Newry, Northern Ireland (Olympic Day 3)

Apologies to my Olympic readers, but the next few blogs will mostly involve family history with an occasional comment about the Olympics. Feel free to tune out for a few days. For those who would like to see what we are up to, welcome.

Today, we are visiting sites relevant to my mother's father's Harshaw family. Harshaw means High Wood from the Norse. Two particular people will show up again several times, James Harshaw and John Martin. James was a farmer and wrote a journal every day for about 30 years. It remains one of the only surviving sources of information about  Ireland during the time of the great potato famine. John Martin was James' nephew, a leader in the movement for Irish independence, and former Member of Parliament.

Here is how I am related to these folks:

Stephen Barrett Robie (b 1955)

Marjorie Harshaw (b 1930, still with us!)

Harold MacCloskey Harshaw (b 1896, d 1978)

Rev. William Roseborough Harshaw (b 1855 d 1948)

Rev. Michael Harshaw (b 1807, d 1874)

Andrew Harshaw (b 1755, d 1813)

Andrew Harshaw (b 1700)

James Harshaw (b 1744, d 1822)

1)James Harshaw (The Diarist) (b 1796, d 1867) 

2)Jane Harshaw (b 1787, d 1847) married Samuel Martin (b 1749, d 1831)

John Martin (b 1812, d 1875)

Our first trip of the day was to visit my Mom's friend and relatives Jean and Morris Hillis. Jean's father was a Harshaw and directly related to James Harshaw. We pull into the driveway and there are two huge farm machines (a thresher and a hay bailer). In addition to their farm (which backs up against the Malcomson's property), Morris runs a business renting out his farm equipment to other local farmers. Jean didn't know that we were coming so she was surprised when my Mom was standing there when she opened her door. We have a short conversation and get to see a picture of James Harshaw that I had bought on eBay that she is holding for Mom until Mom decides what to do with it. 

Our next stop is at the Donaghmore Presbyterian Church. This was the church that James and John both went to and were Church Elders. The Presbyterians were generally caught in the middle in the fight between the Catholics, who wanted a unified Ireland, and the Protestants, who wanted to continue British rule. Interestingly, both James and John were in favor of independence. However, their choice had nothing to do with religion. They simply believed that the British had done a poor job governing Ireland and that local rule would be better - this choice got them both into big trouble later in their lives. I asked Mom why if both James and John were members of this church, neither were buried here. The answer is that they didn't at that time have a cemetery. Here is a picture of the church:

We meet up next with Adrian Murdoch (another cousin) who will take us to see the ruins of the cottage where John Martin grew up. Adrian now has control over the site and hopes to develop it into a small museum about John Martin.

The cottage itself is down a quiet country lane:

I am not sure what the reason is, but there are many ruins of homes about in Ireland, but the barns are often in pretty good shape. Perhaps this is because the farmers working the fields didn't own the land. So when a new tenant took over a set of fields, there was motivation to protect and repair the barn - it was valuable to the next tenant. But the home was unimportant and usually not built as well as the barns. In addition, the population of Ireland was decimated during the potato famine so there was even less need for these other homes. John Martin's home at Loughorne cottage follows this trend. The cottage itself is virtually gone - only parts of a couple walls still exists. Here is part of the ruins:

The barn is a typical Irish design - two stories on one side with the barn built into the side of a hill so that you can walk into the top level from the opposite side:

As you can see, the barn, which was renovated in the 1940's, is in pretty good shape. Adrian is hoping to put his museum in the small out-building to the left.

On our way out, we saw potato plants that are still coming up after more than 100 years since John Martin was cultivating them. This is pretty ironic given that it was a blight to these same potatoes that lead to the death of millions and partial depopulation of Ireland around 1850.

Next on the agenda was a visit to James Harshaw's house. Unlike John Martin's house, this one looks like it is in great shape:

Our final stop in the morning was a visit to St. Bartholomew's Church of Ireland in Donaghmore. This is where John Martin was buried. It is said that thousands of people walked long distances to attend his funeral. Here is his headstone:

These words give some indication of the place in Irish history that John Martin held at the time of his death. It was no exaggeration to say that he was close to being the Irish equivalent of Thomas Jefferson. Yet 137 years later, very few Irishmen have even heard of him. There are a number of reasons for this. First, John Martin was not into self-promotion. He just tried to do everything that he did as well as possible. He didn't write any books and most of his writings were in local newspapers. As a Presbyterian, he didn't have a constituency that benefited from his fame. The Protestants regarded him as a traitor because he favored Irish independence. The Catholics preferred to remember Catholic nationalists like Daniel O'Connor. So, he disappeared from history. If you would like to read more about John Martin, check out my Mom's blog:

http://abelovedpolitician.blogspot.co.uk/

There was also a nice Celtic cross in that cemetery:

Sean is reaching starvation levels so we take a quick ride into downtown Newry for lunch. Since I'm in the United Kingdom, I go for the fish and chips (french fries to my American readers). Beth and Mom have heated baguettes and Sean has curry on rice (it is easy to get Indian food almost anywhere!). 

We say goodbye to Adrian and head out to look for the church at the village with the colorful name of Tyrones Ditches. Mom is guiding us, but is not sure we are on the right road. We go up and down hills and around blind corners that have me putting the steering wheel in a death grip. Finally, we find the church. My ancestors Andrew and Michael Harshaw both worshipped here. I think that Michael went to America and Andrew might be buried here, but did not have a headstone.

Our last stop in this family history marathon is the Presbyterian church in Glascar. This is where James Harshaw is buried and my Mom wanted us to see the headstone because we helped pay for it (after many years of famine, there was no money left to pay for James' headstone) as part of the celebration of the rediscovery of James' diaries. Here it is: 

James' journal included everything from crop prices and weather to episodes of sectarian violence and the catastrophic effects of the potato famine. If you'd like to learn more, check out my Mom's blog and the subject:  http://forgottenireland.blogspot.co.uk/2007/06/james-harshaw-irish-farmer.html

By this time, it was time for dinner. It was a Monday night and most of the restaurants are closed, but Walter Malcomson recommended that we try a Chinese restaurant in Bambridge called Gaze. We are always game for Sean to exercise his Mandarin so off we go. We park the car and Mom tells us that a bomber blew up a car just a block from Gaze during "the troubles". We can only hope that "the troubles" never return although I get the feeling that this unrest continues to bubble just below the surface.

The food at Gaze is good - a blend of many different Asian cultures instead of just Chinese. Beth, Sean and I share dishes from China, Thailand and India - yum. Sean gets a smile from the waitress when he asks her in Mandarin whether she speaks Chinese. After a brief conversation, she tells Sean that he speaks better Mandarin than she does!