Tag Archives: County Donegal

Gallaghers of Mulnamina, Glenties

The view from the top of the lane

The view from the top of the lane over looking a misty Gweebarra Bay

Earlier this year I made a return trip to the birthplace of our grandfather James Gallagher in Mulnamina, near Glenties in County Donegal. Our grandfather never knew any of his 14 grandchildren as he had died before any of us were born, yet he loomed large in our lives as we were frequent visitors to his family home, where his elder brother John and his youngest sister Maggie lived for all of their lives and who always had a warm welcome for us.
This was a place of wonder to us growing up, and we loved to visit on warm summer Sundays. Uncle John and Aunt Maggie had never married and were the last surviving members of their family of ten siblings. Situated on the side of a hill overlooking the Gwebarra Estuary, the house was well sheltered from storms and prevailing winds. There was no running water and no electricity and the kettle hung over the open turf fire on a crane. Soon after our arrival a fresh cake of bread, made in a flat oven with embers on top of the lid,was produced for our tea. There was always a choice of  homemade jams too. We piled in on a form at the table (no chairs at the table, only forms) and loved eating the fresh bread covered with beautiful jam, while  sitting there in the flag floored kitchen with the lovely scent of burning turf.

The lane up to Mulnamina

The lane up to Mulnamina

Our car was parked at the bottom of the lane, as it was not possible to drive up the steep hill, so we ran up the rest of the way. We ran across in front of the house next door, through the gate and into the warm kitchen to announce our arrival, and then away out again to explore. There were a few outhouses – a turf shed, a cow byre and a hen-house that I remember, a dog who slept in a fabulously fashioned stone kennel, a beautiful pale donkey and a long path that wound up the hill to summer pasture where the cows grazed and where white heather grew. White heather was said to be ‘lucky’ and Aunt Maggie would send Uncle John with us up ‘the mountain’ along the well-worn cattle path in search of it. Sometimes we found some, sometimes we didn’t, but we always enjoyed the search! And on every visit we implored Uncle John to go up with us, just to look for some.

In later years we learned that this was the house of our great grandparents, Daniel and Isabella Gallagher. As children it never occurred to us that anyone other than the people we met had lived there! So, who were they and what could we discover about them?

Daniel Gallagher son of John Gallagher of Mulnamina and Isabella nee Mulloy, daughter of John Mulloy of Strasallagh, Glenties were married on February 2, 1874. The Roman Catholic marriage register shows that they were first cousins. Dispensation had been granted in respect of 4th degree of consanguinity to enable them to marry in the church. The witnesses were Conal and Bridget Gallagher.

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The Latin marriage register entry, number 223, for our great grandparents, at the Roman Catholic Church in Glenties.

Daniel and Isabella had 10 children.

Ellen, born December 2, 1874 in Strasallagh. (I wonder if Isabella went home to her mother, as was the tradition in Ireland, for the birth of her first child)

John was born August 19, 1876 in Mulnamina, the place of birth of all subsequent children)

Ann born Jul 18, 1878

Mary born on June 4, 1880

Bridget arrived on June 1, 1882

Catherine born May 22, 1884

James born March 15, 1886

Sarah born September 28, 1888

Rose born August 12, 1890

Margaret born December 28, 1893

The next reference to them we can find is on the 1901 census, which can be seen here.  I remember the extraordinary emotion of seeing our great grandfather’s beautiful writing and his signature on the census return, when I first laid eyes on it a few years ago when the Irish census became available online. We can see that the elder two children, John and Ellen are not at home on census night, and that the family spoke both Irish and English. The household return shows that they had a 2nd class thatched house with three rooms and 3 windows plus 3 out buildings  –  a cowhouse, a fowl house and a piggery.

Ellen, Mary and Bridget are absent on the night of the 1911 census, which can be viewed here. Annie has been married for a year and is now Brennan. We don’t know if she was still living at home or possibly returned to her mother to give birth to her first child, or simply visiting. In this census we learn that Isabella had 10 children during 38 years of marriage and that all are still living. The house is still thatched and a barn has been added to the outhouses.

The house had been slated at some stage, and I certainly do not recall it being thatched, but it is still the original house with its three windows, one in the kitchen and one in each of the two bedrooms. The kitchen was in the middle of the house with the bedrooms at each end. It is odd to think that many were born here, that all of them lived here, and that some of them died here – here in this wee house that we knew so well.

Quorn stones from the house in Mulnamina, used to make flour. These belonged to Daniel and possibly his father before him.

Quern stones from the house in Mulnamina, used to make flour. These belonged to Daniel and possibly to his father before him.

The little house is now unoccupied and is gradually disappearing under encroaching foliage. The first view of it as I reached the gate was so familiar and the fuchsia bushes were looking splendid on what was a very wet day.

Through the gate with bated breath

Through the gate with bated breath

Unfortunately I was not able to get even the length of the house as the vegetation was too dense and as I was alone I did not want to risk having a fall.

It is strange to think that when we played here as children we had no idea in whose footsteps we were walking nor of the family history that had unfolded here. We walked in the same yard and same fields  and paths where our great grandparents had walked and worked and loved and laughed. We had played in the same places where all of our great aunts and great-uncle and grandfather had played, where they did their schoolwork by candle light or by the light of a tilley lamp, where they collected apples and eggs, and heard the sound of badgers and spoke in Irish and English. And we did not know that we were walking on paths made smooth by our ancestors.

The next references to our great grandparents and their family are to be found in death records. Four of those who lived here, also died here.

First was Isabella who died on 16 November 1925, almost 92 years ago. She was 76 years old and had been in poor health for a few years. Cause of death was chronic bronchitis and heart failure. Ellen’s husband Andrew Mc Dwyer was present at death.

Only 9 months later, their 6th child Kate died on 2 September 1926. She had suffered from TB and cardiac failure for several years. Her brother James, our grandfather, who was then living in Carrigart, was present at death. Her death may well have been expected if he made the journey back to Mulnamina in her last days. Kate was 42.

Daniel died on July 16 1929  at the age of 87, after only a short illness of influenza that developed into pneumonia. He died after 5 days. His eldest son John was present at death.

Many years later on February 26, 1966, Uncle John died just five months short of his 90th birthday. The cause of death was cerebral thrombosis and senility.His nephew Danny O’Donnell was present at death.

Uncle John Gallagher c.1964

Uncle John Gallagher c.1964

These four coffins made their last journey back down that lane that we loved to run up. The tragedy is that we do not know where Isabella, Kate and Daniel are buried as it seems no-one thought to ask.  It is very strange also that neither my father nor his siblings remembered these grandparents, although the eldest Aunt May was 12 years old when Daniel died. John is buried in the new graveyard in Glenties with Maggie who died in 1979 in Dungloe hospital.

The lane from Mulnamina

The lane from Mulnamina that took them on their last journey. ‘God rest them all’, as our father used say.

Postscript:

Our father, his sisters and brothers had no idea who their Gallagher Grandmother was, not even her name. They ‘thought’ she may have been Doherty from Lough Finn. They seemed to know nothing about her at all, in spite of the fact that as youngsters they spent summer holidays in Mulnamina. I recall our father asking one of his first cousins, Bella Brennan, if she had any idea who she was and she didn’t know. The subject often came up about who she might have been, but she remained a mystery woman. Fascinating now in hindsight as at least four and possibly five of her grandchildren were named Isabella after her! I am absolutely delighted that my own 6-year-old granddaughter Isabella, proudly carries her great great great grandmother’s beautiful name. I hope she would be pleased!

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Postcards from the Wild Atlantic Way: Glencolmcille- a place apart

imageTucked away at the end of a valley in south Donegal is the unique and beautiful little village of Glencolmcille. It is easily missed by the tourist as the village is on a spur road that leads only to Glencolmcille. Apart from the scenic location, the village is renowned for the wealth of archaeological evidence of settlement dating from 3,000 B.C, a strong musical tradition, as well as being a haven of peace and tranquility.
The road into the village gives an idea of the remoteness of the village. I love these wild rugged empty spaces.

Then you see it way below where the land meets the sea…

Glencolmcille at the end of the valley

Glencolmcille at the edge of the sea

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The village is tucked under Glen Head with its Martello Tower and the church dominates the village

The world famous feature of Glencolmcille is ‘An Clachán’ cluster of replica buildings that depict life over about three centuries. This museum development was the brainchild of the local priest, James McDyer who spearheaded a campaign for the development of small community based industries and tourism  in a bid to stop the constant migration from the area. When he arrived in the area in 1951 there were no proper roads, no electricity service and no water supply. He was the champion of Glencolmcille and indeed a thorn in the side of officialdom as he relentlessly sought to improve the lot of the people in this deprived area.

Among the clusters of small buildings are a school, a grocery shop as well as a number of typical houses of times gone by. My favourite has to be the school as it so closely resembles the school I first attended in the 1950s at the age of 3, complete with slates for learning to write.

Outside there is a replica Sweat House..I am not sure of the purpose of this, possibly to cure ailments?

A Sweat House

A Sweat House

I loved the collections in the houses, all telling if times that were, long before the advent of electricity, when families had to be self sufficient.

Beds were usually placed near the fire for warmth.

The kitchen dresser held all the China and sugar bowls and jugs

And we had similar washstands to these, these were in use before running water became available.

There’s so much to see and to do at Glencolmcille, it is easy to see why people return time after time. For now though, I have to keep heading south along the Wild Atlantic Way, but I leave here promising that I will return one day.

 

 

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Postcards from the Wild Atlantic Way – the mighty Slieve League Cliffs.

This is the 4th post from my almost 3,000 kilometer trip along Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way. I have now crossed the border into my home county of Donegal in the north-west of Ireland. To my absolute shame, I had never visited one of Ireland’s premier attractions, the magnificent cliffs at Slieve League in the south west corner of the county. On the day of my visit, the car temperature gauge was showing 32 degrees C, almost unheard of in Ireland. It was also flat calm without a breeze high up there on the cliffs, which meant there was nothing ‘Wild’ about the Atlantic  below. For all that it was a most amazing experience to be up there on some of Europe’s highest cliffs, on the edge of the world. No commentary is needed on the photos, which I hope you will enjoy!

 

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Remembering Aunt May.

James Gallagher and Mary Friel with their firstborn, Mary Isabella Gallagher in 1917

James Gallagher and Mary Friel, our grandparents, with their firstborn, Mary Isabella Gallagher in 1917

On  May 17, 1917 our aunt May was born at her grandparent’s house in Pollaid, Fanad Co Donegal. At that time her father James Gallagher  was teaching in Templedouglas National School in Glenswilly. As was quite usual then, the expectant mother returned to the home of her parents to give birth. Mary Isabella (always known as ‘May’) was  christened on the same day as she was born, at St Columba’s Church in Tamney. The godparents (sponsors) were Anna Friel, Mary’s Mother and her brother Francis.

Baptismal certificate

Baptismal certificate.

The birth was not registered in the civil register until July and we can see that her mother’s sister, Susan McAteer, was present when Aunt May arrived into the world.

Civil birth registration

Civil birth certificate.

Aunt May left Ireland in February 1938 to join a religious teaching order, the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur, in the south of England. At that time, it was understood that religious sisters would not ever return to their family home, so it was knowing this that the 20-year-old bravely boarded a bus in her home village of Carrigart, Co Donegal on a cold February morning. She told me years later that she was crying as she did so, and that the local priest came on to the bus and ordered her to stop crying, but also very kindly said to her ‘If you don’t like it, you don’t have to stay.’  This she said, gave her great courage and it was something she repeated to herself many times a day for years afterwards. But her mother had now died and she felt compelled by the special promise she had made to her. She also told me, something that astounded her brothers and sister, that when she was only 7 years of age, her mother asked her if she would become a nun, and she promised her that she would.  She told me that this was a conversation they had as they waited for the bucket of spring  water to fill at the local ‘spout’. While this may seem astonishing to modern readers, it was considered a great honour to have a daughter enter a convent,or to have a son who became a priest.  Her first wish was to join the Sisters of Nazareth in Derry only 40 miles away and to become a nurse. However, she had a first cousin who was already in the Sisters of Notre Dame, and she was prevailed upon to join that order instead.

imageShe had an interesting, sometimes sad and often joyful life, but  in later years suffered ill-health.  More about her will be posted  in a future blog. I was fortunate to spend her last four days by her bedside. I went to see her early in the morning before I had to get a flight back to Ireland. When I arrived home that afternoon, I picked up the phone to enquire about her, to be told that she had died earlier in the day. She died on May 10 2007 and was buried on May 15 2007 in Dumbarton Scotland, just days short of her much-anticipated 90th birthday.

She continues to be sadly missed by the writer and by my aunt and cousins who knew her very well. She is especially remembered today, on what would have been her 99th birthday.

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What’s in a name?

Gwebarra Bay, near my great grandparents home.

Gweebarra Bay, County Donegal. this photo was taken not far from my great grandparents home.

Our names are who we are. This grouping of words define us in society from birth to the grave and everything in between, including education, chosen careers, marriage, parenthood, pensions and accomplishments, as well as who our parents were, and who our ancestors were. Nicknames or pet names are common in every family and can be either totally different to the given name or a version of it. For example my eldest granddaughter is called Bibi by her younger siblings, even though she is Sophie, and I was always known as ‘Wee A’ pronounced ( ‘aaah’)  in our family. In fact I used think it was my real name!

Then there are common substitutes in Ireland. My great-aunt Margaret was known as Peg and signed herself thus. Delia was used for Bridget or Una or Uney for Winifred. This goes beyond shortened version of names, such as Dan for Daniel or Mandy for Manus. Formal registration normally adopts the formal version of first names as in Edward for Ted or Patrick for Paddy or Pat. There is no issue here as we are generally familiar with the substitute names.

I was born into a family having one of Ireland’s most common surnames. In the 1901 census, we have almost 20,000 with this surname with in excess of 2,000 named Mary and about 1,600 named John. A nightmare, if a family historian does not know the location of their family! Even if we know for example that the family came from County Donegal, there are still over 900 incidences of Mary recorded on the 1901 census in that county. So researching my Gallagher family would have been almost impossible but for the fact that at least five first cousins that I knew about were named Isabella. So where did that come from?  My father and his siblings never knew the surname of their paternal grandmother or where she was from. We knew that their grandfather was Daniel. Of the 16 houses in their townland in 1901, there were no fewer that 12 Gallagher families, but only one had a Daniel married to an Isabella. I was fortunate in that I knew the townland as I had often visited there as a child.  In 2001, I asked my father to give me the names of his father’s siblings and he wrote them down on the back of an envelope. This envelope is now a treasured possession!

The back of an envelope

Priceless information written by my father on the back of an envelope,  in 2001.

 

The 1901 census for my paternal great grandparents

The 1901  census for my paternal great grandparents and their children including my grandfather. Uncle John, mentioned on back of the envelope above is ‘missing’.

So I was very fortunate to have all this information to hand for my paternal forebears, making research a bit easier.

The absolute delight of having a maternal line with reasonably unusual surnames cannot be described. Add to that the relatively unusual first names such as Amelia, Robert, Richard, Eva, Maud…..not a John or a Mary in sight!  Oh joy unbounded! In total contrast with my challenging paternal family research, this was going to be a joyride.  With fewer than 1,000 with the surname in 1901 and only 50 or so recorded in the 1901 census in Westmeath, this had to be a doddle. Famous last words! My grandfather’s family was relatively easy to find on the census as they were railway men and they had slightly unusual first names. BUT there was still a hurdle. My grandfather was named Christopher Robert, his brother was Richard William. However, they were referred to by the second given name –  my grandfather being Bob and his brother was Willie! Who would have thought!

Then there is a traditional girl’s  name in our family that has come down 4 generations that we know of. This is Eva Maud.. and we have my great-aunt on the 1901 census. But where is her birth certificate? Where is her baptismal record? Where is her marriage certificate? These cannot be found, or could not be found until last week! Last week I discovered that Eva Maud was baptized and registered as BRIDGET EVALINE! Bridget Evaline???? I can only presume that Eva Maud was not acceptable to the catholic church as baptism names and a compromise had to be made. I am basing this guess on the fact that my  younger sister Eva, had to have the name Mary added at baptism as the priest insisted that a  saint’s name be included. Eva, whoever she was,  apparently was no saint!

So certificates have been requested to see can we have evidence for going back another generation.  So what is in a name?  Not a lot on one side of my family at least… as things are not always as they seem!

Swinford Railway Station where my maternal greatgrandmother lived until her death in 1953

Swinford Railway Station, now disused, where my maternal great-grandmother lived until her death in 1953.

 

 

 

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Memories: A picture paints a thousand words

Carrigart Hotel today. (Image courtesy of Donegal Cottages

Carrigart Hotel, County Donegal.(Image courtesy of Donegal Cottage Holidays.com)

The Hotel in Carrigart, County Donegal is an iconic building that dominates the village where I grew up. It was an integral part of our young lives as we originally lived in what was an extension of the building and we later moved across the street. The red-roofed structure in this picture was our barn, to the rear of our ‘new’ house.

There have been many reincarnations of postcards of the village in the heart of a tourist area, but very few feature this beautiful building, the probable reason being that the bend in the main and only street, means it is not possible to capture the entire village in one shot.

 

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This beautiful building is listed on the Donegal County Council  Protected Structure Inventory as ”Detached four-bay three-storey Victorian Hotel with dormer windows with elaborate carved detailing to their surrounds. Later extensions to east and west.” 

This photograph was among my late father’s most treasured possessions. I believe it was taken in the early 1950s when the premises was owned by Dermot Walsh. It shows distinctive round steps leading to the main door, a petrol pump and behind it, Walsh’s Bar with Walsh’s shop attached. The bar and shop had separate entrances as can be seen in the photo. I think that the cars are Ford Prefects (any correction most welcome) and would have been crank started. (My Dad owned one of these cars – ours had the registration number of ZL 108.) I particularly like the bicycle in this picture, cleverly and securely parked by placing one of the pedals on the footpath!
At that time this petrol pump was the only petrol pump in the village, although Griffins added one in later years. It was situated in an enclosed gravel area and sometimes for a dare we would run through here. Obviously it was an area that was for some reason out-of-bounds for small people, otherwise we would not have bothered! The petrol pump was operated by a big lever so that the person ‘dispensing’ the petrol had to work hard cranking away until the proper volume of petrol was delivered. My father often told the story of the day an important visitor to the nearby and very posh Rosapenna Hotel stopped by for petrol. He had one of the biggest cars ever seen in the locality. The visitor left the engine running and went into the hotel while the car was being filled up. A small crowd gathered while James Boyce cranked away furiously. After some time, the visitor returned to find that James, in spite of cranking away like mad, had not yet managed to fill the tank. He turned to the visitor and said: ‘She’s bating (beating) us so she is, she’s bating us’, meaning that because the engine was running, petrol was being used as fast as it was being pumped in! In reality it was because the tank was so big, it took ages to fill it!

I have great memories of happy times spent around the hotel…hours spent with Maggie Greer who single-handed did all the laundry. I loved standing with her in the wash-house that smelled of suds as the sheets swirled round in the big washing machines. I went with her to the clothes line where she hung them out on the long lines with her poor gnarled hands. I loved to see all those sheets billowing and flapping in the breeze! I spent more hours with her as she did the ironing, expertly smoothing and folding each sheet into rectangles as though they had just come new from the shop.

To my mother’s annoyance, I also spent time with Tommy Gavigan who bottled the Guinness for the hotel. The huge wooden Guinness barrels lay on their side and he pushed a tap into them from where he filled each bottle. It was then placed on  a machine to be capped and I helped him wet and stick on the labels. In return he would cut a sliver off his block of Plug tobacco for me to chew. It is easy to understand why my mother was not too happy to have a 7-year-old chewing tobacco! Tommy also took care of the cows and did the milking in the byre on his little three-legged stool with a metal bucket to catch the warm milk. Afterwards, he might throw me up on top of a cow to sit on her back as she went back out to the field.

The Carrigart Hotel has stood on this site for over 100 years. It was built by Michael Friel in about 1910, although he had a smaller hotel  prior to this. According to the 1911 Census the hotel boasted 64 rooms with 28 windows to the front and 18 outhouses that included piggeries,stables and a harness room. On Census night, in addition to Michael Friel’s wife and family there were 8 boarders on the premises, including a Dr MacCloskey the local doctor, cooks, servants and a lace instructress!

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Friel’s Family and Commercial Hotel

The rather grainy photograph above was taken sometime before the 1930s. The name ‘Friel’s Family & Commercial Hotel’ is attached to the railings that run along the roof. I do not recall these railings or the rooftop ornamentation. In 1934 ownership of the hotel passed to Miss Mary Anne McGuire, who was the sister-in-law of Dr Mac Closkey, recorded as a boarder in 1911 census. Subsequently the hotel passed into the hands of the Walsh Family who operated it until it was sold on again in recent years.

Carrigart now

Carrigart Hotel as it is today

The photo in my Dad’s possession evoked lots of pleasant memories for him, just as indeed it does for me. It is a pity that the hotel is no longer in use, but it is still a place for gatherings in the village, still a place where good memories are made, memories that  hopefully will last as long as the pleasant memories I have, and that my father before me had, of this lovely building.

 

With special thanks to

Donegal Cottage Holidays  for permission to use their photograph – more beautiful photos can be seen on their site

Petie McGee who sent me the picture of the Friel’s Hotel

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One of these days: A Winter Solstice Birthday

Newgrange. Aligned with the rising sun whose light floods the chamber on the winter solstice. Image Wikimedia Commons

Newgrange. Aligned with the rising sun whose light floods the chamber on the winter solstice. Image Wikimedia Commons

‘One of these days’ is a phrase that trips off many an Irish tongue and whose meaning is clearly understood as being ‘sometime in the near future’.I was not so sure if this is the case across all the English speaking world, so a quick Google came up with the following:”One of these days” is an idiom that behaves as an adverb. It’s basically a drop-in replacement for “someday,”meaning something like”at some unspecified point in the future”. So there we have it!

‘One of these days’goes around in my head at this time of year for two reasons,both of which are ingrained in my DNA.

Growing up in North Donegal with its dark star-filled skies meant that we were reasonably familiar with celestial goings-on, especially in winter. We spent many an hour out in the backyard with our mother,identifying the Milky Way,Orion’s Belt,The Plough,The Seven Sisters as well as the occasional passing comet with its long tail. She would say ‘One of these days now you will see shooting stars if you are good’. Shooting Stars cropped up at reasonably regular times and wowed us as we headed over the barrack-brae towards Carrigart chapel for October Devotions, or to pray for the Holy Souls in November. Or,she might say:’One of these days now, you might see the Aurora Borealis’. The very sound of it was magic that matched the dancing colourful waves in the sky! And so too with the Winter Solstice…’One of these days the sun will  have gone as far away as it can go and will turn back to us and the days will begin to lengthen’. In days predating electricity in our houses, with only battery operated wirelesses and newspapers to inform us,we never knew exactly when these events might take place,but we knew when it was’one of these days’!

Solstices and equinoxes  fall in March, June, September and December, some on the 20th or maybe the 21st or perhaps the 22nd or possibly the 23rd. Who could possibly keep track of them, and which date referred specifically to which event? Old Moores Almanac was stocked in Speer’s shop at Christmastime,but possibly not in time to alert us to the exact time of the winter solstice. And then, by the time we needed to consult it for other celestial events it was lost,probably having been  thrown away when the first prediction of ten feet of snow that would close all schools for the month of January never materialized. So on ‘one of these days’ we marked these wonderful events in Donegal. On, or around about the correct dates.

Another event in our house was marked in a similar fashion.It too was a moveable feast, a winter and December event,but not one we could check up in Old Moores Almanac. It was my father’s birthday.I often asked him, what is your birthday, and he said he wasn’t sure. He said his birth certificate said one thing,his baptismal certificate said another and his mother never agreed with either of them. So he spent his entire life being confused about it and confusing all of us around him. ”Ah, it’s one of these days”, he would say, when all we knew was  that it was going to happen in the days coming up to Christmas.

imageMy Dad was born in a small house in Templedouglas, Glenswilly, County Donegal in December 1921. He was the first son to my grandparents, James Gallagher a National School teacher in Templedouglas, and my grandmother Mary Friel, a seamstress from Pollaid in Fanad. He was the first brother of my Aunts May and Eileen. My grandfather had been born in Mulnamina, Glenties, so both he and his wife were relative newcomers and blow-ins to Glenswilly. My aunt Eileen had been born here two years earlier, so they had been living in the area for at least two years that we know of. In the days before hospital confinement, home births were the norm. The midwife would have been sent for and kettles of water put on to boil. My aunts often told me that my father was ‘frail’. I wonder was it a troublesome birth? Was his life in some danger when he was born? Or was he simply born around midnight with clocks showing different times? Or maybe his mother was very unwell following the birth and everyone was concerned for her welfare.In any event,something gave rise to confusion about his birthdate.If he was at risk, he may have been baptized immediately. Registration may have been delayed. A church baptism may have taken place at a later date, but the norm would have been for baptism within three days of birth. We will never know.

Today, December 21 is being heralded at the Winter Solstice in these northern climes. However, to be absolutely pedantic about it,this year, 2015, the Winter Solstice will happen tomorrow, December 22 .

The following are the winter solstice mid point dates and times from the U.S. Naval Observatory. The time zone used is “Greenwich Mean Time”.

2001 – 21st December 19:21  GMT / UT
2002 – 22nd December 01:14  GMT / UT
2003 – 22nd December 07:04  GMT / UT
2004 – 21st December 12:42  GMT / UT
2005 – 21st December 18:35  GMT / UT
2006 – 22nd December 00:22  GMT / UT
2007 – 22nd December 06:08  GMT / UT
2008 – 21st December 12:04  GMT / UT
2009 – 21st December 17:47  GMT / UT
2010 – 21st December 23:38  GMT / UT
2011 – 22nd December 05:30  GMT / UT
2012 – 21st December 11:12  GMT / UT
2013 – 21st December 17:11  GMT / UT
2014 – 21st December 23:03  GMT / UT
2015 – 22nd December 04:48  GMT / UT
2016 – 21st December 10:44  GMT / UT
2017 – 21st December 16:28  GMT / UT
2018 – 21st December 22:23  GMT / UT

This data is from http://www.knowth.com

So the Winter Solstice happens most often on December 21, but also sometimes on December 22nd and rarely on December 23rd.

My Dad’s birth certificate here before me states that he was born on December 22,1921. The 1921 Winter Solstice occurred on December 22 1921 at  7 minutes past 9 am. I often wonder if in fact he may have been born just at that time, just right at the solstice?  Again, we will never know.

So on ‘one of these days’ in December 2015, I  want to celebrate what would have been my father’s 94th birthday. I want to celebrate the solstice ‘new beginnings’ that would have given him great joy: His children in Donegal, Dublin, Perth Western Australia and Cork; his grandchildren in Dublin, Dubai,Cork, Limerick ,Waterford and Western Australia; his great grandchildren in Western Australia, in Dublin, in Limerick and soon to be in Skerries in Dublin. How proud he would have been! A winter Solstice? A solstice birthday? New Beginnings? Yes!

Entrance to Newgrange. It is here that the Winter Solstice sunrise shafts of light enter the passage. Image Wikimedia Commons

At the Winter Solstice here in Ireland, weather permitting, at the astonishing Newgrange in the Boyne Valley, County Meath, Ireland, the shafts of solstice sunrise will light up the chamber of this passage tomb to mark the turning of the year. Across the island there are ancient groups of standing stones that are aligned to capture the rays of light from the winter solstice sun, so this was a very significant time of year.  How nice to think that my Dad was born on ‘one of these days’, at such a significant time in 1921 .

Happy Solstice to you all,  and Happy Birthday to my Dad!

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