Visiting the Relatives

The Short Tragic Life of Bernard O’Connor O’Brien

Thin alleyways used to spindle off the main roads of Cork City back when my ancestors lived here in the 1800s. Most are gone now, but Sullivan Alley remains. Accessible through a hole in the street’s facade, it’s like a secret place. For my family, it holds a long-lost tragic story. In 1921, this was the last address in the short, tough life of Bernard O’Connor O’Brien, an ancestor of mine (1st cousin, twice removed).

Bernard was born in Cork City, 1901 — the ninth child of James O’Connor O’Brien and Margaret Daly. All of his siblings were born abroad, as his father was a soldier in the Leinster Regiment serving first in India, and then in Canada and England before retiring back in Ireland. When Bernard was three, his mother died. At the age of four, Bernard was sent to St. Patrick’s Industrial School in Upton (14 miles away) to be raised as an orphan, and he lived there until he was 16. Investigations have revealed the school had a terrible history of abuse and neglect.

At age 18, he joined the same British/Irish army regiment that his father had served in — the Leinster Regiment — and he served until it disbanded in 1922 when Ireland gained its independence. Bernard then went to Wales, and worked for a year as a coal miner.

In 1923, Bernard O’Connor returned to Cork and lived here at 3 Sullivan Alley (the house on the right, now for sale). It was at that time that he re-entered military life, now a “volunteer” in the National Army, inserting himself into the middle of a bloody civil war. Within months, in March 1923 (now referred to as “The Terror Month”), this young soldier was killed by an IRA anti-treaty sniper while patrolling in Ballinspittle, Cork, near Kinsale. Bernard was dead at age 22. This story was found in records of Bernard’s relatives’ unsuccessful bid for a pension from the Irish government.

1923 Death Notice of Bernard O’Brien (age listed incorrectly)

Evicted and Returned

Kate O’Keeffe’s House, Churchtown South, Cork, Ireland

The O’Keeffes go back a long way in East Cork. The earliest record I can link to my direct family is from in 1813 — the baptism of my third great-grandfather James O’Keeffe. But there are older O’Keeffe records than that. A recent trip to the area brought me to Churchtown South near Cloyne where my great-grandfather Daniel O’Keeffe was born in 1875. He and a number of his siblings emigrated to Providence, Rhode Island (where I’m from), around the turn of the last century. As to exactly where he was born in little Churchtown, I can’t say, but I have a pretty good guess.

Kate O’Keeffe’s place is all boarded up now. Decades ago it was a shop, as well as a home. It was the place where children bought candy and treats on their walks home from the nearby school. I’m told the stone barn acted as the neighborhood’s first movie theatre. Kate was Daniel’s younger sister and although she was married to Daniel O’Brien, the house was still referred to as “Kate O’Keeffe’s.” Maybe she inherited the place from her family and that’s why it was referred to as hers. If so, it would certainly explain how Daniel met his future wife, Ellen Ivers: she lived across the street. Kate’s father, James, was a shoemaker. Perhaps the home was his shop before it was her shop.

On April 24th, 1848, The Cork Examiner reported that 12 families (52 persons) were evicted from their homes in Churchtown South by their Anglo-Irish landlord, Mountifort Longfield. This was in the middle of the Great Famine. Among the evicted were four Keefe families: “Widow Keefe 5, Michael Keefe 4, Daniel Keefe 4 and Thomas Keefe 5.”

“The houses of the persons named in the subjoined list were leveled within the last three weeks or a month, and the inmates compelled to obtain shelter either in the workhouse or any place they could secure, provided it was not on the property of Mr. Longfield.” A large proportion of the evicted, which totaled 73 families and 379 persons, ended up in the Midleton Workhouse.

At the time of the evictions, the family of James O’Keeffe (my ancestor) was near here, but I can’t find them on any lists. I’m uncertain whether my family too, was scattered by this eviction. Records from a few years later show no O’Keeffes in the village at all, but they’re nearby. Soon after the evictions, this lot held three other families — all answering to landlord Longfield. So, when the Keeffes moved here, or returned here after a rude interruption, is uncertain.

And what’s next for Kate O’Keeffe’s place is also uncertain. A look online shows that its been sold with plans for demolition.

Kate O’Keeffe house photo from real estate advertisement.

Drizzly and Grey

144, 145 Bandon Road, Cork, Cork, Ireland

My two days of meandering in the South Parish section of Cork City were drizzly and grey, affording only a few opportunities to stop and draw on the sidewalks. A number of families that fed into my family tree lived here in the 1800s and I was on a mission to record these places using addresses of their time. Many lived on long-gone narrow alleyways which snaked off Barrack Street, a main thoroughfare. But others sat in plain site on the main street, like this house which was once the home of William Connelly and Catherine Crowley in the mid 1800s. At that time, it was assessed as “a large house, much out of repair.” The Connollys were 3rd great grandparents of mine and life-long residents of South Parish. They were baptized in the local church, and married there in 1842. William was listed as a publican in historic records. It was their granddaughter Kate McMahon who emigrated to Boston in 1900. Apparently she wasn’t the only family member to leave, as Ancestry.com connects my DNA to many distantly-related Connollys living in the Boston area.

1842 Marriage of William Connolly and Catherine Crowley, Church of St. Finbarr

1852 property assessment of Bandon Road, Cork City

The Forge

This charming, thatched-roof house in the tiny crossroads hamlet of Churchtown South, County Cork, is where my great-grandmother Ellen Ivers was born in 1874. She was married in the church behind the house and emigrated to Rhode Island in 1906 with her husband, Daniel O’Keefe, and her two baby boys. Other Ivers and O’Keefes preceded her to the city of Providence, along with more from East Cork, south of Cloyne. On a recent visit to the area, I was excited to meet some distant Ivers relatives, and to realize I’m related to seemingly everyone living in the area — Walshes, Lanes, Roches, and Murphys, other names in my family tree.

Ellen Ivers O’Keefe lived to almost 102 years old, and my family visited her many times while I was growing up. Her Irish accent was the only brogue I ever heard in my family. To me, it was the sound of a distant past, and during my time in Ballycotton, Churchtown South, and Cloyne, the lilting sound of her voice was everywhere, bringing back strong memories for me.

In 1938, a local school child — writing as part of an Irish nationwide project — said this of the Ivers, who were blacksmiths: “The Ivers’ forge is situated at a cross of three roads…The People who own this forge are good smiths and get much work to do.” “The Ivers…have been smiths for generations.”

While the Ivers don’t live in this house anymore, they do still live nearby, and the current owner of the house has done a remarkable job preserving and updating this very old home. It’s called “The Forge,” which is most fitting. It’s as pretty as a picture.

1847 Griffith’s Valuation, John Ivers house and forge

Big Mike & Small Mike

This was Pete Morrison’s place in Churchtown South, East Cork. It’s the barn behind his house. I’m sorry to have never met Pete because he was the keeper of the local history. Covid postponed my trip to my ancestral homeland by three years, and in that time unfortunately, Pete passed away. There was much to learn from him, as we were distantly related; he was my third cousin, once removed. Luckily, other extended family as well as friendly acquaintances schooled me on my eventual visit. People were very open to stop and talk while I was drawing. In a short time, I came to believe that everyone around Cloyne was an extended family.

At the turn of the last century, there were two Michael Ivers on this road. One was referred to as Big Mike and he lived a short walk up the road. The other, Small Mike, lived here.They represented two branches of the family that derived from Patrick Ivers and Ellen Lane who were third great grandparents of mine. My family came from Big Mike. Pete Morrison descended from Small Mike.

1822 Marriage Record of Patrick Ivers and Ellen Lane, Cloyne, Cork, Ireland

Pete’s house and barns are up for sale now. In my research, I can see that in the past the house served also as a pub and that the barns held a blacksmith shop. I wish I could have sorted it all out with Pete Morrison. Much of my motivation for drawing is to save what I fear will be lost.

Fishing in Ballycotton

Ballycotton, which hangs over the sea in East Cork on the Southern coast of Ireland, has always been a fishing town. It’s a tiny village (pop. 497) with a small harbor holding twenty or so boats of different sizes. Among them is a well-respected lifeboat that sits ready for action because the waters beyond the breakwater can be rough. There are a few shipwrecks associated with Ballycotton. One, dubbed the “Ghostship,” is currently rotting on the rocks of a nearby cove. That abandoned ship washed ashore in 2020.

1935 Ballycotton Lifeboat Crew (with three Walshes)

Along with all the boats there are lots of Walshes around here, too. A recent visit made me feel re-connected even though my Walsh line ends with my gr-gr-grandmother, Cate Walsh, who married James Keeffe in 1865. It was their son Daniel who brought his family to Providence, Rhode Island, where I’m from. Looking at old records, I can see that many of my Walsh ancestors were fishermen from this small port, some of whom worked the lifeboats. To this day, Walshes are in the seafood business here.

1865 Marriage Record: James Keeffe & Catherine Walsh

In 1848, in the midst of the Great Famine, Maurice Walsh was ejected with his family from their Ballycotton home by their wealthy landlord, Mountiford Longfield. He and his family were sent to a workhouse in Midleton, and his house was demolished — this punishment, for being late paying the rent. In all, 73 families were evicted from Longfield’s lands, with a total of 378 people from the surrounding towns. Maurice may have been my 3rd gr-grand grandfather and Cate, his daughter. In nearby Churchtown South, a few Keeffe families were driven from their homes, too. They could easily be my ancestors as well, since these towns were tiny. To prove any definitive connection, I’d have to find more records which may or may not exist. Ancestry is a fishing expedition.

Griffith’s Valuation 1850: Walsh Cottage Demolished.

The Round Tower

Round Tower (11th Century), Cloyne, Cork, Ireland

Lighting struck the Round Tower of Cloyne, in East Cork, on the night of January 10, 1749, cracking and breaking its pointed peak. The soaring 11th-century structure lost six feet of height, but still stands today, high above the humble town. The tower, now closed, is seven stories — each with a window facing in a different direction. Long ago, from windows to the south and southeast, one could overlook my ancestors scattered across the fields leading to the Celtic Sea: the O’Keeffes, Ivers, and Roches of Churchtown South; the Walshes of Ballycotton; the Veales of Shangarry North; the Hoares of Kilderrig; the Murphys of Ballyandrine; and the Lanes of Maytown.

Some of my forebears lie buried across the street from the tower, in the cemetery of the old St. Colman’s Cathedral. The church building dates back to the mid 1200s but the site as a monastery goes back as far as 560 — founded by St. Colman himself. The place was plundered a number of times by Vikings in the 800s, and in 1678, following the Reformation, the church was changed from Catholic to Protestant.

Just as artists did in 1824 and 1856, I sat by the cathedral’s gates to make this drawing. It looks like not that much has changed for the tower or the town in the past 150 years — except the option to sit in the middle of the road while drawing. For safety purposes, that’s a step too far.

Colonial Soldier

James O’Connor O’Brien died at 21 Barrack Street in 1922, about six months after Ireland won its independence from England. His life ended not far from where it began — in the South Parish neighborhood of Cork City. But James was not always in Cork. He travelled far as a soldier for the 1st Battalion Leinster Regiment. For a decade, he was stationed in India where he and his wife, Mary Daly (also from South Parish), had six children. He was then sent to Halifax, Canada, where he had two more children. There he stayed until 1900, when he retired back in Cork with a military pension.

James was a great-grand uncle of mine and he was particularly hard to track because he adopted the surname O’Brien upon joining the army. I’ve read that was not uncommon, but I would like to learn more. Was that a form of pseudonym? A sort of cover? After all, he was joining the British army, the colonizing force in India, while back home — for most of his life — his country was a victim of the same colonial power.

Two of James’s children followed him into the military, and a few ended up in Lancashire, England, where the families were sometimes O’Briens, sometimes O’Connors, and sometimes O’Connor-O’Briens. Thanks to my research and DNA connections, I’ve pieced the families together.

1922 Burial of James O’Connor O’Brien, Cork, Cork, Ireland

Humbling Homestead

The ancestral home of the Lynches in Roads (or Rhodes), Cahersiveen, County Kerry, sits low against a dip in the hill – allowing me to look down on the stone ruins to draw. On the horizon are Dingle Bay and the Dingle Peninsula. Where I live, it would cost a fortune for waterfront property like this. Here, four male sheep have the million-dollar view.

Researching ancestors can be humbling. From an 1880 article, the Lynches neighborhood was described this way: “A bleaker and less inviting spot it would be difficult to imagine, and only hard necessity, one would think, could drive people to its unfriendly bosom in hope of obtaining a livelihood. In every one of these cases, the rent had been raised several times; and in none of these, according to my information, had the landlord done anything to give an improved value to the holdings.” By 1881, my family had surrendered their plot of land, and by 1884, they were in Connecticut with family who had left years earlier. Little changed in the next decade in Roads. In 1898, another reporter wrote, “I will take Rhodes as an example of a district where hunger, privation and want reign supreme. It is a barren and storm-beaten district where land is a terrible picture of desolation and misery, situated a few miles from Kells railway station and about ten from Cahersiveen, hidden away on the brink of Dingle Bay, behind Knocknadubber Mountain.”

Reading these characterizations takes my breath away, leaving me with a mix of pity and pride. I wince at the poverty but marvel at the resilience. As to how my ancestors felt, I’ll never know, but it might simply be that they called this place “home.” My great-grandparents’ gravestone in Norwich, Connecticut, is proudly engraved, “Native of Cahersiveen, Co Kerry, Ireland.”

Gravestone of John P. Lynch and Mary Sullivan Lynch, St. Mary’s Cemetery, Norwich, Connecticut, USA

Farewell

On May 26, 1884, a huge oceanic steamship, the Furnessia, having left Liverpool, made a very unusual stop at the small island of Valentia, County Kerry, Ireland. It took my family and many others away from County Kerry – to America. The Lynches’ last views of Ireland were here, by this lighthouse at Cromwell Point where the waves crash hard and spray high above the rocks.

Taking ten days to cross the Atlantic, the Furnessia carried 500 “paupers” in its steerage — including my great grandfather and my great-great grandparents — to Castle Garden, New York, (which proceeded Ellis Island). Arriving passengers were interviewed by newspaper reporters, and the story of these “forlorn” immigrants was published throughout the US. These were “assisted emigrants,” – given tickets to leave (and not come back) by the landowners. The most efficient way to deal with poverty in Ireland, it was determined by those in power, was to send it away.

The year before, the Furnessia along with the Belgravia came and took away 1199 souls. To give an idea of how devastating this was to the area, Valentia Island had 266 students enrolled in schools before the 1883 ships came and went. After, there were 56. On departure day in , it was reported “…the sad procession [of passengers] wended its way down to the emigrant ship — men, women and children, the very old and the very young, filling the clear summer air with their wails and lamentations.” And, “A crowd of 5000 assembled on the shores of Valentia and Renard to bid farewell to their dear ones about to leave for America.”

It was a beautiful, clear, calm afternoon when I visited Cromwell Point to draw. The staff had to ask me to leave at closing time.