Eire apparent

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This was published 13 years ago

Eire apparent

Ancestral search ... the famed green fields of the Irish countryside.

Ancestral search ... the famed green fields of the Irish countryside.

With some help from the locals, Julietta Jameson goes in search of her great-great-great-grandparents in Ireland's beautiful County Kilkenny.

ON A June Saturday morning in Kilkenny City, I sat in Pennefeather Cafe, an airy, light space on the charming High Street. The smell of home-baked pastries and a feeling of quiet local contentment pervaded.

Chewing on a raisin scone and sipping a coffee, I pored over a tourist map of the county.

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One of four men at the next table paused over his toastie and tea.

"Can we help you with what you're looking for there?" he said.

"I'm looking for my great-great-great-grandparents," I told him, then blushed with a mix of excitement and embarrassment: weren't we colonials in search of our heritage a dime a dozen in Ireland? They say more than 50 per cent of Australians claim Irish heritage and the Irish have to deal with not only us but the Americans who claim as such. Surely the real locals were sick of us. "They were buried in a place called Burnchurch," I continued apologetically.

No, they are not sick of us. Quite the contrary and these men, who, as luck would have it were all bus drivers, were eager to help. They motioned at me to hand over the map and locked heads around it.

"Burnchurch! Lovely spot. Ooh, this is a small map," they all agreed. "You take the road out to Callan and turn left at the elm tree. But if you miss the elm tree, there's a plan B, another turn ..." And on it went.

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I missed many of their directions because I was overcome with gratitude for their enthusiasm, humbled at their welcome and thrilled to know this place, Burnchurch, still existed.

I brandished my pen at the men and they helped me out by marking the way to Burnchurch on the map. And in doing so, they marked the way to an understanding of myself I never thought possible.

This search for my great-great-greats began with a whim and ended with a profound new beginning. Funny how that happens; often the best, most authentic choices we make - especially in travel - are the ones that seem to come out of nowhere.

But then, the decision to make the pilgrimage to ancestral lands never comes from nowhere, even if it may seem that way at first, which it did to me.

My family is three-quarters Irish. Ironically, the quarter that is English is the bit that bears the name of Irish whiskey: Jameson. Growing up Jameson, the lineage no longer held mystery for me. It had been raked over very well.

But my female link to Ireland, the Shirleys, had called me. Not at all consciously. I just had this sudden desire to go to Kilkenny, the place from whence the Shirleys came.

My mother's grandmother, Emma, was born Shirley.

Emma's father, my great-great-grandfather Richard, was sent to do time in the penal colony of Van Diemen's Land for standing up to an English landlord in County Kilkenny. He was eventually granted a pardon and became quite a successful man in Hobart, where his wife, Honoria, and children joined him. Emma was among the siblings to be born in Hobart.

It was Richard's birthplace and his parents' burial place - the Australian Shirleys' link to Kilkenny - I was seeking. I knew my mother loved this side of her family. It was the one she spoke of most. I had lost her 15 years earlier, before I had learnt to appreciate her stories fully.

After flying into Shannon Airport in the south-west late in the afternoon, I had driven to nearby Limerick, stayed there overnight, then pushed on early in the morning towards the east, for Kilkenny.

Crossing County Tipperary into Kilkenny, the lush fields, sprayed with buttercups, hedgerows, old trees burgeoning with fruit, flowers and songbirds and undulating landscapes affording endless vistas of purple-flecked green velvet dotted with glossy cows and creamy sheep, had me bursting into spontaneous tears. It was so beautiful. And strangely familiar, even though I had never been here before.

Kilkenny City itself had me self-congratulatory. How lucky to have your people hail from near such a wonderful place. It is a mediaeval perfection crowned by a stupendous castle overlooking the meandering River Nore. Its High Street and adjoining thoroughfares, Rose Inn Street and John Street, are lined with ancient evocative laneways and pubs. All the shop fronts are old-fashioned and quaint. The soaring St Canice's Cathedral dates to the sixth century. Many other sites hark back to amazing moments in history.

And it's a fun town, too; those pubs full of joviality, friendliness and craic, not to mention great food.

But as with any great city, Kilkenny's beauty lies in its people. For a start, there were those bus drivers and then the guide, Pat Tynan. I met up with him after I finished my scone and farewelled the helpful drivers.

Pat does his walking tours of the mediaeval town with the blarney and colour you expect from an Irishman but also with an intimate knowledge and love of the Anglo-Norman city's slips, streets, heroes and villains.

He also knows a thing or two about the surrounding county. As we strolled between marvellous monuments made of the black limestone that has Kilkenny dubbed "The Marble City", I told him I was off to meet my great-great-greats in Burnchurch after our tour.

"I live near there," he said. "What was their name?"

"Shirley," I said.

"Shirley, you say; there's a pub near there called Shirleys. At Kells. After you meet them, you should go have a Guinness there."

"I don't like Guinness," I confessed.

"You know we still deport people," he deadpanned.

Then it struck me. The land over which my great-great-great-grandad had been sent to the penal colony was at Kells. They'd been chucked off it for converting to Catholicism and a riot had ensued.

Promising at least to try to like Guinness, I bade Pat farewell and headed back to my hotel to collect my car.

Pretty soon I found out what the bus drivers meant about the elm tree. There was a turn-off, clearly marked for Burnchurch, but also with a huge elm tree in the middle of the intersection. I slammed on the brakes and took the turn, slowing down to negotiate the windy road.

Soon I came across Burnchurch; a sudden dog-leg, with a castle ruin on one corner, a dilapidated stone church and overgrown graveyard on the other and not much else but fairways of green fields.

As I pulled up the ring that secured the cemetery gate, I wasn't sure any more. There were many gravestones weathered by time. My great-great-greats were long gone. Maybe

I wouldn't find them but I had found Burnchurch and maybe that was enough. All the same, I began to go through methodically, starting with the smaller stones up the back of the yard, the furthest from the church. Stone after stone turned up nothing, until I reached a large Celtic cross right by the church's front entrance.

It wasn't my great-great-greats but it was another of their sons, a man who had been the county coroner and who, as his stone said, "was ever a kind and faithful husband and a fond and indulgent father. At his door the poor ever met with charity and kindness and the troubled blessed him as the restorer of peace and the uniter of their families." There was another, older stone, impossible to read, next to it but in the same plot, which logic dictated was probably my direct forebears.

Either way, I sat down with this uncle, Henry, and felt my connection to the place. It was a surprisingly emotional thing, this knowing where you come from.

After a while, I got up and made my way to Kells, where I easily found the pub, Shirleys. It was late Saturday afternoon and there weren't many people about. I ordered a pint of Guinness and settled at the bar. I took a sip - and loved it! They say that Guinness tastes better in Ireland but maybe it was just that I'd connected with my Irishness.

I told the publican, Shane, my story. "You know there's Shirleys living just down the road," he said. Shirleys had owned the pub until he bought it a decade earlier. He told me the pub was on Facebook and I should befriend it.

So when I got back to my hotel I did and posted as my new profile pic a photo another Shirleys customer had taken of me drinking my Guinness at the bar that afternoon.

Not an hour later, I received a Facebook message from Shane. "There's a Shirley in here right now. They've seen your pic and say you look like a cousin. You've got the Shirley look."

To say I was chuffed doesn't touch it. I got me, then, from the loud laugh and the chattiness (Irish), to the hooded eyelids and large forehead (Shirley).

I got me for the first time, really.

And I will be forever thankful to Kilkenny for that.

Three things to do

1. Craftwork

County Kilkenny is Ireland's craft capital, home to potters, knitters, weavers, silversmiths and furniture makers. There are craft trails for foot, bicycle or car. See www.trailkilkenny.ie or visit the National Craft Gallery and Kilkenny Design Centre in the stables of Kilkenny Castle. (Castle Yard, +353 056 776 1804; www.ccoi.ie.)

2. Festival of festivals

Kilkenny hosts great festivals, among them the Cat Laughs Comedy event. The city gets busy but the ambience is super-fun. (May-early June; +353 056 775 2175; www.thecatlaughs.com.) Others include the Kilkenny Arts Festival (www.kilkennyarts.ie) and the Kilkenny Celtic Festival (www.celticfestival.ie).

3. Pub scene

Kilkenny has its own brewery, producing Kilkenny and Smithwick's, and an astonishing choice of authentic old pubs in which to drink them.

Popular Kyteler's Inn was established in 1324 (St Kieran's Street, +353 056 772 1064 www.kytelersinn.com). But I liked The Playwright. (60 High Street, Kilkenny, +353 056 770 2778).

Trace your ancestors

YOU'D probably rather soak up the sense of people in Ireland than bury yourself in archives.

So, when attempting to find your ancestral roots, it's best to be prepared before you set off. I was lucky in that my mum's cousin had done the groundwork. And my great-grandmother had left a little note about who was whom. I knew where to go and what to look for.

If you don't have that, the Irish are well set up for genealogy research. However, it is essential to have the basics: the name of the ancestor who left Ireland, an approximate date of birth, county of origin and perhaps parish, religion and the name of ancestors' parents.

Still, you'll be amazed how far you can get with a name and a place on the internet, so don't be discouraged.

Here are some useful websites to get you started: www.irishgenealogy.ie; www.genealogyireland.ie; www.ancestry.com; www.irishfaminerecords.com; www.irishorigins.com. In addition, there is an Association of Professional Genealogists in Ireland. www.apgi.ie.

The writer was a guest of Tourism Ireland.

Trip notes

Getting there

Emirates flies to London Heathrow, a route serviced by A380, daily via Dubai from $1970 return. For bookings and fares, go to www.emirates.com/au.

Aer Lingus flies Heathrow to Shannon return daily. For fares and bookings, see www.aerlingus.com.

Staying there

Kilkenny has a wide range of hotels, B&Bs and guesthouses. Be sure to book early as the city hosts a variety of festivals and can get busy. The Hotel Kilkenny (College Road; +353 056 776 2000) is the city's largest. It has a four-star rating with great facilities and easy access for those with a car, as it's on the Ring Road just outside the centre, where traffic can get gridlocked. It's a short walk into town or a cheap taxi ride. From about €95 ($140) a night for two. For bookings and best rates, see hotelkilkenny.ie.

Touring there

For Pat Tynan's walking tour, phone Pat on +353 (0) 87 265 1745 or email tynantours@eircom.net.

Further information

The local tourism authority can be found at kilkenny.ie (local office on Rose Inn Street, Kilkenny) and Tourism Ireland's site is discoverireland.com/au.

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