by Enda Fitzmaurice
Last month on June 16, as the USA celebrated Father’s Day, my family was in the midst of preparing for or celebrating two big birthdays (80 and 50 years old), 3 graduations, 3 graduation parties, and a trip to the State Track and Field Meet where my grandson Liam had a medal performance. Ultimately, the Father’s Day celebration was placed on hold.
In the past, we’ve celebrated the event with a family weekend campout at Whitewater State park. This year’s celebration consisted of a special card and dinner for and with my husband Jim. It being quiet day, I went for a long walk. As I walked, my thoughts turned to my own father who died 42 years ago at the age of 85. In recent years when I have written family stories, my mother has been the predominant character while my father seemed to live in the shadows. This led me to extract from my long term memories who my father was and what influence he had on my life.
My father, we always called him Daddy, was born in the Homeplace in Mullaghmore, Bawnboy, County Caan, Ireland. His parents James and Annie (nee Tighe) who bore the nickname “Slamber Dolan” lived on a 60 acre farm in a thatched house. Much of the lands was bog but also had fairly good grazing. An adequate area was used to grow potatoes, oats, stone wheat and barley. The farm was surrounded by several fishing lakes.
Like many Irish men, my father married late in life at age 42. My mother was 30 years old. She moved into a new 2-story slated roof house which was primarily designed and built by my father. My grandfather and grandmother also lived there besides live-in servants.
My father was 45 years old when I was born. My early recollections of him began when I was about 5 years old. I remembered him as old, slow moving, orderly, deliberate and often deep in contemplation. On coming into home from the fields, he liked a neat house and would often utter “a place everything and everything in its place.” He and my mother seemed to understand their roles. She was the domestic manager, social organizer, cook, and child rearer with help from my grandmother. My father made most farm decisions and was consulted on everyday matters during pillow talk.
My mother and father slept in a sunny back room overlooking the farmyard where they would be awakened by the sounds of roosters, hens, chickens, pigs, cows (eagerly awaiting milking), and their newborn calves. My mother and father were attuned to these sounds, especially if a fox got into the hen house during the early morning hours.
My mother (an early riser) lit the kitchen fire and accompanied by Trixie (the family dog) always brought a mug of hot tea to my father. Each morning one of us biked down to Johnny Pinkman’s little smoke-filled house and picked up the daily national newspaper called the Irish Independent. My father read it from cover to cover. I read the comic “Curly Wee and Goosey Goose.” Following the newspaper, my father had breakfast. This usually consisted of porridge, plenty of fresh homemade bread, and homemade butter. On special occasions such as when we had visitors there would be bacon and eggs. Finally, before the farm work around 10am, my father would enjoy a slow and leisurely smoke from his pipe.
Farm work varied according to the season. Spring was busy with preparing and planting seed potatoes, ploughing and sowing oats, wheat and barley seeds. My father kept a careful watch on cows about to give birth and their offspring. Sometimes this involved sitting up late at night while a cow was in labor. One of my brothers usually assumed the watch as well.
Summer was a season spent “winning” hay and turf. My father enjoyed haying when the weather cooperated. We literally “made hay when the sun shone.” This was an occasion when everybody in the family gave their best. My mother and I transported the noon meal to the meadow just as the Angelus bell rang. All gathered around my father as he removed his hat and with his hungry family gathered around him, he led us in recitation of the Angelus.
Potato planting was another family cooperative chore which usually took place in the month of May. My father and brothers would lead by making holes in prepared ground with a “Skeeveen” while we younger children would carefully follow behind the furrow placing a seed potato in each hole. This process was called “guggering.”
During the long winter days, my father liked to read, occasionally borrowing books from the workhouse library. Once or twice a week he visited Smyths “Culide” house where a group of men stay around an open fire sharing news and opinions plus politics. Very often the would enjoy a tall glass of Guiness or a mug of tea.
My father also visited his sister Lizzie who at an early age was widowed with six children. I remember at one time she had a difficult streak of bad luck when some of her cattle died. Her horse also ran into barbed wire badly cutting his leg which led to him being euthanized with a shot gun. My father (who was very close to his sister) helped out during these losses by replacing her cattle with some of his own livestock. Unfortunately, he could not replace the horse.
I don’t remember my father attending First Communions of Confirmations (my mother’s role.) He didn’t talk very often about religion, but initiated and led family rosary, and attended Sunday and First Friday Mass. He was physically and spiritually supportive of the local Catholic church. He had a good relationship with the Protestant families, even as they paraded past our meadow on July 12th (Orange Man’s Day) on their way to parades across the border.
My father was thrifty, happy with a simple life style, but always prepared for financial emergencies such as flooding, disease outbreaks in cattle and catastrophic weather.
Besides the self-sustaining farm, my father owned a gravel pit (from which he sold sand to contractors. He also received fees from bull service. Cattle and pigs were sold at market. During summer, surplus milk was sold to the Co-op Creamery from which was derived a generous monthly cheque.
I remember my father’s billing system. A sheet of paper recorded each bull and sand transaction. This record was placed on a makeshift file, a large skewer on a cork base. The file was kept in a dry place in the kitchen (press) cupboard. I remember my father on a quiet Sunday afternoon laying out the bills on the kitchen table. The bill was rarely presented to the customer, but I think hints were passed if a bill was long overdue. As children we were never privy to the contents of that file.
In my parents’ bedroom a large trunk-sized box contained their important papers such as land deeds, birth certificates and money. They did not have a checking account. All business was conducted in cash.
As children we never looked into or viewed the contents of this trunk. I remember a very special occasion when I first left home. My father called me into their room to bid me goodbye, opened the black box and with tears in his eyes gave me 20 pounds.
Each year in late Autumn after the crops had been saved and stored for the winter my father went on a 10 day vacation to Bundoran (a popular seaside resort) where he booked and checked into the same boarding house for several years. During this sojourn he wrote home almost daily describing his holiday long walks on the quays, collecting chills, going to daily mass, chatting with other holders and enjoying boarding house meals. He returned home refreshed and brought us small gifts. I remember my brother (then 14 years old) receiving a shaving set. Oh yes, my mother also took short trips to Dublin City and Cavan Town where she spent a few days with relatives.
In the spring my father went to the Ballsbridge Agricultural Show (similar to our state fairs) where every 3 years he purchased a pure bred bull for breeding purposes. Again, he loved and learned much about modern agricultural methods through the exhibits. Later, he put into practice what he had learned at the show. Through grants he carried out land reclamation, planted a small tree farm, set up bee hives, and modernized the orchard through the pruning of apple trees, black currant and gooseberry bushes. He constructed a makeshift greenhouse from a glass window under which he planted green onions, cauliflower and unsuccessful tomatoes. He used exclusively natural fertilizers so he might be seen as being in the forefront of organic farming.
At around 59 years old while attending the Ballyconnell Fair, my father visited Dr. O’Rourke who diagnosed him as suffering from congestive heart failure and a gastric ulcer. His doctor’s brother had him admitted to Steven’s Hospital in Dublin where he was traded as an inpatient for 3 weeks. On return home he slowed down and turned over the farm to my oldest brother Gerald who in turn transferred ownership to my broth Eamonn. I remember my father was on a special diet, no grease, no salt, bland cereals, chicken and fish. My mother followed the diet instructions and my father seemed well. Always curious about travel, he took a trip to England where he stayed with my cousin John Shannon.
After I left home, I saw my father on my yearly vacation from nursing school in London. He had slowed down and suffered some bouts of breathing difficulty. His ulcer seemed controlled with the prescribed site.
I noticed my father did not like saying goodbyes. I remember leaving for my return trip to New York and LA on a cold and wet morning. The night before I left, before snatching a few hours of restless sleep, I bad my father goodbye and planned on quietly leaving the house at 2am. My cousin Frank Dolan would pick up my mother and me for the long journey to Cobh Harbor before boarding the ship for NY. As I slipped out the front door to meet the car I encountered my father. There he stood, behind the heavy iron farm gate, fully dressed. I approached and we just stared in silence (no hugging) followed by a few words exchanged such as him wishing me “God speed.” Then tears flowed from those soft blue eyes as he said “Go, but I don’t think I will ever see you again.”
A few years after my marriage, my husband Jim and two children did visit. The two Jims immediately bonded and liked each other. I think they shared many common traits – reflective, stubborn and caring, etc. Apparently my father reflected on his mortality and fear of death, and perhaps for the first time expressed his doubts about the next life to my husband Jim Fitzmaurice.
Following that vacation in 1966 I did not see my father. I was assured by my mother that he was at peace. He appreciated and was thankful that he could experience the beginning of a modern Ireland and with it the age of television. Of the television he said “a whole new world has opened up, some good and some bad.”
My father died in October 1971. Since this was a very busy time in our lives – 5 young children and Jim’s very busy teaching schedule – I probably delayed or repressed grieving. I did not go home for the funeral. At that time it was impossible to arrange and book flights on such short notice. Now, years later, I do regret that I had not been there for the funeral.
Again, my mother the great communicator wrote me the following letter which until the past year lay hidden in a box. This is a letter I treasure. The following is an excerpt of the letter written by my mother describing the last 15 hours leading up to my father’s peaceful death.
12th October, 1971
My Dear Enda, Jim and Family,
Just got both your letters and hope you do not fee too sad on hearing of Daddy’s death. R.I. P. For he has been awaiting and prepared for this in years lately. He used to say to me “I have not long to go. Why I am getting very weak, evenly I am out.” He always kept in the time in the line of reading and watching tv until it closed down at nighttime no matter how late it was. Sometimes I think he should be in his chair and discussing the programs on TV and what he read in the press and he might.
Before he took ill he said he would like to go up to bed so he was able to get up the stairs with me at his side. When he got to the bed he said thanks a few times. He said “Now I get rested. I will be all right.”
Anyhow, Eamonn was just gone home with Aunt Lizzie for she was over for the day. I had no one in the house. By luck I heard someone come in and I said “Come up if you want to.“ It was Noel Smith and he went up and brought down his mother. He went for the priest and got Eamonn. When the priest was leaving he said he was often worse and he gave him the last sacrament. The Smiths stayed on until 2 o’clock. I made them go home and I stayed up all the night. He used to doze off in a sleep and sometime he would catch with the breathing for a while.
At 6 in the morning he sat on the side of the bed, said he felt better and would like a cup of tea. When I took it up to him he said “this is welcome “ so he went back to bed and was comfortable. At 8 o’clock he got out again and sat on the side of the bed, took a cup of tea and one biscuit. Then he went to the toilet. I helped him and he said “You need not help me, I am able to go myself.” Then he got his smoke and said to me “My smoke is my comfort.” “It is a good thing you are feeling better” I said to him. He talked to me and asked me what time the Smiths went home. “You know” he says, “that the priest is coming on Monday morning to see me.” Then he said to me “and you not going to mass.” I said “No, maybe it is as well for you I am not going.” During the day he was easy off and on in a sleep and talked. At 2 o’clock Eamonn was looking in at him. He was comfortable so Eamonn told me he was going to see the cattle and would not be long.
At a quarter to 3 he got a turn. I was with him and he was dead at quarter past 3.
I was on my own all the time and I said the prayers for the dying and held the candle in his hand. Also the crucifix. He got a very happy death, please God. The more I think about him the happier I feel.
Johnny Dolan of Culliagh came home from the US that Sunday. When passing he come in and only had 10 days. Uncle Pea and two of his sons were up for the funeral and Uncle Farrell but poor Maggie was not able to come and is heartbroken that she was not home. It was a very big funeral as well and a lot of mass cards. I have not counted them the they are still coming in. Had a later since from the Farrells. They said the appreciated the excellent way in which the whole funeral arrangements were carried out and the good turnout at the removal of the remains and the funeral.
I am enclosing the cutting out of the cell (Obituary?) in the daily paper. The month’s mind will be on the 24th. All the family are coming for it please God.
I hope this finds you all in good health.
Enda, don’t worry yourself evenly. You were not able to be with us. You have a good husband and family to look after. It must be kept very busy.
Heard Mrs. Hagerty last night is suffering with pains a lot ,God help her. Father Brady sent offerings.
Again, God Bless.
Mammie and Eamonn