Okay, so this is only 5 weeks old behind. Oops, our bad but in our defense we either have had a difficult time procuring internet or, when we have, the keyboard is so crazy it's impossible to type. Anyhow, the stories.....
Driving around the "correct" BallinlassThis story was started (writing) on 7/27/09:
So this was the day that we went hunting down Brian's relatives, on his mother's side of the family. First however, we wanted to stop by the smokehouse out west. It looked like a nice, scenic drive, along the coast, & not to much of a detour. Budget map in hand, we set out. Easier said than done. The streets were very skinny, roadside hedges high, signs funny, and road markers easily missed. Oh, did I mention Brian drives like a rally car driver? Anyhow, he kept saying, that's why I got the skinny car, as we came millimeters away from other passing cars. Yikes. The smokehouse had some excellent smoked salmon and it was on a beautiful little harbor. With half the day already gone, we blaze our way to where we think we should be. Cross referencing “Ballinlass, Ballinmore Bridge” on 3 different maps we pull into a pub next to what we think is “the spot”. We have a quick (free) beer and a chat with the local barkeep, who loved the letter Brian had from his Mom, but said she is too young & in her words, not been around long enough (only 40 years!), to point us in the right direction. The letter was sent in 1908. That’s okay, we snap some photo’s, re-read the letter and head over yonder. A few minutes later, and totally lost, we stop by the side of the road, next to the only house around, which just happens to have a lovely couple sitting outside in the front garden, to ask for some help. We got it. Next thing we know, the guy jumps in his car, and escorts us over to his friends house Joe, who is somewhat of the local historian. Who would have known? But, it gets better. Joe reads the letter, is thrilled, and invites us into his home! His wife, fixes us some tea, he pulls out papers and proceeds to tell us about Ballinlass and what the letter means, deciphering it through Irish eyes. Cool. Then, he determines, we are at the wrong Ballinlass, Which in Irish means “mud bog next to creek that floods”. No problem, the one we are looking for is close by and he knows who we need to speak to. A phone call later to John Joe, an 80 year man, an apt is set up. Great, but now we need to find a place to stay for the night as it is almost 9pm! We didn’t dare mention we were starving for fear they would make us dinner, and we did not want to intrude. Right, Joe drives us over to his friends B&B, calls him up, gets the drunken guy up to opens it, and negotiates a great rate. Wow, did I mention how cool this is? The next morning we meet with John-Joe. After calling to get instructions to his house, we make our way. No easy task, as the instructions are 3rd road on the right off the main road, once you pass the pantheon, then cross a small bridge (they’re all small), blah, blah, blah. We made it, but we were late. Great, keep the old man waiting. After showing John Joe the letter, whom is also very thrilled, he pulls out paperwork of his own relating to the time. Seems, he is just as excited as us. He tells us that the people in letter, Brian’s mother’s great, great aunt, were evicted from a rather large holding of land by the English. John Joe is spearheading a project to get the Ballanlass Evections some recognition. Right so, he’s a spry 80 who was in the middle of morning farm chores, so we drive and I relinquish the shot gun seat to take notes. Off we go, as he points out almost everything talked about in the letter. Taking us to old school grounds, cemeteries, farmland, plus additionally personal commentary. He even took us to the house of the grandson of the letter writer. It was just that cool.
So this was the day that we went hunting down Brian's relatives, on his mother's side of the family. First however, we wanted to stop by the smokehouse out west. It looked like a nice, scenic drive, along the coast, & not to much of a detour. Budget map in hand, we set out. Easier said than done. The streets were very skinny, roadside hedges high, signs funny, and road markers easily missed. Oh, did I mention Brian drives like a rally car driver? Anyhow, he kept saying, that's why I got the skinny car, as we came millimeters away from other passing cars. Yikes. The smokehouse had some excellent smoked salmon and it was on a beautiful little harbor. With half the day already gone, we blaze our way to where we think we should be. Cross referencing “Ballinlass, Ballinmore Bridge” on 3 different maps we pull into a pub next to what we think is “the spot”. We have a quick (free) beer and a chat with the local barkeep, who loved the letter Brian had from his Mom, but said she is too young & in her words, not been around long enough (only 40 years!), to point us in the right direction. The letter was sent in 1908. That’s okay, we snap some photo’s, re-read the letter and head over yonder. A few minutes later, and totally lost, we stop by the side of the road, next to the only house around, which just happens to have a lovely couple sitting outside in the front garden, to ask for some help. We got it. Next thing we know, the guy jumps in his car, and escorts us over to his friends house Joe, who is somewhat of the local historian. Who would have known? But, it gets better. Joe reads the letter, is thrilled, and invites us into his home! His wife, fixes us some tea, he pulls out papers and proceeds to tell us about Ballinlass and what the letter means, deciphering it through Irish eyes. Cool. Then, he determines, we are at the wrong Ballinlass, Which in Irish means “mud bog next to creek that floods”. No problem, the one we are looking for is close by and he knows who we need to speak to. A phone call later to John Joe, an 80 year man, an apt is set up. Great, but now we need to find a place to stay for the night as it is almost 9pm! We didn’t dare mention we were starving for fear they would make us dinner, and we did not want to intrude. Right, Joe drives us over to his friends B&B, calls him up, gets the drunken guy up to opens it, and negotiates a great rate. Wow, did I mention how cool this is? The next morning we meet with John-Joe. After calling to get instructions to his house, we make our way. No easy task, as the instructions are 3rd road on the right off the main road, once you pass the pantheon, then cross a small bridge (they’re all small), blah, blah, blah. We made it, but we were late. Great, keep the old man waiting. After showing John Joe the letter, whom is also very thrilled, he pulls out paperwork of his own relating to the time. Seems, he is just as excited as us. He tells us that the people in letter, Brian’s mother’s great, great aunt, were evicted from a rather large holding of land by the English. John Joe is spearheading a project to get the Ballanlass Evections some recognition. Right so, he’s a spry 80 who was in the middle of morning farm chores, so we drive and I relinquish the shot gun seat to take notes. Off we go, as he points out almost everything talked about in the letter. Taking us to old school grounds, cemeteries, farmland, plus additionally personal commentary. He even took us to the house of the grandson of the letter writer. It was just that cool.
Joe and some of his records
The Graveyard from the letterPictues will be posted to Flickr when we have time and a good connection. Sorry for the delays!
