Verse by Pádraig Ó Treasaigh (Laois):

'We meet again, the master and the student
The one a sadder but a wiser man, the other still imprudent
But age and youth, have one same thought
That Erin's soul shall ne'er be bought.
Soon may her Freedom's star arise
And soon may be her foe's demise.
Then you and I from fetters free
Shall haste to Leix and Offaly.
But we together shall come again
As free, unfettered, unshackled men.
And then we'll fill and quaff the glass
That ours and Erin's dawn has come at last.'

Signature of Mícheál Ó Fearghail (Galway)

Verse from internee No 1065, Joseph Lee, Hut 26:

'I wished I was a little Duck
All swimming on a lake
And I beside you swimming too
A faithful little drake.'

Verse from Internee No 832, James Donegan, No 9 Tent B Company:

'O would the God above
Send down a dove with wings as sharp as razors
To cut the throat of those English dogs,
That shot our Irish leaders'

Also a joke from Thomas McGivinchy: 'Happy is the man who sits on a wasp's nest, for he shall rise again.'

Verse transcribed by Internee 1537, D Company, Hut 31, Patrick J. Daly (Tullamore, Offaly):

'Lloyd George no doubt when his life ebbs out
Will ride in a fiery chariot
He will sit in state on a red hot plate
'Twixt the Devil and Judas Iscariot
Annanias that day to the Devil will say
My Presidency here has failed
So move up higher
Away from the fire
And make room for the liar from Wales.'

Unfinished entry by John Conroy.

Verse transcribed by Jimmie Egan, Hut 25 ,of Henry Street, Tullamore:

'Where ever England's forces assemble
on land on sea or in air
We pray thee Oh Lord God of Battle
to send all thy thunderbolts there
Wherever her plotters are plotting
Wherever her fortresses frown
With thy vengeance as vivid as lightening
Strike her down Oh Lord God!
Strike her down.'

Signatures of John O'Flaherty (Donegal), William Baxter (Dublin), John J FitzPatrick (Dublin) and Denis Walsh (Tullamore, Offaly), all from Hut 40.

Verse transcribed by Paddy Quinn (Kildare), Hut 11, Rath Camp:

'We're getting darn little to eat or drink
We're getting darn to ware
And we're all living wild now here in the clink
On the Curragh of Kildare
The margarine question is being discusted
And our own quarter of bread is now dry
If it is not soon settled our axles
will rust and then sure I'm damned, we must die.