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Time travel and mysteries in the Irish census

by clareodea8 Comments on Time travel and mysteries in the Irish census

The National Archives will release the 1926 Irish Census online next month, the first census of the Irish Free State. For those of us who’ve enjoyed exploring the 1901 and 1911 pre-independence censuses this is an exciting moment.

The Kings, the Geoghegans, the O’Deas, the Sullivans. My four grandparents’ families were busily living their lives in the early 1900s in Connemara, Dublin and Kilkenny. Some things I know about them through family lore but there are, of course, lots of blanks.

What if I could send a spy into each household to get a more exact picture of how things were for them at a certain moment in time? Actually, I can. The work has already been done, in the 1901 and 1911 census, and today, anyone can look over the shoulder of the enumerator. Search here.

Connemara clues

But when I started exploring the entries online, I didn’t only find answers – I also stumbled across a few mysteries. I’ll start with the largest family, the Kings in Moyrus, Connemara. In 1911, Festy and Maggie had ten children living at home aged between 22 and three. My grandmother, the youngest, was born later that year.

The Kings were just about to launch on a chain of emigration that would see eight of those 11 offspring emigrate. The mystery is that Festy and Maggie both aged very rapidly between 1901 and 1911. In the first census, they were aged 45 and 30. Ten years later, Margaret had aged an extra ten years to become 50. Meanwhile, Festus had gained five extra years to end up a youthful 60.

What could have caused this mix-up? After asking around, I found out that there was an epidemic of rapid ageing in the country between 1901 and 1911. The catalyst was the old age pension that was introduced for people aged over 70 in 1908. No wonder people were keen to hurry things along.

Fifty kilometres away in Derryglin near Oughterard, the Geoghegan family were soon to welcome the birth of my grandfather Thomas. The mystery here was that I couldn’t find the family. Parents Mary and Thomas were not where they were supposed to be. But after a while, Mary and three children turned up in a nearby townland called Lettercnaff. Was Thomas away working perhaps? Why was Mary staying with her in-laws? Whether it was for one night or longer, perhaps the time to build a new house, it’s not clear from that snapshot in time.

Kilkenny baby

The 1911 census took place on the 2nd of April. My grandmother had been born in the Brewery House of Sullivan’s Brewery in Kilkenny City six weeks earlier, the first child of Richard Sullivan and Margaret, Peggy. But the mystery is that baby Elizabeth was not recorded in the census at all, and neither were her parents anywhere to be found in Kilkenny. You would think they would be proud to include their new baby. You would think the mother would be in the same place as her almost newborn baby.

But no, the couple turned up in the census, 100 kilometres away in Cappoquin, Co. Waterford, in the home of Peggy’s parents, the Redmonds. We’ve tried to puzzle this out in the family but there really is no way of knowing where baby Elizabeth was on the 2nd of April 1911. What we do know is that the brewery went out of business very shortly afterwards and Richard emigrated to Australia alone, never to return.

Dublin dynasty

Now we’re on to the last of the four families, the O’Deas in Dublin city. In this case, another absence made me curious. In 1911, the head of the family 61-year-old James O’Dea was living with his third wife Martha on Capel Street, probably in the same building as his hardware shop. The couple, both originally from Kilkenny, lived with two of their joint children, Jimmy and Rita, three of James’s older children, and two servants. Two other children, including my grandfather Joseph, were living away from home in a small boarding school in Kilcoole, Co. Wicklow for boys under the age of 12, run by the Holy Faith Sisters. My aunt gave me the tip of where to look for little Joe. The family obviously had their reasons for sending the boys away. Martha was running a toy shop on the quays so they had a lot on. Two generations later, my father was also in the toy business.

Jimmy and Rita both trained as opticians and Rita ran a shop in Duke Street for many years. Jimmy went on to enjoy a successful career as a stage, radio and screen actor, best known for his role as King Brian in the movie Darby O’Gill and the Little People and as the creator of his most famous character Biddy Mulligan. During the making of Darby O’Gill, he got on very well with Walt Disney.

There was no 1921 census because the Irish War of Independence was happening then. I’m sure a lot of us are very curious to see what details and stories will emerge next month. Let me know if you find any surprises.

ps. My phone was stolen from my backpack in Fribourg train station at the weekend so I might be slow to respond to messages and pay bills! The photo of Inishbofin was the only one I could find of Connemara, taken on a happy day-trip there from Moyrus in 2015.

Short stories

A Long Way From Home

by clareodeaLeave a Comment on A Long Way From Home

The shelter was in a field behind a fairly new prison-style gated apartment block and a derelict red-brick hospital building. Walking through the old hospital gates, Natasha was surprised to see a relatively wide stretch of wasteland so near the city centre. Soon it would be swallowed up by the new technology park. It was a one-night shelter, with a first come first served policy and there was a queue of about fifteen men outside as Natasha stepped into the pool of light at the entrance. A few girlfriends were also hanging around, with their buggies and skinny children. Most of them were probably staying in B&Bs and would return to their rooms later. It was only a quarter to seven and these men were giving up the possibility of any other evening activity to guarantee a bed for the night. What they would do when the place closed down was anyone’s guess.

Natasha nodded with a rueful half smile at the group, as if they were fellow mourners at a funeral. The atmosphere was subdued, the only noise coming from the children playing on some rubble fallen from the high stone wall. The men concentrated on their cigarettes and some of them finished cans of beer or cider, their last drink of the night. The metal door had a square cut into it at eye height. Very conscious of her intrusion and her accent, Natasha rang the bell and introduced herself to the face that appeared on the other side.

She found herself in a small entrance hall. The security guard who had let her in ushered her into a side room with a cheerful grin. The man behind the desk looked up with a guilty expression. “Just getting ready to open up, last minute cup of tea, you know.” He introduced himself as the administrator of the shelter, Maurice Sheils, and gave Natasha a minute to get her recording gear out. “My job is to check everyone in, keep the records and all that. Derek here helps me make sure the clients all stick to the policy of no drink or drugs. We have a cupboard where we can hold onto the clients’ works overnight and we give the bits and bobs back to them in the morning.” He unlocked the little cupboard on the wall to the right and showed her the numbered empty ice cream tubs inside.

“We’re very strict on the whole question of drugs, and weapons of course. Anyone who’s caught using or with a knife after they’ve checked in has to leave. No exceptions, we have to consider the security of the volunteers.” Maurice’s pale eyebrows danced around as he spoke, his tone growing more theatrical as he warmed to his subject.

It was time to open up and Natasha squeezed into the space behind the desk to the left of Maurice, perching on a filing cabinet. The first two men didn’t mind her sitting in on the welcome chat but they didn’t want their own voices to be recorded. Natasha got some of Maurice’s patter on tape and watched the procedure patiently. The third client, Martin, was nineteen and just out of prison after a short sentence for larceny. It was his first time in this hostel but he didn’t appear to be shy or nervous, having spent plenty of time in various institutions from a young age. He didn’t mind being recorded and winked at Natasha when he started to debate, with mock outrage, the rights and wrongs of having to pay the nominal charge for his stay.

When Martin went off with his sheets and towel, Natasha went with him, interviewing him along the way. The first task was to choose and make the bed. The rows of iron bed frames gave the place the appearance of an old-fashioned hospital ward. If you disregarded the eight-foot high partition between the two eighteen-bed dormitories, the men were all sleeping in the same room.

One by one, new arrivals continued to trickle in and soon the place was a buzzing with activity. Some men made straight for the showers, preferring to wash the evening before rather than first thing in the morning. A television jutted out of the wall on a metal arm and a soap opera was holding the attention of several older clients, as Maurice called them. Natasha wandered around a bit, recording atmosphere for her radio report and feeling more at ease.

Derek appeared again and brought another willing talker with him. As Natasha listened to the gaunt young man complain at length about his ex-girlfriend, her attention was caught by one of the kitchen volunteers. He looked very familiar but she struggled to place him. She was trying not to be rude but had to stare. Pausing in his work for a moment, he ran his hand over his cheeks as if rubbing in moisturiser, a gesture she knew so well. In a flash she recognised him – Mr. Byrne. He had put on some weight since she saw him last but it was definitely her old English teacher. His classes had been the highlight of the week in school; Mr Byrne was the one who encouraged her to write. Natasha interrupted her interviewee expertly and gathered up her equipment in a rush. She wanted to leave just after dinner began; she had plans to meet friends in a pub nearby. What a stroke of luck to meet Mr. Byrne, Natasha thought. Such an articulate man, he was sure to say something compelling she could use.

Mr Byrne was setting places at one of the long trestle tables, absorbed in the task. Natasha felt slightly star struck as she approached, seventeen again. She had admired this man so much in school, craved his praise and attention. And here she was working as a journalist; he would be pleased. “You’re a long way from home,” she said, pulling out a chair for her gear. He looked up at her, blinking nervously. She gave him a moment to recognise her, then saved him the effort it was clearly costing him and introduced herself.
“Natasha Cullen,” he repeated, unsure.
“You taught all of us, remember? My three older sisters too,” Natasha smiled. “It’s great that you’re volunteering here, how long have you been coming to the shelter?”
Mr Byrne glanced around the room and looked to the cutlery in his hand for an answer. “Not long,” he said. “It’s one of the better places.”
“Yes, you do good work here,” Natasha said. “The producer sent me because of those tragic deaths last month. I can’t believe they’re closing the place down.”
Mr Byrne nodded. “Hard times,” he agreed. “And who are you working for?”
“Radio Nation, 101.7. Would you mind?” Natasha dug out her microphone and started untangling the lead.
“Sorry Natasha, I’m going to have to decline. We’re about to serve up here,” Mr Byrne moved up the table, placing knives and forks.
Natasha wasn’t expecting resistance but she switched automatically to persuasion mode. “Two lines will do, one even! Just give me something about hard times for the homeless. Please.” Mr Byrne shook his head and kept moving.

Five minutes later, dinner was being served and Natasha gathered the last of her audio material – an institutional din of cutlery scraping plates. She said her goodbyes to everyone she’d spoken to and Maurice walked her to the door. Natasha shook his hand warmly and they locked smiles for a moment. “Are you sure you won’t hang on ‘til I finish so I can walk you to your car? Honestly, I only need another 20 minutes and I’m all yours.”
“No need, it’s fine. I’ve got to be somewhere,” Natasha said.
“Are you happy with how the evening went?” Maurice unlocked the door and opened it to the cold January air.
“Yes everything was great, thanks. I’m just sorry Mr Byrne didn’t want to say a few words. It would have been nice to include one of the volunteers,” she said.
“Do you mean Robert Byrne? No he’s not a volunteer,” Maurice said as Natasha stepped outside. “He’s a regular client. Nice guy. Well goodnight then.” The door clanged shut and Natasha leaned against it. For a moment it seemed impossible to leave the comfort of that light. But only for a moment.