Authors: Roddy Doyle
‘I was absolutely thrilled, and wild with excitement; I couldn’t believe it – I was sure New York was full of people with the Beekman name.
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I felt pleased with myself; I felt I’d accomplished something. Then Connie’s letter arrived the following week. Connie was Cornelia Van Cartlandt, the little girl in the photograph. She was now Mrs Fred Reimor, a widow, with one son, Dirk. As well as Connie and Jack Beekman, I had two other cousins, Euphemia, called Phemie, and Robert, called Bob – all the children of Mary and John J. Beekman.
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It was a long, long letter – she was as pleased as I was – and she gave me a good part of our family history.
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There were a lot of holes but at least I knew why they were there.
‘My great-grandmother, a widow named Hyland, travelled from Ireland to America before the turn of the twentieth century. She settled in a place called Roslyn, on Long Island, New York. She was accompanied by two sons and two of her daughters. Connie remembered our great-grandmother, and described her as small and thin and good-humoured. The two daughters, Mary and Emily, eventually married two brothers called Daly, but neither of them had families. The fate of the two sons, Peter and Mike, was a bit vague. The Hyland family seemed to prosper. Connie put that down to the fact that, when they started out in America, they were employed by Quakers, and the Quakers were good, kind employers. I’d imagine, myself, that they were servants, but Connie didn’t say this. She did say that it was economic need that sent them to America.
‘My grandmother, Bridget,
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another Hyland, was married to John O’Brien, and had remained in Ireland when the others emigrated. She had three daughters: Mary, Connie’s mother; Ellen, my mother, and Emily. The O’Brien family lived in Ballydonnigan, in Wexford.
‘My grandmother died – Connie had no idea of the year. My grandfather, John O’Brien, travelled to America, to join the Hylands. I don’t know what family he brought with him; I don’t recall – perhaps I never knew. But he couldn’t settle there, and he came back to Wexford. When
I read that bit of news, I decided that I’d been destined to be born in Ireland, and from two Wexford grandfathers. Grandfather Bolger went to Australia, and came back. And Grandfather O’Brien went to America, and came back.
‘In time, Grandfather O’Brien remarried. There was no mention of a second family. Although her mother seldom spoke about her home in Ireland, Connie felt that the three girls were not happy. Mary, Connie’s mother, travelled to New York, to join the Hylands. Emily eventually married a man called Cleary, in Wexford. I know nothing of where my mother lived, or what she did before marrying my father.’
The third letter is dated September 10th, 1922. It is typed on ‘City of New York Insurance Company’ notepaper; the company address, ‘56 Cedar Street, New York’, has been added, below the skyline logo. John J. Beekman’s address is still “89, Main St.” but with “cor. of Bedell St.” added to the line.
‘Dear Sister Ellie and brother JiM: – Received your welcome letter last evening and was elated to hear the good news, Mary will send baby over something in the near future –
Máire was born in May; her full name was Mary Johanna –
that is the name I wanted one of my girls named but Mary wouldn’t hear it, I love the name of Mary – Joe’s oldest is Mary also, I told Mary this A.M. that you and Joe both had Mary’s, Well, Ellie I feel sorry for poor Joe, this is why – some four years ago little Joe was playing on the ice with his sled and fell and went in the house with a bij bump on his head the applied home remedies, and thought no more of it, in about a week the little fellow went to sleep and slept for six weeks the doctors pronounced it the sleeping sickness, he recovered they sent him to school but he could learn nothing, recently they had him examined like they did many times before, the Specialist found that
when he fell over four years ago he fractured his scull and the bone grew together crooked and is now pressing on his brain, and at times he is not himself at all, all the New York newspapers carried the story, he will have to operated on, but it is a delicate operation, Joe asked us to pray for him Mary had him remembered in a Mass, so you too pray for him, that is all we can do, we were at Joes about two weeks ago, but did not see Joe he had just left before we got there, its to bad he was a fine boy until that time, I am so glad you got along so nice –
Could they have gone to America after all, in 1921? Or was he referring to Joe, the father, before he emigrated? And who was he? Was he my mother’s brother? My own brother was John Joseph, Joe, but there were no other Joes in the Bolger family –
I just received Holy Communion this morning, my baby is here with me now, she is over five and goes to the Kindergaren –
that must have been Euphemia, Phemie –
that is the baby class at school they learn deportment only, and have a general good time the teachers read them stories and C. –
it’s as if they switch; Mary is talking, then John talks –
we were at Roslyn Friday evening we out for a ride and stopped there on the way home saw your aunt Emily – my great aunt – and had a long talk with your uncle Mike we were speaking of you, thought something might have happened you, not having heard form you in such a long time, and this time especially –
was that a reference to the Troubles here; the Civil War? They were worried about Mammy and Daddy –
we were at your aunt Marys one evening last week she was ill, throat trouble but is not out of bed so aunt Emily said she was over there, your cousin Emily Hyland was in the store last night –
I was fascinated with all the Marys and Emilys; they really handed down the names.
‘About a year after I’d contacted the Beekman cousins,
Connie visited Ireland. I was at the Royal Dublin Hotel in O’Connell Street to welcome her and her friends. Rory and Máire were with me. I knew her, and she knew me. We hugged and kissed. She was a tiny little woman. She was smaller than even my five feet. She was bright and friendly. We had dinner with them that night. They had landed in Shannon and had travelled by tour bus up through the country. They were very happy with the trip, but I noticed that Connie was very quick in recognising the tourist traps, and wasn’t at all interested in buying shillelaghs or shamrocks as souvenirs. We had a lovely evening. That was the 27th of August, 1977.
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… your cousin Emily Hyland was in the store last night, she and her husband do not get on good it is his fault, she made a grave mistake in her marriage, its too bad, she is a good looking good disposition girl, your cousin Mary Hyland expect the Stork, she had three nice children, Well, I see Mike Collins has made the sacrifice, God rest his soul, I trust before many moons peace will again come to poor war ridden Ireland may God be merciful to her, let us hear from you soon
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‘That was Saturday, and they all came to us for lunch on Sunday. There was Connie, and her friend Violet, a very tall woman; she had red hair piled on top of her head. And a bright-green trouser outfit; she was a lovely woman. And there was Frank McManus, whose parents had emigrated to America from Queenstown,
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when he was a year old, “a baby in arms,” but his parents had come from Fermanagh; and his wife, Henrietta, who had left Bremen, in Germany, when she was six months old. Connie told me that they’d all been friends since childhood. And my cousin, Bob Beekman’s wife, Jean Epp,
who was also of German extraction. And I was told that Jean was more Irish than the Irish themselves; she was big into Irish music and Irish everything, and she collected Belleek china. So, they came in and, first of all, Frank said, “Hey Henrietta, this guy has a bigger TV than we have.” Connie gave me a paperweight, a brass American eagle, which her mother had given to her the day she started work. She also gave me a painted stone, a lighthouse, from Long Beach, and a piece of planking, cut from the barn of the Reimors’ farm, her husband’s home, in Cooperstown, Long Island. There was a painting of a red cardinal bird on the wood; Connie’s sister-in-law had painted it. They all sat down to the meal.
‘I had planned this lunch beforehand, and I’d planned on Irish smoked salmon to start with. But when we were having our dinner in the Royal Dublin the night before, Henrietta, reading the menu, had said, “Irish smoked salmon?” And Frank turned to her, and said, “No, Henrietta, that’s sheenie food.” I didn’t know what he meant, but I knew that it was rather a derogatory description,
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so I decided against smoked salmon. And I’d bought tins of soup. I served the soup, and Frank, who seemed to do a lot of the talking that day, said,
“Henrietta, there is nothing like good home-made soup.” At which, I went to the kitchen and said to Pamela, who was helping me, “Dump the tins. Quick.” I told Connie, in private, later, and we had many a laugh over it. It was Campbell’s soup.
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I wrote Emily some time ago I will soon get an answer, she like Mary very much, I mean she seems very fond of her, she too has a young daughter, I hear nothing from Peter, why dont you write Joe, if you don’t care to, let Jim, I feel for him in his trouble – Address – Mr Joseph O’Brien – 157 Dikeman Street, Brooklyn, N.Y. – U.S.A. I wished he was near us in the country the city here is no place to live, the air is so different, no one care for you there, everyone for themselves, but I don’t think his wife will ever come near any of his relatives, trusting to hear from you soon love to yourself and baby and Jim, before I close, There is a Henry Bolger Working in one of our banks and his father came here many years ago from vinegar Hill section
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his name is James ask Jim if he ever had an uncle James Bolger, I think he is some relative to Jim he has red hair, a fine fellow, I had him Henry ask his father what part of Ireland he came from, he came to America many years ago, write soon – John and Mary
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‘I think it might have been the following year that we went to America; I can’t remember exactly.’ It was in March. We were there for Patrick’s Day. Jack and Connie met us at the airport and, from then on, it was like a pilgrimage. We visited Roslyn, where the Hylands had settled, a beautiful little town on Long Island, very picturesque, quite touristy in its look. We saw, and prayed in, the church where Great-Granny Hyland and her sons and daughters had attended Mass. We saw the graveyard
where they are buried. The funny thing there was, knowing we were coming to America, Jack and Connie had gone earlier to the Great-Granny’s grave; they wanted it looking its best. But the day we arrived, we hunted and hunted in bitter cold, but we could not find the grave. Connie said, “Knowing Great-Granny Hyland, I can imagine her sticking her head up and saying, ‘Gotcha.’”
‘Two tall wooden houses were pointed out to me. These had been the homes of the two Hyland daughters and their two Daly brother husbands. The Beekmans, as children, had visited them regularly. They told me that their Beekman relatives were very nice people, but rather staid and serious.
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They much preferred their visits to their mother’s relatives, where they had lots of fun. I don’t know how an Irish family ended up with the surname Beekman; I have absolutely no idea. It never crossed my mind to ask. Connie never mentioned how her parents had met. She wasn’t a secretive woman. It was just, I didn’t ask, and she didn’t say.’
The fourth letter is dated August 9th, 1925. It is handwritten, in black ink, on ‘City of New York Insurance
Company’ notepaper. In the list of directors, J. Carroll French had been replaced by Ferd. Ermisch, asst. secty. John J. Beekman’s address is now 151 Front Street, Hempstead, NY.
‘Dear Sister Ellie – I wrote you several letters perhaps they did not reach you at your old address
. My parents had had a flat in Castlewood Avenue, in Rathmines; but, to my knowledge, Máire was the only one born there. I’d been born by the time this letter was sent –
In cleaning my desk I found your present address. I have not much news to relate thank God, we are all well at this writing. I hope and trust you are the same. I reckon your children are able to walk and talk by now –
I was only seven weeks old. They obviously hadn’t heard about me yet –
Uncle Mike, Pat, aunt Mary and Emily are all well. I drove over about a week ago with Mary and Robert and Euphemia and took aunt Mary and two of her children Alice and Gordon to the beach we had a real good time, we go several times a week it’s only a 1/2 hours run from our place Long Beach. I haven’t saw Joe in some time. The last time he was up I brought him to aunt Marys uncles Pat and Mikes and aunt Emilys to all of his relativis here in Nassau County
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‘In your letter Ellie you say you were knocked about a bit, how come, in moving about. Cornelia is working – typist and stenographer. Jack is away. Cornelia and Euphemia, we seem quite lonesome today, I cleaned my desk and found your last letter Mary and I received Holy Communion this morning. We often hear from Emily. I and aunt Mary just send her 1 Pound each – she never complains, but says only for us would have to put the children away. she certainly seems very grateful, in a few years the children will be able to help her a little. You asked how Joes boy was. I believe Ellie there is no improvement. I am glad to learn you have your own home –
that’s Brighton Gardens. Maybe the letters had been sent to
the wrong address –
it adds so much to life, give our love to Jim, thank you for the invatation to Ireland, some day, if we live, in many years to come we might possibly pay you a visit. but not for a long while yet as our children are so young, would wonderfully like to, write soon, always glad to hear from you, with love and best wishes from all to all your sister and brother – Mary and John
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‘Connie, Jack and Bob lived in Hempstead. My other cousin, Phemie – Mrs Seaman – lived further up Long Island, in Stoney Brook, which looked like a Hollywood-style village. Her kindergarten lessons in deportment hadn’t been wasted on her; she was a tall, slim woman who held herself very well. We were shown the greatest love and affection. We were wined and dined
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and, I’d swear, if the fatted calf had appeared, he would have ended up in the oven. I felt that the void created by my mother’s death had almost been filled. I didn’t feel like I was going home, meeting these people, but I suppose I was closing a chapter. The one unfortunate part of it was that my mother’s sisters, Mary, Connie’s mother, and Emily, who had been living in Arklow,
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had died only a few years previously. If I’d just been that little bit sooner, I could have met them. And Mary had actually visited Emily in Arklow. So that was a pity. But, at least, I got my own generation.