Can you imagine what it must have been like for a young boy, born in (largely Christian) Roman Britain (probably somewhere near what is now Dumbarton in southern Scotland) and raised in the manner appropriate to an army officer's son, to be kidnapped by Celtic marauders, hustled onto a boat, and taken to another island, across a rough passage in uncertain weather? By all accounts Patricius was only a teenager (the date of his birth is uncertain, but was in the late 300's C.E.). His native tongue was Latin. The babble of voices around him must have seemed wild and strange, and the destination was wild and strange, too -- the beautiful hills and glens of what is now County Antrim in northeastern Ireland.

He was sold to a man who raised sheep, and so became a shepherd around Dalriada, the valley of the Braid, and Slemish Mountain. A lonely occupation for a boy, and a boy used to all the amenities of civilization. A desolate six years of servitude with cold winter mornings and wet summer days -- yet he was somehow able to find solace in the very landscape that had enslaved him, learn the language of the area, and finally escape to the west.

Accounts variously report Patricius as having sailed home to Britain and then traveling to France, or as having joined a voyage directly to France and ending up studying Christianity at Lérins and Auxerre. Although he was deemed undereducated for the position, he succeeded Palladius, the first Chrisian missionary to Ireland, who died in 431 C.E. We are all familiar with the shamrock and tales of Patrick's mission; he continued the work begun by Palladius of integrating Christianity with Celtic pagan ceremonies and beliefs. He was there for a further forty years or so, until his death at Saul, where the cathedral of Downpatrick now stands. His return to Ulster, where he had been enslaved, must have been a strange and bitter-sweet experience. But as is recorded in the Annals of Ulster, he was largely successful in converting the Irish.

An excerpt from his letter back home to Britain, where the Christians were being terrorised by Picts and Scots.

• I am hated. What shall I do, Lord? I am most despised. Look, Thy sheep around me are torn to pieces and driven away, and that by those robbers, by the orders of the hostile-minded Coroticus. Far from the love of God is a man who hands over Christians to the Picts and Scots. Ravening wolves have devoured the flock of the Lord, which in Ireland was indeed growing splendidly with the greatest care; and the sons and daughters of kings were monks and virgins of Christ - I cannot count their number. Wherefore, be not pleased with the wrong done to the just; even to hell it shall not please.

For the full text, visit Letter to Coroticus.

It is ironic, given the later history of Ireland, that this young boy would grow up to pray for peace for the people of Britain, and to embrace Ireland with such fidelity and determination.  He was not always treated gently by the Irish, but he stayed, nevertheless.  His words above may well have been his feelings for the Irish, as well as for the Picts.