Ireland was a land of beautiful coastal scenery, Sandy beaches, green rolling hills, vast changing skies, a countryside dotted with ancient stone circles and standing stones, ruined castles, and crumbling hovels where the elderly and infirm lived out their short lives in desperate poverty. There were massive estates with expensive palace style properties, where wealthy absent lords and ladies arrived for the summer months to hunt the countryside, showing off their prowess with horsemanship and hounds. Many tiny churches were surrounded by large graveyards, lovingly tended by those who were not strong enough to emigrate to America or Britain to earn a little money as there was no work beyond collecting black weed on the shore line or potatoes from the fields. The Catholic Church, the rich landlords, and the British government, oppressed those eking out a living from their small parcels of private land. No one knows the sadness of these lonely people, their songs, sung in a minor key, told the story of their grief, their longing for those who moved abroad , and for their love of the land of Ireland.
It’s difficult to know where to start in relating a life story, but I suppose it’s best to start at the earliest possible time that my known history begins. The story that was handed down to me about my mother’s parents was always shrouded in embarrassed whispers. It would’ve been in the late 1800s on the West Coast of Ireland around the area of Kerry, known as Tralee. The land and people had been ravaged by starvation of the potato blight. Though the land was rich in natural resources, especially in food, including meat, the British Parliament insisted on extremely high taxes, the Protestant landlords were greedy for higher rents, and the people were starving, leaving for other countries, and only the elderly and infirm remained.
But my great grandparents were extremely fortunate. They had a family that comprised of several boys and two pretty and educated girls. The sons all worked in the family tailoring business, and due to their great talents, endeavours and successes, they were known far and wide as the best place for those who were emigrating to have a good suit made. Their clients stayed at the house while being measured and fitted. It was a big house, sufficient for a large family, and for the prestigious clients to be comfortably accommodated before their passage to America. Many regaled the family with wonderful stories of their great success. Two of these tailoring sons went to America on business. My maternal great grandparents run the house and business with great strictness. The eldest daughter was married to a rich lawyer. The family were proud of this connection; it elevated their station and made them famous for many miles around.
Catherine: As was common in those days, the youngest girl was chosen to stay at home and look after the family’s needs. This displeased my grandmother, Catherine. She was head strong and ambitious, and was widely read about the world of poetry, romance and travel. She loved music, plays, and reading, and she was a good dressmaker, and she was also very beautiful. This was an amazing time where the educated people spoke proudly about their exceptional history and culture, the Druid bards, Celtic saints and extraordinary storytellers.
Michael: The Lynch family was a busy one, all working hard, enjoying the fruits of their labours, looking after and hearing the excited tales of their clients, when, one day, Michael Power, a trainee tailor came to the big house and sought work. He was accepted, with a training period was seven years.
he fell in love and wooed Catherine in secret. Her parents were very displeased about this situation and, when they eloped, her father and brothers were furious. Her father said Catherine must return, and when she didn’t, he said that she was never to come to the house again. Both Michael and Catherine were banned from the house. More devastating than this, her father put out word of this terrible betrayal, and he made it impossible for Michael to get a job as a tailor in Ireland. Michael joined the British Army which many men who could not find work were forced to do, it was an extreme shame for a man of Irish nationality to join the British Army, and after the war it is said he went missing, believed to have died in action, as many Irish soldiers did in World War I.
Within a short time, the couple had three children, Catherine named the first after herself, Michael was their first son. Then came my mother Anne. Hit by terrible hardship. The family were desperate. When her husband was missing in action, believed to have died, a man came into her life to sexually exploit the children. My mother’s memories of her childhood were rarely mentioned to me. She remembered her mother chasing her around the kitchen table with a rolling pin, leaving the house under duress as the neighbours found put what was happening in the little tin house they lived in. Anne had bright ginger hair and the boys at school called her “carrot top” and the nuns called her “mouse”. My mother was very quiet and fearful but very studious and always won top place. Her older sister was head girl. These two girls shone at school, and when it was discovered that they were being abused, they had to move. No support was coming from the rich grandparents, uncles and aunt.
