"...to seek and to find the past, a lineage, a history, a family built on a flesh and bone foundation."

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

New Pages: Films and Latin Translations

As Autumn approaches, and the new school year gets underway, I will be adding a series of extra pages to this blog which will hopefully provide you with additional help with respect to your Irish family history research. Since there is no time like the present, to begin with today, I am adding a couple of pages which have been in abeyance for a while.

Inspired by Dick Eastman's mention of the film 'Death or Canada', I have decided now is the time to add the films page to this blog. On the page I have included links to films which detail various aspects of Irish history, as well as others which are simply to enjoy.

Also, I have added a page of translations for some of the Latin terms you might come across while doing your family history research.

I hope you enjoy the pages and find them useful.

Cheers,
Jennifer

Friday, August 24, 2012

'Our House': Saying goodbye to my childhood home

The key in the upper lock of the door stuck slightly, as it always did, before it made the clicking sound to indicate it was locked. Yesterday, I locked the door of my childhood home for the very last time. My brother and I have gathered possessions, some of the items most cherished by our parents, old photographs and the like, to remind us of what it meant to live there, to live a life as a family with our mother and our father. Childhood games were long ago set aside as each one of us moved into adulthood and away from our parents, as all children do, in order to strike out on our own, to build our own lives. When I moved away as a young adult, somehow I imagined the door with the sticky lock would always have a place in my life. The house in which I grew up would always be there waiting for me to return to it.

I know every inch of that house. I remember as a child excitedly running across the bare hardwood floors to strip the 'SOLD' sign out of the living room window, so that I could save it for all time. At first that large window was spanned by heavy brocade drapes, and the room was dressed with dark wood furniture and accented with honeyed gold paint. With changing times and tastes, the colours softened, and those drapes were replaced with an elegant symmetry of cream colour draped across that window.

With each drop of paint, every change in decor, almost every piece of furniture and light fixture, there are memories. In the dining room, each spring Mom would climb a small ladder to take down every droplet of the crystal chandelier hanging over the table, so that each piece could be cleaned. The chandelier beautifully sparkled in the early evening light after she had finished. I did not always help her to clean it, but when I did, the task was usually lightened by laughter. Sometimes we'd pretend the crystal pieces were earrings, and we'd dance around with them held up to our ears. It was a simple and very silly time, but unforgettable.

On the last day in my childhood home there were so many memories rushing through my mind, there was a crush as I tried to single them out. Standing in the kitchen, I could almost hear the sizzle and breathe in the flavour of bacon and eggs, sausages and blood pudding, as I remembered my father at the stove cooking breakfast on a Sunday morning. Sunday morning breakfast was the only meal he would occasionally cook, and when he did, it was always so delicious. Standing in the living room I remembered celebration, images and sounds of times when we welcomed family from Ireland. I can still hear the peals of laughter, the singing, the distinctive thump of the bone hitting the bodhrán drum, and Uncle Séamus wildly playing his accordion.

Packing away my mother's large mixing spoons evoked a memory of the gorgeous fragrance of her Irish Christmas puddings, with sultana raisins, currants, candied peel, walnuts and almonds. Mom never had to measure out a single ingredient, or consult a recipe; the talent for making it was in her bones. Mom would let each one of us take a turn when it was time to mix in the porter beer, stirring the massive mixture around a large metal bowl. 'Three times around', she would say, 'Make sure it's a full three turns, and be certain to make your wish'. Oh, when I think of some of the wishes made over those puddings. If only I could make a wish now.

Standing in my childhood bedroom for the very last time, I gazed out the window over the yard, and remembered. In the mists of memory I see my father and our neighbours building the fences, and laying the sod. On the light breeze of this last afternoon the sweet scent of Mom's rose bushes wafts its way in through the open window. Peonies, Lavender, and Black-eyed Susans run slightly wild along the sides of the yard next to overgrown privet hedge. At the far end of the garden stand the hostas, still dressed in the light tears of a morning rain. Mom planted them in that first spring after Dad died. I stand there at the window wondering if the garden knows she is gone. Do the flowers miss the deft touch of her hand, trimming everything, keeping it all well ordered?

Turning away from the window I recall the day my teenaged self announced to my mother that I had decided to paint over the soft pink walls of my little girl room. The colour I had chosen was purple. Mom wasn't at all happy about my choice, but she helped me choose the right shade of purple, and helped me paint the room. As soon as I moved out, Mom re-painted the room pink.

Walking from empty room to empty room to ensure everything is clean and well polished for the next owners, the house seems much smaller now. It was the lives within our home that made it big, but now those lives are gone.

I knew joy in that house, and laughter, but also anger, and incredible sadness too. It was the site of many beginnings and far too many endings. I loved that house, and at times I hated it too. I knew freedom, learning, and happiness there, but also stringent limits and boundaries that I sometimes reeled against. It meant all things to me, but more than anything it was my family home, the home in which I believed I would always find my parents, a place of roots, of our foundation and our connection.

With the last click of that lock the connection is now severed; for us the place is gone.

It is only a house now, no longer a home.


Copyright©irisheyesjg2012.

Friday, August 17, 2012

I'm off to Ireland soon. Can I get you anything?

In September I will be going overseas; can I get anything for you? My main base of operations will be Dublin, Ireland, although I will also be working on my history research at the National Archives in Kew, London. In past years I have made this offer and had an overwhelming number of people take me up on it. So, this time, in order to limit the numbers, I've decided to add a few rules.

1. You must be a registered follower of this blog for at least the two weeks prior to today's offer.

2. Your request must be as detailed as possible, and include name, relevant dates, townland, county, and so on. No extra detail is too much.

Copy of death registration entry for Nicholas Fitzpatrick
3. If you would like a copy of a civil registration entry for a birth, death, or marriage, such as the one pictured above, then I must have the full name of the individual(s), the type of event, and the date of the event. Also, any other details such as parents' names, address, etc. will make it more likely that I will find exactly the document you need.

I will absorb the 20€ (Euro) fee for using the research room, but I will need to be reimbursed the 4€ ($5 USD) fee which the GRO will charge me for each photocopy I retrieve and mail to you. If there are any changes to their policy in this regard, I will let you know.

For civil registrations, on this trip I will only be visiting the General Register Office in Dublin, so any documents will have to be for events which took place in the Republic of Ireland from 1864 (non-Roman Catholic marriages from 1845), and for Northern Ireland from 1864 to 31 December 1921. See the GRO site for further information about what is available.

If your ancestor's civil registration details are on Ancestry or the LDS site Familysearch.org, then sending me the volume number and page number of the entry for your ancestor will ensure you end up with the document you request.

You will notice the details below, which are from the LDS site, correspond to the Death Registration document pictured above:


4. If you would like a photograph of the grave of an ancestor interred in Glasnevin Cemetery, Dublin, then I will need the full name of the interred and the location of the grave including the cemetery section and, most importantly, the grave number. Assuming I am able to find it, I will send you an email with a digital photograph of the grave. Some of your family members may be interred in graves without headstones, so there may be no stone to photograph, only green space.

5. If you are seeking a record which might be found in the Roman Catholic Parish Registers on microfilm at the National Library of Ireland, then take a look at the listings here on the NLI website in order to identify the film number on which your ancestor's record might be found. I will need the film numbers, and again, I will need all relevant information such as names, dates, and locations to make it more likely that I will find the record you want.

6. Any requests must be submitted no later than 31 August 2012.

7. You must understand that this offer is not a guarantee that I will find the information for which you are searching, but I will certainly do my best to get it for you. I reserve the right to refuse any request.

If you have any questions about the details, and/or you wish to take me up on this offer then, email me at

irisheyesjennifer at gmail dot com


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