We entered Mikey Ryan's pub to find various ages of men, two older gentleman at one end of the bar, two middle aged men in rugby jerseys of ample size to cover a multitude of sins and one young man. I asked if Johnnie O'Dwyer was there. A beat later the barman said "Oh Sean... yeah, he is in the back room- through there." Interrupting Sean and a friend we quickly said our introductions mentioning the O'Brien's, and then we were off on the ride of our lives. Sean O'Dwyer spent the next four hours with us, telling us of town, Phillips, Butlers, Irish and his own history, sprinkled with a greeting to every living human that passed and once in the cemetery to dead ones as well. But I go too fast.
We offered to buy Sean another coffee but as he had rights to a refill he bought us coffee instead. He escorted us to the beer garden on this beautiful day and when he got up from the tall stool he was the same height as he had been seated. He had a little terrier on a lead that he took everywhere.
Out to the beer garden. Steve has his I-phone recording until it couldn't take in anymore
Baneen - the cutest devoted little dog with as much energy as her owner.
A more pleasant fun experience with another human being I have not had yet. There wasn't a moment of pause or fatigue in what became one of the best, generous and laugh-filled interactions we have had here. It was as if we were beloved family. This from a man with five grown kids and sixteen grandchildren. He and his have lived in Cashel for a very long time, and he knew the last of the generation of Phillips' that my dear cousin Ray had met. One point he made repeatedly was that this branch of the Phillips did not tend to "produce much issue" and the only hope I had of meeting a Phillips from the Butler line was a jockey cousin who only periodically visited Cashel.
But he did tell us of his friend Michael Phillips, the same one Brid and Tom knew; that he was an actor and that both of them had been in many plays together, and that he would drink and write poetry. Sean offered to take us to the church cemetery at St. John the Baptist. His walking pace was very quick, and I could barely keep up. He greeted people with jokes and salutations as we walked. People would ask him pharmacy questions. It was a dance.
At the church he marched us into the office where we met the priest and the administrative secretary, Maisy, and an affable parishioner he introduced as the local bishop (haha). In rapid English sprinkled with Gaelic Sean persuaded Maisy to not put us off today as we were leaving but rather immediately start compiling files on Phillips, Butlers and Mahers (pronounce Ma like in hat, her, but really clipped). She protested and threatened revenge and huffed but Sean relented not—all in good humor. Bridget Maher turned out to be my great grandmother, married to John Butler. I found her name right there in my notes that I had brought, but had failed to provide the genealogist at Bru Boru museum.
He told her we'd check out the churchyard graves and come back for her findings. Sean walked directly to the Phillips walled grave plot. And there I stood in front of not only Mary Ann Butler's grave but perhaps also her grandfather's grave, my great great great grandfather who died in 1817. The wording "In sacred memory" makes me wonder if it is a new stone at his site or just a memorial. Anyway it was cool.
The word Ladyswell is the street name in Cashel. Even on graves you need more than a name as an identifier as the families were large in number and all had similar names.
Happy People gleaning bits of their quest
When we got back Maisy was still xeroxing pages and pages of Phillips and Mahers —family names that were utterly uncross-referenced. She mentioned that the Family Heritage Center in the town of Tipperary had them all on computer so we insisted she should stop and that we could go there for these records.
We really fell in love with Sean O'Dwyer, he would chat everyone up as he walked along, but never for too long. He was beloved by his dog. He spoke and recited poetry in gaelic and said that he thought about things in that language first. He has written a book about Cashel which he gave us as we left. I got a nice kiss on the cheek and a real sweet fare thee well. When Steve and I went to lunch after our parting from Sean I was quiet and reflective; there was a sense of love, gratitude and grace. We were so well treated here in this little toehold of family history. The beautiful thing about Ireland is clearly its people. This is as hardscrabble a landscape as any northern European country. One might expect a matching flintiness in response to centuries of hardship and political oppression. Instead here is a group of people who have decided there is a great consolation in response to the troubles—humor, warmth, poetry, music and genuine interest in others. I am charmed, to say the least.
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