Ireland - Kerry in the early 19thC

Ireland - Kerry in the early 19thC

Dingle Co Kerry Ireland by Paul Weerasekera https://i.pinimg.com/originals/01/83/ab/0183abc58ea12aaa65208364c3dd17b7.jpg

Edward Griffin was born in early May 1816 and was baptised at the Kilgarrylander parish church on 4 May 1816. He was almost certainly born at home, with mother Mary assisted in childbirth by one or more “handywomen” – women with no training except their own experience of childbirth.  It was customary for newborns to be baptised as soon as possible after birth. It was feared that babies would be forever held in Limbo (where innocents went when they couldn’t get into Heaven) if they died before being baptised. The parish priest entered the details into the parish registry: Father – Thomas Griffin, Mother – Mary Connor, Father’s occupation – NR (not recorded), Sponsor 1 – Thomas Garvey, Sponsor 2 – Ellen Mahony, Priest – Rev J O’Sullivan. In those days, all church records were entered in Latin, so young Edmundum Griffin was promptly doused with holy water and wrapped up against the fickle May winds, before proud parents and friends retired home to celebrate another of God’s souls being signed up for the good fight.

https://registers.nli.ie/registers/vtls000634271#page/50/mode/1up

Edward was listed as a new resident of the parish of Keel (another name for Kilgarrylander), and village of Ardcanaght. Even though all around was desperately poor, Edward was part of a population boom for Ireland, including County Kerry. Between 1741 and 1845 the population of Ireland tripled. What else is there to do when you’re poor? Nevertheless, Edward would not have been aware of when he was born – very few Irish people in the early 19thC knew or cared very much about personal details – with the life they led, no-one was ever going to ask. There was very little contact with officialdom unless you had an unfortunate run-in with the local courts. Life revolved around farming the small plot of land which the family rented from the local landowner, probably growing potatoes, and, if you were a “strong farmer” (ie, reasonably well off), herding pigs. Much later, in another time (1854) and in preparation for a journey to the far side of the world, Edward would be asked to say how old he was. “Thirty-six”, he replied to the shipping agent, guessing. He wasn’t trying to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes – he just didn’t know, and this was a common story for generations of Irish emigrants leaving for new worlds.  The same applies to his designation as “labourer” in the ship’s records. This was a catch-all term. In reality he was probably a cottier – a rural labourer who rented a patch of land from a landlord. More about Corkaboy later.

There was no national education system set up until the 1830s. Catholic schools were forbidden. But thousands of poorer students were educated in hedge schools, which were tolerated but illegal. Hedge schools were sometimes outdoors (behind a hedge, to escape detection) but more often in a barn or home. Teachers were locals who taught English and Irish, some basic mathematics, stories of heroes, and perhaps some classical studies. However, the quality of instruction was very uneven, and even the Catholic Church welcomed the introduction of a national education system (as it allowed religious instruction), and the teachers needed some accreditation. Edward would have spoken a mixture of Gaelic and English. Later, when over-population, famine and disease led to mass emigration from County Kerry as well as other parts of Ireland, it was soon realised that English was a necessity for life in a new land.

 

A hedge school 1820s Ireland

https://www.theirishstory.com/2014/03/27/did-captain-rock-spring-from-the-hedge-schools-popular-education-and-militant-politics-in-1820-ireland/#.YF7F3K8zZPY

County Kerry in the 1820s and 30s was extremely backward, compared to most parts of the United Kingdom. Most rural poor lived in mud cabins covered in “scraws” – scrapings from the top of peat bogs. It was not in their interest to make improvements to their miserable accommodation as this would lead to rent increases.  As we shall see, when the landlord shares the same townland it is impossible to keep improvements a secret. Usually, cottiers earned between 6 pence and 10 pence a day, and often had to walk considerable distances to work. Most houses didn’t have windows, so ventilation came through the door only. Smoke from burning peat exited through the ceiling. There was precious little furniture – usually a bed, but sometimes not, and a table if you were well off. Families slept together, huddled up against the cold and wet.

There were few roads in County Kerry at this time. Your world was limited to how far you could walk, unless you could access a horse or donkey, which most people couldn’t. As a result, everything that young Edward Griffin needed in life was nearby. The parish church, the same one he was baptised in, was a short walk across neighbouring townlands. The Catholic Church was almost the only access point that Edward and his fellow parishioners had to a world beyond Ardcanaght. Social and cultural life revolved around the church calendar – Lent, Pentecost, Advent, Christmas, and so on. Time was cyclical, not linear. Each year was a repeat of the previous one, and a forecast of the one to follow. The earth brings forth, and the faithful sing alleluia. Occasionally young Edward and family may have made their way to Castlemaine (the Castle built over the River Maine), or Milltown, which were the nearest towns, about 6 km away. This was close enough to allow a leisurely stroll along the river of about two hours, do their business, and return in the afternoon. A lot would depend on the weather, and oftentimes the cold wind roaring in from the Atlantic would make its way up the reaches of Castlemaine Harbour, bringing drenching rain, enough to make any walk miserable.

Hunger was part of the cycle of life. Famine was a regular if unwelcome visitor to Ireland in the 18th and 19th centuries. But even so, the overreliance of cottiers like Edward Griffin on the potato for sustenance meant that as the crop went, so did they. Around March and April of every year the old potato store was exhausted, and people lived in a state of permanent hunger. New planting was in March but could not be harvested till July. “In for Paddy” (St Patrick’s Day, March 17), and “up for Billy’ (July 12, feast day of William of Orange). Edward was fortunate in that his family could supplement their food supply with fish, and even seaweed if things got desperate because their townland bordered the River Maine near where it meets the sea.

Caid

https://www.rebelogcoaching.com/library/history-gaelic-football/

Clan and tribal loyalties were strong. One expression of this was inter-parish rivalry, especially in caid. Caid was an early form of football. There were two forms of caid. One consisted of two teams on a field competing to kick, carry, push or otherwise propel a ball (made of leather, with a real bladder inside) between the goals, which consisted of two large tree trunks which leant against each other to form an arch. There were few “rules” – tackling, scragging and blocking opponents was not only legal but encouraged. Players were not confined to set positions but could roam anywhere on the field. Local landlords would commandeer their tenants and labourers through cajoling, peer pressure or outright threats to play for the honour of the clan. The other form of caid (the “cross-country game”) was galactic in scope – one parish competing against a neighbouring parish, where the whole parish was the field. Hundreds of players took part, often formed and coached by the parish priest. The game took place on a Sunday, starting after Mass, and ended when the ball was carried across the parish boundary into the neighbouring parish, or when exhaustion or darkness meant the players could not continue.

Daily life for the young Edward Griffin was a mixture of rural drudgery, a stoic acceptance of what the weather could throw at you, and a close association with the endless cycles of life and death. Caid was extremely popular in rural Ireland, and especially in Dingle Peninsula, which included Kilgarrylander parish. Caid meant companionship in battle. Caid allowed young men to stand and fight in front of those who loved you. Caid meant showcasing the skills that God gave you – athleticism, speed, brute strength. There was a role for everyone in the parish caid team – the bulls who could push through against the odds, and the foxes who could take the opportunity when it presented itself. Class didn’t matter, and neither did bookish intelligence – God created caid as a place where all men are equal. Only the ball matters – who’s got it, how I can get it, and who I will pass it to.

After the game, the stories would be told and retold. Local champions would have reputations reinforced, or questioned, and the young would eagerly hang aside conversations hoping to pick up hints for the next contest. Edward loved caid – it was where a young man came of age.

 

Faction fighting

 

https://www.irishexaminer.com/lifestyle/arid-30981889.html

It’s possible that the teenage Edward Griffin also engaged in the curiously Irish phenomenon of faction fighting. Life wasn’t all drudgery – you could always band together with likeminded souls to beat someone up to relieve the tedium. And there were plenty of fairs, feast days, race meetings and the like to provide an opportunity. Groups of men (and occasionally, women) would band together to roam the streets of the village to beat up other groups of thugs. Usually these were organised along clan lines, where local landowners or landlords assembled their finest to take on neighbouring clans. O’Sullivans v Cunninghams, Shanavests v Caravats, Cooleens v Lawlers, and many more. People could, and did, get killed.

Faction fighting was a recurring theme in Irish peasant life for nearly two hundred years, and always drew the condemnation of parish priests, archbishops, authorities and courts – all to no avail. Participants armed themselves with shillelaghs – oak sticks which had often been soaked to harden, and then bolstered with spikes or metal for that extra oomph when cracking a skull. Shillelaghs were carried hidden beneath the long coat worn by men at the time. Sometimes shorter sticks would also be secreted, ready to emerge if the shillelagh was broken or lost in battle. 

Edward Griffin would have been recruited into his faction fighting group as a teenager in the 1830s. The leaders of the factions tended to be the wealthier farmers (the strong farmers) who would then recruit from surrounding neighbourhoods. Considerable social pressure would be brought bear on farmers to participate – it became a matter of honour. Often no-one knew what they were fighting about. That wasn’t the point – this was a battle against the “other”. Usually, the scene took place at a county fair. Often events were preceded by a generous consumption of alcohol. Young men would loosely assemble (sometimes 2-300 strong) in a designated area, shillelaghs under cover. Another group of young men would also gather, in amongst the same crowd, under similar instructions. No-one except perhaps the leader knew how the fighting would begin, but at some point a concocted argument would start, a shillelagh would appear, and it was on for one and all.  Women, if they weren’t fighting, would be cheering from the sidelines. Innocent bystanders would scatter like wheat chaff, while the battle itself was fluid and often confusing. Rival clans did not wear any conspicuous clothing, so it’s a bit of a mystery how the combatants could tell each other apart. No doubt our teenage hero Edward Griffin acquitted himself admirably – here was a real battle, fighting with your mates, with real danger – this is what it means to be a man! After the event petered out due to exhaustion or attrition, the injured would be tended to by adoring girlfriends, while all concerned met again later at the local inn to recount events with added garnish. Meanwhile, the local authorities thundered about “the youth of today…”, and parish priests fetched that homily they wrote last year expressing the condemnation of the Almighty on these incorrigible sinners, which they delivered in appropriately sonorous tones, and to no effect.

Beneath it all was an understanding that while it was life and death at the time, once formalities were over combatants would return to their normal lives and be good friends.

“.. they quarrel without a cause, and fight without an object; and having indulged their propensity, and bound up their wounds, they return satisfied to their homes generally without anger, and frequently in perfect friendship with each other.”