What's in a name?

 What's in a name? 

One of the things that intrigues me about family history is the way names have been used throughout the generations.  The same names passed down the generations, the use of mother's maiden surnames as second given names for children, the so-called traditional naming patterns found in Ireland & Scotland and the patronymic naming system historically used in Scandinavia.

One example in my family tree is Marcus, so I thought it might be interesting to trace the various Marcus's back through the generations.  

MARCUS - according to Wikipedia, Marcus is an ancient name of Roman origins, most likely deriving from Mars, the Roman god of war. 

The current owner of the name is my nephew, my sister's son.  In the interest of privacy, I'm not going to elaborate on him. My sister named him in honour of our "Uncle" Mark, in reality my father's 2nd cousin Marcus Griffin (1921-1997).  His daughter and my sister are close in age and have been great friends since childhood.

In turn, Uncle Mark was named for his own uncle, Marcus Harvey Griffin (1867-1899), my 1st cousin twice removed. This Marcus was born in Ireland, the youngest in a family of 10 children.  He joined the Royal Army Medical Corps, serving in South Africa during the Boer War, where he died aged 32 in a railway accident at Pinetown in KwaZulu-Natal.

                                            The Transvaal War, Casualties at the Front. 

                             Illustration for The Illustrated London News, 30 December 1899.

                                                                      London Morning Post 8 December 1899

Going further back, it's reasonable to assume that Marcus Harvey Griffin was named for his mother's uncle Marcus Keane (1815-1883), my 3x great uncle.  At the time of her marriage in 1851, Marcus Keane gifted to his niece a cottage in Kilbaha, county Clare, which is still owned by her descendants today.  Marcus Keane is remembered for his role as a land agent for the extensive Conyngham and Westby estates, among others. His actions during the famine years in evicting tenant farmers from their small holdings made him very unpopular with the local people.  There are at least 7 other Marcus's who descend from the Keane family.

                                                  

                                                                   Marcus Keane of Beechpark 1815-1883

                                                                      photo from Pilkington Family Collection

Marcus's mother, Jane (nee Delahunty) had an uncle Marcus Delahunty (circa 1750-1814), my 5x great uncle.  I don't know much about him, but there are another 5 Marcus's down the line in the Delahunty family.

Once again, Marcus Delahunty appears to have been named for an uncle - his mother's brother Marcus Paterson (1712-1786), my 6x great-uncle.  This Marcus was a lawyer and politician. He became Solicitor General for Ireland, and Chief Justice of the Court of Common Pleas.  
Marcus Paterson - Wikipedia gives details of his career.

Marcus Paterson had a son and a nephew also named Marcus, from whom at least another three Marcus Paterson's descend.  

There is a Rev. Marcus Paterson who is a contemporary of this Marcus's father Montrose Paterson, and very likely his brother, but I have been unable to locate positive confirmation of this relationship.

So, there it is - just over 300 years, spanning nine or possibly ten generations and including at least 24 babies named Marcus.  That's quite a tradition!

Epidemics across the years...

The inspiration for this post came while I was researching my Quaker ancestors in Ireland. The comprehensive records kept by the Quakers have allowed me to trace back to my 7x great grandmother Mary Sparrow who married in Wexford in 1662.  The marriage record tells me her father was Richard Sparrow and her mother Jane.  Searching for further information on the Sparrow family led me to the records for St Stephens parish in Norwich, England, where a Richard Sparrow, baker, and his wife Joan/Joane/Jane began baptising their children in 1644.  I don't think these records belong to 'my' Sparrow family, but they may do.

Norwich, England 1666 - Bubonic Plague

May 15 - the burial register for St. Stephen's parish in Norwich records the first death attributed to "the plague".  

Bubonic plague is a bacterial infection transmitted by fleas which live on small mammals such as rats. It was Bubonic Plague that was "The Great Plague" of London in 1665, estimated to be responsible for the deaths of up to 100,000 people.  Norwich, a provincial city situated between London and the Norfolk coastal town of Yarmouth also succumbed to the plague.  The crowded streets and lack of sanitation typical of the times meant that the plague spread rapidly.

There is no marriage record for Richard and Joan in the St. Stephen's register, but the first baptism for a child of theirs is for Mary in 1644.  If Joan was from a neighbouring parish then it is likely that the marriage took place there. I also suspect that there may have been an older child also named Mary, as there are two burials for Mary, daughter of Richard Sparrow the baker in 1644 and 1645.  There was also another Mary born to the couple in 1659. This is why I think it unlikely that this is the family of my Mary Sparrow.

By the time the plague hit Norwich in 1666, Richard and Joan were the parents of six surviving children. Unfortunately the highly infectious disease hit their little family hard and in the space of three weeks four of their children were dead. The first was 12 year old Margaret on the 20th October, followed by 7 year old Mary on 3rd November, 14 year old Rose on 5th November and 2 year old Thomas on 7th November.  Only James aged 16 and Richard aged 11 and their parents survived. It is impossible to imagine the heartache and grief Richard and Joan must have gone through at the time.

Page after page in the St. Stephens register records the deaths of townspeople, with the notation 'of the plague'.  At the end of March* the Church Wardens recorded in the register: Buryed this year, of the plague 246. Of all illnesses 291. 

* at that time the calendar year commenced on 1st April, so March 1666 was later than December 1666.

from the burial register of St Stephen's parish, Norwich
for the year 1666
(ancestry.com)

Ennis, Ireland 1832 - Cholera

August 16 - Dr. Charles Keane lay on his death bed in his rented rooms in Ennis, county Clare.  With him were his young wife Sarah, and various family and friends including his younger sister Charlotte. It is thanks to Charlotte recording the events surrounding his death in her journal that we have this record.

Waterford Chronicle 9 June 1832
(from Findmypast.com)

Charles Robert Keane was the eldest son of Robert Keane of Beechpark, county Clare, and brother of my 2x great grandmother Anne Keane Pilkington. He was educated at Trinity College, Dublin before graduating with his medical degree from University of Edinburgh in August 1831.  Back in Ireland he commenced practice in Limerick at the Nunnery Hospital. 

The cholera epidemic of 1832 had spread across Europe over the preceding couple of years, with the first cases recorded in Ireland in March.  Charlotte records the first case in Ennis on the 8th June, when she writes of driving in to Ennis that day and being turned back. She reports seeing the Miltown road full of cars laden with luggage - all fleeing the cholera.  

On the 10 June, the Board of Health sent a delegation to Dublin requesting doctors to come and assist in Ennis. Charles Keane met up with the delegation when they stopped in Limerick to change coaches.  He caught the return coach to Ennis to investigate the situation in his home town first hand.  On his arrival he went directly to the fever hospital where he found 6 dead bodies and no physician to care for the living and dying.  Newspaper reports of the day state that the local physicians refused to attend the hospital, so Dr Charles Keane took charge himself. 

For the next 2 months, Charles spent every night at the hospital tending to the sick and dying, returning to his rooms to snatch a few hours sleep each morning.  On the 10 July he visited his family at Beechpark.  Charlotte writes when he said good bye, little did they know it would be the last words he would speak in the family home.

On Sunday 12 August Charlotte went in to Ennis to attend church, after which she called to see Charles and Sarah. She had received a message saying Charles was ill.  The following day, word came that Charles was very much better.  Plans were commenced to arrange a break at Miltown to allow Charles to rest and recover.  However this was not to be - on the 15th her brother Giles came and told Charlotte that Charles had taken a relapse that afternoon and was now very ill. Charlotte went to him at once and finding him very unwell, stayed all night.  Her graphic description of that night is harrowing, it being obvious to all that he was dying.  She writes of his unquenchable thirst, severe stomach cramps, and the cold beads of perspiration which she constantly wiped from his brow.  

Charles was visited throughout the night by a steady stream of family and friends, some staying for a while, others too upset at the sight of him to remain.  Charles took great comfort from the presence of the minister Mr. Young, as he made his peace with the world and prepared to meet his Maker.  He dictated messages to Charlotte to pass on.  He even shared a last pinch of snuff with his brother-in-law Tom Pilkington, my 2x great grandfather.

The long night finally came to an end, and with the dawn light streaming through the window came the sound of Irish keening for a man in the house directly opposite.  Throughout the morning, Charles lapsed into unconsciousness and by midday there was a large crowd gathered in the street outside, as the townspeople learned that their popular young doctor was dying.  Shortly before 2 pm, Charles roused briefly, then breathed his last and passed away.

Cholera continued its devastation in Ennis over the next few weeks, but by mid-October the worst had passed and the fever hospital closed.  Across Ireland, it is estimated that 50,000 people died during this epidemic.

Charles Kean Obituary
Limerick Chronicle 22 August 1832
(from Findmypast.com)

Melbourne, Australia 2020 - COVID-19

March 6th - almost eight months ago now, and actually the last time I went anywhere.  Anywhere, that is, other than going to work or to the local shops to buy food and household supplies.

On that day we went into the city for an appointment, catching the train in early to make a day of it. We wandered the streets amongst the crowds of city workers, shoppers and sightseers, enjoyed a leisurely lunch in an arcade cafe, then crossed the Yarra to Southbank, where we took in the spectacular 360-degree views of Melbourne and surrounds from Skydeck on the 88th floor of Eureka Tower. We spent a couple of hours in that confined space, packed with visitors from across the globe, as evidenced by the variety of languages and accents.  Along with everyone else we touched the glass as we pointed out landmarks, held onto the rails on the viewing deck, and bumped into people as we made our way around the room.  Leaving there we made our way home, standing room only on the crowded commuter train.

View from Skydeck
©K. Vincent 2020

Little did we know how quickly things were to change! Our news bulletins over December and January had been filled with the horrors of the summer bushfires, but in amongst these stories were reports of a mystery respiratory illness causing concern somewhere in China.  Living under a blanket of bushfire smoke, it didn't really seem relevant to us at the time, and hey - who'd even heard of Wuhan anyway?

February brought stories of the cruise ship Diamond Princess, quarantined off the coast of Japan with growing numbers of sick passengers.  Our nightly current affairs show brought us a video diary recorded by an Australian couple on board, telling the story of their isolation.  Poor buggers, we thought.

On the 11 March, the World Health Organisation declared the corona virus outbreak a pandemic, and on 16 March the Victorian Government declared a State of Emergency.  By the 20th, Australia had closed its national border to all except returning residents.  The advice from our state Health Department was to ensure we had enough food and supplies to last for 2 weeks, in case we had to self-quarantine. So began the panic buying, although it seemed that the item in highest demand was toilet paper, which disappeared off the shelves as fast as the supermarkets could stack it. 

Then the restrictions - if you can stay at home, you must stay home. Four reasons to leave home - food & essential supplies, seeking or giving care, work or education if it cant be done at home, and one hour of exercise per day.  Social media was full of hashtags #flatten the curve #stayathome, memes and song parodies based on corona virus. It was all mildly humorous and a bit of an adventure really.  Three weeks, they said. Three weeks to flatten the curve, and then we'd be right. Our Prime Minister recommended we all go out and buy jigsaw puzzles to pass the time.

©K. Vincent 2020

Well, here we are in October and it's not over yet, not anywhere near it.  We did indeed flatten the curve, but perhaps we got a bit complacent because then we got the 2nd wave.  Certainly there have been mistakes, and things that would have been done differently with the benefit of hindsight.  But amongst all the name-calling, back-stabbing and finger-pointing, one clear fact remains - if people could be trusted to follow the guidelines - ie self-isolate at home when required, we never would have needed hotel quarantine or security guards, and 905 people including dozens of vulnerable elderly in our community would not have lost their lives. If anything good can come out of this, it is the exposure of the absolute disgrace that is our aged care industry.

I'm one of the lucky ones - as a health care worker, I still have a job and I get to leave home each day and interact with people.  On the other hand, I am unlucky in that I am exposed everyday to other people who may not treat this as seriously as I do, and risk not only catching the virus myself but also transporting it home to my loved ones.  Telehealth, Webex and PPE are now part of our normal routine, as is communicating from behind a face mask and fogged-up plastic face shield across a distance of 1.5 metres while trying to use only your eyes to instil some meaning into your conversation.  Currently it is estimated 1.13 million people worldwide have died from Covid-19. Thank goodness we have not (yet) seen the horror of overwhelmed and overrun hospitals that we see from overseas.  I hope we never do.

© K. Vincent 2020

Doondahlin …

Amongst the treasure trove of memorabilia belonging to our extended family is the following picture, painted on a thin sheet of masonite.  It is labelled “Doondahlin” and bears the artists initials of ‘A.E.’.  An identical picture hangs on the wall at a cousin’s beach house.  These pictures would have been a reminder of home to my Irish relatives.

Doondahlin, date unknown, by 'A.E.'

 from Pilkington Family Collection

Doondahlin was one of the homes associated with my family back in Ireland, and which in present times is a ruin.  I had no idea who ‘A.E.’ might be, as the initials did not relate to any known family. 

The painting  was brought to mind again a few months ago when I received an email from a man in Ireland, seeking information about Doondahlin for a local history group.  So back to the family archives I went, to see what I could find out.

Doondahlin was the summer home of the Keane family of Beechpark, in Ennis, county Clare, Ireland.  It was built for my 3x great-uncle, the infamous Marcus Keane, probably in 1854.  An entry in his sister Charlotte’s diary in October of that year reads:  “Marcus is building a fine lodge on the cliffs at Kilbaha”.  Kilbaha is a small village by the shore of the Shannon Estuary on the Loop Head Peninsula in Clare.  These West Clare lands were the ancestral home of the Keanes (formerly O’Cahane, or Ó Catháin in Irish), and previous generations of the family had been well-respected in the area.

Doondahlin, sketched by Sarah Haughton in 1859

from Pilkington Family Collection

Marcus inherited his father’s land agency business, raising himself up the social and financial ladder by marrying the daughter of a wealthy absentee landlord, and taking on the management of his father-in-law’s extensive estates.  He became notorious during an Gorta Mór (The Great Famine) for his ruthless evictions of poor tenant farmers and the destruction of their homes. 

Doondahlin took its name from an ancient Irish hill fort, the remains of which were located on the same cliff top.  Dun Dahlin was one of four hill forts along this stretch of Loop Head Peninsula, the origins of which are based in legend.

From:
Ring-Forts in the Barony of Moyarta, Co. Clare, and Their Legends
by Thomas Johnson Westropp
Part I.—From Loop Head to Carrigaholt
(Clare Library)

Marcus Keane considered himself something of a scholar on the subject of Irish antiquities, and wrote a book published in 1867 titled “The Towers and Temples of Ancient Ireland: their origin and history discussed from a new point of view”.  Perhaps it was this interest which led him to choose this site for his ‘fine lodge’.

In his book “The Houses of Clare”, Hugh Weir describes Doondahlin as a plain L-shaped, 2 storey house, with 3-bay front, and 4-bay wing along the east side, and a single-storey 3-bay wing on the west side.  According to this newspaper advertisement, there were 3 sitting rooms, 7 bedrooms and dressingrooms, 3 servants rooms, plus kitchen, pantries, and closets. I’ve also been told that the construction of the building included a layer of turf stacked between the double brick walls to act as insulation – probably necessary protection from the Atlantic gales blowing across that exposed cliff top.

Freemans Journal 2 June 1873

from Irish newspapers at findmypast.com

The house was used as a summer residence for Marcus, his wife Louisa and their children.  After Marcus’s death in 1883, Doondahlin passed to his son Marcus junior, who owned it until it was destroyed by fire in September 1921.  Marcus the younger’s daughter Helen has written some memories of her family’s life in Clare, and she writes of vividly remembering being at Beechpark one morning when a message was brought to say Doondahlin had been burnt the previous night.  This was during the War of Independence, during which the countryside was engulfed in trouble between the Republicans and the British troops including the dreaded Black and Tans. Doondahlin was targeted presumably in retribution for the actions of Marcus Keane during the previous century.
  
Marcus Keane filed a claim for compensation to the Irish Grants Committee in 1929.  I haven’t seen his claim myself, but I am told that it outlines a previous attempt at firing Doondahlin a few months earlier, which was thwarted by the attention of the caretaker.


So, back to the picture.  While searching for information to pass on to my Irish correspondent, I did a google search for “Doondahlin” and was surprised to find the following in an on-line art catalogue – a third copy of the very same picture, together with another of the view from Doondahlin across the Shannon to Mt. Brandon in Kerry.  Both pictures were surrounded by ‘folk art frames of oystershell’.  The pair of pictures had sold for $100 just a few months previously in October 2017.

The Australian Art Sales Digest, published by John Furphy Pty. Ltd., Melbourne, Australia.

According to the catalogue, the mystery ‘A.E.’ was an Irish/Australian artist by name of Annie Eldridge. Written on the rear of this picture was ‘Mrs. Eldridge, Rosehill, Buffalo Creek, South Gippsland’.   Buffalo is in the same district in South Gippsland where my family members from Ireland settled.

After some more investigation, I came up with two possibilities.  The first was Annie Eldridge nee Farrell, an Irish woman from county Galway, who was married to a William Eldridge. The couple ran a hotel in Wodonga for many years.  This one was promising, because a Farrell family were long-standing friends of my extended family in Gippsland, and the Eldridge family of Rosehill had a son named William.  It all seemed to fit perfectly – except that the Rosehill William Eldridge was married to someone else, and this Annie didn’t fit into the Farrell family we knew.  Additionally, I could not find anything linking this couple to South Gippsland.

The second possibility was Annie Eldridge the sister of William of Rosehill.  Although this Eldridge family were of English origins, not Irish, Annie married into a family with Irish connections.  She was born in 1866, making her a contemporary of my grandfather and his brothers, and she was definitely in the right location to be acquainted with my family.  I’m still unable to connect her to Doondahlin though, so not sure what opportunity she would have had to do the painting.  

All three pictures shown here - painting, sketch and photograph - are taken from a similar vantage point on the shore of Kilbaha Bay in front of what was Kiltrellig Lodge, home of my Pilkington family.  The Pilkington sisters who lived there took in paying guests to help make ends meet.  It is not unreasonable to imagine that IF Annie Eldridge had travelled to Ireland she may have sought accommodation with the family of her friends in Australia.

The ruins of Doondahlin, 2007

© K. Vincent 2007

Transported for 10 years…

The subject of this post is Richard Pilkington, born County Clare Ireland about 1832, the son of William Pilkington, a labourer.  He’s not a confirmed relation to my family, but given the name and location, there is a fair chance of a connection somewhere.  I was prompted to explore Richard’s story while studying a unit on Convict Ancestors with University of Tasmania.

County Clare Ireland in 1850 was still in the grip of an Gorta Mór, the Great Famine. The Kilrush Poor Law Union was one of the hardest hit areas, not only dealing with the effects of the potato blight, but also the mass evictions carried out by landlords and their agents. Some of the worst devastation was instigated by Marcus Keane, known as the Exterminator General of Clare, who happened to be the brother of my great-great-grandmother Anne Keane.  I've written about Anne in a previous post.

In February 1850, at the close of another cold wet winter, people were still being found dead from starvation and exposure. Whole villages lay deserted; their former occupants either dead or emigrated. The detailed reports of Kilrush Union Poor Law Inspector Captain Arthur Kennedy, who was responsible for the relief of the poor and destitute, reveal the suffering he regularly witnessed. Coincidently, Kennedy was to become Governor of Western Australia in 1854.

Not surprising then that people resorted to whatever means they could to survive. Livestock theft was a common occurrence, and the reason 18 year old Richard Pilkington was transported for 10 years.  On the night of February 25^th 1850, eight sheep were stolen from the property of Thomas Browne at Cahermurphy.  At the Assizes in Ennis in July, Richard and five other men were convicted of the crime and sentenced to transportation.  We can only guess at their motivation. Perhaps they wanted food for their families, or maybe were hoping to profit from selling the meat at the nearby markets, where mutton was selling for 5 ¼ pence per pound.  Regardless of the reason, Thomas Browne would have seemed like a soft target. He was a well-off linen merchant from Limerick who farmed several parcels of land throughout West Clare.

Clare Journal & Ennis Advertiser 4 July 1850 page 2.

The long journey to Western Australia began in Ennis jail, described in 1845 as “a thoroughly commodious and well-conducted establishment” which had recently been extended.  Four months later, Richard and two of his co-accused were among a group of 20 prisoners transferred to Spike Island Prison in Cork harbour.  Originally built as a military fortress, Spike Island had been used as a convict depot from 1847 and by the time Richard arrived housed over 2300 prisoners.   Conditions in the prison were not ideal and many of the prisoners were unwell and debilitated as a result of the famine.

Clare Journal & Ennis Advertiser 18 November 1850 page 1.

Richard’s stay at Spike Island was of unknown duration. Although the convict ship Robert Small sailed from Spike Island for Swan River with two of Richard’s partners in crime aboard, Richard must at some point have been transferred to Dublin. His convict records in Western Australia reveal he came from Dublin’s Mountjoy Prison, where his conduct was recorded as “good”, although he doesn’t appear in the Irish Prison Records which include Mountjoy.

Built as a model prison based on the separation theory, Mountjoy was completed in 1850 and provided single cells for 450 inmates.  During his time there, Richard would have been kept completely separated from his fellow inmates, in the belief that it would promote “moral and religious improvement”. In fact, the practice was associated with significant deterioration in the mental health of the prisoners.  What a contrast it must have been for Richard to go from the isolation of Mountjoy to the crowded confines of the convict ship Phoebe Dunbar.

Sketch of the Phoebe Dunbar,

Source: R.D.Shardlow, Mitchell Families Online accessed 16 June 2017.

https://mfo.me.uk/showfolio.php?mediaID=2263

The Phoebe Dunbar sailed from Kingstown (Dublin) on the evening of June 3^rd 1853, carrying 295 male convicts, and 93 others - pensioner guards and their families.  After a voyage of 89 days, she arrived in Fremantle on 30^th August.  Sixteen lives were lost on the voyage, nine of them convicts, with three more dying soon after landing. Disease had been rife on board, with many people suffering from scurvy.  Although sailing a month before the Phoebe Dunbar, the Robert Small had been delayed in transit and had arrived only a few days before. The settlement was unprepared for the influx of almost 600 convicts, many of whom were unwell. Consequently, the convicts remained on board Phoebe Dunbar for three weeks while temporary accommodation was built.

The Perth Gazette & Independent Journal of Politics & News

Friday 2 September 1853 page 2

So began life in Australia for convict number 2449, Richard Pilkington. Described on arrival as being aged 22 and single, he was 5 feet 4 ½ inches tall, of middling stout build with no distinguishing marks. He had black hair, hazel eyes and an oval face with sallow complexion.  He was Roman Catholic and could read but not write.

Richard was assigned to public works in the quarries where constant exposure to dust and grit resulted in severe ophthalmia.  He had several admissions to hospital in 1854-55; the descriptions provided of his eyes leave no doubt that his sight must have been impaired.  The treatments recorded appear to be the standard recommendations of the period, and included green shade to reduce light sensitivity, application of leeches to the temples, and use of various preparations containing mercury, silver, potassium and opium.  Diet was a part of the treatment, and consisted of tea, gruel or broth, designed to keep the digestive tract empty. Richard’s notes show additional foods were introduced as his recovery progressed.

Richard’s progress through the penal system was uneventful, his conduct ranging from “good” to “excellent” when he obtained his ticket of leave on 7^th September 1854.  He spent time at Port Gregory and Freshwater Bay convict depots, but no further record of location is available after his discharge from hospital on 19^th July 1855.  As a ticket of leave holder, he was able to seek employment from free settlers. He received his conditional pardon on 3^rd October 1859.

The next record of Richard is his marriage in Bunbury on 31^st March 1870. Emma Burk(e) is recorded as a servant and he a labourer, both residing at Belvidere. They were married by Roman Catholic Chaplain Hugh Brady at the home of James Milligan.  Belvidere was a property originally established to raise horses for the British Army in India.  It seems reasonable to assume that both Richard and Emma were employees of the estate. They had at least three children - John, Maria and Edward, with unconfirmed reports of a fourth child, Patrick.

A lifetime of poor diet, isolation, harsh treatment and hard work finally caught up with Richard. Aged 46, he died from disease of the lungs at Bunbury on 28^th October 1876.  He is remembered on panel 112 of the Museum of Western Australia’s ‘Welcome Wall’ at Fremantle.

©Katrina Vincent 2017. Written for the Convict Ancestors unit, University of Tasmania. A fully referenced PDF of this work is available on request.

Kilbaha–here and there.

Kilbaha, County Clare, Ireland, 1871

It was one of those perfect mid-summer days in July. The balmy air was full of the sounds of summer – the hum of bees, the song of the larks as they soared high above, the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore of Kilbaha Bay, and in the distance the voices of the people gathering hay in the surrounding fields.

Anna Keane Pilkington shifted her large bulk in the chair, and rearranged her voluminous black skirts. She was enjoying the warmth of the sun against the wall of the house behind her, while in front on the lawn her grandchildren played. They had all come for the annual family holiday at Kiltrellig, the lodge her husband Thomas had built for her forty years ago.

Around her, with much jostling and rearranging of positions, her extended family gathered for a group photograph. The photographer had come from Limerick, and Anna wasn’t sure what she thought about this new-fangled contraption which would reproduce her image on paper. She wished they would just get on with it and leave her to enjoy the sunshine in peace.

Finally everyone was in place, and with an admonition to all to stay still, the photographer disappeared under the black drape of his camera and took the picture. The resulting image showed Anna staring rigidly out of the centre of the picture, surrounded by her children and grandchildren, siblings, nieces and nephews.

Family group Kilbaha 1871

To the extended family group – Pilkington, Haughton, Griffin and Keane – this was a special place. They had spent summers here in West Clare for years; long, lazy days spent exploring the rocky coastline, swimming and fishing in the Shannon, boating trips and endless picnics. At night time they gathered in one or other of the homes for a musical evening, each taking turns to perform a song or play a piece.

The children were off exploring all day, with a freedom not known to them in their ordinary lives. Holiday friendships with the local children were renewed each year and reinforced by shared interests and activity. The boys would help with the ricking or other farming chores, and the girls try their hand at the spinning, or baking a soda loaf over the fire in a nearby cabin.

As the years passed, those children grew up, their lives leading them on different paths around the world, taking the memories of those halcyon days in the West with them.

Kilbaha & Kiltrellig, co Clare, Ireland 2014

©Katrina Vincent

‘Kilbaha’, Sandy Point, Victoria, Australia, 2013

One hundred and forty-two years later, in another sea-side location on the other side of the world, I sat at the kitchen bench in a rustic holiday cottage. With me were my sisters and several cousins of varying degrees of kinship. Just back from an invigorating walk along the beach, the hot cup of tea in my hand was welcome in the cool of the late afternoon. In a frame on the wall behind us hung a faded old sepia photograph in which a large group of people posed in front of the wall of a house. A stern-looking old lady dressed in black glared out from the centre of the picture, surrounded by bearded men, women holding babies, and children of all ages.
Among those children were four small boys who grew up and journeyed half a world away to make homes and raise families in this special place.

There was much about Sandy Point to remind those men of their home in Ireland. The sea and the wild isolation of the place in all its seasons drew them and kept them here. They worked the land, battling the tides and the encroaching scrub to make a life for themselves which they could not have had in Ireland. The families supported each other through good times and bad, their children cousins and playmates. In time, the children grew up, and they too moved out into the world to follow their destinies.

Throughout the years, Sandy Point remained the focal point which drew everyone together. Families returned every year, holiday homes were built, and summers were spent swimming, fishing and boating, with picnics in favourite locations. The next generation roamed the beach and the bush without restriction. City kids joined their country cousins for the hay-making and other farm chores, while evenings were spent at one or other of the homes for barbecues or games nights. The link with the west of Clare is reflected in the names of the family homes – Ennisvale, Kiltrellig, Kilbaha.

Times have changed and Sandy Point is no longer the isolated place it was fifty years ago. Others have discovered its secrets and in summer now it becomes a bustling, crowded holiday centre. The freedom we had as children is no more. But still, our children have established their own traditions and Sandy Point continues to be the place to go to relax, refresh and recharge.

On this weekend, descendants of the four Irish men had travelled from all over Australia for a family reunion on one of the original Sandy Point farms. The autumn weather was perfect and the weekend had been full of camaraderie and reminiscence, renewing connections and celebrating the lives and traditions of all those who came before. Displayed on a large table, precious items of family memorabilia told us the tales of yesteryear - the diary of ‘Aunt Charlotte’, Anna’s youngest sister, was written in beautiful copperplate writing and was full of family adventures in West Clare.

Within the cosy warmth of ‘Kilbaha’ cottage, the ghosts of long ago mingled among us giving their blessings to this family occasion. The smell of wood smoke from the open fire replaced the salty tang of the air outside as the evening sea mist closed in. Two little girls, Anna’s four-times-great grandchildren, played quietly together on the rug, while the room echoed with the laughter and conversation of the adults. As Anna Keane Pilkington and her four small grandsons watched silently from their place on the wall, I could almost imagine a nod of her head and a softening of her gaze.
 
©Katrina Vincent 2016.  Written for Writing the Family Saga unit, University of Tasmania.

Anna Pilkington nee Keane 1802-1875

my 2x great grandmother

The Night of the Big Wind - 6th January 1839

The Night of the Big Wind occurred on 6 -7th January 1839.  It was a cyclonic storm of huge proportions which swept over Ireland lasting from 10pm on the 6th until 6am on the 7th.  Newspaper reports of the time give details and figures of damage.  It became one of those events by which we measure the passage of time, and many people have subsequently written about the event. 

We are fortunate to have a first-hand account of the Big Wind, written in her diary by my 3x great aunt Charlotte Keane.  Charlotte lived a privileged life as a member of the landed gentry class.  Her family home, Beech Park, near Ennis in county Clare is a ruin now, but would have been a grand home back in 1839.  Hugh Weir, in his book "The Houses of Clare", describes Beech Park as a 2-storey building of 3 bays, situated on 17 acres of tree-scattered parkland.

There is a picture of Beechpark in better times in the Clare Library Foto collection. 


Charlotte tells us of the fury and intensity of the Big Wind, as experienced by her from within the relative safety of her substantial home.  How much worse it must have been for the general population in their thatched stone cottages!

At the time this event occurred, Charlotte's father, Robert Keane, was an invalid and confined to bed. She describes his concern for those exposed to the storm at sea, and his fear that the house would lose its roof.  Robert Keane passed away 4 months after this, in May 1839.  Charlotte's brother, Giles, was an Army Colonel serving in India.  He died in 1867.

Here is Charlotte's account:

THE NIGHT OF THE BIG WIND

From the diary of Charlotte Keane

6^th January 1839

Sunday, wet day.  No reading after Mamma had prayers, settling news paper, an unprofitable and not happy Sabbath.  After tea, the rain we had all day ended in a high storm, and at 11 it blew indeed what the sailors call – a whole gale of wind, and at 12 a terrific storm which continued without 10 minutes cessation until 5 in the morning.  It would be useless to attempt description of that awful night outside doors.  But the roar of the wind in the chimney in the Parlour at 11 p.m, when Mamma left the room, frightened me so that I could not remain alone.  Robert, fortunately being in the house, every means was tried to keep the house safe, and while he and I were going from window to window, dear Pappa was sitting up in bed, and constantly praying aloud for the poor creatures on the sea.  Bob and I being the only two at home, we had enough to do that night, the huge mattress of the front room bed he put in the Lobby window, and settled Mary Duggan and Biddy supporting it with long sweeping-brushes, but snug enough, they sat on the stairs.  But no human being could be snug that night, that heard it, and felt it, as we did at Beech Park.

The bed stead of the middle room was put up to the window, and the feather bed pressing between it and the shutters, but the girls room was the point of fury, I might say the severest, being the south-west point, and from 12 until near 4 it blew against that side of the house.  So violent was the storm, and fast the slates flying through the yard, that Robert could not venture across the yard to call up John Conole who slept in the laundry, though he twice attempted to do so, and help would have been valuable.  Fortunately Joe Armatage made his way over from Coor for something to preserve Mr. Henry’s ricks of hay that was disappearing fast, and I told him to come up to Pappa, and when upstairs indeed we had little thought of telling him to go down again.  Pappa’s getting a fright by the blowing in of a window was now the chief thing to be apprehended, and guarded against.  And it so happened that an hour after our help came, the glass in the girl’s window was broke, and in burst the shutters, sending the battons through the room like pins.  Robert immediately broke open Jane’s press, emptied its contents on the bed, and putting it slanting towards the window, with the feather bed on top to make it heavy, left Joe leaning against it, and wonderful to say, if he attempted to take his weight off the press it was immediately pushed straight up with the immense storm coming through one broken pane.  What could we have done if he had not come in?  Pappa said several times if one of the windows were blown in, the roof of the house would come off like a plate.

Oh, it was a terrific night, how little I knew of the power of the air, or what a storm was until that 6^th of January.  At 4 o’clock it backed round to the north, and there blew for one hour with unabated violence, straw and hay were peeling in under the back door and carried up through the house.

But at quarter to 5 it began to subside, though still blowing as it did until 8 o’clock.  I went down at near 6 to prepare tea and coffee for the poor servants, and everyone, and lay on the small sofa by the parlour fire, --fatigued, and the one candle just out, when there came such a sudden gust and mournful wind through the room, that I became unhappy, and felt certain that at that moment some friend or friends were going into Eternity.  The clock struck 6 and the melancholy strike spoke to my heart.  I came up and Pappa made me lie on their bed, and pretend to sleep, but when I thought they were asleep, I stole away into my own room, and as Armatage could leave the window since 5 and was only at the fire, I said he might go away entirely and I went into my bed, -- It was just 7 o’clock, but I had not lain down ten minutes, when I suppose the opening of the back door caused such a rush of wind through the house, for such a gust passed through my room and barred-up windows as I thought would send press, bed and all about the room, and oh, the piercing wind that whistled through the keyhole, I jumped up greatly frightened and pulled the bell, begging of them to send the man back again to stay till clear day, and until I saw him sitting snug by the fire, I could not compose myself to sleep.

And then when we all got up at 10 the melancholy look the whole house had, everything out of its place, the staircase covered with straw, however it came there, all the windows blocked up in such a manner, and we left them so for another forty-eight hours.  John McGrath came out the next day and told us all the mischief done in Ennis, but happily it was not as much as might be expected.   The oldest inhabitants in the town of 70 and 90 years of age never remembered such a storm, lasting for six hours before it lessened in the slightest degree.  The old tree near Charley O’Connell’s house, Arthurs Row, was taken up from the roots, I suppose some hundred years old, and had stood out many and many a storm.  5 of the largest trees in Beech Park were torn up out of the ground.  But what I saw when Pappa and I went to Buncraggy a day or two after surprised me most.  Mr Jones took us into the garden and along one side of the grass walk were 5 trees torn up by the roots, and all lying the same way, one after another, as if the same terrific blast laid everything before it that moment dead, and the two apple trees near each other also in another part of the garden torn up.  The appearance these 5 trees had -- lying so straight – almost like dead men on a field of battle, they said before a cannon shot.

Until that night I never thought a storm on land was to be dreaded, when in a well-built strong house, and that Beech Park is, but the situation that night was worse than any town house, being built on rather high ground, and so little shelter from the trees in the west.  It was a night to be remembered, in which was seen the weakness of man, and man’s power, when the Lord himself chooses to speak and to act.

And now I will tell how they felt it in Dublin.  Maria was on a visit with Mrs. Griffin in Baggot street, at 11 o’clock finding the storm so high they determined to remain up.  After some hours they brought down the feather beds to the drawing room, and settled themselves to rest as well as they could, while the wind howled through the streets, and the slates were flying in every direction.  Maria fell fast asleep, and in her sleep dreamed the Bishop of (? ) came to her bedside, and told her her brother Giles was at sea in that dreadful storm.

Ruins of Beech Park 2014

Irish family ghosts

The first face-to-face encounter I had with Halloween was back in the mid-1980's, when 2 young boys came knocking on our front door after dark, with the words "Trick or Treat?"  My husband, who, despite his Irish heritage, knew nothing at all of the tradition, politely replied "no thank you" and closed the door.  Whereupon the little brats smashed our letterbox as they departed!

Growing up in Australia in the 1960's & 70's, Halloween was not something that was celebrated or even much acknowledged.  Our attention at that time of the year was focused on Guy Fawkes Night - November 5th. 
To us, Halloween was an American tradition, and as it began to catch on in Australia when my own children were young, I resisted it fiercely as yet another over the top Americanization of our culture.

It wasn't until 2007, when I visited Ireland and spent the month of October there, that I really became aware of and understood the origins of the Celtic tradition of Samhain, now celebrated as Halloween.  Samhain being the ancient festival which celebrated the end of the harvest and was the time when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead was at its thinnest.  Halloween, or Hallowe'en, meaning the eve of Hallows, is the day before All Hallows Day or All Saints Day, which is a Christian festival celebrating the lives of all the Saints.  The interpretation of this varies between Christian denominations.  In its efforts to convert the population, the early Christian church found it easier to appropriate the existing celebrations and assign a new Christian meaning to them, rather than attempting to stamp out centuries-old traditions.

So this year, following another visit to Ireland, Halloween has prompted me to write about the ghosts uncovered in my Irish family...... and there are a few!

The first is my 6x great grandfather, Robert Kean or O'Cahane, known as Robin of Ross (c1675-1756).  Thomas Johnson Westropp (1860-1922) wrote in "A Folklore Survey of County Clare", about the spectre of a dog which haunted the road between Carrigaholt and Ross in the west of county Clare.  It was believed to be the spirit of Robin of Ross.  Why he would have taken that form and come back to haunt the area is not explained.  Perhaps because he converted to the Protestant religion and was therefore able to keep his lands.

Robin of Ross's 2x great granddaughter, and my 3x great aunt, Charlotte Hickman Keane (c1812-1893) writes in her diary in 1831 about the family's visit to Carrigaholt, where they would stay at Rahona Lodge.  On this visit in July of 1831, Charlotte writes that she has been given "the little back room inside the drawing room", known as the Dark Room by the servants, for the strange noises they heard coming out of it.  Charlotte reports that no ghost intruded on her, but she envied "the happy little ghost who was able to visit that darling little dark room whenever it liked."  It would be interesting to know if the current owners of Rahona Lodge have encountered that ghost of 180 years ago!

Charlotte's older brother Robert Keane, who became the owner of Rahona Lodge after the death of his father, died at his home in Dublin in December 1873.  His grand-daughter, my great-aunt Molly wrote down her mother's reminiscences of her father's life.  She records that on the evening before Robert Keane died, his daughter Annie "wept herself to sleep on a cushioned window seat in a room at the back of the house.  She awoke to find the room dark and the impression that something had awakened her.  Yes, there it was, a wild cry coming from the swamp land behind the house, and there she saw distinctly the form of a woman kneeling, with dark hair floating out behind her, and as she cried she wrung her hands.  Again and again the wild wailing cry came.  Then she disappeared, and Mother immediately thought - oh the Banshee is wailing for Father."

The banshee or bean-sidhe, is reported to mark the passing only of people whose names begin with 'O' or 'Mac'.   The original spelling of the name Keane was O'Cahane, or in Irish, ó Catháin.

The banshee made another appearance for the Keane family, when Charlotte's older sister, Jane Rutherford died in Dublin on 14 April 1875.  Her death was not unexpected, and her niece Amy Griffin writes of it in her 1875 diary.  Amy at the time is away from her Dublin home, and staying in Ennis with her Keane and Pilkington cousins.  She writes of the Keane family at Beechpark receiving a telegram advising them that "Aunt Jane" had passed away at 1 o'clock.  Amy tells how "Aunt Louey" (Louisa, wife of Marcus Keane) reported wakening that morning in expectation of hearing that Jane had died, because she had heard the banshee wailing under her window at midnight.  She described it as a strange sound which seemed to come from the air.  When she heard the same sound that day at midday, she was told the banshee would not be heard during the day unless it was at the hour of death.  The telegram confirmed the time of Jane's death as 1 o'clock.

Amy Griffin, my grandfather's 1st cousin, married at age 28 to the much older, 73 year old widower Dr. John Griffin of Kilkee.  Three years later, he died and she became a widow herself.  Amy's niece Dorothy Griffin has left some notes which record that Dr. Griffin had something wrong with a leg and consequently walked with a limp.  Dorothy reports that after his death, he was supposed to haunt The Baths, a lodge he had owned.  She writes that guests at the Baths often reported hearing someone with a lame leg thumping around the house at night.  She states that she stayed there in 1938 with her young daughter and a nurse - "the nurse heard him, and she hadn't been told about Dr. Griffin or his leg, so couldn't have imagined it."

So there are the ghosts of my Irish family!  or at least those who have been recorded.  If nothing else, they make great tales to pass on.

The last of Clare...

Loop head continued....
After such a beautiful walk with Laura of The Long Way Round Walking Company, it was time for some refreshment.  Back in Kilbaha, I stopped at the Lighthouse Inn for a bowl of delicious chowder.  The Lighthouse Inn is the pub which was originally run by Susan Pilkington Haier, my 2x great-aunt, back in the 1860's and remained in the Haier family until recent years. I hadn't visited it before, but it was one of the things I wanted to do.  Due to its location right on the foreshore of Kilbaha Bay, the facade of the building had sustained some damage during the storms of the past winter.  Repairs were in progress, both to the Inn and the surrounding areas. 

In the pub, I happened to run into Pip, who had called in to speak to the owner.  Good to see him again, as I hadn't expected to do so.  Pip told me that another mutual cousin had just arrived in Kilbaha from England for a short stay at their family cottage.  So off I went to introduce myself to Veronica, another 4th cousin on the Keane side.  Good to make her acquaintance as well, and exchange email addresses for future reference.



I then went for a short walk around the Kiltrellig end (eastern side) of Kilbaha Bay, visited the memorial to the Grave of the Yellow Men, which was a new addition since my last visit 7 years previously.  The story of the Yellow Men is one of those recorded in our family records, being memorialised in a poem written by Amy Griffin.

 

 

The Grave of the Yellow Men

None knew from whither those drowned men came,
Swept in by the foaming tide.
So a grave was dug without a name,
Where they slumber side by side.

Their deeds are not spoken above the clay,
They perished we know not when.
Only a green mound marks today,
The Grave of the Yellow Men.

Even the wild wind sings their dirge,
While the sea birds in echo cry.
And eternally wet by the briny surge,
Is the spot where the strangers lie.

Benefiting for those whose lives are dark,
And whose death was full of pain,
But never recording stone doth mark,
The Grave of the Yellow Men.

Fond wives may have wept through the dreary night,
For the husbands they loved so well,
And at first faint dawn of welcome light,
Arisen, their beads to tell.

To hear the babes as the brightly wake,
Has father come home again?
Oh, hearts may have longed they might only break,
On the Grave of the Yellow Men.

We know they died on the raging deep,
But they lived we know not how.
Well their secret those slumberers keep,
None will ever tell it now.

But we know that the name of each lost one there,
Has been graved by his Maker’s pen.
Nor will He at last have forgotten where
To seek for The Yellow Men.

by Amy Griffin (1855-1910)

From here, I drove out to Ross and had a wander around the rocks there before driving along the coast road to Kilkee and back to Kilrush where I had hoped to catch up with Colin Keane again to see some old family papers he had brought down.  Unfortunately, Colin had decided to go out to Kilbaha for a drive, so we probably passed on the road.

the beach at Ross

I did eventually catch up with Colin over dinner in Crotty's pub, with Paddy Waldron & Kay Clancy.
After keeping myself busy all day so that I wouldn't think about it, it was finally time for my presentation that evening to Kilrush & District Historical Society.  KDHS meets once a month, with a guest speaker on a topic of interest, and Paddy Waldron has always included me on the invitation list each month via Facebook.  Earlier in the year, when I had yet again declined the invitation (Kilrush being a bit far from Melbourne to allow it), I added the comment that I would definitely be there for the May meeting.  Back came the reply from Paddy asking if I would like to be the presenter for that meeting!  After a bit of consideration I agreed, although by the time this evening had come around I was wondering why I did!  I had put together a powerpoint presentation which included some of the references and photos from our family collection, and traced the history of our branch of Pilkingtons (and Griffins) from their earliest records in Clare up to their settlement in South Gippsland.  There is a quite indistinct recording of the presentation here - apparently I needed to inhale the microphone as I spoke.  There was a good turnout for the presentation, and it seemed to be well received, although I did wonder why anyone else would be interested in our family! 

I am so sorry that I wasn't able to have a couple of days in Clare following the presentation.  In hindsight it was a big mistake, although doing so would have meant I wouldn't have had the time with Tom & Sally in London before coming home.  There were several people present who I would have very much liked to follow up with on potential family connections.  In particular, a man named ..... wait for it ..... Tom Pilkington, who lives in Ennis, and who is almost certainly a distant cousin of mine.  Tom owns land at Gortmore which has been in his family for generations.  Gortmore is an adjoining townland to Cragleigh.  In the course of my research, I have found several similarities and parallels between his family and mine, which I would very much have liked to explore further with him.

Sadly, this evening was time to say goodbye to my Clare friends - Larry, Paddy, Kay in particular, but also everyone else who had made me so welcome during my visit.  We retired back to Crotty's for a drink to unwind (well, for me to unwind), and then it was time to re-pack the bags, and toss some unnecessaries to meet to weight requirement for the flight to London.