A relief from the Ennis Abbey


Ireland-Day 7

Both Debbie and I were ready to leave by 8:30 AM. We said our goodbyes to my cousin and her family and thanked them for opening their home to us. Before we left, we both checked our emails at Lucia’s. We had no messages. I gave my cousin a big hug as I was unsure when we would meet again. It was extraordinary to be able to visit Ireland and be invited into the homes of those who live there. It gave us a different perspective than we would have had if we had been part of a tour. We were very fortunate. I had planned the trip the night before with Debbie’s help. We checked our maps and wrote the routes down. It looked to be a long journey from Castlerock, Derry, Northern Ireland to Ennis, Co. Clare, Republic of Ireland. Ennis was next to Shannon Airport, maybe a 20 minute ride. Debbie had reserved a hostel there for the evening. Our journey was 8 ½ hours total. We drove down the eastern coastline and passed between the cities of Belfast and Dublin but never entered either. As I said earlier, I would be ashamed to say I spent 1 hour in Belfast, a drive through. That would not be proper.
                  Our drive along the coastline was very nice, not as dramatic as the Cliffs of Moher or Slea Head in Dingle but a beauty all its own. It sort of reminded us of some of the coastline in Maine. We traveled through Blackrock to Castlebellingham. It was along this stretch that we stopped at a small restaurant to have brunch. We then headed along the main route towards Gort/Ennis. When we crossed from Northern Ireland into the Republic of Ireland, we immediately noticed the difference in the roads and started to see old stone barren famine houses again as well as many stone walls crisscrossing across the fields. Many of these old stone homes were abandoned as it is great work to move a pile of stone. They are totally exposed to the elements, most with no roof, as many of those had thatched roofs, most of which had been replaced with vines or in some cases trees.
                  At 4PM we arrived in Ennis and checked into our hostel. It was a large building painted mustard yellow and flower boxes lining the windows. The style of it reminded me of Spanish architecture. The inside had Spanish influence as well, with some tile and rounded entrances. The host was giving the residents some dance lessons later in the lobby. There were little hallways, with informational bulletin boards in the lobby area. We finally found our way upstairs after we checked in and rented a towel. We felt the need to shower after our trip. We got to our room, and there were people there. There were 3 sets of bunk beds. Much to my surprise, we would be sharing the room with some young German students, 2 young men and 2 young women. I took some time to speak some German to the girls. They could tell it did not come very easily, as it had been some time since I spoke the language and I was far from being 100% fluent. They asked me in German if I preferred them to speak English. I was relieved they offered to speak in English They were gracious to do so. They told me that they were in Ireland to do work projects in the parks. They would be going to Killarney National forest to do some landscaping type work there. I told them that they must try to see the Burren area. They said they were interested and picked up a travel brochure.
                  Debbie and took off on foot to explore the town. The Fergus River ran through Ennis and we looked at the river from the nearby bridge. It started to rain so we dodged the rain and ran into an alley that was part of a pub. The place was neat inside, had a few rooms to walk around. It was called Cruises. We went inside, very dark but at least it was dry inside. Outside was a downpour. We were hungry but there was a huge crowd watching a rugby game. We quickly realized it was going to be tough getting waited on, so we left. We went across the street to a place called Kings. The place was more modern but quiet. I ordered a toasty which was ham, cheese and onion toasted along with a Guinness.                
                We found an ancient Franciscan Abbey near the bridge, not far from our hostel. Turns out we caught a free tour, which happens once a week. Our tour guide was very articulate, interesting and very passionate about the history of the Ennis Abbey. I was curious as to why we were allowed to touch all reliefs and walk across the floor which was lined with grave markers and tombs lying flat all throughout the abbey. The tour guide told me that one day they hoped to cover it all with Plexiglas or some other product. In the meantime, there were professional photos of everything there as well as transcriptions. There was no roof, so the whole abbey was exposed to the elements. It had a nice entrance with postcards, booklets etc. There were many stone reliefs throughout the abbey. I was most impressed with the stone relief of the Crucifixion and one of the Resurrection. They were absolutely filled with detail and in perfect condition for being so ancient.
                  Later we went back to the hostel for an early night. We took showers which were cold by now so they were very fast showers. Remember that they conserve their water. Since it was an icy cold shower, I think I looked 20 years younger. We went back to the room and organized our bags as tomorrow we would be headed home. We went to bed by 9 PM. The German girls did the same. The guys stayed out late, but they came back quietly. It was not easy sleeping with wet hair and in a room full of strangers. It was a very interesting experience. 
                  Our travel for the week consisted of 1559 kilometers total. We filled our gas tank twice and spent 20 Euros on top of that for gas. On this trip the American Dollar was 75 cents to the Euro. In other words, our dollar was pretty strong, but not as strong as my last trip in 2002 where it was valued twice the Euro, meaning the Euro was worth about 50 cents. [Now of course with our dollar weakened, the Euro is worth more than our dollar. I believe, this is the first time in history our American Dollar is not the highest value globally.] I think for many two bit travelers, such as myself, it will affect the tourism industry. Those who have money will still travel.


An example of what I refer to as a Famine house (This one is in Connemara Region, West Galway)

Photos by Debbie Weeks- Taken at the Giant's Causeway, Co. Antrim/Co Derry- Northern Ireland

Ireland- Day 6

Debbie and I woke up at 7AM and we folded our clothes from the dryer last night. Soon, Lucia got up and her husband took both boys for the day. Her boys were so different, reminding me of my own sons. We had a quick breakfast and discussed what we could do for the day. She mentioned that we could drive to Belfast to see the Titanic Museum, but we found it was not open. I had my heart set on the Giant’s Causeway as I have wanted to go there for a very long time. We could also take a ferry ride later to Donegal, Inishowen, Malin Head. We were off to the Giant’s Causeway which was not a very long trip, perhaps ½ hour. It was an interesting trip. We ran into traffic backed up for a while. When we came to a small roundabout, there was a policewoman stopping each car to ask their destination. We noticed that the car before us must’ve given her a difficult time as Lucia referred to that driver as ‘Putting up Sticks”. After she rolled down her window to see what the policewoman wanted, it was only to redirect traffic if she could, as later we found there was an Orangeman parade and they were hoping that no trouble would break out. I presume it had to do with the anniversary of Bobby Sand’s and the other seven fellow’s death 25 years ago. I asked Lucia what her phrase meant, “Putting up Sticks” She replied it meant that the driver had been giving the policewoman a hard time. Redirecting some of the traffic was a safety precaution. Anyhow I saw no activity.
               The Giant’s Causeway had a nice gift shop at the entrance. Lucia recalled how in her days at High School when she played soccer, that she had only been to the Giant’s Causeway once, with her soccer team, as there was much more security then. She told me that Maine’s George Mitchell played a huge part in bringing peace to that region. Life is very different there now. It is most beautiful with a vulnerable coastline, dramatic high cliffs in many areas of the country, with waves crashing against them. Walking along the coast, The Giant’s Causeway wrapped around a few curves and it is truly a magnificent wonder of the world. Throughout the area, lengthy hexagonal and octagonal rock shapes are spread across the area like thousands of protruding fingers from the earth’s core. They are natural steps of all heights and I am amazed that the rocks are accessible for tourists to climb upon. It has not been fenced off yet. I imagine it will only be a matter of time. Looking against the mountainside, one can see areas where the soil has been stripped away by corrosion from the wind and rain. Left behind are magnificent wavy patterns of hexagonal shapes of rock reaching towards the sky. One area is called the Pipe Organ. Nature leaves me in wonderment of all the beauty around us. There were many steep paths to explore the area. Fields of heather dotted the grassy areas around the paths. I was impressed with the area. We caught a mini tour bus for small fee back to the entrance.
               Afterwards we headed back towards Castlerock as it was in the next direction. My cousin mentioned stopping back at her house for lunch on the way. We had sandwiches made on olive bread. After that we proceeded to the ferry in Malin Head (The most northern point in Ireland would be our destination once we crossed by ferry) The ferry disembarked from Malligan Point and landed in Green Castle. From there we drove to Moville, and over to Cardonagh and up to Malin and then to Malin Head. In Malin, I thought this area had many McGonagles. I wondered if my aunt’s husband’s family came from here. My cousin Billy McGonagle told me later that he thought Malin was where his ancestors originated as today the area is still populated with McGonagles. Lucia said, “Hey look, it is McGonagle’s Pub!” (She knew her mom’s cousin [my grandmothers sister was a McGonagle] So of course I took a few pictures for my cousin, Billy.
               We saw some buildings from famine times and also a very old school dated 1840 in the Malin area. The churches were all Protestant, so no more large Celtic Crosses peering over the cemetery walls. The land was rocky and one could tell that the people who inhabited Ireland a century ago must have been very strong, hearty people with great fortitude. They had to be to survive. 
               When I think that Ireland lost ¼ of their people to emigration, and many more by starvation, it is a wonder their race survived. That is one reason that dual citizenship is offered to grandchildren of Irish Immigrants. 
              Driving in the Malin area was extreme beauty along a raw countryside, exposed to the harshest elements. There were tiny farm building dotting the coastline and the roads similar to West Galway, curvy and no way to see the distance we would be traveling. They were in better condition as well as they were paved. After catching the ferry home, it was dinnertime. Lucia had her husband throw in a lamb dinner she had prepared. It was very tasty as I had never had lamb before. We had mint for flavor, also potatoes and then we had some Yorkshire pudding. I had never tried this, so I enjoyed the taste. We also had cauliflower and carrots. After this tasty meal, we all sat for coffee and tea and chocolate. Lucia, knowing my deep interest in family history had pulled a large box with pictures etc that we all looked through. We laughed when she came across a letter from 160 Devereaux Circle from me when I was 18. I read the letter and told Debbie that I had even mentioned her in the letter from 1978. I told how we both worked at the hospital and made a pretty good wage of $3.01/hour when the minimum wage was $2.67/hour. Lucia then gave me a couple of memorial cards from family which belonged to her mother. One of them was a real treasure. It belonged to Michael Dolly, the blacksmith, from Anbally, Claregalway, Galway. He was my gr. Grandmother’s brother, also brother to Lucia’s grandmother. He had died in 1947. I never knew this. I do not know much about any of her brothers, unfortunately. One brother, William Dolly, married and he is buried in the area. I did visit his grave while there. After chatting half the evening, we were all a bit tired and went to bed by 11:00 PM. Tomorrow would be a long driving day, down parts of Northern Ireland and back into the Republic of Ireland and to the town of Ennis.

Below- Malin Head, Co. Donegal---Northern most point in Ireland

Advocacy….We all get a chance at it whether it be for our children who have physical or cognitive disabilities or  whether we are advocating for our parents with Alzheimer’s or maybe we are advocating for the best medical care for our own illnesses, meaning ourselves. The main purpose for advocating is to educate others in our social circle about our loved one’s condition. Maybe your child is non verbal and you want their voice to be heard. There is a lot of emotion attached to the word advocacy especially when it is someone for whom you have deep concern.
             I believe it is sometimes an exhausting effort to educate the whole world. To be quite honest, I started out holding a burden that large because I was overwhelmed with my own son’s diagnosis. It is easy to get lost in the clouds, trying to navigate services for your child, and becoming educated yourself regarding ADA laws and Special Education laws. Most often there is no balance in your life for some time. In fact it is a major disruption in your life, affecting your marriage and sometimes your friendships. Balance was not in my life until just these past few years, and that is almost 16 years after my son’s diagnosis of Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. In the early years, I thought that I would go to any expense to find a cure as I wanted my son to live a ‘normal’ life. Now as time has been on my side, I realize I was compensating out of fear for his and our future. We all want our kids to be healthy, however, that is just impractical. Look around us in nature, and see that not all things are perfect. I have found that the only perfect nature I see is at the grocery store when I see the genetically altered tomatoes. Is that what we want?
             Over the years, I have had some battles, but I learned early on that I could not pick every battle. It would take away from quality time from my family. I also think every battle is a distraction from what is really important. I have done things I never imagined for the best interests of my son’s education. Never once did I think he was entitled to a better education than his peers. If you fall under IDEA 504 plan or Special Education, you are entitled to a free appropriate education in the least restrictive environment, not more than any one else gets. Yes, it may cost more to provide this education, however that is the law. If your child is gifted and talented, he does not get more than the others, but he can get more appropriately designed work tailored to his individual needs, all within the same classroom shared by the Special Education kids. Teachers have a great deal of challenges and they work hard to meet those needs. Parents should not be their greatest challenge. This is not to say that school districts are sometimes non compliant.
             Some may wonder if this is the way to go with education. My own opinion is, yes, that it is worth the effort. Children today are exposed to many with different abilities. It was painful for me to watch my son’s abilities change as he went from appearing normal, to walking with an extreme overcompensation in his gait for fear of falling. For two years, he was the target of being pushed down, pushed on the stairs, and sometimes by younger kids. This was very emotional for us, but we did not want him ever to feel badly about his disability. It was after all not his fault. If we overreacted, we could also embarrass him so we had to walk a fine line. I chose to educate and brainstormed with our principal about how to educate the students without singling out my son. The result was an assembly in which I talked about many abilities and led the students into an interactive question and answer discussion. In the end, recesses were changed, to avoid the kids who targeted him, and my son was allowed to change class a minute or two earlier, so he could travel the hallway safely and independently. This was the plan in place until his abilities changed and he went to a wheelchair. The parents do not totally decide what their child needs in the classroom as it is a team that makes those decisions together. After all, we can’t always have it our way. These things I have learned over the years. I have fought a few battles I felt important, but I certainly have not wasted all my energy on every battle. I need that energy to care for my own needs and the needs of my son. 
             My interest in writing this particular story came when I read an article in the Lakes Region Weekly about parents of a five year old with autism. (March, 28, 2008) I mean no disrespect towards this family however I am left to wonder how they will advocate as long as necessary for their son when they are already so dissatisfied with their son’s services in kindergarten as he is only five. I can probably relate to some of their frustrations dealing with the school districts. I know they must be very good parents also because they are trying to see that their son is not overlooked. I also know that many kids who are developmentally delayed receive excellent support and services under CDS (Child Development Services) from birth until age five. As soon as school starts, they are no longer eligible. This is very scary for parents trying to advocate for their kids in the public school system. Many have heard about the horrors of the public school. There is a vast difference in the services provided by CDS and the public school. They must be very worried for their son all day at school. If their kids could communicate, it would be a very different story. I hope they have talked with other parents about what has worked for their kids. It is up to them to educate as tireless as it is. If a kid cannot function in a regular classroom, is it fair to that child to get the attention in a self contained environment? It is a tough call. I would want my child to learn to function the best he can inside a regular classroom [inclusion]and hope he gets better as time goes on, as it must be an all consuming for the families involved. My wish is that this family finds some balance in their lives and some solutions for they will be in great need of those resources down the road, when they may need caregivers, and maybe some time to resume some normalcy as a couple. Advocating can have a way of draining your every resource, emotional, spiritual and financial.
 

Top pic- Northern Ireland near the 'border'
Bottom pic- Lucia's backyard

Ireland- Day 5

We slept late until 9:30 AM. We left the Harborhouse by 10:00 AM with no chance to check our e-mail as there were folks using the computer and we did not want to wait around. It would be a longer journey to Lucia’s from Sligo to Castlerock, Co. Derry. We left Sligo and followed the coastal route along Donegal Bay. After we left that area we noticed the landscape was changing. The many stone walls and abandoned stone famine type houses were disappearing from the landscape. It was drizzly all day which made for a good driving day. We missed the turnoff for Knock, the Pilgrimage site and felt a little bad about that. However, we did not know how long the drive would be. [For all my New England friends, it is like estimating how long it takes to drive from Maine to Vermont. The roads are narrow and winding through the mountains. What would normally be a 2 ½ hour drive @60 mph takes 4 hours @ 35 mph no matter which route you travel.] 
             We then noticed signs as we had passed Yeats grave. After passing this area we drove through Bundoran and Ballyshannon. We then followed N15 towards Donegal town. One we arrived we pulled into a parking lot with a huge ship’s anchor. We parked there and visited the chamber of commerce. Then we walked around looking for a place to grab a bite of food. My O’Donnell clan was from this area. I could see the resemblances of the townspeople as odd as that may seem. We saw O’Donnell’s Pub, went inside and were told that they serve no food. That was a shame, as I wanted to say I ate at O’Donnell’s. At least I did take a photo. We walked around the town area and took some photos and visited some little shops. They were lovely with an assortment of souvenirs. We meandered into a little courtyard area and found a small sign pointing to a coffee/wine bar at the edge of the square. We followed the stairs and found ourselves in a neat little restaurant/bar called the Milltown Wine & Coffee Shop. We had some difficulty understanding the dialect of our hostess, but we managed nicely. The food was excellent, with a nice presentation, though we only had lunch menu. The chocolate torte was a very rich and a nice dessert to have with my coffee.
             When we finished we walked to the town square area where we saw a payphone. I called my cousin Lucia who gave me very quick directions. She must’ve sensed I was taking notes as she is a world traveler. She told me not to worry that it was well marked. My main concern was whether or not we would have to go through a border into Northern Ireland. Lucia said there is no more border crossing. A few differences are that the roads are better, the currency changes and the kilometers change to miles. Along the route we passed two rotaries that each had large signage with pictures of eight men, reminding the passersby of Bobby Sands and the men who died of hunger strike 25 years ago. This year was the anniversaries of their deaths. I remember when it happened, but it was not fresh in my mind. I was much younger then and preoccupied with the self absorbed thoughts of my youth. These interested me to see the faces as we drove through the rotaries.
             Debbie and I spoke of the landscape and how it bore similarities to Maine with its pine forests. The stone walls dividing the fields in the South were replaced with neatly trimmed hedgerows which served the same purpose, to divide fields. I am told that the people give each field a name. It was the same for my ancestors in Westbrook, Maine who also had fondly named areas of their land, toiling their whole lives to care for their land as it was their sustenance. Years ago people were really tied to their land, unlike today. Driving through Letterkenny was beautiful but until we reached the town of Downhill, we had not seen such a dramatic landscape. It followed the coastal area and at one point along our route, we witnessed a very beautiful waterfall high in the mountains to our right. We drove past a temple on our left that was stark white against the backdrop of the ocean edge. It was named Mussenden Temple. There had been an extravagant palace there many years ago, but all that remained was this beautiful mosque like design of a temple which had been a library for the original palace. Supposedly it was an exact replica of a Roman Temple. After a distance of ten miles, we realized we must have passed my cousin’s home. We turned around and finally managed to find our way. We drove into an area we thought may be her neighborhood. It was a cul-de-sac and we drove to one end and turned around to head in the other direction. I was looking for numbers on the houses but saw none. I saw my cousin in the dooryard on the telephone waving frantically. She had a big smile on her face. We pulled into her driveway, got out of our rental car and she said that she had just called her neighbor. She asked her neighbor if there was a girl in the car wearing glasses as she was expecting her Yank cousin. The neighbor confirmed it. Shortly after we arrived, her husband arrived on his motorbike having traveled in the rain. He was all dressed in his sporty gear on a hot red motorcycle. Lucia was cute as she ran to greet him as he drove into their garage. Their boys were young, age 8 and 10. They were glad to see dad too. It was a great year as we had been corresponding since age 15 and this was the second time in one year that we met. I felt like I knew her my whole life anyhow. Her boys met my sons when they visited the States a few months back and my son JT introduced them to skateboarding. None of their Irish friends skateboard, at least at their young age. While in the States, they were outfitted in all their skateboard gear with JT helping to get them what they needed. JT would be happy to know they were still at it. Introductions were made and we all sat at the table to chat. Lucia prepared homemade quiche, and French fries and made a pastry, for a blueberry apple tart which we would have for dessert.
                 She gave a little tour of her home, all new, and showed us where we would be sleeping. I was most interested in the design, all one level as that is the law to have it handicapped accessible to accommodate for old age. All the light switches were very low, and outlets raised higher, door handles with lever handles and bathrooms that can also accommodate most situations considered handicapped accessible. They don’t have a nursing home every mile like in the USA. Also of interest were her floors, all with coils underneath to heat her floors. There was a great deal of tile in her home. The fireplace was polished granite. After dinner, we took a long walk down by the ocean which is near the country club there. It was beautiful and great fun to just chat along the way. We came back into the kitchen to make coffee and tea and have a few bits of chocolate. We talked for a while, as our laundry was washing in those great washing machines they have in Europe. These machines are expensive but their performance is superior to the machines we have in America. We went to bed by 12:30AM and as usual, Debbie and I wrote postcards and I wrote in my journal.



Picture by Debbie Weeks- Suzan and Lucia at the Giant's Causeway

Top picture-Claregalway Fransciscan Monastery
Bottom picture- Galway City


Ireland-Day 4

We awoke at 7:00AM. I believe Ireland is 8 hours ahead of EST. We headed downstairs for a continental breakfast. I know what Continental Breakfast means but I could also find another meaning. We were having breakfast with people from all over the world. It was like a cafeteria type kitchen with pitchers of juice, loaves of bread and jam, muffins, cereal, milk, even coffee and tea. The food was not arranged like a cafeteria but all over the counters for people to use. Everyone was responsible for their own clean-up. There was not much chatter, as I suppose most were sleepy. After they ate, they made their way to the sink to clean their dishes. I found staying at hostels very interesting. There was usually a common kitchen area with an assortment of dinnerware and utensils but all that you would need to prepare a meal. They were safe, clean, and varied. Some hostels had cool showers, instead of hot showers. It is wise to travel with a towel and some bedding as some do not provide this. If you need a towel, you can usually get an old towel for a euro for your use. It will be clean, but they are usually assorted as well. The experience is wonderful. The Irish are very good about conserving their energy. I know from past experience that it is wise to shower in the evening or early morning as mid day will get you cold water. I even hear there are meters for some folks electricity, that they need to feed with change. I recall in 1972, my cousin getting her first phone, in Castlerea, Co. Roscommon. It was a very rural country and most everyone was Irish. Now it is a more global country, with similarities to the rest of the world. After breakfast we went on the other side of the kitchen to use the restrooms and use the internet café. I emailed Lucia and also my husband.
             Then we were ready to shop. Galway City is great to walk around as there are many shops along the alley ways. Just watch your step as the market area in the morning is shared with delivery trucks. There are many neat shops with the proprietor’s name across the front. I found music, jewelry and maps there. I was most interested in traditional music, very early fiddle music from the 1920’s and on. The fiddle styles are very different from county to county. I also like the songs which tell of the struggles of the country, the drinking, and the heroes. 
             I recall my last trip when I was able to visit Slea Head in Dingle. We went to the Blasket Island Museum. I am unsure if this is the proper name without looking through my belongings upstairs, however that was a fascinating place. We learned about Peig Sayers, who was born in the latter part of the 1800’s. She lived on the Great Blasket Islands off the coast of Slea Head, and the islands are steep jagged rock jutting out of the ocean. It is a torrential place to live, the most isolated place in the world as the weather ruled any rowing back and forth to the mainland. They relied on each other for survival. Peig was a storyteller with over 300 stories to her repertoire. She was one of the most important people on the island and she was held in high regard by the islanders. I read her autobiography and she had small children come to pay their respects to her on her deathbed. Anyhow, anything about her is an excellent read. My correlation was the storytelling and the important role it played in Irish culture.
             Back to my original story, we left Galway city and headed up N17 towards Corrandulla where some of my ancestors are buried. We then looked for Clohaun and Kilgill where early Skerritt ancestors lived. If you blinked your eye, you would miss these quaint little townlands. We stopped at Claregalway Franciscan Monastery and got out of the care to walk around. It is a beautiful location in a big field between Galway City and Tuam. Walking through the graveyard, I was delighted to find 2 Dolly stones and a few Skerritt stones. We called Bridie again as we wanted to stop in again to visit before we left for the north. She had her daughter and boyfriend wait by the road, on the lookout for us. We visited about 2 ½ hours and had coffee, scones, tea, dessert. Again, Bridie was a gracious hostess. We had a very nice visit with some of their friends, the Murphy’s. There was a great deal of conversation from Chemistry, science, global warming, politics and just a variety of topics. Some of it was over my head, but I found it fascinating to listen. It was a relaxing afternoon. Bridie gave me a gift of a tiny plate with Cara written across it, which means ‘friend’ in Gaelic. I would miss them but was so grateful we had some opportunity to visit. 
             We left by 5:30 PM and were on our way to Sligo. The Murphy’s told us to visit Knock [religious shrine] but we took the wrong road and decided we had better try to stay on track. We did see the ruins of an old abbey with an ancient graveyard. It was named St. Mary’s Abbey, dating to 1280. We finally reached Sligo which was not a long drive at all. [For anyone who does not know, Ireland is about the size of the state where I live, Maine] When we arrived we were a little hungry. Sligo was a good sized city, so we were trying to figure out how to find our hostel. We did find it down by the waterfront, passing some old warehouses along the way. It was a large stone building, named the Harbormaster. We had lovely accommodations here as well. It had a community type TV/reading room. We checked the internet for email messages. Then we grabbed some free postcards at the hostel which were sepia colored pictures of a gent looking like Marquis de Lafayette sitting at a table with a bottle in front of him. We later had this brilliant idea to mail them to one of Debbie’s friends and write messages on the back appearing to be in various states of drunkenness. Then we would mail one every day. It does not take much to humor us. It was pretty funny as we laughed at length over this. I heard the recipient thought it was very funny as well. Afterwards we walked uptown to find a place to eat. We ate at an upscale restaurant named Bistro Bianoni. It was excellent and then we headed up a few blocks to McHugh’s. Here we sat on the end of a very large bar, alone. The place was rather dark but a nice place. We each had 2 Guinness’s and then we walked back to the hostel. It was a nice city, with buildings reminiscent of some of the 1945 era buildings back home. I particularly enjoyed the old signs which appeared vintage in many ways. I tried to call my cousin twice but lost money. Since she was in Northern Ireland, I am sure I was dialing wrong. We retired for the evening after we took showers. Tomorrow we will head for Donegal and be near the border for Northern Ireland.

St Mary's Abbey -1280

Below-Sligo city, Co. Sligo

 
Thatched roof pics by Debbie Weeks


Ireland-Day 3

Debbie woke early. I slept until 8:30AM and took a quick shower so we could be on our way. However first Debbie insisted on going to the upper house where those 16 German students were all staying. She saw a neat giant chess set outside on a table on the patio area. The figures were cement gnomes. So she asked me to sit while she got her camera ready. Meanwhile, I am near a bedroom window, because I heard all sorts of moaning etc. I am very anxious to get out of there as I felt like I was intruding. We left and I asked Debbie if she heard anything. She heard nothing. 
             We drove across the Burren towards Kinvarra which was just before Galway City. While traveling through the Burren, we stopped many times to take photos as there was a Kodak moment every hundred feet. The terrain was unforgiving, meaning it must have been a very tough place to live. There was no soil, no water, no inhabitants for miles and miles. The landscape was dotted with mounds of rock and miles upon miles of stone walls, going in every direction, with some stone walls straight up a steep mountainside. One had to look closely to see color against the stone as many types of flower bloomed there amongst the rock. It reminded me of a stone desert with rocks jutting from the earth almost like the cactus. On my detailed special maps I purchased of the Burren, I saw what appeared to be a holy well. Debbie and I decided we would count the carriage lanes until we found it. We were probably on someone’s property but we saw no person at all when we were there. There was evidence of inhabitants as there were gates stretched between some of the rock walls in the fields. We walked along a little grass path along the edge of a field and at the very end we saw what appeared to be a spring or a pool of water and on the ledge above was a stone cross. This was our holy well. It was a magnificent find. We took a picture and exited quickly in the event we were intruders on someone else’s property. We drove almost an hour before we exited the Burren. 
              When we arrived in Galway City, we went to the Sleepzone, which ended up being excellent accommodations. There was an internet café there so we made use of it. We had to come back later to get the key, so we decided to drive to Cleggan & Clifden which is in East Galway in the Connemara area. Cleggan is the town where one catches the ferry to the island. Inishbofin, I believe, translates to Island of the White Cow. My mother in laws family is from there and I promised her I would check it out and take lots of pictures. Her family left there in the 1890’s and their names were O’Halloran and Schofield. Today there are many descendants still there. It turns out that we just missed the ferry and according to the girl in the ticket office, it is long ride and we would have had to commit to at least five hours to be able to see the island in time to catch the ferry back. I was disappointed but felt sometimes we just have to go with the flow. I purchased many postcards, and picked up some pamphlets for my mother in law and also a DVD about Inishbofin, which later my cousin’s husband converted so we could view it in the States. [He explained to me that a DVD has 2 formats, Region 1 and Region 2.] Our day would not permit us to spend that time there. The Connemara area was very beautiful with many abandoned stone famine type houses, Farmland, beautiful lakes and rivers. A person had to be very strong spirited to survive in that area as the salt air and the strong winds must have made for a tough life. It was desolate in much of the area and the roads were very narrow and rocky, winding through the peninsula with no sense of order, just twisting through the sand and sea grass. As we were driving, we had no idea if we were headed anywhere, but knew we were next to the ocean so eventually we would reach our destination. Just before we reached Clifden, we drove through Claddaghduff, which was the road next to the ocean and then we passed a very beautiful area called Outergard. Many sheep dotted the landscape and for the first time, I saw oyster farms which consisted of many rows of rope stretched in rows across the bay, with hanging stringers which enabled the oysters to attach. We witnessed aquaculture at its best. Once we arrived in Cleggan, we ate at Oliver’s. We waited for about ½ hour and saw that we wouldn’t be waited on any time too soon. In fact, I think we may have been invisible, but it was ok as we wandered into the bar and grabbed a stool. Eventually someone waited on us. The food was excellent. We left shortly thereafter as we were due for dinner at Bridie and Oliver’s, my online friends. We had a parent connection as their son had MD, and he  passed away not that long ago near St. Patrick’s Day. I really wanted to meet them. The road leaving Cleggan was not as long as the road into Cleggan. It was much shorter and easier to navigate. We drove a short distance and saw a beautiful shrine in the rocks. We passed Killary Fiord, the only fiord in Ireland. A short distance up the road was a big tourist spot, Kylemore Abbey. It is very scenic and full of tour buses and tourists scattering about. Debbie and I decided we wanted no part of that scene so we stopped only to pose for pictures. A short distance up the road we reached Cong. It was a very nice area. I called Bridie to tell her where we were located. She told me to call when we reached Tuam and she would have Oliver come to meet us. After Cong, we passed a little town named Maun where we witnessed a fellow thatching a roof. This was most interesting to us so we stopped to take pictures. There were many bogs along the way, which was also interesting. Soon thereafter, we drove through Headford. We passed a graveyard which had huge Celtic cross gravestones peering across the stone wall which surrounded the churchyard. I couldn’t help think of the Greaney’s who came from Headford. I know a historian named Matt who has thoroughly researched these Greaney’s and Newell’s from that area. He told me that there were about six different Greaney families who settled in the Portland, Maine area.
              We then drove through Belclare where the Broderick’s came from. My cousin Lucia’s mother was a Broderick. This was now Co. Mayo. The rock walls appeared different, as they were more uniform, straighter and had more divisions. I think these many divisions of stone walls had to do with dividing up property amongst sons and their families. We finally arrived in Tuam so we stopped at Lawlor’s Garage and saw a pay phone. I called Bridie and told her our location and she said that Oliver would meet us there in the Blue Boss. I was not sure what that was and she said it was their handicap van. Five minutes later we see him sporting a neat tweed hat. We exchanged niceties and followed him to their home. Once we arrived, I felt like I was with old friends. They brought us into the dining area where we had tea and scones. Bridie took two days from her nursing job so that she could see us. She is an exceptional hostess and shortly thereafter, Oliver made Irish stew for us. Their daughter Mary and her friend Brian joined us and we chatted about so many things. Politics was on that list, but I was not much into discussing any of that. Debbie spoke about her work and politics. I just mostly listened and ate. Oliver peeled his potato and let it fall onto the stew. It was very good. I couldn’t believe I was meeting the people whom I had met online because of Muscular Dystrophy. The last time I had been in Ireland, I felt the only thing missing was to meet another family with a son with MD. So I contacted the Irish affiliate and sent a letter requesting to find a family to correspond with in the Galway area. They replied. Anyhow shortly after we ate, I was asked if I wanted to go to their son’s grave. I said, ‘Of course” I was honored that they asked me and had hoped to do this while there. The cemetery was a short five minute drive from their home. Oliver, Mary and I went together. Debbie stayed with Bridie. It was very personal and I am glad I went. We walked amongst the stones, all neatly arranged and many with their own contained gardens in front of the stone. We arrived at Mark's grave and it was in full bloom with all types of plants and little figurines, many of them dogs which resembled his own dog. The memorial to him was full of life and detail and love. The marker was a homemade wooden one with his name painted onto it and decorated with some of the things he loved like South Park motifs. We talked about him and his short life of eighteen years and I was overcome with grief for them. It was a huge loss for their family and they were doing the best anyone could do given their circumstances. Mark was waked in his home, which I thought was very personal. I knew I had met some special people.
              Later we looked through many photos and talked about family. I told them that my gr. grandmother was a Dolly and Oliver said the gal next store had a friend named Dolly, so I gave my info so Oliver could pass it onto him. Maybe I would find a distant relative. He threw some turf onto the fire and had more tea and I had coffee. Mark's room, complete with South Park wall murals, video games and drawers of legos were used to house exchange students throughout the year. This was their way of giving back. We said goodbye for the evening as we still had to check into the Sleepzone. Along N17, the main road between Tuam and Galway city, we were stopped by the Gardai who were looking for drunk drivers. (or perhaps tourists) Once we arrived, Debbie met a nice sport of a fellow from Australia who shared many of her interests in science. We went into the internet café and wrote a few emails. I emailed my cousin Lucia in Castlerock, Derry and I emailed my husband. He then walked us down the road to our townhouse for the night and gave us our key. They were lovely quarters. We parked our car around the corner in a car park which was free until 8:30 AM. I would say we were in bed by midnite.

Customer Service….Whatever happened to Customer Service? When was Customer Service replaced with a toll free number? At the risk of coming across as negative, I sometimes wonder why people are so frantic to talk to a “real person”. It is not just the older generation who feel this way. Many people are reluctant to use the toll free number for the US Post Office, when in fact it is very efficient. When asked for the zip code for your local post office, you are given the local number to your office. Yes, I have spoken to them several times this year as our mailbox has had several hits from the snow plow this year. 
             What about a trip to the grocery store these days? You can spend $150 dollars, transfer money to the cashier and receive change back without ever having the cashier make eye contact and sometimes not even a thank you. I have been witness to several conversations between bagger and cashier as if I am not even there. So much for the customer feeling valued. Maybe it is not all their fault, because most of them are masters of Multi-tasking. I am amazed that they can talk on the phone, and keep six or seven IM conversations going at the same time. I think being a cashier is a demanding job but it also requires some people skills and eye contact with your customers and a thank you is a necessity. Perhaps the management should revisit this on occasion.
            Speaking of customer service, I had a great experience recently regarding a used computer we purchased online. My son has wanted a Mac computer for some time. We looked at new ones and they were not within our price range. So my son checked online at a few places. He found a business called DV Warehouse at www.dvwarehouse.com  and spoke with Patrick at ext 14. They have a regular number and a toll free on the website. My son enjoyed the computer for a month or so and we found the drive not working correctly. Patrick verified that it was still under warranty and also is in the process of correcting another small problem. If you need a Mac, I recommend this company as an alternative to spending big bucks on a new computer. As for customer service, they are exceptional. We waited a little over two months to correct the problem but it was not all their fault, as they were waiting for parts and had been sent defective parts. When we received it, it had been packaged with care and was in excellent working order. I am skeptical of purchasing online however Patrick was patient and professional with my many emails. He just wanted to be sure we were happy with the final product. I highly recommend this company.
            How many really go the extra mile for the customer? My current job involves customer contact all day. If they were treated badly by another person, I promptly apologize and tell them I will stay with them until we solve the problem. Even if they may be directing their frustration towards me, I just listen and try to give them good service to make up for a bad experience. Today’s world we are prompted to death: press this, press that… am I talking to a real person? To top it off, if your option is not there, you try pressing ‘0’ and hope to reach a switchboard operator….and then you hear , “I’m sorry, that option is not available….Goodbye” Yes, I have almost blown a gasket when I have spent 15 minutes trying to navigate the menu.
            Lastly, one of the funniest experiences I had this year was when I tried to renew my Norton Antivirus. I had to call tech support and after four connections, I was connected through a New York number to Raj who lived somewhere in Southern India. Imagine, my surprise after he told me to login on the address bar. He explained that he would be taking control of my mouse. (OK I thought… what the heck do I know?) The next thing I noticed after I logged in, the mouse was moving all by itself, like a OUIJA board. He was talking to me at the same time. This is after supper, and I was a little tired, looking a bit ragged as well. He asked me, “Suzan, is that you?” Well I sat up straight, fixed my hair and smiled, “Yes it is me” Then he asked me, “Is that your son?” I looked over at my son Mike and said, “Yes that’s Michael at the table” I then looked at my husband and said, “I can’t believe that he can see us” I said this in a low voice because I did not want Raj to hear me. My husband was cracking up with laughter and told me I must be nuts. He said, “Suzan, He can see your screensaver.” [The screensaver has a picture of my family] Hey what do I know? I am glad I can at least entertain my family.

"Yours Truly"
Photos taken by Debbie Weeks                                           Disappearing Lakes


One Week in Ireland: Day 2

We left Killarney early in the morning because we found out we had to get the car out of the car park by 8:30 AM. We carried our bags with us to the car park and I proceeded to step in animal dung after Debbie had warned me but I was too busy smiling at an older fellow. We headed north on 22/21 headed towards Tralee. and picked up N69. From there we drove to R556 to Abbeydorney, Co. Kerry to see Cristercian Abbey. We walked around some very old burial grounds and picked up some snails from the ground. It was in the middle of a huge field with cows grazing near the site. We never saw another person while there and it got a bit spooky when I was looking for Debbie. We stayed on the same route heading north towards Listowel. I previously sent copies of the Cornelius Sullivan letters to the library there, all over the internet with transcriptions, followed by snail mail with the penmanship photocopies. We then picked up R552 to have lunch at “A Day in the Bog”, which was a combination restaurant/museum. It was very quaint. Debbie had read about it in the Kerry travel booklet. The place looks like a little Irish thatched cottage. The food and hospitality was very nice. We expressed interest in checking out the museum which was a small room attached to the restaurant. There was a nominal fee but well worth it. It was a very old documentary film, perhaps 20 minutes long which was worn with age and shown on an old screen.  We were the only ones in the room. It was shown with an old projector. I learned a great deal about the tough backbreaking work of the bog workers to cut peat to keep their homes warm. It is still in used today all over Galway area. in fact many of the pubs burn it to keep off the chill. It is not uncommon to see people, much like primitive people of long ago, gathering around the fire. There is something about being around a fire, or campfire that brings us all a little closer to each other, telling stories and singing songs. Anyway, the museum was in Ballylongford.
  On the way we stopped to see Carrigafoyle Castle which was way out on a peninsula, all beautiful stonework with no roof and some of the wall structure was missing. We read that it had been destroyed by Oliver Cromwell. Inside was an open guestbook filled with numerous names in numerous languages from all over the world. It was fascinating just looking through the book. Coming back from the peninsula we saw Lislaughlin Abbey. We got out of the car and took many photographs. There is something about these old burial grounds which remain sacred. There was evidence of visitors there as many stones were draped with large rosary beads. I could see the pile of flowers in the corner with old planters. Around the back of the abbey, there were many above ground vaults whose last visitors are most likely dead as these tombs were covered with lichens and ivy and twisted roots grasping at the stone. They appeared to be forgotten. They were beautifully encased in their natural surroundings. We had considered traveling to Dingle, which is where beautiful Slea Head is located and the many passes [such as Connor pass] across the mountains which are so narrowly designed along the cliff’s edge. It was a very long excursion and we decided to explore the Burren more which is in Co. Clare. 
  We decided to take the car ferry across the Shannon River to save mileage. It went from Tarbert to Kilrush and required no reservations. It fills up very fast at about 15 minutes and takes about 15 minutes to cross and cost 15 Euros. That should be easy to remember. As we rounded the corner on the river, we saw a nice lighthouse. As we landed at Kilrush, we made our way towards Lahinch and onto the Cliffs of Moher. The day was very foggy and we were disappointed. It is a huge tourist area, and I noticed that they moved the original entrance across the street from when I was previously there. It had a huge gift shop full of stuff I did not buy… very touristy and over priced I think.[ I would highly recommend that if you want to shop in the Republic of Ireland that Killarney and Galway are the best areas in my experience. Dingle is nice as well. As far as Northern Ireland, I never shopped, but the currency is the English Pound rather than the Euro.] The visibility was terrible and was not worth the stop as we could see nothing. We paid a 5 Euro parking fee which covered our entrance to the Cliffs. There will be a new building entrance as it was in construction when I was there. It will be near the Cliffs, not across the street and it will be built into the mountainside.
 From the Cliffs of Moher we drove along the coast on Spanish Peninsula towards Lisdoorvarna, a place where there is still a matchmaker’s festival and we just missed it. Too late Debbie!!! She wouldn’t settle for any old farmer guy… but a young farmer guy might do. Then we ate at the Irish Arms restaurant in Lisdoorvarna. This was the last stop before we traveled into The Burren. The Burren is like a place from OZ, all stone, underground caverns, Holy Wells, ring forts and portal tombs, and disappearing lakes… probably one of the most interesting places I have ever visited. It has a drought season and water is a valuable commodity. I could have stayed there for a few weeks. Debbie called Clare’s Rock to confirm our reservations. We drove across some very rough terrain and counted the roads on some survey maps I had purchased. The roads were gravel and one carriage lane most of the way, which means you, could have difficulty maneuvering if another car came from a different direction. To give you an idea see the picture with my story about the first trip I took to Ireland. I am sure no tourist buses ever took these routes. They may visit the more accessible areas of the Burren. When we arrived we found the first hostel to be occupied by 16 German students. We rang the bell and a young guy directed us to check in at the lower house. We arrived and found a beautiful stone building with all modern rooms which had a large shared kitchen in the middle of the house. All the hostels we stayed at had shared kitchen areas. Debbie and I checked into our room and made our way around to catch some sights before the sun went down. We visited a ring fort but were denied access because it was getting late. We did see a portal tomb which was magnificent. We explored Cahermcnaughton ruins and took many photos throughout the day. One felt completely isolated but a reminder of civilization was near as an occasional explorer could be seen on the exploration trail. At one point I became extremely stressed out as we tried to avoid a pothole. Thinking we hit a pile of dirt instead found it was dirt and leaves concealing a pile of rocks.  Mind you, we were traveling 5 mph as we could not travel any faster. Oh well… what a racket and I jumped out of the car thinking the gas tank would explode. Debbie remained fully composed and went to work to climb underneath and pull rocks from the struts. I helped her out some by climbing under the car too, but she did most of the work. Debbie sensing my high anxiety told me to check out the field beside us… and I found a very cool portal tomb partly into the ground, alone in the field. That was very cool. Seems it was all under control and the noise worked itself out in a day. I was really concerned AAA couldn’t find us way out there.
  Afterwards we went to Cassidy’s, probably the only place to eat in the middle of the Burren. There was no turf in The Burren as they burned coal in their fireplaces. While sitting in front of the fire a young fellow asked Debbie, “Hey you must be Debbie” She looked at him, quite puzzled, when he replied, “I was the person who answered the phone when you called earlier.” Then he introduced himself. That was an unusual experience. We retired for the evening, after we showered, wrote postcards and also wrote in my journal. We stayed across from the disappearing lake. (I couldn’t see it)

 
                            
Johanna Sullivan Leary
My gr gr gr grandmother                                             Cornelius Sullivan
 Born in Cooleanig 1827                                      Brother to Johanna, born 1821


photo courtesy Phil Dodge                                    photo courtesy Neil Dreher

Ireland Day 1

We left Boston at night on the 20th August and arrived around 9AM at Shannon Airport. I spent most of the flight looking over various survey maps I had purchased on the last trip. We were trying to figure out the traveling distance of our itinerary. I would be the navigator while Debbie drove. I intended to buy a few more survey maps on my visit this time as well. They are about 12 dollars each but are very detailed and show the various townlands that are not on the regular maps. A relative of mine, Mike Skerritt, visited some of the townlands I told him about. The people in Galway, who assisted him in his travels, as he had a driver, did not even know where these townlands were, so survey maps are very helpful, especially if you know where your family was from originally. I had sent Mike some survey maps via the internet that I had scanned for him. If he did not have them, I am certain he never would have found the areas where his family lived. These can also be purchased online though they are a bit more expensive.
           I was mostly interested in visiting Cooleanig in County Kerry where my Sullivan’s lived in the early 1800’s. They later came to Maine to settle in Whitneyville. In fact, Cornelius Sullivan’s train engine, The Lion, can be seen at the Maine State Museum. I have copies of letters written from Ireland in the 1860’s until the 1880’s. There are five in all.
          Debbie and I headed for the Hertz Rent a Car and Debbie picked up the very tiny Blue Fiat with a stick shift. This would be very interesting, and Debbie whom I consider to be very brave, had no concerns about driving with a stick on the other side of the road. For those of you who do not know Debbie, she is one of my best friends from Middle School. She is a full fledged scientist, with a title of Doctor Professor. I just call her Debbie. I do recall that our common friend Jane and I used to call Debbie “The Professor” way back in seventh grade. I like to think we may have inspired her, but most likely not. Anyhow Debbie graduated from RPI and moved to Oakland, CA and got her PHD. She had some neat jobs including Maine Maritime, University of Hilo, HI and finally her job in Australia. She is very independent and adventurous. I received an email from her once telling me that she was going to take her sailboat from CA to HI… and later I found out that she was all alone. She managed the trip perfectly fine and even did some repairs to her boat about 100 miles off shore from Diamond Head. It was very foggy the day she arrived. I was very relieved to hear from her. This was my traveling friend, so I thought you should know a little about her.
          We were on our way to Killorglin, Co Kerry where the Parish of the Sullivan’s was located. We drove through Adare, known for its beautiful thatched cottages and stopped at Castleisland for lunch. Debbie “broke down” and asked and old fellow for assistance in putting the Fiat in reverse (there was some trick). She was most grateful and even said that she could kiss him. He loved that! Meanwhile, I went into a travel agent’s office to ask the distance to Killorglin. It was only ½ hour away. She even printed out directions for me.
          Once in Killorglin, it was busy with traffic due to Puck Fair. I was interested in meeting a woman named Mary who answered my query online about parish records. Amazingly enough, she found my ancestors along with their baptism dates with the little information that I had sent to her online. This was one of the most amazing finds and I suppose one day I will submit the story under my Genealogy category. Mary was not there as it was lunch time according to the sign on her office door. I slipped a note into the mail slot and had sent a check to the parish for her work.. Even if I was unable to meet her, I wanted to try. It was exciting just to be there. We wandered all around the church and took many photos of the gravestones and architecture. Then we headed for Cooleanig. It was halfway between Killorglin and Beaufort. We had to count roads to find the area. MacGillicuddy’s Reeks are the majestic mountains which surround the area. It was gorgeous and very rural, perhaps not unlike it was 100 years ago. We also saw a sign that had Churchtown Graveyard written on it so we took a walk through the graveyard. It was full of Coffey and Sullivan families. (My ancestors perhaps who shared the same names as their descendants in America) We were getting a little tired and Debbie was exhausted from her detailed attention to driving. Once we arrived in Killarney, we searched for our hostel and were anxious to take a shower. Once we checked into the hostel, we had to move the car down the road ½ mile to a car park which was in the church parking lot of St. Mary’s. We carried our bags back to the hostel. The car lot was free until 8am.
          After our shower, I suggested we turn the corner and catch a jaunting cart ride. I had taken a jaunting cart ride when I was in Killarney before. The cart holds four people and the driver tells stories all along the ride as his horse trots through the Killarney National Forest (25,000 acres in all). It takes about 1 hour to travel a very small section and it is very relaxing. These drivers are quite comical and tell stories of their homeland, catering to the tourists of course. He told us, “They call that over there, Honeymoon Island… room enough for two…. Standing room only”  Debbie laughed and said, “Doesn’t sound like much of a honeymoon to me” He told us that he had 4 horse and took each of them out two days each week, rotating them, to not overwork them. Today we had Black Jack, age 8. He said that if Black Jack could talk, he would be out of a job. I suppose he meant that the horse had better stories or the horse would tell all his secrets.  As another driver approached us in the opposite direction, our driver confessed that the man was hardly sober. The tales they are long!! They tell you the lore of the forest.
          When we finished, we walked around the many shops in Killarney, which is a great place to shop. I bought some jewelry, some Irish Music & some fine linen for my cousin’s upcoming wedding. Afterwards we stopped in an internet café where it cost 1 Euro for 15 minutes. I emailed Terry to tell him we arrived safely. I also called my Irish friend Bridie to tell her we would be seeing her when we arrived in Galway in two more days. It was really neat to hear her voice. We seemed like old friends. She and her husband lost their son to MD and I looked forward to meeting them. Afterwards we headed for the Danny Mann restaurant and Bar which happened to be across the street from our hostel I loved it there before in 2002 but in 2006, the attitudes about Americans were a little different. I think it was because we were at war. I felt it everywhere we traveled and we kept to ourselves. We were not demanding in any way. My Irish cousins told me that many Irish feel that Americans are demanding. We did not let it ruin our trip but I couldn’t help but feel badly about the experience. We had several occasions where we were the last ones waited on and in one establishment, we were ignored altogether. We just got up and left after ½ hour of waiting. It was disappointing. The only reason I mention this is that I noticed a big difference from my visit four years ago. We left and went across the street to the Stratford End Bar where a huge crowd was watching a rugby game. One group was watching the Rose of Tralee which is very popular in Ireland. It is a contest which happened to be featuring a Kerry girl and it was not a beauty contest but rather a contest of talent. Sounds like my kind of contest! Off to bed for a good night’s sleep.
  

 

Introduction to a week in Ireland

Ireland became a reality in 2006 when my friend Debbie called me to see if I could join her for a trip in August. Debbie had just landed a very good job in Australia and wanted to start her trip in Ireland. Generosity is her middle name because she insisted to pay my way if I could join her. I did not think I could get away, given the complexities of my day to day life, however my husband, Terry, was very supportive about the trip. He would care for Michael so I could get away. Since I work for the phone company, my vacations are planned way ahead of time and coordinated by seniority. Luckily I had requested two weeks in August together, so we could plan Michael’s High School graduation lobster feast in our backyard. The following day, Debbie & I left for a fantastic journey to the Emerald Isle. 
         She asked me which areas I was interested in visiting. I told her I wanted to see more of my ancestral homelands such as Kilgill, Corrandulla, and Anbally, all in East Galway, and visit Innishbofin and Cleggan which are in West Galway which happened to be where my in-laws came from originally (Schofield). I had an interest in visiting Cooleanig, Beaufort in Killarney, Co. Kerry. I wanted to explore the Burren in Co. Clare. While in Galway, I hoped to meet a family I had been corresponding with online whose son, Mark Anthony had passed away two years prior from Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, at the age of 18. They were very important to me and I really wanted to meet them. I hoped to meet my cousin Lucia who lived in Northern Ireland in Caslerock, Co. Derry. I had been corresponding with her since I was about 15 and felt very close to her. Her grandmother and my gr. Grandmother were sisters from the Dolly family in Anbally, Co. Galway. Her grandmother was the only sister to stay in Ireland of 6 girls. Our families stayed in touch since 1891, sending photos, all in my possession, and news from the area. Packages were sent back and forth as well. Unfortunately, I have no letters from any of the correspondence. I asked Debbie where she wished to visit, however being the good sport she is, she was happy to visit the areas I mentioned.
         We started out trip near Limerick where Shannon Airport is located. We drove to Killarney, then crossed the Shannon River by ferry and drove towards Co. Clare and made our way up to Galway. From there we left for Co. Sligo, and up towards Co. Donegal, making our way into Northern Ireland. We visited my cousin there. Unfortunately, we did not visit Dublin or Belfast on our trip because I thought it would be a travesty to say we visited those cities and only spent a day in each. The Titanic Museum was closed so I said not to Belfast. The Book of Kells would have to wait for another visit as that was in Dublin at Trinity College. Instead we visited the Giant’s Causeway. We left my cousin’s and drove 8 hours across the Emerald Isle to Ennis where we spent our last night. The whole trip was spent mostly in hostels which I highly recommend as inexpensive and safe accommodations but most interesting. Debbie coordinated it all online and she did all the driving in a stick shift (Fiat). Remember driving on the opposite side of the road can sometimes be a challenge but Debbie stepped up to the plate and did a great job. I will be posting our trip highlights day by day in a travelogue with some photos of each area.
         I emailed my cousin with our trip itinerary and contacted my online friends as well. I took phone numbers before I left and kept in touch with Terry by email at the many internet cafes in Ireland. The trip unfolds…. Two weeks before we left, there was a group of extremists arrested at Heathrow for plotting to take down some American planes.  Did I feel safer? Perhaps not, but Ireland was worth the visit.

Sixty-six years is not that long when talking about history. It was that long ago that Redbank Village was built and also had a form of self government, surprisingly enough. Today, I have read a few articles concerning surrounding drug busts in various parts of the greater Portland, Maine area. It is always the same story. The police can only do so much to curb this activity. They are asking people to get involved in their communities. The communities are disengaged with what is actually happening in the house next door. Both parents work full time, and kids have responsibilities such as schoolwork, jobs, and sports. Our communities become who we meet regularly. If your kid is on the hockey team, you know the parents. You become a volunteer of sorts to help transport kids to practice, to help with hockey bingo, to help assist with ice time. Your community is not necessarily those who live next door. To gain control of your community, you must invest in your community and become an engaged participant in making it a nice neighborhood. I would like to write about the earliest days of Redbank Village and what life was like in a community where there were approximately 900 kids on a 200 acre piece of land.
         First, I would like to thank Scott Irving for all the research he has done to find these early Redbank articles on microfilm at the library. It is a difficult and tiresome task. Without his work, undoubtedly, I would most likely not have any early material regarding Redbank for some time.
         The following story is taken from a newspaper article dated April 11th, 1948 published in the Portland Sunday Telegram. The story, ‘Redbank Village is Typical of American Resourcefulness’, written by Paul Porter was full of interesting info about the earliest days of Redbank. Built in 1942, by the US Government to house the thousands of families that relocated from all over New England to the area mostly shipyard workers and military personnel. When Redbank was built, the shipyard was at its height of activity, but when this story was written, the activity had died at the shipyard. When the site was chosen to build Redbank, it was described as ‘being on a long stretch of barren land on Westbrook Street, South Portland, near the edge of an ice pond surrounding land known as the Phinney Farm.’  Imagine if you will, a place where there was so much mud, in an area that was cut off from the rest of the city. It was as if there was not anything nearby for a couple of miles. As a result, self sufficiency was of most importance, and bonds developed between families. These bonds between neighbors happened because they needed each other to live day to day. There was not much activity in that part of the city, a very rural area. It was a little city unto itself. See http://www.redbankstreets.com under Vintage Photos to see early snapshots of the village. 
          The tenants had to contend with many difficulties. The mud was a major problem as no streets were paved and there was no grass. There was no bus service, no school and there were no stores. Many of the homes were not even equipped with clothesline poles. Paul Porter writes that is was a common site to see people shuffling back and forth to the village on Friday and Saturday nights carrying a box of groceries across their shoulders, as the nearest store was more that one mile away. Of interest to me was that many children trekked back and forth to school which was a two mile walk EACH WAY. As a result, many parents did not want their children walking to school and many lost a year of schooling, which resulted in many staying back a grade. In January 1943, bus service came to Redbank and a school was being built. One tenant, John McCarthy, told of scrap lumber from the construction of the dwellings, being dumped in an empty lot in the village. Many a child was sent to the scrap pile to bring home wood, which helped keep the homes warm.
         In 1948, Redbank had 302 four room homes, 48 three room homes and 150 five room homes. It had a very nice playground, a community hall, which was filled with activities and a few businesses on the edge of the village. There was a meat and grocery store, a barber shop, a handy store, and a filling station. The residents included lawyers, musicians, tradesmen, teachers, factory workers, military personnel, newspapermen, athletes and nearly every occupation imaginable. The article stated that everyone was either a veteran or former war workers. It was said that the turnover was nearly 115 families per year. At the time of the article, there were 317 Veterans, 17 servicemen and 164 former war workers.
         The community hall was seldom empty as activities prevailed day and night. It was the center of Redbank’s social life. Movies were shown there as well as talent shows. Many outside entertainers came to Redbank and performed on the stage there. Nursery school was held there for many years. There were whist & bridge parties for the adults. Scout meetings, beano, men and women’s clubs and religious services were held at the Redbank Community Hall. Henry Clay managed the Village.
         The school as I knew it, shaped like a squared letter “U”, was more like a letter “L” as it did not have the last wing added until the 1950’s. There were 400 pupils there who attended K-8. 
         Redbank’s Tenant Council and the Management worked together to provide the best services for the residents and the best for the children. The form of self government was perhaps the most interesting aspect of this article, in my belief. The tenant’s council consisted of 15 members. They were elected by the residents to fill a two year term. Eight were elected one year and the following year, seven were elected, and it alternated. The council’s duties were to better the community by appointing various committees to deal with social, athletic, housing, education and health concerns. There was also a committee formed to study the government’s proposed sale of Redbank, named the Disposition Committee, always keeping the interests of the residents close to heart. 
        With 900 children, Juvenile delinquency was a concern, so the committees in the village worked on ‘creating proper and supervised diversions’. Of interest, were the village’s voluntary policemen. There was also a Junior Tenant’s Council, consisting of boys and girls over age ten, who would become involved in learning how the community government worked. They also learned parliamentary procedure. This council also recommended punishment for juvenile offenders, who were reprimanded by the voluntary policemen in the village. So it seems Redbank even had its own newspaper at one time to keep residents connected and informed. Rents at the time of the article [1948] were approximately between 33-37 dollars per month.
        Lastly, having recently read an article by Mike Mack in the Lakes Region Weekly, dated Friday, March 21st, 2008, I would like to comment on his column entitled, “INVOLUNTEERISM’ He writes about his opposition regarding mandatory community service as a requirement to graduate from High School. He argues that families are already strapped for time with all the commitments they have, with athletic events, school, work etc. Although it is a nice gesture, don’t folks already give when there is a need in the community? I can understand his point, but I wonder where to draw the line. I cannot give monetary donations to worthy causes, but I can give some of my time at times. My sister values her time, so she would rather give a monetary donation. Presently I volunteer at least 12 hours per week. I still know what life was like many years ago as a result of  transcribing family diaries from the 1800’s, much like early Redbank…..they did what they had to do to survive. Life in the 1800’s was difficult enough without having to do everything yourself. Why a barn burned and within weeks, neighbors were raising a new barn all together. They stopped their own work on their farms to help build a new barn. Their survival depended on it, so that is why so many seemed to be neighborly. When your neighbor went ill, you took over his farm chores. There were early social groups who gathered at homes monthly and made clothing, and canned food for the poor in their communities. There were poorhouses that housed the homeless. I read many accounts in the city reports of the poorhouse. Many times, residents were sent back home to their town of origin at the taxpayers expense. Self government works, but  people need to become involved and engaged in their communities. They have to care.

This morning I arose early as today is Palm Sunday. I have a story about a friend’s son. Today is the best day to write this story as he regarded Holy Week as the most important time of the year. I have carried Steven Passmore’s story close to my heart for two years now. Steven died at the age of twenty-nine in the night time between Good Friday and Holy Saturday on April 14th, 2006.
         Circumstances brought our families together. Steven had Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. I met his family when he was a teenager. He was the only son to his parents, Dennis and Anita Passmore. It was always most important to me to be able to connect with the families who had sons with this disability as they were the best resources. They are also some of the most important people in my life.
         One morning I received a phone call from the MDA office that the family was trying to reach me and they did not have my new number. I called them immediately and found that they wanted me to know of Steven’s passing. I arranged to be there on that day because I had to be there. My husband and I drove to the service.
         On a table at the church were items from Steven’s life with many letters from all over the world via e-mail. At the time, I found it too difficult to read the letters. His class ring was there, as well as graduation pictures and personal mementos from his life.
         His best friend and caregiver for twelve years, Tom, gave his eulogy. It was poignant, sometimes making us laugh, but recalling a young man who had many struggles in his lifetime, mostly due to his health. I looked around the room and saw people who thought highly of him that he knew in his lifetime. I was very sad for all he had been through in his life.
         My sadness turned to fascination when Tom told the story of Steven’s last three weeks. Tom spoke over and over of Steven’s struggles and his near death experiences. These things helped Steven accept God in his life and that became his mission for the rest of his years. He helped many throughout the world who needed some guidance, through his emails. Those letters in a folder on the table contained testimonies from people all around the Globe and told what Steven meant to each of them. Tom sent a message to all of Steven’s internet friends to inform them of Steven’s passing. The response was overwhelming as messages flooded into Steven’s computer. 
         This Easter and every Easter, I shall think of Steven and his family. Tom spoke of the last three weeks and how Steven spent most of his day sleeping. One day, Steven, asked Tom if they could read the Bible together. Steven wanted to read about the most meaningful time of Holy Week. Tom said, “Steven told me to stop reading before we got to the part about the Resurrection” Then a few days later, Steven told Tom that he wished to watch ‘The Passion’ with Tom. Remember Steven had been sleeping for the most part all the time. Tom told us that Steven stayed awake for the whole movie. It was that meaningful to him. I wish Mel Gibson knew the role this movie played in Steven’s life. That story is almost as good as the movie itself, in my opinion. If I recall, Steven told Tom when he was ready to read the part in the Bible about the Resurrection.  Tom told us the next day, when Steven was ready for bed, that Steven, said goodbye to his friend Tom. I think in his heart Tom knew he would not see his friend anymore and that it was goodbye. There was no stronger friendship than theirs. Tom told us that Steven passed in the nighttime between Good Friday and Holy Saturday. Since that was the most important time in the Bible for Steven, I am amazed and truly believe he chose to die at that time. Religion had helped him to cope with so much in his life. If any of you want to read Steven’s story, he had one final wish before he passed. That wish was to get his poems and stories published. I was fortunate to receive as a gift from his mother a copy of his book. It brought tears to my eyes but it was cleansing. His love for his Higher Power and his reference many times to Holy Week in his book, all dated entries, will truly amaze you. He was a great inspiration to me and I hope you check out his book on www.amazon.com  “God’s Love Can Carry You Through Anything” (2006)

Life presents me with stories upon stories that I feel need to be written. I have a working list that waits for me to steal the time to write. 
     Yesterday, I dutifully spent my morning at Westbrook Historical Society which is the best place I like to be when I am not with my family. I viewed some home movies with Scott Irving and he shared some very interesting new stories he had researched at the library concerning early Redbank. I will be writing soon regarding those stories, thanks to him
    A few days ago, I received correspondence from an author, Rhea Cote Robbins, who writes of her Franco American experiences of growing up in Waterville. She teaches at the University as well. There is a concern that Franco American voices are being suppressed and books written by them are being denied availability for purchase in some of our State’s institutions. Who can speak of Maine and deny the rich Native American and French Canadian voices that populate our state? Her web site is www.fawi.net  and also her blog www.fafemme.blogspot.com is where she voices her concerns. 
     Last week, it was a visit to the cardiologist to get my son Mike’s meds adjusted to a higher dose and get an echocardiogram. While there, I ran across the hall to the pulmonary doctor to leave a quick note with a straight forward question. I was concerned with Mike’s congestion, experienced after he eats. Anyhow, I wrote that if she was busy, I could call back or she could leave me a message. Heading back across the hall to the heart doctor, Mike was already in a room getting prepared. A short while later, the receptionist came by to ask if the pulmonary doctor could join us. I replied that it was ok if the heart doctor was ok with it. It worked out well. Mike got some good care from both doctors and they were both aware that some of his function was compromised. Together we worked out a few solutions. What a day for multitasking. I am thankful for his doctors.
     Last night, I went to Staples and spent almost 1 ½ hours making copies of all the stories I posted on Mainetoday.com regarding Redbank. I then purchased a nice binder and included clear sleeve protectors along with an introduction about why I started posting my Redbank pictures. Today, I called my father to see if he wanted to go along with me to present it to the South Portland Historical Society. After the presentation, he took me to Tim Horton’s in Millcreek. This is the topic for my blog today…. The conversation we had over coffee.

My mother left for Jacksonville, FL on work duty this morning while most of us were still sleeping. It was nice that Dad offered to take me to coffee as it is seldom we converse without interruptions. I was his only employee for ten years and we had lots of stories that still keep us laughing today.
 
Dad talked about Mom and how they were so lucky to be compatible throughout the years. They were in High School when they met, she being from Portland and he from South Portland. I heard many stories of how he walked across the bridge to see my mom in all types of weather. One time it was a blizzard and he headed back to South Portland around midnight, from Brackett Street. He stood shivering waiting for the bridge to come down, when the man in the bridge booth yelled, “What are you waiting for?” My dad replied “Well, for the bridge to come back down” The man replied, “You have a long wait. It is scheduled for six months repair” Dad took the long walk back to Anthoine Street. They did not know that I was about to change their lives forever. My mother became a mother at age eighteen. To complicate their lives further, my father failed English his senior year and had to repeat the whole year. This year, we all moved to Anthoine Street where my dad’s family lived. The very day my father graduated with the class of 1960, my mother had a home ready for them to move into located in Redbank in July 1960. He worked full time in his senior year as well as attending school all week. They had no car for the first two years of marriage. In fact my father hitchhiked to work most of the time. My mother’s parents helped my parents as much as they could with child care and so forth. I recall every Sunday was spent having dinner with my grandparents.
 My dad spoke of my mom with great respect when we sat over coffee today. He said ,“Your mother could do anything. I don’t know how we did it. I grew a garden and she canned everything. We did not have money to go to McDonald’s or places like that with you kids. She made a nice home for us, and just knew that she had to care for all of you. She learned to sew, cooked her own bread, and learned how to crochet and knit. She helped me start my business. She even learned about layout and design from working in the sign shop alongside of me. Your mother is a smart cookie.”
 The conversation drifted from time to time about how people have so many unreasonable expectations today. He doesn’t understand how someone could think of getting plastic surgery and think it is so important. He said he thinks people miss the big picture about what is so important. Dad asked me, “What would someone say today if I asked them to help with the garden and put up some vegetables?” His answer was what I expected….I do not know if anyone ever slows down enough today to invest the time needed to raise a family, staying married and having disappointments along the way, or even just tending a garden….but trudging forward. With each generation perhaps some of these values are lost and it is up to us to fight to maintain a little of what good things we may have had growing up. I believe it was our strong family support that helped us to realize, even if it was a little later in life, that we had it pretty good. Of course today was a real pleasure to hear my dad speak of my mom with such respect and admiration for her. I know she feels the same.
These photographs were taken when my dad was in his senior year of high school(His 2nd senior year) The picture with my mom in her striped sweater was worn from dad carrying it in his wallet.

Saco Street was part of Westbrook’s farming community. My ancestors lived in a few homes on Saco Street. The brick home is located at 341 Saco Street and home to the four siblings you see walking in the circular vignette photo circa 1903. This picture is perhaps one of my favorite family pictures, the original being owned by my Uncle. The oldest woman was Florence Roberts who was born in 1860 in the brick house pictured. Florence took care of duties about the house, like repairing the roof, as she was raised a daddy’s girl .Eva Roberts, closest to the camera, was a Westbrook schoolteacher at Bridge Street School. She was born in 1868. I am told she walked to school every day and she taught for about 40 years. The other sister, holding what seems to be a newspaper, is Marietta Roberts. Marietta was born in 1872. She did the cooking and maybe helped sell dairy products from their farm, along with Florence. I am told she loved an opera singer but nothing became of it. None of the sister’s married. I was told their father would not allow it. I am not certain if I ever knew why, could have had something to do with the fact that the parents were second cousins, thought I am told that was not uncommon. They lived together all their lives. It was their brother Perley Chenery Roberts, who was my great grandfather. He was born in 1878 and married in 1904 to Anna Blanche Swett. According to a newspaper clipping from one of Westbrook Historical Society’s scrapbook collection, a wedding celebration was only attended by his two sisters, Marietta and Eva. Together they moved down the road to 64 Saco Street. Their union was not held in high regard by his father John Roberts. In fact, I am told when Perley died in a fatal trolley crash on Brighton Avenue on January 22, 1906, that his own father never attended the funeral. Saccarappa Cemetery is where his grave can be found at the Swett plot, far away from the Roberts’ plot. Perley left behind a small baby of two weeks named Theodore Reginald Roberts. Anna Swett Roberts was so overcome with grief, that she changed the name of their son to Perley Chenery Roberts. This man became my grandfather. Growing up on Saco Street, his aunts doted over him and remembered him in their wills leaving him a stipend for the remainder of his life. There are many stories to be told about him, however we can save those for another time. These are just some of the people who rest in Saccarappa Cemetery. I have many more whose stories I will share.

One place setting, one chair, a twin bed, a table, an end table, and the bare minimum for mementoes were all my friend’s uncle had in his home. He was not destitute, he just never accumulated things. My friend, Steve, was called upon to care for his Uncle, a brother to Steve’s deceased father. The Uncle had no children. Steve told me that he dressed very well and always had a very nice car. When the man became ill, it was his nephew Steve that he called. Steve was not particularly close to his Uncle but the man trusted Steve. Steve also said his Uncle thought since Steve was not married that the arrangement might work out if Steve obliged. Steve is a most thoughtful person, always putting family first and lends a hand anytime he is needed. He is probably one of my best friends, having met him at Art School back in 1978.
 He lost his own father when he was a little boy and his mom struggled to raise her children and never remarried. She had a strong sense of family support as her sisters lived in homes on both sides of her home. The kids were all raised together. I regard their family as my own extended family. Steve is successful, a good honest person, an athlete and is also an excellent craftsman, making most of his own furniture. His father would have been proud to have such a son.
 I thought of the comparisons between what his Uncle had versus what Steve had. Steve would have loved to have known his father and he learned his strong commitment to family through his mother. I suppose this is another reason his Uncle called him when he needed assistance managing his affairs when he became ill. Life is strange in so many ways. When we think of what is really important in life, it is not all the things we acquire, or the hassles of day to day living. It is the people we have met along our journey that give meaning to our lives. It is the things we do with our families and friends that make the memories and fill the scrapbooks. As an avid family historian, I asked my friend Steve if his Uncle had any neat pictures of when his dad was a little boy or any other interesting family pictures. Steve replied that his Uncle had maybe 3 pictures. Steve wondered about all the Christmas cards with pictures enclosed and what his Uncle did with those. His Uncle’s pictures included a recent group family picture, a photo of his Uncle with a friend, and one of his Uncle in his younger days. 
 This reminds me of my own Uncle who has a fondness for all his stuff which is in storage. He used his stuff to refrain from getting close to his own family, I believe. He mentioned recently he would rather leave his stuff to the Salvation Army than his son. I cannot imagine putting your stuff above your family. He is not rational [dementia] but those thoughts are not much different from when he was rational. It is interesting how we have all these things we accumulate along the journey. Maybe these are the distractions which keeping us from becoming the best we can be in terms of relationships.
 Where does hoarding fit into all of this? Some people are collectors of everything under the sun. Even cereal boxes are limited editions. I believe with all this consumerism, the invention of the TV and all the marketing that goes along with that; we are being told how inadequate we all are. According to all the magazine covers, the TV and any other advertisement, we are all inadequate. It could be the TV… it could be Religion….it could be our work or it could be an Addiction [alcohol, drugs, gambling etc.] that takes us further and further away from interacting with people who give meaning to our lives.. We buy, buy, buy and I guess it makes us feel better. We have excess in our lives. The problem is that some people keep on buying and don’t want to recycle and before you know it, they become attached to all their things. They may have raised their family and later on their “problem” would not permit any more visitors.  There was no way anyone could enter a house full of stuff. [Regarding consumerism and art visit my friend Virginia Fleck’s website www.virginiafleck.com  You will not be disappointed.}
 On a less serious note…alas, this article would not be complete if I did not mention the Stuff Store which was located somewhere near Wiscasset on the main drag. My parents and I took a drive to Machias and Whitneyville one day. On the drive back we drove up to the porch of the Stuff Store. Well, we were mighty disappointed that the Stuff Store was closed indefinitely. I saw one of those little wooden flat mounted boxes with a hinged door on the wall of the porch… you know the kind with the little pad of paper and a pencil on a string. I left a note which read, “Too bad you’re closed. We were looking for some stuff”. On the remainder of the trip, we roared with laughter for over an hour talking about all kinds of stuff. We wondered if the Stuff Store had good stuff and some used stuff. We thought maybe some of the stuff was boxed stuff. Maybe there was some old stuff, some vintage stuff or some junky stuff. We had wild imaginations that day about all kinds of stuff. It was one of my best memories, laughing for over 60 miles with my parents, nonstop. I hope someday that Stuff Store reopens under a new name…. perhaps The New Stuff Store.

The past couple of days have been hectic. I have desired to write every night and have been unable so I decided on these occasions that I just try to stay connected to you, my readers. The past week has been a wide range of emotions.
 My uncle has dementia and is nearly eighty. He broke his hip about two weeks ago and thankfully his son is doing his very best to provide care for his dad. It is stressful to say the least. I have not seen my uncle for awhile as he lives in a facility where he can get 24/7 care and his world is more manageable. Since he went to the hospital, I have seen him a few times and had nice visits. The caretaker in me is strong as ever. I worried he would get pneumonia, as he was short of breath, and I know that happens so often with people after surgery. I believe the quality of care is compromised as many places are understaffed. Last year, I used a cough assist machine for my son for 4 times each day for 4 days and this kept him from getting pneumonia. I was exhausted but he stayed out of the hospital and this was my goal. When a person cannot cough unassisted, a cough assist is used for patients with Cystic Fibrosis, Muscular dystrophy and other illnesses. Anyhow, I was worried and my cousin confirmed that the nurses were getting him out of bed regularly. It is hard to see the people you love lose their abilities.
 Then on Valentine’s Day, I took my 2 dogs, Daisy Mae and Schultzie to the groomer. When my son, JT, picked up the dogs, as I was at another appointment, Schultzie was not well. He was falling on the ice and my son attributed it to being slippery. I thought the dog appeared to be drugged and my other dog was acting strangely as well. The following morning I took Schultzie to the vet who confirmed he had a heart murmur [He is an old dog of 14] He noticed the dog tilting to the right and showed me his eyes rolling to the right which also confirmed that he had a stroke. He could not keep his balance, very disoriented and as if he was in a drunken state. He received a steroid shot and took home some anti-inflammatory pills. It was a tough day. My sister was also having a medical procedure that day as well. She is doing well.
 Since it has been a week of many medical affiliations, I have thought about some instances which may help some of you. Nobody knows you or your loved ones like yourself. I have had the pleasure of meeting some fine doctors and I have met a few whom I have questioned. I have drawn a few conclusions from my own experiences and some from the stories of others. I believe a good doctor is one who educates us and allows us to educate them from time to time.
 One doctor told me that I needed to tell my son, Mike, everything that would happen to him with his prognosis. This was after he became dehydrated and was found to be taking medicine which was appropriate for most people but not for people with Muscular Dystrophy and as a result, he went into cardiac arrest and respiratory failure. The doctor who told me this was the doctor who brought him back to life, not once, but 4 times. This was a rare instance when he thought my son might end up using a ventilator for the rest of his life. I shot back that my son was nowhere near having bad pulmonary functioning at this time and we never expected this to happen. I was so angry and the doctor knew this. The reason behind his stern manner was that there are many people who never tell their children anything about their illness. The kids sometimes grow up believing that the disease is their own fault. All a parent needs to do is to listen to their kids questions and give them an age appropriate answer. Do you think I knew this from day one? NO!!!! I grew into it as my son taught me along the way. Kids need information on their illness so they can be empowered along the way. This doctor could not possibly know all of this because he probably did not have a disabled child. The school wanted him to know all about his illness as well, life expectancy and all of that. That is our job as parents to guide our kids along the way, so they are emotionally healthy as well. To tell a kid or anyone for that matter that they have 2 years to live [just an example]… is to take away all hope and dreams…. It is not right. We have to grow into everything. I have had many experiences with doctors, and schools, mostly good ones.
 Perhaps you will understand why I became so emotionally charged when I heard this story. I know many types of parents who have disabled kids. I believe there is a fine line between denial and neglect. To deny a surgical procedure which will make quality of life better for a child is beyond my comprehension. Scoliosis surgery is needed for many who use wheelchairs. The window of opportunity for the surgery is limited as it has to be done before the kids are put on heart meds. The spine crumbles and the lung function is greatly compromised. Most who do not receive this surgery, cannot sleep in a bed as the pain is great. I know some who sleep in their wheelchairs. Pulmonary function decreases about 15-20 % each year if the surgery is never done. One parent had a brother who died from this illness and it has affected how she is raising her own boy with the same illness. It is as if his illness is a shame and they try to keep it all a secret. I feel bad that the boy probably does not know what is happening to him. Of course this is no business of mine but it makes sense the doctor blasted me that day. However, I am not one of those parents. My husband and I have tried to provide both of our sons with the resources they needed along the way.
 The big lesson here is that if things do not seem right , do not be afraid to ask your doctor questions. They are human and sometimes make mistakes, but they should listen to your concerns.  Advocate for yourself and your loved ones.
 

Today, I was very excited to pick up a print of the old newspaper photo from the Portland Evening Express dated June 28th, 1972 the day of the Bike Race in Redbank. I did contact the Portland Newspaper Archives contact person, Marcia MacVane, who researched to find that many negatives from that time had been thrown away. I wanted to go through the correct process. I explained that I wanted to get a negative made and post the picture. She said as long as it was in the public domain that it could be used. Although it is not an overall exciting picture, I have wanted to post this because of all the kids in the background. On the back, I had written their names when I was twelve. Left to right: Terry Lallo, Lori Nelson, tiptoeing behind her was Judy White, Barbara Applegard, Suzan Roberts in center, Lisa DesMarais, Mark Murphy, Laurie Reynolds, little girl in front Kelly Labbe, Scott Jaynes. The original photo was never ‘Fixed’ correctly in the darkroom so chemicals turned it all brown with age. They wanted it for their before and after photos as it was an excellent example because the photographer shot the picture 4x and had to work hard to enhance the print process to bring out the image. It was in such terrible shape, that it could not even be scanned. I paid a standard 15 dollars for an archival negative and another 12 dollars for an 8x10 print. It was worth having a record of it. If you are interested, I have had many negatives made along with prints from my antique photo collection at B&W Photo Lab at 142 High Street, Portland. They are excellent and their work shows the quality. It is worth preserving your collection.
 

I am also posting a few more samples of their work. If you are serious about your photos, you can reach them at 207-772-4947, as they are only open a few days per week. Or you can check out their website at   BWPHOTOLAB.COM

Some of these other pictures are ambrotypes which were given to me when I was a teenager. The woman with the round face is my great great grandmother, Martha Roberts [born 1842, photo taken 1863] from Saco Street, Westbrook. The thin faced woman is Marietta Brooks Roberts [born 1837, died 1872] - her sister in law. They look remarkable with negatives made and new prints, as the jewelry is very noticeable.

B&W also took a negative of this Polaroid which was taken by Judy Watts and made a B&W print. It has great detail. Notice all the kids behind me in that Cadillac. We took off like a flash around MacArthur Circle with the kids on their bikes following us. I had no idea that day that I was chosen to wear a crown, being the one to sell the most raffles [The prize was a lawnchair, won by Mr. Arthur Giroux, who was owner of an oil company] My gown was custom made by my neighbor Cathy Swan who took an old prom dress belonging to my mom's cousin, Carol Ross and tailored it to fit one of us girls. In the home movie made by my dad, I accepted a ribbon and a crown and later had to get dressed in my gown inside the community hall bathroom. I was so painfully shy.

Memories of the Redbank Plane Crash
July 11th, 1944

 

                    Over the years I have heard stories of the plane crash which happened in my old neighborhood. The New York Times article dated July 12th, 1944 told that the plane crashed and exploded in the Westbrook Trailer Camp, adjacent to nearby Federal Redbank Housing Development, also called Redbank Village by a resident witness named Theodore Halley. I knew my Uncle Phil Roberts was a witness to it and even ran home from the dam, where he had been swimming, to get his brownie camera to snap a picture. The photo captured a huge black cloud of smoke and fire and standing alone near the bottom edge of the picture was a couple of small children. I remember that picture when I was growing up, because it was haunting. Since the Redbank Blogs began, I have talked with a few others about the plane crash. One woman told me that when she was very young, her parents drove over to the site of the crash from Portland She said she remembered little but did recall someone setting her on the car, so she wouldn’t get too close. It was still a strong memory. Another fellow who lived in Thornton Heights told me that his parents always spoke about that crash and how they drove over to the crash site from Ferry Village. Recently there was a fictional account of the plane crash in the December issue of Portland Magazine, an account of the conversation in the cockpit moments before the plane crashed. There is also a nice account from Robert Dyke on the Maine government website. Most recently, I was at South Portland Historical Society and had the pleasure of meeting a gentleman who is a retired pilot who has done a great deal of research regarding that crash. He has also been writing about it. I doubt that these stories will die, as there is a desire to gather information before all the witnesses to the event are gone. In fact, I hope to awaken stories in the memories of those who witnessed   events of that day. I know that there were people from all around who came to the site. The witnesses were most likely primarily around the Redbank and Long Creek area. I am curious about what the talk was in the neighborhood, between neighbors. What memories came about after the crash? Was it something that was never spoken about again? Only having mainly newspaper accounts of the crash gives a flat account of what happened. It takes the collective gathering of information from people who were there to present a full historical perspective of the day the Plane Crashed in Redbank.
                     The following story is an account of a conversation I had with Lenny Gray [July 31, 2008-telephone conversation] who was age eight when he witnessed the plane crash. Fortunately, I work with his wife and upon talking about Redbank; she revealed to me that her husband had witnessed the crash as a boy. Seeking permission first, I called Lenny.
                     Lenny relayed to me that he had been down at Clark’s Pond swimming with his older sister Christine, who was five years older than him. There were different areas to swim in the pond. Lenny told me that he and his sister were down near where the ice shack was as there were fewer kids. He recalled in winter, walking from the ice house to the island as he thought the water was sometimes deeper freezing up that area.  He  recalled there were quite a few kids over near the dam swimming and there were some near the trestle. The trestle was along walk around. I asked if it was a train trestle but he thought it was a trestle for cows to use. I also asked him is he remembered anyone drowning at the pond. He did not recall that but said it was not uncommon for kids to fall over the dam to the rocks below. 
                     Lenny told me that they were supposed to move into one of those trailers but for some reason it did not work out and they rented a place in Redbank Village instead. He said the trailers were less expensive than Redbank. His mother, Margaret Gray was a welder on the second shift at the South Portland Shipyard. He told me that his grandmother took care of them during the day and there were younger siblings at home. I was interested when he told me that there was a bus that came into Redbank to transport the workers to the shipyard. On the day of the crash, you can imagine the horror of parents not knowing where their children were. Lenny told me that the workers were all released early that day.
                     He remembers heading back to Redbank, as he was down by dam, heard a loud road and saw a plane flying very low. Lenny said it looked as if it just missed the Reformatory and flew over the fields into the trailer park. He said he thought it was banking to the left. According to him, the trailer park was designed in clusters. There were four trailers in a cluster, a road, 4 more trailers, a road and so forth. The right hand wing and part of the plane’s body took out three rows of trailers, bursting into flames. He remembers the intense heat, dirt flying, debris, smoke and flames. He started crying, when his sister Christine told him to shut up as she wanted to get closer to see what happened. He wanted to go home, but she wanted to stay and watch. He said there was debris which flew into the pond as well. They ended up watching from the dam as the heat was intense near the crash. His memories from that day are vivid as he could remember it was total chaos: screaming, crying and hollering He said that the events of that day caused him to have many nightmares as a kid. Shortly after the crash, his family moved to Portland, unsure if the crash may have had something to do with the move. I asked him if he went back to the site in the following days. He told me that it was a high security area for a week or so. Nobody was allowed near the area from the gas station all the way down to Clark’s Pond. 
                     Over the years he had often thought of his witnessing the crash. He retired from Deering High School in Portland and overheard a teacher talking to his students about being a witness to the Redbank Plane Crash. Lenny listened by the door in the hallway and waited until the class was over before he spoke to the teacher. He told the teacher he had also witnessed the crash. The teacher and Lenny both were grateful they could compare their notes form that day. Lenny said they talked for over an hour that day. His wife, Barbara, met a woman who had gone to nursing school and had just graduated when the crash occurred. She told Barbara that she was there when the crash victims came to the hospital and how she and many others worked around the clock to provide care. She never forgot that. When she relayed the story, she had recently retired as a nurse. Barbara could not recall the woman’s name, only that she lived in northern Maine. Not too long ago, Lenny went back to the site where he witnessed that crash, down by the dam, but he had a tough time recognizing anything in place now and was unsure of his bearings.
                     I also had the pleasure of having lunch with my Aunt Marietta [Roberts] recently. She was also nearly nine at the time of the crash, living across the street from the Community Hall [60 Macarthur]. I asked her to relay her memories from that day.  She had just walked back from her grandmother’s house in Redbank. At home, she and her mother were having an argument, when she heard some noise, looked out the window and saw a plane fly very low over the houses that she was scared. She then saw it on impact that she recalled fire, orange and yellow flames, reminiscent of the bubble gum trading cards with the war scenes imprinted upon them. She could still see the vivid colors of the crash in her head. She said the minister who lived next door was very busy after the crash. She could not recall his name except he was young and married. [Mr. Tefft was his name] His wife had taught her to ice skate. He usually gave his services at the Community Hall. He was busy consoling crash victims. Marietta said she remembers the great sadness. The survivors were filled with sorrow and she remembers hearing a great deal of crying. She said her family took in some people who survived and many also stayed at the Community Hall she recalls. She is certain they had cots there for families who were displaced because of the crash. She went to the site briefly but did not in the next few days, as the weather was wet and damp. She also had nightmares about the crash. I asked her about early friends from Redbank and she recalled her neighbor Joyce Wilbur being a good friend. Only a year before, Marietta had lost a brother, two years older than her, in a house fire on Vesper Street in Portland. 
                     I wonder where all these people are today who were witnesses to that event. It is so important that at some point they can let their accounts be known.  Hopefully, this may inspire others to contribute their memories.

 
1967-8 Mrs. Dow in Middle-Beside her brown plaid dress(Cathy Nelson)Back to in blue is Ann Woodbury, Short blonde hair in front is Debra Crabtree, Diane Rogers behind Debra wearing white sweater, Laurie Berry with ponytail beside Mrs. Dow, Me with rust dress, Roxanne Carrier with red, white, blue coat, Mrs. Woodbury wearing light blue sweater to left Little girl far right is a shirelle girl I think, May be Mrs. Nickerson in the front with Yellow? Behind me may be Diane White.
     
Mrs.Dow taught second grade at Redbank School, and I was just one of her many classmates over the years. Only recently, I heard she was still around, so I decided to write her a note. I told her of my many memories in her classroom, specifically a lesson I learned when I forgot to put my name on a paper, which happened to be a test. I learned a good lesson that day, because when 2 of us argued over which paper was our own, she did the right thing. She threw both papers in the trash. From then on, my name was always on the paper. I also included this picture for her. I told her that I started this whole Redbank thing and it just snowballed. I also told her how others from all over the country are contributing memories and pictures and it is a nice testament to our village. I also asked if she would like to share some of her memories.
 I received a lovely response within a week from her assistant. Mrs. Dow is in her nineties now and in quite excellent health, with the exception of some eyesight problems. In fact, after she received the letter, she and her assistant took a ride out to Redbank to rekindle some memories. Her assistant relayed that Mrs. Dow got quite a chuckle from my story of the paper with no name. They both thought the Redbank Blogs; all of them were wonderful ideas. Her assistant said that after so many years it would not be possible to share any of her memories. She said that she will always remember her years at Redbank and that she loved all of us kids. She was grateful we shared our village news with her. She also sends her best wishes to all of us and her love for life to all who knew her. I thought you would all appreciate her message.

Reflecting on my senior year at South Portland High School, I remember a history class where I came to the defense of my neighborhood. There had been an article in the newspaper regarding problems with escaped persons who would sometimes run through our neighborhood. The newspapers did not just call the neighborhood Redbank. As a matter of fact the word Redbank was usually sandwiched between a few other words, such as low income neighborhood on the western part of the city. Maybe we came to believe that as we were usually reminded by outsiders and the media. I do not have any more to say on that matter except it left many of us feeling we had to defend our neighborhood to those who lived elsewhere. This seems like a huge waste of energy, but regardless many of us have done it.
 This particular day, the teacher made a comment that the neighborhood must be a rough place to live and also commented on the Boys Training Center [Reformatory].  I had great respect for this teacher and looked around the room to see if I had any fellow Redbankers with me. I did not. I was alone and if I had been silent, that would have been my own fault. I raised my hand and requested I be allowed to comment. The teacher allowed me to talk, so I stood up. I said that I lived in this neighborhood and it was a good place to live, never had any troubles there, and the newspapers blow a lot out of proportion. I also said there were many misconceptions about our village. I have always admired this teacher, even more so, when his sincerity was reflected in his apology. What he said was not that terrible but I felt I should say something at that time, in hopes that other may not be so quick to judge. I think we all do that from time to time.
 Upon reading through my High School list of graduates of 1978, I wondered how many were from my original group of Redbankers. There were maybe five kids who had lived in Redbank briefly during my grammar school years, but the group who had been with me from beginning to end was a good number. There were three boys in particular who had been there from the beginning that were just short of graduating for one reason or other, but they will always be considered part of our original group. The ones who graduated from Redbank on that day were: Tish Alonzo, Debbie Angel, Cathy Bixler, Shawn Briggs, Roxanne Carrier, Carlene Estes, David Laurence, Todd Lewis, Sharon Matthews, Cathy Nelson, Ann Ricci and Ann Woodbury. All of us were together from kindergarten until high school. How many from your classes were with you from beginning to end?

All of us have our own experiences which help define who we are and what keeps us trudging forward. Tonight for example, I found a quick solution so that my son, Michael, could work on the computer and drink from a lemonade bottle at the same time. He cannot lean forward as he cannot get back into position. The reason he cannot lean forward is that he had rods put into his back. First, I put a straw into the bottle and he was unable to reach it without leaning forward. So then I grab a long straw but it is too high. I cut the straw down… still it is not quite right. Finally I cut a hole in the side of the bottle near the neck and slid the straw into it. Improvising is always fascinating! Then I was free to cook dinner.
             My view as mom/caretaker has left me with some very humorous memories. Oh yes, there have been some poignant moments, but it is the comical stories which surface. This specific category will have a little of both types of stories. My purpose is to let readers into our lives and to allow them to see us as an average family dealing with some unusual circumstances. I think we all know how to juggle. Ultimately, I hope to help others along my journey.
              When my son was still ambulatory and a student at Redbank School, a comical incident happened one day. There was a boy in his class who really gave him a tough time and Michael was very shy and quiet. I think Michael encountered many problems because he had great difficulty walking from age eight until age ten. The kids knew he was different and maybe they were a little afraid. One day as I was busy helping Mike’s brother get ready for school, Mike was getting his backpack. It was not until he came home that he and JT were laughing about something. I asked them what was so funny. Mike admitted that he had taken an unsweetened square of baking chocolate from the fridge and had given it to the boy who was giving him a hard time. The boy was all excited that he was getting a piece of chocolate and took one bite and spit it out. I guess the look on his face was enough to make Mike laugh. The best part of the story is that they became fast friends after that.
             When Mike received his first electric wheelchair, he had his first experience learning to walk our new dog, who was a cute little schnauzer named Schultzie. The following incident is a reason that seatbelts are so important for people using wheelchairs. I wrapped Schultzie’s leash around Mike's hand and the dog pulled him out of his wheelchair, which had to immediately be turned to the "off"position. A car drove past and the drivers looked at us with horror, while I calmly picked Mike up off the pavement, brushed the dirt off his face as he looked at me with a disgusted look while my other son ran after the dog, and lifted Mike back into his wheelchair, making sure it was in the “off” position. I buckled his seatbelt, and wiped a few tears and exclaimed, “Ok, let’s try that again” We walked the dog some more and Mike complained that his leg hurt.  I told him that he probably bruised it. It was not until later that evening, about six hours later, that I put him in bed , with his legs stretched outwards that he began to cry and complain of pain. I said to him that we probably should visit the ER at Maine Medical Center, as I anticipated that he broke some bone. I did not get “Mother of the Year Award” that night as we found out his leg was broken. A broken leg affects dressing, bathing and toileting… so the next few weeks were a little humorous. Mike was and still is a pretty good sport.
             I try to get together with other moms from time to time whose sons have Muscular Dystrophy just to exchange ideas, solutions and to maintain support between all of us. One night in particular, I met my friend Rosa who has two sons with M.D. We were only 7 miles from my home when I received a call from my youngest son who was very upset. He was crying. My son, JT, was about twelve years old, two years younger than Mike. He was very upset so I told him to calm down, that it was alright whatever it was. He then tells me that he and Mike got into a fight and JT pulled on Mike’s shirt. Again, Mike’s seatbelt was not fastened. You guessed it… Mike landed on the floor. JT felt bad he had done this to his brother. I reassured JT that it was okay; that brothers usually fight…even if one was in a wheelchair. I told JT not to feel badly and to let me talk with Mike. JT brought the phone to Mike and held the phone for him. I asked Mike if he was okay and did he believe he broke any bones.  He said he did not feel anything was broken. I said to try to relax and I would be right home. My friend Rosa is a wonderful friend. She said, “Suzan, I will go with you and then we can come back here later for coffee” I agreed and off we drove back to my house. I remember coming inside and seeing JT who I could tell felt badly, so I gave him a hug and off I went to Mike’s room. Mike was lying on the floor sort of twisted up and he had the most disgusted look on his face. All he could do was to lay there angry with no way to vent the anger except lay there and let it dissipate. I asked him if he was alright. Rosa helped as I got the Hoyer lift to get him off the floor and into his wheelchair again. I had both boys look at each other and say they were sorry and to move beyond what had happened. Fighting is all part of growing up now, isn’t it? Everything worked out well and we went back to North Windham for coffee. Motherhood…. I wouldn’t trade it for anything! They have sometimes taught me more than I have taught them.

                            

Arriving in Boston Harbor in June 1891, Mary Dolly [Fowler] did not become a citizen until 1932 when she went back for a visit to her ancestral home in Anbally, Co Galway.
As a child, I remember the room where I slept at my grandmother’s house on Brackett Street. The room had 3D type wallpaper which looked like buttons on upholstery. I used to stare at it until I fell asleep, that is ONLY after I made my grandmother remove all the holy statues, like the Bishop of Prague with his satin robe, and the 5 foot long thunder and lightning beads made of wood which hung on the back of the door. Of course, I did not want that crucifix on the wall above my head either. These things were very scary to me even though I was raised a Catholic. I think somehow I believed they belonged in church, where we were supposed to be scared. Anyhow, back to this room of many memories. There were many things which belonged to my great grandmother in there. The hope chest also had some weird furs that had fox heads on them which she wore when they were fashionable. I remember the smell of that old button box and I recall the picture on the bureau of her in a tiny frame. The photo from the above document had been cut out and put into the frame. When I was a teenager, I taped it back together. Then I began to wonder where this great grandmother of mine lived when she was in Ireland. I was lucky enough to also have her passport from 1932.
 If you should ever find any Naturalization Papers also called Citizenship Papers, hold onto them as they hold valuable information. Under US Government in the phone book, you will find an address for that department in most major US cities, such as Boston, or NYC. I actually wrote to the office in Portland, Maine to request information about her. I received an informative letter full of details. I found the name of the ship she embarked upon and the Date she arrived as well as the Port where she entered the United States. I also found the Date of her marriage and the births of her daughters. I was seventeen when I received this information, much to the delight of my grandmother as she wasn’t familiar with the name of the town land of Anbally. Many of these town lands are so tiny (a couple of blinks of an eye) that it is best to buy survey maps which cost between ten to fifteen dollars. These survey maps show all the holy wells, and many other details of the land. Only after I purchased some of these maps was I able to locate Anbally which was halfway between Galway City and Tuam on N17, near Claregalway. Since 2002, I have visited this area a few times.


                                

Photo courtesy of Polly Carmichael

This story will be the first of a short series entitled Saccarappa Cemetery: Voices from Beyond the Grave. My aim is to tell the stories of so many who lie there. I hope there will be a heightened awareness about respecting the sleeping places of the dead.

 Martha was born to Joshua D. and Ellen Babb Roberts in 1842. The family lived on 342 Saco Street in the present day home of the Usher family. Joshua Roberts was a well respected farmer and known to have excellent orchards. A relative of mine owns an old powder horn made by Joshua D. Roberts when he was just 13 years old, dated 1828.It was carved with his initials, J. Roberts. It was fashioned from a bull horn and was never finished. I am told it hung over the fireplace across the street at 341 Saco Street in the brick house, where Martha lived her adult years, married to her 2nd cousin, John L. Roberts. I have read throughout many family diaries that Joshua sometimes would travel to Limington to buy a yoke of oxen. His daughter, Martha, was named for his sister, Martha who lived from 1800-1837. The first Martha is buried at Saccarappa Cemetery. The only testament to her life is an early needlework sampler with her name and birthdate at Falmouth in May 1800. Her gravestone is still intact, which is amazing, since Saccarappa Cemetery has been desecrated numerous times over the years.
             I had the opportunity to study her diary on 1863, in depth. It is also owned by a relative, but the transcription is at Westbrook Historical Society. Martha writes of thirty people, including some children, that year alone who died in Westbrook. A woman never went unaccompanied to town, after dark, whether by sleigh, or horse or wagon. Her world was small as she usually writes of visiting relatives and taking tea. All the relatives she mentions, I have found cross referencing marriage records, Babb’s and Roberts from early Westbrook, mostly from Rev. Caleb Bradley’s books. Since I have spent a great deal of time at the cemetery, I have stumbled upon many stones of the people she wrote about in her diary. 
            As for life on the farm, she is alone this year as her husband in enlisted in the 25th Me., Co. E, and is away in Arlington Heights near the Nation’s Capitol. She notes that the hay pressers came, usually for 2 days. She has a great deal of family support and is busy with her daughter, Flora, who is three. Many women in Westbrook are working in the mills, but she is able to stay home. She fills her time with knitting stockings for her husband, making so many garments for her family. As a homemaker, she writes of making cornstarch pudding for supper. She attends many church meetings on Sundays, many denominations as well.
News in the town was often noted. Pauline Woodman was married today. Later she writes  Temple Snow married today. There was even mention of Mary M. Marrett getting married (She married Westbrook’s Fabius Ray, historian and lawyer) She, too, is buried at Saccarappa, but not Fabius Ray as he married another when Mary died. Lewis Edwards opened his store today, another newsworthy entry. One February day she wrote about Father traveling to Portland on wheels with hay. Evidently the sleighing was not so good on that day. Most of her entries regard her neighbors, The Quimby’s, The Partidge’s, The Trickey’s and The Hatches and her relatives along Saco Street. They all helped each other and helped with chores when someone became ill. There were some entries mentioning a circle held at Father’s where 50 people attended. Recently, I learned The Circles referred to various organizations which were in place to help those in need. The Martha Washington Society was one such group which had roots in Westbrook. There is a ledger at Westbrook Historical with names of members and other interesting information.
            One evening a peddler stopped by her home and left three boxes of pills. Maybe this alleviated the terrible headaches she so often wrote about in her diary entries. She often wrote of the Hatch girls visiting, all of whom are buried at Saccarappa. They would share slips of flowers and make crafts together. The Hatch family included Josie, Mellie (Melvina), and Harriet and a brother Sylvanus. They lived in the brick home which later became known as the Libby House at 477 Saco Street. Martha writes of going into the woods with her sister-in –law and gathering cones to make picture frames. Her mother helps her mend and often they sit together to do such work. One day she wrote her mother had made her a pair of breastplates. Travel was slow. It was a big event to go to Portland, usually consisting of shopping, and visiting relatives, sometimes taking dinner with them. In the event the weather turned, an evening spent with family was not unusual.
One evening Martha writes of Uncle W’s barn burning. I believe it was her uncle William Roberts, actually a Great Uncle, as he was brother to her grandfather, Benjamin. He built the home at 547 Saco Street, present home of Polly Carmichael. I think the barn that burned was in this vicinity. At one time, there were three Roberts Brothers on Saco Street. William lived at 547 Saco Street. Benjamin lived on the land where Joshua D, his son later lived (342 Saco Street). I also believe a house existed before the present brick house at 341 Saco Street. In this location, a brother John lived, but he died a young age of 57, I believe. I believe William bought that parcel. Incidentally, all this land previously had been owned by Stephen Longfellow, on Longfellow Street in Gorham. William Roberts came to Westbrook from Fort Hill Road, Gorham and boarded at the Hatch Home when he married Rev. Nathaniel Hatch’s daughter, Betsy, who was an ancestor to all the future generations of Hatches who lived in the same household. Martha writes throughout her diary of events such as General and Mrs. Tom Thumb visiting the area. She relays the great excitement in “P” (Portland, I believe) as a ship is burned by the Rebels. She remembers her family and friends who have passed years ago, noting Grandfather Roberts been dead 5 years today.
             Martha’s life included much socializing. She attended usually two church meetings on Sundays and wrote of various Westbrook Regiments coming home from the Civil War. One day, she wrote that her husband had arrived home at midnight and the following day, she prepared a meal for some men from his Regiment who would be continuing their journeys home. He served with his brother William in the same Regiment.
             Christmas was not highlighted like it is today. She wrote of visiting and mending on Christmas. Life was simpler but not without hardship. One entry referred to the death of a Haskell Boy, named Frankie. At Saccarappa, I found his lichen covered gravestone, beside another sibling whose death was an early one. Upon reading the stones of his family plot, his parents suffered great loss, maybe five siblings in all.
Martha died at the age of 57. Her death was unusual as there was a certain amount of folklore that I have heard my whole life. She was dug up and her body thrown into Beaver Pond. It was never verified until I read the diaries of William Roberts, her brother in law (and 2nd cousin). He wrote one entry describing that he would be going to the cemetery to check to see if her grave was empty. He found in fact that it was an open grave. The following day, he was asked to go meet the sheriff. A body had been found and William was asked to identify it. William wrote that he could not identify it positively, however he had no doubt that it was her body. This was about eight weeks after her death. Perhaps he recognized the clothing. Someone had tampered with the body, but no person had ever been charged. I think it must have brought great distress upon the family. For those who may have had Eva Roberts as a teacher at Bridge Street School, this story relates to her mother. The cemetery is filled with many such stories. This is only one story but many people mentioned are at Saccarappa Cemetery. There will be more to follow.

 

Redbank was home to all my earliest memories. It was where my siblings and I all developed from babies to teens and where we made lifelong friendships. This past weekend, I was visiting my parents over near Cash Corner. I wanted to see what was in their attic for pictures. We found a suitcase full of slides taken by my grandmother from 1958 up until the late 1960’s. I am very anxious to look through them as I am sure there must be many Redbank pictures in that collection. Until then I found a few to post here.
 Living in Standish, I constantly run into old neighbors from Redbank. The other day, I ran into three people I knew from our Village. Take notice when you are out and about just how many people you will know from your neighborhood. This picture was taken at Easter near St. John’s Church in Thornton Heights. Loved those patten leather shoes with purses to match, especially when we got them scuffed up and used lighter fluid to clean the scuffs [not us, but our parents] I think my grandmother helped outfit us each Easter. That is me in the blue, Carol beside me and Sharon with her foot turned in (she was shy) and my brother David. The Christmas picture was taken around 1968 when we were allowed to open one gift Christmas Eve. It was always a pair of pajamas and then we posed for a picture. My Dad lettered our names on the stockings. Hope you all enjoy.

 Cousin Steve(back), Little Marietta (seated), Baby Cousin Alice, On blanket, Aunt Marietta, Pat Roberts(my mom), Aunt Thelma 1967

It wasn’t until Tuesday, January 15th, that I knew who I wanted to feature on my “People I know (or have known)” category of this blog. I was on my way to South Portland Historical when I drove by my cousin’s old home on Broadway near the South Portland Armory. I noticed a wheelchair ramp outside and I was immediately overcome with tears and memories of my cousin who once lived there. Now that my son also uses a wheelchair, the whole issue of what is involved with disability is all too familiar.
  I was flooded with memories of going to visit my dad’s brother and his family. My dad and his brother have always been very close and I have always been close to these cousins. On occasion, my Uncle and Aunt would go away for the weekend and they relied on my cousin Steven to help with her basic needs. I was there to make lunch and keep her company. She was nine years older than me and her name was Marietta. She was born with Hydrocephalus, commonly called ‘water on the brain’. She endured many long surgeries throughout her life and lived longer than doctors anticipated. She had a kidney removed and had shunts. She never walked. My sisters and I would play card games for what seemed like hours and she would let us listen to her 45 rpm records with her old time record player. She was very close to her mom, who was her primary caregiver. I often think of my aunt especially since her role is now mine: the caregiver.  I think of her when I need strength from time to time. I remember thinking when I was a kid that she was tough as nails… maybe I have become a little of the same as there is nothing I would not do to make sure my son gets what he needs.
  We called her Little Marietta as we also have an aunt with the same name. Little Marietta preferred to be called ‘Sis’ and we obliged. She was a huge fan of Wayne Newton and we used to think he seemed so far removed from our generation. We knew who he was but we were a little out of touch with his music. She is the one who introduced me to the song, “To Sir with Love” from the movie.
 Over the years, Sis survived being seven, the year she was supposed to die. She survived being twelve, another fateful year supposedly. In fact, I never really thought of her as anything other than our cousin. She joined us every year camping. She only had a manual wheelchair, though an electric wheelchair would have given her great independence. I am not even sure if these were available back then. Only when one’s arms are no longer able to propel a manual wheelchair, is one able to get an electric wheelchair prescribed. Sometimes Aunt Thelma would put her on a lawn chair in a few inches of water so she could feel the water across her legs. We would all swim around her. As I look back, we were a big part of her life as there was no inclusion at school. She attended Cerebral Palsy School in Portland. Life has changed in many great ways for those with disabilities today. Imagine if my cousin had the internet!!! I think about that often especially that her world of friends was very limited. I think how amazing it is that my son, who has very limited hand use, can set the accessibility function so that a tiny keyboard is displayed onto the computer monitor and he uses a mouse to type. With these capabilities, he has communication with his friends through Instant Messaging. How I wish my cousin could have seen all of this. Her world would have been so different.
 Sis joined us on many family outings. When we were little, we all took a trip to Bar Harbor where we were able to witness some shipbuilders building a wooden ship. Sis sat in the van and waited as we walked up to the building. When I look back, I am certain that the building was not accessible as that may be why she was in the van. Also pushing a wheelchair in the snow and the fact it was cold may have not been in her best interest. It was winter. I have a picture from that day of my brother and me wearing our winter coats. Sitting in the van was also not in her best interest that day. At the time, I was maybe five years old, and my brother four. We began our walk to the building when my brother nagged my father nonstop to go back for his mittens. My brother nagged and nagged until my father, frustrated, turned around to run back to get the mittens. He discovered that the emergency brake had let loose in the van and my cousin was inside hollering. My father ran and jumped into the moving van to stop it in time before it slipped into some water. My father was beside himself that had he not gone back, the outcome would have been much different. He credits my brother’s cold hands with changing the outcome of that day.
Anyway, my cousin had some enjoyment in her life as she was a camper at Pine Tree camp in Rome, Maine. Each year, I look at all the photos across the camp walls and look for her in at least three of the pictures [1960-1963]. My own son is a camper there as well. See www.pinetreesociety.org  if you want to learn more about the camp and the tree house they have built for wheelchairs.
Once when I was maybe 7 or 8, we were on a visit to see Sis at her home on Broadway. I walked down the long hallway to her room. I told her how I had seen the movie ‘Heidi’ and that Heidi helped Clara to walk. Clara was the girl who used a wheelchair. Miraculously, Clara was able to walk. Well if it was good enough for Clara, I wanted my own cousin to walk too. I would help her so she would not be afraid to fall. She was shocked that I would mention such silly things. I think I scared her a little as she yelled at me and told me that she could not walk. I really just wanted her to be ok and when I think about that, I suppose it was all out of love for her, as kooky as that seems.
When I was in High School, my Aunt became very sick with cancer and she had to place her daughter in a nursing home. It was a very sad time. My cousin Steve was away in the military. When I look back, it was especially sad that Sis would no longer have her mom. I remember wishing that I had a car or a way to get around, as I would have loved to see her more often. She lived there a few years and then she became very ill. She died at age 31. Her life was a difficult one, but she had lots of love. She struggled and she was triumphant in her will to live. I was most sad to think of all she had been through in her short life and these were my thoughts at her funeral. I was grateful to have her as a cousin and I think she taught me many things, one of them the courage to love and accept her. There is not a day that passes when I don’t think of the bond between Sis and her mom. I will always be close to her brother, Steve, as he was a good brother to her. Sometimes siblings have great difficulty when another sibling needs so much medical attention. I hope to devote more stories on how my own family has coped with the challenges along the way, in the event the stories may help others.
Yes, a drive by her old home brought back many memories. I wish that she could have had her own ramp.

 

 

The Burren, County Clare: This area is fascinating; filled with Megalithic tombs, Holy Wells, underground Caverns, Ring Forts and disappearing lakes. I would have to say that this area was my favorite area of Ireland. This was also my favorite picture from my trip in 2006.

Ireland
 2002

Ireland. I have been thinking about the land across the sea since I was very little. My grandmother always said she would like to take me there. It never happened in her lifetime but I did have the good fortune of traveling there twice.
 In 2002, I went with my mother-in –law, and her sister. Also on the trip was a family named Martin who have been several times and have also rented cars so we really saw the countryside. Their family consisted of six altogether. We rented a small van which held 7 of us comfortably and we also rented a small car. Before we left, we decided which places were most important to us so we could plan our trip accordingly. What I found interesting was that we stayed in hotels each night, and only had accommodations the first night. From there on, we had the hotel clerk make our arrangements for the following night for us. I am not certain this was customary, but the clerks had no problem with the request. We wanted to try to find places that could hold all nine of us. Our trip was for 10 days. Many of the hotels had bars inside them which stayed open all night if you were a guest there. In Killarney, we stayed at The Brooks which I highly recommend. It was quaint and the clerk went into his kitchen to get us a pint as we chatted by the fire. Many of the hotels only have hot water in the morning and late in the evening. They are very much into conserving energy and in some places I was told they had a meter outside where you deposit your change to have electricity. I did not see many paper items such as matches, napkins, condiments in the restaurants. There is not much waste there and that was impressive. I would also recommend to frequent pubs with signs which advertise Traditional Irish Music. This is where you will experience the pub atmosphere. If you go in October like we did, it was very chilly, lots of rain and the pub was a welcome place where we could stand by the fireplaces and smell the turf and feel its warmth.
 We landed in Limerick at Shannon Airport, and headed for Killarney, a manageable drive after a long flight. We headed for Blarney Castle where none of us kissed the Blarney Stone, much to the dismay of the fellow who wanted to hold our legs. The trip was one adventure after another as by the end of our trip, we had visited 30 pubs. That is 3 pubs each day. We ate breakfast, lunch and dinner at the pubs.
 One day we went to Ballyvaughn near the Burren and stayed at a very nice hotel with a restaurant and pub. While eating dinner, I penned a song onto a napkin. I told everyone in our group that I had written a song about our trip. They all wanted to hear it. I sang it to the tune of an Irish song. We stayed there about 2 hours when the entertainment came for the evening. He got all set up and the room was filling up. The microphone was turned on and he introduced himself. He tells us a bit about the songs he will play and thanks us all for attending. Then he said as he looked at me, “I hope before the evening is over that my friend in the back row will come up later and sing us the song she wrote.” My mouth dropped. I had no idea how he knew I had written a song and looked to my friends to see who the rat was. They swore they told him nothing. He was waiting for an answer from me……. OK I could do it, I nodded, but a bit unsure about the whole thing. Later he called me up to the stage. First I asked him how he knew I had written a song. He said he had been there all afternoon. It was a comical song I had written about Guinness all that goes with a pint of Guinness. I asked the audience for permission to sing this song as it had 2 objectionable words. They were not terrible words, just descriptive. I told them and they said, “Sing us your song”. As I sang, looking like a nut of course, the whole crowd was very quiet. They were truly a good audience. After I finished, applause broke out and the dancing commenced. I had a fellow ask me to dance and a few pints were sent to my table, which I gave away. That was a fun time.
 The most exciting part of that trip was a visit to Corrandulla to Clarke’s Pub. It was a very cold and rainy day. There were a few older men at the bar and they were very happy to see these visitor’s from away. They asked what brought us to Corrandulla. I told them my family had lived there many years ago and I wanted to go to check out the cemetery nearly. We had a drink and a bite to eat and sat by the fire. One fellow sang to us in Gaelic. He was very involved with theatre and gave me a copy of a play called ‘Thy Will Be Done” which was excellent. I read it on the plane ride home. Tim Martin and I drove down to the cemetery in the rain and he watched me run all over the cemetery to see if my ancestors were there. I found a few of them and took many photos in the rain. That was the highlight of my trip. I was thrilled to be there, rain of not. It rained every day we were in Ireland. Some of our group had gone to the Beleek factory in Co. Donegal, near Northern Ireland.
 We also visited Dingle Peninsula which I highly recommend. I think the scenery took my breath away especially the drive around Slea Head. If you want to find good areas to shop, I think Killarney, Co. Kerry and Galway City, Co. Galway are probably the best places to find Irish goods such as jewelry, linens, maps and music which is where I spent most of my money. Keeping in touch was difficult by phone. I had a phone card, however always had to go through an operator. A card for 1 hour maybe was really good for 10 minutes. I don’t think cell phones are too practical as you would need to convert the voltage, same as if you had a video camera. I bought a digital camera with a couple of memory cards and lots of batteries. The Internet cafes are excellent. I had no problem finding them and they cost about 1 Euro for 15 minutes. This trip was a blast….much different from my second trip where I rarely visited a pub. My second trip was spent in hostels for the most part and the experience was very interesting.

Miss M. Louise Hunt, Assistant Librarian
Central Library
‘Conscientious Objector’
April 1918 / Portland, Oregon

Elanor Catharine (Kit) Hunt on left, with sister, Marietta Louise Hunt – circa 1886
Photo courtesy of Polly Carmichael

Marietta Louise Hunt was born in Portland, Maine in 1876. She lived in 1880 at 22 Beckett St., now O’Brien St. She was born to George Albert Hunt [from Unity, Me] and Annie Rebecca Roberts [Saco St., Westbrook, Me.] She had two older brothers, Edward Marshall Hunt and William Payson Hunt. She also had a sister named Anne Roberts Hunt [Mrs. Frances] Fassett who lived in Washington State. There was also a brother named George Fessenden Hunt. George A. Hunt ran a dry goods business with the same name on Commercial Street, near the bottom of Moulton Street in Portland. Marietta Louise Hunt graduated from Portland High School in 1894 as a classmate of Governor Percival Baxter’s. According to the records from Drexel Library School, she may have taught at Portland High School for two years. She graduated from Drexel Library School, Pennsylvania in 1901.
I have been a genealogist for 34 years and often wondered what happened to the Hunt’s of Portland/Falmouth, Maine. (M.) Louise Hunt was a first cousin to my great grandfather. She used her middle name as there were many women named Marietta in the family. It was not until I discovered more details of her life did I know that she died the year that I was born, 1960. I found this info through the diary transcriptions left by William Roberts, her uncle. One entry in 1913 stated that M. Louise Hunt was on a visit from Portland, OR.
I performed a search on the Internet search engine, Google, using M. Louise Hunt and Portland, Oregon.  Much to my surprise, a web page from the Oregon Historical Society popped up onto my screen. Captivated by this fascinating find, I read to find that she had lost her job in 1918 for a ‘crime’ that she committed. She finally resigned after public outcry and hysteria fueled by her refusal to participate in the purchase of Liberty Bonds, which helped to fund World War 1. The position she held as Assistant Librarian, under Miss Isom, paid $175.00 per month, a substantial income for that time period. Immediately, I contacted the Oregon Historical Society which was eager to assist me in my quest for more information. I asked about newspapers as I had to have copies of anything regarding the whole ordeal. I was not prepared at the amount of info. I would receive. There were two newspapers and they both carried articles everyday regarding the story for about eight days. I even have an editorial cartoon about the incident. Also included was a very long article in the Oregon Historical Society’s Quarterly, dated 1970 entitled, “The Conscientious Objector”.
Interestingly enough, I checked the month of April’s newspapers for Portland, Maine after she returned to Maine, only a week later and there was NO mention of the ordeal. The newspaper pages were filled with advertisements reminding readers of their obligation to support the War by their purchase of Liberty Bonds. I also read a short write-up about a man who was tarred and feathered in Michigan as a result of his refusal to purchase Liberty Bonds. The country had four Liberty Bond Campaigns, two in 1917 and two in 1918. At this time in History, there was overwhelming pressure to remain loyal to government and to become active with the War Effort.  One of the largest efforts on the home front was to ‘Sell’ the War to Americans, through public advertisements, speeches and public art. There were many relief organizations and the War Bonds helped support those, including the American Red Cross. It was a time of great patriotism which swept across the Nation. Liberty Temples were built in some cities as a place to support the need for the marketing of the War.
‘Born for Liberty: A History of Women in America’ written by Sara M. Evans is filled with information from that time period. The book explained how Socialists, Radicals and Pacifists, all who opposed the war suffered unprecedented loss of civil liberties as well as freedom of speech. There were many who were incarcerated. [See Montana Sedition Project]. Susan B. Anthony’s successor, Carrie Chapman Catt, believed the Women’s movement would risk a great deal by opposing the War, so she asked that they diligently for Suffrage and also the War relief. This group supported a hospital in France, knitted socks for the soldiers and collected canned goods. They joined efforts with the Red Cross and they participated in the Liberty Bond Campaigns by purchasing them. I found this particularly of interest since M. Louise Hunt was a single woman, as many were in my family at that time; she was alone in her outspoken opposition at the Central Library. Only one person on the Library Board voted to terminate her. The rest supported her right to not participate in the Liberty Bond Campaign.
The book by Sara M. Evans stated that nearly half of all college educated women in the late nineteenth century never married. Women had greater opportunity than before to be self sustaining. Economic Independence was an option for many educated women and many chose that route.
A brief summary of events that week in April 1918 was that a Librarian, an employee on the public payroll, was forced to resign from her position as a response to public pressure towards the Library Board. There was a meeting to discuss the incident where Miss Hunt had been approached by Mr. William Bryon, Special Agent from the U.S. Dept. of Justice, and President W.B. Ayer from the Portland Library Association at the library. This matter came to light when Mr. Locke of Lang & Co. and Mr. Wilson of Hartman & Thompson were detailed by the Liberty Loan executives to ascertain why Miss Hunt had failed to subscribe to any of the Liberty Bond issues. The Following Incident transpired after Liberty loan fellows reported the incident to the Liberty Temple. The Head Librarian, Miss Isom, referred all questions to be directed towards Miss Hunt regarding her refusal to participate in the Liberty Bond Campaigns. In Miss Hunt’s office, she was interrogated by the legal firms mentioned above. Questioned why she had not participated in the 1st and 2nd campaigns, she replied that she was ill. Asked about the 3rd campaign, she replied that she did not believe in war and refused to support it. She was then interrogated about her citizenship. She answered that she came from Portland, Maine. She was asked if she did not think it was every citizen’s duty to support the War and keep our Army in France to defend her freedom. Her response was that she did not think she put patriotism above her personal feelings and that she had spoken to her attorney, Richard Montague who advised her that she was not obligated to buy Liberty Bonds. She then asked her interrogators if they were trying to coerce her into buying Bonds. They denied coercing her but they replied that it was every citizen’s duty to support the War. The Government was only asking for a loan from her at a good rate of interest. Her reply was that the rate of 4 ½ %, that some people were subscribing to the Bonds for the sole purpose of a business investment rather than a patriotic one. She was asked if she knew what the Huns were doing in France and Belgium, the cruelties they practiced with women being ravished and did she not think she should protect OUR BOYS who were fighting to protect her?
Her reply was that she was willing to suffer anything rather than buy a Bond… and if the Government wanted it, they could come and take it. She would never give them any money or loan them any voluntarily. When the incident was reported to Liberty Temple, the U.S. District Attorney, Bert Haney, was notified.
Haney’s reply was written in the newspaper.(4.12.1918)” You can quote me directly as saying emphatically that no person with such unloyal and unpatriotic tendencies, as the woman in question, should be permitted to hold a public office, irrespective of whether he is in his legal rights or not.” Mayor Baker said, “The library board must act quickly to clear the stain from the name of otherwise a loyal State.” The library held an initial meeting to deal with the serious charge against Miss Hunt. The board’s vote was 14-1, with the majority voting to support her right to refuse the purchase of Liberty Bonds. One person, Mr. Woodward, wanted her terminated from her job. Mr. W. B. Ayer, president of the library board claimed he had a conversation with Miss Isom regarding Miss Hunt. Miss Isom stated that she never heard Miss Hunt utter any disloyal or unpatriotic sentiments. She was highly efficient and this was the first complaint against her. When the public outcry became so great, various meetings were held around the city, in support of termination from her position. As a result, the Liberty Loan Committee pressured the Central Library to hold another vote. The meeting was chaos with accusations flying around the room. In the end, Miss Hunt handed in her resignation as she did not want the Library to suffer the consequences of her actions. She had great respect for that Institution and what it represented to the Community.
To give an example of the public outcry, one meeting was held which was largely attended by Men of wealth and stature. It was unanimous that steps should be taken immediately to oust Miss Hunt from her position. The paper reported one banker as saying, “If the Library officials refuse to take action, I am in favor of taking legislative or other action to Deprive the Institution of any financial support by taxpayers.” Liberty Loan Headquarters received many calls and complaints, in person, regarding her refusal to buy Bonds.
Some folks wondered how she could be a Conscientious Objector and still be on the government payroll. One article stated that the place for Miss Hunt to hold her beliefs were in the privacy of her closet. Upon further reading, I have found that some of our Country’s learning institutions even stopped teaching German during this period in time. Supporting the War was a moral issue. One newspaper article mentioned that she was a native of Maine and she had an unyielding and tenacious New England conscience and was most offensively UN-American. Some felt that she could not go anywhere, that she would be known and her record would follow her. She left Oregon forever but did secure employment at a library in Michigan and later retired from a library in Racine, Wisconsin in 1940.
 The last few articles from the Oregon newspapers that week were filled with terrible comments about her. One columnist wrote,”What patriotism is in normal Americans is, in Miss Hunt, a perfect vacuum.” The journalism reflected opinion rather than fact that week. She was compared to “A Man without a Country” and some felt she was guilty of treason.
One newspaper dated April 16th, 1918 stated that, “By tending her resignation at once, the assistant librarian rescued the library board from a very unpleasant and uncomfortable situation. In taking her leave, Miss Hunt praised the library board for its ‘brave stand for freedom of conscience’. Miss Hunt having separated herself from public service, the incident, so far as she is concerned, may be considered closed. The library is under severe criticism in most quarters-for refusing to reverse or modify its ‘brave stand for freedom of conscience’. It was also written that all involved from board members to well respected community members all acted in what they believed to be sound principles of political freedom.
The Hunt incident incited a series of events where every public servant’s patriotism was questionable. It became a’ witch hunt’ of sorts. The County Commissioner’s office planned to have all public employees demonstrate their 100% allegiance to ‘Uncle Sam’. The Oregon Journal (April 18th, 1918) reported that, “It was gratifying and reassuring to witness the intensified spirit of almost universal loyalty and Americanism that has been displayed in Portland in the library case” In the end, Miss Hunt continued to travel and was very independent. Her obituary of Oct.1960, revealed no mention of her troubles in Portland, Oregon that year in 1918, but rather her academic accomplishments and her love of travel, having visited Europe several times. I cannot help but wonder what sort of headlines she would make today, if any at all. Portland, Maine was the home to such a woman of interest, and to think it was a marvelous discovery with the use of the Internet. I also contacted the Central Library and was sent a brief note explaining they had no information for me. That was a disappointment . Recently, I found that she is buried in Evergreen Cemetery, Portland, Maine.

 

  Sources include the newspapers of Portland Oregon [The Evening Telegram/The Morning Oregonian /Oregon Journal] from the week of April 13th, 1918. Oregon Historical Society Quarterly, Sept. 1970, vol.212 pages 212-245 also ‘Born for Liberty’ by Sara Evans and lastly Portland, Maine newspaper [April 18th, 1918 edition]
 

A Lesson from Fourth Grade
Redbank School

 This story is one I submitted back in 1997 to SPCASA Connector Newsletter.
                      It was published Oct. /Nov. 1997- Volume 14

Fourth Grade was the year I remember best. I was in Mrs. Schofield's class at Redbank School. The academic year was 1969-70. We had a new boy join our class that year who was visibly different from the rest. He needed crutches to get around. I noticed that he was very shy and spent recess alone. I chose to befriend him.
By summer, he moved. I thought about him often and wondered how he was doing. We were both in High School now. Once while driving in Portland, I saw him outside his home. He was now using a wheelchair. I knew I needed to write to him.
To my surprise, I received a letter from him. He remembered me. I've carried him in my heart all these years as a gentle reminder of the strength of the human spirit. Two years ago, he passed away. [I have a memoriam and his letter still] I realized that I had been a good friend to him and I found comfort in that. I still think of him.
I thought of him when I found my son had Muscular Dystrophy. I knew that my son would experience the same struggles. I am grateful for that fourth grade memory because it taught me that people are just people. They all want acceptance and friendship.
With that memory of my grammar school friend, I know the importance of talking to children. As I push my son around in his wheelchair for a walk around my neighborhood, I answer the children's questions. One child asks, "Why doesn't he know how to walk?" My reply always includes a smile and an honest answer. "He does know how to walk. His legs won't let him walk. It is the same if you need glasses because your eyes won't let you read without them." They are always satisfied with my answer. This, I feel, will be beneficial to my son because he will see that I am dealing with the questions. I am trying to model for him the power he will need in life. He will need to rise above his disability, and show the world who he is. If we as adults talk to our children about these issues, we can instill in them the importance of being a friend and having compassion for others.

Suzan Roberts Norton
In memory of my childhood friend, Dana Rush

                                        

                                                                 William Roberts [1843-1913 ]                                         
                His mother warned him that he could catch a cold after he got his whiskers shaved and a Haircut.
                                                This photos was taken after he got his hair cut in Waterloo, IA.
                                                        Photo Courtesy of Polly Carmichael

Often I drive from Saco Street in Westbrook, Maine for a three mile distance across  Route 25 in Gorham. I am thinking about this road as William Roberts, an ancestor of mine who wrote a lifetime’s worth of diaries that spanned from 1867-1913. He lived on Saco Street near present day Eisenhower Road and traveled this road to visit his sister, Mrs, Randall [Frances] Elder. Frances lived across the road from the municipal building in Gorham in a farm built by the Elders in the late 1700’s. This farm was burned in 2002 by Gorham FD. I am interested in this stretch of road as I believe that there is not much today that William would recognize.     

            As he is traveling down Saco Street, heading for Gorham, he passes the Old Conant Place which is still occupied by descendants of the original family. The next familiar home is the house was most recently occupied by Century 21 Real Estate, formerly the Dewitt Manor, and originally owned by the Rines family. A half mile down the road is the Mosher Farm which is on the corner of the road which heads to Sebago Lake and Route 25. Today Beal’s Ice Cream is across the street from Mosher Farm. The Old Richardson Place is the next recognizable farm today that William traveled past on this stretch of road. There are no trees on this road that were here when William was alive. In fact the whole population of the world has changed nearly twice since his birth in 1843.

            He was one of seven siblings with six reaching adulthood. He lived in the same house nearly all his life. The world that William lived in was a different world in many ways. Farmers were tied to agriculture, watched the seasons, annual waterfall, and the heavens were watched closely. Everyone knew how to use their animals to help with labor, from using horses to help with lumber and getting it out of the woods, to using oxen to help move buildings.Chopping wood, tending crops, harvesting hay which took all of August, consumed a great deal of time. William even grafted trees and did so for  man named Skillins down by Long Creek in South Portland. Life was filled with chores, family duties, and there was little idle time. Each Sunday, William attended Church, sometimes twice and usually two denominations. Reading the newspaper and visiting were also reserved for Sundays. Superstition was not uncommon. The infant mortality rate was very high. My family had an antidote for scarlet fever, and smallpox and other ailments. One of the ingredients was foxglove. Neighbors and family relied on each other because that was how they survived. Life was very slow indeed.

            It is fascinating that he wrote his diaries with the intent that one day someone would read them as he left us a window to his life. Reading the diaries was not comparable to reading a book, as a book is much faster. As I read, I had to remind myself that he did not know what his future held, or what hardships lay in store for him: He did not know the ending. It was just like life, however if I wanted to look ahead to reference a death date, I usually became upset afterwards because I really should not have read ahead as I felt like it was as if I wanted to know my own future. One example was when his friend Sylvanus S. Hatch, a new father, lost his baby at the age of three months.. I had an emotional attachment to the characters in William’s story and it brought a tear to my eye.

William was most interested in world events, having gone Westward twice in his life. Written on Sept . 5th, 1869-Waterloo, IA, “ Didn’t go to meeting but read some in the Bible. Went up to where the bridge went off and saw two horses come near to drowning that they both died .” Once he wrote in his diary bout the huge Fire in Boston in 1872. Within a week he went to Portland and boarded a boat with his brother John [Both men served 9 month voluntary enlistments in 25th Maine Co. E, Civil War- 1862-63] While on this trip , he visited his friend George Browne from Westbrook, who was admitted to the hospital in Boston, before William left for Portland. In fact, William wrote that he accompanied George to the hospital. George died a few days later from Smallpox. His body was sent back to Westbrook for burial in Saccarappa Cemetery and the grave overlooks Beaver Pond. William writes that he becomes concerned he may have Smallpox as he is not feeling right. He starts off with an excruciating headache from the back of the head and he calls the doctor. The doctor is not sure he has Smallpox but confirms later as the headache is followed with severe vomiting. The diary entries were empty for two weeks or so and then he begins to feel better. He details how his mother also comes down with Smallpox and she survives. On Jan. 3rd, 1873, William wrote,

“ We washed some of our Smallpox clothes. Father did most of it but Mother and I helped a little and Charley helped hang them out”  [Charley was his brother who married Ella Whitney in later years and  moved to Edes Falls Road in Harrison.]

William’s diaries detail his time as Overseer of The Poor one year. The Poorhouse was also on Saco Street next to the John Roberts’ farm. He tells how one person at the Poorhouse was sent back to Canada at the town’s expense of a few dollars. He was very curious about people from different nations. He wrote of working side by side with a Frenchman and once wrote of meeting a  ‘Prussian by birth’ on one of his trips out West. His world was changing very fast. I know he marveled at his changing world but not sure he knew the full extent of how the Industrial Revolution and the Westward Expansion [Manifest Destiny] would change the world around him. Reading the paper once a week is so much different than being bombarded with images 24/7 on television, radio, and the internet. Our ever changing world could be a cause of more anxiety.  I am not sure we can keep up with all the stimulation.

The diaries have revealed more family clues than I ever imagined I would find. I have found ancestors in Australia, relatives on the West Coast and even the whereabout of William’s father’s sister, Harriet who was age seven in the census of 1820. One diary entry mentioned he had witnessed a man named Gustin digging up the remains of Uncle Otis’s wife[above mentioned Harriet] and child in 1888. She had been dead for 40 years. Her daughter had been eighteen months at death. The remains were buried in Saccarappa Cemetery overlooking the ravine. I was fortunate to find the burial location and an early transcription which had dates as the dates were illegible when I finally found it.

   One day, a diary entry gave a vivid description of his cousin Daniel Dole driving his wagon hurriedly from Stroudwater [near the burial ground], anxious to get some help as his father ,Moses Dole, had shot himself. William left his duties on his farm to assist his cousin’s family for two weeks, noting that Uncle Moses was buried two days after the incident. I am not sure if it was accidental or not. He also helped  care for his sick nephew for three weeks at his sister’s home on Beckett Street, Munjoy Hill which is now O’Brien Street. He went where he was needed. William’s father Charles worked until he was nearly 92 years, cutting trees and doing heavy manual labor. One article said he cut and stacked six cords of wood in one day as he was an expert ax man and skilled with a saw. Concerning Charles’ old age, William wrote, “Father is in bed with old age” Charles never sat alone at night during this time, as family and friends kept vigil by his bedside for three months. William recorded all their names.He wrote of his wife having a stroke and could not move in her bed. The doctor came and told him that she would be dead in two days. The doctor was right. She died at home. William’s world is gone but I am fortunate to be a witness to his diary entries he left behind.

My name is Suzan Roberts Norton, and I was born the eldest child of John and Patricia O’Donnell Roberts in 1960. I lived for a short six months with my grandparents on Anthoine Street and then to my parents’ first home at 34 Powers Road, South Portland. We moved in 1965 across the street to 160 Devereaux Circle [3 bedroom, top floor] as my mother was expecting her fourth child. I recall the move as everything was put into a station wagon and moved across the street. I sat on the open back door of the station wagon as my dad inched across the street. We lived in Redbank from 1960-1980, when my parents bought a house on the corner of Dawson and Broadway. My dad started his own business in 1974 down at Long Creek which is where the present Home Depot is in South Portland. While I was in High School, I worked with him whenever I could. I would walk over there after school. He was there maybe five years when he became adamant about buying a home. I was one of four children, my brother David born in 1961, my sister Sharon born in 1964 and my sister Carol born in 1965. We have very strong roots and we were all brought up in Redbank.

I married in 1985 and decided I would like to move back to an affordable rent in a nice neighborhood with lots of kids. You guessed it…Redbank would be my choice. I moved upstairs from some folks I knew very well, Mr. and Mrs. Wendell Lewis, as I attended school with their children and my brother played sports with their sons. I was familiar with many of the neighbors already, like the Murphy’s and the Waterhouse’s. We stayed a year or so when my husband enlisted in the US Navy after a short separation from the Navy. This took my husband, my baby Michael and me, to Panama City Beach, Florida. This is where our other son John {J.T.) was born. After that tour was over we came back to Maine briefly and then my husband joined the US Army and I was thrilled to find we would be going to Bad Kissingen, Germany and later to Fort Bliss, El Paso Texas. Eventually we came back to Maine and we moved back to Redbank, only this time we lived across the street from the Lewis family at 36 Wainwright Circle East. I chose to stay home with my kids and do some side work, signs, calligraphy and I even babysat my sister’s kids and my cousin’s kids. I was very involved in scouting also.

 I took a position at Redbank School only mornings and during recess, maybe 10-15 hours per week. I have wonderful memories of the staff there. They were an exceptional group of people, a real team. It must have been very difficult for them when the school closed. It was a privilege to work at the school each day and the school was dear to my heart. Perhaps a year passed when Mary Marsh asked me if I would be interested in a full time position at Kaler School, working as an Ed Tech. I interviewed for the position and was delighted when they wanted me to join their staff. Kaler was also an old school with many families not unlike our own families in Redbank. The parents were very involved in their children’s education and it was also a small school, maybe only 108 children were enrolled that first year I was there [1995] It was nice that some of the Redbank families I remembered as a child were parents of children who attended Kaler. I worked at Kaler from 1995-1998 and I enjoyed every minute of it. The kids are wonderful; our investments and our treasures. All the time I was there, there was talk of four elementary schools closing sometime in the near future and Redbank and Kaler were on that list. The closing of these little neighborhood schools was met with great resistance. I heard 2008 would be the year, but I did not know it would happen so fast. Who would have ever thought the Skillin School would be accommodating all the Redbank Kids? I heard a great deal of opposition to this as well. The neighborhood as we all knew it would be forever changed as the schools closed. Never again will kids be so close the first twelve years of their lives to be mainstreamed into middle school together. Will we ever have those close bonds with elementary friends again? I still have many friends from elementary school and I call them on their birthdays. Anyhow a change was about to happen, and sometimes change is good, but I did not feel that way when I saw the empty lot where our school once stood.

I saw the news one evening and saw Jim Dow being interviewed about the school’s closing and demolition. He is the manager at Redbank Village and gave a nice interview. I immediately drove over there twice that week to take pictures. My real motivation came when I “googled” Redbank School  and saw ONLY Jim’s interview. I was shocked I could find nothing else regarding our neighborhood. I did find one story at the Maine State Archives website regarding a recollection by Bob Dyke who lived on a farm where present day Country Gardens is located. He was a witness to the plane Crash in the 1940’s down behind the gas station at Redbank near where Olde English Village is located. See www.redbankstreets.com [Ruth Conner’s site] for more info on this plane crash. I felt an overwhelming responsibility to do something about collecting some sort of living history of our neighborhood of Redbank. I posted all my grammar school pictures on www.mainetoday.com under South Portland. At first, I thought the folks at Mainetoday.com would think I was nuts and so would all the readers. Anyhow something wonderful happened. Ruth Conner posted a comment and we began to talk about what we could do. I told her that maybe it was up to us to start preserving something that is representative of the neighborhood. With the help of everyone, it has been a huge success. So here we are today, keeping friends in touch and sharing recollections. What could possibly be better than that? Our school may be gone, but I am forever grateful that we have started something so that we are all keeping the neighborhood memories alive.Redbank School stood for Community, Family Life, Education, and it was where we learned life’s earliest lessons. In our neighborhood, not only did we all live together, but we went to school together and we played together outside of school. As years passed, many generations of families stayed in Redbank, a place where people relied on each other and felt safe in their homes. Today I live on 114 in Standish, near Sebago Lake , but it is not comparable to the place I grew up in, as I do not know my neighbors, because the world is different today. Most families have two parents working, have busier lifestyles and the world is driven by technology. Let’s stay connected and continue to contribute to our blogs. 

 

Photo courtesy of Polly Carmichael

 

This picture was one of several in one of the old family leather hinged albums which sat in the parlor in the Roberts' Family Homestead built early 1800's on Saco Street , in Westbrook, Maine. Had it not been for the marking on the back of the photograph, combined with information I found in William Roberts diaries dating from 1867-1913 and clues painted on some old handpainted portraits of children dating mid 1800's, along with an old letter dated 1925.... I might never have known that I had relatives go to Australia in the 1830's roughly.
        This photograph could be a former Westbrook native, since the back is marked  A. Wooley Studio, 42 MacQuarrie Street, Hobart, Australia, I am almost certain it could be William Roberts who was born in 1807 to William and Betsy Hatch Roberts, both buried in Saccarappa Cemetery in Westbrook, Maine.  I had seen a mention of him in the 1820 census. After that, it was as if he disappeared. He 'disappeared' until I contacted my relative who still lives in the family homestead. She gave me a few items that I found extremely interesting. She also allowed me to copy all the family pictures in the albums.One item was a letter dated 1925 sent from Australia to cousin William Roberts, author of the diaries. This William would have been a nephew to the William in Australia. The letter was penned by a thirteen year old grandchild of a woman who was dictating the letter. The old woman who was dictating the letter was a Harriet and I could not read her last name ,as it looked like Gergison or Ferguson. A depiction of this Harriet is above in 1846 when she was only 6 months old. {Odd how her brother Charles is shown wearing a dress at age 3}
        So the mystery unravels and I become obsessed with finding out who the letter is from especially since it never was read by the recipient as he had been dead for two years when it arrived. I believe the recipient's daughter felt the letter was important enough so that it remained in the family papers until I was fortunate enough to have it given to me, along with two handpainted miniature paintings of children named Charles and Harriet Roberts. On the backs of these portraits were penned the birthdates and the dates the portraits were painted. I had seen those family names before but the dates did not match with the people I knew.
        The diaries indicated that William had received letters on occasion from a cousin Harriet in Australia and along with his diary entry, he posted her address. Now I was not too familiar with what resources were available in Australia regarding genealogy, however I did find that there exists a resource called the Sands Index. This is a reverse directory in which you can look up an address to see who lived at a certain location in a certain year. The world wide web is a fascinating place as there are so many who will help you. I was very fortunate to find a librarian who answered one of my queries. I would also like to say that I have on many occasions taken photos for folks from around the world of cemetery pics and even looked things up for them. It is not uncommon that others will help you in your quest for information. The librarian told me the name was Gergison, not Ferguson and that the woman was listed as a dressmaker. This was a great find. After receiving this info, I immediately went to www.rootsweb.com and clicked on the message boards. I searched for the surname Gergison and found only one worldwide and it was in Australia. After sending a few queries, I told the person I may have something they would be interested in(Portraits and Letter) Finally after two months, I received a reply from a woman who said that her sister in law was the genealogist and she would forward her my name. A friendship began as the woman who was the genealogist had copies of many old birth records, in fact one matched the exact date on the back of the miniature portrait of the little boy named Charles Sefton Roberts born 1843. I have never been so excited to find this sort of information and to think a little detective work and the use of today's technology, we were able to solve the mystery. The diaries also mentioned a visit in 1869 by a Charles S. Roberts to the family home on Saco Street. William was told by his father, Charles, to give Charles S. Roberts a bank draft for 250 dollars, which I believe was his inheritance money. His diary entry was rather short and I sensed he was annoyed. Charles S. Roberts, the recipient of the 250 dollars, was the son of William in Australia ,whom I found later through my Australian friend had died in 1860. This Charles S. Roberts did not stay in Westbrook very long as the following day, he and a Saco Street neighbor, Sylvanus S. Hatch (from the Hatch/Libby House) headed West. I think 'West' was in and around the Ohio area as Sylvanus married a woman from Ohio. Sylvanus died in 1914 and is buried in the Hatch lot at Saccarappa Cemetery. William , of the diaries was most interested in the world around him and wanted to head West also. He left his duties on the farm and headed West exactly one week after Sylvanus and his cousin Charles left for the West. I often wonder what happened to Charles S. Roberts as I never found him anywhere in the US Census after the diary entry. (I saw some Charles. S. Roberts' however none matching the age or nationality) William stayed in Waterloo Iowa for six months and headed there a year later and spent another year out West. He came back home to the family farm on Saco Street and was the caretaker of the farm. He was also a veteran of the Civil War(25th Me. Co E) and he is buried in Woodlawn Cemetery in Westbrook, Maine. He had one Daughter, Eleanor Roberts Waterhouse.

In June of 1891, she was fifteen, and headed for a new home with her Aunt and Uncle. She was leaving the only home she knew in Anbally, County Galway , the oldest of her 9 siblings. Two of her brothers were born after she left and she did not meet them until later in life. Anbally is situated halfway between Tuam ,Galway   on N17. She would be traveling to Boston aboard the S.S.Nestorian; one of the ships, which took many as the second mass exodus of immigrants from Ireland, began. Her name was Mary Anne Dolly, the daughter of William and Bridget Skerrittt Dolly. Her father was from Manchester,England and her mother was from one of the original fourteen tribes of Galway. Her father was born to Matthew and Mary Nolan Dolly. Her mother was the daughter of Michael and Mary Cunningham Skerritt. I believe she was named for both grandmothers. Mary would be one less burden for her family and perhaps would seek a great opportunity in this unknown world she was traveling to. I am the Gr. Granddaughter of her and I used to ask many questions of the older relatives. I was told that there may have been a couple of uncles here that they would meet. Upon researching many documents in the Portland, Maine area, I have found 2 Skerritt men who were here in the 1880’s. I believe they were brothers named William and Thomas Skerritt. These men could have been her mother’s brothers as they are the approximate age or perhaps her mother’s uncles. Irene Greaney, who was the daughter of Martin and Mary Skerritt Greaney whom Mary traveled with that month to America, relayed this information to me. Irene Greaney also told me that her parents were very close cousins. Another cousin in Holyoke, Marie Martin, told me that she heard from her mother that the Greaneys were in fact very close cousins and maybe left because they did not have their families’ blessing. I only know of one story relayed by Mary Dolly to her family as a child growing up in Ireland. I was told she remembered hiding in a field by a rock wall most of the day after she stole a yellow ribbon until her father came looking for her. I was in these fields when I visited Ireland and I remembered her story .I thought that these fields have not changed in a hundred or so years as some of these rock walls had trees growing out of them.

                The ship arrived in Boston and soon after Mary, with her Aunt and Uncle, traveled to Portland. She went to work in her Aunt and Uncle’s home as a domestic. Martin worked as a kiln setter according to the census of 1900. I am not sure she worked there very long as she was not too close to her Aunt. I have heard she was not too fond of her Aunt. Soon afterward Mary went to work at the Portland Star Match Factory on Commercial Street. It was here that she got sulfur poisoning in her jaw and had surgery to remove a part of her jaw. The surgery left her mouth with a twisted appearance. I am told she remembers maggots on her jaw, which were used to eat the poison. You must remember that it was not that long ago that ether was being used in surgical procedures. She worked here along with many other immigrants. Commercial Street was filled with much industry including the Hat factory; The Gas Works where the Skerritt brothers worked who came before Mary. There was Rufus Deering Lumber where she met her future husband Howard Elisha Fowler who came here from Havelock, NB, Canada and was seven years younger than her. Commercial Street was a bustling area crisscrossing with railroad tracks and horses and wagons. I have found Skerritt’s in the city directories who worked in the factories as molders, bunchers and straighteners. Portland was once again a cosmopolitan city as it had been before the Great Fire of July 4, 1866.Prior to the Civil War, Portland recorded some 4000 ships entering the harbor in the year 1863-64.

Soon thereafter, her 4 sisters began their journey to America. After 100 years some of the families have remained in contact. I found Mary and her sister Maggie (who came in 1895 according to the census) worked as domestics in Portland at 12 Arsenal St., Portland together. Maggie ended up marrying the son of the family she boarded with as a domestic, eventually becoming Mrs. Carr. The head of the household where Maggie worked was a bottler by trade. The 1901 census of Ireland showed that all Dolly family members except the 3 sisters who had already left for America. Before 1901, Kate (Mrs. Kerrigan), came to join her sisters, Mary and Maggie. I am told that Nora came around 1905. She would have been about 19 yrs. Only one sister Bridget (Delia) stayed in Ireland along with the 4 Dolly brothers. (Martin, Matthew, William and Michael) Later(1914) another sister Helen came to America. She married Martin Murphy (also from Ireland)and settled in the Lynn/ Dorchester area of Mass. and never had children. I am told that other neighbors from Ireland also settled in and around the same Mass. area named Lawless and Griffin. Mary visited some of them  by train throughout the years. Of the 4 Dolly brothers, Martin came to the states and spent money foolishly along with never writing to his parents according to a letter dated 1911 written by his Father to Mary.  I think he went back to Ireland and I do not think he married. Another brother William came to the America but also went back as he did not like it here. It was a huge disgrace to the family when someone came home I was told by an Irish relative. He was forced to marry in an arranged marriage and had 2 children with mental disabilities, one who is still alive in his late sixties. (As of 2002) This cousin in Ireland is the granddaughter of the late Bridget (Delia) Skerritt

Broderick. The Broderick’s were from Belclare, Co. Galway. She told me that her mother used to wash the laundry for the Dolly men. I heard from a Dolly on the Internet that Dolly means colorful warrior.

She married Howard Fowler on March 2, 1903 (according to INS records) after she had given birth to her first daughter Dorothy in Dec. 1902. Dorothy proved to be a big help to her mother in later years when Howard passed away from Spinal Meningitis at the Maine Eye and Ear Infirmary on March 25, 1909. His death certificate did not mention any children or his wife, but his obituary did. He left 3 daughters behind and a wife who would never remarry and worked as a domestic. Mary’s husband’s wake was in her home on Brackett Street. After the funeral, his body was taken to Havelock, NB to be buried in the Fowler lot. Dorothy remembered seeing her father in the casket as she was the oldest of her siblings, seven at the time. Dorothy was allowed to stay home while her mother worked. I am told the daughter Gladys ,who was 3 years younger than Dorothy, lived at St. Elizabeth’s orphanage for a short while along with my grandmother, Lyllian, who age one at the time of her father’s death in 1909.Gladys was 4 years old. St. Elizabeth’s was operated by the Diocese. Lyllian stayed at St.Elizabeth’s until she was old enough to attend St.Domenic’s Grammar School at the age of 8. Lyllian remembers her mother bringing food and visiting daily at the orphanage. It was always curious to me how my grandmother knew all her cousins and placed such importance on family, I think more so than her siblings. Since her life began at the orphanage, it is amazing how she placed so much importance on family. I remember being young and interested in family history.  I have but one baby picture of my grandmother. My grandmother and Gladys were very close. Dorothy and Lyllian raised their families in the same neighborhood around Brackett, and Tate Streets. 

I connected with descendants of the first William Skerritt who came to Portland. He came here in 1886 at the age of 21. He eventually became an American Citizen. The census of 1900 shows he married in 1888. According to his descendants, he sent for his sweetheart, Mary Burke, in Ireland. He and his wife had many children and also suffered many tragedies. Most of his family is buried in    Calvary Cemetery in South Portland ,Maine with some of the bodies being sent back from CT and VT. Mary worked as a live in maid at one of Portland’s home shortly after she arrived. Their first child was Mary, who died young of Typhoid fever on Mar., 22, 1905 in Bridgeport, CT.

  Their other children were Martin, Harry, William, Johnny, and Joe. When Martin was but 5 years old he was rolling his hoop and it fell into Portland Harbor or commonly referred to as Casco Bay. He went in after it and drowned. Shortly afterwards they moved to Boston where they had 2 more children, Jimmy and Helen. Helen died in Bridgeport CT on Feb. 20, 1923 of TB. After a few more years the family moved to Montpelier VT. In VT 4 other children followed, Francis, Arthur, Alice Mary and Cecilia. Francis died in Bridgeport on Sept. 9, 1918. Cecelia was the baby and she was born in 1909. Shortly thereafter, the family moved to Barre VT. William still worked for the Gas Company. Some of the older brothers went to CT to seek work. The house was getting quieter. On Oct 23, 1916, little Cecelia ran to meet her sister Alice who was coming home from school. She was struck and killed by the only car in Barre ,VT. After the death of her baby, Mary wanted to leave VT and be with her other sons in CT. William left the Gasworks after 30 years and moved his family to CT.

Marie Martin(87) from Holyoke was another cousin I met in 2003. Her grandparents were Martin and Honora Gardiner Skerritt. Martin was a sister to Mrs. Wm. Dolly of Anbally (mother to Mary Dolly Fowler) She has entertained Irish relatives her whole life and is a wealth of family knowledge. I was very lucky to connect with her after another distant cousin in Ireland gave me her address.Her mother Delia Skerritt left her employment in Indianapolis with Mrs. Benjamin Harrison (widow of US President) in 1922. She saved her money for a long time so that she could go back to Ireland to spend a year with her beloved family. During this time her parents spent one week at a resort in Salt Hill ,Galway with their daughter and had a photo taken. It was perhaps the only professional portrait that was taken of the both of them. Upon returning to Indianapolis she went to work for the Grover’s who also owned a summer cottage on Beach End, Eastern Point, Gloucester Ma. From here she left to marry a man named Patrick J. Ward on Oct. 1, 1924 in St. Anne’s Church. Their farms adjoined in Carrouruane, Claregalway, Co. Galway.

               

As we ring in the New Year, we are all thinking of certain goals we would like to reach. I believe multi-tasking and enjoying it, are the key to achieving your goals. A few examples come to mind, especially being a woman in my forties, I am trying to become more health conscious. My job consists of sitting at a desk on a switchboard.  I have often thought a stairmaster would be a great way to keep in shape as I took calls from customers, but that might be a little silly.  So I bought a giant Swiss therapeutic ball and I sit on it at work. I move from side to side, working on my waste, and I also do small crunches as I take phone calls. Then when I need more activity, I stand up and lean into the ball with one leg at a time, to stretch my legs and work the backs of my legs. I felt a little silly but everyone is quite accustomed to it now. Another woman brought hers to work also. We feel much better. A small change but I am doing a sort of multi-tasking. More water is also one of my little goals.

            Last evening I had a brainstorm. Our son uses an electric wheelchair, and this has taught us to find solutions. Prioritizing, and coordinating doctor appointments, and generally giving him the best possible care I can and also taking time for me and my husband…..well just lets say that many things get compromised because the day is still 24 hours long. Physical therapy is very important but I have not much time left for anyone near the end of the day. Someone comes to your home and trains you to do PT for your loved one. You will love this idea and I stumbled upon it quite by accident. I was whipping up dinner when I put on a Bruce Springsteen CD on my boom-box in the kitchen. I get a little wacky and start dancing. Well my son is annoyed with the music to begin with but I see him and decide to dance with him. He cannot lift his arms or legs so I grab his arms and then his legs and move to the music. I am getting exercise and he is getting his PT … and Dinner is getting cooked , but the best part is we are having fun… not like work. Of course he wouldn’t even look at me because he thinks I am a wack- job anyhow. That’s what I call Creative Problem Solving on a Daily Basis. We all do it from time to time.

            Now about all this multi-tasking, my advice is this: I don’t like to see folks brushing their teeth when they are driving or putting on make-up or even shaving. Get in the car and drive, and focus on being the best driver you can. A cousin of mine lost his life after living in a rehab hospital for a year with a serious brain injury as a result of someone changing a music CD when they were driving. All this technology is a huge distraction in our lives. Never ever would our ancestors have imagined that we would become part of the Machine. Each day we interact with machines, whether it involves a call to the bank, the operator, or ordering something online. The Industrial Revolution changed the world forever with the introduction of machinery replacing labor. I am amazed at the instant connections with people globally. I love to get mail 40x per day versus waiting for the mailman. I still love the handwritten letter though. Imagine how technology has changed our lives. Are our lives 100% better because of technology? Do we get any more done today than we did say 125 years ago?  I think we still work equally as hard to make ends meet as our ancestors did. The big difference was that the weather played a significant role in their livelihoods. They couldn’t get the hay ready until it was completely dry. Crops were bad some years because of the weather. I read a lifetime of diaries written by an ancestor dating 1867-1913. Each day, he wrote exactly what the temperature was and the even the type of snowfall. They had difficult lives filled with hard work as there was no wood fairy to chop their wood to keep their houses warm.  A trip to Raymond from Westbrook took 4 hours by wagon one way. The visit lasted 4 hours and then it was another 4 hours to get home. These trips were done on Sundays. Either a person stayed home on Sunday waiting for visitors or they visited relatives and sometimes friends. Survival depended on those connections to kinfolk. The wagon would leave with a cord of wood and come home with a barrel of apples, some barrels of flour or whatever supplies were needed at home. It was the same as today, no wasted trips but today it is because of gas prices. An empty wagon lost money. I think the quality of life was better in some ways. People are getting lazier with all this technology and we are for the most part not doing much physical work like our ancestors did, for the same reasons. We are all a product of out times. Still I love the distraction of writing this blog. Just a little food for thought… Best wishes on your New Year goals!