Is this how your Irish Ancestor celebrated Easter?

Céad Míle Fáilte – and welcome to your Letter from Ireland for this Easter Sunday. The whitethorn is in blossom along the laneways, lambs are dotting the green fields, and there’s a sense of renewal in the air here in County Cork. How are things in your part of the world today?

We’re looking forward to a very nice Easter lunch later with a leg of lamb taking center place on the table. As we were purchasing this lovely piece of meat earlier in the week, Carina commented “I wonder what Easter Sunday was like for my family in North Cork back in the day? Do you think they had similar food? Similar traditions?” Well, that got me thinking about just what to feature in today’s Letter from Ireland.

I’m enjoying a cup of Barry’s tea as I write, watching the morning sunlight filtering through my kitchen window, and I hope you’ll join me with a cuppa or whatever you fancy as we step back in time to explore an Irish Easter from long ago.

 

An Irish Easter Sunday Table in 19th-Century Ireland

It was Easter Sunday morning near the village of Banteer, sometime in the late 1800s. The O’Donoghue family made their way home from early Mass, their steps lighter than they had been in weeks. The women’s shawls caught the breeze, and the men’s caps were held respectfully in hand as they walked the winding lane back to their cottage. The children skipped ahead, released from the discipline of the church service, their excitement for the day’s feast barely contained.

“Mind the puddles in your Sunday shoes,” Mrs. O’Donoghue called to the youngest ones, though her voice carried no sternness today. The bells of the chapel could still be heard faintly in the distance, ringing out with joy after their long silence during Holy Week.

As they approached their whitewashed cottage, smoke curled welcomingly from the chimney where a pot had been left simmering over the turf fire before they’d departed for worship. The low spring sun spilled in through the cottage window as they entered, dancing on the scrubbed stone floor that had been prepared meticulously for this holy day. A quiet anticipation hung in the air, broken only by the soft crackle of turf in the hearth and the rustle of a hen outside, scratching near the door.

Inside, the household returned to a space that was humming with an energy not seen for weeks. After the long, lean days of Lent—forty days of sparse meals, dry bread, and the absence of meat and eggs—Easter had finally arrived, bringing with it a sense of celebration and relief. The family had endured the fast faithfully, and now it was time to feast.

The older children had risen before dawn, helping their mother prepare for both Mass and the day’s celebrations. Now back home, they eagerly gathered the eggs that had been carefully saved for the occasion. Each egg was a little treasure—boiled and sometimes coloured with onion skins or beetroot peelings for a touch of festivity. The youngest, Máire, still flushed with the excitement of wearing her Sunday best to church, held her egg in both hands like a prize, grinning up at her older brother, who teased her that he might eat it if she looked away.

On the hearth, a large iron pot bubbled gently. Inside, a well-cured joint of bacon was simmering, its salty scent filling the cottage. The bacon, taken down from the hook in the rafters where it had hung since the autumn butchering, would soon be joined by wedges of cabbage and perhaps even some wild nettles gathered from the hedgerows the day before.

Beside it, a basket of floury potatoes sat ready to be boiled in their jackets—an abundance of them, as always, for no Irish meal would be complete without the humble spud.

In wealthier homes, there might have been a leg of lamb roasting in a proper oven, or a fine cake scented with cinnamon and cloves. But here in this small stone cottage, the feast was no less grand in spirit. There would be soda bread fresh from the griddle, thick with butter now that dairy could be enjoyed again. A slice of sweet barmbrack, heavy with raisins, was wrapped in a tea towel and set aside for after the meal, to be served with a cup of strong tea and—if Father was feeling generous—a nip of whiskey to mark the day.

The father, still wearing his good shirt from Mass but with sleeves now rolled up, said a special grace thanking God not only for the food but for the resurrection they had celebrated at church that morning. Then the family gathered around the rough-hewn table. There were no fine tablecloths or polished silver here—but there was laughter, full plates, and a deep sense of gratitude that seemed to glow brighter after the communal worship they had shared.

The traditional Irish Easter meal wasn’t just about the food that made this meal special. It was what it stood for: renewal, hope, and the joy of sharing a hard-earned feast with the ones you love, souls nourished by both bread and prayer.

And so, with hands clasped in prayer and a soft murmur of “Go raibh maith agat, a Dhia,” Easter Sunday was celebrated not with grandeur, but with grace.

 

The Sacred and the Seasonal

When we think of these old Irish Easter traditions, I’m struck by how beautifully they tied together the sacred and the seasonal. Easter wasn’t just a religious observance but a celebration deeply connected to the rhythms of rural life.

After the scarcity of winter and the deliberate abstinence of Lent, Easter represented abundance returning to both table and land. The eggs that feature so prominently in Irish Easter customs weren’t just symbolic of the resurrection—they were also practical treasures in a farming household where hens began laying more prolifically as the days lengthened.

Perhaps what moves me most about these old Irish Easter customs is how they marked the journey from darkness into light, from scarcity into plenty, from winter’s grip into spring’s embrace. After the solemn processions of Holy Week and the stark silence of churches on Good Friday (when even the bells fell silent), Easter Sunday erupted with joy.

The churches that had been stripped bare during Lent would be decorated with spring flowers. Bells that had been silent would ring out again. And families who had been observing the Lenten fast would gather around tables like the O’Donoghues’, giving thanks for simple pleasures restored.

 

Modern Irish Easter

Today, while chocolate eggs and Easter bunny decorations fill our shops, many Irish families still maintain connections to these older Irish Easter traditions. Children still hunt for eggs (though now they’re more likely to be of the chocolate variety). Many families gather for a special meal, often featuring spring lamb. And thousands still attend an Easter Mass or service, where the themes of resurrection and renewal continue to resonate.

As I look around our own Easter table this Sunday, so different from that 19th-century scene yet connected to it by invisible threads of tradition, I’m reminded that these customs aren’t just quaint relics of the past. They’re expressions of universal human longings—for renewal after hardship, for community after isolation, for abundance after scarcity.

In these times that can often feel disconnected from nature’s rhythms and ancient wisdom, perhaps there’s something valuable in remembering how our ancestors marked this season—with simple joy, with gratitude, and with a profound appreciation for life’s returning abundance.

How about you? Do any Irish Easter traditions from your family’s past still find a place at your table today? I’d love to hear about them in the comments section below.

May your Easter be blessed with renewal and joy, wherever you’re celebrating it.

Slán for now,

Mike