Fenian on the Pampas: The Nationalist Travel Writing of William Bulfin
Word count: 3,321 words
Estimated reading time: 13 minutes
Summary: Luke O’Conaráin's latest essay for MEON is on William Bulfin, a forgotten Irish-Argentine nationalist - special attention is paid to his travel writings in ‘Rambles in Éirinn’, and the political, cultural, and national themes therein.
Syndication: This article was originally featured on Luke Ó Conaráin’s Substack.
Queries and submissions: meonjournal@mailfence.com
On the 1st of February, 1910, a Gaelic League nationalist died quietly in his home in Derrinlough House, Birr, County Offaly. Four days later, in An Claidheamh Soluis, he was briefly memorialised in print by Seán Ó Ceallaigh:
“On Tuesday, Lá Fhéile Brighde, the first day of spring, Señor Bulfin was carried off by a sudden attack of pneumonia, before even his friends knew he was ill. The Gaelic League loses in him a great champion of its ideals, and the Irish of Argentina their leader… He was known and admired wherever an Irish class existed.”
The name William Bulfin, in our time, does not live up to the description offered above, though it may well arouse some curiosity at the mention of an Irish Argentine. However, Bulfin, though his credentials remain firmly intact, — An Irish nationalist; a Gaelic Leaguer who was present at the opening of the Argentine Gaelic League branch in 1899 and at many important league summits in Ireland — has largely fallen by the wayside in the discussion of Irish nationalist figures of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. When reading the musings and sophisticated theses of Rambles in Éirinn, one realises that obscurity ought not to be the final resting place of this man of two countries, who loved both so well.
Who was William Bulfin?
Born in 1864, William Bulfin was the fourth son in a family of nine boys and one girl. His father, William Bulfin Senior, was from Derrinlough (Derrin an Locha), Birr, while his mother hailed from Croghan. He attended a national school in Cloghan, where it is likely he was taught by the future martyr of the 1916 Rising, Thomas MacDonagh.
Like so many others who would not inherit the farm and would therefore be unable to sustain themselves in their homeplace, William Jr. seemed destined for emigration. In 1884, he and his brother took the boat to Argentina. A strange destination, perhaps, but it is worth noting that the pampas of South America was the home of thousands of Irish emigrés, many from Longford and Westmeath in particular.
He worked on the ranches of the Argentine plains, specifically on that of Don Juan Dowling, a Passionist Father from County Longford. It was on this Estancia (ranch) that he met his wife-to-be, Anne O’Rourke from Ballymore.
A keen observer and experient of the Gaucho way of life, he began writing for The Southern Cross, a newspaper based in Buenos Aires. Before long, he became the subeditor and subsequently the editor, transforming the paper into a natural ally of the Gaelic League. On Bulfin’s first return to Ireland, at a dinner hosted by the League, Pádraig Pearse is quoted as saying:
“There is no paper in Ireland that has done as much for the Irish language as The Southern Cross. There is no paper in Ireland that can compete with it.”
Although a resident of Argentina for most of his life – save for semi-regular trips home – William sent his son Eamon to Pádraig Pearse’s school, St. Enda’s. A holistic educational project about which I have written for MEON before, Enda’s was a bastion of Gaelic nationalism, and influential figures in the revival were keen to send their sons to a school which they saw as readying Irish boys for the coming fight for Irish freedom. Eamon would complete his schooling in Enda’s and would stay in Ireland to further his education in UCD, where he became captain of its Irish volunteer company. He was also recruited into the Irish Republican Brotherhood (IRB) and condemned to death for his role in the Easter Rising, but was reprieved and deported back to Buenos Aires.
Back at The Southern Cross, William Bulfin was a constant voice of Irish Argentina throughout the lead-up to the revolutionary period. However, he also steadily reported on life on the pampas, wrote travel pieces, short stories (many of which ended up in a now out-of-print collection, Tales From the Pampas) and, most significantly, it was for the paper that he wrote the ‘rambling columns’ for which he his best known. They would eventually become what is now known as Rambles in Éirinn.
Rambles in Éirinn: Tearing Down English Ireland and Imagining it Anew
As he began to make regular trips to Ireland on Gaelic League business, an additional incentive for coming home revealed itself – cycling.
He bought a sturdy farmer’s bike and began to make long expeditions to every corner of the country. For each trip, he wrote a column and posted it back to The Southern Cross, where it would appear in print.
In these pieces, he traces the landscape in which he is travelling, interspersed with musings on Ireland’s troubled history, the implications of English rule, and proposals for a renewed Ireland. The rambles would likely be relatively unremarkable if it were not for Bulfin’s extensive knowledge of Irish history, not just in abstraction, but in relation to every place he set foot in. It is because of this knowledge that the rambles take on a kind of constructive quality, as Bulfin, ever the demolitionist but also the architect, identifies the ills of a given village, town or city, and proposes a way forward. As for his mode of transport, it was all in the interest of taking the scenic route. On a tour into Northern Connacht, he remarks that the scenic route is, according to some, ‘uninteresting’, to which he retorts,
“‘An uninteresting route?’ Not if you are Irish and know some of the history of your land and feel some pleasure in standing beside the graves of heroes and on ground made sacred by their heroism… then in the name of all the Philistines and seoiníní, take the train.”
This is representative of Bulfin’s views on Ireland on the most basic level, that it is, stunningly beautiful, “never is so beautiful as when the eye rests upon her face. You need never be afraid that you are flattering her while painting her from even your fondest memory”.
Emphasising the singularity of the Irish nation is a constant trend in Bulfin’s writing. He laments that some can only conceptualise it in relation to places it is similar to, and others to which it is not. He implores us to ‘take it on its own merits’ and declares that ‘the practice of comparing one beauty spot on this earth with another is hackneyed and, in the abstract, somewhat sickening’.
As the adage goes, comparison is the thief of joy, and for Bulfin, comparing Ireland to other countries, likening the hills above Sligo to the lake country or Cork to Amsterdam, is doing Ireland a great disservice.
The Political and Cultural Vision of an Irish-Ireland
Underpinning Bulfin’s thought is a robust sense of national sovereignty. For centuries, the idea of an Irish nation, a distinct people and culture, now taken for granted, stood on unsteady ground after centuries of relentless anglicisation.
The assertion of an ‘Ireland united, Gaelic and free’ was – and is – the supreme ideological claim to Gaelic legitimacy, and for Bulfin, the rallying cry against British hegemony and normalisation; a reminder to the world that the torch of freedom and hope will always shine in the interest of Irish Ireland. Such was the view of Emmet, who demanded Ireland’s “place among the nations of the earth”. The young Irelanders, the Fenians, Pearse, Connolly: all believed in the inalienable right of Ireland to exist as a nation, culturally individual and self-governing; in the truest sense, Gaelic and free. Bulfin was no different.
When travelling through the ancient kingdom of Ossory, Bulfin happens upon an English motorcyclist making his way to Galway, a destination to which he required “the flattest, shortest and smoothest road”. Such a request upsets Bulfin, who challenges him, but to no avail. The motorbike man is adamant in his aversion to Ireland, unless, in the unlikely event that there is a ‘business possibility’ in taking a detour. This is the English colonial mentality that, in Bulfin’s eyes, has no place in Ireland. But other things have no place in Ireland. Bulfin was a fierce opponent of ‘snobbish Catholicism’, affirming that “the Irish nation must not be mutually distrustful and that it must not be sectarian”. He attacks the schismatic Irish tendency to place their faith above their country, a position that has at best caused untold division, and at worst, acted as an excuse “for being political humbugs or avowed West Britons”.
Bulfin sharply contrasts the West Briton mindset in Ireland is with the prospective Irish national spirit. Emphasised here is the idea that such a spirit is — and always has been — alive in Ireland, bubbling beneath the soil, only needing to be reinvoked after centuries of suppression. It is worth noting that this national spirit is not based on tribal categories of religion or even ethnicity. As mentioned above, Bulfin held great disdain for the Irish Catholics who stood with their faith at the expense of the nation. The Irish spirit is embodied by standing with Ireland first and foremost. Bulfin rousingly declares from the slopes of Wexford’s hills:
“I like best to hear the name of IRISH given to the children of the Ireland, who love her and give her the service born of love. Has not the gold of Gaelic and Gallic hearts been fused into an IRISH amalgam in the crucible of her woe! Let her sons and daughters, whether of Gaelic or Gallic extraction, have the honour of claiming her glorious name so long as their love is hers. And let the renegades be reviled as renegades, whether their blood be of the Gael or Gall.”
A critic of home rule, Bulfin also cautions the Irish people against holding out false hope, against looking to Westminster for answers. Freedom, according to Bulfin, will only come “when Ireland, by her own effort, makes England fear her – and not until then”.
Central to the subject matter of the rambles is a spirit of perseverance in the face of England’s array of tricks and schemes. The well attuned student of Irish history will know that Ireland’s woes, in many cases throughout our troubled past, can usually be attributed, to varying degrees, to a lack of ideological cohesion among the people.
Whether it be Cormac, who wanted Ireland for Cashel, ignorant of the fact that, as Bulfin illustrates, “Ireland is greater than its greatest city or its greatest province or its greatest men”, or Sarsfield giving his all for a Jacobin – though ultimately English – army, Ireland’s pages are littered with tragic figures who fought and died for what they thought was Ireland, only to be reduced to nothing but a plaything in the grand scheme of things. Yet, the nation persevered, and it seems no coincidence that perseverance of spirit is the topic of the day as Bulfin cycles through Wexford and past Vinegar Hill, where the pikemen made their stand against all the odds for the sake of an Irish Ireland.
Everyday Ireland: Economics, Agriculture and Industry
Bulfin’s forays are not exclusively concerned with lofty ideas surrounding nationhood. Also included in the rambles are extensive criticisms of the minutiae (compared to the grandiose task of nation-building) of economic organisation in Ireland, and general criticisms of technology and the purpose for which it is being utilised, and it is in these, seemingly temporal matters that Bulfin’s observations carry through, with expedience, to the twenty first century.
His scope of interest is large, and the problems themselves larger, but they all boil down to a simple sentiment: Ireland is being killed, and we know who is killing her. In some sense, the topics discussed by Bulfin with regard to industry, agriculture and trade may be just as significant as his ideas on the cultural and spiritual dimensions of Ireland, owing to the fact that the same problems exist today, almost to the letter. At best, stagnation on this front hinders the progressive development of the country; at worst, it is utterly erasing it. It is in these pages, therefore, in a very practical sense, that Bulfin pulls on the heartstrings of modern, still-capitalist Ireland.
Cattle Country
Bulfin was vehemently opposed to what he calls ‘grazierdom’ – the parcelling off of large swathes of land for the sake of commercial meat production, the majority of which was – and is – exported from the country.
In 1848, Ireland was home to 2.5 million cattle. By 1914, that number had doubled. With the increase of livestock came further settling of the land to make it friendly to grazing. As the beef industry expanded, the natural laws of capital dictated that ownership of pastureland became concentrated in fewer and fewer hands. The result: a drastic decrease in small holdings, a vast drop-off in crop farming, which created mass unemployment due to the latter being far more labour-intensive, and subsequently, as usual, devastating emigration. Another consequence was the near-complete deforestation of the land. The hills of the west of Ireland, though still beautiful, remain barren and treeless to this day.
It was for these reasons that Bulfin abhorred grazierdom, but also because the majority of the meat produced was exported. Irish people were making for the boats as they were being – literally – replaced by farm animals. Bulfin, of course, laid the blame on the English, lamenting their robbery of the ‘big-boned, deep-chested men and women’ that could be reared for Ireland on Ireland’s own beef and mutton, rather than it being shipped to the stomachs of foreign armies.
However, as of writing, there are almost 7.5 million cattle in Ireland. As the country is not growing in size, it would appear that appeals for restraint were squarely ignored. The so-called ‘Irish Republic’ is as chained to the laws of greed as the Ireland of the UK.
Cycling through Rathcroghan, Bulfin meets two men discussing the matter. The dreamer of the two, in true Connacht fashion, suggests another Táin to drive the beasts from the plains of the west up to the North and into the sea. A dreamer he was, of course, but still, he was a testament to the reality that as long as Ireland remains unfree, there will be men who will take up the spear and head to the province of war.
Conclusion: Let no Man Write my Epitaph…
The rambles follow a fairly simple formula: Bulfin takes a trip, he situates himself among the landmarks in the area: Croghan Hill and the Sliabh Blooms marking high points of the midlands, the Galtees as the junction of Munster, Ben Bulben, the focal point of the Sligo coast, etc. He will then reflect on a historical event or person connected to the area, admire their greatness, identify modern problem areas, and use the national tradition and the spirit of optimistic rebellion to enter into deeper dialogue with the land. It makes for a cohesive end product: a short piece of usually no more than a dozen pages, which succeeds in giving one a feel for a particular area, its history, wounds, and people, always ending on a hopeful note, always looking towards the future to a new Ireland. This ability is really the essence of great travel writing.
Of course, his observations are deeply relevant in an economic sense. Agriculture was treated in some detail above, but also discussed are the railways, run by ‘a band of capitalists’ (generally true of Ireland’s private sector) and the necessity of protectionism.
William Bulfin is known more for his cycling than for his nationalism. It is no surprise, he is another in the long list of revolutionary figures (at home and abroad) who have been sanitised and made safe for public consumption.
His seminal work was republished in February of this year. It was a quiet launch, though accompanied by a wonderful Irish Times article by TK Moloney, which has no doubt played its part in recent months in shedding some degree of light on the mysterious ‘Señor Bulfin’ of the Argentine pampas and the roads of Ireland.
Still, It seems fair to say that the Ireland that Bulfin envisioned has not come to fruition, far from it. But, in his own words,
‘Ireland is not dead yet. And the mills of God are grinding’.
I do not suspect that Bulfin’s pastoral nationalism will be revived by the establishment any time soon, why would it be? Therefore, it is up to those who believe in Bulfin’s message and the messages of those like him to carry his legacy forward with us. Forward to an Irish Ireland, to an Ireland united, Gaelic and free.
Works Cited
Breathnach, Diarmuid, and Máire Ní Mhurchú. “BULFIN, William (1863–1910).” Ainm.ie, 2025, www.ainm.ie/Bio.aspx?ID=599. Accessed 6 June 2025.
“Irish Midlands Ancestry.” Irlandeses.org, 2025, www.irlandeses.org/kiely.htm. Accessed 6 June 2025.
Ó Ceallaigh, Seán. An Claidheamh Soluis, 5 Feb. 1910.
Sisson, Elaine. Pearse’s Patriots: St Enda’s and the Cult of Boyhood. Cork University Press, 2004.