A little bit of della Robbia on a street corner in old Cashel for you
It is a fine bit of fate that today, June 8, is my sister's birthday and I have been able to call her on my cell phone to wish her a happy birthday. I get to do this from the very launching spot of her great-grandfather's trek to America where he met a beautiful dark haired woman named Mary Shannon, whom he married, and thus started another generation. One daughter of this union, Catherine Frances Butler, had a son (our father, who might be in heaven) who had a delightful, bright and funny daughter that he named Catherine Frances as well. Happy Birthday Kate!
And as a gift I bring you news of your ancestors.
Beginning right away at an ungodly hour of 9AM which my body still registers as at least 3AM we had breakfast with other B & B guests. The owner Tom amusedly asked us if we had discovered any relatives the day before. We replied, no— only dead ones—seen on gravestones in the cemetery on the Rock. When an American couple from Wisconsin heard the conversation they asked what name of relatives we sought. I told them Butler. Scott told us he was a Butler descendant and had only recently found out he was an Irish Butler since being here. Tom said in his high Irish musical voice, " Oh, you found some live ones then!" This family may have not known they were Irish but clearly their daughter Mary was culturally Irish and could tell fine tales in funny ways and had us laughing out loud with every story she told. They shared their findings regarding their royal roots, or at least ties to aristocracy, that they evidenced with sheets of family trees and even an old microfiche with a family seal. I had forgotten my glasses so I nodded a lot and took them at their word. Travel well cousins.
More traces of a common name
Steve and I then went to a museum called the Bru Boru which purports to display the spirit and import of Irish music, poetry and dance culture. This may be true on days in which some of the living performers of Ireland come for live performances. But when you are left to your own devices to wander an immensely overbuilt cavernous sequences of poetic and obscure descriptions of art that can't be described and that has only six long bronze horns behind glass, a rudimentary copy of the Brian Boru harp, and one bell— you fail to really grasp the inspiration. We were willing Americans and yet still couldn't get anything from the experience. My advice: go to a pub on a weekend and drink. You will get more than in this museum. They had hired a wonderful beautiful young female guide who spoke Gaelic; that was just one thing that made it worthwhile in the end though.
The other huge boon of our visit here was that Brid from our B & B had told us that the museum had a staff genealogist and we might get help. We have very skeletal materials along with us which I had forgotten even to bring so I was really pathetic in describing my connection to Cashel. I think at one point I threw out every typical name that Irish boys have in lieu of the actual name of my great-grandfather's father. Dierdre, a trim, sharp, green-eyed redhead with a matching flattering orange sweater was able to distinguish from the mass of my narrative verbiage that a Mary Ann Butler (Patrick Butler's younger sister) had married a Phillips boy from Cashel. She disappeared into her gene cave for ten minutes and came back with gold in my opinion.
In her computer she found record of a Joseph Phillips marrying Mary Anne Butler in 1870. Mary Anne was 18 years old and Joseph was 25. Significant for us, dear sister, is the listing of John Butler as her father, our great great grandfather. There home is described as the Moor, an area outside the old city walls of about two blocks total on the map. John Butler's occupation was that of a cattle dealer. This profession is still very big around here. I took a picture of the sign outside a huge cattle mart and animal pen. From earlier photos you will see cattle everywhere here, in backyards and trimming the stoops of ancient ruined monasteries. Diedre suggested we go to the Archdiocese of Cashel/Emly in Tipperary Town 20 kilometers away where they have diocese marriage death and birth records computerized. Wish us luck in finding the name of John Butler's wife which will propel us back perhaps to the next level of this odd and probably meaningless hunt to know where we came from.
This alley certainly carried Butler relatives from The Moor to Main Street
We ate lunch here before even learning it is half a block from The Moor area
The side of O'Neills and one of the few, maybe one of three, old buildings left in the area
The ancient Red-headed Guard of The Moor lives on, he keeps vigil against bird invaders
And like something out of a movie, just as we were leaving, Deirdre came back and said she had spoken to Helen who had just talked to a returning Phillips that she thinks is related, and that we should talk to her. Helen looked her friend up in the local phone book but with no success, Helen didn't know her first name (Mrs. Phillips), but told us she was in her seventies, what her address was, and to ring her up in person and introduce ourselves, giving her name as a reference to prevent her from being suspicious. We realized dinner time today was not the best time to impose. So after our travels tomorrow to the ArchDiocese in Tipperary Town we will ring up my distant actual cousin on Wednesday as a departing treat from our soaking in of Cashel sights, politics, place and history.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR SISTER KATE!!!!
Cattle are still a big thing here in Cashel—Cashel Castle Cattle
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