So, I find myself in Ireland searching for a village that I’ve never seen before, is challenging to find on a map, and I cannot pronounce the name very well. I know my paternal grandmother came from Roscommon but I had always heard she was also from Longford, so I know I am headed farther north than I usually travel. As I have mentioned in previous blog posts, I normally (in the past) have carried a map in the car. However, thanks to Google Maps, I am able to find more places just using the Maps app on my cell phone. Directions are not great but they do get me to the general vicinity that I am looking for but its truly a small town. It has 2 main roads that intersect so I travel up and down those roads several times to commit them to visual memory. The village is called Aughnacliff and I had seen it on my grandmother’s long form birth certificate.
I drove around to get my bearings and happened upon a small hotel in Cavan, which was surprisingly close by. I didn’t realize that the county lines are so “informal” and that I was now in another county, which I had incorrectly associated with being in Northern Ireland. Because Cavan is one of 3 counties in Ulster that remained part of the Republic of Ireland, I had always associated it with the “North”. And, honestly, being a good Irish Catholic girl with deep Kerry roots, I was scared (intimidated really) to go to Northern Ireland, as if I would be picked off right away by an errant bullet from the days of the “Troubles”. However, at this stage in my life and the peace accords, I felt more than safe to travel to the North and be alone. That, I was. I found a lovely hotel, the Breffni Arms, on the main street and checked myself in, to create a “home base” from which I could search and return for rest as needed.
I started my search, by telling everyone, the bar maid, the cook, the server, the owner even, that I was looking for the Sheridan family. Well, that is a VERY common name in this part of the country, which I did not know (but should have) before I left home. I spent the night trying to research on my phone some of the finer details I had learned on Ancestry.com and recalling the handwritten family tree a family priest had provided to me several years beforehand. At breakfast the next morning, the server introduced me to a fellow Sheridan family member. I spoke to him at length providing all the names I could think of, and details I could recall but he insisted we could not be related. In fact, the conversation became a bit awkward as he was curious if I was interested in finding roots to claim family lands. A concern which could not be further from the truth. He did however, suggest several other Sheridan families which I could consider and drop in on. So, away I went with 2 places to go and families to surprise with my presence.
The first couple, and I should have kept their Christian names, but I did not. They were lovely and did not mind the impromptu drop in of an American at all. In fact, they could not have been more hospitable. Over a cup of tea, I repeated the family names I knew and what little details I had. They brought me a booklet of the Sheridan family and where these family members had been buried all over the county of Longford. I skimmed it but found no familiar names. They did however, provide directions to the local parish church office, which would have had the marriage records on file for my Great Grandparents. After meeting with the parish priest, and scouring many volumes of dot matrix printouts of marriage/baptismal/and death records, I was no closer to finding out who my people were. He did however, recommend a local man who seemed to know everyone in the village and their deep history. He provided me general directions and a telephone number for him. Off, I drove, waving for the many hours he spent instructing me on the business of church records and family names. After an hour of wandering, I happened upon the farm I was searching for and was welcomed by a lovely border collie, announcing my presence to anyone in the county who didn’t already know there was an American searching for her family roots.
The man referred to me by the priest, was in fact, a wealth of knowledge of many of the Sheridan families and I might imagine that his home was one which encouraged and welcomed many locals in for a cuppa tea on a rainy afternoon when the farm work would have to wait, or a neighbor with a guitar who was in search of an audience and a wee dram. Within 5 minutes of my arrival, my host knew exactly who I was, who I was looking for, and what their daily schedule was like, if I could find them before sundown, I would be able to have a lovely visit. Since there are no street signs in the rural villages, it would have been a significant challenge to locate my newly found relatives home in the darkness of the night moon. God smiled on me, and I was in fact, able to locate the family before the sun set. Initially skeptical, which I had grown used to, I explained my mission, identified myself and was invited in for some wonderful hospitality. Thanks to the technology of my iPad and a photos stored on my Ancestry account, I was able to share photos of my Grandmother, and Grandfather though he had never been to Ireland himself. The striking resemblance that “unlocked” the key for them was my face and the similarity to my father’s face. As a toddler, my parents had planned and brought my entire family (all 5 kids, myself at only 2 years old) back to Ireland for a visit to my Mother’s family in Kerry and then on to Roscommon to my father’s people. I was too young to recall much of it but, they did remember my father and was able to recognize the family resemblance in me. Plans were made for a meeting the next day, where I would be introduced to his sisters, who knew more of the family history than he did, and I returned to the Breffni Arms to enjoy a pint and call it a night. SUCCESS was celebrated, as I made headway, all in one day.
So, armed with some general family knowledge, a GPS app, and a tenacious attitude to find the information that eluded me, had finally paid off! The next day we met and he was so kind as to have taken me to the church again, to show me the family grave markers, and add the details to my tree. To me, this was a “monumental win” in the search for my Irish ancestry. I had never known that my Grandmother had a brother, and I do not think any of my aunts or uncles knew it either, my father did not, I am sure. But, with a little investigative desire and a gift of gab, I was able to find a whole family tree I had only previously hoped existed.
UPDATE: Since that solo trip in 2014, I have been back twice more to visit with these cousins and have received more than a generous welcoming of hospitality and love from them. I have also added two more generations of their family ancestors to my own tree. The door is always open to visit any time and we would always be welcomed with the warmth of Irish hospitality that only a family can provide.