung on the fire. Next thingA shudder ran through the ground where they stoodAnd the island - yes, the island - was moving!

Abandoning everything the brothers rushedTo the boat in fear and dread.Brendan reached out and drew each one of on boardWhereupon they set sail and fled.

Taking one look behind them the brothers could seeAt a distance of over two miles,The island still moving, the fires still burningThey stared at it, shading their eyes.

‘Don’t be afraid brothers,’ Brendan said calmly,‘That’s not an island, it’s a whaleThe biggest of all fish, which spends much of its lifeTrying to touch its nose with its tail.

‘You see God knew we needed a place we could landTo celebrate Christ’s resurrectionSo he sent the biggest creature allAnd it served and need, to perfection.’

END

END

In Clonfert one evening St Brendan sat listeningTo St Berrind’s tales from abroadOf magnificent sea-creatures and marvellous birdsAnd the Land of the Promise of God.

END

END

END

So taken was Brendan by it all that, next morningWhen the brothers assembled to prayBrendan said, ‘Brothers, I need your advice’,They listened to hear what he’d say.

‘I am determined, brothers,’ he said‘Let it blow fair wind or illto set sail in search of the Land of Promise,That’s if - and only if - it’s God’s will.

‘What’s your advice brothers, what do you say?’They spoke with one voice, heart and mind‘You are at Abbot; your will is ours.Where you go we follow behind.’

END

END

They built a boat - that looked not unlikeA banana - with black leather skin.They gave it a mast, a sail and a blessingAnd that was what they set sail in.

END

END

They sailed out West; sometimes the windCarried them swiftly along,Sometimes it died down, so they rowed and they rowedAnd battled many a storm.

END

END

They fasted their bodies and feasted their eyesOn the wonders of God at sea -An island completely covered in sheepBig as cows and white as could be.

END

END

A Paradise of Birds with the purest white feathersChanting Psalms to the beat of their wings.Brendan listened in amazement to one bird explaining‘We’re what you might call “spiritlings”’

END

END

On another island a mysterious wellWhose water, though clear, ran deepThe more brothers drank, the deeper they sankInto a deep, deep sleep.

END

END

Then a beast ploughed the sea, making waves so great It seemed certain the boat would capsize,Spouting foam from its nose, it bore down on the brothersWho definitely now, feared for their lives.

END

END

But another monster, spitting fire and flamesRose up suddenly, as if ‘on cue’,Attacked and killed the first, then returnedWhere it came from, out the blue.

END

END

From the Island of Smiths a fierce, fiery peopleHurled huge burning rocks at the boatThese fell in the sea, which boiled up around themAnd hissed and steamed and smoked.

But in North winds or South winds, in East winds or West,

Whatever their direction, God guided;Through Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter, Pentecost,Whether hungry or thirsty, God provided.

END

END

One evening a sudden gust of wind filled the sail,The boat almost ran aground.It took all the brothers’ strength and skillTo bring her safely around.

Eventually they landed. ‘Twas God’s breath filled our sail,’‘We are here’, Brendan said, ‘by God’s grace’But although he didn’t say it to the brothers, he

thought‘There’s something fishy about this place.’

That day was Holy SaturdayA day of fasting and prayerThe brothers got out of the boat and knelt downBut Brendan kept a vigil in there.

END

END

The day drifted quietly towards eveningBefore silently fading from sightIn the empty boat on that island in the oceanBrendan watched through the dead-of-night.

Stars broke out like beads of sweatGlistening on night’s blackened brow,The wind held its breath like it dared not disturbThe saint’s concentration now.

He cast his mind like a fishing lineWith the hook on the end, ready-baitedInto the depths, while his body sat stillIn the boat, and waited, and waited.

And still he sat motionless, his thoughts and his mindSinking down deeper and deeperAs though he might fathom something of GodIn the nature of the sea and its creatures.

END

END

On Easter Sunday morning the brothers sang MassAnd then collected some wood.Brendan said his Mass in the boat while the othersLit a fire to cook some hot food.

They put some meat in a pot of waterWhich they hung on the fire. Next thingA shudder ran through the ground where they stoodAnd the island - yes, the island - was moving!

END

END

Abandoning everything the brothers rushedTo the boat in fear and dread.Brendan reached out and drew each one of on boardWhereupon they set sail and fled.

Taking one look behind them the brothers could seeAt a distance of over two miles,The island still moving, the fires still burningThey stared at it, shading their eyes.

END

END

‘Don’t be afraid brothers,’ Brendan said calmly,‘That’s not an island, it’s a whaleThe biggest of all fish, which spends much of its lifeTrying to touch its nose with its tail.

‘You see God knew we needed a place we could land

To celebrate Christ’s resurrectionSo he sent the biggest creature allAnd it served and need, to perfection.’

END

Map showing Tim Severin’s voyage from Ireland to Newfoundland in 1976-77, in a boat, the Brendan, built only of materials available to early Irish monks

END

---- Ferdinand Magellan ---- Captain Cook ---- Vasco da Gama

Map showing other famous voyages of exploration