Sons of Sarsfields & Marble Arch
Sons of Sarsfields, originally based in Roseberry near Newbridge College a mile outside the North-Eastern end of the town was founded by W. P. O'Sullivan in 1897. The club is now basaed at Rickardstown, Newbridge. The club was an amalgamation of players from other GAA clubs who decided to group together and form a stronger team to take on the challenge of the 'mighty' Clane who dominated Kildare GAA at the time. Roseberry, Sons of Sarsfields beat Naas in the 1904 county finals and won seven titles in succession, losing just five of their 47 championship ties in that period. St Conleth’s fielded a football team after several Roseberry players defected to them in 1919. Another club, Marble Arch was founded in the 1920s, swept through the Junior Championship and lost the infamous 1932 Intermediate final to Castledermot. In 1933 Marble Arch won the Intermediate and Roseberry, Sons of Sarsfields the Junior championships.
Read more about this topic: Sarsfields GAA (Kildare)
Famous quotes containing the words sons of, sons, marble and/or arch:
“They haven’t got no noses
The fallen sons of Eve;
Even the smell of roses
Is not what they supposes;
But more than mind discloses
And more than men believe.”
—Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874–1936)
“As her sons have seen her: the mother in patriarchy: controlling, erotic, castrating, heart-suffering, guilt-ridden, and guilt-provoking; a marble brow, a huge breast, an avid cave; between her legs snakes, swampgrass, or teeth; on her lap a helpless infant or a martyred son. She exists for one purpose: to bear and nourish the son.”
—Adrienne Rich (b. 1929)
“Our minds can go no further. The human imagination is capable of no further expression of beauty than the carved owl of Athene, the archaic, marble serpent, the arrogant selfish head of the Acropolis Apollo.”
—Hilda Doolittle (1886–1961)
“Thir dread commander: he above the rest
In shape and gesture proudly eminent
Stood like a Towr; his form had yet not lost
All her Original brightness, nor appear’d
Less than Arch Angel ruind, and th’ excess
Of Glory obscur’d: As when the Sun new ris’n
Looks through the Horizontal misty Air
Shorn of his Beams, or from behind the Moon
In dim Eclips disastrous twilight sheds
On half the Nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes Monarchs.”
—John Milton (1608–1674)