"...to seek and to find the past, a lineage, a history, a family built on a flesh and bone foundation."

Monday, December 31, 2012

The 525,600 minutes of 2012: A season of love, loss and family history

'Seasons of Love', from the broadway play 'Rent', is one of my favourite songs, and as I began to reflect on the passages of the last year, this beautiful song was playing in my mind.  The year 2012 is not one I would care to repeat for so many reasons; however, within the 525, 600 minutes of this particular year, in addition to the darkness which fell upon us, there was also light. There were positive lessons learned, and insights about love within a family, and loss, as well as about family history, and the importance of celebrating all of the 'seasons' of life.

In part, the lyrics of the song 'Seasons of Love' read,

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand journeys to plan
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?

In truths that she learned
Or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned
Or the way that she died

It's time now, to sing out
Though the story never ends
Let's celebrate
Remember a year in the life of friends


The first time I saw the play Rent was in 2001, in New York City, just nineteen days after the terrible day on which the planes struck the twin towers.  We were in the old Nederlander Theatre down on West 41st Street — with almost a full house — and everyone in the audience and on stage seemed to be filled with the desire to embrace life.  During the encore all those in the audience were on their feet.  Through tears, and singing as loudly as we could, audience and cast were joined in unison belting out the song.  It was a life affirming moment I will never forget.  It taught me that no matter how dark life gets, it must be celebrated by those of us who remain.

So... as I thought about this past year, I realized it is possible to remember the bright moments which came along with the very dark.

Although January of 2012 ended with a diagnosis of terminal cancer for our beloved dog Sarah, we had her with us for nine weeks after her diagnosis.  It gave us the time to truly appreciate Sarah and care for her in her last days, recognizing the light she brought into our lives. We had just over five years with our girl, and during that time she brought us more joy than we might have had if we'd been given five and twenty years, instead of just five.  Losing Sarah in April made me realize how precious are all the creatures of this earth, no matter how great or small, and made me truly grateful that we have her little brother Ulee who is a bright spark of joy in our lives each and every day.

Springtime was further darkened by the loss of my mom, but there was light in the fact that we were able to let Mom know what she meant to us just before she died in May.  In the hours before my mom fell into the deep sleep that is death, I leaned down, embraced my mother, looked into her eyes and said, 'I love you Mom', and my mom responded in kind.  Mine was not the type of family in which we often said such things to one another. When I was growing up, parents and children had their roles to play, and you just got on with it.  When my mom was dying it was as though I finally 'got it', unlike when I lost my dad.

I did not properly say goodbye to my dad because I think a part of me did not believe he would actually die, so I was more concerned about making sure his oxygen mask was on properly, and the butterfly bandages which delivered morphine stayed in place.  The madness of those last moments, before Dad fell into his quiet sleep, leave a heartbreak which will never heal, but when my mom closed her eyes for the very last time, I was caressing her forehead and stroking her arm, telling her she was truly loved.

This year, in addition to looking inside libraries and archives for the history of my family, I looked outside, watched real life unfold, and wrote about what I observed.  In the summertime I saw something in my older brother Mike which I had never before recognized, and I learned many life lessons from him, and the way in which he dealt with the death of his closest friend, Charlie.

One day in June brought with it a lovely surprise when this blog was named as one of Family Tree Magazine's Top 40 International Blogs. That very morning over coffee I had been telling my husband that I desperately needed something good to happen, anything good, and then it did.

September brought me back to Ireland again, but it felt so different this time. My observations were made with eyes that were opened wide. I watched faces and looked at places as though I had never before seen them, and would never again set eyes on them. Less time was spent in graveyards, and more time in the company of family. The flood gate holding back previously unasked questions burst open wide, and I allowed myself to be like an inquisitive seven year old who never stops asking why.

There have been far too many emotional bumps along the way this year, but we are still here, blessed with life and love, and a passion for living which beats so very strong within our hearts.  So too, gratitude is here.  Like an umbrella over all of life's blessings is the gratitude I feel for my own place in this world, and the thankfulness I feel toward each one of you for allowing me to share my journey with you. Thank You!

As we look forward to the new year, I wish for each one of you much love in your life and many blessings along the way, including many family history finds. May this world delight you each time you open your eyes to it, and may you always find some light within any darkness you might face.

It's time now, to sing out

Though the story never ends

Let's celebrate...


Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Wordless Wednesday, almost: On the train, Irish streetscapes and seascapes

With the shutter of my camera sometimes clicking away at full bore, I love to take the train in Ireland. It offers the chance to just observe and contemplate, without the worry of dodging cars while on a bicycle, or avoiding pedestrians while driving a car. I like to daydream about what life was like way back in time, and sometimes imagine my ancestors riding in a 'big iron horse'. As their train steamed through the city or the countryside, perhaps travelling along the same routes as me, did they ever think about those who came before them?

At Pearse Street Station, as the train enters the terminal.
Croke Park and a full house for the GAA Hurling Final.
Hello down there.
Just over the rail bridge, the Custom House
Just under an old fashioned bridge which takes you over the tracks.
Flying past walls of green...
...and walls of stone.
Dublin Bay at low tide
Stopping at Dún Laoghaire in a sec.
There it is.
Ah, the sea.
Bray Station 1854, now called Bray Daly Station.
The train waiting at Bray Daly to set on its way back to Dublin.
Copyright©irisheyesjg2012. All Rights Reserved.
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Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Wordless Wednesday: The Spirit of Dublin

The ever present flower ladies
'Living Statues' busking on Grafton Street
There is always plenty of live music on show.
Tourist travel options: the old and the new
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Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.

Friday, November 16, 2012

Small Lives: Photographs of Irish Childhood 1860-1970: Book Review

This extraordinary book, edited by Aoife O'Connor features photographs drawn from an exhibition curated by her, and presented in the National Photographic Archive of the National Library of Ireland (NLI). The book takes us on a journey through one hundred and ten years of photographs chosen from collections held by the NLI, and includes many images previously unpublished.

Children from all walks of life are featured, in images showing them at work, at play, or at prayer. O'Connor juxtaposes images of children from the highest ranks of privilege with those fated to the lowest rungs of poverty, giving us insight into the very different kinds of lives lived by these little ones. Particularly moving is an image of children in the workhouse. The filthy conditions and desperate faces stand in marked contrast to the calm repose of wealthy children pictured on the very next page of the book. In their lace trimmed clothing, seated in a garden for a family portrait, they look as though they haven't a care in the world.

Some of the photographs in the book were taken in studios, while others are candid shots. Both methods of presentation offer insight into the way in which children have been perceived and presented in Ireland over the course of these one hundred and ten years. I highly recommend this beautiful book.

Check out a collection of 'Small Lives' images on the National Library of Ireland Flickr page to view a sampling of the sort of photographs featured in the book.

Consider putting together a 'Small Lives' exhibit of those on your own family tree. Here is a collage of a few images of little ones from my family tree, along with an early photograph of yours truly.


Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.
Click on images to view larger versions.

Monday, October 29, 2012

New Pages: 'Civil Registration Districts' + 'Geographical & Political Designations'

Today, I am adding two more pages to this blog, pages which I hope will prove helpful with respect to your Irish family history research.

The page entitled 'Civil Registration Districts' is quite simply the list issued by the General Register Office, a list which offers a complete enumeration of the civil registration districts covered in the Birth, Marriage, and Death registers of the GRO.

The page entitled 'Geographical & Political Designations' is offered for purposes of clarification, and when you take a look at it you will fully understand what I mean. Recently, a friend of mine travelling around the southwest coast of Ireland risked a pummelling in a small country pub when he referred to the Irish as British. Although you may never find yourself in such a spot, it is always good to have an understanding of the difference between geographical and political designations with respect to Ireland. Knowledge of these designations is very helpful in terms of family history research, since you may encounter them on various documents in the search for your Irish ancestors.

As always, continued good luck to you with your research.

Cheers,
Jennifer

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Heading Home

In the west country, looking out the window on the train from Dublin
Tonight I am flying out to Ireland, leaving on a seven o'clock flight. Over the last while, plans which were so easy to put in place have been switched up by the living and the dying sides of life, but now everything is set and I am ready to go.

As I write this, I reflect upon how much life has changed since I travelled to Ireland last August, and how much my family has lost this year. We have spent far too much time standing by the bedside of someone we love, counting down to that last breath of life which tells us we are being left behind.

On the corner of my desk one of my mom's favorite scarves envelopes the red tennis ball that our sweet Sarah used to love to chase. Next to it sit two sets of rosary beads, one I brought from Ireland for my mom years ago, and one I held as a seven year old making my first holy communion. It is a little tableau of life which once was, and is no more.

Croagh Patrick: St. Patrick's Mountain, County Mayo
Sometimes it seems as though none of this matters. It seems as though it is all so much fluff, something to distract us from the end which awaits us. I find myself wondering, what is it we are looking for when we go in search of our ancestors?

I believe we are searching for ourselves among the ruins of old homesteads and piles of documentary evidence. We are searching for that marker which says, 'yes', your people have been planted on this earth for a very long time, they mattered and you matter now.

In the film The Hours, when asked why someone has to die in her novel 'Mrs. Dalloway', Virginia Woolf (as portrayed by Nicole Kidman) replies, 'In order that the rest of us might value life more'.



Are those of us who have been left behind valuing our lives more? Are we living the way we want to live, and doing what we want to do? Are we doing our level best to seek and to find, and to hold in remembrance those who have gone before us?
Yes, all serious questions, but worth contemplating I believe.

Some of you have entrusted me with the task of finding some things for you on this trip, and I want to sincerely thank you for your faith in me. I will do my best.

In return I ask that you take the time now to engage in a random act of kindness, genealogical or otherwise. If you are able, offer to help out someone who has sought help. Perhaps they are struggling with their research, or things just aren't clicking for them, and you could be the difference for them. Maybe they write a blog and just need a little encouragement.

Dublin City
Perhaps you have an ancestor in mind who has been forgotten up to this point in time. Remember them. Write down their story and then tell that story to the world. The story does not have to involve wealth, fame or feats of daring do. Sometimes you will find the greatest heroism in the ordinary family life of people who survived, despite grinding poverty. The history books will not bear their names, that is why it is up to you to tell their story.

Life isn't perfect. No matter how great someone's life might seem from the outside, little do we know how it looks from the inside. We all face challenges, and we only have each other, so add a little encouragement along the way.




Value your life more.

Until we meet again.

Cheers,
Jennifer
The Long Walk, Mount Jerome Cemetery, Harold's Cross, Dublin.

Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.
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Monday, September 10, 2012

Hanna Mordaunt: 'An angel bright, on earth too good to stay'

Hanna (left) and her sister Rita in the Spring of 1949,
just a few months before her death.
When I was growing up I was always struck by the fact that my mother had very few close friends. In particular I wondered why Mom had no female friend to whom she was especially close, and in whom she could confide her hopes and dreams, her troubles and doubts. Over time I discovered there had been a very close friend in Ireland, Hanna Mordaunt, a young woman lost to my mother, and to her own family, at a time when a young woman should be going to dances, and strolling along on the arm of a favored young man.

They say that when someone experiences the tragic loss of a very close friend, he or she may be more cautious, whether consciously or subconsciously, about once again forming those very deep bonds which define true friendship. In her childhood and youth, too often my mother stood by the bedside of someone she loved, watching the light of life disappear, knowing that once again she was left behind. From my own experience of such loss, I can now understand my mother's tendency to keep people at arm's length.

The loss of Hanna had a profound effect on my mother. Although Mom rarely spoke of her friend, she did tell me the story of Hanna dying at Lourdes, France. Within the collection of photographs and ephemera which my mother kept, there are brief glimpses of this friend from long ago.

In the summer of 1928, Hanna Mordaunt was born into a family which would grow to include at least two other daughters. She grew up on Cambridge Street in Ringsend, Dublin. Her home was over a bridge, and just a few blocks away, from the home in which my mother lived on Gordon Street. Hanna was three years older than my mom, so I do not know if they knew each at school, or if they met after leaving school.

As the story goes, Hanna was a deeply religious young woman. In 1949 she went to Lourdes on a pilgrimage because she was critically ill. Hanna did not expect to be cured, but wanted to receive a blessing with the holy waters, and wanted to pray for the strength to accept her illness. In the fullness of her faith, Hanna believed the journey would make her feel more at ease with her impending passage into the next world.

Those who travelled to Lourdes with Hanna told of an introspective young woman who seemed content, even happy. They said that on Hanna's last day many persons who were bathed in the waters of the holy grotto said the water felt icy cold; however, when Hanna's turn came, she remarked that the water felt as warm as bath water. Hanna died, they said, within minutes of being removed from the waters. It was 13 August 1949, and Hanna Mordaunt was only twenty-one years old.

Back in Ireland, my mother Mary, then a young woman of eighteen years, waited to receive word from her dear friend, a letter or a postcard, but none ever came. Mom said she did not recall knowing her friend was dying, but if she did know, she did not believe it would come to pass. Either way Mary never again set eyes on her friend Hanna.

A few years later Mom's sister Kathleen travelled to Lourdes. Kate sent her sister Mary a postcard of the Grotto at Lourdes noting, 'You were all remembered here'. Mom recalled feeling pleased by the simple yet stark beauty of the grotto, and said it had been her hope that one day she too would travel to Lourdes to remember Hanna, but a trip to Lourdes never came to pass.

The In Memoriam Card commemorating the death of Hanna Mordaunt
One of the right hand paragraphs reads:
'God saw in her an angel bright
On earth too good to stay,
He called her to His home above
And Hanna passed away'.
The postcard from the Grotto at Lourdes, France.

Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.
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Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Who's that guy? Wednesday

Although I have titled this post 'Who's that guy', you will notice that in addition to the unidentified very serious young man, there is also a little girl in the background of the photograph. Her mischievous little smile makes me curious to know her identity.

The photo dates to either the 1930s or the 1940s, but I am uncertain of the exact date because there are a couple of contradictions at play here. First of all, Serious Young Man's hair is styled into finger waves, parted in the center and slicked down with what must have been a generous amount of pomade. This hair style was very popular with men all over Europe in the 1930s before the war.

Based on his clothing, the photo may have been taken in the 1940s after the Second World War. You will notice that his suit jacket has both pockets and flaps, something which was eliminated from clothing made during the war. With the rationing of all goods, including cloth, clothing during the war was made with as few 'extras' as possible, no pockets, no pleats, no flaps. The other possibility, of course, is that it's a very old suit made during the pre-war period of the 1930s.

The other element at play in the photograph is the chain driven tricycle which the little girl is standing on in the background. With its large wheels, fenders and chain position, the tricycle dates to the 1940s. (Thank you Tricycle Fetish)

The man in question is most likely from my mother's side of the family tree, and he may be one of the Barnwell sons. I do recall my mother telling me that the pin in his lapel is a pledge pin. To wear a pledge pin meant that the owner of the pin was a member of a Catholic organization called the Pioneer Total Abstinence Association. The pin stood as a symbol of the fact that the wearer pledged to maintain a lifelong abstinence from alcohol, as well as a devotion to the Sacred Heart. The pin also worked as a signal of sorts to remind others not to offer alcohol to the person bearing the pin.

So...I have a serious looking young man wearing a pledge pin, and a mischievous looking little girl on a tricycle.
Hmm??? Looks like it's a week for mysteries.

What do you think?


Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.
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Saturday, September 1, 2012

Life lessons from my brother

Left to right: Charlie, Mom, and Mike celebrating Hallowe'en
We seek, we search, we look in all of the libraries and archives, the places in which we know we might find the lessons of the past. However, sometimes the lessons we can learn about family are not to be found within a text or a document. The people who can teach us about who we are as human beings are standing right before us, although we may not have taken the time to learn from them.

Over the last few weeks I have learned life lessons from observing the way in which my brother has conducted himself in dealing with another loss of enormous magnitude, the loss of his closest friend Charles, 'Charlie' to all of us.

Mike is a nurse in the highly specialized field of Nephrology, the branch of medicine that deals with diseases of the kidneys. Over the course of his career he has also worked in Critical Care and Cardiology, and has seen more tragedy than most of us will ever see in a lifetime.

His closest friend had an 'episode', as Mike described it, an episode that caused stroke-like symptoms which resulted in a major bleed in the brain. Mike's closest friend, Charlie, the man who has been like an older brother to him for years, fell into a coma and never again opened his eyes.

Although I am sure he knew his best friend Mike was there for him, Charlie was not awake to see Mike at his best. He did not see Mike explaining to Charlie's sons and siblings what had happened to their father and brother. Charlie did not see Mike standing next to his bedside for all of those days, waiting and hoping. He did not see Mike answering all of the questions Charlie's family had about their loved one, all the while trying to temper their hope without destroying it.

Charlie was not awake to see Mike in 'Nurse Mike mode', as he calls it, talking to the doctors on behalf of the family. He did not see his best friend support his children, as the the life support equipment was turned off last Wednesday. Mike calmly explained to them that their dad would peacefully fall into a deep sleep, and then the endless sleep that is death. Charlie was not awake to see the courage and the strength of his closest friend, who set aside his own feelings while guiding Charlie's family through this terrible time.

128 hours after being removed from life support, Charlie died. Mike could have fallen apart. He could have folded up into his grief, but he didn't. Without deliberation, he just knew Charlie's sons needed him to be strong, needed him to help them through the rest of this terrible time.

At the funeral home, Mike was there for all of the visitation hours, over a period of two days. He was there to talk to family members and friends, to talk with them and laugh with them, and remember his beloved best friend. He moved through it all with a single-minded determination, and reminded us many times how great a friend Charlie had been to him and to our family. Although there is no bloodline to prove connection, Charlie was like a brother and a son to us.

After our mom died, Charlie took Mike on a fishing trip. Charlie was an avid sportsman who loved to fish, and although Mike had been fishing with Charlie on many other occasions, he didn't have much luck catching fish. On this last trip Mike finally caught some fish, eight in total. Little did these friends know, they would never again go on a fishing trip together.

While Charlie was a fisherman, Mike is a life long runner. Mike introduced Charlie to the sport of running, and every spring the two men travelled together to compete in races at Berwick, Pennsylvania. Laid next to Charlie in his casket are the two medals which he earned running with Mike. Next year, Mike will carry on the tradition as Charlie's eldest son, Charles Junior, will travel to Berwick with his father's best friend.

Yesterday at the funeral I stood in the church with my husband and our sister-in-law, Mike's wife, and watched as my brother rose from the pew and walked to the altar to deliver a reading chosen by the family. Mike paused next to the casket of his beloved friend. Without a hint of self-consciousness, Mike placed his hand on the casket, bent over and gently kissed it.

Mike has a form of dyslexia, which means it is difficult for him to read; however, at the funeral my brother stood on the altar of the church, and read aloud that biblical reading in a clear and measured voice, without a single awkward pause. I imagined Charlie standing next to him on that altar, saying 'You did good Mike'. I wanted to clap for my brother, and cheer out loud for both of them.

Through all of this whenever anyone has praised Mike for the way in which he has handled everything, he has dismissed the praise saying, 'It's easy to do anything for Charlie, because he is my best friend'.

Words cannot adequately express my love for my brother, and how very proud of him I feel for the way in which he has dealt with the loss of his closest friend. I have seen him weep openly, while embracing others and taking on the pain they are feeling. I have watched Mike show an extraordinary level of selflessness, and a deep compassion for the family and friends of his closest friend.

Without realizing it, Mike has conveyed life lessons in his actions, lessons about openness, selflessness, acceptance, and true compassion toward others. None of these lessons was learned in a book or at an archive. All of them are about living a good life within our human family.


Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

New Pages: Films and Latin Translations

As Autumn approaches, and the new school year gets underway, I will be adding a series of extra pages to this blog which will hopefully provide you with additional help with respect to your Irish family history research. Since there is no time like the present, to begin with today, I am adding a couple of pages which have been in abeyance for a while.

Inspired by Dick Eastman's mention of the film 'Death or Canada', I have decided now is the time to add the films page to this blog. On the page I have included links to films which detail various aspects of Irish history, as well as others which are simply to enjoy.

Also, I have added a page of translations for some of the Latin terms you might come across while doing your family history research.

I hope you enjoy the pages and find them useful.

Cheers,
Jennifer

Friday, August 24, 2012

'Our House': Saying goodbye to my childhood home

The key in the upper lock of the door stuck slightly, as it always did, before it made the clicking sound to indicate it was locked. Yesterday, I locked the door of my childhood home for the very last time. My brother and I have gathered possessions, some of the items most cherished by our parents, old photographs and the like, to remind us of what it meant to live there, to live a life as a family with our mother and our father. Childhood games were long ago set aside as each one of us moved into adulthood and away from our parents, as all children do, in order to strike out on our own, to build our own lives. When I moved away as a young adult, somehow I imagined the door with the sticky lock would always have a place in my life. The house in which I grew up would always be there waiting for me to return to it.

I know every inch of that house. I remember as a child excitedly running across the bare hardwood floors to strip the 'SOLD' sign out of the living room window, so that I could save it for all time. At first that large window was spanned by heavy brocade drapes, and the room was dressed with dark wood furniture and accented with honeyed gold paint. With changing times and tastes, the colours softened, and those drapes were replaced with an elegant symmetry of cream colour draped across that window.

With each drop of paint, every change in decor, almost every piece of furniture and light fixture, there are memories. In the dining room, each spring Mom would climb a small ladder to take down every droplet of the crystal chandelier hanging over the table, so that each piece could be cleaned. The chandelier beautifully sparkled in the early evening light after she had finished. I did not always help her to clean it, but when I did, the task was usually lightened by laughter. Sometimes we'd pretend the crystal pieces were earrings, and we'd dance around with them held up to our ears. It was a simple and very silly time, but unforgettable.

On the last day in my childhood home there were so many memories rushing through my mind, there was a crush as I tried to single them out. Standing in the kitchen, I could almost hear the sizzle and breathe in the flavour of bacon and eggs, sausages and blood pudding, as I remembered my father at the stove cooking breakfast on a Sunday morning. Sunday morning breakfast was the only meal he would occasionally cook, and when he did, it was always so delicious. Standing in the living room I remembered celebration, images and sounds of times when we welcomed family from Ireland. I can still hear the peals of laughter, the singing, the distinctive thump of the bone hitting the bodhrán drum, and Uncle Séamus wildly playing his accordion.

Packing away my mother's large mixing spoons evoked a memory of the gorgeous fragrance of her Irish Christmas puddings, with sultana raisins, currants, candied peel, walnuts and almonds. Mom never had to measure out a single ingredient, or consult a recipe; the talent for making it was in her bones. Mom would let each one of us take a turn when it was time to mix in the porter beer, stirring the massive mixture around a large metal bowl. 'Three times around', she would say, 'Make sure it's a full three turns, and be certain to make your wish'. Oh, when I think of some of the wishes made over those puddings. If only I could make a wish now.

Standing in my childhood bedroom for the very last time, I gazed out the window over the yard, and remembered. In the mists of memory I see my father and our neighbours building the fences, and laying the sod. On the light breeze of this last afternoon the sweet scent of Mom's rose bushes wafts its way in through the open window. Peonies, Lavender, and Black-eyed Susans run slightly wild along the sides of the yard next to overgrown privet hedge. At the far end of the garden stand the hostas, still dressed in the light tears of a morning rain. Mom planted them in that first spring after Dad died. I stand there at the window wondering if the garden knows she is gone. Do the flowers miss the deft touch of her hand, trimming everything, keeping it all well ordered?

Turning away from the window I recall the day my teenaged self announced to my mother that I had decided to paint over the soft pink walls of my little girl room. The colour I had chosen was purple. Mom wasn't at all happy about my choice, but she helped me choose the right shade of purple, and helped me paint the room. As soon as I moved out, Mom re-painted the room pink.

Walking from empty room to empty room to ensure everything is clean and well polished for the next owners, the house seems much smaller now. It was the lives within our home that made it big, but now those lives are gone.

I knew joy in that house, and laughter, but also anger, and incredible sadness too. It was the site of many beginnings and far too many endings. I loved that house, and at times I hated it too. I knew freedom, learning, and happiness there, but also stringent limits and boundaries that I sometimes reeled against. It meant all things to me, but more than anything it was my family home, the home in which I believed I would always find my parents, a place of roots, of our foundation and our connection.

With the last click of that lock the connection is now severed; for us the place is gone.

It is only a house now, no longer a home.


Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.

Friday, August 17, 2012

I'm off to Ireland soon. Can I get you anything?

In September I will be going overseas; can I get anything for you? My main base of operations will be Dublin, Ireland, although I will also be working on my history research at the National Archives in Kew, London. In past years I have made this offer and had an overwhelming number of people take me up on it. So, this time, in order to limit the numbers, I've decided to add a few rules.

1. You must be a registered follower of this blog for at least the two weeks prior to today's offer.

2. Your request must be as detailed as possible, and include name, relevant dates, townland, county, and so on. No extra detail is too much.

Copy of death registration entry for Nicholas Fitzpatrick
3. If you would like a copy of a civil registration entry for a birth, death, or marriage, such as the one pictured above, then I must have the full name of the individual(s), the type of event, and the date of the event. Also, any other details such as parents' names, address, etc. will make it more likely that I will find exactly the document you need.

I will absorb the 20€ (Euro) fee for using the research room, but I will need to be reimbursed the 4€ ($5 USD) fee which the GRO will charge me for each photocopy I retrieve and mail to you. If there are any changes to their policy in this regard, I will let you know.

For civil registrations, on this trip I will only be visiting the General Register Office in Dublin, so any documents will have to be for events which took place in the Republic of Ireland from 1864 (non-Roman Catholic marriages from 1845), and for Northern Ireland from 1864 to 31 December 1921. See the GRO site for further information about what is available.

If your ancestor's civil registration details are on Ancestry or the LDS site Familysearch.org, then sending me the volume number and page number of the entry for your ancestor will ensure you end up with the document you request.

You will notice the details below, which are from the LDS site, correspond to the Death Registration document pictured above:


4. If you would like a photograph of the grave of an ancestor interred in Glasnevin Cemetery, Dublin, then I will need the full name of the interred and the location of the grave including the cemetery section and, most importantly, the grave number. Assuming I am able to find it, I will send you an email with a digital photograph of the grave. Some of your family members may be interred in graves without headstones, so there may be no stone to photograph, only green space.

5. If you are seeking a record which might be found in the Roman Catholic Parish Registers on microfilm at the National Library of Ireland, then take a look at the listings here on the NLI website in order to identify the film number on which your ancestor's record might be found. I will need the film numbers, and again, I will need all relevant information such as names, dates, and locations to make it more likely that I will find the record you want.

6. Any requests must be submitted no later than 31 August 2012.

7. You must understand that this offer is not a guarantee that I will find the information for which you are searching, but I will certainly do my best to get it for you. I reserve the right to refuse any request.

If you have any questions about the details, and/or you wish to take me up on this offer then, email me at

irisheyesjennifer at gmail dot com


Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Who's that...? Wednesday

Here is an entire group of 'Who's That?' to contemplate. I know a couple of the people in the photograph, and could guess at a couple of others, but I'm really wondering about the mysterious lady in the sunglasses.

In addition to the mystery players, there are a few things in this photograph which are worth remarking upon. (Click on the image to view a larger version). First of all, I have never before seen such an incredibly crowded beach, so that makes me wonder if they were there for a special event. The crowd seems endless. Second, the area in which they are sitting looks uncomfortably rocky. Also, I wonder about the rope which is extended behind them, and the very official looking fellow in the white uniform. I'm not sure where this is, but it reminds me of the beach near Bray Head, in County Wicklow. Any guesses?


Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.
Click on image to view larger version.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

In Memoriam Cards: Remembering those who have gone before us

'In Memoriam' cards, memorial cards, memory cards, mortuary cards: All of these names have been used as descriptors for the small cards produced within a few days, or even a few weeks, after the death of a loved one. They are usually given to members of the family and to friends of the departed. These cards have been a part of Irish mourning practice for well over one hundred years.

When I was a child, my mother's prayer missal was filled with these little cards, and she would offer prayers in memory of the family member named on the card. The cards sometimes include an image of the loved one, although over time some of the photographs have gone missing on the ones my mother had. On the front of the card, and often on the back as well, images of religious figures may be featured.

All of the cards include invocations for prayers on behalf of the deceased. Some mention indulgences and quarantines, in numbers ranging from 100 to 300 days, and in some cases, a period of years. A quarantine is the term used to describe an indulgence period of forty days. These indulgences and quarantines are exhortations to God, which the holder of the card must make, for the forgiveness of sins the loved one may have committed on earth. Committed prayer is intended to ensure the release of his/her soul from Purgatory. The holder of the card is to pray for the deceased each day for the prescribed number of days/years in order to ensure eternal rest for the loved one.

In terms of family history and genealogy, the cards are interesting because they offer confirmation of the date of death, the age of the individual, and may include other details such as their last known address.

In Memoriam Card for my paternal great-grandmother, Mary Dunne Magee.
Outside cover of Mary Dunne Magee's card.

In Memoriam Card, single piece, for my paternal grandmother Anne Magee Geraghty.
Flip side of card for Anne Magee Geraghty.

In Memoriam Card for Alice Fitzpatrick Ward, sister to my maternal great-grandfather.
Alice is the woman who helped my grandfather raise my mother and her siblings after the death of their mother.
Outside cover of Alice Fitzpatrick Ward's card.

In Memoriam Card for Teresa Fitzpatrick, again a single piece. Teresa was the sister of Alice (above)
and of my maternal great-grandfather Thomas Fitzpatrick.
Flip side of Teresa Fitzpatrick's card.

Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.
Click on images to view larger version.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

When inspiration is gone

On this blog in times past I have written about my dad inspiring me to begin in earnest my family history research.  In this post written in April, I talk about the push toward research that I felt after two conversations with my father. After Dad passed away in 2000, for a while it seemed as though my drive to do more research came from my desire to keep a promise made, to find out as much about my father's family as I possibly could.

With my dad gone, along the way with my research, my mother was the one who became more and more excited with each discovery I made. Oddly enough it is my mom's line which I have so far been able to trace the furthest, with evidence which takes me back into the early 1740s. Sharing these family finds with my mom led to conversations we would never have had otherwise, little talks about the small moments of life, and the significant ones too. Mom's interest in my finds, stories that she shared, and conversations with her, all served as inspiration to push me further in my research.

Now Mom is gone too; my inspiration is gone. At times I am so caught by grief, it is as though I am drowning in it. It comes over me in huge crashing grey waves. Some days it will not let me be. The wisdom of a grief counsellor tells me to let the memories be the buoy that saves me, but in truth that suggestion only caroms off my mind. I find myself irrationally longing for more of those conversations, more of something I cannot possibly have. I miss the sound of my mother's voice. Daily I struggle to remember each intonation, the sounds of happiness playing on her words, and the sounds of sadness too.

On my desk there is a pile of documents all related to family history. I have not touched them in weeks, and feel little compunction to go through them.

When memories are not enough, where do I find inspiration now?

This afternoon, something changed in me. Alone in my home I began to look through my parents' wedding album. I found myself learning things I do not remember having known before.

One of my favourite photographs in the album is one in which my parents are cutting their wedding cake at their reception. I knew they had a reception, but I do not recall learning that it took place in the Cumberland Hotel on Westland Row in Dublin, a hotel which stood at Number 17 Westland Row from 1941 until 1967. I knew my parents married on 2 August 1954, but did not know they married on a Monday. Like many people, Monday is not my favourite day of the week, but now I have a reason to view it differently.

Outside St. Patrick's Church, Ringsend, Dublin, Ireland
Also, there is one photograph in the album that I do not recall seeing before. It is the one pictured above. Some of the faces in the photograph are familiar and others are not. For me what is most remarkable about the picture is the joy on almost every one of the faces of the people surrounding my mom and dad at the very beginning of their married life. No one knew what challenges they might face, or what sorrows might befall them, but there it is, Joy.

There is no denying it will be difficult, but when my memories are not enough, I will 'climb' inside that photograph album and try to feel the joy they felt on that day. When the time is right I will continue to seek and to build our family history, knowing the joy it brought to my mom and my dad.


Click on photograph to view larger version.
Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Tuesday's Tips: The north, the south? It's all just Ireland isn't it?

To those unfamiliar with the long and violent history of the island of Ireland, it may seem as though it has always been one big happy place populated with fairies and leprechauns; however, this is most certainly not the case. When you are doing family history research, if any of the limbs of your family tree cross the border from the Republic of Ireland into the state of Northern Ireland, or vice versa, then there are a number of options about which you will want to be aware when seeking documents which will help you in your research.

First of all, a quick look at the geography.

Map please...


View The two Irelands in a larger map

The odd little purple line which I have put in place on this map approximates the border between the state of Northern Ireland and the country of the Republic of Ireland. Northern Ireland is bordered by the Republic on both the south and west sides. Northern Ireland is made up of six counties, Antrim, Armagh, Down, Fermanagh, Londonderry/Derry, and Tyrone. The Republic of Ireland comprises twenty-six counties. (Look here for a complete listing of all counties on the island of Ireland).

One thing about which you must be keenly aware when you are either corresponding with organizations on the island of Ireland, or conducting in-person research, is the fact that Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland remain TWO distinct entities. Despite the 1998 Good Friday Accord which established the Northern Ireland Assembly with its devolved legislative powers, and changes in the constitution of the Republic of Ireland which acknowledge Northern Ireland as a legitimate state, Northern Ireland remains under British rule.

The Republic of Ireland is an entirely separate country. Citizens in the Republic began dissolution of its connection with Britain in 1916, although that dissolution was not recognized until 1922, with the establishment of the Irish Free State following the Irish War of Independence. Although Ireland has had its own constitution since 1937, Ireland has been a constitutional Republic only since 1949, with a President and Taoiseach (pronounced Tea-shock: equivalent to Prime Minister), and no political connection to the English crown. It is very important to understand these facts, and be sensitive to them when conducting research.

If you are conducting research in person, one thing which serves as a good reminder of these separate entities is the legal tender. The Republic of Ireland is part of the European Union, thus the legal tender is the Euro(€). Northern Ireland uses the British Pound Sterling(£).

"So what does this all mean when I'm looking for records?"

Searching in the State of Northern Ireland

If you have ancestors who were born, lived, and died in any of the SIX counties in the State of Northern Ireland, in addition to going directly to the parish which may hold the records of their life's passages, you will want to visit the following:

GRONI and PRONI

GRONI is:

The General Register Office of Northern Ireland. It is responsible for the registers of births, marriages and deaths in Northern Ireland from 1864, and non-Roman Catholic marriages from 1845, to the present day.

This LINK includes a list of registration indexes for births, marriages, and deaths in Northern Ireland.

PRONI is:

The Public Record Office of Northern Ireland. It holds documents which relate chiefly, but not exclusively, to Northern Ireland. There are also some records from counties in what is now the Republic of Ireland. These records cover a period from c.1600 (with a few dating back as far as the early 13th century) to the present day.

This LINK will tell you which records ARE held by PRONI.

This LINK will tell you which records are NOT held by PRONI.

This LINK for PRONI's page of Online guides and indexes is also very helpful, and includes an excellent guide to Church Records.

PRONI also has an excellent 'Useful Links' page which provides with links for research for the entire island of Ireland.

Searching in the Republic of Ireland

If you have ancestors who were born, lived, and died in any of the TWENTY-SIX counties of the Republic of Ireland, in addition to going directly to the parish which may hold the records of their life's passages, you will want to visit the following:

The GRO, The National Library of Ireland, The National Archives of Ireland

GRO is:

The General Register Office of the Republic of Ireland, located in the Irish Life Centre, Dublin. It is responsible for the registers of births, marriages, and deaths in the Republic of Ireland from 1864, as well as a long list of other records as detailed in the link below. It also holds records dating from 1864 to 31 December 1921 for the six counties which comprise Northern Ireland.

This LINK will tell you which records are held by the GRO.

This LINK will tell you how you may order certificates of birth, adoption, stillbirth, marriage, civil partnership or death. Be sure to check the information about exactly which dates are included for online ordering.

The National Archives of Ireland

The National Archives of Ireland, located on Bishop Street in Dublin, holds records which they describe in the following way, "the records of the modern Irish State [i.e. The Republic of Ireland] which document its historical evolution and the creation of our national identity". The NAI also offers a free Genealogy Advisory Service for those visiting in person.

This LINK provides information about the family history and genealogy materials held by the National Archives, as well as a list of its most popular online genealogy resources.

The National Library of Ireland

Located on Kildare Street in Dublin, the National Library of Ireland (NLI) is an important stop for anyone conducting in-person family history research. Library material includes the microfilms of Catholic parish registers, copies of the important nineteenth century land valuations (the Tithe Applotment Books and Griffith's Valuation), trade and social directories, estate records and newspapers. The NLI also offers a free Genealogy Advisory Service for those visiting in person. Also, important to note, that on 8 July 2015 the NLI will be releasing online digitized copies of the microfilm images of the Catholic parish registers.

Visit this LINK for more details.

Using the resources of National Archives United Kingdom

In addition to the resources on the island of Ireland, make use of the resources available through the National Archives UK at Kew, England. Ireland was under British rule for over 700 years, so if you are looking for information which is held by neither Northern Ireland nor The Republic of Ireland, then you may find it here.

The LINK provides a summary of family history information available through NAUK.

Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Happy Father's Day!: Fathers of our family

Father

to lift, never to falter
to care, without fail
to love and support without error
these are dream words
these are not father.

to try, and then fail,
but try again
to love, and have trouble showing it,
but love anyway
to be strong, but allow frailty,
these are human words
these are Father.

Happy Father's Day to all the fathers of our families!

Copyright©irisheyesjg2012. All Rights Reserved.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Tuesday's Tips: Family Medical History: The life you save may be your own

Including family medical history in your family history and genealogy research offers a fascinating and possibly beneficial glimpse into the life of your family. The sum total of all family medical history can be very helpful when looking at your own health issues. You may want to use the information you uncover to determine if there is a risk of inherited disease.  When all is said and done, the life you save may be your own.

As with all genealogy and family history the best place to start is with living relatives who may recollect certain health issues suffered by deceased family members; however, they may not always be forthcoming with the details. For example in my own family the fact that undiagnosed diabetes was principally the cause of my paternal grandmother's death was kept a secret for many years. Some family members viewed the fact of diabetes as somehow shameful. The same goes for cancer. Many will not even utter the 'C' word, as some call it, preferring to refer to it as 'his illness' or 'her battle'. It may be difficult for us to understand such feelings of shame, but whether or not we understand it, it does exist.

Family documents offer a good starting point. Letters, memoirs, even family bibles, and other documents of this nature may include details of illnesses and causes of death. Sometimes a off hand remark in a letter or document may lead you to uncover a chronic illness or general pattern of ill health. Of course, it is important to respect the privacy of family members as you conduct this research, particularly if you plan to post it on a blog. I prefer to post about those long dead, as opposed to the recently departed.

Sources for gathering information about the medical history of your ancestors

1. Tombstones:

Always an interesting source and some may bear the cause of death. You might see Malaria as the cause of death listed on the stones of loved ones who died in so called 'exotic' or 'overseas' locales. If the death was the result of an accident, a gravestone, such as the one pictured below, may give the entire history of the matter in the ending of a life. In this case Henry Coff, a railway fireman, "lost his life near Glencairn Station by the breaking of the leading wheel of the engine truck".


2. Death certificates, death registrations, and parish burial registers:

Of course, these include a statement of the cause of death; however, some may mention diseases or ailments with which we may not be familiar today, such as 'General Debility', or may state different names for similar causes of death. For example typhoid fever may appear as enteric fever, gastric fever, abdominal typhus, infantile remittent fever, slow fever, nervous fever, or pythogenic fever. It is helpful to consult a medical dictionary from the period and region in question in order to best understand what is stated on the death certificate. Take a look at Antiquus Morbus, an excellent site which lists and defines thousands of archaic terms for diseases and causes of death.

The Liverpool death certificate of little Joseph Fitzpatrick 1901, brother of my maternal grandmother.
Cause of death given is 'General Debility'.
1864 death registration for Nicholas Fitzpatrick, twin brother of my maternal great-grandfather Thomas.
Cause of death is 'Cynanche Trachealis', which is better known to us today as 'the croup'. 

3. Workhouse records:

The National Archives of Ireland is a repository for some extant workhouse records including the North and South Dublin Union workhouses. For any other extant workhouse records check the libraries and archives of the county in which your ancestor lived (see Irish Archives Resource). While your ancestor may not have been an inmate of the workhouse proper, if he/she was poor, then he/she may have received medical treatment in the workhouse infirmary, and that treatment may have been noted in the workhouse register. These registers are not currently available online, and so must be consulted in person. 

UPDATE: As of May 2015, Dublin workhouse records are now available online via the website FindMyPast.

Registration of death for Francis Ball who died in the South Dublin Union Workhouse Infirmary.
4. Cemetery Burial Registers:

Some of these may include not only details relating to the burial site, but also to the cause of death. This record available through Glasnevin Trust in Dublin is a good example of such a record. Use the search page on the Glasnevin Trust website to find information for those interred in The Prospect Cemetery at Glasnevin, Goldenbridge Cemetery, as well as Dardistown, Newlands Cross, and Palmerstown cemeteries. There is a fee for viewing records.

Cause of death given is 'Phthisis', a more benign name for Tuberculosis.
5. Obituaries:

While they may not specifically mention the cause of death, clues can be gleaned from statements such as "after a long illness". Information is sometimes given about charities which will accept donations in memory of the loved one. For example if a cancer society is mentioned, it may mean the loved one suffered from cancer. Also, there may be a mention of a hospice which might hold records. (Hospices in Ireland have been in operation since the mid 19th century). Although such information offered in an obituary is by no means proof of a particular illness, it does offer a starting point. The Irish Newspaper Archives is a good resource for finding obituaries for persons who died on the island of Ireland.


6. Pension documents:

If a member of your family applied for a survivor's pension, the cause of death of the loved one may be listed.

7. Old Age Benefit Applications:

These may include information about the cause of death of deceased spouses.

8. Military records:

In addition to the familiar 'killed in action', a full military record will likely list all medical care delivered to the service member while he or she was on active duty. Some extant military records for Irish citizens who fought in World War 1 can be accessed through Ancestry and also through the National Archives UK site.

***************************************

When I review the sum total of my own family medical history, it can be a bit daunting. Between the eye disease, cardiac troubles, diabetes, alcoholism, dementia and depression, I feel a bit unnerved; however, I view it all as encouragement to take the best possible care of myself so that I live a long and healthy life. Whether or not you use the medical history of your family for your own benefit, I believe you will find conducting this research to be a very interesting and challenging exercise.

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Click on images to view larger version.
All materials and photographs ©Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.

Monday, June 11, 2012

Love, loss, and what she wore...

When 'Love, Loss, and What I Wore' played the Westside Theatre in New York City in November of 2009, I felt drawn to go see it. Written by sisters Nora and Delia Ephron, and based on the book by Ilene Beckermann, the female-centred play relates the life stories of the characters to the clothes they wore on various landmark occasions in their lives, such as a wedding, the birth of a child, the taking of a lover, the end of a divorce, the loss of a family member.

Going through my mam's clothes cupboards and dressers during this past week, and sorting through the items which mark the life that was my mother's, I had my own 'love, loss and what she wore' moments.

My mam was an elegant and stylish woman who always wore good quality clothing which she kept in immaculate condition. In each bedroom of her home, as I opened the cupboard, I looked at the sum total of its contents before touching anything. With a heavy heart I began the ritual of carefully taking out each piece of clothing, looking it over, folding it up, setting it aside, and remembering.

Some of the oldest clothes are imbued with the scent of Chanel No. 5, the fragrance my mother always wore when I was a child. Standing inside the small cupboard of the bedroom which she once shared with my father, I found myself drawing the dresses, jackets and sweaters close up to my face. With eyes closed, I breathed in the fragrance of Mother, and remembered the small moments: Mam touching the stopper of the tiny Chanel bottle to the pulse points on her wrists; Mam dabbing a touch of perfume just beneath the lobe of each ear.

Mam with Dad looking stylish in Casablanca, Morocco

In later years my mother developed a love for solid perfume, and I would buy one for her every Christmas. In the pocket of a couple of her jackets I found some of the solid perfume compacts. The perfume had long ago been used up, but the compacts are still there, small and lovely, with just the slightest hint of fragrance remaining. I picked up each one, ran my fingers over their smooth covers, and held them close to draw in the sweet scent. The soft click as I closed each one evoked memories of the joy I felt in choosing them just for her, and the smile that came over her face when she opened them each Christmas.

There are the soft pastel coloured sweaters in cable knit, the finely embroidered blouses in silk, the tweed suits and wool dress jackets. There are the tops and t-shirts from her world travels. There are the simple cotton shirts and trousers which were used only for gardening. Every piece brings me to a place of memory.

At the back of her closet there is the black suit Mam wore to my dad's funeral. I recall the deep quiet of the shopping trip to choose that suit. There was no joy; it was a task of utility. Mam never again donned that black suit.

In the cupboard of my old bedroom hangs the lovely black and white dress I persuaded her to buy for a dinner/dance. Mam didn't want to try it on because it has short sleeves. As she aged, my mam disliked the way her arms looked in short sleeves, but I talked her into buying the dress because she looked wonderful in it. I recall my father's eyes wrinkling with laughter on the evening of the dance, as he watched her in that dress move down the stairs toward him.


In a dresser drawer, layers of silk slips lie silent, in shades of muted pink and ecru. In another, a sea of beautifully tinted silk scarves sit square at attention, waiting for her to draw one out and gently wrap it around her throat.

In the lapels of dress jackets there are small jewelled pins just waiting for Mam to come unpin them, and return them to their place in her lingerie drawer. Instead that task has fallen to me. I gently unclip each pin and draw it from the lapel, carefully smoothing the fabric so it looks as though no pin had ever pierced it.

Soon all the clothing Mam had will be gone from her home, given to charity, passed on to others, but locked within each piece is a memory. The wearer may not know that it is there, but still it will remain, as another woman creates her own memories in the clothes once worn by Mam.

©irisheyesjgg

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