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.