True lives -
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True Lives
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True Lives
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Jim left rural
Donegal for Scotland, aged 15, in 1948.
My father died leaving my mother with fourteen children
to raise. My youngest brother was barely a year old. Any
work we could get locally was poorly paid and casual, mostly
with local farmers. Our own wee place wouldn't keep a family
alive so there was nothing for it but for my older brother,
and myself he was 16, to leave for Scotland. An uncle (my
mother's brother) had been in Glasgow for a lot of years so
it was to him we went. A large family of them meant they
were struggling to survive themselves so, although they made
us welcome and kept us for a few days we knew we were going
to be on our own. Luckily we were both able to get work with
farmers, which meant accommodation was part of the deal. We
worked hugely long hours and the accommodation was a shed in
the yard. The pay was poor and, after sending the bulk of it
home, we had very little for ourselves. As we found our feet
and became more confident we moved away from the land and
got employment in other industries. My brother got work on
the boats and I was blessed with picking up employment with
the railways. It was lonely enough in the early days because
Joe (my brother) was away for mighty long periods but I met
good workmates and, for all we'd give out about them, the
Railways offered good wages and conditions. With our 'good'
jobs we were able to ease the burden on my mother back home
and, I like to think, the improved conditions meant my
sisters could wait longer at home before leaving. I would
not have liked to see them coming away at too young an age.
As it was Nora didn't leave Ireland until she was nineteen
and Annie was into her early twenties.
After I'd been working and living in Glasgow for seven
years I met a lass from home and we got married. She had
been in domestic service in one of the hotels attached to
the railway, having come to Scotland at thirteen years of
age. She was an orphan. We rented two rooms and, with so
much space, we felt like royalty. Before that Mary had been
'living in' at the hotel in a room shared with three others
and I'd been in a tiny room that I shared with another
Donegal lad. God chose not to bless us with any children but
Mary and myself were close and enjoyed out life together. We
visited Donegal four and five times every year until my
mother died but less frequently (although always at least
once a year) after that. We bought our own wee house and,
although it's a small two up/two down and worth very little,
Mary turned it into a palace. Our lives centred on the
church and we had many firm friends and a good social life
with them. Despite good friends and neighbours I am like a
fish out of water since Mary died and long to go home. Mary
is buried in our local churchyard at home and that's where I
will be. My hope that I could sell the place here and buy a
small house in Donegal have come to nought as property
prices in Donegal have gone through the roof. My only hope
is that safe-home can help me.
Bridget left
Co. Roscommon for London in 1952
In the small town where I grew up the only certainty was
that all, except for a tiny few, would emigrate. When my
turn came I knew emigration was for good. There would be
nothing for me to come back to. My family were dirt poor;
there was no land to hold any of us and eventually all five
of us left.
My hope was to get to America. I never wanted to go to
England because we'd heard stories about how badly the Irish
were treated from people coming home from there on holiday.
Unfortunately while my father could scrape the money
together to get me to England he couldn't stretch to a
ticket to America. I left for London in January 1952 to take
up nursing training. Before leaving home I had applied to
and been accepted by a busy London Hospital. When I got
there I was amazed at how many of the girls beginning
training were from Ireland. I don't recall there being any
English girls at all though there probably were. I lived in
the nurse's home, which was good for me because I made lots
of friends. There was always someone to go to the dances
with and we went to them all when we got the chance. The
matron and clinical nursing tutors were like dragons and
kept us on our toes but we got an excellent training. I did
midwifery after my SRN and was given a staff nurse post. I
married a Wexford man who I met in the Galtymore and we had
two children.
I loved nursing and even after I got married and had
children I always did a few days or nights a week, moving to
the North Middlesex hospital, when the council gave us a
house in Palmers Green. For all my fears before I left
Ireland, I was happy in London where two of my sisters
eventually settled. It was great having them near me. In
1984 myself and one of my sisters travelled to Chicago to
see a sister who had emigrated there in the 70's and
although I enjoyed the experience I don't think I'd settle
there. In 2003 my sister, Sally, and her husband moved back
to Ireland with Safe-Home. They were given a beautiful
cottage in his home place. The whole family have been given
a new lease of life having Sally and John back in Ireland
and we've all been over to see them. Now myself and Bill and
Noreen and Joe are keeping our fingers crossed that
Safe-Home will find something for us.
Cathal left
Mayo for Cleveland in 1948
I left north Mayo at 19 to join my uncle who had been in
Cleveland, Ohio since the early twenties and was married
there with a grown up family. I didn't choose Cleveland. I
went there because that was where I had family and,
importantly, somewhere to stay until I got on my feet and
the chance of a job. I spent thirty years in the US but
never lost the longing to get home. I visited as often as I
could which was every five years in the early days. I
couldn't get home more often than that because I knew my
parents needed the money I could send home. I sent money
every week until both of my parents died and then less often
for a few years more to help my youngest brother to things
sorted at home because he was getting the land. After that I
began coming home every two years and then every year. Last
year I came back to Ireland, permanently with Safe-Home and
live less than ten miles away from my boyhood home. My
happiness is complete. For all its shortcomings Ireland is
still the greatest place in the world to live in.
Angela left
Athboy in County Meath for New York in 1957
I couldn't wait to get to America. It was where I had
always dreamed of living. My wish came true when my sister
who had gone five years earlier sent the fare. I was
twenty-one and I had a job in the town that was secure.
My Dad had refused to let me leave Ireland before then. I
loved New York so much I have to say, in all honesty, I
never really missed my parents at all when I first left.
I was the youngest and had most of my brothers and my
sister living in New York when I got there. My oldest two
brothers had been particularly generous to us when we were
growing up and had sent money all the time. So we had a
phone and I was able to talk to Mammy and Dad at least once
a week. My sister also paid for Mammy and Dad to come over
on holiday and they did quite a few times during my early
years Stateside. I think it was on a visit home after I'd
been away for about twelve years that I first started
feeling homesick.
One day you notice that your parents are getting older
and you begin to realise that the link with your homeland
might break. As soon as you start thinking that way you
begin to feel that you need to come home to hold on to who
you are and where you come from. No matter how hard I tried
to put it out of my head the notion of going home refused to
leave me. I began taking more frequent holidays back in
Meath and staying for longer each time. I think my youngest
brother, who still lived in the old home place, must have
been worried that, one day; I would turn up and stay
forever. This would not have suited him as he was married
with a young family.
It was around this time that I heard about Safe-Home and
decided to try my luck. They gave me brilliant information
and made me question my motives for coming home as well as
pointing out how greatly Ireland had changed and how greatly
I had changed as well. They also forced me to accept that
living in a country and holidaying in a country are two very
different things. For two years they patiently answered all
of my questions and threw in a few of their own. Eventually
they suggested that I should come over for six months and
try out living in Ireland. I took their advice and came, and
stayed for the full six months although I knew by the end of
the fourth month that I wasn't going to stay, that coming
home was not for me. I moved back to New York and am very
content with my life. I will always be grateful to the women
at Safe-Home who had so much time for me and never lost
patience even when, I'm sure, they were being asked the same
questions over and over again.
Jim left Kerry,
aged 19, in 1953 to settle in Birmingham
When I left Tralee in 1953 I was one of eleven young
fellows all around the same age as myself. We heard that
there were good starts in Birmingham for labourers. The work
was hard and the hours were long and I certainly wouldn't
recommend the building sites to anyone. I got work with John
Laing after a few years of being ground down by Irish
subbies. Things began to look up for me after that and I was
more at ease with myself for making plans for the future.
I'd met a girl at the Harp Ballroom in Sparkbrook and we
were keen to get married and settle down. She was working in
the kitchen at Selly Oak hospital and studying for City and
Guilds in cooking. After we got married we lived in a
district called Balsall Heath, which was very run down. Our
place was damp and, after our third child was born, severely
overcrowded so we were delighted when the council allocated
us a three-bedroom house in Chelmsley Wood. We came to hate
the place as the years went by and problem families took
over the estate but in the early days it was our little
piece of heaven. My wife, Rita, and myself always wanted to
go home but the chance was never there. We are hoping that
will change now.
Our children (we have six) are all grown up and have
moved away to make their own lives. We have two sons living
in Dublin for the past half a dozen years and a daughter in
Listowel since January 2000.
I suppose we are looking at getting home to be near to my
daughter particularly as she's married with our only
grandchildren. One of our sons lives in Brussels. He's with
a company based there. Another son lives in London and the
youngest lad was killed in a road accident when he was
seven. So you can see there are none of them near to us in
Birmingham any more. Now that we are both pensioners Rita
and myself just about get by. There is nothing Irish about
where we live and we long for the day when we can be home
again in Kerry.
Peter left
Limerick city in 1958 aged 18 years
I went to England in 1958. Initially I stayed off in a
place in Birmingham called Erdington because I knew others
from around my home place that had gone there. We all worked
together on a number building sites around the Midlands.
Later I moved to Coventry, which had a big Irish population,
and I stayed there, still in the construction industry, for
about five years before hitting the road for London. After
London I lived in Leeds, Manchester, Nottingham and finally
ended up in Bristol where a site accident put an end to my
working life. I didn't know enough to fight for
compensation, which I might well have been entitled to, so
now live on a mixture of Disability Living Allowance,
Incapacity benefit and Social Security.
I have been satisfied enough with Bristol. It's a nice
place and I've had a really good landlord but there isn't
much of an Irish community here. I've been going home to
Limerick every year since I left. I used to go to see my
parents but now it's to see my brother and two sisters who
still live in the city and have hoped for a long time that,
some day, I would be back home for good. Limerick has
changed a great deal since I left. It has grown enormously
and the old lanes I knew so well are long gone but that's no
loss. I still have friends from my young days and enjoy
great craic with them whenever I'm home. I know that
returning to live in Limerick after 40 odd years will be a
big step to take but I have read all of your newsletters and
have written out my list of why I should go and why I should
not (just like you said) and I am convinced that coming home
is the right move for me.
I think Safe-Home is right to make people like me think
long and hard about going home and it is good that you make
us aware of our situation regarding medical cards and what
money we'll have to live on when we get back. I think
studying all the pros and cons has been good for me and now
I have been made an offer and am due to come home in a few
weeks time I am walking around my old haunts in Bristol and
saying goodbye. I've bought my ticket, packed my bags, got
all my documents together and am ready for the off. Thank
you from the bottom of my heart.
Maura's Story - Coming Home
Ever since I retired from my teaching job at the NYC Department of Education, I’ve thought about returning to my native Ireland for the winter of my life. Through the years, I’ve enjoyed summer visits, and participating in dance and writing workshops.
I thought I had a cottage there a few years ago. In her will, my mother left me the house in Mayo that the family bought in the 60’s. It was considered an improvement over the little house where I was born. So, my parents abandoned our old cottage with its thatched roof and whitewashed stonewalls, to live in a gray house with a slate roof, a few fields away. After Dad’s death, Mom left the gray house behind and moved to London.
After years of abandonment, the place was in ruins. But never having owned property, I was delighted with it. I thought I’ll sell it to some German who enjoys renovating old Irish houses, and put a down payment on a modern cottage in Clifden or someplace.
But when I went back to claim my inheritance, the neighbor’s calves rose up from their straw beds by the fireplace, and let me know that they had squatter’s rights.
"Forget it," the local lawyer said. You’d be throwing good money after bad, battling to get property back after twelve years of abandonment. It’s an old law."
Well, the old law depressed me for a while, but I wasn’t going to let that neighbor dampen my enthusiasm for retiring to the land of my birth.
I talked with Mairin when she visited New York, and I met Mary Anne last May in Mulranny. I visited the facility in Oranmore and got as much information as I could from the wonderful Safe Home team. But I couldn’t make up my mind whether or not I really wanted to move back.
"Go, live there in winter when it isn’t so pleasant, and there’s not much to do," I was told by several returnees. So, last November, after my two-week writer’s residency at the coveted Heinrich Böll cottage on Achill Island, I decided to stay on for a couple of winter months, to re-learn what it felt like to take country walks in the cold rain and listen to the wind. I needed to find out if I could really exchange my rented apartment west of the Hudson, for a place somewhere west of the Shannon. Friends said they’d miss me, but promised to visit if I moved.
When I left the idyllic Writers’ Residence on the sheltered side of Achill Island, I stayed with my friend, Anne, on the Atlantic side. Here, the winds roared in from the sea and moaned down the chimney. I sat by the fire looking out the window, mesmerized by the tall evergreen seileastrach. Like silent ocean waves, the leafy blades swayed as the wind saw fit to direct them. The rain teamed down while Mick, the cat, sat in his cozy spot on the windowsill. Occasionally he’d twitch as the howl of the wind increased; his head moving rapidly from side to side when he spied an air born feather or wisps of dead grass flying past the window.
Even winter weather speaks poetry, I thought. But why does the radio voice make announcements like: "An elderly woman sixty-two was found…"
Having lived in America for half a century, I think "elderly" is when you can’t dance with as much exuberance as people half your age.
"I may be over sixty-two, but I’m not elderly," I said as I braved flooded roads to get to my sister Bridie’s home near Shannon. Telephone poles and trees rose up out of rivers. Stonewalls appeared down the middle of newly formed lakes. I really did pick a good time to "test the waters."
I hosted a dinner party, visited relatives and danced at a céilí. A friendly bus driver said, "No rush," when I searched for change, and a well-mannered youth stood to give me a seat. So why was I feeling … well, elderly? Maybe it’s because Ireland is a young country? Half the population is under thirty. Or perhaps observing people trying to come to terms with their faith, affected me? When the media showed paedophile priests being locked up, and bishops, stepping down from their mighty palace seats, I was glad criminals were brought to justice, but we were bombarded with the same stories day after day.
In December, when the country went on strike, and budget cuts brought teachers, nurses and others in the public sector, to the picket lines, I was disappointed with the unrest. This Ireland was a far cry from the one I left in 1958.
Friends on both sides of the Atlantic sent e-mails asking if I had decided yet. My dance students in New York wrote asking when I was "coming home." The head of the North American Branch of Comhaltas Ceoltóirí Eireann asked if I’d be available to teach the Céilí dance class at the Spring Convention in New Jersey.
I felt needed in America -my adopted country.When I returned, the familiar Hudson gleamed its youthful welcome and the city lights added an extra spring to my step. Welcome home remarks included: "Good. Now I don’t have to miss you." I didn’t get a seat on the subway. But when my dance students embraced me in a group hug, I sang in a loud voice, "I’m h-o-m-e."
Maura teaches Irish language and Céilí Dancing in New York.
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