How This All Started - A Trip to Ireland with Dad and Beth

I finally returned to Ireland in 1977 with my father and another classmate, Beth Maher. I became a little more interested in Ireland and my immediate family history.

Logan Airport - MEM, David McCusker, and Beth Maher (later McCusker)

We again went to Connemara and visited Mrs. Connolly. I was still wondering what life was like for this transplanted American – her life did not seem too easy in that remote location – her husband had died since my last visit - but she always seemed so jolly.

MEM and Mrs. Connolly in front of open fire.

Dad and Mrs. Connolly

We stopped at Keough’s Pub in Ballyconnelly where my father ended up talking to some old men about his Mannion/Manning relatives in the Roundstone area – one of the men was the local Seannachie – storyteller/historian. I remember wondering how long will they keep talking! When are we going to get going?!? How I wish now that I had listened to what they were saying!

I remember we stopped at Mannion the drapper's in Clifden - I think he was a relative also.

Later on the way back from Croagh Patrick, my father stopped in Roundstone where his father was born. He went into O’Dowd’s Pub where his father used to work. It was dark and the pub was closing. Beth and I ended up in the snug wondering what happened to him – who was he talking to now? Why did he find talking to these old people so interesting? We just wanted to get back to The Great Southern Hotel in Eyre Square to go to bed. There was no one in the snug but Beth and me - not so exciting!

Beth’s family was from the Aran Islands - the middle island. So we took a ride on Loughy O’Kelly’s fishing boat from Rossaveal to Kilronan on the big island - it would give us some idea of what life in the Aran Islands was like for Beth's family. 

Dad, crew mate, and Beth in Rossaveal waiting to head to Kilronan.

Dad and Beth relaxing on board.

While there, we took a tour of the island on a donkey and trap. Later we climbed to Dun Aengus. 

MEM, Beth and our tour guide on Inish Mor.

Dad was also a great tour guide - he had researched the places he wanted to take us. He explained a lot about the culture, the music, the way of life. I was interested to a degree but would give anything to take that trip now!!

I bought a Celtic cross ike the one behind me - it was made out of turf .

Beth and Dad in front of the one gift shop/restaurant that we saw. I bought my Celtic cross here. We were waiting for the fishing boat to take us back to Rossaveal.

We also visited Kinsale where we met Jim Keohane in Ballythomas – he was my mother’s uncle – her father’s brother. My father loved this nice, quiet man. He was living in the cottage that my grandfather, John Keohane, had bought for the Keohanes before he emigrated to the United States in 1912. Jim had been a scout in the Irish War of Independence. During my father’s trips to Ireland, Jim told him all about his experiences. He took him to places in Cork where battles or ambushes took place. I wasn’t that interested when my father drove by some of these places and told Beth and me what had gone on. But I wish now I had paid more attention to what Jim Keohane had been involved in –especially since years later, Patty, Richie, Rick, Jody, Jimmy and I took a 6 hour tour of battle sites in West Cork – the tour guide had Richie drive to all the sights that Jim Keohane had taken my father and more!!

My father, Beth, and I took Jim out to the Dunderrow Pub which I had heard Aunt Nellie Keohane hated because her father would come home from there drunk – maybe her father was a nasty drunk? Again my father was talking to and laughing with the old men, but Beth and I were more interested in meeting some younger men!

MEM, Uncle Jim. and Dad in Ballythomas, Dunderrow, Kinsale, Co. Cork - the cottage that my grandfather John Keohane bought around 1911/1912 is in the background.

Another day we drove to the Dingle peninsula. We were trying to find some information about my mother’s other uncle, Jim Moriarty – my grandmother’s brother.  I’ll just let my father’s letter explain what happened - I copied it to include here.

"P.S. the previous letter was mailed from the Post Office in Inch, Jim’s former home.

June 15, 197

Dear Ellen,

I am writing after a long day. We visited Dingle today and went to Inch as per Mike Shea’s suggestion. While it is fresh on my mind I’ll tell you what we found out about your Uncle Jim and the schoolmaster, his uncle.

We went to the strand at Inch and stopped to stretch our legs and take some pictures. On the beach was a little enclosed stand, ice cream etc and I struck up a conversation with the girl who worked there. Luckily for me, as she told me that we had passed (con’t on next page.)

Foley’s bar about ¾ of a mile back. We returned down the road and found the place that Mike had mentioned. Without going into detail I met Mr Foley the oldish man who owns the place and made inquiries about the Moriartys in that area especially the schoolmaster. He told me he did remember him but that he had died years ago. I then mentioned your uncle Jim and he remembered him also. The country Irish have great memories. He referred  me to a Kathleen Casey, of all names, who runs the post office.

We rode back another half mile and met the Casey woman. Being fifty-ish or better she didn’t know Jim or the schoolmaster personally but did know of them and she told us that the schoolmaster lived in the house that was now …

the post office and that Jim lived with him there. We took a picture of the place for reference. She told me that there was a woman nearby who would be interested in knowing about Jim but when I told her that I had never met him nor knew a great deal about him she advised that it was just as well that I didn’t visit her as she was pretty old.  The old schoolmaster is buried in a grave yard opposite Foley’s Pub and its been so long that no one was sure which grave was his. The wind and the elements erodes the markings off …

the grave stones. So if you are talking to Mike Shea, tell him there is one Moriarty in Inch and the woman is very old and like Ma her mind is hazy.

We left Inch and went to Dingle and around Slea Head. We made the same run in the rain a few years ago. They have improved the road and now the tour buses negotiate it; they have been for two years.

In the morning we make the Ring with a stop in Waterville. What we do in Loughane I’ll play by ear taking time and circumstances into consideration. ~ Had a beautiful haddock fillet dinner with wine and mushroom sauce in Dingle – xcellent – my love to you and the kids. How is Chris doing?  John

(Mike Shea  was a neighbor of my grandmother in Loughane. Mike emigrated to Boston – my folks used to meet him at the Kerry Club dances. His wife Bridie was the aunt of Brendan Galvin of the Blackshop in Castlecove.)

MEM and Dad in front of Foley's Pub - today it is brightly painted.

MEM and Dad in front of Inch Post Office - the picture was damaged by water.  Ma's brother Jim Moriarty lived here with his uncle Schoolmaster James Moriarty after Jim and Ma's father drowned.

I also had written about the trip to Inch:

“We drove along to Dingle and stopped at Inch Strand. There are lovely beaches in this country. Had an ice cream and talked with a girl in the snack bar who directed us to Foley’s Pub in Inch which we had passed about ½ mile back. Dad had wanted to inquire there about Mum’s uncle who had lived there in Inch. We had a Harp at Foley’s & Mr Foley directed us to the Caseys at Inch P.O. who knew the Moriartys. Kathleen Casey was at the P.O. – very friendly & typically Irish. She knew Jim Moriarty who had been brought there by his paternal uncle (a Moriarty – also a schoolmaster in Inch) after his father (Ma’s father – my great grandfather) was drowned in Kenmare Sea with one of the Caseys from Sneem. The P.O. was the house in which the

“Moriartys lived.  There was also a Moriarty woman who was a cousin to Jim living several farms away. We bought stamps from Mrs. Casey & she gave us candy bars. Then we drove on thru Dingle and on to Slea Head. I’m looking at a postcard of Slea Head which doesn’t do it justice. The road is so narrow and winding, the mountains so rugged. Today it was misty & overcast.  It’s a tough country – a wild area. Parts of the mountains and rocks are large jutting peaks. I could almost feel the sea and wind pushing against them and wearing them down. Parts of the ride were frightening because the roads were so narrow & there were cars passing on the right & nothing on the left except a small rock fence to separate you from the steep drop. We stopped to take pix of Skellig Islands. (Really the Blaskets)  We also stopped at Dunquin Quay – actually we stopped to take pix of it. Again …”

I guess we will leave it at that for now ...