What's in an Irish Name: Novel Research

Interviews and blog posts for “Novel Research” are focused on

interesting topics that participants have researched before or while

composing a written work - whether fact, fiction, or family history.

*****

My ancestors from Tipperary, Ireland have the name McKeough. The family, including my gggrandmother Margaret, emigrated from Ireland to Canada and later settled in eastern Wisconsin. Generations later, I heard my relatives pronounce the name as "McKey". While delving into the Irish branch of my family tree, I researched the purpose of beginning a name with the prefix Mac, Mc, or O, I learned the following:

 

In ancient Ireland the population was much smaller than it is today and the mass movement of people was uncommon. Therefore, for a person to be known only by one name was usual. This single name system began to break down during the eleventh century as the population grew and there was a need for a further means of identification. The solution was to adopt a prefix such as Mac (Mc is an abbreviation) or Ó.

 

Mac means "son of" whilst Ó means "grandson of".

Idyllic Irish Farmland

 

In the years before my ancestors left Ireland, many rural families in Ireland lived in single-room cabins made of mud and without windows or chimneys. People often lived together in communal clusters called clachans (a small settlement or hamlet) spread out among the beautiful countryside. Up to a dozen persons might occupy a cabin, sleeping in straw on the bare ground, sharing space with the family's pig and chickens.

In the 1840s, my ancestors moved from Ireland to Lower Canada, later known as Quebec. No records of movement for free emigrants to Canada were required until 1865. (The USA required these records since 1773.)

 

Engaging in genealogical research and then writing a novel based on the information garnered from the research - SHARDS OF MEMORY Oral History in a Heartbeat - is my idea of an exciting pastime. It's not climbing Mount Everest, or kiteboarding on O'ahu (no, that's not me on the water!) but the "high" is still there.

Kiteboarding (or kitesurfing) with Mōkapu Peninsula in background

*****

What names of relatives or locations have you researched in your family tree?

SHARDS OF MEMORY

Oral History In A Heartbeat

is available at Amazon.com in print and ebook

*****

Wishing on the Blarney Stone

###

The 26 eclectic-genre short stories for my #AtoZChallenge are excerpts from travelogue notes by

novel character Gahlen, who first appeared in SHARDS OF MEMORY – Oral History in a Heartbeat.

Each A-to-Z daily post is a complete, stand-alone tale.

By Gerd Eichmann - Own work, 

CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=77077363

Wishing on the Blarney Stone

Genre: Historical Recollections

(365 words)

During the self-guided tour, through enclosed areas and ramparts, we climbed the 127 steps to the top of the castle. We rested before approaching the Blarney Stone. Our cab driver Devlon offered practical details about the consistency of the stone, limestone of some sort. His wife Kerry focused more on the unlikelihood of any earthly gains through kisses and wishes.

In the spirit of tradition, we accepted the challenge of kissing the stone which required a bit of gymnastics. It involved lying down, bending slightly backwards while holding onto metal bars for support, and then stretching forward to kiss the stone. Half-jokingly, most wished for riches and fame. Others confessed to wishing for improved physique or heightened eloquence.

We descended slowly, stopping to view the countryside and winding river. Kerry wandered off on her own, overcome by reminders of Ireland’s history.

During a circuit of the gardens, we discovered an ancient cemetery. We roamed the grounds, touching headstones. We created imagined lives between recorded birth and death dates, the only biography allotted to most people as they crossed over to whatever awaits all of us.

Kerry caught up with us in the parking lot. Apparently, the Blarney Stone had kept its promise to her about eloquence. She had spoken little on the way to the castle but was unable to stop talking on the return trip. Devlon drove while Kerry shared her knowledge of Irish history based on stories handed down from ancestors.

Only months later, after translating the scribblings in my notebook, was I able to piece together the information Kerry shared on the return trip from Blarney Castle. Although the bitterness of her recollections bled through as she spoke, I had ignored the devastation such memories must wreak upon the soul. Back in Wisconsin, further research corroborated much of what she had related concerning the effects of famine on the Irish population.

Even the role England played in the spiraling conditions proved accurate. But the image of vile degradation imposed on her ancestors, as she described the slow wasting away of bodies, the inhumane burials of multitudes, and the stark fear devouring the living, is not something easily assimilated on a well-nourished belly.

*****

Elderly Fare at Cork Market #AtoZChallenge

###

The 26 eclectic short stories for my #AtoZChallenge are excerpts from travelogue notes by

fictional character Gahlen, who first appears in SHARDS OF MEMORY – Oral History in a Heartbeat.

Each A-to-Z daily post is a stand-alone tale - partly true, partly fiction.

By Dylan - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0,

 https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=65950422

Elderly Fare at Cork Market

Genre: Humor

(389 words)

Once we settled into Devlon’s taxicab, he drove along the bank of the River Lee, pointing out the Butter Museum. “They give an interesting history of Ireland’s success in the butter trade and how they stored butter in bogs.”

Turning the corner, he said, “Taking the St. Patrick’s Street Bridge to the English Market for a scheduled fare. See St. Finn Barre’s Cathedral looming?”

At the market, Devlon pulled up to an elderly woman. She dragged a wire cart overflowing with fresh vegetables. Devlon whispered, “She won’t allow me to assist with the cart or open the door for her.”

While she unlatched the back door and struggled with her possessions, Devlon kept talking.

“Cork’s English Market has been a landmark since they laid the foundation stone in September of 1786. They offer the best local food.”

“Everything from olives to eels,” the elderly woman said, hauling the cart into the back seat and forcing my sisters to scrunch together.

“Headed home, Mamó?” Devlon asked.

Ah, I thought, his grandmother. All of Ireland must be related.

“Where else would I be headed with a cartful of groceries, Devlon? Of course, home.”

“We just drove past the Butter Museum,” he said, unfazed. “These folks are visiting from America, checking out their ancestral roots.”

“Is that so?” she said. “What name would you be upholding?”

Devlon translated: “Which of your ancestors left Ireland for America?”

“The Keogh family. They sailed from Cork to Quebec. That’s in Canada. Later, they migrated to Wisconsin.”

“I know where Quebec is,” she snapped. “Wisconsin most likely is a state in your country.”

“Gramma,” Devlon said, pointing to me, “this is Gahlen. Seated next to you are Rianne and Vondra. May they call you Gramma?”

“Devlon,” she said, “what is my name?”

Devlon squirmed. “Sorry, Gramma, I never knew your name.”

“Exactly. And if you don’t know my name, why should these strangers?” She sighed, then said, “Yes, call me Gramma. Do you know what I once found buried in the bog behind our farm? A finger bone. Oh, the stories I could tell about ritual sacrifices.”

“Gramma,” Devlon said, his voice a bit shaky now. “Are you sure you want to tell such stories to a bunch of strangers?”

“Strangers?” she asked. “They are practically family, calling me Gramma. How much closer can we get?”

*****

Absorbing an Ancient Scene #AtoZChallenge

CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=81313

Shandon Belltower, Cork, Ireland Created by Kglavin

###

The 26 eclectic-genre short stories for my #AtoZChallenge are excerpts from travelogue notes by

fictional character Gahlen, who first appears in SHARDS OF MEMORY – Oral History in a Heartbeat.

Each A-to-Z daily post is a stand-alone tale - partly true, partly fiction.

###

Absorbing an Ancient Scene

Genre: Exploration with Comic Relief

(313 words)

Chiming bells sent us searching for an access to the steeple tower. We scrambled in typical sibling rivalry fashion toward a narrow stone staircase. Naturally, I came in last, but not due to my bum leg. I had stopped to dip my fingers into another holy water font. Carved in jagged lettering along its facade were words I assumed were of Irish dialect. While I recognized certain words as English, their meaning escaped me. I copied the letters, exactly as they appeared on the font, into my notebook for future research.

MAD  ETHIS  PANT

AT  THEIR  CHAR

GES

By the time I reached the stairwell, my sisters had begun their climb toward the bells. With each step, I felt the space between the staircase walls diminish. Though not one to suffer from claustrophobia, I experienced a heightening fear. Obviously, my overactive imagination was at work.

Fairy tales had been the path my grandparents chose to teach me the intricacies of my ancestry. Had this stairwell once witnessed a dastardly act that bled into the walls - my sensitive nature absorbing the ancient scene and translating the event into a current dread? Reluctant to analyze the surroundings further, I urged my legs to climb faster, adrenaline seeking to overpower . . .

Before that thought fully formed, my sisters called down to me. “Stop lingering, Gahlen. The sealant on the rock steps is potent enough to make you start hallucinating.”

With a shudder of relief, I rushed upward, the poetic rhythm of Shandon bells urging me on. The panoramic view from the tower made my efforts worthwhile. In silence, we surveyed the city. I snapped several photographs knowing I could never fully capture the tranquility of the River Lee rippling through the Irish countryside of Cork. My overactive imagination would have to suffice.

*Craftsmen MADE THIS PANT (font) AT THEIR CHARGES (for their patrons).

*****

Q is for QUEBEC (LOWER CANADA) #AtoZChallenge

For this year's challenge, my theme is The Fun in Writing. Each of my 26 posts for April is aimed at
illustrating fun parts of an author's day. A writer doesn't only write.
Creating a story or an essay requires research, revision, editing, and lots and lots of coffee and chocolate.



Q is for QUEBEC (LOWER CANADA)

Over the past five years, I've been working on a genealogical novel that covers the homelands of my ancestors. During NaNoWriMo 2015, I added fifty thousand words to the mix (making me a NaNoWriMo WINNER! Yeah, me.) The weekly gathering place for the month of November was a movable feast. For the Sunday sessions, I experienced a new brewery in Waikiki, aptly named Waikiki Brewing Company . . . another reason I have so much fun writing!

 

Several of my ancestors immigrated to Quebec, which at the time was known as Lower Canada. Some of the ancestors emigrated from France, others from Ireland. A couple of these folks, one a descendant of emigrants from LaRochelle, France; the other a direct emigrant from Tipperary County, Ireland; met up in Wisconsin where they said, "I Do." The 1860 census lists them as Philis (Felix) and Margaret Plant with three children; directly below them are listed his parents, Francois and Phillis (Felicity) along with young Philis, Felix's first child. (From the names, you see why genealogy research gets confusing.)

Long before their marriage took place in Wisconsin, though, the French LaPlante folks who settled in Quebec had to break rocky ground for planting, and cut down trees to build shelter. No Walmart greeted them with shelves overflowing with hammers and protein drinks and fresh vegetables. These settlers were on their own to "make their own" with whatever they brought from the homeland. 

The Irish McKeough family escaped a cholera epidemic, along with an agricultural crisis that became known as the great potato famine. Immigrants traveled across stormy seas in cramped conditions before arriving in Lower Canada with only the meager belongings they were able to carry with them.

Quebec is known for its fur trade business, especially beaver pelts when the fur became the fashion statement of Europe during the 1800s. Also noteworthy is that the province of Quebec is famous for its thousands of lakes, formed during the deglaciation period beginning about 15,000 years ago.

 

[PDF] Voyageurs - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

 

 

 

 

 

K is for KEOGH CLAN OF IRELAND #AtoZChallenge

For this year's challenge, my theme is The Fun in Writing. Each of my 26 posts for April is aimed at
illustrating fun parts of an author's day. A writer doesn't only write.
Creating a story or an essay requires research, revision, editing, and lots and lots of coffee and chocolate.

K is for KEOGH

What's in an Irish Name?

 

My relatives from Tipperary, Ireland have the name McKeough. In researching the purpose of beginning a name with the prefix Mac, Mc, or O, I learned the following:

 

In ancient Ireland the population was much smaller than today and the mass movement of people was uncommon. It was usual therefore for a person to be known only by one name. This single name system began to break down during the eleventh century as the population was growing and there was a need for a further means of identification. The solution was to adopt a prefix such as Mac (Mc is an abbreviation) or Ó.

 

Mac means 'son of' whilst Ó means 'grandson of'.

 

My relatives moved from Ireland to Lower Canada in the 1840s. No records of movement for free emigrants to Canada were required until 1865. (The USA required these records since 1773.)

 

Engaging in genealogical research and writing stories based on the information garnered during the research process are my idea of finding The Fun in Writing. It isn't climbing Mount Everest or kite boarding in Kailua on O'ahu (no, that's not me on the water!) but the "high" is still there.

 

 

 

(K is also for Kailua and for Kite.)