I have posted several times about a local apparition that has had a great impact on me - at Slievenaboley, Dromara - in 1954 to a local 8 year old boy Seamus Quail (also known as James or Jimmy). The shrine is known locally as our Lady of the Hill (or Windy Gap). I had the pleasure of meeting Seamus once and was impressed, he was a real gentleman. https://motheofgod.com/threads/our-lady-of-the-hill.1595/ I have just learnt from the internet that Seamus died on Saturday 14 December 2024 after a very short illness. https://www.funeraltimes.com/jamesquail301665035 A Godly man who prayed the Rosary every Sunday at the shrine from 1954 to 2024. His funeral Mass took place on Monday 16 December 2024 at Leitrim chapel and he warned the priest to make the sermon short and not to mention 'the hill'. Link to his funeral Mass below: May he rest in peace. Ave Maria
There are no coincidences Seamus Quail after a lifetime of devotion to our Lady died on a Saturday which is Mary's special day (it was also the third Sunday of Advent). https://www.ncregister.com/blog/pro...ext=On Saturday, Nov.,from her a happy death…
That's a shock, because I was speaking to him in June and was amazed at how good health he was in. I tried to persuade him to do an interview, because I thought somebody should record him before he dies, but he wouldn't agree to do it anyway. Instead he went off to count the cattle or sheep. That's the bit I find most amazing, since 1954 until 2024 he must have gone everyday up that hill to look after the livestock, whatever about the Rosary that farming bit shows real commitment!lol Anyway he was very shy about any publicity shining on him or the hill, saying that there was Orange lodges nearby etc, and that's why in my book on Marian Apparitions only his first name is given. Lord have mercy on him anyway, I am sure Our Lady will now take care of him, this is my short video on the Hill:
Interesting that you should mention the Ardboe apparition in your video as I came across this poem by the Armagh poet Paul Muldoon. Our Lady of Ardboe Just there, in a corner of the whin-field, Just where the thistles bloom. She stood there as in Bethlehem One night in nineteen fifty-three or four. The girl leaning over the half-door Saw the cattle kneel, and herself knelt. I suppose that a farmer’s youngest daughter Might, as well as the next, unravel The winding road to Christ’s navel. Who’s to know what’s knowable? Milk from the Virgin Mother’s breast, A feather off the Holy Ghost? The fair thorn? The holy well? Our simple wish for there being more to life Than a job, a car, a house, a wife — The fixity of running water. For I like to think, as I step these acres, That a holy well is no more shallow Nor plummetless than the pools of Shiloh, the fairy thorn no less true than the Cross. Mother of our Creator, Mother of our Savior, Mother most amiable, Mother most admirable. Virgin most prudent, Virgin most venerable, Mother inviolate, Mother undefiled. And I walk waist-deep among purples and golds With one arm as long as the other.
