For years my father discussed how we would travel as a family to Ireland to visit the cousins. He just never got around to it. In 1984, a year after my mother’s death, I decided to go on my own. That meant I didn’t know exactly where they lived. I knew they lived north of Belmullet, County Mayo. I knew they lived on Fox Point. What’s odd, is that I drove up that dirt road until I got to the next to last home before I stopped. It happened to be their home.
When I got home and had some of my slides developed, I told my dad and showed him the photographs. He was quite bothered. He said we needed to go back with my aunt Margaret Therese Fedele (my dad’s sister) that year. I took an unpaid leave and my father picked up all the expenses.
We opted to fly through England because it was cheaper. We took the ferry from Liverpool, England to Dublin, Ireland. It seemed like a wonderful plan until I was detained by security. After about an hour of waiting for them to take some action to allow me entrance into the country, I asked how much longer it would take because my father and aunt were waiting. They were stunned to understand that they’d cleared customs while I hadn’t. After they decided to clear me into England, I asked why there was such a delay. She kindly showed me their book, or watch-list, for undesirables. It turns out there were many IRA terrorists with my same name.
We crossed the Irish sea on the Leinster. We had berths, and the night crossing was over quite rough seas.
I learned two lessons on the crossing. First, I learned why the hand rails are provided on the ship when I needed to use the toilet that evening. The ship was rocking 30 degrees to port and starboard. Second, I learned you shouldn’t eat greasy food before crossing a rough body of water. I ate duck at the port restaurant before we sailed. When I got back to my berth from the toilet, I had to focus to avoid becoming ill.
My aunt couldn’t resist the on-board slot machines. I didn’t follow how many British pounds she lost but I’d guess five or so. While I took the upper berth, my dad took this photo while I was lying on his lower berth.
After we had breakfast in Dublin, Ireland at the local McDonald’s, it was the only place open at 7 a.m. in Dublin. We set out for southeastern Ireland to do some site seeing after we ate. We stopped at Jamestown because the village name struck my dad and toured Kilkenny Castle. The photo to the right side is of me standing in the entrace to Kilkenny Castle.
It was a long day, starting in Dublin at 7 a.m., but we drove all the way to Blarney Castle in Blarney, Ireland (outside of Cork City). We stayed at the hotel in Blarney, Ireland the first night in Ireland.
We stopped to let my aunt buy a gold Claddagh ring. We used the shop owned by a cousin of one of my friends from San Francisco, California. She graciously consented to take a photo (found above). Unfortunately, I no longer remember her name after 26 years.
We drove the ring of Kerry in the morning and then stayed near the Shannon Airport. My father was quite worn out, and my aunt and I left him to rest while we took a walk, ate some scones at tea time, and then visited until 6 p.m. when we collected him for dinner. We left the next morning and drove straight through to Belmullet. The preceding photo is the view looking west from our family’s farm. The next photo is of my father and aunt in front of Gerald and Mary McLoughlin’s farm house that they built in the 1960s.
After taking that earlier photo, we took one of the group gathered in the house. I don’t recall where Gerald or Joseph were but they were working on the farm. Those in the photo from left to right: front row are Mary McAndrew (Gerald’s mother-in-law), Kevin (the youngest of Gerald’s and Mary’s 19 children), my father, Mary McLoughlin (Gerald’s wife), and my aunt Margaret; and back row are me and my cousin Pauline.
I took a closeup of Mary and her mother, which is noted below. The McAndrew family lives about two miles east on the same dirt road that takes you to the McLoughlin farm. There are a lot of dirt roads in western Ireland, and not a lot of cars or traffic. Western Ireland is still rural. We’re related to both families and the Howard family that own the land on the east side of the paved road that runs north from Belmullet to Glenamoy and beyond.
A little later that day, we got Gerald and Kevin around the hearth. It’s a nice home where they raised their 19 children. They had a happy family and were very gracious hosting us. Next to the home is the same cottage where my great grandfather was born in 1853.
The next two photos are of that cottage, which has been used as a barn since 1963. My understanding is that only the Germans and rich Europeans seem to invest in thatch roofs because they’re not very pragmatic and have an extremely high maintenance cost. The first photo shows my father at the entrance and the second my father, aunt Margaret, and me.
Later that day, we took photos of my dad and his sister milking a cow. They’re shown below, and yes there was some teasing to get them to do it. Joseph McLoughlin (the next to youngest of Gerald’s and Mary’s children) helped them milk the cow. They chose the gentlest of the milk cows for the photos.
This is a great picture of my father relaxing by the fire in Gerald’s chair. He and Gerald had a strong connection. I didn’t realize how much until my father cried at their parting. I didn’t see my father cry at my mother’s funeral and he was lost without her when she preceded him in death. It was part of his generations mystique about suppressing outward emotions.
When we went to visit Gerald’s married daughter Una, I got this snap of Gerald in the pub at Portacloy, Ireland. He raised 10 boys and 9 girls with his wife, worked hard, and asked little of life. They had a wonderful family. Life is hard in western Ireland, and his face certainly shows the wear of living and honest hard work.
Lastly, the parish priest let us see the records for my first great grandfather and his two brothers. The oldest, Patrick had stayed in Ireland. Patrick is Gerald’s grandfather. These two photos show the baptismal font where they were baptized in the Church of the Sacred Heart, Belmullet, Ireland.
My cousin Maureen McAndrews is the only reason we got to see the records. They ran a shoe store in Belmullet and her son was in local politics. She was the parish priest’s secretary. He had denied me access earlier in the year but when Maureen asked, he consented. He asked my father if he were a Mormon, and he said no. Thankfully, he didn’t ask me or we may not have seen the records. The first picture is with my cousin Maureen on the left and aunt Margaret on the right. The second picture is with Maureen on the left and me on the right.
He also consented to sign a release form that he’d received from the LDS Family History Library. They’d filmed the records a second time in Ireland during the 1970s but according to the priest the LDS Church agreed not to disclose that they had filmed them. I’ve never been able to confirm this when I’ve inquired about it at the LDS Family History Library in Salt Lake City, Utah.
The priest hadn’t signed it while he’d had the release form for several years. He decided to sign it when I explained two things about the LDS Church Family History Library. One was that the LDS Church archives are used by people other then church members. The other was that fewer people would be coming to request access to the physical record, if he allowed them to become available through microfilm at the LDS Family History Library. Anyway, those films became available a couple years later.