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

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Wordless Wednesday, almost: Commemorating the 1913 Dublin Lockout


Dominating Eden quay in Dublin, Ireland, on the sixteen story SIPTU Liberty Hall building, this 50 metre high wrap of banners commemorates the lockout of 1913. The work of artists Robert Ballagh and Cathy Henderson, this beautiful tapestry instantly draws your eye down the quays from O'Connell Street, successfully keeping the lockout at the forefront of memory.

To read about the history of the 1913 Lockout, and to find out about the artists who created the tapestry, visit:
Lockout 1913



Copyright©irisheyesjg2013.
Click on images to view larger versions.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Travel Tuesday: By the sea...

Looking toward Lambay Island in the Irish Sea, North County Dublin
It is not simply that I am deeply attracted to the sea off of Ireland because of its beauty. Being near the sea gives rise to thoughts about how important a role the Irish sea and the Atlantic ocean played in the lives of my ancestors and family members who lived on the island of Ireland.

The sea brought my mother, father and brother to Canada, and although none of my ancestors further back emigrated away from Ireland, some of them did travel on holiday across the sea to England and to France. One family member in particular — Tom Kettle (1880-1916) — travelled across the Atlantic to New York City by ship, and to Chicago, in the very early years of the 20th century, to raise funds for the Irish Parliamentary Party.

In the west of Ireland, members of my father's family farmed land in Leckanvy, Murrisk, near the natural ocean bay called Clew Bay, on the Atlantic ocean. The tides of the sea, with their rhythmically moving waters, would have been a part of each day for them. My father's grandparents briefly farmed there before migrating to Dublin, but his great-grandparents, and other family members farmed in the area for generations.

On my mother's side, my great-great-great grandfather Thomas Kettle (1799-1871) farmed land near the Irish sea in North County Dublin, as did generations before him and after him. His granddaughter, my mother's grand-aunt, Alice Fitzpatrick Ward was married to a Master Mariner, Captain James Joseph Ward. The sea brought her husband to her, and tragically, life on the sea took him away from her.

When my mother was a child, sometimes her father would take her and her siblings out to Dublin Bay at low tide. The children would use little lengths of wood, the ends of which their father had whittled to a sharp point so that together they could dig through the sand, uncovering and collecting cockles and mussels. Grand-aunt Alice would cook the selection of clams in a large pot over the fire, and the family would sit down together to enjoy them with fresh baked soda bread and sweet butter. Mom had such fond memories of those days, with little granules of sand clinging to her socks, the scent of the sea in her hair, and the saltiness of the day's catch upon her tongue.

Just down the road, on the way to Howth Head.
Across the bay from the Poolbeg Power station. The lines of mist are from the rain on the opposite side of the bay.
Recently deceased Irish poet Seamus Heaney uses the sea as a metaphor in a favourite poem of mine:

Lovers on Aran

The timeless waves, bright, sifting, broken glass,
Came dazzling around, into the rocks,
Came glinting, sifting from the Americas

To possess Aran. Or did Aran rush
to throw wide arms of rock around a tide
That yielded with an ebb, with a soft crash?

Did sea define the land or land the sea?
Each drew new meaning from the waves' collision.
Sea broke on land to full identity. 

From the Summit of Howth Head, looking toward the light house.
Occasional gorse fires change the colour and contour of the landscape.
Early evening, and the light and colours change again.
Copyright©irisheyesjg2013.
Click on images to view larger versions.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Travel Tuesday: Marsh's Library: A Treasury of the European Mind


In Dublin right next door to the cemetery grounds of St. Patrick's Cathedral, and tucked away just beyond a small gateway, is Marsh's Library. Founded in 1701 by Archbishop Narcissus Marsh, in a building designed by the Surveyor General of Ireland, Sir William Robinson, Marsh's Library was the very first public library in Ireland.

Today, the library is one of a very few 18th century buildings left in Dublin that is still being used for its original purpose. In fact, many of the books in the library are still kept on the same shelves chosen for them by Archbishop Marsh and by the library's first librarian, Huguenot refugee, Dr. Elias Bouhéreau.

The library holds some 25, 000 books and manuscripts dating from the 15th to the 18th century and covering such a wide variety of subjects — classical literature, mathematics, science, politics, music, medicine and law — that it has been fittingly referred to as a treasury of the European mind. There are bibles printed in almost every language, along with books in Hebrew, Arabic, Turkish, and Russian, and a significant collection of Latin Judaica.

The library is principally comprised of works from the collections of four individuals. The most significant of these is that of Edward Stillingfleet, the Bishop of Worcester, whose collection of over 10, 000 books was considered to be the finest private library in Europe in the period. It was purchased by Marsh in 1705 at the cost of £2,500.

John Sterne, the Bishop of Clogher, bequeathed his private collection to the Marsh library in 1745. Among those treasures is Cicero's Letters to his Friends. Printed in 1472, it is the oldest book in the library. The library's oldest manuscript also comes from Sterne's library; it is The Lives of Saints, which is written in Latin and dates to around 1400. The private collection of Narcissus Marsh, and that of the first librarian, Dr. Bouhéreau, complete the library.

Within the library, horizontal curios line one side of the central aisle, displaying all manner of fascinating materials. Also there are small cage-like enclosures in which the scholars of the day were required to sit when they were conducting research. A scholar could not simply peruse the shelves and choose the volume he required. Instead the librarian would retrieve the desired books and deliver them to the caged pupil for study.
Interior looking out, and the final staircase to the library.
The red hall is dominated by a portrait of Narcissus March.
Visitors to the library are not allowed to take photographs inside the library itself — thus all the outside views — however, I did manage to snag a shot just over a patron's shoulder before the door was closed to me. The last image on this page is the listing of librarians which hangs above the door into the library. Perhaps the name of one of your ancestors is among them.

You can get a glimpse of some of the treasures held by Marsh's library, and have a look at a 'study cage', by visiting the Pinterest or Facebook pages of the library.


Did any of your ancestors serve as a librarian at Marsh's Library?


Copyright©irisheyesjg2013.
Click on images to view larger versions.

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Wordless Wednesday: Near day's end

Facing Clew Bay, as the tide begins to come in.
In the foothills of Croagh Patrick.
Copyright©irisheyesjg2013.
Click on images to view larger versions.

Monday, September 23, 2013

William Dunne & William Pell: Following the road of my two Williams

In the early afternoon of a day on which change in the weather seemed to match my mood, we set out toward Messines, Belgium. The countryside in both France and Belgium is beautiful in its simplicity, lulling you into a sort of serene blissfulness, but then the history of the place calls out to you. The losses of war are ever present as the natural landscape is interrupted time and again by the sight of yet another cemetery filled with military graves.

On either side of the Great Cross of Sacrifice, two large weeping willow trees
add to the beauty and peace of Prowse Point.
Our destination on this day is Prowse Point Military Cemetery, the final resting place of the men I call my two Williams, my paternal great-grandmother's brother, William Dunne, and my maternal grandfather's first cousin, William Pell. It is purely happenstance that these two members of my family are interred in the same cemetery. Their sides of the family tree would not be joined together until my mother and father married, some forty years after William and William were killed on the field of battle during the First World War. 

Messines, Belgium
Turning just off Rue de Messines, I slowly follow the narrow road past a small farm house on the left. An old woman in a garden sweeps the sweat from her brow and nods in our direction, as though she knows exactly where we are going. It is difficult not to be drawn in by the landscape. The beautiful wide open fields are replete with burgeoning crops, sugar beets, potatoes, and barley. It seems all of life is here, food, earth, air, and family.

As I draw the car up onto the narrow pebble and grass shoulder of the road, dark skies hold heavy over Prowse Point cemetery, and I am sure it might start raining very soon. We climb out of the car and turn toward Messines. The village seems such a short distance away, a distance which must have seemed like light years to my two Williams.

A church still dominates the village as one did from the 11th century until the early part of the 20th century, before the First World War brought the bombardment that would level the church and the entire village, leaving only rubble and dust. There is something life affirming in seeing that the village was reborn, and the church was rebuilt.

The simple entry gate for Prowse Point Military Cemetery.
We turn away from Messines and toward Prowse Point. Before we open the gate and walk through, I immediately see William Dunne's grave. It is just a couple of yards from the gate. William and his fellow soldiers were some of the first interred here at Prowse Point. Their stones are the only ones in the cemetery which are drawn so close together, standing shoulder to shoulder, reminding us that when they were interred the three men's bodies may have been so destroyed as to be unrecognizable, and so they were interred together. They were killed 20 November 1914, William Dunne, age 34, of Dublin City, Ireland, and James McGuire, age 44, and James Gallagher, age 19, both of County Donegal, Ireland.

Three comrades together.
William Dunne's marker is on the far right.
All three markers note the date of death as 20th November 1914.
Kneeling just to the right of William’s stone, so as not to tread on the grave, I lay my hand on the face of the marker. It feels cool to the touch. My index finger follows the carved path which they have as his name — W. Dunne — as I say his full name aloud, William Dunne. I murmur a prayer and then make the pledge that he will never be forgotten. The flowers which once grew at the base of William's stone are gone, so only a small shrub grows there now. Instantly I regret not bringing a rose bush from Paris to plant in his honour, to show he is not forgotten.

A Soldier of The Great War
Known unto God.
We leave William for a moment and walk along the rows of graves observing the names, ages and countries of those interred. I recite each name out loud to the open sky. It seems fitting that each one of these names should once again float on the gentle breeze. So too, there are the graves of the unknown, marked A Soldier of The Great War / Known unto God. These stones give you pause to think about the family members of those interred within. I picture mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers searching through the cemeteries in the area, longing to find their family member who has no known grave, and wondering which grave holds their son or father, husband or brother. 

The deep quiet of the cemetery is broken by the sound of a tractor out on the narrow road. We look up to see a farmer hauling bales of hay. He waves his hat to us in greeting, and we return the sentiment. This brief exchange reminds me of the fact that the world still turned, that life went on without all of these young men, and so many, many more. The skies darken again, the wind becomes more determined, and the weeping willows rustle insistently, seeming to say, 'Remember, remember, remember!'





William Pell
Royal Dublin Fusiliers
7th January 1915 Age 23
As we continue to walk from stone to stone, the clouds part and the sun begins to shine, the sky feels wide open, and the air is fresh and clear. It makes me feel grateful to be alive. We arrive at the grave of my second William, William Pell. A stunning red rose sways in the breeze gently caressing the stone. I kneel down and repeat the ritual of tracing William's name as they have it — Wm. Pell —  as I say his full name out loud, William Francis Pell, then repeat a prayer, and make the pledge that he will never be forgotten.

Closing my eyes, I turn my face up to the glorious sun, feel her warm embrace, and think about the fact that the two Williams lived and died under this same sky. In the mornings of their lives their faces were awakened to the same sun, and at night their eyes closed under the same moon. All around us the fields are brimming with colour, green and gold, red and orange, and I realize how very different this landscape is from the one my two Williams knew. 

The trenches, the mud, the fire and the smoke, the stench from fields littered with the dead and the dying, theirs was a world so removed from earthly life, a special kind of hell. Scanning this earth and sky, I try to imagine what it was like for each one of them when they fell. Was the end sudden and swift or did they lie waiting to die, crying out for comfort that would never come, while the stretcher bearers scurried about choosing who to take and who to leave behind? What thoughts crossed the mind of each William as he realized his life was drawing to a close? Whose was the last face they saw?

We remain at Prowse Point for much longer than we intended. It is a difficult place to leave. In the book of memory that is kept with the cemetery register, I write what seem to be empty platitudes, asking for peace in our world, and for the remembrance of William and William, members of my family, neither of whom I ever knew and could not possibly know, since we did not exist in the same dimension of time, but to whom I nevertheless feel a deep connection. Thinking about the sacrifice each William made makes me feel ashamed for becoming frustrated about minor challenges I face in everyday life, the things that don’t quite go my way.

Plaque acknowledging the perpetual gift
by the Belgian people of the cemetery land.
Inside the small brick and mortar building on the western side of the cemetery is the plaque [inset left] which acknowledges the donation of the land by the Belgian people for the burial of members of the Allied armies. It is interesting to note that while both the French and Dutch translation refers to the fallen as heroes, the English plaque simply refers to 'those' who fell.

Transcription of the English plaque:
The land on which this cemetery stands is the free gift of the Belgian people for the perpetual resting place of those of the Allied Armies who fell in the war of 1914 - 1918 and are honoured here.

Translation of French plaque:
The ground of this cemetery was graciously offered by the Belgian people to serve in perpetuity. Field of the heroes of the armed Allied graves during the Great War of 1914 - 1918 and whose memory is honoured here.

Translation of the Dutch plaque:
The Belgian population gave this land as perpetual resting place of the fallen heroes of the Allied armies of the World War 1914 - 1918 and whose memory we honour here.

William Dunne and William Pell gave their lives. They are the only ones who truly knew exactly why they volunteered to go, but they did. They gave their lives for an imperative, meanwhile back in Dublin, Ireland, their respect families awaited their return, not knowing they would never again see their William.

Click on images to view larger versions.
Copyright©irisheyesjg2013.
All Rights Reserved.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

'Too many names upon these walls': World War One Commemoration

One of the walls of the Thiepval Memorial to the Missing, Thiepval, The Somme, France.
Since I returned home in July the focus of posts for this blog have been principally about the young men on both sides of my family who were killed on the fields of battle in France and Belgium during World War I, forever changing the boughs and the branches of our family tree. When I saw the theme photograph for today's Sepia Saturday — women pictured with a banner bearing the word Peace — I thought it was fitting that I participate. The title of this post makes reference not only to the over 72,000 names which are inscribed on the walls of the British Empire's Memorial to the Missing, but also to the names inscribed upon walls in hundreds of graveyards and memorials throughout the world which bear witness to the loss of millions of people in World War I. There are too many names upon these walls. Recalling the loss of so many should have been enough of an imperative for Peace.

In the history of World War I, France emerges as a study in contrasts. In the museums of Paris, the halls are filled with some of the most beautiful paintings and sculpture you might ever lay eyes on. The incomparable beauty of such work offers a window into what is creatively possible for human beings, and evokes a sense of hope. However, all hopes are dashed when one considers the history of war — the First World War in this case — and is reminded of the fact that human beings are capable of profound cruelty toward one another. Within the walls of the Louvre, while Johannes Vermeer's Lacemaker silently and perpetually worked her needle, and the Venus de Milo stood ever mute, less than 100 miles northwest of Paris there was neither art nor beauty in the theatre of war. There, with fixed bayonets young soldiers scurried over the top into the sights of the enemy to be blown to bits by cannon and machine gun fire, their bodies left to the insatiable mouths of the maggots and the flies. Meanwhile somewhere in the safety of their lairs, the generals moved the lines a couple of inches on their precious little maps.

The standing stones of Island of Ireland Peace Park, Belgium.
Next year will see the commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the beginning of World War I. No longer are there any soldiers left to remind us of the catastrophe that was the war. For some it is perhaps too easy to be placated by the beauty of row upon row of perfectly crafted white stone markers, dressed in flowers, in the pristine green space of the manicured cemeteries. The perfection belies the magnitude of the loss. Some may be unmoved by numbers on a page or carved into a stone. In Island of Ireland Peace Park, near Messines, Belgium, the standing stones bear numbers which tell of 32,186, and 28,398, and 9,363 Irish killed or missing on the fields of battle. On the walls of the Thiepval Memorial to the Missing, the stone masons' chisels carved the names of over 72,000 members of the British Empire forces who have no known grave. At Pozieres there are over 14,000 commemorated. There are too many names upon all of these walls. Such numbers seem incomprehensible and yet represent only a small segment of the total number of persons killed on both sides of the conflict. How do we even begin to honour the sacrifice of so many lives? 

Pozieres Memorial, The Somme, France.
Over 14,000 members of the British Forces are commemorated here.
Perhaps we can begin to understand how important it is that we never forget the losses of war, and that we truly endeavour to create peace in our world,  if we remove from any sort of political context those individuals who were killed, if we just forget whose side they were on. Imagine if you will one soldier, one person, one beloved man lost, and consider how profoundly his family was changed by his death. Think about one little daughter who would never again be lifted into her daddy's arms, one young wife who would never again be warmed by the embrace of her beloved husband, one mother and one father who would never again gaze into the face of a treasured son. Take that tableau and repeat it over and over and over again. For so many their family tree was stunted at the root, cut off by the loss of those young lives.




Consider your own family now, mother, father, sons, daughters, sisters, brothers. Imagine if one of them was taken from you in this very moment, and taken in a manner so savage and so cruel that it is perhaps too difficult to conceive of such a loss. Imagine no body returned home for burial, and perhaps no grave anywhere over which to mourn, nothing to hold onto but the memories. The pain in your heart would never go away.

No matter what your political stripe, or your feelings about the First World War — the war which was supposed to end all wars — if you are a human being who has ever loved and lost another, then you must know the importance of remembering those individuals lost in war, and the importance of working toward peace. 

Today, on this International Day of Peace we must ask ourselves, can we ever become humane enough to stop destroying other human beings?

Commemoration at Notré Dame Cathedral, Paris, France.

Click on images to view larger versions.
Copyright©irisheyesjg2013.


Monday, September 16, 2013

Find My Past Ireland launches Irish Newspaper Collection

Giving us some extra searching incentive, this morning I received the following press release from FindMyPast Ireland:

For immediate release

Find your ancestors in historical Irish newspapers

Titles covering all four provinces of Ireland

Articles dating from 1820-1926

Leading Irish family history website, findmypast.ie has launched its Irish Newspapers Collection, making almost 2 million historical Irish newspaper articles available to search on the website.

Digitised from the collections of the British Library, the Irish newspapers collection on findmypast.ie is a rich resource for genealogists in search of their Irish roots.

The collection features 6 newspaper titles (both national and local) covering areas in Leinster, Munster, Connaught and Ulster namely; The Belfast Morning News, The Belfast Newsletter, The Cork Examiner, The Dublin Evening Mail, The Freeman’s Journal and The Sligo Champion.

Different dates are covered by each title ranging from pre-Famine era right up until post-Irish independence in 1926. For family historians, the newspapers contain valuable entries like advertisements, obituaries and letters to the editor which help to paint a picture of what local and national life would have been like in Ireland hundreds of years ago.

Cliona Weldon, General Manager of findmypast.ie, said, “We are delighted with the addition of Irish titles to our collection of British and World newspapers on findmypast.ie. The Irish newspapers allow us to really bring to life the happenings in our country all the way back to the Great Irish Famine and beyond. Whether you are searching for an ancestor in a local paper or simply interested in how the big news stories of the day were reported, you will no doubt uncover some fascinating facts.”

Overall date coverage for each of the newspapers is as follows:
The Belfast Morning News – 1857-1882
The Belfast Newsletter – 1828-1900
The Cork Examiner - 1841-1926
The Dublin Evening Mail – 1849-1871
The Freeman’s Journal – 1820-1900
The Sligo Champion - 1836-1926

This collection is also accessible on all findmypast international sites through a World subscription.

To find out if your ancestors were making headlines visit www.findmypast.ie

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

Saturday, July 27, 2013

A very special journey with a remarkable book of poetry: Tom Kettle: 1880-1916

Tom Kettle's Poems & Parodies
In an antiquarian bookshop in Paris — stocked with books written in English — my eyes scanned the shelves of the poetry section with the hope of making a wonderful discovery. Among the poetry titles I longed to see a book entitled Poems and Parodies. First published just over one hundred years ago in 1912, the book comprises a small collection of verse written by Thomas Michael Kettle, a first cousin in my maternal line. My search was in vain, but the propriétaire was very accommodating, and patiently listened as I told her about Thomas Kettle and his connection to France. She assured me the book would be brought into her shop should she ever encounter it. In the end I was able to find a copy online, and had it sent to me from a bookshop in Galway, Ireland.

For a while I had been searching for this edition of the book. It was published in 1916 in the months just after Tom was killed on the Somme, and so there is an introduction commemorating his death. As well, within its pages is the dedicatory poem which he wrote for his wife Mary, along with the very last poem Tom wrote and dedicated to their little girl, Elizabeth Dorothy, a poem entitled To my daughter Betty, the gift of God. There are a few of his early poems included in the book, as well as some political and war poems.

Surely there would have been a kind of magic at work if I had found the book of poems in Paris. Tom Kettle loved the city of Paris, and when he was killed in the advance on Ginchy, 9 September 1916, Tom was less than one hundred miles north of the great metropolis. If he had survived the war I have to believe he would have travelled to Paris again, perhaps with his beloved Mary and their precious girl Betty. I can imagine the three of them on a breezy Spring afternoon, strolling hand in hand along the River Seine or through the shady tree-lined paths of the Jardin des Tuileries.

When we travelled up into northern France, just past the village of Guillemont, and the fields of Ginchy, the words of Tom's poems played on my mind. From the east storm clouds were approaching, a deep growling emanating from within them like the sound of bombardment, a mnemonic powering memories of a past, distant and cruel.

So here, while the mad guns curse 
overhead,
And tired men sigh with mud for couch 
and floor,
Know that we fools, now with the foolish
dead,
Died not for flag, nor King, nor Emperor,
But for a dream, born in a herdsman's
shed,
And for the secret Scripture of the poor.[1]

All along the roads on which we travelled were small patches of beautiful vermilion-coloured poppies, their faces turned up to the expanse of chalky grey skies. Then from the roadway I saw the most extraordinary sight, and we stopped so I could photograph it.


There, a long line of poppies cleaves a farmer's field in two. This stunning natural pathway brought to mind the thousands of young soldiers, just like Tom, who had marched through these fields of northern France and many others across Europe. At the bidding of the enemy's weapons, they fell upon those fields and drew their last breath there. Now it is as though each one of these poppies sways in the breeze in memory of each one of those souls.

As the sun died in blood, and hill and sea
Grew to an altar, red with mystery,
One came who knew me 
(it may be over-much)
Seeking the cynical and staining touch,
But I, against the great sun's burial
Thought only of bayonet-flash and bugle-call...[2]

We paused for a moment and stood in silent gratitude thinking about the history those poppies called forth to us. Stepping back into the car we continued along the roadway toward Pozieres, Thiepval, Lille, and on into Belgium. Dozens of military graveyards dot the countryside keeping the history alive for us, and Tom's words were ever present, whispering in my ear of the ultimate sacrifice made by so many Irish for the freedom of Europe.

Count me the price in blood that we have
not squandered.
Spendthrifts of blood from our cradle,
wastefully true,
Name me the sinister fields where the
Wild Geese wandered,
Lille and Cremona and ...[3]

Commemorations[4][5]

Thomas Michael Kettle is commemorated in France on the Thiepval Memorial to the Missing (Pier and Face 16C).




References:
The quotations included are from poems which appear in
Kettle, T.M., Poems and Parodies.
The Talbot Press, Dublin, 1916.
These poems are:
1. To my daughter Betty, the gift of God
2. On Leaving Ireland
3. A Nation's Freedom
4. Tom Kettle is commemorated on the Thiepval Memorial to the Missing because he has no known grave. Serving as a temporary Lieutenant with the 9th Battalion of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers, Tom was killed 9 Sept. 1916, in the advance on Ginchy. Tom's body was interred by the Welsh Guards when they relieved the RDF some 24 hours after the RDF took the ground that was Ginchy; however, subsequent shelling destroyed the gravesite and it was never recovered. (NAUK, WO/339 and Kettle papers UCD, LA34)
5. The words of Tom's last poem to his daughter are carved in stone at Island of Ireland Peace Park in Belgium. He is also commemorated on a plaque in the Four Courts, Dublin, and on the WW1 plaque at St. Mary's Church, Haddington Road, Dublin, incidentally the only World War one commemoration to be found in a Catholic church in the Republic.

Copyright©irisheyesjg2013.
Click on images to view larger version.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Tuesday's Tip: An additional 2.5 million court registers added to FindMyPast.ie

This morning I received the following press release from FindMyPast Ireland. If you have any ancestors who might have occasionally been on the wrong side of the law, stop by and have a look to see if any of their names appear in the Irish Petty Sessions Court Registers.

Press Release:

Over 2.5 million court registers added to findmypast.ie

Records dating back as far as 1842

Leading Irish family history website findmypast.ie has made an additional 2.5 million court records available to search online in its Irish Petty Sessions Court Registers 1828-1912 record set, which exposes the petty crimes Ireland’s residents committed and how they were punished.

The additions feature forty-four new courts in nineteen counties around Ireland. A further fifty-five courts have been supplemented with records from additional years. This brings the total Petty Sessions Court Registers on findmypast.ie to over 12 million records.

Notable new courts that have been added are the Limerick City Children’s Court and two courts with pre-famine records – Moynalty, Co. Meath and Nenagh, Co. Tipperary. As well as that, for the first time, seven new courts from Co. Longford have been added, bringing online over a quarter of a million new records for the county. Also well represented with totally new courts are Laois (five) and Cork (four).

Being drunk in a public place, being drunk in charge of a cart, failure to pay rent and allowing livestock to wander on the road are among some of the most common misdemeanors that our ancestors found themselves in court for.  Although most defendants got away with a fine, the variety of cases heard gives a real flavour for life in Ireland at the time.

Cliona Weldon, General Manager of findmypast.ie, says “We are really excited about this add-on to our Petty Sessions court records. As usual, the stories you can find in them really paint a picture of what life was like in towns and villages in Ireland at the time. From harrowing stories in the Limerick City Children’s Court to amusing ones in Longford’s seven new courts, there is something for everyone in there”.

New courts have been added to the following counties: Clare, Cork, Donegal, Dublin, Galway, Kerry, Kildare, Laois, Limerick, Longford, Louth, Mayo, Meath, Monaghan, Offaly, Sligo, Tipperary, Waterford and Westmeath.

Saturday, June 1, 2013

Sepia Saturday: A Traditional Irish Festival in Sepia

Every January for the last ten years, a traditional festival called Tradfest has taken hold of the Temple Bar neighbourhood, and the grounds of Christ Church Cathedral in Dublin. Ringed by the wrought iron fences of the Christ Church grounds, many beloved Irish traditions are on display, such as Irish dancing and children's choirs singing time-honoured Gaelic songs. Old time practices of farming life are also demonstrated, such as the hand milling of grain, the cutting of peat bricks, and the weaving of St. Brigid's crosses.

Also on the grounds are lots of lovely creatures, both human and animal, which you might find on a farm, such as Gentlewoman farmers dressed in traditional costume along with goats and lambs, turkeys and chickens, and even a donkey or two. These images which I shot this past January were originally in colour, but in the spirit of Sepia Saturday I have reproduced them here in sepia.

Be sure to stop by Alan and Kat's Sepia Saturday blog to see how others have interpreted today's inspiration image. Perhaps you'll be inspired too.

This gentle little donkey bore most of these peat bricks to the festival in the cart to which he is strapped.
A Gentlewoman farmer, dressed in traditional costume, with two of her furry charges.
Himself out walking his turkey.
Pouring himself a drop of poteen.
A traditional Gypsy caravan.
A sheepish smile for me? Wooly the sheep enjoys a bit of straw.
Copyright©irisheyesjg2013.
Click on images to view larger versions.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Tuesday's Tip: The Act of Union Black list

This Tuesday's Tip is not a tip as such, but another resource page I am adding to this blog. The content of this page is a little sticky, so to speak, because it is a 'Black List' of those individuals who were called out for changing their vote, and thus voting in favour of the Act of Union** in 1800. With respect to family history, whether or not we agree with the decisions made by the men named on the Black List, we must remember they had family, and they may have descendants.

The source of this list is a book which I purchased at an auction of historical ephemera in Ireland in 2010. Written by Sir Jonah Barrington, and published in 1833, it bears what has to be the longest book title and subtitle I have ever seen. It is entitled,
"The Rise and Fall of The Irish Nation: 
A full account of the Bribery and Corruption by which the Union was carried
The Family Histories of the members who voted
away the Irish Parliament,
With an Extraordinary Black List
 of the Titles, Places, and Pensions which They received for their corrupt votes."

According to Sir Jonah Barrington, those who initially had been against the Act of Union sold their principles — and their souls — for financial and political gain by changing their minds and voting against Ireland and for the Act of Union with Great Britain.

Although Sir Barrington's strong opinions about those who changed their vote might lead us to believe that everyone could be bought off, this was not the case. Some of those who changed their votes did so because they were convinced the Act would lead to reform, both parliamentary and economic, and would include Catholic emancipation. Whether or not they accepted bribes, the names of those who changed their votes and voted for the Act of Union appear on the Black List.

There are 140 names on the Black List. Under the heading 'Observations', Sir Barrington includes some biographical information about some of these individuals, and adds details of any payoff to them. With an acid tongue, Barrington occasionally inserts his opinion of them. Of his observations Barrington remarks, "As the capitulation was disgusting, the discussion must be severe."

So...

Are any of your ancestors on the Act of Union Black List?

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

What was the Act of Union?

Here follows a very brief and simplified history of The Act of Union 1800/1801:

Tabled in 1800, passed into law in August of that year, and effected on 1 January 1801, the Act of Union joined Ireland to Great Britain as the single kingdom called The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.

Buoyed by the ideals of the French Revolution, including religious emancipation, many Irish, such as Theobald Wolfe Tone and the United Irishmen, saw breaking free from Britain as the way forward to liberty and democracy for all. In order to prevent Ireland from supporting France in war against Britain — remember the French landed in County Mayo to aid the United Irishmen in the 1798 Rising — and to quell the fervour for liberty and fraternity, Britain sought to rein in Ireland with the Act of Union. As I mentioned above, some believed Ireland would benefit from the Act.

Once the Act of Union was passed into law, matters became more clear about what would actually be the case:

1. The Irish Parliament at Dublin was abolished, so no longer could Irish members of Parliament debate the fate of Ireland in Ireland. With the Act, Ireland was now represented at Westminster by one hundred Members of Parliament, 4 Lords Spiritual (bishops of the Anglican Church who served in the House of Lords) and 28 Lords Temporal (secular members of the House of Lords). Every single representative had to be Anglican.

2. King George III's disdain for Catholics was enshrined in the Act. He forbade Catholic Emancipation in Ireland, citing the fact that upon his coronation he had sworn an oath to uphold Anglicanism. Further, he ordered that no Catholics were permitted to hold public office.

3. The Anglican Church was made the official Church of Ireland.

4. There was to be free trade between Ireland and the rest of Britain (although this did not prevent tariffs from being imposed on Irish goods).

5. Ireland had to have a separate Exchequer, that is a national treasury, and from these monies Ireland had to pay for two-seventeenths of the so called 'general expenses' of the entire United Kingdom. This worked out to Ireland paying about 12% of the Kingdom's bills.

Overall, you have to agree it was not such a great 'union' for Ireland. They should have requested a pre-nup.

The dissolution of Éire's union with the United Kingdom began with the declaration of Irish independence, the opening volley of the 1916 Easter Rising. That declaration was ratified in 1919 by the newly created and secret Dáil Eireann, after which the War of Independence ensued. The Irish Free State was established in 1922. Ireland enshrined its independence in the constitution of 1937, and any remaining ties with the union were entirely severed in 1949. Independent Ireland, called Éire, and described as The Republic of Ireland, is no longer subject to the Act of Union, and therefore is not part of the United Kingdom (the State of Northern Ireland remains part of the UK).

Oddly enough, the Irish government did not officially remove the Act of Union from the law books in Ireland until 1983, and although it no longer applies, the Act of Union remains on the law books of the UK.

**Note: Since the union had to be approved in each parliament, there were actually two Acts of Union governing the union of Ireland with Great Britain. One was passed in the British Parliament in July of 1800, and the other was passed in the Irish Parliament in August of 1800. Both came into effect on 1 January 1801.

Copyright©irisheyesjg2013.

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Sepia Saturday: Irish News: Lady Cyclist, Fiery Meteor, & Death from Laughing

For this Sepia Saturday, the inspiration is an image of men reading newspapers which bear a remarkable headline. Written in Dutch, the words 'Dansen Op de Maan', that is, 'Dancing on the Moon', make up the headline used by these papers to announce the 1969 moon landing.

With the advent of the twenty-four hour news cycle, and news available online from every possible outlet, sometimes it is easy to forget that at one time people got their news only from a newspaper made of actual paper, imprinted by the typesetter's hand. Rather than focus on the moon landing, an event which some may have seen as an early mark of a whole new world, I have decided to go another way, and present a few unusual articles from an old Irish newspaper called The Freeman's Journal.

Many of us use newspaper archives when conducting family history research. Within the pages of old newspapers you might find information about family members not only in birth, marriage, and death notices, but also on social pages, and in articles about certain 'incidents'. Generally, I find reading old Irish newspapers very entertaining, particularly The Freeman's Journal, Ireland's oldest national newspaper which was in continuous publication from 1763 until 1924. Sometimes the stories bear archaic words or phrasing no longer familiar to the modern eye, or subject matter is included which you might not see in a newspaper these days.

Here are three stories which caught my eye, including one entitled Knocked Down By A Lady Cyclist, which speaks of a family member on my maternal tree who tangled with a lady and her bicycle, and came away somewhat worse for wear. I've used artistic licence in adding the images, since they did not appear with the original articles, but I think they fit the bill.


Knocked Down By A Lady Cyclist

From The Freeman's Journal, Friday 28 May 1897.


Although the lady pictured is not the cyclist in question, I chose her image because she looks like a surly sort of woman who might mow down a cheeky boy who got in her way. It is interesting to note the news clipping mentions neither the lady's name nor that of the boy who was hit, only that of his father, my great-great-granduncle, Andrew Kettle.

It appears as though the incident may have been a hit and run, since the boy was "found lying on the ground" by a gentleman driving past. I wonder which one of Mr. Kettle's sons it was who had his ankle broken, and was thus "removed...to his father's house". Also, was the lady cyclist a scofflaw, and did she hot-foot it away from the scene?

A Fiery Meteor

From The Freeman's Journal, 9 December 1841.


This story originally appeared in the Whitehaven Herald, and was 'picked up' by The Freeman's Journal. It is interesting to think about how they would have shared stories in 1841, long before the advent of the internet and share buttons. The description of the size of the meteor at "about one foot in breadth" says something about distance and perception, and the explanation given to chronicle its demise —the shape of a serpent, beautiful spiral curves, the letter Z — leaves you wondering about exactly what was seen. Was this in fact a fiery meteor, or was it instead a 19th century encounter with a UFO?

Death from Laughing

From The Freeman's Journal, Tuesday, 7 March 1843.

This article is very curious indeed. In addition to the title, the language of it also caught my eye, with the use of the word se'ennight — a contraction of seven night, which means one week ago — and the use of intemperate to describe the boy's laughter, as though he was simply showing a lack of self-control. Clearly limited was the medical expertise of Mr. Hele or whoever diagnosed this poor lad as "addicted to intemperate laughing". Given the description, and the fact that the disorder was present from infancy, the child may have had something like epilepsy, which can produce uncontrollable laughter. Perhaps he died from a grand mal seizure, rather than from "hysterics, produced by excessive laughing", or his death may have been the result of a cardiac event.  Hmm... Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice.

Copyright©irisheyesjg2013.
Click on images to view larger versions.
Thanks to The Graphics Fairy for the image of the lady with the bicycle.
Reference: The Freeman's Journal, 1763-1924, as sourced via the Newspaper Database, National Library of Ireland.
(Some editions of The Freeman's Journal are available online from the Irish Newspaper Archive, and the British Newspaper Archive.)
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...