Lough Na Fuaidhe (Fooey) Lake of Phantoms
The West of Ireland, notably Connemara, still offers the same wild, lonesome landscape that has fed the soul of many a visitor over the years. Lough na Fuaide, near the Mayo border in Joyce’s Country, has all the elements to give the spirit a needed boost.
Driving up the turn off from the main road you suddenly feel you are moving towards the end of the world, as if the road continued on to nowhere or up to the sky. Sheep, painted in psychedelic colours to show ownership. They will not be stopped from crossing to better grazing on the other side of the road by a mere car.
From the top of the hill It is hard to decide which way to look as each direction holds something spectacular and almost prehistoric. Looking down is the Lough itself with its deep water full of pike. You could easily imagine it being the playground of plesiosaurs. Beyond the expanse of water rise the hills of Mayo.
To one side streams flow beneath gorged out cliffs. To the other, rusty tears stream down the faces of slumbering giants, those ancient hills. Turning to look back, there are even more mountains. You are surrounded, cut off.
There is a road around the lake leading to isolated farm houses gripping the side of the hills, bungalows most of them, built beside roofless cottages abandoned to sheep. We chose the road leading down to the Lake itself so we could walk A bit. Surprizingly, there is a narrow beach made up of a coarse reddish sand. A few brightly coloured boats lay upside down on the shore.
A wind blew. Shivering, I turned my back to the water to notice a mist or cloud cover getting heavier and lower so that the tops of the closest hills were no longer visible. I was there in January when the land was particularly bleak but not without its magic. I could imagine Spring and the vibrant yellow of furze, the soft heather tones and the bare, twisted hawthorn tree in bloom. Then a thick black curtain began to slide closer over the hills and large drops of primeval rain descended making us look forward to that hot whisky at Keanes pub in Maam.
You can sit beside the turf fire in the pub listen to the Irish language coming from behind the bar or watch a stooped old man and his granddaughter visiting from the city. There will be the mandatory comment about the weather, in this cas e cold.
Coming from Galway City, go through Moycullen, the trout-fishing town of Oughterard and on to Maam Cross (Teach Doite - Burnt House) Turn right at Peacock’s bar and restaurant, right at Keane’s Pub in Maam and then take the first left to Lough Na Fuaidhe. There is a sweater shop located at the turn.
At the lake you take a last look.. The enormity of the mountains makes you focus. It’s as if the big questions of life are taken care of. You feel
free to wonder about the small things in life. Why was a Wellington boot placed upturned over a fence post outside Oughterard, and would it still be there on the way back?
Monday, February 20, 2017
Balart- a friend
Looking at the painter Waldo Balart, one may be forgiven on getting his birthplace wrong the first time. Tall, with startling blue eyes, high broad forehead and unruly hair and beard, he looks northern European. And although he holds American and Spanish passports, it is his voice that gives him away and reveals where he spent his first twenty years or so, Cuba.
Born in Banes, Holguín, Cuba in 1931, he was the youngest of a privileged family who owned a large “finca” or ranch. His father served in the military and as the local mayor. Balart completed his degree in civic accounting in 1954 and did postgraduate studies in Political Science and Economics. When the family moved to New York in 1959, Balart took the opportunity to change his career and began to take art classes at the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA). He associated with “the avant guard” of the time and ended up acting (sometimes in the nude) in two of Andy Warhol’s films, The Loves of Ondine and The Life of Juanita Castro(1965). His artwork featured in several exhibitions in New York in the late sixties and early seventies. Married and divorced three times (but with no children) and limping as a result of a car crash, he uprooted himself once more and moved to Madrid.
When I met Waldo, he was living in a converted garage in the centre of Madrid full of books and paintings. Again his friends were made up of poets, painters, and designers who had no money but managed to live well nonetheless. He was an avid reader , had a sharp curiosity and liked to be exposed to different ideas. One Irish visitor to Madrid in the 80s said:
“Waldo told my fortune with I Ching coins. I had never heard of it before”.
In art, he has always remained loyal to constructive practice, a style that examines the relation between colour, shape (squares mainly) and space, language and science. Of an exhibition at the Edurne Gallery in Madrid in 1990, Balart commented:
“I’m showing my latest pictures and at the same time I’m revealing my personal reality. There isn’t any difference between my life and my art work”
I have seen him be extravagant with orange or purple but the colours in his paintings are, for the most part, strictly primary. His Cuban background may have influenced these bright geometric forms.
Never to pass up a good argument, Balart does not often talk about his native Cuba although he comes from a highly political family. Waldo prefers to go by the Catalan name of his mother, Balart. All the rest of his family take the names of both the father and the mother, which is a custom in Spanish speaking countries. That name is Diaz-Balart.
Waldo’s sister, Mirta Diaz-Balart, was married to Fidel Castro and they had a son called Fidelito (little Fidel). Waldo and his brother Rafael (who was a minister in Batista’s government) were friends of Fidel and his brother Raul. Their friendship was later broken over politics as was Castros’s marriage to Mirta. She divorced him in 1955 while he was in exile in Mexico. The whole family joined Mirta in New York in 1959 when Castro arrived to fight against the regime. Mirta eventually moved to Madrid where she remarried and had two daughters. Rafael moved to Miami where he campaigned relentlessly for a Cuba free from Castro. His children include two US senators, a TV journalist and a banker.
Waldo Balart may not be involved in politics but he keeps challenging society with his coloured squares. In his words:
“to accept a sense of aesthetics different to the traditional one means that you have to assume different responsibilities that lead you to new realities that are still unknown and for that reason they are threatening. “
Balart was talking about a response to his work not about his life or paintings, both which strive to constantly evolve. He will exhibit next March at ARCO, the international art fair in Madrid.
Born in Banes, Holguín, Cuba in 1931, he was the youngest of a privileged family who owned a large “finca” or ranch. His father served in the military and as the local mayor. Balart completed his degree in civic accounting in 1954 and did postgraduate studies in Political Science and Economics. When the family moved to New York in 1959, Balart took the opportunity to change his career and began to take art classes at the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA). He associated with “the avant guard” of the time and ended up acting (sometimes in the nude) in two of Andy Warhol’s films, The Loves of Ondine and The Life of Juanita Castro(1965). His artwork featured in several exhibitions in New York in the late sixties and early seventies. Married and divorced three times (but with no children) and limping as a result of a car crash, he uprooted himself once more and moved to Madrid.
When I met Waldo, he was living in a converted garage in the centre of Madrid full of books and paintings. Again his friends were made up of poets, painters, and designers who had no money but managed to live well nonetheless. He was an avid reader , had a sharp curiosity and liked to be exposed to different ideas. One Irish visitor to Madrid in the 80s said:
“Waldo told my fortune with I Ching coins. I had never heard of it before”.
In art, he has always remained loyal to constructive practice, a style that examines the relation between colour, shape (squares mainly) and space, language and science. Of an exhibition at the Edurne Gallery in Madrid in 1990, Balart commented:
“I’m showing my latest pictures and at the same time I’m revealing my personal reality. There isn’t any difference between my life and my art work”
I have seen him be extravagant with orange or purple but the colours in his paintings are, for the most part, strictly primary. His Cuban background may have influenced these bright geometric forms.
Never to pass up a good argument, Balart does not often talk about his native Cuba although he comes from a highly political family. Waldo prefers to go by the Catalan name of his mother, Balart. All the rest of his family take the names of both the father and the mother, which is a custom in Spanish speaking countries. That name is Diaz-Balart.
Waldo’s sister, Mirta Diaz-Balart, was married to Fidel Castro and they had a son called Fidelito (little Fidel). Waldo and his brother Rafael (who was a minister in Batista’s government) were friends of Fidel and his brother Raul. Their friendship was later broken over politics as was Castros’s marriage to Mirta. She divorced him in 1955 while he was in exile in Mexico. The whole family joined Mirta in New York in 1959 when Castro arrived to fight against the regime. Mirta eventually moved to Madrid where she remarried and had two daughters. Rafael moved to Miami where he campaigned relentlessly for a Cuba free from Castro. His children include two US senators, a TV journalist and a banker.
Waldo Balart may not be involved in politics but he keeps challenging society with his coloured squares. In his words:
“to accept a sense of aesthetics different to the traditional one means that you have to assume different responsibilities that lead you to new realities that are still unknown and for that reason they are threatening. “
Balart was talking about a response to his work not about his life or paintings, both which strive to constantly evolve. He will exhibit next March at ARCO, the international art fair in Madrid.
Orwell's Some Thoughts on the Common Toad
One can't say that that this essay is not about the common toad but, knowing Orwell and his strong ideals, the toad is only a small although somewhat enjoyable part of what he has to talk about.
The first few paragraphs are actually about the toad. It opens up with the toad included in a list of beautiful things, thus standing out in contrast.
‘Before the swallow, before the daffodil, and not much later than the snowdrop, the common toad salutes the coming of spring in his own fashion.”
It adds a sense of mystery with the question of what makes it wake up from hibernation and then goes on to state the oddity that some toads may stay asleep throughout the year and not wake up at all.
Description comes into the second paragraph which makes the creature even more interesting.
“the toad has a very spiritual look, like a strict Anglo-Catholic towards the end of Lent. His movements are languid but purposeful, his body shrunken and by contrast, his eyes look abnormally large.”
He goes on to rave about the beauty of the toad’s eye, comparing it to gems or a precious metal. Then there is a switch to description of a toad’s behaviour at this time. Orwell appears to speak from personal experience when he says that if you put out a finger or stick, the toad will cling to it until he discovers it is not a female. He follows this with a visual and perhaps humorous account of an orgy in the water.
“You can distinguish the male because he is smaller, darker and sits on top”
This humour is continued on into the fifth paragraph.
“..the spawning of toads not much mentioned by poets”
Only now do we come to the beginning of Orwell's real topic; that the joys of Spring should not be criticised by serious minds overly concerned with social issues and fond of steel and cement. In other words, a social conscious or passion for modern industrialism do not have to be dropped in order to enjoy a Spring flower or the warbling of a bird just returned from more southerly climates. And yet, speaking about a long winter, he manages to link in reference to the toad once again.
“But Persephone, like the toads, always rises from the dead at about the same moment.”
The reaction to the piece is predicted in later paragraphs. Orwell says he will probably be abused and dismissed as being sentimental . He outlined possible criticism stated the three strongest views. One would be that people should be discontented and not take pleasure in the process of life. Another would be that it was the age of the machine and there was no room for thoughts of Nature. Third, some would think that only those living in cities could enjoy nature as those who work close to it, could not afford to be so romantic. In advance Orwell is able to provide an argument to those comments through research into agricultural societies which glorified Nature in song and poetry.
Orwell answers these possible objections with an opinion:
“Certainly we ought to be discontented....and yet if we kill pleasure in the actual process of life, what sort of future are we preparing for ourselves? If a man cannot enjoy the return of Spring, why should he be happy in a labour-saving Utopia?”
The last paragraph manages to link the toad in with the idea of Spring's fertility but it is mixed with an almost pornographic voyeurism.
“How many times has he watched toads mating?”
Of course we must not forget that Orwell is English and perhaps voyeuristic tendencies are more accepted. The popularity of such gems of television in England as "One Man and His Dog" and a similar bird watching programme contains an sense of excitement little understood by other nationalities.
Orwell concludes the essay with a human rational face on things by arguing that you can still be a committed socialist, and enjoy the pleasures the earth has to offer.
“Spring is Spring....the earth is still going around the sun and neither the dictators nor the bureaucrats, deeply as they disapprove of the process, are able to prevent it.”
This essay could easily have been a boring or indeed sentimental. It was anything but.
With the inclusion of strange material, sex, humour, contrast along with examples, opinions, arguments, it was an enjoyable piece of writing that, in my opinion, managed to get its message through clearly.
The first few paragraphs are actually about the toad. It opens up with the toad included in a list of beautiful things, thus standing out in contrast.
‘Before the swallow, before the daffodil, and not much later than the snowdrop, the common toad salutes the coming of spring in his own fashion.”
It adds a sense of mystery with the question of what makes it wake up from hibernation and then goes on to state the oddity that some toads may stay asleep throughout the year and not wake up at all.
Description comes into the second paragraph which makes the creature even more interesting.
“the toad has a very spiritual look, like a strict Anglo-Catholic towards the end of Lent. His movements are languid but purposeful, his body shrunken and by contrast, his eyes look abnormally large.”
He goes on to rave about the beauty of the toad’s eye, comparing it to gems or a precious metal. Then there is a switch to description of a toad’s behaviour at this time. Orwell appears to speak from personal experience when he says that if you put out a finger or stick, the toad will cling to it until he discovers it is not a female. He follows this with a visual and perhaps humorous account of an orgy in the water.
“You can distinguish the male because he is smaller, darker and sits on top”
This humour is continued on into the fifth paragraph.
“..the spawning of toads not much mentioned by poets”
Only now do we come to the beginning of Orwell's real topic; that the joys of Spring should not be criticised by serious minds overly concerned with social issues and fond of steel and cement. In other words, a social conscious or passion for modern industrialism do not have to be dropped in order to enjoy a Spring flower or the warbling of a bird just returned from more southerly climates. And yet, speaking about a long winter, he manages to link in reference to the toad once again.
“But Persephone, like the toads, always rises from the dead at about the same moment.”
The reaction to the piece is predicted in later paragraphs. Orwell says he will probably be abused and dismissed as being sentimental . He outlined possible criticism stated the three strongest views. One would be that people should be discontented and not take pleasure in the process of life. Another would be that it was the age of the machine and there was no room for thoughts of Nature. Third, some would think that only those living in cities could enjoy nature as those who work close to it, could not afford to be so romantic. In advance Orwell is able to provide an argument to those comments through research into agricultural societies which glorified Nature in song and poetry.
Orwell answers these possible objections with an opinion:
“Certainly we ought to be discontented....and yet if we kill pleasure in the actual process of life, what sort of future are we preparing for ourselves? If a man cannot enjoy the return of Spring, why should he be happy in a labour-saving Utopia?”
The last paragraph manages to link the toad in with the idea of Spring's fertility but it is mixed with an almost pornographic voyeurism.
“How many times has he watched toads mating?”
Of course we must not forget that Orwell is English and perhaps voyeuristic tendencies are more accepted. The popularity of such gems of television in England as "One Man and His Dog" and a similar bird watching programme contains an sense of excitement little understood by other nationalities.
Orwell concludes the essay with a human rational face on things by arguing that you can still be a committed socialist, and enjoy the pleasures the earth has to offer.
“Spring is Spring....the earth is still going around the sun and neither the dictators nor the bureaucrats, deeply as they disapprove of the process, are able to prevent it.”
This essay could easily have been a boring or indeed sentimental. It was anything but.
With the inclusion of strange material, sex, humour, contrast along with examples, opinions, arguments, it was an enjoyable piece of writing that, in my opinion, managed to get its message through clearly.
Forthill Cemetary, GALWAY
Sir Richard Bingham Walked the Streets of Galway
-late 16th century (1588-1589)
The chain is always on the gate so that you might think that it is never open. However, during certain hours the chain is loosened to allow you to squeeze through the rusted iron and enter a walled cemetery called Forthill.
Across the street, machines scoop up huge piles of scrap metal between domed oil drums and hills of coal, the working port of Galway. Cars speed by, glimpsed through bars and the sound of boat horns can be heard in the distance. All that seems far away as you turn around and walk into the graveyard and into another era.
Here large stone tombs of merchant families are side by side with humble wooden crosses of Claddagh residents. Galway names are etched in varying clarity –Norman, English and more recently Irish. Much of the older stone marking the dead is broken. The letters on many cannot be made out. Sometimes a finger can decipher a name better than the eye. Moss covered shields and crests demonstrate family pride and importance.
There is no real path around the cemetery. The ground is wet and uneven. It wouldn’t take a large leap of imagination to envisage sinking into the ground to find yourself next to a corpse or skeleton. It is not a place to linger and I did not find the grave I was looking for, that of the so-called survivors of the Spanish Armada.
I did see, however, at the entrance near a 14th century chapel, a plaque erected in 2001 in honor of the 200 or so unfortunates from the Spanish Armada who survived shipwrecks and hunger only to be captured and executed. According to Thomas Hardiman’s History of Galway, many were beheaded near the Augustinian monastery on the hill amidst the murmurs and lamentations of the local people of Galway. The plaque, unveiled by the Spanish ambassador, gives thanks to those people for burying the Spaniards.
The Spaniards were unlucky. Not only were there reports from Clare, Connemara and Mayo but at least one vessel could be seen loundering in Galway Bay. The town was in the hands of Sir Richard Bingham, the English president of the province of Connaught. He was bad enough but the Lord Deputy Sir William Fitzwilliam had come up from Dublin and was relentless. He sent soldiers up an down the west coast with an order to seize all boats and cargo, catch and execute all Spaniards and use torture if necessary. He made deals with families in the outlaying county who had seamen as hostages. If they turned them into Galway, past transgressions would be forgiven.
The English authorities had been terrified on hearing that the 130 vessel Armada was headed to attack England and Ireland. They did not know that storms and scarcity of food and drinking water had crippled the force.
This same Sir Richard Bingham was also the bane of Grace O’Malley, Grainne Mhaol, the woman pirate of the 16th century. In 1588 (the time of the Armada) she would have been in her late 50s after living a varied and colorful life. Bingham took control four years earlier with the aim of wiping out all Irish laws and replacing them with an English system which did not acknowledge women’s rights and had a different system of succession and inheritance rights.
In one dispute Grainne was captured and due to be executed but in the end she was set free in return for turning in her son-in-law and all her horses and cattle, numbering over 1000. Bingham continued to make her life a misery with constant raids, often by Bingham’s brother John, and even tried to restrict her access to the sea. This was too much. She wrote a letter of complaint to the Queen of England, Elizabeth 1. When her son and brother were arrested, she took off to London to make a personal visit with the Queen. Elizabeth subsequently ordered Bingham to set her family members free.
The Galway of today. though never quiet, can not compete with the excitement and adventure of those few years in late 16th century. It is sad to think of all those brave characters dead and under the ground but it is perhaps that spirit that makes Galway the city it is today.
-late 16th century (1588-1589)
The chain is always on the gate so that you might think that it is never open. However, during certain hours the chain is loosened to allow you to squeeze through the rusted iron and enter a walled cemetery called Forthill.
Across the street, machines scoop up huge piles of scrap metal between domed oil drums and hills of coal, the working port of Galway. Cars speed by, glimpsed through bars and the sound of boat horns can be heard in the distance. All that seems far away as you turn around and walk into the graveyard and into another era.
Here large stone tombs of merchant families are side by side with humble wooden crosses of Claddagh residents. Galway names are etched in varying clarity –Norman, English and more recently Irish. Much of the older stone marking the dead is broken. The letters on many cannot be made out. Sometimes a finger can decipher a name better than the eye. Moss covered shields and crests demonstrate family pride and importance.
There is no real path around the cemetery. The ground is wet and uneven. It wouldn’t take a large leap of imagination to envisage sinking into the ground to find yourself next to a corpse or skeleton. It is not a place to linger and I did not find the grave I was looking for, that of the so-called survivors of the Spanish Armada.
I did see, however, at the entrance near a 14th century chapel, a plaque erected in 2001 in honor of the 200 or so unfortunates from the Spanish Armada who survived shipwrecks and hunger only to be captured and executed. According to Thomas Hardiman’s History of Galway, many were beheaded near the Augustinian monastery on the hill amidst the murmurs and lamentations of the local people of Galway. The plaque, unveiled by the Spanish ambassador, gives thanks to those people for burying the Spaniards.
The Spaniards were unlucky. Not only were there reports from Clare, Connemara and Mayo but at least one vessel could be seen loundering in Galway Bay. The town was in the hands of Sir Richard Bingham, the English president of the province of Connaught. He was bad enough but the Lord Deputy Sir William Fitzwilliam had come up from Dublin and was relentless. He sent soldiers up an down the west coast with an order to seize all boats and cargo, catch and execute all Spaniards and use torture if necessary. He made deals with families in the outlaying county who had seamen as hostages. If they turned them into Galway, past transgressions would be forgiven.
The English authorities had been terrified on hearing that the 130 vessel Armada was headed to attack England and Ireland. They did not know that storms and scarcity of food and drinking water had crippled the force.
This same Sir Richard Bingham was also the bane of Grace O’Malley, Grainne Mhaol, the woman pirate of the 16th century. In 1588 (the time of the Armada) she would have been in her late 50s after living a varied and colorful life. Bingham took control four years earlier with the aim of wiping out all Irish laws and replacing them with an English system which did not acknowledge women’s rights and had a different system of succession and inheritance rights.
In one dispute Grainne was captured and due to be executed but in the end she was set free in return for turning in her son-in-law and all her horses and cattle, numbering over 1000. Bingham continued to make her life a misery with constant raids, often by Bingham’s brother John, and even tried to restrict her access to the sea. This was too much. She wrote a letter of complaint to the Queen of England, Elizabeth 1. When her son and brother were arrested, she took off to London to make a personal visit with the Queen. Elizabeth subsequently ordered Bingham to set her family members free.
The Galway of today. though never quiet, can not compete with the excitement and adventure of those few years in late 16th century. It is sad to think of all those brave characters dead and under the ground but it is perhaps that spirit that makes Galway the city it is today.
Drama on the Canal part Two by Sandra Bunting
High Drama on Galway’s Eglington Canal
Neighbors often come to me with their problems. I am not shy on the phone and wouldn’t hesitate about writing a letter if I felt there was something wrong in the area. Whether or not it does any good, is another matter.
This particular time, the days were just starting to lengthen and a touch of spring was in the air. A neighbor from across the road, Kate O’Connor, knocked at my door. She told me that a cat was stuck in a pipe under one of the bridges. The woman was shaking. She had seen the cat the previous night when someone had told her that the animal had been there for a whole week. “I didn’t get a wink of sleep from worrying about that cat,” she said.
Her husband had drawn a map on the back of a napkin. I phoned the GSPCA and gave a description of where she had told me the cat was and then thought nothing about it. Problem solved! The next day there was another knock on my door. It was the same neighbor. “The cat’s still there”, she said. “I didn’t sleep last night worrying about it.” This time she insisted that I go to the canal to see for myself.
It wasn’t a long walk. We passed the local bakery and fish mongers, crossed the street to an unsightly unfinished apartment, passed an electrical shop and came to the bridge on New Road. Then we turned left instead of right.
It was on the side of the bridge I thought it was. It was not in a modern pipe under the bridge. Its head and little front paws were sticking out of a tunnel like hole in the old stonewall around the bridge. “ She must have fallen in after going after birds” said my neighbor. The circular hole was too far down for us to attempt a rescue.
The cat did not appear distressed. It was a clean white and grey with a bright red collar with a bell on it. It looked well cared for. Someone must have been missing his or her pet. A passer by said they thought they had often seen the same cat on the wall surrounding an apartment building further on up the canal. I sent my neighbor up to inquire but she soon returned disheartened. “They think I’m crazy, They are all students in that building and they are partying. It’s still morning. Imagine!” she said. I didn’t tell her it was rag week.
Mr. O’Connor, the woman’s husband, knocked on the door of the house nearest the bridge. It was answered by a woman from England visiting here for a week. When the situation was explained, she became interested and offered the use of several ladders in the backyard. It didn’t work. The cat was in an awkward position and couldn’t be reached. It also retreated further into the pipe when people tried to get to it.
Building on the Eglington canal began in 1847 for navigation and waterpower for the many mills and industries along Galway waterways. There were woolen mills, flour and corn mills, several distilleries, marble works, and a bag factory. The closest one to New Road was a sawmill at Parkavara. I had heard there had been several underground canals and thought there might be a network of subterranean tunnels. That way the cat could perhaps get out somewhere or at least be able to hunt. My research at the university and the local museum revealed nothing. That is not to say that they do not exist and is a topic I would like to investigate further.
Another day passed. The cat kept its lonely vigil. Ironically, it made the perfect picture. An adorable cat with a red collar framed by old stone, the odd plant struggling to grow on the wall and below the water. I wished I were a decent photographer.
The GSPCA then phoned to see what the status was on the cat. I met a pleasant young woman called Tony on the scene. Then I almost fell in the canal when we crawled over the barriers to have a closer look. “This is a very interesting case”, she said. But there was nothing she could do. “The only possibility is a boat”, she stated. Someone had heard that a family, new to the canal area, had a Canadian canoe but it would have been difficult to launch. The water was low. Someone else suggested contacting the local secondary school’s famous rowing team.
The next time I looked for the cat, it was gone. Someone had craftfully lowered a plank, tied it in place with ropes and placed a small open tin of cat foot at the top. I thought I had spotted the same cat down the canal eating duck’s eggs.
When I got home my children presented me with a box. In it was a stray cat they had found in the bushes of the Jes Secondary School Complex. The cats there are wild and numerous. The reason they brought this one home was that it was very young and it had a broken leg. “Just ‘til it gets better”, I said, “just ‘til it gets better.”
Neighbors often come to me with their problems. I am not shy on the phone and wouldn’t hesitate about writing a letter if I felt there was something wrong in the area. Whether or not it does any good, is another matter.
This particular time, the days were just starting to lengthen and a touch of spring was in the air. A neighbor from across the road, Kate O’Connor, knocked at my door. She told me that a cat was stuck in a pipe under one of the bridges. The woman was shaking. She had seen the cat the previous night when someone had told her that the animal had been there for a whole week. “I didn’t get a wink of sleep from worrying about that cat,” she said.
Her husband had drawn a map on the back of a napkin. I phoned the GSPCA and gave a description of where she had told me the cat was and then thought nothing about it. Problem solved! The next day there was another knock on my door. It was the same neighbor. “The cat’s still there”, she said. “I didn’t sleep last night worrying about it.” This time she insisted that I go to the canal to see for myself.
It wasn’t a long walk. We passed the local bakery and fish mongers, crossed the street to an unsightly unfinished apartment, passed an electrical shop and came to the bridge on New Road. Then we turned left instead of right.
It was on the side of the bridge I thought it was. It was not in a modern pipe under the bridge. Its head and little front paws were sticking out of a tunnel like hole in the old stonewall around the bridge. “ She must have fallen in after going after birds” said my neighbor. The circular hole was too far down for us to attempt a rescue.
The cat did not appear distressed. It was a clean white and grey with a bright red collar with a bell on it. It looked well cared for. Someone must have been missing his or her pet. A passer by said they thought they had often seen the same cat on the wall surrounding an apartment building further on up the canal. I sent my neighbor up to inquire but she soon returned disheartened. “They think I’m crazy, They are all students in that building and they are partying. It’s still morning. Imagine!” she said. I didn’t tell her it was rag week.
Mr. O’Connor, the woman’s husband, knocked on the door of the house nearest the bridge. It was answered by a woman from England visiting here for a week. When the situation was explained, she became interested and offered the use of several ladders in the backyard. It didn’t work. The cat was in an awkward position and couldn’t be reached. It also retreated further into the pipe when people tried to get to it.
Building on the Eglington canal began in 1847 for navigation and waterpower for the many mills and industries along Galway waterways. There were woolen mills, flour and corn mills, several distilleries, marble works, and a bag factory. The closest one to New Road was a sawmill at Parkavara. I had heard there had been several underground canals and thought there might be a network of subterranean tunnels. That way the cat could perhaps get out somewhere or at least be able to hunt. My research at the university and the local museum revealed nothing. That is not to say that they do not exist and is a topic I would like to investigate further.
Another day passed. The cat kept its lonely vigil. Ironically, it made the perfect picture. An adorable cat with a red collar framed by old stone, the odd plant struggling to grow on the wall and below the water. I wished I were a decent photographer.
The GSPCA then phoned to see what the status was on the cat. I met a pleasant young woman called Tony on the scene. Then I almost fell in the canal when we crawled over the barriers to have a closer look. “This is a very interesting case”, she said. But there was nothing she could do. “The only possibility is a boat”, she stated. Someone had heard that a family, new to the canal area, had a Canadian canoe but it would have been difficult to launch. The water was low. Someone else suggested contacting the local secondary school’s famous rowing team.
The next time I looked for the cat, it was gone. Someone had craftfully lowered a plank, tied it in place with ropes and placed a small open tin of cat foot at the top. I thought I had spotted the same cat down the canal eating duck’s eggs.
When I got home my children presented me with a box. In it was a stray cat they had found in the bushes of the Jes Secondary School Complex. The cats there are wild and numerous. The reason they brought this one home was that it was very young and it had a broken leg. “Just ‘til it gets better”, I said, “just ‘til it gets better.”
Drama on the Canal Part Three By Sandra Bunting
February 2, 2003
Someone fell in the canal yesterday evening. The bells were just ringing six o’clock when a group of children came and told me there was something happening on the canal. The fire truck and several police cars had pulled up and were trying to reach something in the water. It was at the place where the new footbridge was being built. Bones of a frame stretched across the water in wait for a walkway. At first I thought it might have been a dog fallen in after a ball or a bird. Then scuba divers arrived. They wouldn’t have bothered with these for a dog. After several hours, everyone seemed to give up. The lock was opened flushing everything out to sea. It was then I saw the tiny shoe by the side of the canal. This morning it was announced that a body had been recovered from the sea.
Someone fell in the canal yesterday evening. The bells were just ringing six o’clock when a group of children came and told me there was something happening on the canal. The fire truck and several police cars had pulled up and were trying to reach something in the water. It was at the place where the new footbridge was being built. Bones of a frame stretched across the water in wait for a walkway. At first I thought it might have been a dog fallen in after a ball or a bird. Then scuba divers arrived. They wouldn’t have bothered with these for a dog. After several hours, everyone seemed to give up. The lock was opened flushing everything out to sea. It was then I saw the tiny shoe by the side of the canal. This morning it was announced that a body had been recovered from the sea.
On an Island Wind
An interview with singer Lasairfhíona Ní Chonaola
By Sandra Bunting
Sí nos is a modern term to describe an old traditional style of singing done by women. It is a play on the words sean nos, in the old way, in which singing is unaccompanied and often in Gaelic (Irish). One of the most vibrant young singers in this tradition is Lasairfhíona Ní Chhonaola from the west of Ireland.
Island Life
Lasairfhíona grew up on Inis Oir, the smallest of the Irish-speaking Aran Islands off Galway. With a background in art on her mother’s side and her father’s involvement with literature and song, it is not surprising that she ended up in something creative. Her father taught her songs at an early age and she went on to learn from other singers. At this point she wasn’t overly aware of any type of music; she only saw them as songs.
Lasairfhíona grew up on Inis Oir, the smallest of the Irish-speaking Aran Islands off Galway. With a background in art on her mother’s side and her father’s involvement with literature and song, it is not surprising that she ended up in something creative. Her father taught her songs at an early age and she went on to learn from other singers. At this point she wasn’t overly aware of any type of music; she only saw them as songs.
“A generation ago, everybody would sing. Everybody had a song at a party. The song and the singer were listened to and respected. My grandparents would sing. My grandaunts would sing. Singing can be therapeutic and uplifting,” she said. She added that a natural interest in music and the poetry in song exists today on the island and indeed throughout Ireland. Poets were supported by patronage up to the 19th century.
Growing up on the Aran Islands, surrounded by the sea, with no cars and distractions, children had the freedom to roam and be inspired by the beauty of the rugged landscape, the wild weather and the artists drawn there. As Irish was spoken in the home, they were influenced by its rhythm. The downside of living on an island was that when Lasairfhíona became a teenager, she had to attend a boarding school on the mainland because at the time there was no secondary school for students past 15. It was very young to leave home.
Artistic BackgroundLasairfhíona is very conscious of her background and how it has contributed to her creativity. Her father is a songwriter and her grandfather Albert Power from Dublin sculpted WB Yeats, Padraig O’Conraire, which is in the Galway museum, and has pieces in the National Gallery. “I think like an artist. It’s in the blood. It’s like painting a song in a way. I have that perspective,” she said “I have experimented and found my own voice.” Her brother MacDara has also inherited creative talents, emerging in his own music and photography. He takes her publicity photos.
Irish StudiesPost-Secondary education has also contributed to Lasairfhíona’s creativity. Studying for her degree in Irish studies helped her understand her Irish background through the poets and literature. Her knowledge of poetry influenced her choice of songs. She was able to better understand the symbolism and hidden meanings in the songs. For example, a song sung during the period of the Penal Laws could appear as a simple love song but could contain a message of whether or not a forbidden mass would be held by the answer the women gives to the question ‘Do you love me?’
The MusicLasairfhíona does not confine herself to sean nos although she values that type of singing. “I’m delighted I can sing in sean nos as it has helped me with other songs, both contemporary and traditional.” The themes in sean nos, according to Lasairfhíona are those common in many other types of music. “Most songs in the tradition of Sean Nos, Spain’s Flamenco or the Portuguese Fado come from the heart,” she says. “They are about love, mostly unrequited love.” In the form of poetry and highly descriptive, Sean Nos has a story to tell in the song and has a great appreciation for nature. It could be someone out walking who comes across a beautiful woman and she would be compared to some element of nature. Lasairfhíona knows a lot of Irish songs and translations of Irish songs but she’s always looking for new ones.
Lasairfhíona’s first name translated into English means Flame of Wine. It is a name, popular in Connaught up to the Middle Ages, that disappeared during the Penal Days. Lasairfhíona’s theory is that the Irish would have no longer have been able to have wine during that period. And indeed, her second album is called Flame of Wine. “I wanted my Debut Album, An Raicín Álainn, to be in Irish. English songs didn’t suit the journey I was on then,” she said. On the second one she wanted to sing songs in English as well. She is now working on her third album, composing and sorting out songs for the recording process.
She is delighted that Irish music appears to becoming an important genre. “It’s getting there, along with jazz and blues,” she said. “You see Japanese and Americans playing it.”
Sí Nos may just be a term invented for one concert. Lasairfhíona played recently in Galway with veteran female singers Sarah Ghrillias and Aine Ní Dhroighneain to a packed theatre with an audience of mixed ages and nationalities. However it is called, it seems to be gaining in popularity. Described as a completely ‘natural’ performer, Lasairfhíona hasn’t toured much, being a bit of a ‘homebird’.
What next? Lasairfhíona said she heard that a person changes every five years. “You have to be true to your own personality.” And while we’re waiting to hear what her personality produces on her 3rd album, she sends a special greeting to New Brunswick from the Aran Islands. “Enjoy the music, song and dance of life.”
Finding Out about Our Ancestors
By Sandra Creaghan Bunting (Published in The New Brunswick Shamrock, July 2004)
When Canadians hear the word migration, we might think of herds of reindeer crossing and re-crossing our northlands or the v-shaped flight of the Canada geese flying away from the red-mapled autumn to gentler climates. Indeed, we as a people are often compared to our feathered friends in our search of warmth. The label ‘snowbirds’ has been attached to Canadians wintering in Florida, Arizona or other areas with an abundance of sunshine.
Migration can also refer to a permanent one-way movement of a group of people, in what is known as emigration. That is exactly what a centre in Omagh, County Tyrone, is looking at. The Centre for Migration Studies deals with migration from the whole of Ireland, and especially Northern Ireland, to the US and Canada. The focus of study is on movement and settlement from 1600 to the present.
Of special interest is the centre’s database, which contains a large amount of information on migration to North America. Visitors are welcome to do genealogical research or make use of the extensive library. Many original documents are in the possession of the centre and have been scanned in the computer for easy access. These include newspaper articles, shipping ads, passenger lists, official government reports, extracts from books and various immigrant letters home -interesting reading that gives an insight into their experiences. Even if information on your particular relative is not there, a sense of where he or she came from can be gained. A small amount of this data has been put on the web on an experimental basis and the centre hopes eventually to have the entire database available on line.
As part of its aim to develop interest in the subject, the centre has hosted a series of events and conferences and offers a Masters Course in Irish Migration Studies. The course, part-time over two years, is affiliated to Queen’s University, Belfast. Dr. Paddy Fitzgerald, lecturer and development officer, said the course has attracted scholars from both sides of the border, in all walks of life. There are teachers, genealogists and others.
“The course acts as a prism to view Irish history through in a relaxed way,” he said. He went on to say that it allowed students freedom (away from divisions) to deal with the Irish diaspora, and through it, reach a better understanding of each other and themselves.
The centre is also important in encouraging the establishment of other such research and learning facilities around the world and maintaining ties with existing ones. The Centre for Migration Studies in Cork is temporarily closed. Its website stated lack of sufficient funding as the reason. The centre in Omagh has worked on projects with Cork and hopefully will do so again in the near future. Work is also being done at the Research Centre on Human Settlement in Galway and Omagh has been in touch with this institution. It has relations with other universities in the UK, the US and worldwide. Carleton University in Ottawa has been the latest Canadian connection.
When she visited the centre, the Irish President, Mary McAleese, described it as a place that valued the record of the individual in one of Ireland’s defining stories, emigration. She said emigration was seen to be a sign of failure because people, seeing chances closed down for them, left because of poverty, hunger or social or political exclusion. But because the ties were not cut, President McAleese said, Ireland today knows the strength of a global family, turning the tragedy of emigration into a success story.
The centre, officially established in 1998, grew out of a previous resource facility of the Ulster-American Folk Park (something like New Brunswick’s King’s Landing or Acadian Village). The project began with a descendent of Judge Thomas Mellon of Pennsylvania purchasing the old homestead outside Omagh with some kind of museum in mind. Judge Mellon had left the site at the age of 5 in 1818. Gradually, other historical buildings were either moved to the site or reconstructed to represent both sides of the Atlantic.
There is an American part and an Irish part. When I was there at Halloween we were given food in each section and asked to say which we liked best. I had to admit I liked the simple Irish colcannon and apple tart better. But then again my own pumpkin pie was nicer if I do say so myself.
Just a few kilometres outside of Omagh, the park is lively and holds seasonal events. As I said, I was there on Halloween night with my children and their friends, and the ghosts were out. A tour guide brought us from house to house, strange occurrences in most of them. As we did set dancing in one house, in another we did square dancing. There were grave robbers, fields of pumpkin-head scarecrows, pirates, fortune-tellers and witches. Out of the bushes, monsters jumped as we made our way along the dark muddy paths. We bobbed for apples, sang along and ended up listening to a story that still frightens me at night. I won’t tell you, You will have to go back next Halloween. An enormous amount of work went into the festivities. It was an interesting way to see the park.
Fireworks are illegal to sell in ‘The Republic’ except for official public displays. In the North, they were freely available and, on Halloween, bursts of blues, pinks and greens went off all night. Bonfires were also a tradition and there were several huge ones, old rubber tires and all.
The town of Omagh, you may remember, was the scene of a huge terrorist explosion by the ‘Real IRA’ on August 15, 1998. The bomb destroyed much of the city centre, leaving 29 dead and many injured. A hilly town, it is almost all rebuilt or in the process of being rebuilt. It is a quiet place with friendly people. I was delighted to see Mickey Hart, the manager of the Tyrone Gaelic football who led his team to win the all-Ireland championship this year. Also there was well-known Tyrone comedian, the dry Kevin McAleer.
Located near the Sperrin mountains (that separate it from Donegal), the countryside around Omagh was beautiful with lakes, islands, hills and little country roads. I stayed in a delightful hostel, a big house in the country about 5 kilometres north of Omagh called, not surprisingly, The Omagh Hostel. It was not easy to find at night with all the turns and the narrow roads, but waking up in the morning to such peace was worth it.
The Centre for Migration Studies would like to strengthen the links between Canada and Ireland. In last year’s annual report, centre chairman, Sir Peter Froggatt, said it provided a vital link in Northern Ireland and a crucial resource for those who wanted access to ‘credible and scholarly’ information about their heritage.
The Maritimes had consistent links with the North of Ireland. Development officer, Dr. Paddy Fitzgerald briefly outlined emigration from Northern Ireland to eastern Canada by saying that it wasn’t famine that mostly caused that particular migration. There was steady emigration in the first half of the 19th century when, because of shipbuilding, boats would bring timber to Derry and take back passengers. According to Dr. Fitzgerald, emigration actually started to trail off around 1847, the time of famine, and picked up again in the early 20th century.
Because of time restrictions, I was unable to use the facilities at the centre to trace my ancestors. My family has already found the origin of the Creaghan side in Mount Bellew in east Galway. However, the Bunting side was always more elusive. More than likely from the North, the family’s last residence in Ireland was said to be at a Protestant rectory in Ballyvourney, West Cork. The trail has gone cold. No One could even find the church. However, although I had no time to use the data base at the centre, I did go away with some helpful tips from staff to help me with my search, if I still want to pursue it. And I can always go back another time to the centre.
Through the folk park, student exchanges and universities, the centre has established a strong working relationship with the United States. It would like to develop a similar connection to Canada and has set out a series of goals to that end. One idea is to use the web to provide information, supply links and open channels of communication. Another is to act as a contact point for Canadians living on the island of Ireland and develop resources of particular interest to them. As a Miramichier living in Galway, I was delighted to hear that. Close links could also be formed through events that celebrate Irish-Canadian heritage. Conferences or visits would be useful. Tracing families remains an important aspect of the centre’s planned activities, as well as promoting educational, cultural and community connections.
The website for the Centre for Migration Studies is located at www.qub.ac.uk/cms
and the folk park is www.folkpark.com. The address is 2 Mellon Road, Castletown, Omagh, County Tyrone, Northern Ireland, BT78 5QY.
It is all about co-operation. If you have any information, documents or research on Irish in the Maritimes you would like to share, I’m sure they would be of interest to the centre. In the same way, if you have any question about family origins in Ireland, the centre website will be of great help once it is completed.
When Canadians hear the word migration, we might think of herds of reindeer crossing and re-crossing our northlands or the v-shaped flight of the Canada geese flying away from the red-mapled autumn to gentler climates. Indeed, we as a people are often compared to our feathered friends in our search of warmth. The label ‘snowbirds’ has been attached to Canadians wintering in Florida, Arizona or other areas with an abundance of sunshine.
Migration can also refer to a permanent one-way movement of a group of people, in what is known as emigration. That is exactly what a centre in Omagh, County Tyrone, is looking at. The Centre for Migration Studies deals with migration from the whole of Ireland, and especially Northern Ireland, to the US and Canada. The focus of study is on movement and settlement from 1600 to the present.
Of special interest is the centre’s database, which contains a large amount of information on migration to North America. Visitors are welcome to do genealogical research or make use of the extensive library. Many original documents are in the possession of the centre and have been scanned in the computer for easy access. These include newspaper articles, shipping ads, passenger lists, official government reports, extracts from books and various immigrant letters home -interesting reading that gives an insight into their experiences. Even if information on your particular relative is not there, a sense of where he or she came from can be gained. A small amount of this data has been put on the web on an experimental basis and the centre hopes eventually to have the entire database available on line.
As part of its aim to develop interest in the subject, the centre has hosted a series of events and conferences and offers a Masters Course in Irish Migration Studies. The course, part-time over two years, is affiliated to Queen’s University, Belfast. Dr. Paddy Fitzgerald, lecturer and development officer, said the course has attracted scholars from both sides of the border, in all walks of life. There are teachers, genealogists and others.
“The course acts as a prism to view Irish history through in a relaxed way,” he said. He went on to say that it allowed students freedom (away from divisions) to deal with the Irish diaspora, and through it, reach a better understanding of each other and themselves.
The centre is also important in encouraging the establishment of other such research and learning facilities around the world and maintaining ties with existing ones. The Centre for Migration Studies in Cork is temporarily closed. Its website stated lack of sufficient funding as the reason. The centre in Omagh has worked on projects with Cork and hopefully will do so again in the near future. Work is also being done at the Research Centre on Human Settlement in Galway and Omagh has been in touch with this institution. It has relations with other universities in the UK, the US and worldwide. Carleton University in Ottawa has been the latest Canadian connection.
When she visited the centre, the Irish President, Mary McAleese, described it as a place that valued the record of the individual in one of Ireland’s defining stories, emigration. She said emigration was seen to be a sign of failure because people, seeing chances closed down for them, left because of poverty, hunger or social or political exclusion. But because the ties were not cut, President McAleese said, Ireland today knows the strength of a global family, turning the tragedy of emigration into a success story.
The centre, officially established in 1998, grew out of a previous resource facility of the Ulster-American Folk Park (something like New Brunswick’s King’s Landing or Acadian Village). The project began with a descendent of Judge Thomas Mellon of Pennsylvania purchasing the old homestead outside Omagh with some kind of museum in mind. Judge Mellon had left the site at the age of 5 in 1818. Gradually, other historical buildings were either moved to the site or reconstructed to represent both sides of the Atlantic.
There is an American part and an Irish part. When I was there at Halloween we were given food in each section and asked to say which we liked best. I had to admit I liked the simple Irish colcannon and apple tart better. But then again my own pumpkin pie was nicer if I do say so myself.
Just a few kilometres outside of Omagh, the park is lively and holds seasonal events. As I said, I was there on Halloween night with my children and their friends, and the ghosts were out. A tour guide brought us from house to house, strange occurrences in most of them. As we did set dancing in one house, in another we did square dancing. There were grave robbers, fields of pumpkin-head scarecrows, pirates, fortune-tellers and witches. Out of the bushes, monsters jumped as we made our way along the dark muddy paths. We bobbed for apples, sang along and ended up listening to a story that still frightens me at night. I won’t tell you, You will have to go back next Halloween. An enormous amount of work went into the festivities. It was an interesting way to see the park.
Fireworks are illegal to sell in ‘The Republic’ except for official public displays. In the North, they were freely available and, on Halloween, bursts of blues, pinks and greens went off all night. Bonfires were also a tradition and there were several huge ones, old rubber tires and all.
The town of Omagh, you may remember, was the scene of a huge terrorist explosion by the ‘Real IRA’ on August 15, 1998. The bomb destroyed much of the city centre, leaving 29 dead and many injured. A hilly town, it is almost all rebuilt or in the process of being rebuilt. It is a quiet place with friendly people. I was delighted to see Mickey Hart, the manager of the Tyrone Gaelic football who led his team to win the all-Ireland championship this year. Also there was well-known Tyrone comedian, the dry Kevin McAleer.
Located near the Sperrin mountains (that separate it from Donegal), the countryside around Omagh was beautiful with lakes, islands, hills and little country roads. I stayed in a delightful hostel, a big house in the country about 5 kilometres north of Omagh called, not surprisingly, The Omagh Hostel. It was not easy to find at night with all the turns and the narrow roads, but waking up in the morning to such peace was worth it.
The Centre for Migration Studies would like to strengthen the links between Canada and Ireland. In last year’s annual report, centre chairman, Sir Peter Froggatt, said it provided a vital link in Northern Ireland and a crucial resource for those who wanted access to ‘credible and scholarly’ information about their heritage.
The Maritimes had consistent links with the North of Ireland. Development officer, Dr. Paddy Fitzgerald briefly outlined emigration from Northern Ireland to eastern Canada by saying that it wasn’t famine that mostly caused that particular migration. There was steady emigration in the first half of the 19th century when, because of shipbuilding, boats would bring timber to Derry and take back passengers. According to Dr. Fitzgerald, emigration actually started to trail off around 1847, the time of famine, and picked up again in the early 20th century.
Because of time restrictions, I was unable to use the facilities at the centre to trace my ancestors. My family has already found the origin of the Creaghan side in Mount Bellew in east Galway. However, the Bunting side was always more elusive. More than likely from the North, the family’s last residence in Ireland was said to be at a Protestant rectory in Ballyvourney, West Cork. The trail has gone cold. No One could even find the church. However, although I had no time to use the data base at the centre, I did go away with some helpful tips from staff to help me with my search, if I still want to pursue it. And I can always go back another time to the centre.
Through the folk park, student exchanges and universities, the centre has established a strong working relationship with the United States. It would like to develop a similar connection to Canada and has set out a series of goals to that end. One idea is to use the web to provide information, supply links and open channels of communication. Another is to act as a contact point for Canadians living on the island of Ireland and develop resources of particular interest to them. As a Miramichier living in Galway, I was delighted to hear that. Close links could also be formed through events that celebrate Irish-Canadian heritage. Conferences or visits would be useful. Tracing families remains an important aspect of the centre’s planned activities, as well as promoting educational, cultural and community connections.
The website for the Centre for Migration Studies is located at www.qub.ac.uk/cms
and the folk park is www.folkpark.com. The address is 2 Mellon Road, Castletown, Omagh, County Tyrone, Northern Ireland, BT78 5QY.
It is all about co-operation. If you have any information, documents or research on Irish in the Maritimes you would like to share, I’m sure they would be of interest to the centre. In the same way, if you have any question about family origins in Ireland, the centre website will be of great help once it is completed.
In Search of Descendants of Irish “Travellers” in Canada
(Published in the New Brunswick Shamrock, July 2005)
By Sandra Bunting
Questions have a way of lodging themselves in our heads and sometimes they won’t let go until we find an answer. The journey towards finding enough information to satisfy ourselves can lead us on unplanned and fascinating paths in order to add another small piece to the puzzle. An Irish scholar is looking for descendants of Irish Travellers or Scottish Travellers living in Canada as part of his studies into their way of life and language. Different than the Romany, the term Traveller is used for people formally called tinkers or Irish gypsies. Travellers bear illustrious Irish or Scottish surnames and believe that their traditions and lineage go back to very honourable origins
Niall O’Murachu first encountered Travellers when he was a young boy near Limerick. A family of them used to camp regularly near his house. He would play hurling with a boy his age, his hurly stick kept under the caravan. The father had been in the army. In fact, says Mr. O’Murachu, a lot of them had served in army in America. He said he developed an affection for Travellers.
“I have a grá for them,” he says.
After that he had no contact with Travellers until he began to teach. Among other students, he had a few Travelling children at his school in Limerick and later in Galway. He still remembers one of his first pupils from the Travelling community.
“I can see this lad’s face after 40 years,” he says.
To understand the children, he took an interest in their customs at home. He felt that in order to treat all children fairly, you had to know the parents’ background. With that in mind, he began to meet with them and was fascinated to learn that they had their own language. More questions appeared in his head. As he found out more about them, the Irish Department of Education asked him to prepare a tape for teachers of Travellers so they could become acquainted with their background and traditions. It included extracts of songs and reminiscences.
The main question he asked was where the people came from, what their origin was. A common response was that they were the dispossessed during the Irish famine, forced to take to the road due to evictions or hunger. However, were they not in place before that? The term tinker was in use as far back as the 12th century but Mr. O’Murachu does not believe it applies to Irish and Scots travellers, although they were often tinsmiths as well. There are no written references to Irish Scots until the 19th century. As their history is a blank, the only link to the distant past is the language and common core traditions.
From his discussions, he realised that the language formed an important part of the Celtic tradition and felt he had to do something about it. With a tape recorder under his arm, Mr. O’Murachu went from encampment to encampment all around Ireland to record bits of folklore, customs and language. He now has 180 tapes. His research expanded to other countries when he discovered that Scotland shared a similar tradition. Even more interesting was his visit to the United States where he found communities now settled in Georgia, Texas, Mississippi and Tennessee that have maintained the Traveller tradition intact.
Even though they exist in the United States, Traveller Communities may not necessarily exist in Canada but Mr. O’Murachu strongly believes they do. He thinks they may have originated from the Scots Travellers.
“I know they are in Canada,” he says, “because a Canadian man with Romany connections has written on the subject and gave a list of words which are the same as words in the Irish language.”
Language appears to be supplying clues to the mystery of the Travellers’ origins. The language, based on Irish (Gaelic), is called Cant, probably from the Irish word Caint meaning to talk.
There are several dialects of Irish. The different dialectical differences around Ireland and Scotland give some sort of date to activities in past. For example, Mr. O’Murachu says changes in stress patterns and variations between Munster Irish and Western Irish go back many hundreds of years. Stress on other than the first syllable is common in Munster Irish while the stress appears on the first syllable in Irish spoken in the west and north of Ireland. This is reflected in the language of traveller, especially in words of Irish origin. Travelling people have the same stratification of language in English and Cant. It follows therefore that Cant, as a language, must have originated a long time ago and gives the idea of how traditional and old it is, besides demonstrating its importance to Celtic Studies.
“One new word opens another window on past,” said O’Murachu.
Cant is now an 'in' language, a jargon, slang, a language to keep others out. He adds that it has survived because of the isolation and marginalization of its speakers until recent times.
Although the Traveller language in Ireland is generally accepted as being called Cant, the Oxford English dictionary lists “shelta” as the correct word. This was given by an American – the originator of studies in the tradition of Travellers around 1880. However Mr. O’Murhu feels he was mistaken.
“He probably came across Travellers in Liverpool, heard the word shelta, which was probably just meant shelter or tent.”
In England, the Gypsy-lore Society has published good work about the Romany and Irish Travellers in Great Britain.
Are there communities of Irish or Scots Travellers that have survived in Canada, perhaps settled now, perhaps integrated or still dreaming of home? Mr. O’Murachu says they would know who they are, their traditions being very strong. He would like to know what memories have survived in terms of folklore, traditions and linguistics.
He can be contacted at niallom@eircom.net
By Sandra Bunting
Questions have a way of lodging themselves in our heads and sometimes they won’t let go until we find an answer. The journey towards finding enough information to satisfy ourselves can lead us on unplanned and fascinating paths in order to add another small piece to the puzzle. An Irish scholar is looking for descendants of Irish Travellers or Scottish Travellers living in Canada as part of his studies into their way of life and language. Different than the Romany, the term Traveller is used for people formally called tinkers or Irish gypsies. Travellers bear illustrious Irish or Scottish surnames and believe that their traditions and lineage go back to very honourable origins
Niall O’Murachu first encountered Travellers when he was a young boy near Limerick. A family of them used to camp regularly near his house. He would play hurling with a boy his age, his hurly stick kept under the caravan. The father had been in the army. In fact, says Mr. O’Murachu, a lot of them had served in army in America. He said he developed an affection for Travellers.
“I have a grá for them,” he says.
After that he had no contact with Travellers until he began to teach. Among other students, he had a few Travelling children at his school in Limerick and later in Galway. He still remembers one of his first pupils from the Travelling community.
“I can see this lad’s face after 40 years,” he says.
To understand the children, he took an interest in their customs at home. He felt that in order to treat all children fairly, you had to know the parents’ background. With that in mind, he began to meet with them and was fascinated to learn that they had their own language. More questions appeared in his head. As he found out more about them, the Irish Department of Education asked him to prepare a tape for teachers of Travellers so they could become acquainted with their background and traditions. It included extracts of songs and reminiscences.
The main question he asked was where the people came from, what their origin was. A common response was that they were the dispossessed during the Irish famine, forced to take to the road due to evictions or hunger. However, were they not in place before that? The term tinker was in use as far back as the 12th century but Mr. O’Murachu does not believe it applies to Irish and Scots travellers, although they were often tinsmiths as well. There are no written references to Irish Scots until the 19th century. As their history is a blank, the only link to the distant past is the language and common core traditions.
From his discussions, he realised that the language formed an important part of the Celtic tradition and felt he had to do something about it. With a tape recorder under his arm, Mr. O’Murachu went from encampment to encampment all around Ireland to record bits of folklore, customs and language. He now has 180 tapes. His research expanded to other countries when he discovered that Scotland shared a similar tradition. Even more interesting was his visit to the United States where he found communities now settled in Georgia, Texas, Mississippi and Tennessee that have maintained the Traveller tradition intact.
Even though they exist in the United States, Traveller Communities may not necessarily exist in Canada but Mr. O’Murachu strongly believes they do. He thinks they may have originated from the Scots Travellers.
“I know they are in Canada,” he says, “because a Canadian man with Romany connections has written on the subject and gave a list of words which are the same as words in the Irish language.”
Language appears to be supplying clues to the mystery of the Travellers’ origins. The language, based on Irish (Gaelic), is called Cant, probably from the Irish word Caint meaning to talk.
There are several dialects of Irish. The different dialectical differences around Ireland and Scotland give some sort of date to activities in past. For example, Mr. O’Murachu says changes in stress patterns and variations between Munster Irish and Western Irish go back many hundreds of years. Stress on other than the first syllable is common in Munster Irish while the stress appears on the first syllable in Irish spoken in the west and north of Ireland. This is reflected in the language of traveller, especially in words of Irish origin. Travelling people have the same stratification of language in English and Cant. It follows therefore that Cant, as a language, must have originated a long time ago and gives the idea of how traditional and old it is, besides demonstrating its importance to Celtic Studies.
“One new word opens another window on past,” said O’Murachu.
Cant is now an 'in' language, a jargon, slang, a language to keep others out. He adds that it has survived because of the isolation and marginalization of its speakers until recent times.
Although the Traveller language in Ireland is generally accepted as being called Cant, the Oxford English dictionary lists “shelta” as the correct word. This was given by an American – the originator of studies in the tradition of Travellers around 1880. However Mr. O’Murhu feels he was mistaken.
“He probably came across Travellers in Liverpool, heard the word shelta, which was probably just meant shelter or tent.”
In England, the Gypsy-lore Society has published good work about the Romany and Irish Travellers in Great Britain.
Are there communities of Irish or Scots Travellers that have survived in Canada, perhaps settled now, perhaps integrated or still dreaming of home? Mr. O’Murachu says they would know who they are, their traditions being very strong. He would like to know what memories have survived in terms of folklore, traditions and linguistics.
He can be contacted at niallom@eircom.net
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
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