REMEMBERING CON MARKIEVICZ Child running wild in woods of Lissadell: Young lady from the Big House, seen In a flowered dress, gathering wild flowers: Ascendancy queen Of hunts, house-parties, practical jokes -- who could foretell (Oh fiery shade, impetuous bone) Where all was regular, self-sufficient, gay Their lovely hoyden lost in a nation's heroine? Laughterless now the sweet demesne, And the gaunt house looks blank on Sligo Bay A nest decayed, an eagle flown. The Paris studio, your playboy Count Were not enough, nor Castle splendour And fame of horsemanship. You were the tinder Waiting a match, a runner tuned for the pistol's sound, Impatient shade, long-suffering bone. In a Balally cottage you found a store Of Sinn Fein papers. You read -- maybe the old sheets can while The time. The flash lights up a whole Ireland which you have never known before, A nest betrayed, its eagles gone. The road to Connolly and Stephen's Green Showed clear. The great heart which defied Irish prejudice, English snipers, died A little not have shared a grave with the fourteen. Oh fiery shade, intransigent bone! And when the Treaty emptied the British jails, A haggard woman returned and Dublin went wild to greet her. But still it was not enough: an iota Of compromise, she cried, and the Cause fails. Nest disarrayed, eagles undone. Fanatic, bad actress, figure of fun -- She was called each. Ever she dreamed, Fought, suffered for a losing side, it seemed (The side which always at last is seen to have won), Oh fiery shade and unvexed bone. Remember a heart impulsive, gay and tender, Still to an ideal Ireland and its real poor alive. When she died in a pauper bed, in love All the poor of Dublin rose to lament her. A nest is made, an eagle flown. -- C. Day-Lewis, Poet Laureate of England Note - Lovely Constance Gore-Booth (Countess Markievicz), the eldest daughter of an Anglo-Irish baronet, had been privately educated at Lissadell, the family home in Co. Sligo. She was presented at Court in 1887 and was thoroughly at home in the world of gala balls. Then in 1900 she married a Polish Count, settled in Dublin in 1903 and began to move towards feminism, socialism and extreme nationalism, much to the distress of early admirers such as Yeats. In the 1916 rising she fought with the Irish Citizen Army and initially was condemned to death. In the 1918 General Election she became the first woman MP but declined to take her seat, in accordance with Sinn Fein policy. Imprisoned again during the war of independence, "the rebel countess" completed her long journey from her background by branding the Anglo-Irish treaty of 1921 a betrayal of republican hopes.

SORROW (To my mother) After silence, I reach for the book of swans. Priest's book, white swans and river take me over, when precious days were lent. "No end," I said, but I was wrong. After silence, I long and reach for the day that's gone. And in my eyes, I see white swans, river, priest's book and feel inside the flow of mother, now gone. After silence, when time means black days, a colourless haze of mist says: "Why death?" "Why death?" And I mourn in song, and reach for the book, priest's book, God's hand, mother's breath and look for white swans. River, take the sound of sorrow and send me milk and white swans. -- James Conway, born in Dublin, founder of Rathmines Writers in 1990.

SNIPPET: John McCORMACK (1884-1945), one of the finest and most popular tenor singers of the first quarter of the 20th century, was born into a tough working-class family in Athlone, in Co. Westmeath - the fourth of eleven children born to Andrew and Hannah McCORMACK - at a time when Ireland was one of the poorest countries in Europe. Nonetheless, John was full of determination to make a name for himself, and according to those who knew him, was possessed of "language so earthy, a docker might blush to hear him." Mc CORMACK's success was phenomenal. The subsequent publicized "rivalry" between McCORMACK and singer Enrico CARUSO was friendly, each tenor deferring to the other as the greatest of the day. Both became millionaires and both became mainstays of the RCA Victor recording company. CARUSO, who was also an actor and artist, drew affectionate caricatures of his friend, McCORMACK, in pen and ink. McCORMACK was the first mega-star of music and this success led to a mansion in Hollywood and a grand estate in Ireland which was once the seat of the earls of Drogheda. He was made a Count of the Papal court, and for a great part of his life was known as "John, Count McCormack." He was lionized in America, being the guest of honor at President WILSON's Fourth of July concert in 1918, having a year previously renounced "all previous allegiances" to the UK (which included Ireland) to become an American citizen. This act was virtually ignored in Ireland, but officially, England took offense, as his change of nationality had taken place a few months before America had entered the "Great War." There was an irony here, too, for it was in England, after his voice and his fortune failed (he had a weakness for slow race-horses), that McCORMACK's most loyal audiences remained. McCORMACK's wife was Lily FOLEY, a Dublin soprano. They were married in 1906 and had two children, a son, Cyril, and a daughter, Gwen. In 1920 having spent several years in the USA, he returned to Dublin with his family where he lived until his death on 16 Sept 1945. Today the "John McCormack Golden Voice Competition," which is held every year in Athlone in his memory, attracts top-grade singers from Britain and Ireland.

SNIPPET: Nostalgic account by Neal SHINE, former Editor of "The Detroit Free Press" to the birthplace of his mother in Carrick-on-Shannon to sprinkle her ashes on the River Shannon: "We brought her through the town one last time...down the narrow streets of her childhood, past places remembered, places cherished, past the shops where merchants were just opening their doors and rolling back the shutters, arranging their wares on cramped sidewalks freshly swept. Shop names, such as COSTELLO, DUIGNAN, FLYNN, DOHERTY. The Commerce of Carrick-on-Shannon being put in place for another day. Past by the Bush Hotel where, as a little girl, she wished more than anything else to be able to climb to its second floor and see through its high windows the wonders of Carrick arrayed before her. And past Dr. BRADSHAW's still substantial house where at 14 years, she had gone to live and work as a serving girl. Where she decided that the world held more promise for her than this. We took her past the heavy oak doors of St. Mary's Church where, on a cold January day 80 years ago, she was washed in the waters of Baptism, where she was Confirmed and had made her First Communion. Where her name is inscribed in Latin in the strong hand of the Parish Priest -- "Maria Helena CONLON," (Mary Ellen CONLON) -- it was the Church where she had stopped on the way to the station one morning in 1927. The day she was taking the first uncertain steps to a new life in America. A frightened 18-year-old come to ask God not to forsake her in the strange new land and to see her safely across the ocean to this great new adventure. Now she was back again, back for the last time, because we had promised her that when she died, we would take her Ashes back to the West of Ireland town where she had been born and spread them along the Banks of the River where she had played as a child. We were her Sons, she was our Mother. It was Spring and there was a promise to be kept. Part of her Ashes were buried with my father in Mt. Olive Cemetery, the rest would drift off on a soft breeze over the dark waters of the Shannon as free as her Spirit when she lived. When we were children she told us some little bit of her never left that peaceful place. That it would always be there, it was why she asked us to take her back. With my brothers, Jim and Bill and our wives, we walked to the Quayside in the shadow of the Old Stone Bridge near the Warehouse in which her father had supervised the unloading and distribution in Carrick of the barrels of GUINNESS Stout. Near the opposite bank where, as the oldest child, she was permitted to row the boat while her father fished, two swans moved gracefully through tall rushes. At the water's edge, we said the Lord's Prayer and the Hail Mary. The first Prayers she had learned, the first Prayers she taught us. A large black dog that had followed us, sat quietly while we prayed. We sprinkled the Ashes at the river's edge, no stone or monument to mark the place, just the timeless river moving on to the Sea, 135 miles away." The words of Ireland's poet William ALLINGHAM - "Four ducks on a pond A grass bank beyond A blue sky of spring White birds on the wing What a little thing To remember for years To remember with tears!" -- Excerpt, "The Leitrim Guardian," 1997

SNIPPET: The untitled poem below by Nina HAVERS appeared as part of her contribution in the yearly (1999) "Leitrim Guardian" periodical regarding a day at Drumshanbo Mart. Nina said, "We brought in the cattle early. I had them penned in the byre the night before, and at eight o'clock this morning Gabriel and Sean turned up with the tractor and trailer and together we did battle with the weanling heifers in the mud of the street. It was cold and a soft drizzle had us all soaked before the trailer door finally slammed shut on the sacrificial cows... The place is rapidly filling up. I greet a few neighbours and acquaintances. The bellowing of cattle, the curses and shouts of the mart men, and the restiveness of the crowd seem to swell like a tide as the auctioneer and his sidekick climb into their box, start whispering to each other and shuffle papers... As the selling proceeds, I become one with the crowd around me - we are all there for a common purpose and I cease to be "The English woman who got the DUIGNAN's place" and am "a farmer selling cattle." ... I look about me. You can tell the farmers from the dealers. The dealers usually lean on the wall of the ring, itself, often wear hats and tweed jackets and have red faces. The farmers stay mostly on the tiers. Some come in jeans and sweaters, but most wear either wellies or heavy working boots. They come in all shapes and sizes; thin and fat, straight and strong or bent with arthritis, young and fresh or old and lined, dark as Gypsies, fair as Vikings, brown or grey or red or balding. They have one thing in common and a tough granite set about their faces." Winter on a small farm When your hands are chapped and your movements are old And the land is trapped in a death-like cold, When you can't feel your toes and your fingers are numb, Remember that summer will one day come; There'll be flowers all over the ripe fields of clover One warm day when summer smiles again. When the trees are bare, the reeds stiff and brown, And your boots crunch loud on the frozen ground, When the ice lies thick on the rain water butt, And you can't feel the baler-twine knife while you cut: There'll be flowers all over the ripe fields of clover One warm day when summer smiles again. When it's dark in the morning and dark at night And the cowshed is lit by candle light, when there's sleet and rain and snow and frost And half of your lambs will be surely lost, Think: There'll be flowers all over the ripe fields of clover One warm day when summer smiles again. When the cows breathe smoke like dragon's fire And God holds the world in his granite-hard ire, When the wife is complaining and the World needs explaining And your children turn blue and want comfort from you, Say, "There'll be flowers all over the ripe fields of clover One warm day when summer smiles again." -- Nina Havers (now Easterbrook)

The Ireland surname registries on the Ireland GenWeb website have been updated thanks to Kathy Snowberger. If you submitted a name, check your entry for accuracy. If you find a mistake or your data has changed, please submit a new form and put 'change' in the field where you want the change. Also, if you have names in the registry and your email addresses changes, don't forget to submit and new form and put 'change' in the email address field. All we will need is your name, new email address and the surname. Here is the website with the links to the surname registries. http://www.irelandgenweb.com/ While you may not want to submit names, check the site regularly, you just might find connections to your family tree. -- Pat Connors, Sacramento CA http://www.connorsgenealogy.com

DONKEYS They are not silent like work-horses Who are happy or indifferent about the plow and wagon; Donkey's don't submit like that For they are sensitive And cry continually under their burdens; Yes, they are animals of sensibility Even if they aren't intelligent enough To count money or discuss religion. Laugh if you will when they hee-haw But know that they are crying When they make that noise that sounds like something Between a squawking water-pump and a fog-horn. And when I hear them sobbing I suddenly notice their sweet eyes and ridiculous ears And their naive bodies that look as though they never grew up But stayed children, as in fact they are; And being misunderstood as children often are They are forced to walk up mountains With men and bundles on their backs. Somehow I am glad That they do not submit without a protest; But as their masters are of the deafest The wails are never heard. I am sure that donkeys know what life should be But alas, they do not own their bodies; and if they had their own way, I am sure That they would sit in a field of flowers Kissing each other, and maybe They would even invite us to join them. For they never let us forget that they know (As everyone knows who stays as sweet as children) That there is a far better way to spend time; You can be sure of that when they stop in their tracks And honk and honk and honk. And if I tried to explain to them Why work is not only necessary but good, I am afraid that they would never understand And kick me with their back legs As commentary on my wisdom. So they remain unhappy and sob And their masters who are equally convinced of being right Beat them and hear nothing. -- "Donkeys" from "Stand Up, Friend With Me," by Edward Field, 1963. Edward Field was born in 1924 in NYC, contributed regularly to the "Evergreen Review." Donkeys have been an intregal part of Ireland.

SNIPPET: Ireland's last veteran of the Great War, Mr. Thomas SHAW, of Belfast, died at the age of 102 on 2 March 2002. He was buried 7th March at Clandeboye Cemetery, Bangor, Co. Down. More than a quarter of a million Irishmen fought in WW-I (1914-1918). While 35,000 Irish survived, they came home to a country in violent upheaval fiercely fighting its own battle between the north and the south. Many returning soldiers faced unemployment and prejudice - some were murdered for having served in the British Army. Over the years, in the Irish consciousness, the poppy and Remembrance Day have been associated with respect for those who died in the war and memorials and museums honor them. Please see the piece at the "Irish Culture & Customs" website entitled 'The Irish Soldiers Killed in WWI,' by Bridget HAGGERTY, honoring her Galway-born father who survived the war and others who served - in particular, those who died. There is also a stirring poem and a fine painting there. "Irish Voices from the Great War," H/c (1995) book by Myles DUNGAN along with his companion volume, "They Shall Not Grow Old: Irish Soldiers Remember the Great War," H/c (1997) chronicle the experiences of the soldiers in the trenches, their boots rotting off their feet, exposed to malaria and other diseases, their experiences as POWs, role of chaplains, trials back home, through first-hand accounts. Below are lines from poems in "The Best Loved Poems of the American People," ed. Hazel Felleman (1936) IN FLANDERS FIELDS In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We loved, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. -- John McCRAE REPLY TO IN FLANDERS FIELDS Oh! Sleep in peace where poppies grow; The torch your falling hands let go Was caught by us, again held high, A beacon light in Flanders sky That dims the stars to those below. You are our dead, you held the foe, And ere the poppies cease to blow, We'll prove our faith in you who lie In Flanders Fields. Oh! rest in peace, we quickly go To you who bravely died, and know In other fields was heard the cry, For freedom's cause, of you who lie, So still asleep where poppies grow, In Flanders Fields. As in rumbling sound, to and fro, The lightning flashes, sky aglow, The mighty hosts appear, and high Above the din of battle cry, Scarce heard amidst the guns below, Are fearless hearts who fight the foe, And guard the place where poppies grow, Oh! sleep in peace, all of you who lie In Flanders Fields. And still the poppies gently blow, Between the crosses, row on row, The larks, still bravely soaring high, Are singing now their lullaby To you who sleep where poppies grow In Flanders Fields. -- John MITCHELL ANOTHER REPLY TO IN FLANDERS FIELDS In Flanders Fields the cannons boom, And fitful flashes light the gloom; While up above, like eagles, fly The fierce destroyers of the sky; With stains the earth wherein you lie Is redder than the poppy bloom, in Flanders Fields. Sleep on, ye brave! The shrieking shell, The quaking trench, the startling yell, The fury of the battle hell Shall wake you not, for all is well; Sleep peacefully, for all is well. Your flaming torch aloft we bear,, With burning heart and oath we swear To keep the faith, to fight it through, To crush the foe, or sleep with you, In Flanders Fields. -- J. A. ARMSTRONG AMERICA'S ANSWER Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders dead. The right that ye so bravely led We've taken up. And we will keep True faith with you who lie asleep With each a cross to mark his bed, In Flanders fields. Fear not that ye have died for naught. The torch ye threw to us we caught. Ten million hands will hold it high, And Freedom's light shall never die! We've learned the lesson that ye taught In Flanders fields. -- R. W. LILLIARD

SNIPPET: In the summer 1998 issue of "History Ireland" published in Dublin, a special issue devoted to the 1798 Rebellion, there is a story about "The Pikeman of Tralee," by Sighle BHREATHNACH-LYNCH-Lynch, a free-lance art historian who was at the time researching a book on early 20th century sculpture which likely has been subsequently published and may be of interest to researchers. Included in the magazine article is a photo of the Pikeman of Tralee, Denny Street, unveiled in June 1939, as well as a photo of the original Pikeman, unveiled in 1905, destroyed by the Black and Tans in 1921. These photos are evidently part of the Lawrence Collection in the National Library of Ireland, Dublin. There is also photo of (to my view) a marvelous sculpture by Jerome O'CONNOR, of the Pikeman, who lost the commission due to delays because he was dissatisfied with it. Kerry's memorial to the men who fought and died for Ireland in 1798, (a full-length figure,.the pikeman striding forward, radiating a sense of purpose and defiance befitting the commemoration of an armed rebellion) commemorates not only the men of '98 but, as the panels on the elaborately designed pedestal indicate, also the risings of 1803, 1848 and 1867. Unveiled on 6 June 1939 it quickly became a permanent landmark in Tralee. Per the author, it was not the first '98 monument to be erected in Denny Street. It replaced one unveiled in 1905. Some background -- In 1901, in the climate of resurgent nationalism following the centenary celebrations of the 1798 Rebellion, the Kerry County Board of the GAA initiated a movement for the erection of a '98 memorial in Tralee. A local stonemason* was commissioned to carve the statue and plinth. The figure depicts a young pikeman, alert and at the ready. This statue remained in place until 1921 when, during the War of Independence, the Black and Tans dragged it from its pedestal and smashed it. Six years later a local committee, three of whom comprised members of the original committee, decided to replace it. Rather than hire a local stone carver, the renowned Kerry-born international sculptor, Jerome CONNOR, was invited to sculpt the replacement figure. But he delayed so long in completing the commission (being dissatisfied with his initial design) that the committee took him to court. Albert POWER, a highly regarded Dublin sculptor was subsequently called upon to complete the scheme. By June 1939 this third pikeman was ready for unveiling. Per the author, POWER's figure, in terms of its design, recalls that of CONNOR, and, as one would expect of highly-trained professionals artists, theirs are altogether more convincing representations than the original. Per sculptor POWER..."this man represents his country, the man who has lost everything. His house has been burnt, everything has been taken away from him. There is nothing remaining to him but the roots of his trees. Yet he is standing on the roots which support his claim to right and justice and faces life sure of conquering. This man is Ireland." Per the author, what is revealed here are not only POWER's own strong patriotic views, but those of the committee and others supporting the venture - a need to romanticise the past as a heroic struggle against insuperable odds. In the Ireland of the 1930s, when people were trying to put the horrors of the Civil War behind them, the glorification of past national sacrifice provided a comforting diversion from having to confront the country's less commendable contemporary blood-letting. Per the author -- On the occasion of the unveiling of the foundation stone for the first monument in 1902, Maud GONNE McBRIDE was asked to perform the ceremony. Thirty-seven years later she was back to unveil the replacement. Her speeches at both events provide an illuminating insight into the unchanging nature of her personal political aspirations, aspirations which inevitably clashed with the shifting character of political life in Ireland in the first three decades of the century. For her the necessity of fighting for Ireland's full independence was paramount, a freedom which she saw in quasi-religious terms. In the earlier speech she talks of "the holy cause of freedom" while in 1939 she argues that it is the duty of Christians to overcome the British Empire which 'represents for us the world, the flesh and the devil.' By the time of the second unveiling however the whole political climate in Ireland had changed. Independence had been granted to most of the island.! Her continued exhortation for the crowd, particularly the young, to fight for Ireland's freedom was now out of kilter with the new political reality. She chose to ignore the fact that most people, sickened by the atrocities of the Civil War, shunned the kind of violence she so ardently sought. She believed that Eamon de VALERA and his followers had betrayed republican ideals by their decision to engage in constitutional politics in the wake of the Civil War. In her address she bitterly denounced her former allies, now the leaders of the nation, accusing them of having 'succumbed to the forces of corruption of the British Empire.' Added Note: I had wondered who had designed the original Pikeman, and a lister supplied the answer: "Jean, the answer to your question (who designed the original Pikeman)in Denny Street Tralee lies below in this story from The Kerryman Newspaper of 1907." "Pikeman Monument unveiled. Despite an incessant downpour, thousands of Kerry Nationalists from all parts of the country flocked into Tralee yesterday, to participate in the interesting function of the unveiling of the splendid monument erected in Denny Street to perpetuate the memory of "the dead, who died for Ireland" The unveiling privilege was entrusted to that veteran patriot Mr. C.G. DORAN, of Queenstown, whose soul stirring address provoked continuous and enthusiastic cheering. The drenching deluge did not prevent all who arrived in town from all parts of the county from paying an early visit to the monument,, which evoked feelings of the warmest admiration from the most hoary-headed veteran as well as from the most juvenile and enthusiastic Gael. The monument, which was designed by a young Tralee man, Mr. MICHAEL REIDY, Technical Instructor under the County Council Department, is about 30 feet high, and is composed of a harmonious blend of Ballybeggan Limestone and Castleisland red marble - everything which composes pedestal and figure must be put down not only as Irish, but as Kerry products - and Kerry might well feel proud, not only of her products, but of the skill of her sons. MR. J BUNYAN, Listowel, proposed - "That we the Nationalists of Kerry Assembled as the ceremony of the unveiling of the memorial to the men who fought and fell for Ireland, earnestly declare that the principles which they represent can along create the liberty for which our people have struggled through the ages." Regards, KerryKate

THE QUEEN'S AFTER-DINNER SPEECH 'Me loving subjects,' sez she, 'Here's me best respects,' sez she, 'An' I'm poud this day,' sez she, 'Of the illigant way,' sez she, 'Ye gave me the hand,' sez she, 'Whin I came to land,' sez she. 'There was some people said,' sez she, 'They was greatly in dread,' sez she, 'I'd be murthered or shot,' sez she, 'As like as not,' sez she, 'But 'tis mighty clear,' sez she, ''Tis not over here,' sez she, 'I have cause to fear,' sez she, ''Tis them Belgiums,' sez she, 'That's throwin' bombs,' sez she, 'And scarin' the life,' sez she, 'Out o' me son and the wife,' sez she. 'But in these parts,' sez she, 'They have warrum hearts,' sez she, 'And they like me well,' sez she, 'Barrin' Anna Parnell,' sez she. 'I dunno, Earl,' sez she, 'What's come to the girl,' sez she, 'And that other wan,' sez she, 'That Maud Gonne,' sez she, 'Dhressin' in black,' sez she, 'To welcome me back,' sez she; 'Though I don't care,' sez she, 'What they wear,' sez she, 'An' all that gammon,' sez she, 'About me bringin' famine,' sez she, 'Now Maud 'ill write,' sez she, 'That I brought the blight,' sez she, 'Or altered the saysons,' sez she, 'For some private raysins,' sez she, 'An' I think there's a slate,' sez she, 'Off Willie Yeats,' sez she. 'He should be at home,' sez she, 'French polishin' a poem,' sez she, 'An' not writin' letters,' sez she, 'About his betters,' sez she. 'Paradin' me crimes,' sez she, 'In the Irish Times,' sez she.... -- "Prose, Poems and Parodies of Percy French," 1925 -- Best known perhaps for his song writing skills, with "Mountains of Mourne" just one of the numerous songs he composed, William Percy French was also an entertainer, poet and painter. Born near Roscommon in 1854, he graduated from Trinity College Dublin as an engineer and worked for 7 years in Cavan as the 'Inspector of Drains'. During that time he wrote songs and painted, which he considered his true talent. After the death of his first wife he turned to the stage for a fulltime career. Today the watercolours of Percy French can fetch high prices but, with no desire to accumulate money himself, French frequently paid for his board and lodgings with paintings or gave them away to friends.

SNIPPET: Dublin's "Ireland of the Welcomes" issue for Nov/Dec 2008 asks whether global warming might be the cause of a blue whale being sighted off Ireland's southwest coast recently. "Whatever the reason, the earth's largest living animal has not been seen in our waters for over fifty years, and never photographed until now. The blue whale, which grows to 100 feet (30 meters) long, weighs up to 150 tons and lives for over a century, certainly caused a stir among marine watchers, and nearly gave skipper Henry MACAULEY of whale-watching vessel "Atlantic Explorer" a heart attack when it surfaced right alongside, some 50 miles (80 kilometers) off the Kerry coast. "Everybody was stunned by the sheer size of the animal- the closest thing to a submarine breaking the surface as you're likely to see," he was reported as saying. www.iwdg.ie

SNIPPETS: 1. Small boys in suits and little girls playing after their First Communion with white dresses, pretty veils and bouquets askew surely must be one of the most delightful sights in all of Ireland. It is traditional for friends and relations to award a child a generous gratuity upon taking their First Communion. Newly-confirmed minors are likely to find themselves richer by half the average weekly wage! 2. Ireland's festivals take place all over Ireland during the summer months and are known as fleadhs. 3. When Queen Victoria of England visited Ireland she was smitten instantly. Although familiar with the loveliness of the Scottish Highlands, she pronounced the Kerry panoramas of misty lakes and grandiose mountains the finest in her Empire. 4. Carlow is a small county, the second smallest in Ireland. Its land is productive. It is sometimes referred to (in a tongue-in-cheek manner) as the county with more than its share of the "nearly famous." In years past those fortunate enough to own large holdings were prosperous and such people found time to devote their mental energies to matters other than managing their estates. Many were wealthy enough to employ professional managers while they got on with their pet, often unconventional, projects. Others, from the merchant class, in what was, and to a great extent still is, a prosperous corner of Ireland, made enough money to involve themselves in similar activities. Samuel HAUGHTON, for example was one of the eccentrics who abounded in Ireland in the Victorian era. Born in Carlow, he was a scientist and mathematician and graduated in mathematics from Trinity College before turning his attention to medicine. He is best remembered for a discovery which combined all three disciplines at which he was adept. It took some time to work out, but in the end his formula was of benefit to a tiny percentage of the population, although is stopped short of saving their lives. He worked out a mathematical, scientific and medical computation known as "Haughton's Drop." The "drop" was not one of medicinal liquid but an instruction to the hangman when dealing with prisoners sentenced to death. Until this time, the unfortunate wretches sentenced to be "hanged by the neck until dead" usually suffered from a slow and agonizing process of strangulation, something which the mob that gathered for executions thoroughly enjoyed. "Haughton's Drop," however, took the "fun" out of execution day. It determined the precise length of rope; the exact depth of fall which a condemned man of a certain weight required in order to die instantly rather than linger half-alive in front of his viewers. 5. Limerick men will come right out and tell you that Limerick women are the prettiest in Ireland. Of course, women in every county are pretty - the soft Irish climate is apparently good for the skin. The natural, wholesome outdoor looks of Irish women have become fashionable, unlike the 1950s, when farmers' daughters tended to plaster over their natural beauty with make-up and black mascara more so than they do today. The complexions of the Irish were historically differentiated into two types: the Fionn Gall ("fair foreigners") with their creamy skin, freckles and red hair, while the Dubh Gall ("dark foreigners") had white skin, raven hair and blue eyes. Today there are many variations in Ireland, but one still encounters outstanding examples of both. Women have always been ones to hold the family together. Today's Irish women, in particular, are extremely confident and "well able" for the men. They are not short of words, or wit, ability or character. In ancient Ireland, they were total equals, and Brehon Law absolutely upheld their right to divorce a husband on the important grounds that he was weak in bed. 6. In the early centuries of Christendom, a monastery, with its many trades and centre of administration, was the nearest thing Ulster had to a town. So Columba (also known as Columcille), a prolific founder of monasteries, built his first one in Derry (the most complete of Ireland's walled cities) and is regarded as Derry's founder. He built high on an island hill just off the left bank of the estuary of the River Foyle, pragmatically choosing an oak grove for his setting. The grove had previously been a place of pagan worship and the saint's men were canny enough not to chop down too many trees when they built, for the oak has always had a particular resonance in Irish mythology. "Doire," pronounced near enough "Derry," is Irish for "oak grove" and the sessile oak, Quercus petraea, is one of the great mythical trees of the island, lending to the early Irish runic ogham script its sign for "D," from dair for "oak." 7. Wexford town stands on a site occupied from the 9th to the 12th centuries by the Vikings who founded the flourishing port of of Waesfjord. Wexford is separated by natural barriers from the rest of Ireland but with close connection by sea to Britain and mainland Europe. For this reason the county has provided access to immigrants from abroad from the earliest times; to invading armies later. Now, at Rosslare, it provides ferry connections to South Wales and to Le Havre and Cherbourg in France. It was in Wexford, in 1169, that the Anglo-Norman conquest of Ireland began. This was followed by settlers from England and Wales. Here, as well as the Gaelic surnames of KINSELLA, MURPHY, O'CONNOR and KEHOE can be found families called DAKE, FLEMING, DEVEREUX, FURLONG and HARVEY. For centuries Wexford has been mainly an English-speaking county. Even in the 1798 rebellion, when the county rose up against British rule, the rebels tended to be English speakers, while their loyalist opponents included Gaelic-speaking militia from the province of Munster. Today, the English language is delivered in Wexford with a unique accent. In earlier times, in certain parts of the county, people conversed in a dialect known as "yola," which bore strong resemblance to that of Somerset in England, especially regarding the tendency to pronounce the letter "S" as "Z." Remnants of the old way of speaking persist in the southern baronies of Forth and Bargy, a flat sea-bound area entwined with little roads. What makes Wexford, and Forth and Bargy in particular, different in its speech is that the dialect words are essentially English in origin, with some Flemish undertones to complicate matters.

SNIPPET: Portumna, Co. Galway -- "This morning in Portleix we were to have begun a trip to the Comeragh Mountains in Co. Waterford, but since snow could be seen lying on the distant peaks of the mountains in Co. Wicklow we decided to visit the annual point-to-point meeting of the East Galways near Portumna instead. Our route lies due west, through the northern end of Co. Tipperary, pleasant rolling wooded country, with here and there a glimpse of fine estates. Then as Lough Derg and the Shannon come in sight the country becomes even more pleasantly wooded. Here in the west there is no snow, and the weather is typical Irish April, heavy rain-clouds interspersed with bursts of brilliant sunshine. The meeting too is a typical Irish point-to-point; there seems to be very little to distinguish these events, in Co. Down or Galway -- except that here the crowd contains perhaps a slightly higher percentage of oddities and "characters" than would a similar crowd in the North. A gentleman in a top-hat sings like a bird before inviting the crowd to invest in his sweepstake lottery. Then there is the inevitable philanthropist dressed as a jockey who apparently tours the country giving out winners, to a perpetual refrain of "What did I tell you?" Delightful occupation. Here he is again, as much at home in Galway as he was last year in Co. Antrim, and still moving at his priest-like task. The crowds sway and push; servant-girls from the big houses in the neighbourhood giggle as they lose their sixpences at roulette or spotting the lady. The "quality" here is to be distinguished by a certain air of genteel shabbiness; ancient riding breeches, dilapidated tweed coats patched at the elbows with leather, almost historical mackintoshes -- nobody here seems to have more than ten shillings to bet with, and everybody seems to be happy, all rubbing elbows in a crowd that contains indifferently the most ancient names in Debrett and dilapidated tinkers with no seats to their pants." -- Denis Ireland, "From the Irish Shore," 1936

SNIPPET: Mary Kate FERGUSON was born under the shadow of the Ox Mountains in Attymass, Co. Mayo, in 1929, the ninth child of a large farming family. When living from the smallholding proved insufficient to sustain fourteen children, Marrie's father had to take migrant work, first in Ireland and later in England. Marrie emigrated to England in the winter of 1946, where she met and married Tom WALSH, also from the West of Ireland. It took a visit to the first Irish Women Writers Workshop in 1988 to encourage her to write her charming memoir of growing up in the 1930s-early 40s in beautiful County Mayo, and she subsequently went back to live in the village community she had left many years earlier. When Marrie was growing up, the Irish Free State was in its infancy and struggling to survive. Times were tough but the sense of fellowship was strong. Her vibrant stories tell of a world where matchmaking, house masses, wakes and farewell parties for the numerous young men and women who emigrated to find work abroad take place in the midst of thatched cottages, peat fires, spring wells and mythical fairies riding on the backs of hares. Marrie wrote that villages would occasionally welcome a visit from the "travelling people," as the men were tin-smiths and masters of their craft and would make tin mugs and cans outside the houses, fix pots and pans and buckets. They would also weld and mend farm implements. But she noted - "My father would sometimes scold my mother for being over-generous (in sharing provisions) but she would say that we had a roof over our heads and enough to eat and drink, while they slept by the wayside with no place to call home. She would explain to us that the tinkers were not on the road by choice. They were once owners of houses and land but, through some misfortune, had been thrown out and had to struggle to survive, wandering through the countryside depending on charity, whilst the people who dispossessed them lived in comfort. Some householders shut the doors in their faces, while others set the dogs on them. In winter these displaced people camped on the bog roads away from houses. At least they were sure of a fire and anyone with reserve stacks of turf had to make constant trips to the bog to keep an eye on their property. We always had reserves for selling in the town in winter and it was a welcome source of income. It was stacked on the bog road for easy access and my father or brothers would sell it by the cart-load. The tinkers would assure my family that they would not pilfer from us as we were hospitable to them on their rounds. They only robbed those who showed them the door or turned the dogs on them. In the cold weather their favourite expression to passers-by was 'T' was a cold night in the tent, Sir.' We used to pity them. They were a hardy race of people. The women of the MAHON family had beautiful golden wavy hair reaching to their waists, and on the coldest, frostiest morning could be seen washing their tresses in the running water of the stream or river. They never used a towel to dry hair but squeezed the excess water out, tossing their crowning glory in the wind, and letting nature do the rest. They would eventually depart, leaving behind the usual mess to be cleaned away by the villagers and dumped out of harm's way. The villagers would say 'Good riddance,' and hope that they chose another location next time round."

A Seed William Allingham, 1824-1889 See how a Seed, which Autumn flung down, And through the Winter neglected lay, Uncoils two little green leaves and two brown, With tiny root taking hold on the clay As, lifting and strengthening day by day, It pushes red branchless, sprouts new leaves, And cell after cell the Power in it weaves Out of the storehouse of soil and clime, To fashion a Tree in due course of time; Tree with rough bark and boughs' expansion, Where the Crow can build his mansion, Or a Man, in some new May, Lie under whispering leaves and say, "Are the ills of one's life so very bad When a Green Tree makes me deliciously glad?" As I do now. But where shall I be When this little Seed is a tall green Tree?

Hi Jean I think you may have found them,daughter Cat was born Waterford,from her marriage cert.I have looked at the Familysearch.org over and over and never come up with anything close,no O in Burke that could explain why I had trouble,Thank you so much Jean,this is a good starting point for me.Never done research in Ireland before not sure whats free on the net. Thank You Julie> From: jeanrice@cet.com> To: irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com> Date: Fri, 24 Oct 2008 00:20:28 -0700> Subject: Re: [Irish Genealogy] Waterford? BURKE? -- Patrick AHEARN marriage to Alice BOURKE> > Hi Julie - You might want to check out the marriage at www.familysearch.org> for a Patrick AHEARN and an Alice BURKE on 31 Jan 1864, Kilbrien, Co. > Waterford. His father Thomas AHEARN. Her father William BURKE. I would > suggest you keep it for a possibility. See if you come up with any children > for this couple. Check and see if you can find out more. If the correct > couple, they likely would have had a son named William early in their > marriage, but perhaps he died. Exact spelling of names on records notorious > for often being incorrect. Does Waterford "ring a bell" in your FH? Jean> ----- Original Message ----- > From: "Jean R." <jeanrice@cet.com>> To: <irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com>> Sent: Thursday, October 23, 2008 11:09 PM> Subject: Re: [Irish Genealogy] Patrick AHEARN marriage to Alice BOURKE> > > > Hi Julie - Do you know in which Irish county or province the couple > > married? <snip>> > Message ----- > > From: "Julie N" <familiestree@hotmail.com>> > To: <irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com>> > Sent: Tuesday, October 21, 2008 8:20 PM> > Subject: [Irish Genealogy] Patrick Ahearn marriage to Alice Bourke> >> Hi all i'm new to the board, I'm trying to find the marriage of Patrick> >> Ahearn and Alice Bourke abt 1863/64 first son Thomas born in > >> 1864/65,other> >> children Mary b abt 1866,Cath abt 1872,Johanna abt 1874,& Patrick born > >> abt> >> ?,the family moved to Aust before 1897 when daughter Cath married,any > >> help> >> on census,births,and the marriage would be appreciated.> >> Julie> > Check out the Ireland GenWeb website at: http://www.irelandgenweb.com/> It is a good place to get help with your family research.> Help wanted: County Coordinators> -------------------------------> To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to IRELANDGENWEB-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message _________________________________________________________________

THIS HOURE HER VIGILL Elizabeth, frigidly stretched, On a spring day surprised us With her starched dignity and the quietness Of her hands clasping a black cross. With book and candle and holy water dish She received us in the room with the blind down. Her eyes were peculiarly closed and we knelt shyly Noticing the blot of her hair on the white pillow. We met that evening by the crumbling wall In the field behind the house where I lived And talked it over, but could find no reason Whey she had left us whom she had liked so much. Death, yes, we understood: something to do With age and decay, decrepit bodies; But here was this vigorous one, aloof and prim. Who would not answer our furtive whispers. Next morning, hearing the priest call her name, I fled outside, being full of certainty, And cried my seven years against the church's stone wall. For eighteen years I did not speak her name. Until this autumn day when, in a gale, A sapling fell outside my window, its branches Rebelliously blotting the lawn's green. Suddenly, I thought Of Elizabeth, frigidly stretched. -- Valentin Iremonger, born in Dublin, 1918, educated at Synge Street Christian Brothers' School, Colaiste Mhuire and the Abbey Theatre School of Acting. Actor and producer at Abbey and Gate theatres, 1940-6. He wrote a small number of impressive lyrics in his late 20s and very little thereafter. Entered Irish diplomatic service, 1946. Over the next approximately 20 years he was Ambassador to Sweden, Norway, Finland, India, Luxembourg and Portugal. He was poetry editor of "Envoy," 1949-51. Co-edited "Contemporary Irish Poetry" (1949) with Robert Greacen, and translated "The Hard Road to Klondike" and "An Irish Navvy, the Diary of an Exile" in the early 1960s. Iremonger died in 1991.

Hi Julie - You might want to check out the marriage at www.familysearch.org for a Patrick AHEARN and an Alice BURKE on 31 Jan 1864, Kilbrien, Co. Waterford. His father Thomas AHEARN. Her father William BURKE. I would suggest you keep it for a possibility. See if you come up with any children for this couple. Check and see if you can find out more. If the correct couple, they likely would have had a son named William early in their marriage, but perhaps he died. Exact spelling of names on records notorious for often being incorrect. Does Waterford "ring a bell" in your FH? Jean ----- Original Message ----- From: "Jean R." <jeanrice@cet.com> To: <irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com> Sent: Thursday, October 23, 2008 11:09 PM Subject: Re: [Irish Genealogy] Patrick AHEARN marriage to Alice BOURKE > Hi Julie - Do you know in which Irish county or province the couple > married? <snip> > Message ----- > From: "Julie N" <familiestree@hotmail.com> > To: <irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com> > Sent: Tuesday, October 21, 2008 8:20 PM > Subject: [Irish Genealogy] Patrick Ahearn marriage to Alice Bourke >> Hi all i'm new to the board, I'm trying to find the marriage of Patrick >> Ahearn and Alice Bourke abt 1863/64 first son Thomas born in >> 1864/65,other >> children Mary b abt 1866,Cath abt 1872,Johanna abt 1874,& Patrick born >> abt >> ?,the family moved to Aust before 1897 when daughter Cath married,any >> help >> on census,births,and the marriage would be appreciated. >> Julie

Hi Julie - Do you know in which Irish county or province the couple married? Can't answer your question, but below is a list of locations in Ireland in which both of your surnames appeared in the same civil parish during the Primary Valuation (1848-64), per the surname search engine at www.ireland.com/ancestor/ That is the case if your spellings are correct, as there are several variations in spelling of both of those surnames. Most often individuals married someone in their own parish. Clare Cork Cork city Laois Limerick Limerick city Tipperary Waterford You can check that webpage for more on your surnames in Ireland. Unusual, in that Patrick is considered to nearly always be a Catholic name and Alice nearly always a Protestant name. J. Message ----- From: "Julie N" <familiestree@hotmail.com> To: <irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com> Sent: Tuesday, October 21, 2008 8:20 PM Subject: [Irish Genealogy] Patrick Ahearn marriage to Alice Bourke > > Hi all i'm new to the board, I'm trying to find the marriage of Patrick > Ahearn and Alice Bourke abt 1863/64 first son Thomas born in 1864/65,other > children Mary b abt 1866,Cath abt 1872,Johanna abt 1874,& Patrick born abt > ?,the family moved to Aust before 1897 when daughter Cath married,any help > on census,births,and the marriage would be appreciated. > Julie

SNIPPET: The July-Aug 2004 issue of Dublin's "Ireland of the Welcomes" magazine has an interesting several-page article with text and colorful illustrations by Dan BARRETT, a retired postman/freelance writer living in Co. Tipperary. And a good resource for researchers is the Rathkeale, Co. Limerick Irish Palatine Heritage Centre. Some of the surnames associated with the Irish Palatine experience: SHIER, HECK, RUTTLE, JACOB, SPARLING, LAURENCE, BOWEN, STEEPE, COOKE, BARKMAN, CRONSBERRY, TESKEY, YOUNG, MILLER, BAKER, REYNARD, COLE, LOWE, BOVENIZER, LEGEAR, BENNER, ALTON, STARK, GILLIARD, MEE, PIPER, ST. JOHN and SWITZER. It was a SWITZER, from neighbouring Co. Tipperary that founded the famous Dublin fashion house of the same name. You might want to read a recent work, "People make Places," by Dr. Patrick J. O'CONNOR, which deals comprehensively with all aspects of the Irish Palatine odyssey. Photographs in the IOTW magazine include: (1) Typical dress worn by Palatines in the 18th century, costumes presented to the IPA at a gathering of Irish Palatines from around the world recently held in Germany. (2) The Irish Palatine Heritage Centre, Rathkeale, Co. Limerick. (3) Embury and Heck Memorial Methodist Church at Ballingrane built by the Irish Palatines in 1766; renovated in 1885, still used by members of the Methodist community in Co. Limerick. Its name commemorates those who brought Methodism to America - Philip EMBRY, a Rathkeale Palatine created Methodist preacher and cousin Barbara HECK, who sailed for America in 1760 where they established a Methodist community. (4) Castle Matrix, built as a Desmond stronghold in the middle of the 15th century, it became the home of the SOUTHWELL family in the early 1600s and was converted into a manor house. (5) Holy Trinity Church of Ireland in Rathkeale, where many Palatine names are recorded on the gravestones. Clever drawings by the author include Palatines arriving in Ireland and superior farming techniques which the Palatines bought to Ireland. Read more about the early Palatines departure to the New World, and during the Spring of 1709 about 11,000 people comprising several different families arriving in London from Rotterdam, the second leg of their proposed journey to America. Learn more about misfortunate Palatines essentially being stranded there, the camp settlements in London, solutions to the "indigent crisis," Irish landlord classes asked to encourage people onto their estates to bolster Protestant presence and because they were skilled agriculturists Palatines arrived in Ireland in the early days of September 1709. Although subsequently experiencing poor treatment in Dublin, as had been the case in London, some settlers left for England again circa 1711. . During the years following their arrival in Ireland, the Palatines who for the most part were Lutheran and Protestant by persuasion, slowly became lukewarm in regards to religious practice, possibly due to lack of preachers and religious direction. As time progressed they enthusiastically embraced Methodism. Eventually -- "The county of Limerick, and to a lesser extent, the counties of Wexford and Carlow would become the major centres of a Palatine presence. In Limerick, Sir Thomas SOUTHWELL, with vast estates around Rathkeale took in innumerable displaced German families and settled them on his lands. Unlike nearly all of the other landlords who had taken in immigrant families only to lose them again within a very short time, SOUTHWELL .... treated his settlers with equanimity. With the British government stalling as regards funding, he wasn't afraid to use his own resources when it came to solidifying a Palatine existence. He assigned each family approximately eight acres of land, and at rents much lower than those demanded of local tenants ... When it came the planting and harvesting of potatoes the Palatines were ahead of their time, as they were the first agriculturists to use the horse and plough in the process, leaving the native Irish entirely dependent on the spade and shovel. The Palatines were also highly skilled in apple culture and were expert cider producers ...During the harsh famine days, the Palatines, due to their superior skill, methods in working the land and raising livestock, escaped the worst ravages of the great hunger and were known to help their less well off neighbours." Read about the eventual dispersal of several families away from Rathkeale circa 1730-40s and on to other landlord estates in Co. Limerick and to a lesser degree, Kerry and Tipperary, and emigration to the New World, etc., after SOUTHWELL's death. Learn more about changes in culture the 19th century brought with it - lessening of enmities existing between German and Gael, acquisition of English and other languages, lessening of the earlier more or less taboo against intermarriage. Per article -- "P. W. JOYCE, the famous historian and collector of Irish music and song was actually brought up in the Palatine village of Glenosheen in South Limerick, and anything he had to say of his German neighbours was always positive."