A Tribute to a Small Bantam Rooster Named Sylvester; A Lesson in Aspiration and Resilience

When I was 18, I met an inspiring individual on a farm near Freeport, Maine.  His Name was Sylvester and he was a little bantam rooster.

As part of a flock of about 25 free-ranging chickens, Sylvester stood out.  Most of the chickens were white, Leghorns. These are a large, American breed of chickens known for their stature.  Not the most aesthetically appealing breed. But they produce big eggs and large drumsticks!  There were three Leghorn Roosters, big white brutes.  The flock was mostly made up of Leghorn hens and perhaps 4-5 bantam hens.  And then, there was Little Sylvester.  He was a scrawny runt, but colorful. Because of his distinctiveness in appearance, he was given a name.  The other White Leghorns were just generic "Chickens".  

Object of Love's Desire

One of the Leghorn Mafia Enforcers

Feather-Weight Champion

Sylvester was a scrapper.  He crowed a lot and strutted around like he was "Cock-of-the-Walk".  Periodically, he would start chasing the hens , including the white Leghorn girls that towered over him.  The three big white roosters did not want Sylvester scoring with their girls and would go after our boy and beat the living crap out of him! Tearing with their spurs, pecking and waving of the wings.  Later, I'd see Sylvester with missing feathers and a torn and bloody comb.  The big roosters would repeatedly tear at him ferociously. You could understand why Cock Fighting is called a "Blood Sport".  It's not pretty what roosters can do to one another. But Sylvester wasn't fighting for the sake of combat.  He was just a boy in love and had only one way to express it! Kiss the Girls! He couldn't help himself and would return to the fray at every opportunity.

Bloody But Unbowed

Our Champion repeatedly looked the worst for wear. He couldn't help himself in his desire for connection and would rise up again from his battered state and return to the fray.  

And the kicker is that when the white hens had hatched their chicks, the majority of the baby's weren't white! Lots of little brown chickee's running around!  Sylvester produced plenty of off-spring.  Persistence paid off.  My friends and I all laughed about Sylvester's triumph in the game of life.  As I recall, the white roosters ended up in the frying pan  But Sylvester was too little to bother with. Perhaps he could have helped a soup's flavoring. But why do that to the little champ?  Bloody But Unbowed, he lived on for several more years until a fox got him.  Dead he may be, but remembered Decades later. 

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The Story of Sylvester has always stayed with me.  I've told his story periodically.  Over time I grafted that chicken narrative to a couple other stories regarding Aspiration and Resilience.  

Even before Sylvester, I had read in my teens several books with parallel themes by the Greek author, Nikos Kazantzakis, the author of Zorba the Greek as well as Report to Greco.

Anthony Quinn as Zorba

Zorba was a Sylvester-like character, full of life, philosophy and passion. An Academy-Award winning movie was adapted from the book.  Also a good musical theme.  Like the rooster, Zorba was full of passion for living and taught the author to not dwell so much in Buddhism and trying to avoid pain.  Rather, to embrace the pain and the joy and get on with life!  Dance was a powerful metaphor.  You must learn to Dance!  Overcome inertia and fear and risk being considered a fool!  Life is too precious to hide in the shadows.   The Zorba in the novel was based fairly closely on a real man with the same sense of passion and adventure; An inspiration to the young Kazantzakis.

Robert Duvall as Gus McCrea

The other character, fictional, was Gus McCrae in the novel Lonesome Dove.  In Gus, Texas author Larry McMurtry created a sort of cowboy version of Zorba.  Again, he is full of aspirations for love, connection and adventure.  The novel was turned into a 4 part miniseries on American Television and was very popular.  Texans embraced the story and it's become a sort of Texas Legend/Myth

I especially liked and identified with the Gus character because he was always talking, joking and reaching out.  Irrepressible and not willing to back off because of advancing age.  "The Older the Violin, The Sweeter the Music," he would tell the two women in his life.   

My Frayed Copies of Lonesome Dove and Zorba the Greek

So, the themes I draw from these three individuals is to keep reaching out, risking yourself both emotionally and physically.  Be careful and think; but don't let inertia, fear and doubt hold you back.  When you're knocked down, rest, recover and than rise again and keep going.  

We will all die, so it is important to live life fully while we have the opportunity.   

The Third and Final Act. No Ancestors Included.

Wednesday, April 26th

Having taken notes on the Crotty/Naughton investigations the evening before, I was relaxed in my mind.  As I had written at the beginning, I had front-loaded my investigations and focused my energies in the first half of the trip.  Now, I felt it was time to stop and let those investigations rest and settle in my mind.

I sat at a picnic table at the Corofin Hostel and thought about the coming week.  Jude had warned me that the upcoming weekend was a "Bank Holiday" and as a result, finding housing, especially in Dublin near the airport would be especially challenging. People would be booking for 3-4 days in the city, extending into Monday and even Tuesday. Rain always is threatening in Ireland and I thought about that.  And housing seemed fairly dear everywhere anyway. I think there is a surge of "Post-COVID" travelers in Ireland.  I had felt fortunate to find camping available in Corofin.  But I did not relish either having to search for housing at an unfamiliar B&B in the Dublin area.  I hoped to find a hostel with a dorm in a smaller town or village.  

The End of Small Town Hostels?

Currently, in Ireland the Dorm Model, where there are typically six bunks to a room, seems to have faded significantly as I found both in New Ross and then again in Dingle. COVID seems to have pressed the owners of facilities in Ireland to change toward to a new model. More renting of rooms to families or groups and no longer catering to the individual travelers. Jude said that Hosteling is Dead. I'm not sure if that's true, but it has certainly been challenged. I can understand how he might feel that way.

The smaller family-owned hostels had already been battered earlier prior to COVID, by previous events.  The Great Global Financial Collapse of 2008 had hit the hospitality industry hard. Many foreign visitors stayed away from travel as a result.  Then again, in 2013, the European Financial crisis struck and especially put the screws on the financially challenged countries of Portugal Ireland, , Italy Greece and Spain (The "PIIGS").  Travel was curtailed and Ireland's economy particularly ground to a near halt.  Terrible.  Each time I visited Ireland over that decade I would often find myself in a dorm with six bunks and I was the only resident. Sometimes I seemed like the sole traveler.  This low attendance was not good for the income of the establishments. Finally, The COVID Epidemic was the nail in the coffin and closed a number of "Mom and Pop" hostels as well as small B&Bs.  This was especially true for those establishments that were indebted or with a low cash reserve. 

Add to the above the external shocks, there has been another tendency at work. There has been gradual trend away from the bicycle touring and backpacking that peaked around the decade of 1970-1980. These days I rarely run into younger bicycle tourists nor backpackers. The greater preponderance of bike tourists seemed to be retiree's such as Jean Pierre and Chandal.  The young seemed more inclined to arrive at the hostel by bus or car.  They were often more interested in catching music or drinking/party venues rather than athletic pursuits. And with this has been an increase in amenities that the Smaller Rural and Small Town Hostels can't easily provide. Many are looking for "Poshtels" It's a different generation.  And so it goes.   

But I can not generalize about the rest of the world.  My range is limited.  I have a friend my age, Cindi, who is currently walking the 500 mile Camino de Santiago Pilgrimage and has been staying at pilgrimage "Albergues" which are essentially hostels of the dormitory model (although you can usually rent a private room for additional cost).    

Example of a Camino de Santiago Albergue Dormitory

Also, it is my impression the urban hostels have the advantage over rural hostel of offering economical housing for the young person who wants to experience a big city and an exciting nightlife while on a limited budget. I have used these Urban Hostels as points of transition near international airports such as in Dublin, Copenhagen, London or Manchester.  But my goal is to get out of urban environments fairly quickly and out into the countryside. 

Few Americans? 

For a long time I've noted that as individuals or young couples, Americans are few and far between, especially in the smaller town hostels in Ireland, Scotland and the UK.  This is in contrast to continental Europeans who are historically more comfortable with the model. My general impression is that Americans usually travel in groups and are more likely to use B&Bs with their own individual rooms. More comparable to a motel back home.  They cling to privacy which sort of defeats the idea of travel as a way to expand your experience of the world.  I think this is a bit of a shame since it limits Americans in terms of their opportunity for meeting other travelers. And vice-a-versa.  Over the years, I am often the only American at a hostel. 

Going to Doolin:

I recalled going on my first bicycle tour in Ireland in 2001. I was 49 year old and this was my first overseas bike tour.. I flew into Shannon Airport near Limerick, and took a taxi with my luggage including a big bike box, to a hostel at the town of Six-Mile Bridge. I stayed overnight at the Jamaica Inn Hostel, assembled my bike, and then rode off the next day on my first international cycle adventure along the western areas of Ireland including Counties Clare and Galway and Mayo.  I came back to the Jamaica Inn repeatedly in subsequent visits.  Sadly, it is no longer in business. A victim of the waves of the stresses I described above.

Near the Cliffs of Moher, I had stayed in that 2001 trip at the Aille River Hostel in Doolin and had liked it very much.  I wondered if it was still running.  At the picnic table I pulled out the phone and checked online and found that it still was in business and so I made a call.  A woman, Leidi, answered the phone.  "Do you have any dorm rooms available?" For tonight? Yes they did. But later in the week and over the weekend they were booked up. But there was camping also available.  Great!  I booked a room and had a plan in my mind.

Perhaps I could stay there for the next while and then figure out how I might transition back to Dublin for my flight out the next Wednesday morning.  

Doolin is well known for Traditional Irish Music. If that is your taste, This Is The Place For You! There are a number of music venues up and down the street of this little village. Personally, I have a number of Irish music CDs and also DVDs of Ireland videos.  Also a bookshelf with a number of Irish-related books.  There is even a celli band in St. Paul, Minnesota called, oddly enough, O'Rourke's Feast. This band is headed by Paddy O'Brien who is the Ireland's most famous button accordion musicians and has a great knowledge of many thousands of obscure tunes.  A human repository. Paddy married a woman author from Minnesota and lives there!  I've meet Paddy several times and contributed financially to a "Kickstart" project he did to preserve on CD all the tunes that were bouncing around in his head.  Quite the job.     

Still, I am only good for about 90 minutes of Irish reels and jigs.  Then my eyes start to glaze over and I'm looking for the door!  So, my going to Doolin is not for the music.  Rather, I'm looking for a quiet and familiar harbor to park myself.  

So, I was pleased to find that Aille River Hostel was still running.  My recollection of the place in 2001 was pleasant and I looked forward to returning after 22 years.  Below are a few images from that earlier visit.

Old Slides of the Hostel in 2001

Aille River Promotional Literature

My 1978 Bicycle Posed in Front of the Cliffs of Moher in 2001

From Corofin I drove up the road and thru the town of Lahinch and further north, passing the visitor parking lot for the Cliffs and on to Doolin.  There, I found the hostel and parked in the back parking lot.  The hostel looked somewhat the same, but different.  Indeed, Doolin had changed as well in the last 22 years, having more pubs and eateries that have enlarged their footprints.  More RV camping!    

In spite of the financial challenges of the last two decades, Ireland continues to make incremental progress.  One of the things one notice is more and larger homes. The landscape has become more cluttered with homes.  Although this may disappoint the tourist, this is for the good for the Irish population.  Moving into larger, warmer and brighter homes is the right of every family and I am glad that they have more personal room.  The winters in Ireland are long, dark and wet.  Good to have some warm, dry and open space.  

Only later when referring back to old photos from my previous visit, was I able to discern that the Hostel had grown physically. Maybe a 30-40% increase in capacity.. There was some massive rock work added on the portion facing the river as well as an addition to the front for extra dining table as well as an office.  But it was all very attractively done and the owner, Robert, had done much of the work himself or contracted it.

When I checked in at the hostel, I was able to get a dorm bunk for the night. But then I would have to go back to tenting. Still, this was fine since I still had access to the kitchen, toilets and shower. I had a favorite spot in the dining room on a padded pew along the wall with a power plug for my little Chromebook. I could sit there and write in my journal, update my blog 

Lingering in Doolin

For the next five days, thru to Tuesday morning, I stayed at the Aille River Hostel. Each day I would spend time writing and reading and chatting with folks.  Also, I took several hikes. One hike was towards the Cliffs. The other solo walk was down to the seashore.  

I was content to have good company and a cozy spot. Like an old dog by the fire.  During meal times I would put away my writing materials and make sure I was not taking up space  and displacing family groups seeking a spot to sit down for dinner.  There were a number of families coming thru (especially French) with small children. Several groups of couples were also on holiday.  During this time I had a number of very pleasant conversations with several individuals and in more than a few instances I would give them my card and invite them to visit me in the upper midwest of the USA. I'd be happy to drive them around and help them familiarize and acclimate to life there. I have taken people out to the West (Big Horn mountains and Mount Rushmore) or to Chicago to see a big American City.  As a single guy with time on my hands, I am glad to play the host.  It has given me satisfaction to enlarge mutual understanding between peoples.  Really.

Inviting Others to America; Overcoming Mutual Misconceptions

Many Europeans have not visited the USA other than perhaps the obvious sites such as New York, Boston, Los Angeles and perhaps one or two national parks.  Without knowing anyone in America, they are often forced to do the Tourist Thing and never have access to an 'inside' look at the USA.  I have in the past invited numerous people to come.  And I've had several visitors take me up on these invitations and have come to visit.  I've taken great pleasure in showing them America at the normal level.  This has given them a truer sense of the place and helped them see past the cliche's of  television or the movies.  Visitors, when they come to the USA, are often overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the place.  It is so big they have problems digesting it. Where to go? What are we looking at?  A local friend and guide makes it so much easier, more economical and memorable. 

Most Europeans experience America vicariously thru the deluge of news and media that originates from Hollywood and our media organizations. But these are distortions.  Nevertheless, they at least have some sort of conception of America. Alternatively, Americans don't often visit other countries since America is so large, they don't feel the need to go outside their borders. There is so much to do in North America. Usually their knowledge of other country's histories, politics or cultures are vague or non-existent. We're ignorant.   If Americans do venture out of North America, they may head for their own set of obvious destinations.  Paris, Rome, London. Perhaps visit some castles. Take a cruise down the Danube.  But these are not the true Italy, France, Germany nor Britain. They're just bustling cities. Or heavily visited tourist venues. Or scenes from the railing of a cruise ship.  It's like visiting Dallas and thinking you've been to Texas!  Not really. You've just visited a big sprawling American City.

One of the advantages of bicycle touring is that you are forced to meet people. It is hard to cordon yourself off when on a bike. People see you with your luggage and often someone will ask where are you from and where are you going. That's not going to happen when you're driving a car!. Over the last two decades this has been my favorite way to get closer to the local communities that I pass through. Countless spontaneous conversations and with opportunities to learn about the place where your standing.  For instance I've visited Ireland seven times. Four of these visits were by bicycle. Also by car as I am now.  I am grateful for the times I have been able to enjoy meeting the Irish people while on my bicycle.  

When traveling, one of the other things I'm mindful of is keeping the costs of my visit at an economical level.  The first visit to a country is an introduction and a Learning Experience To Build On.  If the first visit costs too much, you'll be reluctant to come again because of the initial hole left in you wallet. When bicycling and hosteling, the costs are considerably less than if your renting a car and staying at hotels or B&B's.  So, in addition to the opportunity to meet more people, travel as a slower pace, and get exercise, you're also saving money.  Win, Win, Win, Win.... 

Tuesday and Wednesday, May 2nd and 3rd

Departure for Home:

After staying at Aille River Hostel for five nights, I packed up the tent and camper gear and pulled out of Doolin on Tuesday morning.  I had decided I would return the car to Hertz that evening and then wait at the airport in the terminal overnight for my departure the next morning (Departure at 8:50 AM). Rather than try to find housing in Dublin area and be rising at 4:00 AM, I would just keep an inflatable pillow in my carry-on luggage so that I could doze my way thru the night, lying my head down somewhere. 

On the way back to Dublin, I took a leisurely pace.  No rush to get to the airport!  I stopped at Corofin and stopped in at the Hostel and found Jude and informed him about the "Nortons" who were not of a County Clare name, having originally been Naughtons.  Really? He asked.  I told him to do a Wikipedia search and he would see that the Norton conversion in America was not at all unusual. I offered this to him to add to his knowledge of the local lore and he seemed to have appreciated this little nugget.  

After that, I popped over to the Heritage Center and spoke for a few minutes with the Genealogist, Antoinette.  I shared with her what I had learned both at the burial ground west of Cross as well as the discussion I had with Elizabeth who's mother was a Naughton.  She and I will be in touch by email in the next month or so as I organize the information.  She will be doing some extra work to confirm some of the information I and my sister and another relative have been doing back in the USA.  Hopefully we can come to some definite names and certainty regarding the names and basic details for ancestors reaching back into the late 1700s.  

Round Tower Stub

Kilnaboy Church

Continuing east, I pulled the car over at an old ruins at Kilnaboy and walked thru the an old church ruins and surrounding graves. I admired the stub of another old Round Tower.  This was the site of a significant shrine and monastery from the early 12th century. A fertility "Sheela"  is on the wall of the church.  These 'Architectural Grotesques'  come from pagan times and were incorporated into the Christian Iconography in some of these older European church ruins. I write fertility but that's just one theory as to Sheela's meanings... I don't seem to see phallic symbols but the female genitalia are up on the church wall which is an interesting.  Makes a fella think.  

Further down the road, I entered to major town of Ennis which has a population of over 25,000. The biggest town in Clare and and I stopped at the Clare Museum and spent 30 minutes there. I carry a lot of Irish History in my head and I didn't see much there that I didn't already know.  Good for the school groups and folks who are not familiar with Irish history. I didn't catch a lot of items that caught my attention.  Other than a very nice presentation of facts, not much to gain.  So I scanned thru it fairly fast.   

County Clare Museum

One item I saw that did catch my eye was about the number of Holy Wells in Clare.  Forty Four!  A few days previous I had, with a friend, visited St. Bridget's Well near Liscannor 

Old Postcards of St. Bridget's Well

When in Ireland, I've always found significant the minor little holy wells I've noted in past travels. They tug at my heart as I contemplate the many generations that have visited them over the countless centuries.  Sometimes these little spatters of water are very inconspicuously tucked into a hillside next to a natural spring dripping out of the rock. On a bike I can catch them with the corner of my eye. Ancient, holy places where people prayed, seeking help for life's challenges, sorrows and hopes.

After that, I dropped south past the Shannon Airport and made my way thru town to the 4-lane M18 and then the M7 highway that heads northeast to Dublin.  Once on these "Interstate" I zipped along for a while but eventually, I pulled off the highway and up a ramp and into a truck stop.  There, I pulled the car over to the far end of the parking lot and up to a curb that bordered a grass strip where I stopped.  For the next hour I methodically took all my items out of the car and repacked everything into my carryon bag or my suitcase which I would check in.  I carefully went thru the car including the backseat and truck and repacked all loose or stray items. I also made sure that all rubbish was out of the car and it was fairly clean and in good order so that I wouldn't have to worry about this at check-in..   

Organizing For the Flight Back Home

In Dublin, I searched for a gas station to top off the gas tank prior to drop off.  Lots of fun doing this during the rush hour!  I also found a TESCO and used a few of my extra Euros to buy some food for the next 12 hours of Airport dwelling...  Then on to the airport.  I pulled into the Hertz car return and dropped off the car after being scanned and the vehicle having been judged to be in good shape.  

Back to the Mother Ship!

This more or less ends my tale in Three Acts.  18 hours later, after entering the Dublin Terminal, I was back in Minneapolis/St. Paul, Minnesota.  I had done my "Non-Tourist" mission of getting new, solid information and doing the informed exploration of Carlow and Clare Ireland from the family history perspective.  A new first for me after all my previous visits when I didn't have the leads to do these sorts of investigations.. 

My daughter Laurel picked me up at the curb at the airport.   I returned home to western Wisconsin tired but very satisfied. Grateful for all that I was able to collect so much of  I set out to find....    plus MORE.  

Thanks for reading!

Steve

The Second Act In The Irish Visit

 Monday, April 24

I drove north and east from Connor Pass and continued further and thru the Town of Tralee and then followed Highway N67 north thru Listowel and on to Tarbert. I recall staying in this town well over a decade ago.  I had thought of taking the ferry from Tarbert to cross the Shannon to County Clare.    So why drive all the way to Limerick and cross the Shannon there?  Well, how about €23?  That's what it costs to take the ferry 1.5 kilometers from one shore to the other.  Silly.  So while I've used this ferry years ago for a couple pounds or euro, taking a car is way too expensive.  And since I have plenty of time, I decided to just drive up to Limerick and drive across the bridge and make head north to the town of Corofin.

Drive from Dingle to Corofin

So I headed east on Highway N69.  I've followed this route several times on bike tours.  Usually I would fly into Shannon Airport near Limerick and then would head towards Tarbert, Tralee and ultimately Dingle.  But now I'm driving my little Renault and going the opposite direction  

I stopped at what had been a wayside parking area overlooking the Shannon River, west of the town of Foynes.  I noticed that there were permanent barricades closing the wayside and so parked on the apron outside the area.  Time for a break to stretch my legs and look at the Shannon.  While there, I ended up talking to a local.  Bill was going for a walk as well. In Crutches.  A Brit from Birmingham who has lived here in Foynes for over 40 years.  We had a good conversation.  Why is the wayside closed to cars?   Travellers (Tinkers) were often encamping here for long periods of time, Bill said.  So the local council decided to shut it down and put up barricades  I remember seeing Traveller encampments during my first visit to Ireland 23 years ago.  But they seemed to have mostly gone away.  Apparently, not completely.  

Bill at the Old Wayside Rest (now closed)

Some people confuse the Travellers with the Gypsies. But the Gypsies originated from Persia whereas the Travellers are genetically Irish and Catholic.  The two groups shared some superficial modes of life such as the itinerant traveling life.  But the Travellers are a Whole Different Kettle of Fish compared to the Gypsies.  There are thousands of Irish Travellers who emigrated to the USA but they don't do the nomadic travel.

Traveller Encampment in the 1960s

After saying goodbye to Bill, I continued east thru Foynes and then rounded the bend at Limerick and on north thru Ennis and on to the Town of Corofin.  At Corofin is the County Clare Heritage and Genealogical Centre which is where I thought I might visit for information.

The Other Side of an Irish Family

My surname is O'Rourke and as written earlier, our 'modern' origins from the 1700s and before was  St. Mullins in Carlow.  Where were my great grandmother O'Rourke's people from?  She was born Theresa Crotty in Chicago in the 1860s, her parents were Michael and Johanna.  Only lately did we find indications from the work of previous genealogist that the Crotty's were from The Town of Cross in County Clare, not too far from the end of the peninsula.  

The Crotty's were supposed to have emigrated to the USA in the early 1850s.  In the 1860 Federal Census Micheal was listed as a "Master Carpenter" (he worked in the Bridgeport Shipyard in Chicago) and he and Johanna had two children at that point.  A few years after that, my great grandmother was born along with several other siblings.  And then Michael died at age 41 (unknown cause) and Johanna was widowed with 5 children.  Within a year she remarried a gentleman with the last name O'Brien, and they had two more children. She lived until 1890.

Theresa, born in 1865, had lost her father at an early age (2?).  Ultimately, she married my grandfather 

Theresa (Crotty) O'Rourke With My 
Grandfather Glenn (left) and Older Brother George

Theresa and my great grandfather, James Martin O'Rourke wed and produced two boys. James was worked as the manager of a large hotel in Chicago.  Then, one day, he disappeared, having run off with "May Gallagher".  Never to be seen again. 

This disappearance of great grandfather O'Rourke was the reason for our family's 'Amnesia" regarding our origins.  No oral histories of any detail to be passed on to the sons. Few details other than that my grandfather had been born in eastern Wisconsin near Lake Michigan and that he was an orphan at an early age.   

Fortunately, May Gallagher had a bad conscience and wrote her will to leave everything to the two boys, Glenn and George. So, after she died in the 1940s, the boys were located by an estate attorney in order to settle the estate.  It turned out that James Martin O'Rourke had changed his name to "Harris" and had a successful career in the retail business and was a management consultant based out of New York! He retired in the early 1920s and moved to Detroit area to be near May's family.  When May died the boys inherited a significant chunk of money and their father's billfold!  Below are a couple items from it:

How to Change Your Name!
(and Disappear...)

Department Store Retailing Consultant

In 1929 My Grandfather Bought a New Packard Motor Car!

The telling item in the billfold contents was the folded article about changing one's name and identity.  This was before social security numbers and other items to trace with.  You could essentially disappear in plain sight.  I've wondered how many years he carried this with him.  Like May's bad conscience, abandoning his wife and two boys may have weighed on him...  Who knows?

Anyway, this inquiry was intertwined with the loss of two men  Anna's father by premature death at age 41 and James O'Rourke's abandonment of his family when the boys were young.  Only lately, have we been able to reconstruct much of what happened and the origins of our people.  

Now, I am working on Theresa's grandparents.  

The Clare County Heritage and Genealogy Centre

I pulled in to the village of Corofin and found the County Genealogy Center.  The door was locked but there was an intercom button and I pressed it and a voice came on.  The center is locked up but the workers work upstairs amongst the county history records.  The lady who answered the intercom came down and opened the door and we stood at a counter and talked. Her name was Antoinette. The center's genealogists only meet inquiring visitors by appointment! Oh! I responded.  Would I like to set an appointment?  The cost for the initial appointment is €70.  Really?  I hesitated and considered. Then I thought, I can avoid a ferry ride.  But this opportunity to have a face-to-face discussion with a local expert on the area's families would be an opportunity to go into depth  and so I said yes.  Antoinette could see me tomorrow at 11:00 AM.  Alright.

I asked about Hostels.  There's one just down the street.  So I got in the car and made my way thru the narrow main street of Corofin and found the Corofin Village Hostel

Corofin Village Hostel

I met the owner, Jude, who told me that he no longer rented out individual dorm room bunks and only takes groups (he had a group of French Students coming for the next couple days) but if I had a tent, I could camp for €15.  That was fine with me and I paid him for the night. He showed me the dedicated camping kitchen, toilets, shower and lounge area and then left me to setting up my tent in the camping area.

Walking 200 steps back to the little main street, I beheld two touring bikes!  Fantastic. I had not see but one or two bike tourers on this trip and I was pleased to know that there are still others besides me doing this.  They were a French couple, Chantal and Jean Pierre Gambini and I could tell by the subtle details of their bicycle setups that they were seasoned and competent long distance adventure cyclists.  Around 60 years of age, they were on a trip that was taking them thru Ireland and England.  Their blog (in French but can be converted to English on Chrome OS) is at Gambicyclettes  Jean Pierre worked for the national train system for many years and now retired. Chantal was an elementary school teacher.  I chatted with Jean Pierre for some time. His name sounds more Italian. Yes, his father was Italian but his mother French and he grew up in France. So all that's Italian is the name!  I told him about my Irish name, O'Rourke, but I being only 25% Irish!

One thing that had caught my eye was that their bikes had 26" wheels. This is a subtle difference most non-bicycle tourists may not catch. The wheels are different from more standard sizes such as 700 cm wheels but 26" wheels are smaller and generally more robust and able to handle heavy loads on rough surfaces or gravel.  Also, it is easier to find replacement 26" tires and tubes at town hardware stores when there are no bicycle shops within many miles distance.

The Gambini's set up camp on the other side of the hedge from my tent. They had a large attractive tent with a rain fly that reached down to the ground, perfect for if they needed to shelter during extended periods of foul weather. 

Although on this trip I'm driving a car, usually I am on my touring bicycle traveling and exploring.  This is the exception.  This is partially because I am recovering from shoulder surgery.  

I was much impressed by Gambini's. In my idealized world, I would not have been a solo bicycle tourist and would rather have loved to share rides with a strong and amiable companion.  So, although this has not worked out for me personally, I am always happy to see wonderful couples such as these, sharing adventures together.  God Bless!

The Gambini's Bicycles

And Their Excellent Tent!

My Tent Without the Rainfly

Tuesday, April 25

The next morning I made my breakfast and then dawdled at the Hostel. I watched my French fellow campers head out.  They were going to a nearby town to pick up a shift cable.  Chantal's front shifter had broken and they didn't have a spare.  

Afterwards, I drove over to the Heritage Centre and met with Antoinette.  She wanted me to first fill out a questionnaire with anything I knew about Theresa's parents.  The father, Micheal was a Crotty and mother Johanna's maiden name was "Norton". Both were from the little town of Cross.  I was able to give approximate birth years and death dates in America.  Otherwise, there wasn't much.

The previous day at the Hostel, Jude had asked about my family origins and I had said the last names were Crotty and Norton.  He responded that there were plenty of Crottys in the Cross and Killrush but there are absolutely no Nortons.  Antoinette confirmed this, saying that as she looked at the little I had given her, she thought it was most likely that the name had actually been Naughton.  The people might have been illiterate Gaelic speakers and the name was Anglicized when they entered the USA either by themselves or the immigration authorities.  Norton is not an unusual version outside the area...

Antoinette read some notes I had brought with and then went away and did a bit of further digging in the archives and came back again with the marriage of another Crotty man to a Naughton woman from the same period of the late 1840s. She offered a tentative theory that this might indicate a case of brothers marrying sisters.  This was not unusual in those times.  Families lived in close proximity, adjacent to one another and the boys and girls often developed similar tastes. Familiarity. At least that was a tentative theory that she was going to keep an eye on.  What she wanted from me, was that I do some further investigations back in the USA when I returned there.  She suggested I look for death and marriage certificates in Chicago for both Michael and Johanne (both marriages for her) and perhaps there would be info on the their parents back in Ireland.

A Brief Reflection on the Famine in Clare

The County of Clare was especially hit hard by the Potato Famine with perhaps 50% of the population succumbing to death by starvation or diseases that killed the already weakened people.  During and after that, people were fleeing as well as being cleared from the land.  A series of maps are Here.

Clothing Distribution in Clare During the Famine

I remember visiting the site in 2001 near where the Ennistymon Poorhouse used to stand.  In a muddy pasture was a series of long, large depressions running up the hillside like a series of steps.  A forlorn spot. As I carefully made my way up the slope among grazing sheep, I paused to meditate on these depressions.  They had been trench graves where hundreds of bodies were laid and covered with earth.  After several hundred bodies and been interred in these trenches.  Then, with time, the bodies decomposed and the earth gradually collapsed in and the series of depressions were a reminder of the many hundreds of dead. Thousands in this one unmarked place.

Unmarked Potato Famine Trench Graves

During this current visit to Clare I inquired about this spot and was told that the above field is no longer accessible. Private property and the small road at the base of the hill had been closed.  North of that spot, near the main highway, is a Famine Memorial which refers to the Workhouse.

Michael Rice of Lahinch at the Workhouse Doors

Antoinette told me that she would start building a file for our family case and when I have collected more data, I can contact her with these and she will make an effort to draw baptismal, marriage and death information from the extensive indexed database.  The people in the County Historical Society have drawn nearly 3 million records from the various parish records and this can be searched against a range of names.  But the more specific the information we can give them, the more focused they can be in pulling information.

She recommended that I drive down to the Killmer landing on the north shore of the Shannon Estuary. There is where ships leaving for North America would have embarked from.  Also I should visit the burial grounds at Cross.  She also recommended that that I visit the Loop Head and Land's End.  

I headed out of Corofin for an afternoon drive.  First I stopped stopped at Killrush at the local TESCO and picked up some groceries for the evening meal as well as breakfast the next morning.  Then I headed down to the Killmer area where the Shannon River Ferry (from Tarbert) comes in.  I believe that Antoinette told me that 150+ years ago this was one of the spots where ships departed from that were heading for North America.  There was also the main old quays in Killrush.

There I spent some time walking along the waters edge and Killmer and contemplated the scene, looking down the Shannon toward the Atlantic Ocean.  What were the emigrants feeling as they came down to the river and leaving their homeland behind?  

The Clare Peninsula Where  My Ancestors Did Dwell

From Killmer I drove back west thru Killrush. On the way I saw Crotty's Corner, a sort of pub/restaurant and I stopped the car and hopped out and took a photo.  I found it reassuring to see the persistence of the family name. 

"Crotty's Corner" Restaurant and Pub

 Out of town and further west, I drove thru the very small village of Cross.  This is the town, but where the current Catholic Church is, is not where the parish burial yard is.  That was further west along the road a few miles.  I saw the medieval ruins the "St. John the Baptist" church and Kilballyown and the tombstones that surround the church and fill up the burial grounds. I pulled over the car to the parking apron and stepped out and passed thru the old metal gate and then started walking among the tombstones.

Kilballyowen (Cill Bhaile Eoghain) Burial Grounds
The Old St. John the Baptist Church Has Been in Ruins For Centuries

Interior of the Church Ruins

The Crotty's and Naughtons, Side-by-Side

Detail of the Crotty Tombstone

 

Within 15 minutes I had found both a Crotty and Naughton Tombstone side-by-side! This was amazing to me and confirmed to me the affinity of these two families. Even in death they were proximate to each other!  Again, I paused and contemplated this for several minutes.  Then I took photos for the record and slowly walked out of the church yard and back to the car.

A little further west on the road, I saw a lady coming out of her home and heading for the road. She was dressed in what I call "Farm Chore Clothing".  I pulled up beside her as she was walking and lowered the passenger window and tentatively introduced myself and explained my family history quest. She stopped to listen.  Did she know of any Crotty's or Naughtons?  Oh yes!  She replied. Her husband's mother's maiden name was Naughton and that the Naughtons had lived on the road to the south, paralleling the Shannon.  Again I was a bit amazed by the persistent thread of family names and the connections that these represent..  

    I reached into my billfold and pulled out a card with my name, address, email, etc. and asked Elizabeth if she could give this to her husband?  If he or his mother happened to know anything about folks that left back in the 1850's, I'd appreciate hearing from them. I was a little shy about pushing too hard, surprising people like this. My boldness generally works wonders for me but I have to be careful not to frighten people. I asked Elizabeth if they were dairy farmers.  Yes, she was on her way to the evening milking.  I mentioned in passing that I was from Wisconsin and had milked many cows over the years.  Their family milked the black & white Friesian breed.  I made another minute or so of small talk and then thanked her for her time. We waved goodbye and I was off.

    While we chatted, I made note of the family name (neither of the above) and wrote it down later. I might write a follow-up letter once I am back in the states...

Western Edge of Ireland

The next and last stop was Land's End/Loop Head.  It was a spectacular view, surrounded on three sides by the ocean.  I went for a long walk along the cliffs and admired the view and took several photos. German tourists were heading back to their bus at the parking lot east of the lighthouse and I soon had the place to myself.  As I stood on the edge of the cliffs, far to the south I could see the outline of the Dingle Peninsula.

Dingle To the Southeast

Finally, walked back to the parking lot and started the car and drove back to Corofin and the hostel. There I made dinner in the self-catering kitchen and then sat in the lounge area for a while, putting down notes.  Eventually, I headed off for my tent and went to bed.  A good and full day.

  

 

A Front-Loaded Inquiry; Act 1

I departed Minneapolis-St.Paul Airport mid afternoon on Monday, April 17 and after making a plane change in Boston, I was on the ground in Dublin around 8:30 AM, Tuesday, the 18th.

After  getting thru customs and baggage claims, I was soon at the Hertz car rental and picked up a little Renault Clio with a manual transmission.  I received a long explanation regarding insurance. I'd already purchased supplemental auto insurance coverage for two weeks, but no, I still had to sign up for an additional policy for liability. It turns out that car rentals in Ireland, Israel and Jamaica are problematic and require deposits, extra liability coverage and whatever else.  Yikes!  But since my trip was predicated on having an automobile, I went ahead, closed my eyes and signed on the dotted line and then pressed on.

Renault Clio

I had to SQUEEZE into this little beast.  The Clio was the 2nd size up of the smallest class of autos available but still, it is not very roomy.  Even so, it does have a back seat and 4 doors and a tailgate to the "boot".

I had brought along a suction cup unit that attached to the windshield and allowed me to magnetically attached the phone so that it hovers over the dashboard. With this I could use my phone as a GPS/SatNav.  I set the destination on the phone for the Town of Carlow.  My goal was to get out of the heavier traffic of Dublin as quickly as possible.  Carlow is the main town in County Carlow where "My" O'Rourke's are from.  I thought I would want to visit the historical society there.

The First Fifteen Minutes of Terror

The transition to driving on narrow roads and streets while relearning the "Drive on the Left-Side of the Road" system is always a challenge.  I call it The First Fifteen Minutes of Terror.  This initial period plus the following days of reinforcement, allows you to gradually overcome your ingrained motor memory and to look both ways properly before making turns in a backwards traffic system.  It's tricky.  In addition to this challenge, Ireland is notorious for narrow, winding and undulating roads and streets.  And to make it even more fun, I'm sitting on the right side of the car with my 6-speed stick transmission on the left.  Alice Through the Looking Glass...   So good luck!  Try not to kill anyone.

After my Automotive Baptism I gradually made my way out of town. A couple times I made a wrong turn. My focus was not on going on the right route, but on following all routes well.  No sudden attempts at correction.  Just carefully get out of the most intense of traffic and out of town.

After an hour, I was out of metropolitan Dublin and driving west on the M50, a 4 lane divided highway.  Following the voice commands of Google Maps, I took a number of turns leaving the 4-lane, and  navigating traffic circles onto a series of secondary highways, I eventually rolled into the town of Carlow and eventually found metered parking near the town center. After getting help from a passerby on how to operating the parking meter system, I walked two blocks to the building that housed both the library, tourism and traveler information center, area museum and historical society.  It was 11:30 AM Ireland Time.  What time in Wisconsin?  (6:30 AM)

Running on the Manic Energy of Jet-Lag

In the library, I told a librarian I was looking for ancestry-related info.  Oh yes, she brought forth a lady named Deidre who brought me thru security doors and up some stairs and introduced me to two gentlemen seated in the research section.  I started chattering away with Chris and Owen, telling them about my search for info on relatives in Marley in the area of St. Mullins at the south end of Carlow County.  

Chris and Owen

We were soon yapping away and exchanging stories and jokes unrelated to my quest.  Just getting into the habit of Irish chatter is so much fun and feeling a bit manic from the jetlag, I'm in full throttle!  Joking back and forth.  But Christopher Powers did some checking and came up with a link to digitized birth and marriage records for St. Mullins.  He was surprised at what he found.  He explained to me that usually there are not some records available from that period.  Frankly, he said, the Irish peasants were usually illiterate and only the priest could read and write.  So small parish records were typically haphazard or non-existent.  

He also suggested and wrote down names of several people whom I would want to contact when I get down in the St. Mullins area.  I stepped downstairs  and thru the library to get some change to feed the parking meter.  Mary, at the Visitor Information desk suggested where I could break a 50 Euro Note.  As I was talking with her I glanced down and saw a box on her desk with "Eileen O'Rourke" written on the top!  It turns out that Eileen is the head of the Carlow County Tourism Board and Mary's boss.   Eileen's O'Rourke relatives are from St. Mullins!  Holy Smokes!

Out of the Corner of My Eye, I Caught This!

Eileen O'Rourke From Her Linkedin Page

We chatted a while and she is a bit shocked that we might be related. She has a 95 year old mother living in New Ross and will talk with her this weekend to glean any info.  We exchange emails and I get her phone #.  A lot  was drawn in these first few hours in Carlow Town.   

A Nice Map of County Carlow.  St. Mullins is at the Bottom

Back in the Automobile, I headed down to the bottom of the county where St. Mullins is located along the Barrow River.  Just to the west is Couny Kilkenny and to the east is County Wexford.

When I arrived at St. Mullins, I found it to be little more than perhaps 10 houses and a pub at a fork in the road.  The main feature is the ancient, ruined abbey and the adjacent burial ground.

But appearances are deceiving.  At various times over the last 1000 years, this would have been a busy place.  The Abbey was founded in the 7th Century and was the focus of a regional pilgrimage (still happens each year) for the area Irish.  A Wikipedia Article on the subject is Here.  

The Vikings came up the Barrow River and did raids in the area and then took over parts of the area. The ocean tides come up the river as far as here.   In 917 there was major battle here between high Irish King of Leinster and the major Viking group out of Dublin.  This was the Battle of Confey.   My understanding the the Vikings who settled around Dublin were from Denmark.  The Vikings who came up the Shannon River and took over the area around Limerick were from the fjords of Norway.  

General Schematic of the St. Mullins Abby Footprint

I did not want to spend the time walking over the burial grounds this late afternoon.  But I wanted to have the "Lay of the Land" in my mind and so did briefly got out of the car and looked it over.  

St Mullins Abby Ruins  and Burial Grounds (with old Protestant Church to the left)

I drove north a few miles to the town of Graiguenamanagh and found the Brandon Hill Campground.  There, I met Ken Walsh, the owner, who was most accommodative and showed me where I could set up my little tent.  It was early in the season and still very cool and so I was the only camper.  Ken's trying to market to the "Glamping" (Glamorous Camping) segment of the camping market.  There was a self-catering kitchen area and lounge, showers and toilets.  For €15 it was a good deal!  I drove down the hill to the nearby ALDI, picked up some microwaveable groceries and came back "Home" for the night, set up the tent, had dinner and then crawled into the tent and collapsed, sleeping for nearly 12 hours!  Good Night!

Wednesday the 19th

I have three different tents back home.  Since I wasn't certain I would even need one, I brought the smallest, a little Kelty tent which is good for shelter but is a bit tight and impossible to sit up in.  I compare it to a large bizy sac with a larger hoop frame at the front and a minimal hoop at the foot end  Additionally, I skimped on pillows when I was packing which I have subsequently regretted.  I had a couple tiny bits of foam for my head and supplemented these with bunched up clothing.  The mattresses were fine (two ThermoRests).  My MountainGear lightweight goose down sleeping bag keeps me warm. But the temps this April in Ireland turn out to be unseasonable cool.  High 30s to low 40s F at night.  So I had to be zipped up securely.  

Nevertheless, I slept hard this first night, recovering from the shift in time zones.  I probably could have slept on cold cement! 

After making a breakfast and taking a shower, I sealed up the tent and got in the car and headed down to St. Mullins to take a walk and look at the Abbey ruins and burial grounds. 

    I pulled up to the front wall of the burial grounds and got out and heard the sound of what were weedwhips.  There was a crew of three guys out in among the tombstones, trimming the tufts of grass.  The burial grounds in Ireland are haphazard with one plot crowding up on the other.  They are all shoehorned in.  Quite a quaint mess.  There is little semblance of a grid and so using any sort of push mower would be impossible.  I'm guessing that in the old days sheep kept it trimmed. I greeting the guys with a wave and a hello and then started walking back to the ruins.  

Consecrated Chaos

Round Tower Foundation

The Abbey had been a collection of buildings at one time.  Not, there are a 5-6 roofless remains.  Also, there is a massive foundation of what was once a "Round Tower".  The Round Towers of Ireland

were used both for bell towers and also as a form of protection for the important relics and other valuable items of the Abbeys.  Typically, there was an entrance door 14+ feet above the ground.  If raiders including the Vikings, were approaching the Abbey, the brothers could climb the ladder and pull it up after them.  A stout door with a series of braces, would keep the door sealed against any attacker.  

Round Tower Schematic

As I walked over the grounds of the Abbey, I meditated how my ancient ancestors might have been involved in construction, moving of stones and earth in the specific place.  

Old Worship Interior

I quietly walked about the ruins and took photos. Periodically I would pause and gaze at the rock walls and meditate.  Then I'd take another 20 paces and stop and consider from another angle.  

    One area I did not spend much time in was the burial yard.  The tombstones there were generally no more than 150 years old.  The older ones were almost impossible to read, having been worn away by weathering and time.  In any case, our O'Rourke ancestors were poor tenant farmers and would not have been able to afford headstones.  So, I had no hope of finding them here.  

Old Protestant Church

There is one intact building attached to the ruins. This is an old abandoned Protestant church, Church of Ireland, of more recent vintage (200 years old?)  It is now used by the local St. Mullins Historical Society and was locked up when I tried the door.

Coming to the front of the burial grounds, I asked one of the workers if he was from these neighborhood.  Yes, he was. His name was Michael Deegan.  Michael, do you know where I could find John Curran?  Absolutely!  He gave me directions in how to drive northeast and thru the down of Glynn (where he lived) and to go a little further and take a right turn on a side road.  Thanks!

I believe I was told by another family historian that a sister of my 4x great grandfather, Michael O'Rourke, had married a Curran man. The Currans live near where the O'Rourkes tilled the soil.  I had been given an email a month back and made inquiry and had been told that I could come and the Currans. John, the father, would be willing to meet and perhaps show me where things were centuries ago.

Back in the car, I drove on the winding roads up to and thru the town of Glynn.  A bit beyond I took a turn onto a smaller road and after climbing several hills and getting to a higher ridge, I stopped at a dairy farm.  They I met Noel and she told me where the Currans live (I'd passed the driveway a little ways back).  

Noel and I talked Dairy Farming a bit.  I have a dairy background and milked many cows as well as worked in the industry.  So I can "Talk The Talk" and relate to farmers well.

Noel Murphy and Her "Nippy" Dog (muzzled)

The Murphy's Milking Parlor

I asked her a number of questions about the family farm and she gave me a bit of a tour.  The double-eight milking parlor was very nice and I was much admiring of the layout.  

After leaving Noel, I drove back to the Currans and me John's wife, Geraldine.  John was at work but we made arrangements for me to come back at 7:00 in the evening.

The River Barrow

After returning from my drive up the find the Currans,  I headed back down to St. Mullins and thought I would go down to see the River Barrow.

The Barrow is a major part of this region and it's history. The Barrow is the 2nd longest river in Ireland after the Shannon. For over a millennium people rowed or sailed their boats up the river with the tide, trading, moving grain, wool, commodities.  The Vikings would come up the river on raiding expeditions.  A while before 1800 a Canal Company Was Established so that barges could pass by shallows and rapids and move commodities further up and down the valley.  St. Mullins Lock was the first lock above the tidal surge.  -

Around 11:00 AM I parked the car along the River, got out and took a look up and down the valley.  I had passed some old buildings that had been refurbished and fancied up with decorations, picnic tables under awnings. Obviously, a place to get a meal.  Also, I could see 'put-ins' for canoes, kayaks and small motor boats.  

The Mullichain Cafe

I saw a gentleman walking nearby as I headed for a side door.  "Going in the kitchen entrance?" He asked.  I laughed and said it's the only way to go, like a scene out of Good Fellows.  He laughed as we both walked thru the kitchen.  At the counter I met a younger man.  Mark.  And then I found out the older gentleman was his father, Martin O'Brien.  They owned this building, an old multi-story warehouse from the 1800s.  

Soon I was sitting with Martin, having lunch and chatting for the next 90 minutes.  The O'Brien's were an intelligent crew.  Dad had been the Irish sales manager for a German Pharmacutical company and had a long and successful career.  But he was also an avid canoeist and used to take groups of working class kids from Dublin on trips all over Ireland.  We talked about outdoor activities, business, politics and history.  What a great time!  I also met Martin's wife Emer, an intelligent and attractive lady. 

Martin and Emer O'Brien with their Slovakian Waitress

After sharing the meal with Martin and Emer, I stepped outside and took a walk up and down the river.  I saw the first lock and passed by a number of personal boats in tied up to the river bank.    It is my understanding from Mark O'Brien that you can rent a barge type boat and travel Ireland including the Barrow.  If I remember correctly, the Barrow has over 25 locks.

Canal Locks on the Barrow

Locks on the Barrow

After walking along the river, I called Mary O'Neill.  Her name had been suggested to me by the folks at the Carlow Historical Society. She's the local history expert and for years ran the St. Mullins Heritage Center.  She (and her father before) were in charge of the burial grounds and she has been the "Go To" person for the the history of local people. She answered the phone and we chatted briefly and set an appointment to meet at 5:00 in the afternoon.  I also had the appointment to meet the John Curran at his home but figured Mary and I would be able to cover things in not more than an hour.

St. Mullins Holy Well

I drove up the hill from the river and looked for the Holy Well of St. Mullins  and found it up.   This site had been a place of pilgrimage since medieval times and the well is still venerated for its powers of Healing.  Friar Clyn, the Kilkenny chronicler reported that in 1349, while the Black Death was raging in the area, thousands of people made the pilgrimage to wade in the water of the well. There were several inlets, plus alcoves with votive offerings, prayer beads, photos of the afflicted or dead loved ones  A place for prayer and supplication.

After visiting the well, I traced the waters running downstream into the medieval millrace.  The Abbey used to have a mill here.  Subsequent millers down the stream also ground grain into flour.  Eventually, these waters in the millrace flowed into the Barrow.

Driving back up to a house next to the pub, I found Mary O'Neill and we spent a pleasant hour in conversation.  This chat was begun in her living room where she explained how she had unearthed the old parish records for St. Mullins and that these were indexed and collated into a book.  There had been a grant from the council that paid for young people to laboriously read thru each page for both baptisms, marriages and deaths. These were then indexed by names.  This was the record that Christopher Power had referred to when I met him at Carlow Historical Society.

Mary O'Neill at the Picnic Table

Mary and I left her place and drove 200 yards back up to the burial grounds and we sat at the picnic table and talked some more.  While she has no children of her own, she has a number of nieces and nephews here in St. Mullins.  One lives within 100 feet of the burial grounds. This historical effort has been a multi-generational effort and will continue on after Mary is gone.  

We rose from the picnic table and walked amongst the graves.  Mary and I held hands to steady one another as we navigated.  She knows of my O'Rourke ancestry and told me that while there were no old O'Rourke headstones from 200 years ago, she pointed out several more recent ones.

One of the O'Rourke's Who Stayed

Mary also showed me the Penal Altar that was used in those earlier times when under the Penal Laws it was illegal for Catholics to worship and have mass.  Penal alters were a way to have clandestine worship up on the top of hills or in burial yards where they were able to see a column of British Troopers coming. She pointed out the peep hole in the back of the altar alcove where a lookout could keep an eye peeled for anyone on the road. 

Mary and Penal Altar

Imagined Mass at the Altar

I asked Mary about the local landlord.  The family was the Kavanaugh's and were generally respected. During Penal Law Times Thomas Kavanagh had converted from Catholicism to the Church of Ireland (Protestant) in order to be able to maintain his position to own land within the British legal system.  Some locals thought he had traded his soul for property.  But that was a bit much.  He just wanted to keep his family heritage. He was a reasonable landlord and would adjust rents downward for families in serious distress.  When the famine was at it's worse, he would give families  £5 so that they could book passage on a ship for the entire group to emigrate to America. This was a lot of money back then. Some commentators were cynical and said that this was a way Kavanagh to clear the land of unwanted passage.  But this is not really true. The landlords could have just evicted the tenants who could not pay their rents (as many did) and drive them out onto the road and into the poorhouse, where many would have died from starvation and disease.  But the Kavanaghs did not. It is complicated and all were under stresses.  Not all landlords were bloodsucking parasites.

Arthur Kavanagh, "The Cripple"

Mary also told me about the son of Thomas, Arthur Kavangh who was called "The Cripple" because he was born without arms nor legs.  In spite of this, his mother refused to let him not live up to his potential.  He was taught to read and write and eventually was able to ride in a basket on top of a horse! Later artificial limbs were made that allowed him to do more that just sit.  His two older brothers died and so he eventually became the Lord of the Manor.  He would ride his horse over his holdings and visit his tenants and eventually was elected to the British House of Commons where he was an advocate for land reform for Irish farmers, allowing them to purchase the land that they tilled.  Out of curiosity I asked Mary if Arthur had any children. Yes, six children!  Really!?  "Apparently he wasn't lacking all his appendages!" Mary wryly remarked.  Apparently, he made productive use of it.  Amazing!

Mary is a wealth of knowledge about the local lore and I listened attentively to her.  I told her that this work she has done is a wonderful testimony of intergenerational love and commitment.  I'll have to come back with a contribution to her St. Mullins project...

Around 6:40 I left Mary and got in the Clio and drove back thru Glynn and up to the Currans.  There I met John and Geraldine.  Soon we were sitting in their kitchen.  They recalled their times with Linda, the American lady whom my daughter and I have met on the internet and by phone conversation.  Linda, and her Aunt Jane before her, had done extensive research in our O'Rourke line.  Their people had left Wisconsin and moved out to the remote panhandle of Nebraska where they established themselves as pioneer farmers/cowboys.   So there was a major physical separation between the branches of the families.  But we shared our origins in this southern part of County Carlow.

The connection with the Curran's is that one of the O'Rourke sisters who stayed behind in Ireland married a Curran.  So, John and Mary and I are sort of 'inlaws'.  

I explained to John and Geraldine the connection to Linda and her family group and that I was looking to see where the O'Rourke's had tilled the soil in the 1700's.  While we were chatting, John's sister, Mary, showed up as well as the son, Jim.  We all we soon chatting away like the long lost family that we were.  John is a professional plasterer and he showed me some of the work he had done both on the exterior and interior of his home.  He's a true Artisan and I admired the patterned strokes he had done on his living room ceiling.  Jim works for a company that applies laminate surfaces to specialized wood components and showed me a sample of their products.  The firm he works for has about a 40 person staff and their work is somewhat high tech.

Some of John's Plastering Handiwork

Mary and John and I went for a drive in the evening twilight. They brought me back up to near where Noel Murphy and their family have their dairy farm. Near there they pulled over to the side of the road and got out and we looked around. They pointed to the north side of the road. At one time there was a line of 6-7 stone cottages and the O'Rourke's were there.  The cottages are long gone but I looked at the stone wall along the road and thought that probably some of the stones in the wall had originally been parts of the cottages.  The spot was on a ridge that the road followed and I could see that O'Rourke's had a nice view of the surrounding hills. I paused for a moment and turned about and took in the panorama.

Former Site of the O'Rourke Cottages.....
A Lovely View

Mary and John wanted to go back to the burial ground to show me a couple headstones of family so we drove back down to St. Mullins.  We were soon stumbling about  the irregular ground in the dark with flashlights.  I was a bit confused at this point as to connections with the names on the tombstones but I took a number of photos do document these so I could perhaps figure it all out later.  I am grateful for the kindness and generosity of both Mary and John as well as previously of Mary O'Neill.  Sweet Souls!

Mary and John Showing Tombstone Details

John, Myself and Mary

After saying goodbye to the Curran's, I took a night time drive back to my campsite, a drive of perhaps 7 miles.  I was soon in my tent and tucked in for the night after a long day.

Thursday, April 20th

In the morning I heard the crunch of wheels on the driveway near the tent.  The vehicle stopped.  I unzipped the tent entrance and the exterior fly and looked out.  It was John Curran!  He was going to work but he wanted to see my tent setup.  I was surprised but pleased and soon was out of the tent and showed him how small the tent was but that the mattresses were thick and the bedding warm. He was impressed.  We also talked about an interest he has in big Trucks.  18-wheeler types.  In his car he had bound notebooks with laminated sheets of various types of trucks.  John was an obvious enthusiast!  I appreciated his interest in my setup and we both took some photos.

John Curran and My Lodgings

After John departed for his work, I made myself some breakfast.  Then I headed off to Glynn.  I had made an appointment with Father Aughney.  The Reverent has been the local priest for over 30 years.  I pulled up to the parsonage south of Glynn and was greeted by Father Aughney and we sat down in his booklined study and spent an hour in conversation.  He had one of the three copies of Mary O'Neil's book and I looked briefly at it and photographed the 4 pages of indexed O'Rourke records.  It might be handy later.

    Otherwise, the Father and I talked generally about family's seeking their roots and how sometimes the emotional reactions can be overwhelming for some of the folks who discover connections back in Ireland.  The Father told me of one instance over 30 years ago when he answered a written request from Australia.  He had dug up baptismal records from the early 1800s, wrote out a certificate of this and mailed it back to Australia.  Less than two months later an automobile pulled up to his office and out stepped 3 people.  When they had gotten the certificate, they were compelled to book a flight to Ireland to see where they were from.

    The man talked to the Father and then started to weep.  He said when he received the baptismal record, he was overwhelmed.  He said he was so relieved that his family had a hope back then and were not itinerants!  He felt like he was coming home!  A very touching and poignant story.

Father Aughney of the Parish of Glynn

I thanked Father Aughney for his time and then departed, heading north.  I decided that I would like to see the Kavanagh "Big House" in Boris.  This was the seat of the family for generations.  There had been a previous castle there and then apparently this had been reworked in the early 1700s into a more 'Modern' family home.

At the town of Boris I saw a large stone estate gate house and made a left turn and drove thru. The entire estate seemed to be surrounded by tall rock walls.  There was an orange cone stranding in the entrance that seemed to indicate the estate was closed to visitors. But I shrugged this off and drove up the paved driveway to a parking area.  There I got out of the car and surveyed. This was a BIG estate with outbuildings that looked like they could accommodate 6-8 family sized apartments.

Old Staff Residences of the Estate

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The Big House and Family Chapel

I strolled around the back side of the Big House and then circled around to the front.  It was a bit of "Downton Abbey".  This can be used as a venue for weddings and receptions.  Information is Here .

After taking this in for a few minutes, I started walking across the frontal pasture and then circled to the east and with the Manor House in the distance.  I followed a farm track west, up between big old oak trees and saw another high well finished stone wall.  There was a door in a wall and I opened it and walked thru. 

The Garden Door

Within was a smaller flower garden and what at first appeared like a normal old two story farm house.with two dogs sunning themselves in front.  I talked to them and one got up and walked over to me. I leaned down and offered him the back of my hand to smell.  He gave me a sniff and then allowed me to pet him and give him a scratch behind the ear.  Then he sauntered back to his spot and lay back down.    

    I knocked on the door but there was no answer.  Then I walked back out to the garden and looked west towards the Barrow Valley and the Brandon Hill. Turning back, I saw that there was an extensive modern portion to the house with a large expanse of windows so that the occupants could admire the view.

Glassed Addition to the Farm House

I stepped back thru the door in the wall and out towards a field.  I saw a Blue tractor in the distance, dragging an implement.  I leaned against a fence post and watched the tractor moving along.  It went in one direction to the end of the field and then turned around and returned in my direction.  As it got close to the headland I could see the driver and gave him a wave and walked toward him and he slowed to a stop.  He opened the cab door and I pulled myself up the first two steps.  I reached into the cab, offering my hand which he took. A solid looking fellow with brown-gray hair and a ruddy red face.  I smiled and said, I'm sorry to bother you. I'm a trespasser the the USA! I've a farm background and have done field work and was admiring you moving along.  If I may ask, who owns this place, the county?  No, I do, he replied.  Really! How many acres. A little over 600.  Did you buy it all at once?  No, it's been in the family for years.  If I may ask, what's your name?  Kavanagh.  

I laughed and shook his hand again and said "My Lord!" My people were your tenants two hundred years ago before emigrating to North America!  Mr. Kavanagh started looked a little annoyed and said I'm sorry, but I've got to get back to work.  I smiled obligingly and thanked him for his time and lowered myself back to the ground.  As he was pulling away, I took a photo of the tractor as he left. 

The Lord Kavanagh and Tractor

It was so odd and strange to have added this "Return of the Native" experience to my explorations.  Part of me was a bit embarrassed by my boldness. A terribly, brazen American!  But I was happy to have been able to meet Mr Kavanagh and connect all these strands together in this experience.  In the first 36 hours of my visit I have been able to meet a number of people that are all connected to my family's heritage.  A most interesting journey.

With this meeting with Kavanagh I felt that I had more-or-less, pulled a meaningful measure of information and leads regarding the O'Rourke's. These I carry take back home to share with other family members.

My intention was to now drop my family history focus for a while and go for a drive.  My goal was to go back to a local library at Graiguenamanagh, do some reading, buy some groceries and then sleep one more night in my tent. I had been lucky to have avoided rain but now there was a weather prediction of impending rains in this southern portion of Ireland.  So, it is time for me to Get Out of Dodge!

Friday, April 21

I broke camp, stuffing my sleeping bag, mattresses and tent back in their  stuff bags and headed south for New Ross in County Wexford.  Rains are predicted and I knew I'd have to think about alternative lodging for the next couple days.  I thought perhaps I'd be able to find some hostels in New Ross.

Several folks had recommended the "Famine Ship" in New Ross.  I was a bit hesitant about this since I have a pretty deep knowledge of those famine years.  At home in Wisconsin I have a big Irish related bookshelf and have read and covered the ground regarding the famine a number of times both in visits to Ireland as well as in my readings.  The Potato Famine was a Tragic and a major part of modern Irish history.  The population of Ireland was estimated to be nearly 9 million prior to the famine.  As a direct result, a million or more died.  There was a then a great, sustained emigration from Ireland that continued for the next century.  The Irish Diaspora was remarkable.  Ireland was the only country in western Europe that consistently lost population over the next 120 year period, bottoming out at around 2.8 million by 1961.  

    Besides the actual emigration, the structure of Irish families shifted.  Women started delaying marriage and with this, their age for 1st pregnancy.  So, rather than starting at age 19-20, they put off making babies until their late 20s or even later.  As a result, this lowered fertility rate, combined with the outflow of population contributed to the century plus demographic collapse.

The Dunbrody "Famine Ship"

In spite of my hesitation, I decided to give the Dunbrody a look, and after arriving at New Ross, I found ship and visitor center along the River Barrow.  The tide was out and I could see the mudflats along the quay.  Although the ship was in the water, I was pretty sure is was actually sitting on the mud at low tide.  I went into the visitor center and paid for my "Passage" on the ship.

Steerage Section. A Bunk for Each Family

The Dunbrody "Famine Ship" is a nicely put together exhibit with a couple reenactors portraying passengers.   The William Graves & Sons company did not run "Coffin Ships" and greater majority of passengers on their ships did arrive in the New World in good health.  But on a 7-9 week passage in steerage, sometimes on rough seas, people did die.  But the ships were well run and while steerage was cramped and very bare bones, But there was nothing new for me here.   

The one thing that comes to my mind is that my great grandparents of both sides of the family left Ireland at different times, bracketing the Famine. The O'Rourke's left Ireland around 1835, a decade prior to the Famine.  The Crotty's/Naughton's departed around 1850 after the worst killing years of 1846-48.  

Passage Booked on the Dunbrody to Savannah Georgia

There are many famine related sites and venues in Ireland.  I've visited a number of "Famine Museums".  It was a seminal event and and ongoing theme and a heartfelt narrative that they share with the visitors.  For myself, I've seen enough.

After spending about 90 minutes with the Dunbrody experience, I went back out to my car and got on the phone and called the three hostels.  But they were all either closed or changed to B&B's.  Not good.

Since I had no real further agenda for this area, I paused to consider.  I still wanted to do some basic investigations of the Crotty group whose origin was the western County of Clare.  So, I was bound to go west anyway.  I have visited Dingle in Country Kerry on several previous bike tours such as my Dawdling In Dingle bike tour in 2015.  Familiar ground. I know the "Lay of the Land" and am somewhat invested in that place.  So, after drawing a blank on finding a hostel in New Ross, I thought I'd just drive to Dingle which is just south of County Clare.  I made a call to a familiar hostel, The Rainbow.  Yes, I could get a room but they didn't have dorms anymore, just private rooms.  Essentially, a B&B with a self-catering kitchen. I sighed but went ahead and signed up for a €60 room and knew that I had a place to stay for the night.

Slea Head on the Dingle Peninsula, 2015

I am not in Ireland to view the sites. I've been here 7-8 times and have enjoyed the place and the people. But my main goal here is to be away from Wisconsin for two weeks (!?) and do the family history project.  Not to sightsee.  So, I spent the late morning and much of the afternoon, following the directions of my GPS, working my way across Ireland.  This was about 170 miles (270 kilometers) to 

Arriving in Dingle, I checked into the Rainbow. At least it was a familiar place. I was glad to be here in Dingle where I know where the Lidl Store is, the ATM at Supervalue, the roundabouts.  Not home but good enough.

So, a fairly eventful day but a shift from County Carlow.  

Saturday, April 22

The next morning I headed over to the Rainbow's self-catering kitchen and had breakfast.  Down at the end of the table was a German speaking father and daughter.  He looked to me in his mid 50s and her around 20.  We had a nice chat.  They were Swiss.  Peter and Lucy.  A very nice pair on holiday.  Ultimately, I invited Peter to come over to the midwest and visit me and I'd be glad to show him around.  I'm like that.  I've invited the Currans, Eileen O'Rourke and others.  I love guest and I know that I can provide them an experience they would not get if they took a tour bus!  

Father and Daughter on Holiday

I checked out of the Rainbow, got in the car and drove down to the local Lidl grocery store.  While there I heard in the distance the sound of an auctioner's bit-calling patter.  Looking to the west I saw a parking lot  trucks with livestock trailers.  Probably a weekly, local Saturday morning auction.  I drove around the corner and entered the auction barn parking lot, got out and walked up into the Dingle Co-op Livestock Mart barn and thru a series of stock gates. In the large barn there were scores of pens and an assortment of sheep and cattle in some of them.  I found the auction ring and the the familiar scene of stockmen leaning over the rails, watching the animals coming in, being walked around a little as bits were put in against the called price.  Sold!  Then out they'd go and another lot of sheep or cattle would come thru.  I climbed up to the top bleachers so I could have a good view, took some photos, and listened to the Irish Auctioner doing his call.  Familiar and yet different.  I remember visiting a cattle auction in Cashel years ago.  I remember some there saying they had a continuous weekly livestock auction there for over a thousand years!   That sort of continuity of a community impressed me.

The Dingle Livestock Auction Ring

After the auction, I drove out to the west of town and off a familiar country road to Broigin B&B.  While I have never been one for B&B's, this is the exception.  Johnjoe and Ann Curran are here. They had a dairy farm and raised 11 children and originally did the B&B in their home as well, for supplement income.  But nearly 40 years they built a separate building and moved the B&B business there.  When I showed up here in March, in the year 2000, they were still milking cows.  I remember the distant drone of the vacuum pump during the morning and evening milking.

    Any place that had an real agricultural connection always has a special attraction to me.  I've a degree in Ag and have milked cows, raised sheep (and lots of lambs) and run farm equipment.  This was a long time ago in my life but I always have an affinity for smaller farm operations and the challenges that come with it.  Weather, sick animals, mud and shit and urine.  Fences to built and maintained. Market prices to be paid attention to.  Lot's of "Moving Parts".  

Although I hadn't seen Anne for 8+ years, She immediately called me out by name and gave me a hearty hug!  It felt a little bit like coming home. Anne and I made arrangements for me to stay two nights in a cozy upstairs room with a toilet, shower and a lovely little writing desk.  This so I could write down my notes regarding the ancestral investigations.  Thanks Anne!

Anne and Daughter in 2015

I feel very kindred feelings for this particular Curran family.  I've met several of the children over the years and have a little more than a passing interest.  In previous years in discussion, Anne and I realized we were nearly identical in age, having been born within weeks of oneanother.  "Same Make, Same Model!" she had said.  We both were blonde and could have passed for siblings which made me smile.  As a boarder, my involvement in their family is very tangential.  Nevertheless I deeply appreciate being recalled warmly and have a feeling of connection.

Later, after getting settled in, I went outdoors and ended up chatting with son, Robert.  The last time I visited, he and his family were living in Australia, employed in construction.  Now, he lives in Ennis and is involved in modular construction for homes, hotels, student accommodations, with a firm named LMC Modular.  A very intelligent guy, Robert is.  This weekend he was visiting and here to help put down new gravel on the driveway and apron. I took a photo of him with the old diesel tractor which still has plenty of life in it although it shows the wear of age (like we all do after decades of hard use!)

Robert Curran and the Family Tractor

Anne had a mask since she was nursing a serious cold and did not want to pass it on.  So while I got the good initial hug, we had to keep back from one another.  Also, Johnjoe was seriously sick and so the family was understandably keeping low.  As I wrote before, I am not in sightseeing mode on this trip and so while Dingle is spectacular, other than taking some local hikes, I am staying close to 'home'.  Below are a few photos from the subsequent couple of days.

My Small But Perfect Bedroom
(With ensuite Toilet and Shower)

Dining Room Wall

Eask Tower on Carhoo Hill

Theresa's Family Owns the Land
€3 Charge to Cross Their Farm

Looking North To the Harbor and Dingle Town

Eask Tower
(Built During the Famine)

Looking Out to Sea

Monday, April 24

Anne's cold was clearing up and she was feeling better and we gave one other a deep hug.  I told her and she and any of her family would like to come and be given a tour of the small town and rural USA, to let me know.  I would be so pleased to sees them again.  

From Broigan, I drove east thru Dingle and up Connor Pass.  At the top of the pass I stopped and took a photo of this lovely, windswept panorama and then headed east.  My destination was County Clare  that sits north, across the Shannon River estuary from County Kerry. There I had intentions to investigate more family origins. 

Looking North From Connor Pass