This destination is better than the journey

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My paternal grandfather served in WW1 as ground crew in what was to become the RAF.

The schism this caused in his family resulted in him fleeing Ireland to escape the violent – possibly murderous – intent of his younger brother, and, obviously, resulted in my father meeting my mother, which logically enough resulted in me.

While my grandfather remained a Roman Catholic – he was buried with high mass, small tings and long silences – he spent the next fifty years in effective exile from his home and family.

Granddad missed the funerals of his own parents as well as that of Hugh, his elder brother, with whom he had never quarreled; indeed, Hugh had no quarrel with anyone, since he really never a gave a rat’s bottom for politics and had no skills the “The Boys”* wanted. Hugh died in the late 1960s.

The whole issue was sorted out just before Granddad died in 1976 when his younger brother, now old and ill himself, turned up out of the blue and apologised for being an arse for all those years.

He attended the funeral.

So, from that brief vignette of a common Irish family story, it is nice to see a nation finally, truly, walking the path my family walked, albeit in the eleventh hour of their lives, to some form of enduring peace. It’s a shame that moments of revelation are always born in pain, since to get this national demonstration of unity a young man had to die to remind old enemies just how far they’ve come and just how much they have in common.

 

EDITOR’S NOTE *“The Boys” is an Irish colloquialism for the IRA. The link that Hrothgir has given us is worth a look. A great story of reconciliation in troubled Northern Ireland. A Protestant attending a Mass for a slain Catholic, unheard of. Not any more. Great story.

The walls dividing Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods in Belfast are crumbling


 

About Post Author

Hrothgir O Domhnaill

Hrothgir Ó Dómhnaill was born in England in the mid-1960s. He spent most of a chequered career in companies undergoing massive change, and specialised in the resolution of problems too dirty, too ugly, too dangerous, or just plain impossible, all with plausible deniabilty by his management if he failed. He never did. Now, having cleared his mortgage, he lives happily with his wife, elderly cat, and his first pet, a tortoise called Frederick, in the North West of England, pontificates on all manner of things, and generally feels lucky he's not dead.
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12 years ago

[…] destination is better than the journey This destination is better than the journey Source: madmikesamerica.com The old saying: It's not the destination, it's the […]

Michael John Scott
12 years ago

Even though I know absolutely no one who is actually a native of Ireland I know a lot of people who think they are on St. Patty’s day. Fantastic read!!

Hrothgir OD
Reply to  Michael John Scott
12 years ago

And I studiously ignore Saint’s days… 🙂

Michael John Scott
Reply to  Hrothgir OD
12 years ago

As do I 🙂

jenny40
12 years ago

I can’t believe I missed this yesterday. It is a wonderful read and I would love to see more of these wonderful writings. Thanks so much.

12 years ago

The ONLY people who can even begin to understand Ireland are the people who live there.

American antecedents are, frankly, just bollocks.

You, my friend, are the truth and the only truth.

I am also very happy you are alive.

And may you stay so for many a long year.

Best post I’ve read anywhere in a long time.

Thank you.

4D

JimmyMac
12 years ago

My grandparents moved to New York in the 1920s, but had the luxury of moving in with family already here. Everybody’s got a story, and they are all worth hearing.

12 years ago

My great-grandfather moved to England from County Cork in the 1800s, he carried his Catholic faith with him along with a band of his friends. Birmingham and the Black Country was the workshop of the world at the time and there was plenty of coal-mining or metal-bashing to be done. To my knowledge, no trips back to Ireland were made. All the kids in my school (RC), were the great-grandkids of Irish immigrants who came to England mainly because they couldn’t afford a ticket to New York or Boston.

Very poignant story Hrothgir and a very encouraging one from Northern Ireland.

12 years ago

My great-grandfather Bob Travers died in 1917 in Sequim, Washington.
My dad talked about him his whole life – all the while denying his Irish blood (“Oh, his family is from the Isle of Man, they escaped from the French Revolution”) or some such baloney.
When my dad died I found the letters from Bob’s father in Dublin.
Their family had been a Huguenot family expelled from N. France in the late 1600s. Two branches of the Travers family left France bound for New Orleans. One of the ships pulled up lame in N. Ireland. The letter outlined the family genealogy in Ireland from about 1700 on up to about 1875. Even in this letter feelings were strong about the religion part…
But great grandpa, grandma, and Dad all denied their Irish heritage during their lifetimes in America.

Michael John Scott
Reply to  louie gluefish
12 years ago

Welcome Louie! Sad that so many had to deny their heritage. Hope you stop by again.

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