Galway Bay (76 page)
“They may have.” I took her two small hands in mine. “Fadó,” I said to Agnella.
“What?” she asked.
“Fadó,” I repeated. “It’s an Irish word. It means ‘a long time ago’ or ‘once upon a time,’ where stories begin.”
“Fadó,” she said. “Will you tell me the stories?”
“I will.”
Máire and Patrick and the others had started along the Midway. I straightened up and, still holding Agnella’s hand, walked on after them.
“My granny told me a lot of stories,” I said to Agnella. “I must think of where to start.”
“Begin where we’re from. Name me
that
place.”
“Galway Bay, a rún, Galway Bay.”
Galway Bay
, though fiction, is rooted in research done over a period of thirty-five years in Ireland and the United States. The novel draws on family history, especially the memories of Honora Kelly, that my cousin Agnella Kelly, Sister Mary Erigina, who lived to be 107, shared with me. Honora was her great-grandmother, my great-great-grandmother. The two million who escaped the Great Starvation became forty-four million—completely American, but always Irish.
Galway Bay
is meant to echo their story, as well as the stories of all other groups who, forced to leave their homes, turn the tragedy of exile into triumph by simply surviving.
Most of the characters in
Galway Bay
would have been native Irish speakers at a time when the deliberate eradication of the language, a branch of Gaelic, was in full force in Ireland. Bearna and Connemara retained the language, and immigrants from those areas were bilingual well into the twentieth century. I think any Irish-American who gets the least glimpse of the rich, evocative language spoken by our ancestors for thousands of years and lost in a generation feels a kind of despair and a yearning for even the smallest crumbs of knowledge. In Ireland, efforts to restore Irish have been ongoing, and now there are schools where instruction takes place in Irish. A hopeful sign. I used some Irish words, many familiar from Irish songs and expressions, to at least nod in appreciation and sorrow at this heritage. This glossary is meant to be helpful, not definitive.
a ghrá (ah graw)
—to call someone “love”
a ghrá mo chroí (ah graw muh [ch]ree)
—the love of my heart
alanna (ah-lah-nah)
—from the Irish leanbh (child)
amadán (ah-muh-daun)
—fool
ard (ord)
—top, a height; used in many townland names
a rún
—my dear
Askeeboy (AS-kee-buoy)
—townland name; from uisce (water) and bui (yellow); marshy land
a stór (ah sthor)
—darling
bachall (BAW-kull)
—staff, crozier
Bearna (BAR-nah)
—gap
Beltaine (BYOWL-thine)
—May Day
bogdeal (BOG-dall)
—petrified wood
cairn (kern)
—a pile of stones; a prehistoric burial mound
cathach (KAH-ha[ch])
—battle standard
céili (KAY-lee)
—social evening; dance
cillín (kill-een)
—little church; cell; sometimes refers to an unconsecrated graveyard
colleen bawn (kah-leen bawn)
—a term for a fair-haired girl
corn
—the term for grain in England and Ireland
croppie
—a negative word applied to Irish farmers
crozier (CROH-zher)
—staff of a bishop or abbot
Cuchulain (Koo-[CH]UL-lan)
—hero of the Ulster cycle of old Irish tales
curragh (CUR-ra[ch])
—light canvas or hide boat with oars
Deirdre (DEER-druh)
—legendary heroine who defied the king to elope with her lover, Naois
dubh (duv)
—dark; black
fadó (fah-doe)
—long ago; once upon a time
Fenian (FEE-nee-un)
—revolutionary group established in 1855; named from the Fianna (band of warriors of Finn)
flaithiúlacht (flah-who-lu[ch])
—very generous (from flaith: prince)
geis (gyas)
—taboo, charm, spell
gombeen man
—moneylender (from gaimbin: exorbitant interest)
grá (graw)
—love
guilpin (gyil-peen)
—a lout
Indian corn
—dried American corn
Knocnacuradh (NOK-nuh-COOR-ruh)
—from cnoc (hill); na (of the); curadh (champions)
Lughnasa (LOO-nuh-suh)
—August 1; feast at the start of the harvest
lumper
—a variety of potato
Macha (MAH-[ch]uh)
—the Horse Goddess
Máire (MAH-ree)
—Mary (Honora’s sister)
mathair (MAW-hur)
—mother
mearbhall (MEOW-rull)
—literal: bewilderment; context: a strange light at sea, perhaps phosphorescent
meascán (mass-kawn)
—a muddle
meitheal (MEE-hall)
—communal work party
mhic (vic)
—son
mo buachaill (muh WOO-[ch]ul)
—my boy
mo ghrá (muh graw)
—my love
na bi ag caint (maw-bee-egg-kaint)
—don’t talk nonsense; don’t talk
ná habair tada (naw HAH-bur TAH-dah)
—say nothing
Naois (NYUY-sheh)
—Irish warrior; Deirdre’s lover
Oisin (uh-sheen)
—grandson of Finn; pre-Christian Irish king of legend
Grace O’Malley
—sixteenth-century chieftain; the Pirate Queen of Connaught
pátrún (pat-run)
—religious observance made at holy sites
poitín (pah-cheen)
—illicit whiskey
piseog (PEE-sog)
—evil spell
prattie (PRAY-tee)
—a potato
púcán (pooh-kawn)
—fishing boat with sail
Queen Maeve (Mave)
—prehistoric queen of Ireland, heroine of the epic “The Cattle Raid of Cooley”
ráth (rah)
—a prehistoric ring fort common in Ireland
rua (ROO-ah)
—red
Samhain (SAU-en)
—Halloween
Sassenach (SOSS-uh-na[ch])
—the English (from Saxon)
scalpeen
—a makeshift shelter
scraw
—a clod of earth (from scraithin)
seachaint (SHOH-[ch]ant)
—shun, avoid
siúil (shool)
—walk
sláinte (slawn-cheh)
—health; a drinking toast
slán (slawn)
—health, safe, farewell
slán abhaile (slawn ah-wal-ya)
—safe home
sliveen
—slang for a low person
taoiseach (TYOY-shu[ch])
—a chieftain
tobar (TUB-bur)
—well, fountain, source
tobar geal (TUB-bur gyal)
—pure water
uisce beatha (ISH-keh BAH-hah)
—the water of life; whiskey
whist (weest)
—like “shhh”; used in Ireland; probably derived from Irish
The process of writing
Galway Bay
really began in 1969, my first time in Ireland. When I think of all the people I met on my subsequent trips who said, “Welcome home,�� to me, I want to thank every single person. I wish I could name each one of you. Thank you.
I do want to express special gratitude to my own family: my father, Michael Joseph Kelly; my mother, Mariann Williams Kelly; my brother, Michael; my sisters, Randy, Mickey, Susie, and Nancy; and family members Martha Hall Kelly, Ernest Strapazon, Ed Panian, and Bruce Jarchow. Each made unique contributions to this book, as did my nieces and nephews. My great-niece Aidan and great-nephew Edward have begun Honora’s seventh generation, an occasion for thanksgiving.
I’m grateful to my aunts and uncles and all my cousins, branches of the same tree, and express particular gratitude to Sister Mary Erigina, BVM, Agnella Kelly, who introduced me to Honora.
In Galway, Ireland, my research benefited greatly from Mary Qualter of the Galway County Library, who helped me solve many mysteries and introduced me to excellent local histories, especially the works on Bearna by Padraig Faherty and artist Geraldine Folan, who captures Galway Bay and the lost fishing hamlet of Freeport in her paintings.
Siobhan McGuinness and Jean Gormley of the Galway History Center were very helpful to me, and I thank them. I’m grateful to Sister Máire Mac Niallais, who located both Askeeboy and Eugene Mulloy of Nashville, connecting neighbors separated for a hundred and sixty years.
I want to thank the National University of Ireland, Galway, and the University of Ulster at Derry as well as the Royal Irish Academy and the National Library of Ireland for giving me access to their collections.
I very much appreciate the chance to use the resources of Delargy Centre for Irish Folklore and the National Folklore Collection, University College Dublin, Ireland, and thank Emer Ni’Cheallaigh and Jonny Dillon. Jonny translated the Irish material and kept me right on my own references to the language.
I learned much in visiting various heritage centers, especially those at Castle Blakeney and the Ulster American Folk Park.
I’m grateful to John and Pat Hume, Daithi and Antoinette O’Ceallaigh, Patsy O’Kane and all at Beech Hill House Hotel; Sharon Quinn, Roisin Nevin, Mary Mullan, and the staff of Ballynahinch House; Maeve Kelly, Gerard Kelly-O’Brien, Padraig Keeley, and the other families of Carna; and taxi drivers beyond counting.
I wish to thank my friends in Dublin: Mary Sheerin, Mary Maher, Mary Cummins, Maeve Binchy, Sharon Plunkett, and Philip Nolan.
In Chicago, I thank the skilled and generous research staff of the Chicago History Museum, the librarians at the Newberry Library, and the Harold Washington Branch of the Chicago Public Library. Bonnie Rowan guided me at the Library of Congress and the National Archives in Washington, D.C. Thank you.
I’m grateful to my own CUNY Graduate Center Library. Quin-nipiac University’s Great Hunger Room, The Lender Family Special Collection of the Arnold Bernhard Library, receives my thanks and my admiration for their unique contribution in bringing together a rich archive and ensuring that the Great Starvation will not be forgotten. This includes the wonderful bronze statue “Irish Mother and Child” by sculptor Glenna Goodacre, who did the Vietnam Nurses’ Memorial. In this figure the artist captures the determination and resilience of the Irish women who saved us. (The statue also resembles in a startling way my sister Susie, both in spirit and appearance.) Good- acre also uses “Irish Mother and Child” as one of the thirty-five life-size figures that depict the Great Starvation and the Journey to America in the powerful Irish Memorial in Philadelphia. Thank you to the government of Canada for the Grosse Îsle Irish Memorial National Historic Site. I was also touched and inspired by the New York Irish Hunger Memorial in Battery Park City. To stand by the authentic nineteenth-century cottage on a hillside covered with native Irish plants is an emotional experience. I thank artist Brian Tollo, and former governor George Pataki (his mother, Margaret, whose mother was born in Ireland, was on the executive committee). I would like to thank historian Maureen O’Rourke Murphy, PhD, who has raised awareness of the Great Starvation through this memorial, her work in developing a curriculum for the New York State schools, and her own scholarship and her leadership in the American Conference for Irish Studies. I am grateful, too, for the encouragement she’s given me. Many collections of letters, documents, diaries, and newspapers, as well as books on a whole range of subjects, enriched
Galway Bay.
I’ve listed some of them on MaryPatKelly.com.
In the last few years, studies of the Great Starvation have multiplied. I have found Cormac O’Grada’s work especially helpful, as well as Thomas Keneally’s
The Great Shame,
and I kept coming back to
The Great Hunger
by Cecil Woodham Smith.
I want to thank my teachers, professors Sam Levin and Marvin Magdalaner of the CUNY Graduate Center; John Kelly of the Parlour, the Kelly Gang, and Roberta Aria Sorvino, Mary Anne Kelly DeFuccio, Monique and Danielle Inzinna, Bruce and Carole Hart, Mary Bringle, Laura Aversano, and Maria Frisa. I’m grateful to Bill Pindar and all at the Stony Point Center. Thanks to Meredith Meagher and Betty Martinez.
Thank you very much to the outstanding team at Grand Central Publishing, Hachette Book Group. I’m very proud that Maureen Egen, so revered in publishing during her tenure at Warner Books, made
Galway Bay
possible. Thank you for that, Maureen, and for giving me editor Frances Jalet-Miller. Her intelligence, sensitivity, and honesty contributed greatly to this book. I appreciate the encouragement I received from Jamie Raab, executive vice president of Hachette Book Group and publisher of Grand Central Publishing. Thank you to senior editor Karen Kosztolnyik for championing
Galway Bay.
At Hachette Book Group I’m also grateful to executive managing editor Harvey-Jane Kowal and to copy editor Sona Vogel for taming the hefty manuscript, to the art department for the beautiful cover, and to senior publicist Elly Weisenberg Kelly for her enthusiasm.
And then there’s Kathy Danzer. Her incomparable computer skills transformed hundreds of legal pads into a manuscript. I thank her, as my first reader, for her judgment, kindness, and rock hard belief in the process. Because she’s a woman of the theater, she insisted that the show must go on. We had to be ready for opening night. And we were.