Dirty Shirts
In 1914, the Royal Munster Fusiliers had been in existence for all of thirty-three years, yet they proudly held to two and a half centuries of history. Had it all been true, their earliest claimed ancestors, a band of English and Portuguese mercenaries guarding a trading post on the Bay of Bengal, might have looked down the centuries and wondered how their distant descendants could possibly have ended up, of all places, in Tralee.
Blog Post Title Two
In Festubert you couldn’t stick a shovel into the ground without striking water. A trench more than eighteen inches deep was a flooded trench, and so the line that straggled across this waterlogged landscape was made up of low muddy banks fronting sodden ditches. It wasn’t a line at all, but a makeshift alignment of sandbagged outposts – a dank archipelago.
