St. Columcille means "dove of the churches" and is also usually known as St. Columba He was born in Ireland in 521 AD, became a monk-priest and by the age of 25 had founded 27 monasteries including Derry, Durrow and Kells. He was a skilled poet and calligrapher of illuminated manuscripts.

The story is told that "Columba copied St. Finnian's psalter without the permission of Finnian, and thus devalued the book. When Finnian took the matter to High King Dermott for judgment, Dermott judged in favor of Finnian.... Columba refused to hand over the copy, and Dermott forced the issue militarily. Columba's family and clan defeated Dermott at the battle of Cooldrevny in 561. Tradition further holds that St. Molaisi of Devenish, Columba's spiritual father, ordered Columba to bring the same number of souls to Christ that he had caused to die as penance." (Medieval Sourcebook: The Life of Columcille, Introduction)

Please click map to see photo of Iona

So St. Columcille left Ireland in a currach with twelve monks and voyaged till he could no longer see his beloved Ireland. On the Island of Iona, given to Columcille by king Connal, off the coast of Scotland, they built a monastery. In those days the building of housing was no easy matter. The monks had to collect wattles to weave them into mats for the walls, the roofs were thatched with reed and the monks slept on bed of straw. To survive they had to farm and do their own tanning of hides, iron and wood work. Sometimes the monks must have hunted on the island of Mull and captured seals for oil they needed in their lamps. The monks were called to prayer every three hours so as to praise God and maintain their relationship with Him. (Iona.htm) It was probably while watching the sea from this island that St. Columcille wrote this inspired poem:

Delightful to me to be on an island hill, on the crest of a rock,
that I might often watch the quiet sea;

That I might watch the heavy waves above the bright water,
as they chant music to their Father everlastingly.

That I might watch it's smooth, bright-bordered shore, no gloomy pastime,
that I might hear the cry of the strange birds, a pleasing sound;

That I might hear the murmur of the long waves against the rocks,
that I might hear the sound of the sea, like mourning beside a grave;

That I might watch the splendid flocks of birds over the well-watered sea,
that I might see its mighty whales, the greatest wonder.

That I might watch its ebb and flood in their course,
that my name should be--it is a secret that I tell--
"he who turned his back upon Ireland;"

That I might have a contrite heart as I watch,
that I might repent my many sins, hard to tell;

That I might bless the Lord who rules all things,
heaven with its splendid host, earth, ebb, and flood...

Rule of St. Columcille