I am Anam Na Tíre (Soul of the Land) and I have been in this place from the dawn of time. As the waves of the ocean uncovered the land I awoke. I burned as volcanoes hurled fire to the wind, I trembled as the earth cracked and poured clay on my feet and for long ages I slumbered beneath sheets of ice. When I awoke to the dawn of the day my eyes fell upon a new landscape.

Lough Neagh, the great lake, spread before me, waters flowing from its mouth along my length, through the Creagh bog and Lough Beg and onward to the great ocean. Plains of rich clay moraine with kettle holes of melt waters stretched up me. Gentle slopes of drumlins traced the paths of the melting ice across me and my earth was strewn with sands and gravel washed down by the ice. To my west, the black basalt rocks poured from the mouths of volcanoes defied the power of the ice and rose up into the high Sperrins.

In one way, these were the darkest of days for my Menfowk, for, alongside the expansion of the 18th century came the Penal Laws with their religious oppression.

Penal laws tried to impoverish the soul as hardship and want impoverished the body. But faith only grew stronger in hedgerows and in hiding. Both Catholic and Presbyterian Menfowk held fast to their faith and, through the dark days, learned a better understanding each of the other.

One man of my soil helped the poor in their hardship, Shane Crossach the highwayman, who, as the bard O Brollachain tells, stole from the rich to give to the poor.

In those days, my music brought many men together. Sweet notes from the harp of Cormac O'Kelly, from Ballinascreen, awakened new hope for some Menfowk. They heard news from abroad too, for foreign trade brought in not only potatoes, but also new ideas of independence and democracy from America and from France.

My land emerged slowly from the dark days of famine and for many, grieving lost loved ones, weak and penniless, there was still bitter hardship to be faced. The Workhouse became the last refuge of the desperate. In Magherafelt, my Workhouse, which first opened its doors in 1842, still stands to this day. Now it is the hospital, and still offers succour to my Menfowk.

My soils grew strong again, and farming fared better as the century wore on. Influences from abroad came to bear upon my land once more. The civil war in America offered a short reprieve for the flagging flax mills and the industrialization that crept through these isles came also to my shores. The invention of the steam engine brought the rail, iron tracks and wooden sleepers stretched like a snail trail over me. There was metal still in my hills and the forge was a busy place in those days. Harnessing the new technologies of the day, the fruits of my land - food, wood, linen, metal, white diatomite clay and the fruits of the Lough - eels, gravels and sands - became the backbone of industry and commerce.

Inspired by hope of reform, my Menfowk they were stirred to Rebellion. In my own land, Watty Graham, a Presbyterian man from Maghera, came to fame as a leader in the United Irishmen. But this rebellion, like that of the previous century, failed, and Watty Graham was betrayed and he was hanged from the beech tree in Maghera. As to the betrayer, he met his own death within the year and the tree, it's fall came too, in 1945, at the end of the war that swept the world.

The new century dawned with the Act of Union and promised reforms which did not, in fact, come to my Menfowk for another thirty of their years. During those years, times became harder. The linen which had brought prosperity was no longer in demand and potato crops, on which my Menfowk depended, were not so plentiful.

Perhaps hunger of the body brought a thirst to the soul of the Menfowk, for in these days religious ardour grew. I, Anam Na Tíre, hoped this would bring harmony, but it seemed to bring only strife. Within the Presbyterian church, schisms loomed, and it was Henry Cooke, born Macook of Maghera, who helped restore balance. There was antagonism too between catholic and protestant. Each voiced their favoured fervour. Ribbonman and Orangeman paraded their colours, and riots ensued.

Now there were many small kingdoms or tuatha and no ard rí (high king) to rule over all with any success. For over 150 years, the provincial rulers battled with one another until new invaders - the Normans -moved upon the land. These strangers did not rule me, however, for the O'Neill kings still held power on my soils, until the defeat of Brian O'Neill. Even still, the Norman Pale was held back to the east by the protective flow of the Bann.

Over time, the Menfowk and the newcomers settled together to live out their lives. The great new faith, Christianity, grew stronger and led the people through these middle years. The churches, founded in earlier days, flourished again, and many new holy places sprang from my soil.

The church founded by St. Lurach, sacked by the Vikings (832) and then burned down (1135), was built up again, with an elaborate Crucifixion scene carved on the west door lintel. A chancel was added, and later a bell tower too (c. 17th). At Ballinascreen, the blood of Macraith the erenagh was spilled (1132), yet the erenaghs continued on many hundreds of years (until early 1600s).

Life continued on my soils and it was the life of the Gael.

Life came in rushes and grasses and dense woodlands. The waters, the bogs, the meadows and the hills teemed. Menfowk (the people) lived along the lake shores and began to mould this landscape. First they lived as hunters and gatherers, but gradually they began to settle.

My land was rich, with clays for pottery and abundant flintstone, which the Menfowk crafted into instruments. Trade grew in this valuable flint and the 'Bann flakes' were well known.

As Menfowk moved higher up from the lake shores towards the lighter soils, they improved their farming, tilling the land and keeping livestock. They felt my power stirring their souls and they marked their passage with monuments, like Timoney Dolmen and the Beaghmore Stone Circles, which still survive to this day.

The Menfowk discovered the copper that lay hidden under in my rocks and so began a new era. They could use this copper by itself, or smelt it with tin to make a stronger alloy. This was the Bronze age and the time of the Celts, men who first used iron, then copper and bronze. These were Menfowk whose lives were full of myth and mystery and they wove their particular magic upon their creations in distinctive designs filled with swirls and loops, like those to he seen on the famous Bann Disc.

Great Kings and Queens rose up among the Menfowk, overlords of all their clansmen, like the Uí Tuitre who ruled at Loch Inse Uí Fhloinn, now Desertmartin and King Colla Uaís, who lies buried on Slieve Gallion. These rich men and rulers lived in crannogs and forts and the remains of some, like those at Dungladdy and Tullyheron, can still be seen.

The tales of the kings intermingle with the myths of the gods of those days, and in my land too there were gods, like Aine, the fertility goddess in whose honour Lissan is named and Eochaidh, the horse god who gives Lough Neagh its name. Many names of my parts used even to this day come from the language and lore of the Celts.

Over time one clan rose among others to rule in my land, the great Uí Néill (O'Neill) rulers of Ulster for hundreds of years

Then came a great but humble man to these shores, a man whose life among us changed all. That man was Patrick a sinner, the simplest of country men. Patrick brought a new faith to the land and the Menfowk.

I, Anam Na Tíre, witnessed here the great Christian faith which has stayed strong through the centuries and lasts to this day. I followed St. Patrick and the other great saints as they travelled through my land, to Church Island and the Monastery founded by St. Thaddeus and to Magherafelt, where Menfowk say Patrick worshipped in the ancient church and founded the well opposite its gates.

It was now that the famous Bell of St. Patrick's Will was crafted. Found later in the tomb of the saint, the bell lay hidden by its stewards, the O'Maelchalland's (Mulhollands) of Castledawson and the O'Mallons. The bell was safeguarded until after the 1798 rebellion, when it was recovered from the garden of the last Mulholland to protect it.

I saw the great Patrick again, when he laid the founding stones at Scrin Cholaim Chille (Ballinascreen) and at Banagher, where a new church was built many years later by St. Muiredach O'Heney. I was there too when St. Lurach, who was baptised by Patrick, founded his famous church in Maghera and I stood at his tomb with his sister St. Trea, and mourned his passing, but though saints passed away, their faith lived on.

Then came a time of terror, of great oppression over all Erin, throughout its breadth, by powerful azure Norsemen, and by fierce hard-hearted Danes. These were the Vikings, fierce warriors, fearless voyagers, and they swarmed down my length on the swell of the Bann, into Lough Beg and to my secret beauty, Church Island. They plundered there, the things left behind tell their story, and then they moved onwards and into my heartland. For long years, the terror of the Vikings was visited upon my Menfowk, until they were eventually driven back by the great Muircertach. Yet some among these new men, fierce of heart and fair of skin, settled with my Menfowk, became part of me and learned the ways of Anam Na Tíre.

To every era there is an end, it is something that I, Anam Na Tíre, have seen many times over. Fighting and famine, took its toll on Menfowk throughout Ireland. It was said 'between Tullahogue and Toome there lay unburied a thousand dead', but I knew many uncounted who also died. Hugh O'Neill was defeated, and it was within the cover of my land he sheltered in those last days before he and the other earls took flight for France. Once the earls fled, their lands were taken by the English crown and so began the Plantation of Ulster - the last stronghold of the Gael.

The Livery companies of the City of London trade guilds founded in Medieval times, carried out the plantation here. These guilds formed The Honourable Irish Society and took over the land - some four million acres in the reckoning of Menfowk. In my parts, it was the Salters, the Drapers and the Vintners who came to make my land their home.

This was the beginning of a new and troubled time and in the years that followed I wept for all my Menfowk - Gaelic and Planter alike. In 1641, in the midst of tumult and change in England, Ireand rose against the Crown. The planters' settlements at Moneymore, Magherafelt and Desertmartin were taken by the Irish for a time. Then came Cromwell, revolutionary in his own land who stamped his footprints on Ireland in the blood of the Menfowk. In England, power was juggled between King and commoner, Catholic and Protestant until the arrival of William of Orange - whose military campaign in Ulster has earned him a lasting place in the memories of Menfowk.

During those years of unrest, my land continued to suffer. War and bloodshed, hand in hand with famine and plague danced a rancid reel on me and mine, dispensing death at every turn. But I, Anam Na Tíre, remained constant, and life went on. As the long and bloody 17th century drew to a close a tiny blue blossom brought brighter hopes for the future. Linen

Irish linen was sought after abroad and the government encouraged the development of the industry. In my part of Ireland, the village of Upperlands became the home of the world's oldest family linen business, founded by John Clark soon after 1700. Nine generations forward to this very day, the Clark family still work the looms and bleach house of the linen mill in Upperlands.

Linen did bring better days to all the land, carrying Ulster from rags to riches, and alongside the flax mills, the trades of the Livery Guilds also flourished. Farming of the land was revolutionised and, while all this brought riches to the Menfowk who claimed ownership, I, Anam Na Tíre, became impoverished. Stripped of much of my oak woodland, my red deer died and the last wolf in Ireland was killed on my own hills. I was denuded to swell purses but still many Menfowk and their families suffered hunger and want.

So even during this time of relative peace and prosperity, all was far from well among the Catholic Gaels and the Protestant Planters that were my Menfowk. While the new owners of the big estates grew rich from the land and lived the grand life in the fine house, like one built at Ballyscullion, not all knew plenty.

Famine and hardship brought on by the wars had led many Protestant Planters to take leave of the land and set sail for a new life in America. Many of my sons and daughters made their mark in this new world, and among them was Charles Thomson. Described as the life of the cause of liberty, this son of my soil designed the great seal of the USA, was an original signer of the first American Declaration of Independence and Secretary of the First Continental Congress.

From this time onwards, and even to this day, my Menfowk have travelled across the vast ocean to America and in that place there are many who yet call Ireland home.

Time slipped from one century to another and then came the first Great War to sweep the world. Many of my Menfowk fought in this war, and there were some who never returned to my bosom. I remember them, as my Menfolw do, with poppies. As war raged in Europe, those who wanted to liberate Ireland from the hold of the British rose up. In Dublin their Easter Rising led to success and then, in 1922, Ireland was partitioned, the larger part of it under the control of the new Irish Dáil. My land, however, remained in the union with Britain and became part of the country they call Northern Ireland.

Separation always causes pain, and my land has still known unrest in these modem days. Most of my Menfowk, however, have continued with their lives together, as they have always done. So numerous are the changes in life and times that this century has brought, that it has seemed to me to race along at a breathtaking rate. The motor car the aeroplane, electricity, oil, television, computers - life in my land has changed beyond all telling.

The new transport has meant that the sons and daughters of my Menfowk who travelled far have been able to return, drawn to know Anam Na Tíre, which is even still their home. Some, like James Scullin, the Prime Minister of Australia whose fathers were born in Bellaghy, came home with great honour and fanfare, others came quietly, simply to see my soil and answer my call to their soul.

World War II swept the globe and again my Menfowk answered the call to protect the freedom of men. Once more many marched off, again, some did not return to my fold. Here at Toome, men flocked to build an air base and the American GI's moved in. Perhaps some of these soldiers had come home too, for my land is home to many who do not dwell upon my soils.

Despite all the new ways of this century, the old arts live on. The harp still keens its soft song, and the poet still, with consummate skill and thrift, weaves the panoply of life in well chosen words. There have always been poets in my land, but it seems to me that few could compare to Seamus Heaney, whose poetry seems to capture on paper even me, Anam Na Tíre, whom all know but few have seen.

Few have seen me, but I have been here from the dawn of time and I am here today. I am Anam Na Tíre, I am the land and I am my own. Find me in my soft valleys and rugged hills.

These days were not happy, but much worse was to come. For I am the life of the land, but I grew weary and ill. A blight hit the potato crop and the Great Famine swept the land, reaping a terrible harvest of death and disease. Indian maize meal was shipped in to help feed the starving, but 'atin' the yellow male' was not enough to save my Menfolk. Throughout the whole of Ireland it is said a million died and a million more were forced, in their hunger and want, to take to the great 'coffin ships' that sailed to America. The pain and the horror of these times were terrible and for many years afterwards, my Menfowk could not bear to remember the days of the Great Famine.