Mortal Years - Ireland

My family and early childhood were very unremarkable. I was the youngest of 8 children, 3 boys and 5 girls. Father was a landholder of more than modest means in County Tipperary. Unlike many landholders, he chose to live on his land amongst the tenants. There was no charity or camaraderie in this decision. He just did not trust them. The only reason he allowed his children to play with the Catholic children was because there were no other children in the area. He did prefer we play with the children of the household servants to the children of the tenants. Father thought of his tenants as “untrustworthy, ignorant, Papists.”

I much preferred to play with my brothers’ toys than with the girls’ toys. As the youngest, I was indulged in this and it was ignored. My interests weren't so much in the masculine or military. I loved the machines, especially the model boats and trains. None of my brothers would play due to our age gap. My sisters didn't understand my interest in boys’ things. Neither were any of the servants’ children were close to my age. Despite my father’s admonishments, I found my playmates amongst our Catholic tenants.

There was one boy in particular, Conor O'Keeffe ,that I spent my time with. I shared my toys and learning with him, in exchange for him chasing off bullies and teaching me how to “rough it.” My father’s preference for English language and culture meant that I was largely ignorant of the legends and music of my own people. Conor taught me these “heathen” stories and songs. I even managed to learn some Irish language. It was amongst my father’s detested tenants, that I became fiercely Irish.

As I got older, my father discovered that I had a head for numbers. His only frustration with this was the fact that I was a girl. None of his sons seemed interested in the family business. They all wanted to run off and join the East India Company. My brothers wanted nothing more than to have grand adventures and explore the world. Oddly, none of them ever left the British Isles.

Father put me to work helping to keep the books. When he let me hire an errand boy, I immediately picked my old chum Conor. The blight had hurt his family and they had no real income. What I could pay Conor helped cover his family’s rent. Father was just as heartless as any landholder when it came to his bottom line and he did evict those tenants who couldn’t pay up. I didn’t want to lose my best friend.

Conor and I both got caught up in the rumblings of rebellion. The Repeal Association was splitting apart over the issue of armed revolt. We both supported the Young Irelanders’ stand that Irish Nationalism came before religion and that armed revolt was the only way to remove the British. If we didn’t remove the British, their supported system of landlords would starve the populace.

We joined as the Young Irelanders marched through the countryside of Tipperary, to The Commons outside of Ballingarry. We had to sneak away from Father’s land, as he would have locked me up for the very idea of joining such a thing. Neither of us was decently armed. Conor’s shillelagh didn’t count. A club, even a fancy one, doesn’t do much in a gunfight. We didn’t contribute much, other than to be two more bodies hiding from the bullets of the policemen.

Since neither of us fired upon the police or were leaders, we were let go with nothing more than harsh words. The police did report my involvement to my Father, though. His anger knew no bounds. I was immediately confined to the house. My father also had Conor was fired and his family evicted. This was when I was officially done with my Father and his Anglicized O’Dwyer ways. I resolved to resume our ancestral name of Ó Duibhir, escape my Father and build my own enterprise in America. If I had to, I would personally fund the end of British rule of Ireland. Ah, the rashness of youth.

I spent the next few months building up a secret cash of money and supplies. My opportunity came when Father had finished receiving his rents and was preparing to travel. After he had counted and put away the rents, I took them for my own. Not knowing that his satchel was full of newspaper, Father left for his multi-day journey to deposit the rents into the bank. As soon as he was gone, I took my supplies and left.

Having stayed in contact with Conor through secret notes, I knew where he and his family were. Disguised in the clothing of a servant, I joined them. He was pretty angry with me; not for them getting evicted, for running away from my place of privilege. When I shared my insane scheme with him, Conor confided that he too was thinking of going to America. He wanted to go there to find work and send money home to his family.

Being proud people, they refused any offer of charity. Conor even insisted on working off the cost of his ship ticket to America. He refused to take anything more than 3rd Class. I did get us onto a higher class of ship, though. I did not want to take one of the coffin ships. Conor also told me that there was no way I could pass for normal amongst the people in 3rd Class. Since 1st Class would attract far too much attention and waste too much of the money, I went 2nd Class.

My Father discovered the missing money, as my ship was leaving. The authorities never associated the Ríognach Ó Duibhir on the ship’s manifest with Regina O’Dwyer. It was their loss for never learning any Irish.