BOOK TWO CHAPTER SIX

I intend that this chapter include some descriptive references to places in Ireland, some of which may relate directly to foe Hartnett or Corcoran families, or to historical or other interesting sites. A lot of it may relate to other things foat have no relative value.

DRUMCULLEN

There is a lot of information about Drumcullen, which is (or was) a parish (or townland) just outside of foe town of Kinnitty in County Offaly. It is where the old family cemetery lies. Ghosts and Other Things

I only know of two ghost stories that are told by family members, and both of these relate to foe area of foe cemetery at Drumcullen in County Offaly. It is said to be the oldest cemetery in Ireland and it dates back to the 6th Century when a holy man named John lived there, supposedly in isolation. An old church was built on the site and a little of its remains can still be seen. A newer church was put together and parts of it still stand. These are not churches as we know them, but stone huts, for one or only a few people. N

These churches were small corbelled stone structures made by piling the stones atop one another and leaning them inward until an arched interior is formed by the side walls meeting overhead. At the most, the newer church could only hold a few people, if that. It is more like a small stone hut, and it may also have been used to afford shelter to shepherds in the early days of Ireland.

There is supposed to be a holy well near here where a Station or Pattern was held in olden days. The word "Pattern" comes from "patron", and it can refer to a saint, or to one who patronizes the saint by hosting the "Pattern". These meetings of the faithful are sometimes still held at people's houses, but in the past, they were more often held at places which have special scenic or ethereal qualities. I have never looked for the St. John's holy well, but I have read about it. The river that flows alongside of the site, the Walk River, might also have been considered to be of a special nature in this isolated area.

The ghost stories must await the completion of a further description of the site. From the bridge over the Walk River near where you will park your car at foe road edge, there is an opening in foe bridge parapet wall on the east side. Several stones jut out and they enable you to walk down the several steps to reach foe north side of foe river. There were some gravel piles here during my last visit. Walk along the fields, keeping parallel with the general direction of foe river and, about two hundred yards in, you should see the general outline of the cemetery several hundred yards ahead. It is nineteen chains (at 66 feet per chain) to the cemetery which can be located at some times of foe year from the road because a tall stone grave marker erected in it by foe Grogan family can be viewed from a certain location,.

Often, foe field alongside of the cemetery has cows in it, so that careful attention has to be given to foe places where one's foot is placed. The cows can become very curious and can invite themselves to visit with you along the way. The cemetery is fenced, with a gate that is usually locked. However, entry does not prove to be a formidable issue. Take care, as you are in a holy and revered place at this point.

Once there, you can look back to see the Walk River as it flows below the hillock upon which the cemetery stands. Fields to the north are cleared and a copse of wood referred to in earlier descriptions of foe place is long gone. A boreen (or a cart road) meanders toward the cemetery from the paved road, but I do not invite you to travel it, except possibly on foot. Along the river's edge between the cemetery and the road, brush and trees make a trek there almost impassable. A moat from former days is no longer visible.

Looking to foe north, you can see the Fairy Mound, about a thousand feet away, and it appears to be about fifty meters tall. It is obviously man made, or should I say foat the Little People put it there? Who's to say? Legend has it foat the ghosts come out of the cemetery on All Saints Eve,(called Halloween in America), and anciently called Samhain (pronounced Sow ween) in Ireland. They meet with the Little People to cavort and to dance on their "Hungry Grass" in between the two places. This night is supposed to be one of the few times foat certain humans can see them, but even they have to have "The Power" to have foat privilege. But, that's a different subject.

Hungry Grass is an area foat is kept especially green by The Little People for their use for hurling matches, to which they sometimes invite humans to play. Should you walk over it, the grass can slowly steal away your senses, until you fall into a deep sleep upon it, from which you may not awake for hundreds of years.

I have visited this lonely place on a Sunday morning, with the fog rising from the nearby stream, and not a sole within a mile. The air was thick with hanging raindrops and mist. Drizzle had accompanied my every step. It seemed as if I was in another world, ethereal in nature, and in the company of so many who had passed away before me into it. Yet, I was so entirely alone that I did not know if I would ever make it back to the comforts of civilization. This was where a neighbor had dug graves to the crunch of a shovel full of decayed bones, and where Barbara Hartnett's foot had sunk into a grave site as the family stood in prayers for the departed.

This place was almost as old as Christ. A short distance away, the Fairy Mound had probably been formed in foe old custom of each person paying tribute to an ancient Irish princess by foe placement of a stone on a pile over her grave. Was it, then, the place where the head of Etech, (or Etain), the Tuatha de Danann queen, was buried as set out in accordance with a gloss in foe Felire of Angus and other ancient Irish writings? She was buried somewhere near, and it is reasonable to assume that it could be here. Kinnitty, the nearby town, is named for her. Technically speaking foe Fairy Mound is said to be "a mott and bailey", which was a type of fortification created, like a castle, for defensive purposes, where a few soldiers could dominate an area, and yet be protected from foe locals because of foe difficulties of attacking the fortification.

There are some things that the family may wish to know about St. John's Cemetery because of its long association with our family. By all standards, it is a small place, but then, land has always been needed for agricultural purposes. In trying to picture the site some fourteen hundred years ago, it was probably cleared at that time. Low lands would have been boggy and habitation would have been extremely sparse.

Upon a chance meeting with Billy Spain in 1985,1 found out that his brother, M. P. Spain, had dug graves for my father's two uncles here. It is an honor to be asked to dig the graves of a neighbor in Ireland, and a mark of respect to do so. It was Billy foat told me about the shovels crunching through the bones of so many that had been placed there before those efforts. At another time, in another place, Willie Joe Boland told me about foe men who had uncovered the white circular marble slab with its gold lettering buried beneath the ground while grave digging, and of their covering it out of respect for the person of such importance who commanded foe expenditure of such extravagance in his or her name. When you relate such burial costs to the economic picture of foe community, both in its present and past times, you can only wonder about the place.

When Joe Davis told me of those blue eyes staring upward toward the heavens, the outline of the British trooper, lying in foe road in uniform, as he described it, comes clearer to my thoughts. I know that Joe Davis had no part in foe matter, but he was aware of all foat had transpired. A hurried burial in the obvious place, the cemetery, would have easily been found by the English enemy. Besides, foe Catholic does not place foe body of an Unbeliever in consecrated ground. The nearby river rose and fell, so that disturbed soil alongside it would not be noticed. The body was placed alongside the river bed, but not permanently. The waters rose during the night, as if in rebellion against accepting the unwanted one, and they washed away his covering. The remains were removed and put into another place, from where they were later recovered by the authorities.

This story, which began to be about ghosts, has taken several turns, and I now refer you to a poem about the place written by me several years ago. Now, we get to the two ghost stories: The first one is a simple one. My father was a youngster living at Knockbarron. His father sent him into Kinnitty to pick up supplies, which included a pint of whiskey. We will assume that it was for medicinal purposes, although with the reputation of this family, I wouldn't be knowing about that! Owen took foe ass and trap and he set off toward Kinnitty. He secured the wanted merchandise and started back toward Knockbarron. When he came to the low spot in the road, which happens to be at the Walk River just opposite Saint John's Cemetery, he saw these clouds of fog and mist forming ahead of him. They seemed to take the shape of something weird and eerie, and the place is solitary and lonely, as I have, myself, described it. Owen thought foat he saw a ghost in those swirling clouds. He got down from the trap and, to calm his nerves, he drank foe whole bottle of whiskey. When he told the story in later years, Jim Wilkie asked him, "Owen, are you sure you saw the ghost BEFORE your drank the whiskey?" In a more serious discussion on foe subject, every Irish person of the times in the Midlands knows something about the spirits that are to be found about them. For instance, my cousin, Joe, took me to foe Military Cemetery in Crinkle to tell me about the beliefs relating to such places. One never cuts down a tree in a cemetery, and one never burns foe wood from such trees, because the spirits of the departed who have been placed there are assimilated into such things and their beings would be desecrated by the burning. There are many such beliefs and stories.

One of them relates to my father. He swore that he had seen a ghost (or its equivalent) when, as he was going along the road near Knockbarron, he saw a hare spinning round and round at foe road's edge. All Irish Midland people know that, when an animal such as a hare spins around and around, he is surely possessed by the spirits, and is sure to be a Wizard Hare. A witch or a wizard is an "auld wan" that takes the shape of an animal to wreak its power upon whatever mortal is nearby. Owen ran in fear into the home of his friend, Joe Davis, who lived nearby. To foe end of his days, he always thought that he had truly seen a Wizard Hare.

The Irish know that, in their far country, the old crones or witches are said to be able to change their shapes into the bodies of such animals as hares. They can go about the countryside in such disguises to do their acts of meanness and deviltry, including the stealing of milk from cows and butter from wells where it is stored to keep it cool. They can come into houses at night to cast spells and do evil things that can make life miserable for those foat they choose to confront. The second ghost story was told to me by my sister, Rosemary, at the time of the funeral of my brother, Richard, in 1985. It relates to Drumcullen Cemetery, which is the other name for Saint John's Cemetery, and I have since obtained more information about it from the records of the area and from the stories of the old seanachies (storytellers). In the most ancient of times, in a far off place in the West of Ireland, Connla (or Conn of foe Hundred Battles) was a great leader. It was he who competed against Eoghan Mor, foe son of Neide in so many battles to be the monarch of all of Ireland, and they ended up dividing Ireland into two parts, each under separate rule. This Neide is foe same one who is the progenitor of my family. When a person of such fame travels over his realm, some of the places foat he visits become known for him and they carry his name. Connla stopped, one day, to drink from a spring, and the draught was so refreshing that, in repayment, nine hazelnut trees were planted alongside its waters. Their seeds were magical, in nature, having come from the wonders of the Tuatha de Danann who were the mystical druids of Ireland.

The trees grew in beauty and contained beautiful and fragrant blossoms. The hazelnuts that they bore were found to contain all of the scientific knowledge of the Tuatha de Dananns, who could, among other things, even control the elements of nature. The fruit of only one other such tree contained this knowledge, and it was the magic Quicken tree, owned by The Little People and guarded by Sharvan, the Surly, who was said to be an ogre. As foe nuts ripened alongside the stream, they fell into the ripples and were swept along until they became food for foe salmon when they arrived to spawn. When the nuts were eaten, and the fish in turn were taken for food, the knowledge was imparted to people, accordingly. This wisdom from the trees was kept away from most of foe inhabitants by restricting their rights to fish, and the few lucky ones who partook of the salmon soon became the principal persons of the community. Connla's Well, as it came to be known, had a special restriction. Women were not allowed to approach it, ever since an argument over ownership of The Brown Bull of Cooley by Queen Maeve had led to a terrible war. One girl, the beautiful Sinann, was the daughter of a king, and felt that such limitations did not apply to her. Upon her approach, the spring or well overflowed, spouting seven separate streams which became, in time, foe seven major rivers of Ireland. We know the most famous of them, named after foat princess as the River Shannon. These salmon and their offspring still exist in Ireland's waters today, and their flesh is often referred to as "brain food". It was one of them that lived in the Walk River near to the roadway bridge of which I write. This fish would reappear in foe form of the beautiful princess, Sinann, when tradition was threatened nearby. One day, two travelers (tinkers) were on their journey past foe site and they stopped to rest by the river. Seeking sustenance, they caught the salmon in a trap in the stream. In order to cook it, one of them took some wood from the cemetery to start a fire alongside of foe newer church with the corbelled walls. This insult to foe departed caused the fish to change to her human form, and she took up a frying pan of cast iron that had been placed over foe fire to heat. Sinann hurled it at the tinkers and both of them ducked to avoid it. The pan flew past their heads. It struck foe side of foe church wall, knocking a hole in it just above the fire. The miscreants fled from her terror, never to return.

In 1986,1 visited at foe site. Alongside the old church wall, the ashes from a fire still were clearly visible. The wall, indeed, had a hole in it, just as I had been told. I took a picture of it, and when it was developed, you could clearly see the ashes from the fire alongside the wall, but where the aperture should have been, foe picture was unclear and cloudy. I have always felt that it was because the ghost that threw the frying pan was still there, to protect foe graves and spirits of the departed in that place.

Alongside another part of the wall, and covering much of its shape, a fairy tree had grown to darken the outline of foe ancient building and ruins. In the far distance, the grass and dirt that had accumulated atop the Fairy Mound has sloughed and slid, to change its shape, somewhat.

If, some day, you should go there, and you should feel a sense of the antiquity of the place, place your index finger alongside of your nose, and the spirits will welcome your venture onto their ground and they will keep you safe. Just don't go there on All Saints Eve, when the ghosts and the Fairies get together and frolic.

THE MAGIC BERRY OF THE QUICKEN TREE

Two women of the Faery people arranged a hurling match. On one side were the Fianna, a thousand strong, and they were the elite of the standing army of Ireland. Their opponents were to be the men of foe Faery who lived near Loch Lene, a Limerick site. It was customary for the Faery folk to invite a couple of good hurlers (locals) to play on the side of the Faery team.

A feast is usually held after the match and food was brought to the site. Sustenance for the Little People is magical to suit their nature and differs from mortal food. A berry from foe Faery larder was lost during its transport and, by the time it had been located by the Faery folk, a tree had grown from it. The berries from this magic quicken tree were as delicious as a heavenly wine and they made a person as merry as a tankard of mead. They could cure any illness and make the aged look young again. They contained foe secret of long life and happiness. Because of foe value of the tree, a giant called Sharvan foe Surly was put to guard it, and with his mystical powers, he could only be defeated if someone stole his club and used it against him. Tell me now. How did you do it? How did you acquire your magic berry?

THE OLD PLACE AT DRUMCULLEN (or Saint John's Cemetery)

Sunday morning belies its name When, overhead, no sparkle shows, And warmth of land sends forth Its misty vapors from quiescent rain.

Wetness hung in the air During travel to the bridge at the road's dip. Stones, like stairs, lead down to river banks And to mined gravel piles dug from watery girth. A trudge by foe Walk River, then across the field Alongside foe gurgling stream. Milk mothers watch so cautiously As their droppings are avoided.

The last turn, and it lies a hundred yards away, Separated by a fence and wall, Protected by further enclosure And, yet apart from it all. At first, the fairy tree appears to be all Surrounded by a few monuments. Closer, though, you see their outline. The walls that surround foe cemetery.

A newer vault of corbelled stone Lies west of older church remains. It stood in foe time of John, Called a saint of Century Six.

Perhaps, an eremite only, was he To live apart from others of his time. A pious life was proclaimed And a holy place was born.

Now, further blest by priest's Station At John's Holy Well each June, From day of twenty six to twenty nine, In his honor and the Love of God.

Through misty fog, it all seems unreal, As drops glisten everywhere they land And silence pervades this remote land, Except for foe noise of insects and rippling water.

Here, where foe ghosts of my past live; Graves dug by M.P. Spain for my grandmother's two brothers And, with each delve of spade, more bones came to light, Crumpling like eggshells to the touch. Earth has settled to enclose its precious gifts And care is needed to walk amid The stones that simply and elegantly Mark their final resting places.

Tales are told of the round marble slab Laying deep within the soil With letters carved on it in gold And left, respectfully alone, with God To the north, the Fairy Mound stands, lonely, Overlooking the valley and St. John's moat, Where, in ancient days, perhaps a Fomorian queen Or other honored dead were entombed. Now, the soil atop the mound has sloughed And slid to change its perfect form Where Little People have always lived and hid In a spot untrod by fearing man.

Each year at All Hallows eve, Known as "Samhain" to all nearby, The Little People leave their Fairy Mound To meet and dance with graveyard ghosts.

Unseen to all, except when the priest, at Baptism Forgets to say a few of the ritual words, And then, everything becomes clear To one so slighted by the clergy.

Look nineteen chains* east from Drumcullen Bridge On foe north side of foe Walk River For Drumcullen old church and graveyard. It measures one hundred thirty by forty links.*

In this revered place, so isolated, Lay my father's parents, together with Grandmother's two brothers And many others of mine of long ago.

This holy land disgorged the unwanted one When the river's flow arose To wash away the hurried cover Placed on the slain disbeliever

As if foe one who guards the place Against miscreants and doubters, And who appears only to a few of those Who defile this final place, had acted.

She may live in the waters of foe stream Or be of foe many hidden thoughts of the mind, But foe mark is left when, another time, in her anger, A sacred wall was breached by iron, thrown.

The sacrilege of burned wood alongside a stone church wall Brought forth her rage at foe defamation. Did foe traveler's honed steel penetrate her side To redden it forever when she returned to her home?

Who knows of the red spot on the fish? We only know that this is a sacred place, Which holds a part of what we once were And what we may someday be.

Now, deceased are sent to other resting places, And this tired land, with its tear-stained memories, Can rest and shelter its loved ones As time ages it further. Robert A. Hartnett Written in 1993 * I do not know where St. John's Well is located and where the Station (prayer meeting) is held. It may be nearby I never knew of it to look for it. I have a note about St. John's Road being six chains to the northeast of the cemetery and of it being the boundary of a large wood. A dirt road (or boreen) borders a property line to the north of the cemetery and a few trees line it. The large wood must have been removed long age. A chain is sixty six feet long and a link is one one-hundredth of a chain or seven and ninety two one hundredths of an inch long. I first heard the story of the ghost of Drumcullen Cemetery on my brother, Richard's back porch in Fall River, on the day of his funeral. I believe that it was my sister, Rosemary, who told me of it, but I am not sure of that. The ghost was a princess who lived in the stream in the form of a fish. The red spot on foe side of the fish refers to legend that says that it was caused by someone who inadvertently thrust his knife into foe fish, not knowing that the fish was actually a magical princess who dwelled in the waters of foe stream in the form of a fish. When she was trapped by the travelers and taken from the stream, and they attempted to use her for food, by starting a fire from wood in foe cemetery, she changed form, to pick up their frying skillet, to hurl it at them. They dodged her fury, and the skillet struck the stone wall of foe old church, making a hole in it. I visited to the site, and I saw the burned embers of the wood, and the hole in the old church wall just above them. My picture, taken of the scene, did not fully develop, and it left an eerie blur, as if the ghostly apparition was still there. Saint John's Cemetery, and the Fairy mound not far away, are the subjects of further memories and historical writings, as the cemetery is the oldest one in Ireland. THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF DRUMCULLEN In the Irish Midlands, in County Offaly, not far from foe Town of Kinnitty, there is a Fairy Mound foat stands by itself in the middle of a long valley. It is about 150 feet high, and perhaps, 300 feet across at the bottom. Some say it is the place where an ancient Irish princess was buried, and each of her subjects came to place a stone atop her grave, until a large mound was built. Over the years, grass has grown on it and, today, no one goes there because foe Little People live there.

It is their home, according to foe farmers who live nearby. It is a place that is respected because of reverence for the dead and, more particularly, because of the presence of those of the Fairy race that are sometimes called The Good People.

They can't be seen very often by ordinary men and women, but there are some of the Aulde Ones who have "The Gift" and can tell you about the happenings at Drumcullen. They know about the Hurling Games foat have taken place between the Little People and some of the local men in the past, and they know about The Dancing. On All Hallows Eve, called Halloween in America, and Samhain (pronounced like Soween in Irish), the ghosts from nearby St. John's Cemetery arise from their graves to meet the Little People midway between foe two places. They dance and frolic the whole night long. However, it is dangerous to go near to foe place on foat night, because the Little People get quite angry with anyone who tries to spy on their activities. I asked my cousin if he would go with me to see them on that night and he said to me "Are you crazy? There's no sense asking for trouble!"

They say that the Fairy Mound has a passageway into it, and that if you go down it more than three steps, you will never return. No one goes there and everyone in Ireland leaves the Little People to themselves, so as not to anger them. If you ever happen to find yourself near them, put one finger alongside of your nose and they will know that you respect them and they will leave you alone.

There are three other times of the year when those with "The Gift" can see the fairies. The Little People love their Irish music which follows them where they go. They eat and drink a lot, and are always happy amongst themselves. FAMILY GRAVES IN IRELAND AND SOME OLD HOUSES When looking for the grave of Joseph Hartnett, brother of Owen Hartnett, and father of six children, go to the intersection of roads at Rath in County Offaly, which is on the road northerly from Birre center. Go to where a church was being rebuilt in 1994, and then go about 100 yards northerly to the cemetery which is located beyond the wall on foe east side of the road. Enter and go to the right. Joseph Hartnett lies there with his son, Kieran Hartnett. I remember foe grave to be close to the wall, but not alongside it.

Ann Mannion, one of the neighbors of the Hartnett family near Killaun in County Offaly, who lives on the Roscrea Road with her family, told me that Frank Redden was going along the back road that circles back to Killaun Lane with two friends, and they had to pass by a fairy fort in their travels. Frank decided to take a short cut across the fairy fort on land of the Welshes, while his wiser companions knew better and decided to walk the longer route along the roadway. When Frank didn't rejoin them after a short time, they went looking for him, and found him unconscious in foe Fairy Fort. He woke after awhile, and they asked "Frank! Frank! What happened to you?" He replied "A banshee leaped upon my back, and 1 got so excited foat I fainted". Frank grew up to be a patriot, and he is buried in Rath Cemetery, where I saw his gravestone. He is not a family member, but was one of the locals, and he fought in the War for Independence.

Mick Mannion's daughter is related to the Quegans, and I met a Quegan woman in New York. Back in County Offaly, Ann Mannion O'Meara and her husband used to run the Roselawn B & B which was two miles along the Roscrea Road from Birre, and it was closed when I went by in October of 2001, after foe World Trade Center thing. The Mannions family had lived on the main road from Kinnitty to Birre, just one or two houses from Killaun Lane. Ann knows all of my Uncle Joe Hartnett's family. Her mother was still alive, as was Larry Guinan, whom I met on a previous trip to Ireland, and they are the only two left from foat generation. Ann Mannion O'Meara has a sister that probably went to school with Denis Hartnett. Her father, Mick Mannion, is buried at Rath Cemetery, where Joe Hartnett is buried.

A Midlander's Exile, written about my father, Owen Hartnett

The early years had not been happy ones. His mother had succumbed to the disease that had also racked his small body, and his aunts had tended him when his father was away at work. Now, his elderly uncles needed help and care, so he and his brother lived with them and tended to foe farm chores. The children were closer to foe land and to the people than their father, who had been a policeman, and who always had to espouse the English ways. They talked of Ireland's struggle, its patriots and its battle for Home Rule. The Famine times had been a part of the youth of foe older ones, and they had seen "The Clearances" send desperate Irish toward foreign lands, never to be heard from again. Their own family had been among those who suffered and died. The youngsters heard and they understood. The Gaelic Revival League was always in the news, but in foe Midlands, there was not time for such things. The efforts were put forth to secret meetings and development of resistance to English rule. While everyone was involved, brother was not even allowed to tell brother. Marching and drilling with hurleys was only a prelude to the battles foat were sure to follow. When Dublin rose in rebellion in 1916, and the nation followed their lead, the farming areas formed Flying Squads to fight foe enemy. They cut down trees to immobilize roads. They ambushed patrols and blew up bridges. They established their own system of government and laws. Still, the English enemy and its dominions remained in their midst.

THE CHAINS

THE ISLANDS IN THE ROAD AT THE CROSSING EASTERLY FROM DOOLEY'S HOTEL

This area is known locally as The Chains, from the fence made along its edges out of painted chains draped from post to post. The Sassanach are the Saxon foreigners. It is near the place where the young Irish who followed in foe footsteps of those rebels of 1916 in Dublin, met to march with their hurleys on their shoulders, in practice for foe War for Independence foat would soon be upon them. More importantly, it was done in full view of the thousands of members of the Crown Forces who occupied foe military barracks at nearby Crinkle. It was an "in your face" activity, to let foe British know that their occupation of Ireland was ending. Now covered with stone, blackened by tar, And girded by concrete, raised and white, The emerald green of Birre's centerpiece Is guarded by wrought iron and chains.

The center of culture and history Is frowned upon by one of foe Sassanach. The Earl of Ross, carved in stone, Overlooks those upon whom his ilk trod down.

Can you picture the church leaders gathered ? In foe earliest of times, the synod met here To decide the fate of Ireland as they knew it, And to tell us of the wisdom of the Church

Here foe Fianna met to rejoice The partnership of life, and love and war Under Erin's ever threatening sky or With soft dewy flakes of wetness, covering all.

Armies, councils, shouts and threats Echoed amid these structures, through the years. The rattle of drums and marching feet Of both friend and foe can still be heard.

The great O'Connell sneered at its foreign tenor. Yet, martyrs memories are still enshrined in stone A meeting place of men and minds Still resounds with human noise.

Remember me, thou Birre of ancient times, As I recall your trials and hopes and joys, For I am of the power of Man Who made and keeps you for your beauty.

About foe Hartnett Family by Robert A. Hartnett

This is an essay about my trip to Ireland in 1985 and its writing was begun on November 16, 1985, being added to my records of the Hartnett family in 1996. It tends to wander from that subject from time to time.

It is time to write. The telling will not be a short one, as there are many facets to be shown. Later, foe book may come, by me or by others based upon the research that has been done, and its shape is being formed now. Ireland, in 1985, is a strange mixture of the old and the new. Few have seen it as I have. Only the natives know it as I do. Even they could not see their life as through my eyes. More important, the lack of formal education in foe older generation is appalling, for they cannot express themselves and their marvelous heritage in the formal language of prose. As easy as it is to draw out the Irish, certain patterns do exist foat are repetitious. At Bunratty Folk Park, a cottage caretaker, a farmer of forty acres who supplemented his income at the park, reflected on the Famine times, and foe boreen (lane) foat led from the roadside past the two houses and then widened beyond. It was suited only to the ass and trap, and it led to the half acre, planted with potatoes during the populous period that came to be decimated by four years of disaster, now called "An Gorta Morna" or the Great Famine. His description was a familiar one. The tale had been told to countless others and I have read about the un- harvested hillocks foat once held seed potatoes. Nevertheless, the memory of the attempt to farm that poor hilltop land and the inability of foe emigrants to return to it, told the forlorn story of another family sufferings, and the pangs of hunger, and they were still prominent, in as least one person's memory. If I had not remembered his recitation of it, I would have been more profound in its discussion, but then, there are no new stories in Ireland. There are only old ones foat are told and retold. Tipperary isn't a long way away. Don't be misled by the activity at Nenagh, which is a busy, bustling town, with foe usual narrow and congested streets. In terms of family involvement, it is only a Post Office address, and is quite a distance away from the Hartnett family. Cousin Ann (Hartnett) Mahon lives in Lorrha, a small village, in a very remote setting. Its population is about 150 people, and that includes those on nearby farms. Not without fame, Lorrha contains the ruins of a religious edifice which was founded thirteen hundred years earlier by Bishop Cronan. Christy Moloney knew much of foat, and he had great intentions to further his research on the area, but his life was terminated too quickly. His death was no suicide. He was their enemy and our friend. Lorrha is reached through Riverstown from Birre, or from across the bridge over the River Shannon from Portumna in Galway. Its short main street and single intersection reflect its rural nature. The local policeman, Sergeant Coen, had been to America and he has two brothers there. Sergeant Coen's talent as a musician is hidden in this small town. I met him when my cousin, Ann, told me to ask him to play a few tunes for me, which he did in foe kitchen of his house, accompanied on the tin whistle by his daughter. His house also doubles as the local police station. Later foat evening, at the local pub, he sang a song foat he wrote for Tiger Sullivan, the Lord Mayor of Lorrha, since deceased, and he also played the tin whistle splendidly. It is interesting that almost everyone in Lorrha does his thing to entertain others, and many do it in diverse ways, like playing the spoons or drumming with foe fingers to foe tune. Christy Maloney, who met us there, played on a broken-down concertina with missing keys, but even that sounded good after a couple of beers. The police station, which was Sergeant Coen's home, stands at the top of the street. Both the new church and the ruins of the old church are at the lower end. You would not know that the town pub was there unless you were told. It is small. It is very small. With fifteen standing people, there would be no room for anyone to move. Tim Corrigan had a special seat and was a favorite when he sang his "Come All Ye's". You can tell that he loves foe small pub crowd. His three score years have not dimmed a fine voice. John Ryan, the husband of Ann's friend, combines his talent on the tin whistle with a husky voice and its tremolo, and he likes American tunes. Tom Dolan dresses casually and is somewhat shy, even when called upon to clear the melodious notes from his throat. Perhaps some of the knowledgeable ones can understand the Lord Mayor's song-like mutterings, but they were beyond me. The tall farmer who hid his intelligence behind wild eyes, unkempt appearance, clothes foat should have belonged to a hobo, and a decided lack of comeliness, kept the beat of the music by rapping his fingers against a wooden panel, and it well complemented all other musical efforts. It is clear that you must be an "insider" to enjoy Lorrha. Alternately, Birre is a busy little town in Ireland's Midlands. The land around it is quite level, boggy and rural. It's about three city blocks wide and perhaps foe equivalent of six blocks long. A statue of the Duke of Cumberland in the northerly or main square was broken in a show of Irish rebellion in past years, and a monument to the Manchester Martyrs of 1867 anchors the circle (or roundabout) at the southern end of the main street. County Offaly's recent win in the All-Ireland hurling contest was reflected in a large paper mache statue of two hurlers competing in their traditional county colors. County Offaly is the only county allowed to dress in foe green, white and gold colors of the national flag. While Main Street in Birre is not a shopper's Paradise, you can probably find most things that might want or need there. The nearest alternative is many, many miles away. Birre Castle has a walled garden park adjacent to it, and is located immediate to the west side of the town of Birre. The land and castle are owned by the family of the Earl of Rosse, who live in the full-sized castle building, which is mostly kept private. However, the castle grounds are speckled with streams and ponds, and they are open to the public for a fee. The formal gardens are well-kept and substantial. Tree life is varied, with many old and different species found only in other demesnes. Only the English could keep possession of their trees in Ireland's Midlands and the walled protection such as this one preserved them from the needs of natives. It is the general attitude in Ireland that, if you would look for the Sassanach (Saxon foreigners), go to the high ground, for they still occupy foe best lands, and upon them, the Ascendancy has the best homes. It is here foat 1 wish to tell a story about a Sullivan girl from Seekonk, who visited to foe gardens at Birre Castle, while she was a college student in America. While there, she mentioned to the administrators foat her college degree would complement the type of gardens that existed at the palace, and asked if there was any potential for employment at Birre Castle. She was advised that employment would certainly be provided to her when she completed college, especially since her studies followed closely with their efforts to maintain and to preserve the botanical gardens. Upon graduation, she left America, and she went to Birre Castle in County Offaly, where she was welcomed as a new employee. When she asked what she could expect in salary for her new position, she was told foat, while a job awaited her efforts, there was no compensation that went with it. During the tourist season, while it may seem that there may not be enough B & B's to serve foe large number of tourists foat are attracted to Ireland's beautiful countryside, there are certainly many unsigned and unlisted places foat will provide Bed and Breakfast for foe tourists in Ireland. It takes more than a nice home to succeed in foat business. Each has a matron seems to have a pleasant demeanor and a sparkling personality. In foe slower seasons, there is more time for conversations with guests, but even through foe busy summer times, extensive effort is made to set time aside for conversations which are considered to be a significant part of the B & B business. The year's normal September weather accommodated shirt sleeves during the daytime and a tweed sport jacket for evenings. Rain is a way of life in Ireland, but it is usually soft in its nature. My Aunt Josie (or Josephine Hartnett) lived in the southerly end of the town of Birre at the time of this visit. St. Brendan's Villa has a small compound, bordered on three sides by Council Houses for the elderly, and located just south of the main street bridge, and then a short distance easterly toward Crinkle. She had a nice large parlor and two bedrooms. I think that there was a kitchen, also. Her mobility problems were such foat she did not seem to move about a lot, but she does get out to visit her son, Joe. Climbing stairs is something she cannot do, and that limits foe places where she can go. For this reason, I wasn't able to take her out to dinner. She's quite astute, even without extensive formal education. She's easy. Just don't believe everything she says, as in the Irish way, she'll pull your leg, now and again. Did she really hear the Banshee howl three times? Uncle Joe has conveyed the power of healing to her, and she gave it to me. My sister, Rosemary Wilkie, also has it. Let's talk briefly about this "healing" thing. It's been said to be in our family for generations, perhaps for a thousand years and maybe longer. Yet, nobody knows much about it and those that do are bound to secrecy. People come from all over Ireland, but particularly from Galway now, to be healed. Josie told me that she's related to one of the Manchester Martyrs. Alan Larkin, she thinks. One of the memorials to foe three martyrs is situated in the traffic island at the southerly end of the main street in Birre, a short distance from where Josie used to live, and is very impressive. All three said their magic words of "God Save Ireland" in Manchester, England in 1867 at the scaffold, and the whole world heard them. When Alexander O'Sullivan defended them in court, and his brother, T. D. O'Sullivan, penned the words to foat famous song, a concept of guerilla warfare was adopted against England that exists to this very time. T. D. O'Sullivan wrote: GOD SAVE IRELAND High upon the gallows tree Swung the noble-hearted three By foe vengeful tyrant, stricken in their bloom. But they met it face to face With foe courage of their race And they went, with souls undaunted, to their doom.

Chorus "God save Ireland " said foe heroes And God save Ireland, pray we all. Whether on foe gallows high or the battlefield we die It matters not to Erin where we fall.

Climb they up the rugged stair, Kneel they gently then in prayer With the tyrant's fatal cord around them, cast. Close beside foe gallows tree, Kissed like brothers, lovingly True to home, and God, and Freedom to the last.

Again, Chorus Never, till the latest day Has the memory passed away Of those gallant lives thus given for our land And now, on the Cause must go Amidst joy, and weal, and woe Till we make our land a nation, free and grand. Again, chorus

Turning now to Joseph Hartnett, my cousin, his residence (at that time) was at No. 11 Grove Street, Crinkle, Birre, Offaly. (He has moved several times since, and this is not his present address). He was at that same address seven years earlier (around 1978) when I visited. The housing unit was a townhouse style, with the bedrooms upstairs. The first floor had a living room and kitchen. On this visit, Joe was very proud of his videotape machine and he had used it to tape foe 1985 All Ireland Hurling Championship game won by County Offaly for foe second time in five years. Joe's reddish complexion (his mother's maiden name of Ryan means red) is in contrast to his easy disposition. Both he and his wife, Bernadette (Bernie), love and dote upon their children. Perhaps, he's one of foe most amiable persons I've ever met. His back was hurt in an accident, so that he's been unemployed for over two years, except for odd jobs. He seems to get along well, despite his indigent ways. That brings us to Bernie. We had long talks when time permitted. Bernadette was born to a large family. Other children of the family were less fortunate than she, so foat schooling for her ended very early. It was work, or chores, or aid to her less fortunate family that occupied her early years. This is a girl who is remarkable for her devotion to her family. She is bright and happy. Her dream was to travel to visit England and after circumstances cancelled one trip, she has more recently been able to go there. She's was a very pretty woman in her youth. The family used to go to picnic at foe top of the Slieve Bloom Mountains on a weekend. It is a spectacular area that has a wide view of the Midlands and of Coolrain where her Uncle Chris Moloney lived. There was a longing in her for education, something that she now thinks that she won't be able to attain. Her children will get the best schooling foat is available, which isn't much in this rural country. She and Joe are simple people with simple needs and desires. Our evening out to dinner at the County Arms Inn was her first full course formal dinner away from her children. I explained the menu, and aided in their selections of food and wine, and we sat in front of a window overlooking foe most beautiful flower garden in the world. They loved their night out and the after-dinner relaxation in foe lounge alongside the peat fireplace just added to a spectacular evening. What a pleasure it was to watch them enjoy! When Joe married her, he acquired a gem, and she found her Prince Charming. Denis will be here in March of 1986. He's tall and nice. His presence will speak for itself. Suffice it to say foat you'll be pleased and proud. He's easy, too. Our brief talk over dinner was enough to evaluate his situation. Once again, back at the County Arms, he told me of his brother's offer to have him go to England for work after foe end of the year. The alternative of America was made and easily accepted. Plans were not detailed. It required my return across the sea to gain the full support foat he would need here. His automotive training has been for naught, as he wasn't allowed to finish, and has been unemployed for a year. Ireland had thirty days of rain before I arrived. Day Thirty One was more of the same, but by Number 32, they had unloaded foe plane full of sunshine that I had brought. Shirtsleeve weather during the day and sport jacket nights were ideal, except foat I caught a cold which made much of the second week a difficult one. You should know of Kieran. For a while, he had his own place in Lorrha where Ann could look in on him. He had his good and bad times, I hear. With his medication, he was fine. He got his shots, and he could be well for months after. When I was there, a relapse had occurred and he was "in hospital". Ann told me about the electric shock treatments, and of his improvement afterwards. Still, they did not wish to have me visit him, and his later comment was that he was glad that I did not see him at his poorest. My not seeing Kieran was one of the few shortfalls of the trip. Another was not seeing Leo Manley, who then lived at 20 Drogheda Street in Balbriggan, just north of Dublin. Leo Manley passed away in 1989. Christopher (Chris) and Breda had just visited Ireland from their home in England, because of the death of one of her parents. They are doing fine and have two children, both boys. Their brothers and sister often talk of them. My uncle Joe Hartnett, my father's brother, was buried at the new cemetery at Rath in Plot 21. His grave is to foe right as you enter, and is the last lot against the wall. I think that it's in the second row. (A grave stone has since been erected). The pretty flowers were still there when Joe and I paid our respects. Visiting graves is a way of life in Ireland, and it reflects foe respect of ancestry and pride in family. At Rath Cemetery, one of foe tombstones had the spelling on it of Cullawn, not Killaun. The correct way to spell it is Killaun, although my father used to spell it, as did some of the family, as Cullawn. Killaun Lane runs north from the Kinnitty/Birre road at about a mile west of Killyon crossroads, where the pub is presently advertised as Kavanagh's Pub. It used to be Corrigan's Pub before that, and in my father's time, it was Grogan's Pub. Killaun Lane is also foe first road to foe right when you are going westerly from Killyon crossroads toward Birr. During this visit, the old Corcoran (Hartnett) farm house was being used to store farm implements, as it was during my recent visit in 2001 A. D. In other words, it is no longer used as a domicile. The property was sold by Joe Hartnett, my father's brother, because he was too old to farm the property. His wife, Josephine (or Josie) told me foat she had a bicycle accident foat limited foe amount of labor that she could do. The children were too small to run foe place, so the family moved from Killaun (Cullawn) to Crinkle, which is near to foe old R.I.C. barracks in Birre, where they lived in an old retail store property. They lived there during my first visit to them in Ireland. At some point, Josie Hartnett ended up in a Council House in the town of Birre. Council houses are made available by foe community for those who otherwise do not have living accommodations. At another time, when I visited Josie, her son, (my cousin) Kieran was living there, also. Now, Kieran rests beside his fafoer in the cemetery at Rath. First, there was the military cemetery near Crinkle where soldiers and police lay together. My indoctrination by my cousin, Joe Hartnett, made me aware of the truth of those poems and ballads that are so much a part of our heritage. Until then, I didn't know never to cut a cemetery tree or ever to burn its wood. Does it have to be explained or is foe symbolism apparent? The Sidhe (pronounced Shee) are not to be trifled with. You should know about my uncle Joe Hartnett's demise. He had fallen several times and he needed help. Josie couldn't provide the assistance foat he needed when his legs gave out altogether. He was placed in a hospital, which was close enough so that the family could get to visit with him. At the end, he got wild. He fell from his hospital bed, and passed away soon after. Many of his old friends attended the funeral and his burial at Rath. I talked to Mrs. Reade who attended. Mr. Pardy, my host for a week, attended, as did the Spains who were neighbors from the Killaun (Cullaun) area. The Welsh boy and M. P. Spain dug foe grave, a mark of respect for the family. The Welsh name reference has brought the name of old Mr. Byrne to mind, as he had been long gone before Uncle Joe's demise, but he was remembered for his advanced age and his exceptional memory. It was apparent foat foe family really missed Uncle Joe's presence. Bernie, who loves children, also likes to care for foe elderly. Her children, Sharon, Owen, James Robert and Donald, are all good looking and healthy. Do foe names sound familiar? She chose those names of her American relatives. Her husband dotes on foe youngsters and he also avoids fried food. He also hasn't had a drink in seven years and that's the truth. You would never know that Pardy's house was aB&B, unless you were told so. The two story stucco exterior covers an interior hallway serving two downstairs bedrooms and about four rooms above. The cow grazing at the rear and the sheep are in contrast to the bower of flowers that greet foe visitor in the driveway. His family were our neighbors at Killaun, and so I was accorded the Royal Treatment (for a while). When Mr. Pardee learned of Dad's rapid exit from Ireland, his attitude changed markedly. So much for the Ascendancy. Usual fare at Josie's for guests is tea with ham, a salad, bread, tomatoes and a lot of talk. She can always find a nip for a visitor, but she doesn't imbibe. I must emphasize the social obligation of having tea. The water is always boiled in our equivalent of an electric pressure cooker and the tea is allowed to steep properly. The best milk, butter and cream in the world are always present because the cows are everywhere. When visiting your relatives, go to Killaun first to see the Corcoran house and farm where Joe lived for most of his life. The title to foe farm had rested in Dad as the oldest living son, until he deeded it over to his brother, Joe, later on in life. The oak tree still guards the lane and stands mute where foe leprechaun was regularly seen by Joe and reported to his children. He must still be there because my snapshot of foe area didn't develop. You can still see foe stone trough, quarried by Mr. Lightly who drove fifteen miles to the Mount Mellick quarry to get foe stone, delivered it to Killaun by ass and cart for forty miles, hollowed it out with hammer and chisel and he received his one pound note to cherish on his twenty five mile trip home in the year 1904. Later, John Lightly went to Boston and never returned, perhaps using that note as part of his passage. The Corcoran farmhouse well at Killaun was lined with limestone and it was dug fifty two feet deep, while a similar well at Byrnes needed only twenty five feet of depth. Killaun Lane had eighty seven people living on it at one time. A fellow named Corcoran, my great grandfather from Kilcolman which is a short distance from Crinkle, married a Miss Wilshe (pronounced Welsh) who lived on the property and he moved in to live there. Their granddaughter, Anne, was to become my grandmother by marrying Denis Hartnett, a policeman. Anne's two brothers lived at the Killaun site and, one of them, Michael married a Whelin (spelling uncorroborated) from Kilcolman, and she was friendly with a family of Kennys. Dennis Corcoran never married, but continued to live there also. Before foe Great Famine of 1845 to 1849, there were other famines and plagues. It was the devastation of that mid-nineteenth century period, however, that changed Ireland and Cullaun (Killaun) Lane so much. The eighty seven people have dwindled to about four small families, now. There also were foe effects of the bubonic plague and smallpox which spread through this community like wildfire in earlier times. Irish family sizes, lack of food and emigration have all taken a toll of County Offaly men, many of whom went to St. John's in Newfoundland where foe Landing Tax was only Two Pounds Ten Shillings in the early 1900's. If there was no money for passage, some could go steerage (which required work any way foat they could to obtain passage). The Irish still call foe vessels of the 1840's foe "Coffin Ships" and foe label fell on many others in later years. The old Corcoran farmhouse stands deserted and aging. A door to the barn foat was present in 1978 is now gone and some farm equipment lies there. Memories of it in former times bothered my cousin, Joe Hartnett, more than it did his younger brother, Denis, because of their age differences while living there. Even Knockbarron has changed since 1978. Where there was once was a fence along the lane, foe area has been leveled and crushed stone has been placed for a parking area. The remainder of the fence must now be imagined. Knockbarron is foe site of foe stone dwelling called Bernard's Castle. The land and building were formerly a part of Kinnitty Castle (also called Bernard's Castle) which still stands magnificently on the other side of the Town of Kinnitty. It is the house where my fafoer and his family were raised. Any house so grand as it (it was built of stone) could only belong to "our English masters", or at least it did after all foe rebellions had been quelled. Although now open and neglected, its grandeur was still visible in the slate roof, the elegant chimney and fireplaces, and the ornate workmanship that remained near the windows. The slots in the stone chimney could be used for firing at any Irish attackers of The Land League days. The forestry access road now runs directly past foe house, exposing the remains to foe few who pass that way. It is still owned by the Land Commission people. Willie Joe Boland is something to experience. His memory is probably one of foe best treasure troves in the Midlands. He worked for Mr. Byrne and he obtained much of his knowledge from foat man. Naturally, he knew foe Corcoran brothers, and he attended my uncle Joe's funeral. According to him, Dennis Corcoran, my father's uncle, disliked the English so much that he wouldn't read a newspaper printed in England. Willie Joe Boland knew both my father and my brother, Donald. However, I know that, on some small points, his memory was a little flawed. From the inquiries that I have made, there does not appear to be a complete history of this part of the Midlands. It is from Willy Joe foat I learned that we are from Dromcolliher, near the Limerick/Cork border. (I now think that he was inaccurate, and that he may have been referring to Dromtrasna Hartnett near Abbeyfeale.). My attempts to find out more about this were somewhat limited by the lack of available time in Dublin, the relocation of the Dublin genealogy records from Dublin Castle to the National Library, and the requirement that a letter of authorization must be obtained from the Dromcolliher parish priest (at a cost of about Ten Pounds) before access to parish birth/death records is allowed. However, I did get to see a couple of listings of Dromcolliher families in the middle 1800's and only one family of Hartnetts were listed there. My visit to the Town of Dromcolliher was hampered by my poor spirits, as I was sick with a cold. The new cemetery just south of the town didn't have any Hartnett listings and I didn't'get to the priest's quarters for access to parish records. An inquiry at the Irish Dresden Factory which is located in foe Town of Dromcolliher led to a brief conversation about a Hartnett who used to work there, and who was an excellent artisan, but he left for England. Poor fellow! I do not think that our family was from Dromcolliher. Willy Joe said that Kieran, being an employee of the Forestry was able to rent Bernard's Castle for a small amount, but I don't think that he had any knowledge that my grandfather, Denis Hartnett, lived there also. He seemed to know that Sergeant Denis Hartnett got transferred to County Meath in 1896 to finish out his term of service. There is a Town of Ballymore in Westmeath and foe map at Donald's house will tell if it is foe right one. (It is, and Daniel, his son, has it now). Others have tried to tell me that all of Dad's family were born at Bernard's Castle, but I know foat my father was born in 1898 on the second floor of the police barracks opposite Grogan's (then Corrigan's and now Kavanaugh's) Pub at Killyon, which building is still there at the northeast corner of foe intersection. The first floor formerly served as the police station and similar sites were spaced along each main road to serve as principal control locations for the community police. I also know that the family probably didn't occupy Bernard's Castle at Knockbarron until Denis Hartnett retired from the Royal Irish Constabulary in 1898, and at that time, all but one of his seven children had been born. I also learned from Willie Joe Boland that many people from County Offaly left Ireland to travel to Saint John's in Newfoundland, where the Landing Tax for new immigrants was only two pounds and ten shillings in the 1900's. Many of foe emigrants left from foe Cobh of Cork to travel to Halifax in Nova Scotia, and foat some of these went steerage, and they worked their way across the Atlantic Ocean. Contrary to what I have been previously been told, Kieran, my uncle, did not die on a hilltop. When he wandered off in delirium, he was found the next morning lying in a ditch against an embankment, huddled against foe cold. He recovered partially from that experience, but apparently not fully, as he died in hospital about two weeks later. The story of his demise is told elsewhere and reflects the superstitions foat were a part of life in the Midlands. Donald remembers Kieran to be intimidating in nature and also as a great kidder. Perhaps one has to be when he was the strongest man in foe area, weighing over twenty stone (280 pounds) and six feet four in height. Challenges must have often been flung at him. My father, Owen Andrew Hartnett, had family members who died from tuberculosis and he contracted that disease. Only recently, Cousin Denis told me that Joseph Hartnett, my uncle, also had a touch of it. Three of Dad's brothers died from it. Treatment at Roscrea Abbey was prescribed for Dad. Willy Joe told me that it was Doctor Woods who believed in fresh air cures for tuberculosis and other illnesses, and that the doctor had treated someone locally in that manner. He didn't know that Dad was the one so helped. Roscrea Abbey was the local hosp.tal of the times, although some miles away. It was run by friars. My visits to places of past family associations took me to Shinrone, another hamlet not far from^Birre. The community focuses upon ite church at the crossroad, the wedding site of Denis Hartnett, my gather, to^Anne Corcoran at Mount St. Joseph's Church on January 7, 1889. The church has an astonishingly beautiful paneled interior and altar, which were quite modern looking in appearance. Like many similar structures, it seemed to be ageless A short trip from there brings one to Roscrea Abbey, a visit I made on a Sunday mommg to my great "'''The Abbey is the equivalent of a large estate, with a winding drive leading to the main buildings and passing by athletic fielJaccommodating hurling teams. The tee-shaped cathedra, is large to serve and to><""™*»** manv monasts celebrating the feast of the Holy Eucharist together. Adequate pews are available for the small group ofTcaTtoerTdSents of the area, which is somewhat more populated than most rural areas because,of he £ELT£ grand edifice. High Mass is celebrated with the so.emnity o a dozen pa^a ™d h background of the huge organ's melodious piping. After Mass, newspapers are sold from the trunk of a car in the ^T^'large ornate school-type building stands near to the cathedral and it guards the nearby cmetty. A revL of fte gravestones showed familiar names from nearby familiar areas, some of which had recentiycome to mvtaowledse Still there were no Hartnetts that I found, as I know not where Dad's other brokers and family were^ned Of c oureel know that grandfather Denis, his wife Anne (Corcoran) and her two brothers Dennis and SaTwereEESto the cemetery^ Drumcullen. I have found out that Kieran, Dad's brother was buried in the

"^offilS^^^Sn. base of tine S.ieve Bloom Mountains, on the far side away from K^^'^^t^m of houses are clustered, with a pub nearby. Signing to it was very poor, and. foo7*vera tf^o find'me way. Arrival on a Sunday afternoon was jus. in advance of *;™andootbaU match something more sacred to the Gael than our Thanksgiving turkey is to us All of Ireland.everywhere was Z^ktaTteSfe of the favorite Kerry invaders against the deity of the Duty Dubs (Dubhn). Soon he nmning8 ptsbgS, punching, tackhn^and sundry other activities would be watched by laymen and clergy " Cnri^o™ hospitable during my brief visit. We toured his large home and he proudlypointed to his

restorattotd ptofor more of them8 It will be grand when he's finished He has since passed on. He was

Sho*forsnots tort. were n werepre cribedby presu doctors * h traveled and they awere good non-productive. distance toMedicines see a did member nothing. ofThis the man family was told who of ^fomfo be a Priest S told me 2I pSdid a few thing8s, said a few prayers and told him a few minutes TZZle wa?all™t His aZtiondisappeared that day and never returned. This conversation was interesting to ™ „!Tm nTleadhm into but merely asked if he knew of family cures. A few days earlier my conversations S-tS Ined0 Serious vein when she swore me to secrecy as she revealed our tm|^££ ZZ three of us can heal Donald and Rosemary have been given the secret. Josie told me that the last three peopled had coTe to seek the "cure" were heated. It is for the treatment of shingles. More recently, now that ^Th^^l^Tas ZSZSZZZZ* to family and a time for a brief "Goodbye". A night's stay a. CraSoe He Ite taW Ctoe and a short visit to Durty Nellie's at Bunratty presaged another flight to America^ TeaTof sotw a, S are in the eyes of all of the passengers, including mine, as we leave behmd "what could

"Ids the narrative of that visit, which I could have extended for twice as long. It was a productive trip in manv wavs hooefullv leading to the enlightenment of some by these words. ,••.„„«■ Tta s^maTl would like* add that in my mind, each of those who have passed before us ,n the male lineage of thisfcmTtoe ewressed to this world, by their words and by their actions, an attitude of love for their native Zm «^of pSvalor, most of *em undefined and unknown except to a few such as me. May we hope someday to see all of Ireland free from the wiles and the tyranny of the Sassanach. MY TRIP TO IRELAND IN 1991 AND SOME IMPRESSIONS THAT WERE LEFT WITH ME by Robert A. Hartnett

AONACH

Along narrow paths in Irish-town Plod pleasant faces, without frowns, Plainly, though not idle in many ways, Contentment fills their idle days. Bodies strong from years of work and play, Women as beautifiil as flowers in May, Caring not the weather, rain or sun, Loving life until each day is done.

By Robert A. Hartnett on a trip to Ireland in 1991

Come to see this Isle of Green. Look at it through my eyes. There's more to it than vivid scenes. 'Tis tears and joys and sighs.

Think not of thy own circumstance. Live only for this pleasant hour. Waste not in haste, but see those plants; Then bend and pluck the lovely flower.

By Robert A. Hartnett on his trip to Ireland in 1991

Some of foe Delights of Ireland in 1991 from my visit.

The town of Limerick arising on a Monday morning is sleepy and damp. Her streets are full of emptiness.

Hurrah! The tourists are gone, but foe gamblers and touts are at Listowel in County Kerry.

The lonely Banna Strand near Ardfert and Tralee at night brings songs and stories to mind. I am close to the home of my ancestor, Neide, foe Chief of the Plains of Kerry.

Connor Pass is ever spectacular, and the Town of Dingle, by comparison, is so dirty.

Killarney, without the crowds of tourists, is a better place, and so much more courteous. The Lakes of Killarnev are always beautiful A visit to Muckross Gardens, and then a peat bog adjacent to foe Leap of the O'Donoghue coud only be topped by Moll's Gap. The O'Donoghue, on his white horse, leaped out of the Castle window into foe lake of Killarney, and now lives there beneath the waters, only rising occasionally to be seen.

Farmhouses can be cold and uncomfortable to stay in when the weather changes. foeWv^LetTn Coun' ^k^ " 6nShrined in a dreamIand cal,ed Gouganne Barra, located at the headwaters of Cork City will never change. It has the feel of the emigrant's desperation. Is there anything better in the world than golf at Bantry? I've tried it. I think not!

An argument at dinner with a Free Stater doesn't improve one's appetite.

My family doesn't change. Only I do.

Sunday is an awesome hurling match doubleheader in the Town of Birre. Attendance is almost mandatory. Traditional music at Hough's Tavern in Bannaher. My cousin, Mae Claffy, bought me a Guinness, and they played the "Offaly Rover" in my honor. Here, it is more important than the national anthem.

Meeting old friends,and dinner at Dooley's in the Midlands at Birre. Saint Joseph's Abbey at Roscrea has a very holy feeling. That is where Dad went to be healed.

A delightful day in Ireland, and it's not over, yet.

Our motto is "Uibh Fhaili", meaning "the son of the Faithful" or else, THE FAITHFUL.

In 1991,1 was tired, and stopped by the wayside to take a nap. I woke to see a part of a cow standing beyond a wall next to me. He was staring curiously at me from his field as he chewed a clump of grass. I wrote:

A half a cow is there to see; That part now, staring back at me. The other half s I know not where Could be it's gone. Perhaps 'tis there.

If someone's taken part away, Please put it back, and let it stay, For half s enough, a cow to espy Until I open foe other eye.

Written in 1991, in Ireland's Midlands, by Robert A. Hartnett

These faces of Erin, I've seen long before, In all of my wanderings; Their features so classic, in time and in lore Found on people and paupers and kings

See them, you will, on every way, In every Midland town With hair made of gold, red, choc'late and gray, And eyes made of blue sky and brown.

THE WALLS OF IRELAND by Robert A. Hartnett in 1991 Jackdaws overhead look down to see the recesses of Ireland, Hidden by the cemented stones of a hundred thousand minds. Each carefully placed in a personal pattern of love and toil, Gracing a world of green, Tying generations together in a cacophony of endless ideas To achieve someone's ambition CHARLES L. (GABBY) HARTNETT of Milville, Massachusetts

I was working with a Highway Design firm in the Boston area, when I was assigned to do some traffic analysis work in a town in a remote portion of Massachusetts. Milville desperately needed help, as there were five bridges in a row that all were in need of major repairs. So, off I went. Milville can be reached through Milford or by way of Rhode Island. It is located next to Blackstone, which abuts Woonsocket, Rhode Island. That is the route that I chose to get to the place. As I left the Town of Blackstone on Route 122,1 saw a town line sign for Blackstone, and a short distance beyond it, there was a sign that designated the highway as the Charles L. (Gabby) Hartnett Highway. Gabby was a catcher for the Boston Red Sox baseball team, and then later for the Chicago Cubs. He was so good foat he is in foe Baseball Hall of Fame, right beside Babe Ruth and Ted Williams. I don't know much about his feats, but I believe that he may have been active about foe time of Babe Ruth. I proceeded to a meeting of townspeople and, when I mentioned my last name, I had to refer to Gabby as my uncle for the rest of the day. We looked at a potential temporary detour bridge over the Blackstone River and the historians wanted to make use of some old abutments for foe bridge site, as they were used to support a covered bridge in foe past. Their intent was to have the Mass. Highway Department install a bridge for temporary use as a part of a detour and to leave it in place after the bridge work was done, so that the town could cover it and use it as a pedestrian path. What did the path lead to? The only thing in the area was a deserted Little League baseball field. Upon inquiry, I was told that the field had, in earlier times, been a full sized one and that it was where Gabby Hartnett had learned to play baseball. We also looked at an alternate site, and I was told by one of the town elders that he had a picture of a mill that once stood alongside the site. The mill had two buildings, connected by a walkway. The first one was built in the shape of an "E". The second one was constructed in the shape of an "H". Together, foe two mills formed foe initials of the architect. It seems that he was another "Hartnett". The mills are gone now, but the memories still remain, and there is only one member of the old Hartnett family left in town. I didn't get to meet him. The name is still famous there. My grandson, Robert (Bobby) A. Hartnett III played baseball as a youngster in the Cumberland area where his family lives, and one day, his baseball team was assigned to play a game out of town. I think that it may have been in Woonsocket. Anyway, he went to the site with his father, following the directions that had been given, and he had foe privilege of playing that game in Hartnett Stadium, a ballpark named for Gabby Hartnett. That's my story about Milville, Massachusetts and Gabby Hartnett.

ISLANDS

The following is a bit of information relating to a few islands around Ireland. The Irish word "inis' or "inish" means "island". The island of ACHILL is located adjacent to the north westerly part of County Mayo, and it is a beautiful place, especially when foe sun is shining. INISTIOGE (or Tighe's Island) is a Woodstock demesne, and it is the home of the Tighe family. TORREY ISLAND (Innis Torragh) or the "Isle of Towers" was governed by a fisherman king up to around 1875 A. D. About 300 people lived on foe island. THE GIANT'S CAUSEWAY While not exactly an island, the Causeway, which is a basaltic rock formation along foe northern coast of Ireland opposite to Scotland is visited by many tourists. Legend has it that, in competitions between Finn MacCuill, the Irish giant who lived in a fort in foe Bog of Allen, and the Far Rua (or Red Man), who was a Scotch giant, this basaltic foundation provided the path for these two enemies to cross and to re-cross between their countries to do battle. There are many stories about both the Red Man and Finn MacCuill, all of which must be true because they are so often told and retold. Finn was said to be responsible for slaying the goblin that set fire to foe buildings of Tara at foe end of each Triennial feast for many years. INNISFREE is a lake isle in County Sligo foat is much celebrated in a poem which has been set to music. INNISFAIL was the legendary name for Ireland in the minds of foe Milesians as they traveled all over their portion of foe world in search of a land foat would be free of snakes, and so, would be their home of destiny. The best known islands in Ireland are probably the ARAN ISLANDS in Galway Bay. There are three of them, and they are a regular part of foe "tourist trail" because of their spectacular beauty, their separation from the rest of foe country and their people. It is said that there is nothing more dignified than an Aran Islander. When young, they are as supple as a larch tree. When they are old, they have the kindness and foe sanity of agnarled apple tree. When you meet them, you will find foat your trouble is their trouble, and your joy is their joy.

KILLARNEY The Killarney lakes have been the destination of tourists for at least 800 years, if not longer. There are many legends associated with the area. It is on almost everyone's list of places to visit, if one is taking a trip to Ireland. Ladies View is foe scene from alongside foe road that leads from Killarney to the south, and it has foe reputation of being the best scene in Ireland. Lace was being made there at the Convent of the Poor Clares, and it became world famous. There is a branch of foe Poor Clares Sisters in Boston. Their name comes from St. Clare, not from the Irish county of that name.

MACGILLICUDDY'S REEKS Mr. Macgillicuddy owned estates in this part of Ireland, including meadowland with haystacks or ricks, which were specially stacked. His Irish servant went to England and when he was asked about foe comparison between English and Irish land, he told foe English inquirers foat their ricks had only enough hay to make bands for thatching foe Irish ricks. One of the Englishmen visited Ireland the next year and he asked to see these giant Irish ricks. The servant waited until twilight and then pointed to foe high mountains in the distance. Ever since, they have been called "Macgillicuddy's Reeks".

O'DONAGHUE was the chief of Kerry and he had a castle amidst the three lakes of Killarney One of them was named "Loch Lene" after a Goldsmith naned "Lene' who lived nearby. It seems that an enchanted well had its cover left off by mistake, and it overflowed to flood the valley. A sentinel at the castle called out "Al"s well" and the waters rose above his chin. The lords and ladies of the castle did not drown, but they now live under the lake. Sometimes, a local is taken down there for a visit, and he comes back to tell about it. Occasionally, the chief comes up from the lake on his white horse. Every May Day, he rides in the early morning and sometimes at other times of the day. If you see him, it is considered to be good luck. He is usually preceded by dancing maidens strewing flowers. O'Donohue will continue to live under the lake until his horse's silver shoes are worn out by his annual rides. He is said to have entered the lake by leaping through a castle window on his horse, to enter the water beneath. The window is still extant. There are local rocks that are dubbed to be his stable, his prison, his library, his pigeon house, his cellar, his broom and his pulpit. His horse is a rock in the lake. On Innisfallen Island in the lake, a leper, Saint Finian, founded an abbey and the ruins of it are still there. If you should try to plow the consecrated ground, innumerable white doves will rise from the furrows to prevent it. At foe Gap of Dunloe, which is entered a short distance west of the town, it is said that Saint Patrick put foe last snake into a box,and securely fastened it before throwing it into one of the lakes. Another legend is that St. Patrick never visited Kerry, but raised his hand to bless "all beyond the Reeks". Still another legend is that Saint Patrick visited all of foe counties except Kerry, leaving the two-legged ones there.

Croom Dhuv (or Black Valley) has a white cataract. If you get aboard a boat at the Upper Lake, go through foe channel to Middle Lake (also known as Tore Lake). See the Eagle's Nest, which is a bare mountain shaped like a pyramid. The Weir Bridge was built by the Danes. A tourist's cottage was located on Dinis Island in the lake. Another cottage is located at Glena Bay in the Lower Lake. Nearby is Muckross Abbey, which has twenty two well preserved arches. There is a legend about a tree foat if it is cut, it bleeds, and foat anyone injuring it will surely die within the year. The English writer Thackery said "To see the lakes of Killarney in one day, a man is an ass". Of all of the places in Ireland that are so beautiful and so meaningful, the one place that is a "must see" on every trip is the Killarney area, specifically the lakes. It is said, and I concur, that the best view in the entire country is these lakes as seen from Ladies View. To get there, take the Bantry (Cork) road out of Killarney, obviously going south, and go to a wayside cafe (or restaurant) located on the left side of the road, with parking on the right side. It is probably your last sight of the lakes before foe road turns. It always looks better to me when I am partaking of an Irish coffee from the adjacent restaurant. I strongly recommend stopping at one of foe small parking areas alongside the lakes and getting out to walk alongside them, even if just for a few feet. A nearby waterfall is often visited by tourists, but it may pale in comparison to others that we all have seen. However, it is pretty. TUE YEAR IS NOW 2009, AND THE MONTH IS JANUARY I have decided to attempt to copy my notes of my 1985 trip to Ireland, in their original form, or in a manner that will, at least, make a little sense of them. The narrative from them can be read above, in this chapter.

My rental car costs at Shannon Airportwere $120.00 per week for 2 weeks. Add to that Collision Insurance of $60.00 and a Value Added Tax of $28.00 and a Petrol cost of $24.00, and away I go.

I stayed at the Parkside House on the Ennis Road, and got a small, but comfortable room, which was rated by foe Insh Tourist Board. Being tired from no sleep on the plane, I checked in at 2:00 P. M. and I slept until 5:30 P M Then, I left there to go to Bunratty Folk Park, where a banquet was being held at Bunratty Castle. You eat there " from^S.m?M^^!<^?at,IlQfgivey011' 10.00 PM until 3*0 A^ M., and was Ithadni^ awake between entertainment 3:00 A. M to and 5:00 A. food. M, as It my was internal raining. clock was I not slept yet adjusted. At Bunratty Folk Park, an Irish farmer of 40 acres had reflected upon the boreen (or path) that led by two other houses which were nearby, and then it widened, only wide enough (or 5.5 feet) for an ass and cart The boreen led to a half acre plot, planted by a family, who never got to harvest it. It was in poor ground Have I

littlehSI abouta?1S,S^ their , Irishue? ancestry,HaS hC and?" h thet0 many things 0therS?that forced lt is them aPParent to emigrate. t0 me that the American visitors know very

BradfordS^' Da,f,L and Af!e,omy,Iri8h O Bnen s Bndge, ?reakfaSt'I which Ieftwas and very Proceeded pretty. I rejoined toward the Limerick,main route and toward I took Nenagh foe road in County toward Tipperary, and went into the Car Park. Nenagh has a busy shopping area. My inquiries were not fruitful as I could not remember the name of the town of Lorrha. The Mahons were not in the Nenagh phone book, so I had

throughmTotn wiich which I h^Hn I had f!? previously -8°t0W^ Bimdriven. ?iS There WaS niCCwere C0Unt^lots of farms. f°r trave,inS'and Birr Square * was flatterbustling *an with that Mffic Mrs Shields B. & B. was Cosed. Mrs Vaughan's B. & B. was foil. Mrs. NevTnsB & B was foH § SS

ntrnear ^nl*Ji?CrinH^S- foe village of Crinkle. M^3nUS It was W3S like aMl country l WaS estate. direCted It had t0 many,Pardy'S many h0use' flowers. which Obviously, had no theysi8" loveon it. them It was I got a nice spacious room on the first floor, with a bath upstairs. The house had beautiful interior woodwork The occupants were very nice people. There were cows and chickens at the back of the house wZ^}B*™dTHartnuU)A J°e'S Wife at Crink,e- We had a lon8teIk' ^cousin> J°e, ^owed up later. Zt7S1 T UPStairS at ™ CTnty Am,S'Which was *"* nice- U was *■* first time there. She had Blue I^hn%T* " 3 Wme* ^J*"* h3d 3 Pretty Wind0w' Poking a garden of flowers. Joe doesn't drink foistS I dayhtFh I had nn6LWe brought ^V0^ a planeload "1Ce d0Wnstairs of sunshine with,ounSe' me from with America, a b,azing and Replace it was the in first a comfortable clear day in months room. For »?eraie t0,,dr th3!;Kinran Had b°th g°°d and bad times- He *ets medicinaI ^ots to helpLmZugh his F.^f neS' ^ ^ beuaU,ught f°r m°nths aften He lived ^ himself in a small house nekr to Ann and gottenSEt T n^big ™ and fimsl!1ed1h tall. They really s Aut0 like Traini"g him. He Course, might go but to England he has someafter Christmas, of the Certificates to be with required Chris h s He brothel has KLSffiS^withback to Ireland Chris from and London. Breda'and My father>s they now broth have unc, j**chi,dr;n-l H wffl2S> Cemetery which has replaced Drumcullen as the new burial place. Lots of hi old friends .ta^TKS? At the end of his life, he fell from his hospital bed, and then he got wild. The Spain and Bym« nei^ST^ gone so foat the Welch boy and one other man dug Joe's grave* There was a news JlT^tZ^ SiP J ^ , Bemie now has four children, who were Sharon, Owen, James Robert and Donald ESSST?looks good, fl\±etoo but ".f?^,'" he has a AmeriCa- bad back. He They was not « V°Vworking, Pre«y as he kids>was hurt *»< from *°™ a construction is a beaS job BernTe ££° loves Joe k,ds and taking care of old people. She is very sharp, but does not have a proper education aTshe hadTeave *hool to take care of her family of eleven kids. She is a v«y nice person, who is easyTtak to and 1 "hadn't bee„ out to eat without the kids being with her in quite a while. The County Arms gave l^*KSSf5ilt she ever saw for her dinner. Joe is careful about the food that he eats, and he avoil fried food

Wednesday, Day 3. . . ., w neighbor to the Hartnetts. I received the Royal Treatment from him " S" '' *"*' Wh° ""* * - I went to Josie's Council House in Birr, to have tea, ham, salad, bread, tomatoes and to talk Joe came Denis came, as he was out of work. He was tall and well spoken, with strong features. - wJEtadT family and of Amenca. Josie seemed to be very sharp, and she was ve*ry concerned about her loss ofWStad Joe - I went to Cullaun (Killaun) with Joe and Denis. Next, we went to Knockbarron, and then we went to Drumcullen.. After foat we drove through the Slieve Bloom Mountains, which were gorgeous. T?en wewentback to linnitty, and from there, we went to Killyon, where I saw the former Pohce Station, where my father was born on the second floor of the building. Inside of foe former Grogan's Pub, I met Bill Spam and the former local Postmaster. There was a discussion about Drumcullen, and foe Corcorans buried there. Billy Spam said foat it was a 4* Century cemetery, and he told me about digging through the bones, which were like eggshells We returned to Birr, and to Josie's place. Then, I went to dinner at the Royal Arms with Denis. We to Iked about America, and the potential for his migration. He said that he would like to go to America. - I returned to Joe s house, where ghost stories were told.

Thursday, Day 4. It was marvelous! The day began by spending an hour and a half talking to Mr. Pardy. - Then it was over to Josie's place, with Denis. Mr. Wheelock told some jokes. Next, it was to the Bank of Ireland, where some money was obtained, and dispensed. It was the money that I had collected from my American relatives. Denis got 200, Josie got 180, Joe got 150, Ann got 150 and Kieran got 80. Kieran had been in foe hospital for 2 weeks, and had another week to be spent there, because he hadn't been taking his medications. His problems included his nerves. He loses weight, and he gains it back. This time, he was in poor condition and electric shocks were required, and they made him well again. - Everywhere I go, it is always food There is tea and cake at every stop. It is expected, and it is the custom. I picked up my cousin, Joe Hartnett at 1:00 P M. and we went to the Military Cemetery near Crinkle, where I was told about old Irish cemetery beliefs. One of them was emphasized. It was that a cemetery tree will not be cut, or will not be burned if it is felled for any reason. Then, we went to Lorrha, through the village of Riverside. Joe Drove. He doesn't drink. We went to Ann s & Eugene's house. Ann had won a television set for selling $ 6,000 in tickets. Eugene was hauling some peat bricquets, and we all had tea and cake. Ann and Eugene have five children and they are beautiful. We went to the County Arms for dinner, with wine and those lovely flowers. A wedding was ongoing. Eugene met a hurler, who was an old friend of his, and the comment was "Up Offaly". We left there to return to Lorrha, and went to the local pub in the village, where we sang songs and drank beer. The locals were all great charmers, and Tom Dolan sang "Spancil Hill", while Tim Corrigan sang "The Village of Asdee". Marie's husband sang the song written by Stephen Foster entitled "Carry Me Back to Old Virginia". Amid rounds of drinks, Sergant Coen sang the Lord Mayor's song, and it was a great night, after which we went to Eugene's house to relax and sing some more. Friday Day 5 l went for a walk along the main Street °f foe town of Birr. I visited to Birr Castle, and I had lunch at Dooley's Hotel in Birr. I met Denis, and I took pictures of the town. At Warrens's Gas Station, I mentioned that my father had left the area during the truce of 1921 or so The kids were out of school, and I was going to Kinnitty, so 1 gave some of them a ride One of them told me of how she had seen the statue in Saint Joseph's Church in Kinnitty move. I went to Drumcullen Cemetery which was started in 580 A. D. by John, a monk later called Saint John. I took some pictures of Kinnitty, and went to the bridge over foe Walk River. I found the stone steps protruding from the bridge that allow you to get to foe side of the Walk River.and I walked about 400 yards across a field, alongside of the stream to foe Drumcullen Cemetery. You couldn't see it from the road because of the shrubbery, or until you were about 75 yards away from it. There was an old well (which was the holy well), and old markers. The Corcorans are buried there. Bill Spain said that the digging was like going through eggshells. Denis and Anne Hartnett are buried there I went back to Pardy's to a nap and an Irish coffee, and they made me my supper. Mr. Pardy had made an appointment for me with Mrs. Reade, and he took me to it. Mrs. Reade knew the Hartnetts well but she was too young to remember my father, Owen. She had been at Uncle Joe Hartnett's funeral. She served cookies and Guinness. It was a black, rainy night in the Irish midlands bog country. Her family included her son, his wife and his inlaws. Mrs Reade was a tough one who had been to America three times. We spent an hour there, and then we went to see Willie Joe Boland. Willie Joe knew my father and my brother, Donald. He had a phenomenal memory. He was very well read, and he was a historian. He knew all of the Corcorans, and foe local history. He told me that Cullaun (or Killaun) Lane had 87 people living upon it at one time. His grandmother was a Harnois, and he did not know if she was related to us. (She isn't). He told me that Mike Corcoran, my grandmother's brother, had a wife who was a Whelan from Kilcolman Parish, and foat she was friends with the Kennys. The Corcoran brothers were Mike and Dennis. He said that their father had married a Miss Wilshe, who lived on the property at Cullaun. (He seems to have missed a generation or so). Willie Joe Boland appears to have misled me in another matter regarding genealogy. He told me that my family in Limerick came from a place foat sounded like Dromcolliher, and I went there, only to find out that he was wrong. He may have heard foat we were from Dromtrasna Hartnett at Abbeyfeale in County Limerick which is near to County Kerry. However, I have not been able to folly trace foat down, as I have not yet found the name of the wife of Lawrence Hartnett, my great grandfather, who was a member of the R. I. C. in the early years of that organization Willie Joe Boland did say foat Sergeant Denis Hartnett was transferred to County Meath in 1896, but instead of his information, we have my grandfather, Denis Hartnett's, service record, which is more accurate Willie Joe Boland told me that Denis had served out his term of service, when he lived on the second floor of foe barracks in Killyon, where my fafoer, Owen was born. , Willie Joe told me about Doctor Woods, who attended to my father, when he was ill with tuberculosis. He said that someone, who apparently was my father, was placed in a tent at the hospital at Roscrea Abbey in CountyTipperary, for air and isolation, and that he recovered. Willie Joe was the first to tell me foat the house in Knockbarron in which my grandfather, Denis Hartnett, lived on a lease for "lives" was formerly a part of the Castle Bernard estate, and foat my uncle Kieran was allowed to live there by the local Land Commission and utilize the place. Castle Bernard was a part of the much larger Kinnitty Castle, which is still standing, and it was apparently an outbuilding for one of its members or employees. Uncle Kieran lived there after he was married, and until just before his death. n . Willie Joe told me about the stone which is to be found at the pump in front of the house on Killaun (or Cullaun) Lane It was quarried at Mount Mellick, which was 15 miles further away from Killaun than John Lightley s house John Lightley had to travel the 15 miles to get the stone, bring it back for fifteen miles to his house, and then take it another 25 miles to Killaun. He also had to hollow the stone out by hammer and chisel, The transport was bv ass and dray, and the pay for foe entire effort was 1 pound. John Lightley emigrated to Boston, and he never returned to his native Ireland. The Corcoran house at Killaun (or Cullaun) Lane had a well that went down 52 feet, while a nearby well only needed 25 feet of depth at the Byrnes place. Both wells were lined with limestone. _rt , _on , . My father's brother, Kieran Hartnett, was very, very strong, and he weighed greater that 20 stone (or 280 pounds). Willie Joe also told me that, during Penal times, a priest used to say Mass at Cullaun (or Killaun). He was caught and murdered by the English authorities. His body was left hanging for the usual 30 days as a warning to the ocal people but they went out at night, and they removed the corpse. They buried foe body in foe bog on Cullaun Lane, with its arms crossed, and a chalice on his chest. About 1940 or so, Jim Slattery was working the bog for peat when he found the body. He respectfully covered it up again. Willie Joe also told me about the white marble circular stone, which was uncovered while digging in Drumcullen Cemetery, and that it had gold lettering on it. It was covered up and left alone, also. The names that he gave me of the families that lived on Cullaun Lane, starting at the main road, and going back, were: Dorsey, Rinehans lived near foe oak tree Corcorans, Burrns or probably Byrnes and the Welshes, also Daileys Mulveys Jordans, Toners The Reades lived out along the main road. Other information about other matters included his knowledge that Ireland suffered through two great plagues. The first one was the Bubonic Plague. The second one was the Smallpox. Many of foe emigrants from County Offaly to the Americas went to Saint John's in New Foundland, where foe Landing Tax was 2 pounds and 10 shillings in the 1900's. Many went from the Cobh of Cork to Halifax in Nova Scotia. Some went steerage, where they worked any way that they could to get passage to America. I was reminded by Willy Joe of Daniel O'Connell's statement, which he made on the outskirts of the town of Birr. It was the inspirational statement for the title to these writings, when he told the driver of his carriage "GO QUICK THROUGH DIRTY BIRR". The Town of Birr was totally owned by the family of the Earl of Rosse, whose family was directly related to the British royal family. Willie Joe also told me about the serial number that was given to the "Titanic" in Belfast as she was being constructed in the shipyards there, at the time when foe fighting was ongoing between the Protestant Loyalists and foe Catholics. It was 909E, more properly spelled out by the Loyalists as "Nine Ought Nine E" or "N O.N.E.", which was intended to convey foe message of "NONE" to the number of Catholic Popes foat would ever be allowed into Northern Ireland. In Belfast, the Canard Line was the owner of foe Lusitania, which was sunk by a German submarine, and which precipitated America into World War I.Wenow know that it was carrying munitions. Also, the Titanic was built by the White Star Lines in Belfast. An Offaly woman paid foe huge sum of 50 pounds for passage for her dog aboard the Titanic She was summoned to her lifeboat, and she asked the Purser where her dog was. She went back to look for the dog, and she was one of the many that drowned. The Carpathia, was located nearby when the Titanic sank. It was owned by Cynl Lord, who owned Axminster Carpets. # . . . Willy Joe Boland told me a lot of stories during that evening in his home in Offaly. They included one about Jack Keane who was a champion bicyclist in New York, who bet $100 on a bike race with a small black man, who was allowed to select the racing site. He picked the top floor of the Empire State Building as the place for foe race, because he was a circus performer. jucw The Parish of Eglish, which is where the Hartnetts lived in Ireland, was home to many families named tox . Cleveland, Ohio is the place to which the Fogarty family migrated. The Fogartys are related to the Corcorans, as a Fogarty married Miss Byrnes, whose mother was a Corcoran. Later, Senator Fogarty was a member of that family BirthTwere not registered prior to 1810 A. D. and the records were not accurate. The Custom House Fire in Dublin during foe Irish Civil War destroyed many of the Irish records. During my meeting with Mrs. Reade earlier in this same evening, Larry Guinen sat through foe whole affair. He didn't talk He was wearing his Pioneer pin on his lapel, which meant that he was abstaining from taking a drink. He was a huge man. Much of Willy Joe Boland's information came to him from Old Mr. Byrnes, for whom he used to work, and who was a relative of ours, and who lived on Killaun Lane.

S a t u r d a y , D a y 6 . . . . . M „ > , ♦ „ I went to my cousin, Joe Hartnett's house for tea, and upon entering, I was sat down in a chair, given a rally cap to place upon my head, handed a hurley to keep in my grasp. A video tape was placed into the player, which was about foe County Offaly hurling team which had played in the All Ireland Championship Hurling Match at Croagh ^ Park in Dublin. I had to sit and watch it, uninterrupted, right through the Team Captain singing the "Offaly Rover in celebration of the Offaly team winning the All Ireland Championship, which was the equal (or more) to our Super

wTtalked about my conversation with Willy Joe Boland. My Aunt Josie said that Denis Hartnett lived at Castle Bernard contrary to a statement about the Hartnett children, and that Denis was born in 1899 at Killyon. I went off with my cousin, Joe Hartnett,, to the cemetery at Rath, where his father was interred. We stopped at Eglish and I took some snapshots of the Church. Then, we went to the cemetery at Rath, where my uncle Joseph Hartnett was buried in Grave No. 21. As you enter the cemetery, go up the center to the first aisle, and go to the right The last grave, against the wall is Joe's, and now Kieran, his son, has been buried there also. They are buried 10 or 12 feet from the aisle. A stone has been added. I took some pictures of the Church at Rath, which is across foe roadway. ., . ... Then we went to see Mike Clements and Mae Claffey at Coolfin. They live about a mile from foe church area, on a farm They were expecting us. Mike talked, and Mae just nodded her head in agreement with what was said. She had this way of sucking in her breath in the Irish way. Donald said that they had a large farm. My reception was in the Irish kitchen, next to foe peat fire. Our five minute visit ended up being two hours long, and my cousin, Anne, who had expected Joe and I for dinner called to find out why we had been delayed. In that part of Ireland, no one hurries, and they will tell you so. Mike Clements was 75 to 80 years old, and he has since passed on. At that time, he was still sharp minded, and still the boss. Mike and Mae attended at pubs several times a week to hear Irish music, and to take a pint of Guinness. They went to Lorrha on Friday nights, and they would meet and talk to Anne Mahon. Both of them were very pleasant, and we spoke of the best way to cut up (or dress) a pig and salt it to preserve its meat. Yes! I can maintain that type of conversation. They told me that one of the Mrs. Hartnetts (who was formerly a Butler who married a Corcoran and not a Hartnett), had a brother named Mike Butler, who had died in 1936. They had a picture of him, with his wife. They had two sons, named John and James Butler, who lived in Regone (Spelling?) Park in New York, and both were retired. I saw pictures of them, also. Mike's wife may have been a Connolly, before she was married to him. Joe and I returned to Anne and Eugene Mahon's house in Lorrha two hours late. Christy Malone was there with Liam. We had some good food and drinks, and we were off to foe local pub, across foe street and down a ways. The pub defies description. It seems big enough to hold about nine people standing up. Songs of their own choice are sung by foe local people, and the Guinness was great. After foe pub closed, we all went to Ann Mahon's house until 3:30 A. M. Among those present at foe pub were Lord Mayor Tiger Sullivan, Tom Corrigan and John, with his tin whistle. One fellow, wearing a knitted cap, drummed on the bar with his fingers to provide a beat, and it all lasted for an hour and a half, until closing time. Some songs were: The Boston Burgler Long, Long Before My Time Carry me Back to Old Virginia The Roger Casement Song Tiger Sullivan mumbled a song that I didn't understand. I got my pint from Christy Malone, which had been promised to me years earlier in Fall River, Ma. Joe drove back, as he doesn't drink. Sergeant Coen took a questioning attitude toward Christy Malone and Liam.

Sunday, Day 7. I was still staying at Pardy's house, which was also a Bread and Breakfast place. I went to Josie's Council House, and my cousin, Joe was there. I talked to Denis about America. On this day, I received foe ability to cure people in the manner in which my Uncle Joe Hartnett used to do it. His wife, Josie, had continued with foe custom. Upon her death, my cousin, Joe Hartnett has continued with foe practice. My sister, Rosemary Wilkie, and I have both been introduced into the practice. I have learned about other family cures at other locations and at other times. People come from all over Ireland to be cured, and it is said to always work. This was foe day of foe All Ireland Championship Game, which included teams from County Kerry and County Dublin. There was no traffic on foe roadways, and everyone was watching their television sets to see foe game. I left the Birr area to go to Coolrain. I stopped at Shinrone Church, to see what it was like, and to imagine the wedding that had taken place there involving one of my ancestors. There isn't much to the place, except an intersection of roadways. The Church has a beautiful altar, and I took a few pictures of the area. Then, I went to Roscrea Abbey. This was where my father received medical treatment by the Friars at two different periods of his life. The first time was when he was a small child, and he had tuberculosis. He had stayed there for more than a year, and had been cured. The next time foat he arrived, it was after he had walked 17 miles by himself, after having been wounded in a fight with an enemy of Ireland. He was treated for the bayonet wound that went right through his hand, upraised to stopthe bayonet thrust. He also received treatment for the damage to his face that occurred when the rifle butt had swung around, and crushed his jaw, leaving that apparent scar on his lip for the rest of his life. My father had returned after his 45 or so years of exile, which was required because he loved his Motherland, and would not accept the right of British forces to rule it and continue to keep the Irish in a state of semi-slavery. When Dad returned to Roscrea Abbey, he made a donation to it in memory of their assistance to him in his times of need. At Roscrea Abbey, a solemn High Mass was impressive. Without a map to guide me, I got lost, and arrived at Christy Malone's farm at Coolrain, just before foe All Ireland game was ready to begin. In Irish football, they run, pass, kick, punch, tackle and so forth. The game featured County Kerry against foe dirty Dubs (or Dublin), and Kerry won. Christy gave me a picture of a part of his place in Coolrain, and Liam gave me a memento of his required stay to visit some of his British "friends" in some place in Ulster. I still have the crossed hurleys which symbolize a County Offaly victory in another All Ireland Hurling contest of an earlier year. Christy had a nice house, and he said foat he was slowly restoring it, but that everything takes time. He was surprised to see me arrive, and apprehensive as to my visit. It was very brief. I left there to travel toward Dublin, and to eat at a restaurant, where I saw the last few minutes of the All Ireland Match. I ended up in a Bed and Breakfast in Kildare, in a nice new house. They served tea, and I watched television, had a good shower in a beautiful room. It was relaxing. In later years, and six months after the Cease Fire of the Twenty Three Year War with the Loyalists in the Six Counties foat comprise Northern Ireland, Christy Malone was found in his own barn, hanged. Those few of us who knew him well know what happened to this man who was such an Irish patriot. His personal efforts in behalf of his Motherland led to his demise. I can still remember his breaking out into tears, as I related to him how the Irish emigrants from An Gorta Morna, the Great Famine, left their Coffin Ships to disembark upon an island in Boston Harbor, and then to be crammed into an Irish ghetto, now known as Charlestown. Some were fortunate enough to relocate to South Boston, and foat is where he broke down and wept, for he knew of their suffering. Christy had been given early training for foe priesthood, before he dedicated his life to Ireland. He came to America for his visit, using a bonus foat he received for embarking upon his career, which involved his farm, and the conveying of information and practices to others who also loved Ireland. HeftfoKMMb and made a brief visit to see Dublin Castle, which was the seat o the Brmsh rule of I eand for nnmJs A lo of things happened at Dublin Castle, but I was looking for genealogy ■nformation, but I found that i. hlTbeen relocated to the new National Library. I went there, only to find that the records for some of the CaftoU^ listeTof Iretad ca^ only be accessed after getting permission for the access by paying a fee to the pansh fortccLTthefr recoX With regard to Dromcolliher records, 1 did not get access, except for some county tax fe„T Tney were^comprehensive, and did not satisfy my wants. 1 could have Med going through newspaper aT ecords of tto sort, but I did not have that much time, and you have to know what you are looking for I didn t. HeftTubrary, »d promptly got lost in Dublin, and ended up driving through Phoenix Park, a major part of the Dublin political scene. All I saw there were some horses. u;n*w Heft Dublin to go to Tara, which was the original capital of Ireland, some 4,000 years ago. It is on a hill foat overlooks foree of the Provinces of Ireland. It has a spectacular view. It is obvious as to why it was selected as the ^SLoKl I took some pictures, but I do not have any of them. I went to Navan, but did not find a^tB&S«o I continued on to Kells, where I stayed at the Latimor House. The town was ^ foe bed was heated. Dinner was at The Round Tower Lounge, followed by a beer, a little television^and a good sleep. I had intended to get to Knock Shrine on the following day. By the way, a pint of beer was 63 pence.

Sedofflow ard Knock Shrine in County Mayo. I stopped along the way to do some ^^^ scone for 52 pence. With some spare time, I visited a local church, and then was off toward Knock Shrine. There waTa brokeVdown truck on the road, with a man and a child. He had a phony ploy to try to get tourists to stop and then to ask them for money. It was obvious, so I didn't get involved. It was a long drive through a poor part of Ireland^utIwas beautiful near Ballyjamesduff, and we still sing our song about that famous town. There were lots of boes and foe peat was wet. It was obvious that there would have to be a late harvest. S Shrine wa^ very special. There was a continuous Mass being held, and Stations of the Cross, also^ Many o^foe toS we odious orders.. I had a Mass said for Richard, my brother, and left there to go to Galway. It was another long drive, and I got near to Loch Corrib, to find the Corrib House, a hotel which had nice rooms. After a nice supper, there was a couple from Boston who were on their honeymoon. I spoke with a local farmer who had been healed by a priest's blessing, after doctors, pills, shots etc. had not worked. The cost of a whiskey and water was 1.02pence. The room was quite nice.

D a y 1 0 W e d n e s d a y . . . . . i I went on to Galway, to the Salthill section, and took a walk around the Strip area. It was quiet in the morning I left there to go southerly. My cold had gotten bad, and I had a fever. It was another long drive, so I stopped at the Galway Crystal Factory, but nothing was appealing to the eye. I also stopped at Bunratty in County Clare, but again, I did not buy anything at the Bunratty Shop. I continued through Limerick toward the southerly part of it. Dromcolliher was a long way off. It was a small town with no apparent restaurant or hotel. It had about 30 to 40 small shops, bars, etc. It was a farm town and the nearby land seemed to be good. I did not know if it was a part of the Golden Vale. I stopped at McQuaid s B & B which was in an excellent house, and I got an excellent room. I was very sick, and I went right to bed, and slept'until noon. A great surprise was that foe Dresden Factory was located in this town. They made very expensive objects out of pottery for display.

D a y 1 1 T h u r s d a y . I was still feeling bad from the effects of my cold, and my fever returned in the afternoon, but of less intensity. It was mostly coughing, and a runny nose: It didn't stop my nosing around. I went to foe Dresden Factory in Dromcolliher. The original one in Dresden had been wiped out in foe American bombing of Dresden during World War II, when a great number of German children had been killed by American bombs during a bombing raid foat destroyed a major part of foe city. Marjorie has acquired some Irish Dresden, and it is beautiful. After viewing their wares, 1 obtained the one that has the piano, and it cost $100. Leaving there, I went to Killarney, and there were many hitch hikers on the roadway. I bought milk and cake to eat a snack at the waterfall, just outside of Killarney. I walked to foe top of it, and got tired, so I went down, and rested at the base of the Falls. Ladies View, foe best view of the Lakes of Killarney, was just up foe road, and so, that was the next stop, where I had my Irish coffee. The scenery is without equal. An old man told me about two other places near the town of Bantry which had great views, but I could not find the time to get to them. I stayed at a B. & B. on the Kilorglin Road, which was opposite some beautiful mountain scenery, and had my tea with a banana sandwich in my room In the town of Killarney, advertised Irish music turned out to be American music, which was terrible. It was also apparent to me anoCfoe Irish with whom I joined in foe pub, foat all Americans tourists are fat!!! That seemed to be the general consensus over in Ireland.. It was an uneventful evening, in foe center of one of the best tourist spots in the world.

MeftKilton^ and headed toward the Dingle peninsula. The first part of the road trip was dull, but then, it became beautiful. Inch Strand was a pretty beach, and gliders were being prepared for launching. The seacoast road toward Dingle was spectacular, and Conor Pass was super spectacular. There was a police check set up or. a deserted road, for some reason or other. An elderly couple had a muffler problem, and I stopped to see if they needed help. The next stop was Tralee, where I avoided the center of the town. I had lunch in a large hotel restaurant, and I was all alone in it, as everyone else had gone to the Listowel Races. Next, I went to Limerick and Jury's Hotel, which is allied with Jury's in Dublin. I was tired, so I took a room at the Parkside. After a rest, it was off again to see the castle at Knappogue. There were too many tourists and it was too late to see the show, as a reservation was needed. I had a nice dinner at Fibber McGee's Restaurant, near Bunrtty, and relaxed on my waterbed, in front of my television set. The program was about Ireland's moving statues, and American ghettoes. That ends my travelogue. Following are a few notes that were made along the way.

Relatives of mine that I met were: Mae Claffey, my cousin, and Mike Clements at Coolfin. She's a distant cousin from the Butler line. Aunt Josephine Ryan's sister. Leo Manley at Balgriggan was one I did not meet.

Patrick O'Neill's brother in law had suggested that I go along the road from Cork to Bantry, and in the barony of Ballyneen, I would find foe village of Innisheen. I should talk to foe Schoolmaster, named Sullivan m Ballyneen, but I never got there.

Uncle Kieran's wife was Mary Ann Connors, who died young. Uncle Kieran died at Tullamore.

Ghosts take foe shape of black dogs. A bicyclist was killed at a turn in the road near Knockbarron, and a cross was erected to mark foe spot.

Uncle Joe Hartnett used to refer to the leprechaun who lived by the oak tree at the bend in Cullaun Lane. Nearby, foe family used to dig their peat in the bog, and today, the bog is a national treasure.

Ned Walsh's grandfather found a pot of gold under a stone. He lost his memory (or went daft), soon after. His son died soon after, and then his grandson, also. The neighbors attributed it all to the "found" gold. You should not touch the Leprechaun's treasure!

The R. I. C. cemetery in Crinkle, just outside of Birr, was for the Leinster Regiment of the R. I. C. My cousin said foat trees located in cemeteries, are not to be cut, or if fallen, not to be burned, because foe spirits of the dead are in them.

My grandfather, Denis Hartnett, and his wife Anne Corcoran Hartnett are buried in Drumcullen Cemetery. The County Offaly song is "The Offaly Rover". Offaly is from Uibh Failtge in the Gaelic, and is spoken as Au Fallya. 11 means "The Faithful" Uncle Joe is buried in Plot 21 in the Rath Cemetery.

Mike Butler died in 1936. He had married a Connelly lady, and their sons were John and James Butler. They were policemen who lived in Regone Park. Saint Ciaran's City was Sierkieran At Careen, there are fifteen saints buried there. Daniel O'ConneU's phrase was "Drive quick through Dirty Birr.".