Showing posts with label Kathleen Handrick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kathleen Handrick. Show all posts

Sunday, 21 May 2017

Martin Duffy: One of the Forgotten Generation

By Kathleen Handrick



Mayo Peace Park, Castlebar
Image courtesy of  the Irish War Memorials website
'The Mayo Peace Park has consigned the ignorance and bitterness of the past into history. It does not seek to glorify or justify any war; its purpose is to commemorate the memory of the people of County Mayo who died in them. It was developed to remember a forgotten generation of brave heroic local people... whose service and sacrifice had been ignored and forgotten, indeed airbrushed out of modern Irish history until recent times.'  Irish War Memorials- Mayo Peace Park. 
Image © Kathleen Handrick

In 2010, I was very pleased to see the name of Martin Duffy, Donkey Man ( a Merchant Navy Stoker), inscribed on the beautiful memorial in the Mayo Peace Park, Castlebar.  Martin was my father’s uncle but unknown to later generations of the family.

Image © Kathleen Handrick

My research had begun a few years earlier.  I was interested in family history but knew very little of my Mayo roots even though I had close relatives still in Mayo. I think it seemed an odd concept to them that I would want to explore this. Perhaps because it was just part of their being, they were living within the history they felt there was no need to delve into the past.

As a child, my English mother had told me of names and places in her family but my father was very reticent. I used to meet people who came from Lacken, I knew the names of my family still living there but that was it.  There was nothing at all of his life experiences in Mayo.

I began by ordering the certificate of my grandparents’ marriage, Thomas Malley and Mary Duffy, and then began to trawl through microfilms at a library at the local Church of Jesus Christ of Latter - day Saints. It was a laborious and not very productive task as the parish records were scant.

 In 2003, I answered a posted request on an internet forum with regard to the Duffy family from Carrowtrasna, my grandmother’s town land. It was from Francis, in USA whose family had emigrated to Pennsylvania in the mid 1880s and although we felt that we might be related, there was no proof. Soon though, came a message from Francis, “I think I have found you a cousin!” and Ray, also in USA, proved to be my second cousin. Our grandmothers were sisters.

Map of Co. Mayo, 1841
British Library - no known copyright restrictions

Ray regularly visits Mayo and is a great researcher and we shared our knowledge. We found the Duffys in 1901 and 1911 censuses and thought that we had all our grandmothers’ siblings from those records.

In 2007, Ray asked if I had ever seen a photograph of a sailor in any of our Irish relatives’ homes. He could recall seeing one but was not sure where and he had found a commemoration of a Merchant Navy man, Martin Duffy, son of Michael and Mary of Carrowtrasna, Mayo on the Commonwealth Graves Commission (CWGC) website showing a death in 1916. Ray and I tried to find this death with no results.

I posted on a Family History site about our difficulties in tracing Martin and a kind person investigated and discovered that the date was wrong and arranged its correction. Martin Duffy, a Donkey man, Mercantile Marine, died in March 1918 when his ship SS Boorara was torpedoed in the English Channel. Four other men were killed that day together with Martin.

Image used with kind permission of the Australian War Memorial  

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, local employment, in the townlands around Lacken, was to be found in farming and fishing but several men from the area enlisted in the Royal Navy, perhaps the natural choice for men who had lived by and understood the sea. Recent records show local men who took part in WW1, including the Battle of Jutland. One of the local survivors returned home but sadly died in a fishing tragedy a few years later in Lacken Bay. Several lives were lost that night.

Image © Kathleen Handrick

As more resources became available through internet sites, I was able to continue my research. Martin, aged 19 years, enlisted on the 5th August 1899, for 12 years as a Stoker in the Royal Navy. He served on several ships and his conduct was always ‘Very Good’. In 1911 census his ship, The Challenger, is shown as serving in the Australian Station.

L H Blakeney, an Able Seaman at the time, writes: ‘In 1911 I was in HMS Challenger, on way to Valparaiso, Chile, for Centenary celebrations. After visiting most of the large island groups we called at Tahiti, Pitcairn and Easter Island. First port of call on the West Coast of South America was Callao to coal ship and then to Valparaiso.”  He continues that after the celebrations, the ship called at the Panama Canal which was still under construction. ‘We coaled ship in 119° Fahrenheit. One chap received severe sunstroke, another became a bit funny in the head.’ The ship continued to Acapulco where there was ‘some sort of uprising’ taking place before returning to Sydney via Fiji. (Naval Historical Society of Australia)

Martin’s record shows that he left the navy in 1912 and nothing is known until the reports of his death in 1918 aboard SS Boorara, whilst serving as a donkey man, a Merchant Navy stoker. The Boorara was a former German ship which had been seized in Australian waters in 1914 and renamed. It was used for carrying troops, horses and supplies and was part of the Australian Mercantile fleet.

In 2014, I received a pleasant surprise when Ray emailed a copy of a very faded photograph. He had eventually found it, filed away in a cousin’s home.  No one knows which man is Martin. I can see family likenesses in both men!

No known copyright restrictions 

I titled this piece, ‘One of the Forgotten Generation’. It is difficult to say that Martin was ignored or forgotten within the family or perhaps just not spoken about as the generations passed. Recently published Irish records show that death was a too common experience in families at the time.  His parents, Michael and Mary had both died and his sister, my grandmother, was raising twelve children at the time of his death in 1918. Ray’s grandmother was in Pennsylvania raising her family. Martin died nineteen years after enlisting and may never have returned home in that time.  We do not know.

In December 2016, I was contacted by a member of the site where I had posted my request for information nine years earlier to say that the CWGC were searching for relatives of Martin Duffy as it was now confirmed that he was buried in an unmarked grave in Hollybrook Cemetery, Southampton, together with another man killed with him that day.

I contacted the organisation and was told that a headstone would now be erected by the Commonwealth Graves Commission and I was invited to suggest a memorial inscription. I spoke with Ray and relatives in Mayo and it was felt that a phrase in both Irish and English would be suitable if acceptable.

I recalled a hymn I had first heard at an Irish mass in St Mary’s Levenshulme, Manchester and suggested the lines: ‘I líonta Dé go gcastar sinn’ - ‘In the nets of God may we be caught’ and am pleased to say it was approved and was thought to be ‘most apt’.

Image used with kind permission of CWGC

I am so glad that Martin will now be honoured and become one of the remembered men who gave their lives during the conflict of WW1 but more importantly is now remembered within his own family.

Footnote:

I took a DNA test last year and in my list of close matches, Ray was the top known match as second cousin, which we knew, but do you remember Francis from 2003? There he is in the list, a likely third or fourth cousin! We were both delighted to receive the news after our chance internet encounter!

Postscript:

CWGC have now erected a headstone for Martin. I have also been contacted by Carole, from the Portsmouth diocese who researched Martin's burial. She was able to tell me details of the funeral and also that John Grennan, who was killed with Martin, was a young Roscommon man. Carole visited the new headstone and kindly placed some flowers there.

Image © Kathleen Handrick

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© Kathleen Handrick


Kathleen Handrick is retired and lives in Oldham with her husband and family.  She joined MIW in 2013 as a novice writer and enjoys participating in the writers’ events. Her Irish roots are in County Mayo.

Monday, 27 June 2016

Somewhere in France: Poem for Somme 100

http://alison-morton.com/


By Kathleen Handrick

Godric Kean was born at Crook and Billy Row, Durham in 1866. He was of Irish Heritage and began his working life as an Apprentice Tailor, following in his father's occupation.

He then studied for the priesthood in England and Fribourg, Switzerland and was ordained a priest for the Salford Diocese in 1896. He was appointed to St Mary's Oldham, my family parish, in 1911.

Father Godric Kean
Image courtesy of Oldham Archives

In April 1915 he left Oldham together with other diocesan priests to become chaplains to the armed forces. Father Kean joined the 12th Durham Light Infantry. The Battalion arrived in France in August 1915 and entered the Battle of the Somme on 3rd July 1916 and was involved in the capture of Contalmaison on 12th July 1916.

Several letters from Father Kean were published in the local Oldham newspaper at the time.  His letters indicate that he was most enthusiastic about his role as a minister to the troops and he wrote eloquently and graphically of the events he witnessed.

My piece is a 'Found Poem', inspired by Godric's letters to the people of Oldham.


SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE

Deo Gratias -Thanks be to God 
all here are filled with hope. 
Cheerful - almost joyful. 
How shall we be when
our victory is crowned!

I love so much this military life.
Our excellent fellows
on the march, in the trenches.
Their gallant conduct 
without fear or shame.

Inspired, sublime ideals.
Ready for the sacrifice ahead.
Our soldiers cannot be beaten
in spirit. We are ready to face
this modern warfare.

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3ALancashire_Fusiliers_trench_Beaumont_Hamel_1916.jpg

Oh, the darkest of times are here.
Encircled by imminent danger,
thundering onslaught from every side,
explosive shells screaming and tearing.
Mine after  mine,
village upon village
drenched in blood!

I do my duty.
Churches without masses
Children without schools
Parishes without padrés.
Burials in the dead of night
Plain wooden crosses.
Cemeteries everywhere.

The French, our proud allies, 
Brave fighters, excellent artillery.
Thousands lie slain!
Gas shells overcome those who 
could not be beaten fairly.
See, the heroic Munsters dying.
Conquered, poisoned.

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/57/France%2C_Somme%2C_Frise%2C_1916.jpg

The thick of the battle, the great offensive   
Our courageous men in action, 
how tolerant in their agony.
Glorious beings destroyed, 
shattered by shrapnel.
Excruciating pain yet 
unaware of sufferings.

We push on; slowly but surely. 
Every inch of soil soaked in blood.
The price of progress is high.
The Saxons, the Wurtemburgers, 
The Prussian Guards all against us. 
Their bravest, youngest, strongest. 
Their blood flows too freely.

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/57/France%2C_Somme%2C_Frise%2C_1916.jpg

How great their torment.
Starved, no food to sustain.
That proud eagle ensnared,
caged by bayonet bars.
Our kind hearted men offer comfort,
tea, coffee, cigarettes.
Such compassion in this deadly place.

What a time is this! 
What sights I see! 
And yet, I thank God. I am honoured.
 Blest by these brave men.
I cherish them and this army life! 

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Kathleen Handrick is retired and lives in Oldham with her husband and family.  She joined MIW in 2013 as a novice writer and enjoys participating in the writers’ events. Her Irish roots are in County Mayo.

To find out more about MIW's Somme 100 Commemoration, please click here. 


Sunday, 5 June 2016

Michael Rogers, Seanachai: Monologue Part II.

By Kathleen Handrick.

This is the second part of my fictional monologue spoken by Michael Rogers, who was a prisoner amongst the hundreds detained in Frongoch Internment Camp, Bala, North Wales after the 1916 Easter Rising. He was a contemporary of my grandfather, the two families living beside each other in North Mayo, a place steeped in Irish history, being the site of the French Landings in 1798.

Michael was described as one of the greatest Seanachai (storyteller) of his time by Eoin MacNeill. 

In the first part of the monologue, Michael talks to new arrivals in Frongoch and you can find that here. In this, the second part, he recites a story to them given to him as a child from an old neighbour, Mickey Forde, who witnessed the arrival of the French soldiers in 1798 at Kilcummin, in the parish.

Michael's Story of Lacken, North Mayo 1798

Look at ould Mickey Forde now. He must have been nearly eighty when I was but a child. He'd sit down by the back strand, waiting for the men to bring up the mackerel. Then we'd all go along to his cabin for a bit o’ kitchen and then, there'd be singing and dancing and storytelling... oh ’twas great sport we had.

Would you ever believe now that Mickey was a garsún in '98.  Just think on that a young boy...in ‘98!
Come.  Éist liom anois.

Listen now and I’ll tell ye the story just the way Mickey would be telling me when I was a youngster.

I was roaming above in the fields and I saw three strange ships anchored below in the bay. I ran like the hare to tell my father but he couldn't be found. There were neighbours and strangers running and roaring everywhere -crying out that the French had landed! We children were told to stay at home and not go wandering abroad.

Commemoration at Kilcummin
© Kathleen Handrick

But me, well now, I was an adventurous kind of lad, and a day or two later, I crept out to the crossroads. Suddenly, I heard a tremendous sound – like thunder -  yet the afternoon was a fine one. I scrambled down beneath a hedge and looked along the Foghill road. I saw, coming towards me over the rise, a great dark cloud. There were sparks of light flashing here and there and, as the vision came closer, I thought my ears would burst with the deafening sound.

'Twas the foreigners - marching to the beat of a fife and drum. They were led by a horseman wearing a long green coat and a tall fur hat, sitting upright and bowing his head to the one or two countrymen who were standing in the fields. He looked most fine.  As the soldiers passed me by, I saw it was the sun, striking the buttons on their jackets, that was causing the flashes of light to blind me.

Statue to commemorate the first French Soldier to die on Irish soil in 1798.
© Kathleen Handrick

I heard again the sound of another horse and as it came nearer, I saw it was a gig and in this gig, there was a man, like none I’d ever seen before.  He was dressed in the grandest style- a wide black hat upon his head and a splendid uniform with gold on his shoulders and jacket. There were even more soldiers marching behind him.

 Now ... I thought then, my mind had been affected by this happening, because there - to my astonishment– following all this were my own people – a great crowd of them talking and shouting excitedly.  They were carrying pikes and pitchforks –sticks and loys- and there- in the midst of them was my father!

St Cummin's Church
© Kathleen Handrick

I scurried back home to my mother and found her with the women kneeling in prayer at the holy well.  They stayed there, waiting for news ... on their knees praying - and all the time, they say, you could hear the uproar from Killala, above in Cashel.

Now my lads, Mickey would tell me that story often and I would be at his feet – just like you now - and I’d never tire of it.

Yes, his father did return - a beaten man but others ... alas, they never came back.

Poor Mickey, the Lord have mercy on him. He went to meet his maker in heaven, still longing for the day his father's dreams would come true.

Images & text of this post © Kathleen Handrick.
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Kathleen Handrick is retired and lives in Oldham with her husband and family.  She joined MIW in 2013 as a novice writer and enjoys participating in the writers’ events. Her Irish roots are in County Mayo.

Kathleen wrote ‘Michael Rogers’ for MIW's commemorative event, '1916: The Risen Word', which was performed at the Irish World Heritage Centre, Manchester on March 10 2016. MIW received the generous support of the Embassy of Ireland for this event.




Sunday, 29 May 2016

Michael Rogers, Seanachai: Monologue Part I.

By Kathleen Handrick

My fictional piece is a monologue spoken by Michael Rogers, who was a prisoner amongst the hundreds detained in Frongoch Internment Camp, Bala, North Wales after the 1916 Easter Rising. He was a contemporary of my grandfather, the two families living beside each other in North Mayo, a place steeped in Irish history, being the site of the French Landings in 1798.


Michael was described as one of the greatest Seanachai (storyteller) of his time by Eoin MacNeill.
Douglas Hyde published Michael’s work in his collections of traditional Irish stories. He was an employee and close friend of Patrick Pearse and his friendship with Eamon De Valera continued until Michael’s death in 1936 in Rathfarnham.


In this first part of the monologue, Michael talks to new arrivals in Frongoch.

MICHEAL MAC RUAIDHRI - MICHAEL ROGERS

Cén chaio a bhfuil sibh? Suígí sois anois. Ah, maith go leor!

Now, that's no problem. I can use the English language if I need to but ... it’s not a thing I’d be given to boasting about!

So, how’re ye doing anyway, lads, and welcome to Frongoch! Were ye in the gang brought in from Stafford yesterday? 

Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Captured Irish soldiers in Stafford Gaol after the failed 1916 Easter Uprising.
Michael Collins marked with an 'x.’

Well the air and the scenery here’s better than in those English gaols, I'd say.

Some of the lads, now, say it puts them in mind of Wicklow or Galway even but that’s a bit o’ wishful thinking. It’s certainly not home anyways - you’ll be finding that out soon enough.

I wonder now, is that what they call English wit, do you think- to detain hundreds of Irishmen in a dry distillery! Huh, you'll see quite a few of 'em taking in a few good breaths down there ... but I fear they be disappointed. It's only the smell of the rats, they'd be getting. 

The guards? Well now, I suppose, they could be worse. Some are getting on a bit now – the fights gone out of them... but...just watch your man over there, though. He'll be after you to volunteer for France, especially if he knows you only have the English.

In fact lads - it's best if you just lay low for now. Don't get yourself noticed for the wrong things. There's plenty here to be filling your time - Irish, history, politics – even a bit o’ Latin –though I’d be thinking now, you’ll be well able at that already ! Of course, then there's football, running and plenty o' marching. 

I tell you now, you'll be amongst the finest specimens around Dublin when you leave here –fit and educated – what could be better!

Ah, were you down below earlier? Well, most evenings now I lead the rosary. Just listen out for the bell and come along.

Take it from me lads; it’s a great comfort – all those voices raised in prayer...

“Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta ...”

and now, I'd say- it's a good sign to them - that we all stand together- we won't be broken. And some of them join in you know.

In fact, Sergeant Matthews even asked us to pray for his son - killed in France. That was no problem. He's a decent enough ould fella.

Me? Well, indeed, I am an old man. Old, I suppose, to be in here anyway amongst all you young fellas!

Now then, listen here and I'll tell ye. 

I was born and raised in Foghill, in the parish of Lacken, Mayo... 1860, by my reckoning. 


And – that’s right - you are correct – I am known as a story teller -Seanachai.

I didn’t learn that kind o’ thing at school though. Well, now, that place wasn’t for me at all.

No, I much preferred the company of the old folk around and ... I'd be thinking now, I learnt more that way. I would listen to their stories, their music – their way of talking and ... I would gather it all together and store it away – not only in my head but in my heart.

Oh, I heard all the ancient legends from them –of Crom Dubh and the blessed saint himself, and I've recited them often enough. I just love to be telling them and to be sure

I was winning many a medal for my efforts but I’m telling you now, my people taught me much more than those tales.

I tell ye, there were many stories of great sadness and hardship and you know, you don’t forget those kinds of things when you hear them, even though you're but a child.

They stay with you and form your thinking- they grow in you and you need to do something. You must!

But ... first, I had to earn my living. I became a gardener so – and, after a few jobs round about, I was offered work up in Dublin in the gardens in one of the big houses. That was ... more than twenty years ago.

I was in demand for my language - to give lessons you know and my love of stories and music introduced me to others who thought like me. Then I met Pádhraic - Patrick, may God be merciful to him.

Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Pádraig Pearse
He was no more than a boy then ... and he too loved the ancient stories and our native tongue.

He is –oh, I can't yet think of his cruel death, you know - he was, I mean – so passionate! He believed so much in educating our young– in Irish for Ireland - and I am so proud to be part of that school. I'm the only native speaker there you know! Fair play to them- Pádhraic and the others – they all learned it and they cherished it like me!

My job? Well, I’ve been the gardener and lodge keeper now since the school opened ... keeping a keen eye over the comings and goings. I teach a bit of horticulture- gardening - and I converse with the boys.

The lads from Connemara, now, ah they’re grand -they relish the lessons and the chat ... but the ones with only the English – hmm- they think I'm a hard task master. 

They need to learn though - like yourselves. It's the future – and - pay heed to my words, we will be free one day to speak and live our own ways. That's my prayer anyway and it will happen, I do believe.

Well, you know Pádhraic and me, we liked each other, right from the beginning and that’s why we got on so.

I suppose you could say, I've been like a father to him since his own father died. We have a certain – ‘trust’ of each other– did have a trust- there I go again – that was different to that of him and his brother, Willie.

Let me put it this way – there is more to me than a gardener and Pádhraic and the rest thought so too.

Ah yes, I was... I was there beside him at the Post Office. I wanted to stay but he sent me back to the school - to tidy things up and look after the women folk. It was a most distressing time and the... well ... they rounded me up too... and ... here I am!

Sin é.

That's enough for now of the ramblings of an old man.

Now my boys! Can you hear that fiddle? Are you singers? The lads have a few songs most nights. It passes the time before lights out. There's still time for you to go and join in.

Me? No I won't be bothering this evening. I'll just stay here and think about Pádhraic for a while. You know ... when he was in Kilmainham, he sent a farewell message to me and I pray it every night since.

Slán leat, a Mhicheál, Slán leat go deo.

Slán leat a Mhicheál, as Contae Mhaigh Eo!

Slán agus beannacht leat, a Phádhraic.

Part II of Michael's monologue, where he recites a story given to him as a child from an old neighbour who witnessed the arrival of the French soldiers in 1798 at Kilcummin, in the parish, wwas published on the MIW Blog on Sunday 5th June 2016. You can read it here. 

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Image credits:
Prisoners at Stafford and Patrick Pearse are in the Public Domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
Map of Mayo is in the Public Domain, via The British Library. 
Michael Rogers plaque & text of this post are © Kathleen Handrick.

Kathleen Handrick is retired and lives in Oldham with her husband and family.  She joined MIW in 2013 as a novice writer and enjoys participating in the writers’ events. Her Irish roots are in County Mayo.

Kathleen wrote ‘Michael Rogers’ for MIW's commemorative event, '1916: The Risen Word', which was performed at the Irish World Heritage Centre, Manchester on March 10 2016. MIW received the generous support of the Embassy of Ireland for this event.