A New Light

Write a story about strangers becoming friends, or friends becoming strangers.

 A New Light

I did not decide to come to Ireland willingly but was brought here as a slave in the early fifth century. It was the worst day of my life. I had heard my father Calpurnius saying, ‘Irish pirates have been carrying out raids over the last few months. Not only are they stealing livestock but children as well to herd the animals.’ His mother Conchessa replied, ‘We will need to be extra vigilant’. I listened but was not overly concerned because I was a carefree boy who preferred hunting to books and besides my father was a deacon and a Roman-British army officer. And also my village Bannavem Taburniae was in a sheltered cove and pirates would have difficulty finding it. 

For the first few days of my enslavement, I felt enormously hurt and angry that such a thing could have befallen me. I had taken my good parents for granted, taken my happy life for granted and I was never really grateful for all the privileges that I enjoyed. At night time, I would ask myself, ‘where is my mother, where is my father and where are my brothers and sisters and where was my happy life? Where was my dog Dorceus, who used to come hunting with me?

I was a slave, I was living in an outhouse and I was having to learn how to herd sheep on a mountain called Slemish in the north of the country. It took me a long time to come to terms with what had happened to me. I experienced disbelief followed by despair, followed by a desire to wreak some kind of revenge on my kidnappers. 

After a few years I realised that I wasn’t going to be rescued and that I had two choices – one was to except what had happened to me and to make the best of it and the other was to be filled with despair and hatred and recrimination and wonder why my parents hadn’t come to rescue me. Although I was a Christian and the son of a deacon I had never given any serious consideration to my faith. And one particularly cold night after I returned to my so-called accommodation, I fell down on my knees and I begged God that if I could not be freed, at least, let me not be enslaved by these better angry, tortured thoughts.

After I had learned their language, I was able to find out the pirates who kidnapped me were sent to the Western coast of Britain by Niall of the Nine Hostages, the King of Ireland. 

Their priests were Druids and it is thought the name came from ‘knower of the oak tree’. They also acted as teachers and judges. 

I spent six years on the mountain and during that time I became reconciled to my fate. I knew that my family were not going to rescue me and unless there was divine intervention, I would be a slave on this mountain for the rest of my life. I prayed constantly to God and asked him to give me the strength to accept my fate. One night I heard a voice saying, ‘Patrick, get up. There is a ship waiting for you to take you home.’ I didn’t know if it was just a dream or a hallucination but I arose, packed a few things and began walking. I have no idea how I had the strength to carry on but each day, I walked about thirty miles. 

For the first few days, I was frightened that my captors would pursue me and bring me back. But I did not let that deter me. After four or five days, I arrived at a town on the coast and lo and behold a ship was waiting in the harbour and after some negotiation, I was accepted as a passenger and I was overcome with joy.

I was reunited with my family and my parents were delighted to have me back. It took me a while to adjust to being home. A few of my brothers had got married and I have become an uncle a few times and it was lovely to meet my nieces and nephews. Of course everyone wanted to know what my captivity had been like and to be honest I didn’t really have that many stories to tell them.

I had changed during the six years. They could not understand why I wasn’t angry and bitter and why I did not want revenge. I was happy to do the chores that my father gave me and to help about the farm. I suppose I had left an immature selfish 16-year-old and I had come back as a 22-year-old man who could shoulder responsibilities and work hard.

I can assure you I entertained no notion of ever returning to Ireland—I was so glad that I was free and I enjoyed this freedom for about six months. But I sometimes found myself thinking about Slemish and the hills and the sheep and the people that I had met. I continued to pray and give thanks to the Lord for rescuing me and I began to plan what I would do with my life. One night a really strange thing happened—I had a vision—a man appeared to me and he had a basket of letters. He said, ‘Patrick the people of Ireland have written to you and they’re begging you to come back’.

I could not believe that the Irish people wanted me back. I had been there as a slave, and although I did not harbour enmity towards them, I hoped never to set foot on that island again. How could I have foreseen that I would return to Ireland, that I would bring the faith to Ireland, that I would light the Paschal fire on the hill of Slane. I would wear my mitre and carry my crozier and I would bring a new light to the Irish.