The aim of the following pages is to put on record a few outstanding events concerning the Aughalustia branch of the Egan family. We are all to an extent interested in our ancestors, and we may like to know something about say a grand uncle or grand aunt, This must be true of a family like ours whose members were scattered the wide world over. There was a time not too far distant when four continents claimed members of the Egan clan, Besides, in after years when we of this generation are dead and gone, perhaps some of our relations in New York, Chicago, Florida or Texas may wish to know something of the family from which they sprang. These few pages will, we trust, supply an answer to some of the questions about us that may arise. To our relations in America, it will be clear that their ancestors came from Ireland, but it will not be so clear to them where in the Green Isle they live, or what were the adverse conditions in their homeland that forced them to emigrate to a land three thousand miles away. For our dear friends in America a few notes on Irish History may provide necessary background for what will follow. It is true t say that most men are children of their age. They are, too, in many respects victims of circumstance. In this the Egans may not claim immunity.

Originally Ireland belonged to the vast Celtic Kingdom which extended from the western seaboard of Ireland and Scotland to the Rhine in Germany and to the Padrus or Po in the North of Italy. Most of that territory was conquered by Rome before the birth of Christ. The Celtic race survived only in Ireland, the North of Scotland, Wales and in a small part of northwest France called Brittany. Julius Caesar in his “De Bello Gallico” deal with the ruthless conquest of much of this Celtic Empire. The “Mightiest Julius” has some interesting information for us about the Celts, our ancestors. According to him they were a pastoral people broken up into clans or tribes each of whom had its own king or chieftain. We are not surprised to learn that they were a warlike people who stoutly defended their patrimony to the last Their dwellings were of clay. They had priests called Druids who supervised their religion. What a pit those vanished Celts have left no record of what they thought of the Romans! We should take with the proverbial grain of salt what Caesar has to say. The proud conqueror usually despised the vanquished. Our own history is proof of that. Since Ireland escaped the Roman conquest, many of the characteristics outlined by Julius were found by St. Patrick when he cam as a fervent apostle to our shores early in the fifth century. Conversion to Christianity was raid and soon missionaries in large numbers were leaving Ireland to bring the benefits to Europe that had been ravaged by the invading barbarians. Ireland prospered. Her schools and monasteries flourished and large numbers of students from the continent came to study here.

In the early years of the twelfth century the Normans set foot in our land. From that tragic event sprang the many ills that beset our island down to comparatively recent years, Disunity, an inherent weakness in the clan system, proved our undoing. The Normans pressed on. The lands of the Irish people were confiscated and so the chieftains were deprived of power. Yet it was not until Henry VIII broke with Rome in 1539 that the real conquest began. Protestantism in all its fury would not brook and opposition. The long night of persecution followed when to be a Catholic was a crime. Readers of early American history realize what persecution of Catholics means. The history of Boston will provide many painful examples. Despite the intense persecution the Irish clung to the Faith. Towards the end of the sixteenth century a great national rising under the leadership of Hugh O’Neill of Tyrone saw victory in many bloody battles. Defeat however was their bitter lot in the fatal overthrow at Kinsale. Forty years later in 1649 a rabid Puritan, Oliver Cromwell arrived in Ireland at the head of a large army with the vowed intent of exterminating the Irish Catholics. History sadly records how he almost succeeded, for when he left the country four years later, our population was reduced to a mere seven hundred thousand souls – the population of a small city in the U.S.A. Wherever the land was good he drove the owners from it and gave it to his followers. Hundreds of thousand s were dispossessed and were forced into the bogs and bare mountains, there to die of starvation and exposure. The teenagers he sold as slaves in the Barbadoes. Even to this day the coloured inhabitants of these islands have Irish names. To explain to the reader the harsh condition that prevailed in Ireland up to a hundred years ago as a result of protestant domination, we may draw a parallel between Ireland then, and Hungary today. The present history of Hungary is known to most of us. We have read how a ruthless conqueror, Russia, trampled down by force of arms freedom and everything the Hungarians hold dear. Many who were forced into exile are housed in camps in several lands. The people that remain are reeling under a heartless tyranny. Their homes are ruined, their children scattered, the abiding consolation of religion denied, while their clergy are languishing in prison. Some of our American friends may be surprised to learn that Hungary’s agony today was Ireland’s up to a hundred years ago. There is, however, one significant difference, Hungary enjoyed the sympathy of the world, our people suffered alone.

If they, the emigrants to the hospitable shores of America were hungry, depressed, uneducated and poorly clad, our tragic history is responsible. Centuries of foul fortune at the hands of a ruthless tyranny robbed us of everything save our Catholic faith and our enduring love of freedom. Perseverance was at length rewarded. After several rebellions which were put down with the ever-recurring bloodshed and the execution of the leaders, the dawn of freedom finally broke over “this island of sorrow” in 1922. It was not complete freedom, for Britain still holds down six of the counties of Ulster. This then is the outline of Irish history which may help to explain the recorded events that follow.

But some reader may ask: “What on earth has that “guy” Cromwell to do with the Egans?” Strange as it may seem the Egans of 300 years ago were numbered among the tens of thousands disposed persons whose lands were confiscated by Oliver. To the bogs and mountains of Connacht they were forced to turn, and settle in any vacant spot they could find. They threw up a mud hut and eked out a meager existence on a few acres of bad land. It is not difficult to imagine the endless struggle to survive that harasses those innocent victims of injustice. Famine and disease joined forces to threaten with extinction those hapless victims. Thanks to the Providence of God and their will to live they survived. Numbered among those displaced persons were the Egans our ancestors.

In 1700 A.D., a certain Peter Egan settled in a townland called Cloonfad which lies between the towns of Frenchpark and Castlerea in County Roscommon. Cloonfad is the anglicised form of the Gaelic words Cluan Fada. The word Cluan means a patch of arable land surrounded by bog, and Fada means long. Unfortunately, Peter Egan has left no account of where he came from, nor do we know how he managed to get a holding there. The writer has to rely completely on tradition. Much of the information given here was supplied by his cousin Johnny Egan, r.i.p., of Cloonfad whose two sons still reside in the old home which was occupied by several generations of Egans. Three of his daughters are in the U.S.A., one of whom is a Dominican nun, at present teaching at St. Agnes Convent, Rockville Centre, New York. But there is no need to question the facts set down here, for Johnny was an intelligent, well-read man who had spent a period in the U.S.A., whose memory was surprising and who was keenly interested in his ancestors. From the history of the time it is easy to infer what difficulties Peter Egan had to face when we first settled in Cloonfad. The Catholic Church was proscribed. Rarely had he or his family an opportunity of assisting at Mass. Occasionally a priest in disguise visited the locality , the people were notified by their own secret code that Holy Mass would be offered in a hiding place known to all. Great secrecy had to be observed, because the priest was an outlaw with money on his head. At meetings such as these, children were baptized, confessions heard and all the while men were on the watch lest the authorities might make a raid with dire results to all. Wonder is that the faith survived at all in such harsh conditions. Historians tell us that it was the Irishman’s traditional devotion to Our Lady and the rosary that kept the Faith alive. To make matters worse there were no Catholic schools. The Irish children or those who were fortunate had to depend on what is known in Irish History as “The Hedge Schools”. There were teachers, few in number, who traveled from place to place and taught the children of the locality usually in the open, should the weather permit or in some neighbour’s house. It is evident that in conditions such as these only a small percentage of the children received any education.

Peter Egan married and had two sons whom he called Patrick and Dominic. One wonders how the Christian name Dominic found it’s way into the Egan family. In fact it is a familiar name in that part of the West. One likely explanation is that there was a Dominican monastery in a place called Urlor some fifteen males from Cloonfad. This monastery together with the Augustinian foundation in Ballyhaunis was established in the fourteenth century by a Norman family called Costello who had driven the native chiefs O’Gara from their ancestral Dun in Castlemore near Ballaghaderreen. The local people came to know the Dominican friars and learned from them about the famous St. Dominic.

As far as the writer could ascertain, Peter had only two sons. They lived on in Cloonfad and helped their father on the land. At Peter’s death – the date of which I failed to find – the land was divided between the two sons. Division and sub-division was a feature of Ireland’s social life down to comparatively recent times. Both sons married in Cloonfad and raised families. Patrick, the second son had a large family from which the present Egans of Cloonfad are descended. Dominic, the eldest boy, had only one son whom he called Dominic Og, or young Dominic. Dominic Og married young and had fourteen in family, thirteen sons and one daughter who was called Mary. Six of the sons died in infancy. The eldest of the surviving sons was called Peter. This Peter was the founder of the Egans in Aughalustia.

The great grand-son of the Peter Egan who first came to settle in Cloonfad was also named Peter and is the founder of the Aughalustia Egans. He was born in Cloonfad in 1809 and was baptized in Fairmount Parish Church. For some reason he was reared by his grandmother, Mrs. King, who lived in a townland called Aughaderry near Loughglynn. Unlike the vast majority of the youth of Ireland for whom there were no special schools young Peter was allowed to attend a special school near Frenchpark which the landlord De Freyne established for the children of the people working on his estate. He was well educated. He spoke English and Irish fluently and had done a good course in Arithmetic, Measuration, and Algebra. That he had to walk twelve miles each day indicates the love the Irish people had for education . It highlights too the bigotry of the British government who for so long had denied education to the vast majority of the Irish people. Little did young Peter realise as he trudged his way to Frenchpark every morning that he was living in historic times. Napoleon was then the master of Europe. Britain had been engaged in a long and costly war with the “Little Corporal”. Grain in Ireland fetched high prices. The cloud of invasion hung over England. The Martello Towers along the East coast of Ireland are reminders of the precautions England took to withstand the proposed French invasion. This threat to Britain’s Imperial might caused no worry in the Irish homes. England’s enemies were always popular with the down-trodden Irish Catholic.

On leaving school at the age of fourteen, Peter worked with his father on the farm. He must have been a far-seeing, hard-working young ma, for in 1840, at the age of thirty-one he had sufficient money to purchase a small farm in the townland of Aughalustia, four miles west of Cloonfad. This farm was purchased from a family called Gordon. They had been herds for Lord De Freyne who rewarded them by conferring on them the ownership of about 600 acres of the best land in Aughalustia. The portion that Peter purchased was by no means good, for part of it was wooded and low-lying. What he paid for it, I was unable to ascertain. The Gordon land was extensive and fertile. Before the advent of Lord De Freyne many Catholics owned that land. Once the “lord” got possession, evictions followed. Well established tradition has it that at the end of the eighteenth century, twelve families were evicted from what today to-day is known as the Golflinks. One may ask, what became of the evicted families? They were forced to settle on patches of the surrounding bog land. The existence of places such as Deireadh, Sean Bhaile and Ballinturleagh, which border the Gordon land, is proof of this.

Having purchased the land, Peter’s next big task was to erect a dwelling. Fortunately there was plenty of limestone in the locality. The trees on the land provided the wood for the roof. Uniformity of architecture characterised Irish rural houses at that period. Simplicity and a total lack of ornament were the outstanding features of those humble dwellings. The walls were limestone, the roofs were of oaten and wheaten straw. There were usually two bedrooms, a large kitchen and off the kitchen at the back, was a small annex called a “pristee”. What furniture there was, was of the simplest type. In the kitchen was a large open fireplace, where great quantities of turf were burned day and night. Turf or peat is a much less compressed species of coal found in many parts of Ireland. Over the mantelpiece in the kitchen hung a rather large picture of the Sacred Heart, before which burned a small paraffin lamp with a red shade. It was around this picture that members of the family knelt to recite the rosary before retiring to rest. The “dresser” was another piece of furniture peculiar to the homes of that period. It consisted of a number of shelves mounted on a cupboard,. On the “dresser” were placed the cups, saucers, and plates when not in use. The dishes, the tea and sugar etc., were kept in the cupboard. The top shelf of the “dresser” was reserved for three very large dishes bearing attractive designs. These dishes were only used on special occasions. At Christmas they were taken down with due ceremony , an exercise that awakened visions of high feasting in the youthful mind!

Up to 1840, when Peter Egan came to Aughalustia, and for a century later commercial entertainment was unknown in rural Ireland. Each locality provided its own amusement free of charge. Many would agree that the entertainment these simple folk provided for themselves was far healthier, more original and less artificial than the cheap, raucous stuff that is pouring in from all quarters to-day. Most enjoyable dances were held in the kitchens of those homes. There, too, the weddings were held. There was usually a local musician who provided good entertainment. Even the parents had a swing! Let us not imagine that Lady Romance played no heart in these “hoolies in the kitchen”. Momentary glances were exchanged and meetings were arranged in the moonlight. In the long winter nights the family gathered round the fire and neighbours came along to while away a few hours. The local paper on Friday nights provided material for political debates. The “scholar” in the group was chosen as reader. Silence was sternly enforced as he read long eloquent speeches from men like Parnell, Thomas Davis, and John Blake Dillon. At the turn of the century, the fiery eloquence of Pearse struck a responsive note in the hearts of the listeners. Ireland and her problems engaged these local politicians. Patriotic songs were sung and fondly- cherished hopes of freedom were never allowed to die. Story telling was an art that had been highly developed in the homes of Ireland. There was no radio, no television, no daily paper, so in such conditions the good story teller held the stage. Ghost stories were really popular. The more blood-curdling they were the better. After a lapse of sixty years, the writer can yet recall some of them. The skill with which the terrible incidents were built up by men who were illiterate is a cause to wonder. The composition of place or background, as well as the atmosphere were clearly outlined. Events in a big way usually began to happen about midnight. The scene of the “awful tragedy” was on a lonely road or in a wooded area. To lend reality to the mysterious happenings, the places mentioned were usually well-know to the listeners. Strange silent me and women shuffled along the sides of the roads by night, but, strange to tell, those nocturnal beings never spoke! Now they just moved through the gloom. Moans and cries and shrieks were heard in the area. Glassy eyes flared at you from the darkness. Witnesses of those dreadful events usually reached home in a fainting condition, and the eloquent recording of those terrifying events always appeared reluctant to tell all be heard and all h----w! But do not literary men advise us to leave something to the reader’s imagination? The hours passes quickly. The “ramblers” departed, and sleepy children had to face the rigours of the long rosary and the much longer “trimmings”. The writer has vivid recollection of receiving a well-aimed slap on the jaw from the not too tender hand of a older sister, when he alas! Yielded to the pleadings of gentle sleep during the rosary which was said nightly in the rural homes of Ireland. From those humble dwellings have gone forth thousands of young men and women mindful of the injustice under which they were forced to live, and firmly resolved to fight for freedom wherever opportunity offered. Even the history of the U.S.A. proudly records their brave deeds on many a well-fought field.

Peter Egan having completed the building of his home, married in 1844 his second cousin Mary Egan, also from Cloonfad. The following year 1845, witnessed the beginning of one of Ireland’s greatest tragedies, The Great Famine. A word about the rapid growth of our population two centuries before this tragic event may be necessary. About the year 1653, when Oliver Cromwell had finished with us, we numbered 700,000 – the population of a small city in the U.S.A. today. Two centuries later the Irish population had rise to eight millions. The reader will recall that in the absence of industry at that time, the possession of land, however small the holding, was essential to survive. To enable the sons of a family to marry, the father was compelled to subdivide his farm. Subdivision became a pattern in rural Ireland down the years with the result that by 1845, holdings in many cases, were only two or three acres, barely sufficient to provide potatoes for the family. The potato, provided it did not fail, enabled great quantities of food to be produced at a trifling cost from a small plot of ground.

Before 1845, alarming news of a disease in the potato crop was reaching us from the Continent and America. Evidence of a mild form of this disease was established in many parts of Ireland, long before 1845. But in that fateful year, the disease which came to be known as the “blight” struck in all its horror. The utter failure of the potato which formed the only good of 70% of the Irish people was indescribable in its results. Famine and disease stalked the land, with the awful result that in the five or six years after 1845, four millions of our race were swept away. Two million died of hunger. The “shores of distant lands” claimed the other two. So appalling was the catastrophe that whose who survived it were convinced that the nation was doomed. For them the only hope of survival was to flee the land. They did this to the number of two million. With haunting poignancy the poet laments our exiled children:

The reader is aware that Britain was alas! master of our destiny then. It was not a bitter thought that Ireland could be spared the tragedy of the Great Famine were here people allowed to use the twelve million tons of grain which were annually produced? The landlords demanded their pound of flesh in the form of exorbitant rents. The corn had to be sold to meet that demand resulting in such suffering a death.

One of the most enduring, baleful consequences of the Great Famine, has been the emigration, which even to this day remains one of our most urgent problems. Ireland under British domination had little to offer her children. Through the poet Mother Ireland bewails her own neglect:

Emigration was the only solution to the Irish teenage economic problem. Across the “wild and lonely” Atlantic they sailed in their tens of thousands. The ill-conditioned, crowded boats of the early nineteenth century rendered travelling unbearable. Deaths at sea were numerous. In this age of speed when jets and sputniks flash across our skies, we it difficult to imagine how people regarded a journey of three thousand miles a hundred and fifty years ago. What grief attended those partings! The voyage to an unknown land, the young and inexperienced boys and girls were about to undertake was long and hazardous. The bleak reminder that the parting for most of them would know no reunion in this harsh world weighed heavy on all concerned. As we shall see, members of two successive generations of Aughalustia Egans formed part of that painful exodus from our shores. No “cead mile failte” greeted the Irish emigrants when they set foot on American soil, for they were poor, uneducated, ill-clad, and in some cases disease-infected, but above all they were Catholics. Soon officials in New York, Boston and other large cities were bitterly complaining about disorders in the Irish ghettos. The first generation from Ireland had their problems. Despite their early hardships in urban life, they were sustained by a strong Catholic Faith, and by an intense love of freedom, two national characteristics which centuries of foul fortune at home, had failed to destroy.

Reference must be made here to Dominic Egan, a brother to Peter. Dominic was born about 1830. We are interested in this granduncle for he had a colourful career, and was the second of our clan to go to the U.S.A. Michael, a younger brother of his was, as far as it can be ascertained, the first of the Egans to emigrate across the Atlantic. He arrived in New York in the Spring of 1850 and died there a few years later. The Cloonfad Egans had been going to England long before the famine, but Michael seems to be the first to emigrate to the U.S.A.

It would appear that our great-grand-father had some little “pull” with landlord De Freyne, Frenchpark. This is suggested by the fact that Peter, our grandfather was allowed to purchase a small farm, part of the De Freyne estate in Aughalustia Dominic his brother must have received help from the same source since he was able to serve his apprenticeship in a commercial firm in Dublin. When he was qualified, he purchased a small business in Tubbercurry, County Sligo. He married a Maria Hurst who we led to believe was the grandaunt of a Fr. Hurst, a curate in Ballaghaderreen, at the beginning of the century. Money was extremely scarce ten years after the Famine when Dominic opened his grocery shop. People were unable to pay for their purchases so the business closed and the owner was forced to go to the U.S.A. in 1866. His wife and two children followed later when he had provided a home for them.

Dominic settled near a small town called Columbus in Ohio, where he worked on a farm. One wonders why he went so far away? The vast majority of the emigrants from the West of Ireland sailed to New York and settled there for lack of funds. Dominic may have known some business associates who had gone there and encouraged him to follow. Fortunately he met a Mr. Tooleran, who having some money was anxious to start a business. This proposition appealed to Dominic owing to his previous business experience. So the two men formed a partnership and started a store in Columbus. Success attended their venture and after a few years they moved to the larger center of Indianapolis (meaning Indian City) and opened a much bigger store there.

Business was flourishing. The future was bright when tragedy struck. Tooleran fell ill and died rather suddenly leaving a young family. Dominic – to his credit – provided for the children until they were able to work. The business which his sons inherited, expanded rapidly. In all Dominic and Maria had eleven children. Four of them died in infancy. The seven survivors were Patrick, the eldest, Michael, Thomas, Dominic, Edward, Henry, Mary Agnes, and Nora. Dominic Egan was an outstanding man in many respects. One marvels at the excellent education that he gave his children. The eldest boy Pat was educated at the famous college of Notre Dame in Indiana. A Professor Graham instructed the other boys in their home, while the two daughters were sent to the Franciscan Sisters’ Boarding Convent, Oldenburg. Of all the Egans that find a place in these pages Dominic claims a unique status. From the obscurity of Cloonfad in Ireland and with all the disadvantages confronting a Catholic lad at the time, he, through sheer dedication attained a high measure of success as a business man in Indiana. But far more important, he and his devoted wife raised a large family to whom they gave the best education available at the time. The admirable Catholic traditions of their home were reflected in the homes of their children when they raised their families. Dominic’s old age was peaceful, and in 1914 he went to his reward. A really great man had passed away.

One interesting fact about this good man claims our attention. When he and his future partner in business came to Columbus, the Catholics were few and had no Catholic church in which to practice their religion. Each Sunday the small group of Catholics used to meet in the local park and recite the rosary. In time they decided to ask the Bishop of the Diocese to send them a priest, and offered to build a church if their request was granted. The Bishop gladly acceded to their request, and in due course the humble church was completed. The fact that the bell in that modest structure bears the name “Dominic Egan” has a significant interest for us.

Pat, the eldest of the family, whom his father set up in business in Rushville, Indiana, married Nora Gordon from Claremorris, County Mayo. The business proved a failure mainly due to Pat’s heavy drinking. He and his family were forced to return to Dominic’s home. Pat at this stage disappears from the scene. We do know that he is buried in Chicago. Of the two children of Pat’s family. Joseph and Mary , the former died in infancy and Mary was raised and educated by her grand father. She married an Irish American, Henry Connor. Of that marriage there were eight children, four boys and four girls. Joan Connor, one of the girls, married a man called Drew whose people came from Westmeath. Joan’s son became a doctor and served with the American army of occupation in Germany. In 1970 Doctor Drew visited Ireland seeking information about his ancestors. He was entertained in Lung and Aughalustia and was given all information available about our branch of the Egan family.

It was the writer’s privilege to meet Mrs. Henry Connor (Mary Egan) the doctor’s grandmother at the end of 1946 in New York. She was a talented lady and interested in her ancestors. To her I am indebted for information on the Egans in Indiana. She proved extremely kind and generous to me.

This short account of the Great Famine and its tragic consequences may help to explain the events which follow. Let us now deal with the members of Peter's family. The first child was a boy called Patrick. In all there were seven children in the family, three boys; Patrick, Dominic, and Thomas. The four girls were named Beesie, Maria, Kathleen (Katie) and Honora. We can easily appreciate the sacrifices involved in rearing seven children in those harsh times. What we seem to forget, however, in this permissive age are the tremendous capabilities of self-sacrificing parents who believe in and trust the all-loving saviour. Any education those seven children was in the home, as there was no school available for them. Aughalustia National School was not opened until 1884. Katie was more fortunate than her brothers and sisters as she attended the convent of the Irish Sisters of Charity founded in Ballaghaderreen when she was thirteen.

Three of this family emigrated to the U.S.A. namely; Dominic, Thomas and Katie. The remaining four lived out their lives in Ireland, married and raised large families. We shall first deal with the exiles. Six years after the death of their mother, Mary Egan, Katie and her brother left for the “Shores of America” in 1879. Accompanying them were two Gribben girls who were neighbours.

Katie like many of her race found employment as a maid in one of the wealthy families of New York. Despite the small wages she must have been receiving, she was at a later date able to purchase a guest house which she maintained until blindness forced her retirement. She was the only member of her family that did not marry. She returned to Ireland for a short holiday in 1911. Some of her nephews and nieces boarded with her for many years. Aunt Katie, as she was known to us, had the advantage of a convent education. A convent was established in Ballaghaderreen when she was thirteen. The first Rev. Mother of that convent was the famous Mother Arsinius of the Irish Sisters of Charity, who subsequently established the well-known Providence Woolen Mills at Foxford in County Mayo. Judging from Aunt Katie’s letters, the sisters were thorough in their work. When it was my privilege to meet her in New York in 1946 she was a stately grey-haired matron. The anxious expression peculiar to sufferers of blindness was visible in her countenance. We talked at length about Ireland and the people she knew there. She was a prayerful woman, and spoke frequently about the Blessed Sacrament. When she heard that I was coming, she told her niece Mrs. Hallis that she had a very important letter to write to a dear friend, but owing to the serious nature of the epistle, she decided to entrust the task to me. There was a good deal of humourless speculation about the letter. Some were of the opinion that she was about to make here will and that I would be a wealthy man leaving America. On the strength of that, tentative arrangements were made for a big party, and I was to “foot the bill.” Others had a different opinion. I was assured that Aunt Katie has an old admirer with whom she was deeply in love to whom she was anxious to unfold in a long letter the deep secrets of her love-laden soul! However, when I began to write I found that poor Aunt Katie was addressing herself to an old lady friend! Nor were there any great secrets revealed! Catch the feminine mind rolling back the pages for a mere man! She dictated the letter without ever repeating herself. She even told us where to put the full stops. When I read it back to her there was no need to alter a single word. That was no small achievement for a blind woman well over eighty. Her retirement was peaceful in the home of her niece, Mrs. Hallis. A year after our meeting she went to her reward in 1947 after a life of prayer and hard work.

Dominic who accompanied Kate to America found work with a gas company. From what I can gather he was a quiet retired man. Unlike to other members of his family he seemed to lose interest in home. Father often spoke about him. From all I heard about him, he certainly had assumed heroic proportions in my youthful imagination. Dominick married an Irish girl called Annie Noone from Callagh, a district not far from Aughalustia. They had no family. They were according to all accounts extremely attached to each other and lived a retired peaceful life. Dominic who was predeceased by his wife, died in 1934. He was buried in the famous Calvary Cemetery, which provided a final resting place for many Irish exiles of former generations.

Thomas, who emigrated in 1882 three years after Uncle Dominic and Aunt Katie, worked at the building trade in New York. We seemed to have heard little about him. He married Margaret McCormack, sister to John McCormack of Kiltebranks. There were two children of the marriage, called Peter and May. Peter is married and lives in New York. May whose married name was Hogan died childless in 1958. Uncle Thomas died as a young man in 1903 and was also laid to rest in Calvary Cemetery, and the poet plaintively adds with reference to our exile:

Maria, the next of Peter Egan’s family married Patrick Sharkey of Lissergod. They had five children, three boys and two girls. Peter the eldest married in the old home and died childless this year (1961), Mary married a neighbour called Edward McDonagh. They had a family of five, three boys and two girls. Edward died a few years ago, and as Mary found it hard to carry on at home, she joined her family who are working in Chicago. Thus another Irish home has disappeared. Maria and her husband died at an advanced age. Two of the Sharkey family emigrated. Kate went to New York and her brother John, first worked in England and was a conscript in the First World War. When he was demobilised in 1919 he went to the U.S.A., where he worked on the suburban railways for many years. On retiring, he returned to Ireland, and now lives in Dublin. Kate Sharkey, John’s sister , worked in New York for a number of years until she married Bernard McGreevy, a neighbour from Crenane. The reader will have observed the large number of Irish boys and girls who married a partner with whom they were acquainted before leaving Ireland. Kate was blessed with a wonderful family. Her two daughters, highly educated, have all the beauty and charm with which she herself was endowed. The writer has good reason to remember Kate, and her daughter Mary, for they were the first to visit me in way of welcome when I arrived at my brother’s apartment in Ellwood Street, New York, twenty seven years ago. The lavish party which Kate provided for me subsequently, is an enduring memory. Agnes, who has remained single, holds a lucrative post with a publishing company in New York. Mary, in the modern idiom, “zoomed into the romantic regions”, and is happily married in New Jersey. One of her daughters, Maureen, visited Ireland recently. Rest assured, she lacks none of the charm of the distinguished McGreevy clan.

Let us now turn to Honora the youngest of Peter’s family who married John McCormack of Kiltbranks, a brother to Margaret McCormack who was the wife of Thomas Egan, a brother of Honoras. According to all accounts she was the fairest of them all. I have most pleasant recollections of her, for as a young lad I was always well received by her. Her motherly tenderness and generosity made a deep impression on my youthful mind. No member of the family suffered as much as she. John McCormack her husband died young. On her youthful shoulders was placed the burden of providing for a large family. The most bitter grief that a mother can experience was hers, for she witnessed three of her daughters in the freshness of youth grow ill, pine away and die. Pearse was right when he stated that mothers have a lot to suffer, “they suffer at our coming and our going”. Two of Honora’s daughters, Kate and Margaret went to the U.S.A. The former married a Louth man in New York. Both Kate and her husband have gone to their reward in recent years. Kate McCormack (Mrs. McNamee), had a family of three daughters, named Marie, Florence and Eileen The three of them entered the Dominican Congregation at Sparkill, New York and were given respectively the religious names: Sr. Marie Michael, Sr. Norbert and Sr. Mercedes. With their uncle Michael, they visited Ireland some ten years ago. Margaret McCormack returned from America and married her neighbour, Edward Regan. One of her daughters, Sally, joined the Marist Sisters and is now teaching at Charlestown, County Mayo. Aunt Honora worn out with sorrow and toil went to her reward in 1926. Then Michael, her son, emigrated to New York, and his brother William, joined the Gardai. He was stationed at Knocklong, County Limerick, when he married a Tipperary girl , called Josephine Quane. There were three girls of this marriage. The McCormack family are living at present in Kanturk, where William is Sergeant at the local station.

Patrick Egan, the eldest of Peter’s family was born in 1845. His youthful years witnessed dire results of the Great Famine. Being the eldest son, he according the custom of the day, would become the owner of the farm. According to all accounts he was a good-humoured, carefree youth who loved the social life. Dancing claimed his attention. It appears he was often absent from the family rosary which was then recited in Irish in most of the homes in our locality. He was taken to task by his father, Peter. Like most youths, he made solemn promises to mend his evil , but like many of us he failed to fulfill them. The sunshine of fair smiles claimed his attention. In later years when the responsibility of a parent was his, he even tried to create the impression among us, that is his youth he was always serious and hard-working. May we blame him? Who amongst us is wholly innocent of a spot of window dressing? In his early manhood, the Fenian movement was sweeping the country. Once again Britain’s right to rule Ireland was challenged. Young men throughout the land drilled in secret. Operations in many places were directed by Irish men from the U.S.A. who had fought in the American Civil War. I spirited young man like Pat Egan was caught up in that movement. As we shall see, he became more seriously involved in the land struggle of the 70’s and 80’s a movement inspired by the dynamic leadership of Michael Davitt, from Straide, County Mayo.

Being the eldest of his family, the responsibility of managing the farm fell on Pat’s shoulders. His brothers, Dominic and Tom had emigrated; and Peter, his father, was growing old. Custom, at that period in rural Ireland, had imposed a heavy burden on farmers who had daughters of marriageable age, for each daughter had to be provided with a dowery, or as it was locally known a “fortune”. This custom tended to impoverish the old home, with the result, that the eldest son who had inherited the farm was harassed by debt for many years. The three girls of Peter’s family who remained at home namely Beesie, Maria and Honora had each to receive a dowery. The financial strain must be severe in that bleak poverty-stricken period. Unfortunate, the writer was unable to ascertain what each of Peter’s daughters received as a “fortune”. Let us assume that each of the three was given £200.00 which in today’s money would be well over £1,200. Should we wonder then, that Pat Egan had financial difficulties during the early years of his married life.

Some reader may ask, “what kind of man was this Pat Egan”. Physically he was a well-built sturdy man about five feet ten in height. He was light of foot and a good athlete. Like the men of his day he wore a beard. His hair was dark. All who met him would agree that he was a striking personality. Blessed with a fine sense of humour, he was well known for his jokes. Rarely did trouble weigh heavy on him. Hospitality was, I believe, his outstanding quality. There was a welcome for everyone at our fireside. Beggarman like the popular Jim Moore; and the local tinkers, Wards, McDonaghs were all assured a welcome. It is refreshing to record that this time-honoured tradition of hospitality has survived in the old home in Aughalustia. Long may it abide!

The wonderful courage and complete trust in God’s Providence which characterised the Irish people a century ago are indeed striking. They were poor. Holdings were small. Future prospects were by no means bright. Despite all those disadvantages most Irish boys and girls married in their early twenties, and undertook the tremendous task of rearing large families. To facilitate these early marriages, many of the holdings were sub-divided Tradition had it that the eldest son of the family should inherit the land. In cases were sub-division was not feasible, the eldest boy had to postpone his marriage until the younger members of the family had been provided for or had emigrated. At times the parents discouraged marriage, for all are painfully aware of the problems that arise when the daughter-in-law and mother-in-law clash. Disagreement at times is inevitable. The mother-in-law who held sway in the home for years finds her authority challenged. The young bride has more modern ways of doing things, which appear all wrong to the old folk. Then the “in-laws” take sides making life unpleasant for the unfortunate young husband, who is torn between two loyalties – love for his mother and devotion to his wife. Even at the best of times, feminine psychology is such that harmony is maintained only with much sacrifice on both sides. The ideal situation would be for the newlywed couple to have their own home, a luxury which is not always possible in an agricultural country like Ireland. These considerations will help to explain why Pat Egan did not marry until his late thirties.

By 1883, three of the Egan family, Dominic, Kate and Thomas had migrated to the U.S.A. Bessie and Maria were already married, Mrs. Peter Egan had gone to her reward, and all that remained were Peter, his son Pat and Nora the youngest of the girls. In that year then, Pat decided to marry. His wife, a young maiden of eighteen years, was Elizabeth Casey from the neighbouring townland, Lissian. James Casey, Elizabeth’s father who came from Cortoon had settled on a newly purchased farm in Lissian and had married a girl called Sharkey. The story goes that the land cost more than had been anticipated, so that he had no money to build a dwelling. He decided to go to England to earn sufficient money with which to build his home. He must have earned a goodly sum for the fine two-storey house which he built 120 years ago is still standing among the best in the locality. His next problem was to stock the land, and funds were running low, so off to England he went again and earned what was necessary to buy stock. He was a very prayerful man, and if five of the family of the next generation consecrated themselves to God’s service much of the credit must go to this prayerful man,. Of James’ marriage there were eight children, two boys John and James and six girls, Brigid, Winifred, Mary, Katherine, Margaret and Elizabeth who was the youngest and according to all accounts the fairest of them all. John the eldest inherited the home place in Lissian. He married a girl called Gunning from Galway, and of the marriage there were six boys and three girls. Three of the boys, Dominic Jack and Walter became priests in the Achonry Diocese. Alicia entered the Mercy Convent in Loughrea and Dollie became an Irish Sister of Charity. So the grandfather’s prayers were answered. John and his brother James, who ultimately purchased a business in Ballaghaderreen, were prominent cattle dealers. James had only two children, Michael and Lilly. Lilly married Joseph Macken and of their five children four entered religion. One of her boys became a priest, two of them are Christian Brothers and the only girl is a Sister of Charity. Elizabeth’s five sisters married farmers in the locality and raised large families.

Patrick Egan and Elizabeth Casey were married in St. Nathy’s cathedral, Ballaghaderreen on 3rd February, 1883, by Father O’Hara. Michael Egan- brother to Johnny from Cloonfad – was best man and Mary Flannery – Elizabeth’s first cousin – was bridesmaid. As usual the wedding breakfast was held in the bride’s home Lissian. Refreshments were plentiful. Local musicians provided the music, and all through the night went dancing and singing. Such enjoyment relieves the monotony of an existence, darkened by the problems of poverty, exorbitant rents and the over-menacing tyranny of landlordism. If the men folk imbibed a little too freely on such occasions we must be tolerant of them. Theirs was a hard lot. Elizabeth, according to those who remembered her, was a beautiful young bride when she came to Aughalustia. Her motherly tenderness, her sympathy with those in trouble and her abiding hospitality were highly appreciated in the locality. She had the advantage of a sound convent education where besides the normal course, the nuns trained the girls in sewing and knitting. One may well imagine the joy her presence brought into the life of Peter Egan now growing old and worn out with toil.

Surely Pat was singularly blessed in having married such a devoted efficient wife. As we toil through the days and learn in the stern school of experience, we come to realise the influence for good that a devoted mother has in the home. In pain she brings forth her children, on whom she lavishes her love, care and tenderness. She listens to their childish praddle and wipes away their tears. To her they run with all their little problems. No matter how troublesome they may be, her patience in never exhausted. From her they learn to lisp their first faltering prayers. During their school days she is ever there to encourage, to exhort, to console. Even when her children reach maturity, she has a gentle word of advice for them, Elizabeth’s lot, like the mothers of her generation, was a hard one. Grinding poverty made life a constant toil. There was little in any way of recreation to ease the monotony of the daily round. See like the Irish mothers of her day had endure the bitterness of seeing her children go into exile in their early teens. The “long three thousand miles” as the song has it, rendered the hope of returning slender indeed; and if Fortune did smile enabling them to revisit their native land after a lapse of decades, usually death had already claimed their parents. It is not pleasant to remember that those stern days have given way to happier times. The excellent wages that our people are earning in America enable them to return frequently.

Let us now follow briefly the story of Pat and Elizabeth’s family. They were blessed with eleven children, whose names in the order of seniority are; Peter, Mary, Nora, Brigid, Elizabeth, Margaret, Alicia, Dominic, Thomas, Winifred. The reader will notice how the names of the previous generation of Egans have been repeated.

Peter being the eldest had to assume responsibility at an early age. To him I owe much of the information set down here about prevailing conditions in the home when he was a boy. In more fortunate times, he would have been given a chance to continue his education, for he possessed intellectual ability well above average. But this ability and desire for study had to be sacrificed to help his father on the farm. At the time when the funds were running low, he decided to go to England to help the old home. He was of tender years. The working conditions in Britain at that time were deplorable. Many of our emigrants to England worked as labourers with big farmers. Their wages were from ten to fifteen shillings per week that is, less than two dollars in present-day American money. The only sleeping quarters provided were old granaries filled with hay. They toiled from dawn to dark. This surely was slave labour. No wonder Communism had been welcomed in many lands. Fortunately, Peter did not endure these hardships for long. He returned to Aughalustia and continued to work on the land. As the years passed, the Egan home rang with the cheerful laughter of many children. They were not short of companions. The Caseys, Mannions and Rafterys our neighbours were large families also, and they all played together in the fields or around the little school which was no more than fifty yards from our home. When the children were old enough, they were sent to the local school. Most of them had to due with whatever instruction they received there. In the United States it would be called a Grade School.

Perhaps a few words about the “Academy” as some of the local cynics called it may be advisable. This modest structure of two classrooms built on half acre of land, surrounded by a rough stone wall, bore the resounding title “Aughalustia National School”. In the front boundary wall were stone piers on which hung two iron gates. The girls entered at one gate and the boys at the other. A dividing wall ensured that both boys and girls remained in their respective play grounds. Opposite the entrance on the other side of the road was what the pupils called “Egan’s Limekiln”. Nearby was “Egan’s Well” which supplied the children with drinking water. On Sundays the young men of the locality assembled at the school where they played handball in an extremely confined area. There again they assembled on Sunday nights before setting out on foot for some dance four or five miles away. Time was when the shrill notes of Tommy Callaghan’s flute borne on the night wind announced the joyful tidings that the dancers were on the march. Often the Dawn viewed with sympathetic eye the self-same dancers foot sore and weary as they trudged homewards..

That was the time when the dances were held in the country homes, before our entertainment became completely commercialised. How did Aughalustia manage to get a school? Some years before the Great Famine a National Education Act was passed. Primary education for all Irish children was the aim. It was thirty years later, about 1880 before the Act was implemented in the West of Ireland. By then National Schools were built throughout the land. The site for the school depended upon centres of population. As the Aughalustia school was intended to serve the children of our townland as well as those of Rooskey and Lissian, it was built on a site suitable for all the children.

The national schools, grey, cheerless, meagerly-furnished structures without and suitable playingfields reflected callous indifference of an alien government towards the conquered race. The curriculum had a strong English bias. The language, history and traditions of Gaelic Ireland found no place in these anglicising centres. For the most part, the success of any school depends upon the teachers. Where the teachers are enthusiastic and interested in the progress of their pupils much is achieved. Thos was also true of these schools. Where the teachers were dedicated, many of the more intelligent pupils qualified for the teaching profession or for British Civil Service. Unfortunately for Aughalustia, many of those who came to teach there were only birds of passage. They availed of the appointment to get some more promising post. For this reason, the records of the “Academy” reflect no outstanding achievement in the field of education. If we except the Carons of Rooskey, not a single scholarship of any kind was won in the past half century by the school. Those pupils who had the ability to achieve scholastic success were compelled to enroll in some other centre. Their “Alma Mater” had let them down. This is a bitter thought when we realise what was achieved in schools such as Lisacul, Kilmovee, and Fairymount. So much for the “Academy”. Let us now follow the story of the Egan family.

As the number of children increased, the problem of providing for them weighed heavy on their parents. The chronic poverty of rural Ireland in those days provides sad reading. Post primary education was only for the select few. Once young people reached the age of sixteen or seventeen, the emigrant ship was the doleful prospect awaiting them. Across the Atlantic to the Land of the Free, where their uncles and aunts had gone before them, they sailed in their thousands annually. Mary having reached the tender age of sixteen in 1900 was the first to go. Thus the exodus of the second generation of our family had begun. One may easily picture the grief and tears that attended those partings. Nora followed a few years later. Brigid was the next on the list. Finally Elizabeth joined her sisters in New York in 1909. So in less than ten years four of the girls had emigrated. What was it but a repetition of what had happened in the case of their aunts and uncles thirty years previously. How did it fare with Mary and her three sisters in the land of their adoption? Like most young Irish emigrants of their time they were ill-equipped from an educational point of view. An elementary education was all they had. Subjects such as Domestic Economy, Hotel management were unknown in their day. But instruction apart, they had the qualities that really matter. From a moral point of view, they had the best training possible. The inspiring example of parents who had been sanctified by prayer and constant toil was ever before them. They had been trained to work, to suffer and to endure. The Irish child had been taught to obey and to respect authority. Modesty was an outstanding characteristic of Irish maidenhood. In a large family there is no room for self-pity or selfishness. Above and beyond all else, their home was a prayerful one, where the whole family knelt down each night and recited the rosary. Surely the home of Nazareth was reflected there.

Coming from such a Novitiate, the Egan girls were well-equipped to withstand the allurements of a modern city, and as time proved, they rose above the standards of society into which they were cast, lived exemplary lives and raised devout Catholic families who are doing god’s work in the U.S.A. to-day. And what of their work? Most of those young Irish girls were employed in wealthy American homes. Unlike the wealthy employers in England, those Americans treated their employees kindly. Small wages were the order of the day. Yet Mary and her three sisters did not forget their parents. Small blue cheques in highly-scented letters began to arrive regularly at the old home. The wee cheques, we thought, were picked up anywhere and everywhere. The soothing effect of the perfume helped to embellish the vision splendid. Such are some of the many tricks played by the youthful imagination.

In her light-hearted disposition, Mary soon grew accustomed to conditions in New York. She met a youthful, dashing policeman named Dominic Bligh who had emigrated some years before from the neighbouring townland of Rooskey. While the records give no details, we may well assume that it was love at first sight: we may say with the poet, “the shallop of their peace was wrecked on beauty’s shore”. Of course there can be no truth in the rumour that the opening scene in the romantic drama was enacted at the Aughalustia school years before. They were married, in New York in 1905 and set up home in Long Island. They were blessed with a family of six, two boys and four girls. Thomas, the eldest, followed in the footsteps of his father and joined the New York police force. May, the eldest of the girls, became a Dominican nun and was Rev. Mother for many years. Kathleen and Teresa married and live in New York. It was Kathleen’s hard lot to lose her husband when their first child Gaye was only a baby. Peggy, the youngest, served as a nurse with the American forces in the Far East. On her return she married a professor in Indiana University. When Dominic Bligh reached retirement age, he and Mary came to Ireland on a year’s holiday. They returned and settled in St. Petersburg, Florida, where Dominic died after a long illness in 1954. Mary is now living with her daughter, Kathleen, in Flushing, New York. Mary has visited Ireland several times in recent years.

Nora and Brigid came on a trip to Ireland in 1911. There was intense excitement at the news of their coming. Joy filled the hearts of their parents on seeing their daughters once more. The summer was good and both seemed to enjoy themselves. Nora returned to America in the Autumn of that year, but Brigid prolonged her stay until the following Spring. The Spring of 1912 has found a lasting place in history, for the famous Titanic on her maiden voyage to New York struck an ice-berg and sank in less than a few hours with the loss of 1500 lives. The world was shocked at the news of the disaster. Nora hand Brigid had much news about home for Mary and Elizabeth. They resumed work once more and the wee blue cheques began to make their welcome appearance in Aughalustia again.

A few years after her trip to Ireland, Nora met a man called Michael McGettigan, who was born in the townland of Screen near Letterkenny in County Donegal. He was a skilled Tradesman. Michael and Nora married in 1914 during the First World War and settled in Washington. They had two children, Patrick and Betty. To the great grief of Michael and his two children, Nora after a short illness died in 1925. Michael who remarried lived on until 1954. He and Nora sleep their last long sleep far away from the green hills of Donegal. Patrick became a building contractor. During World War Two, he saw service with the American forces in the far flung battle-fields of the Pacific. He was engaged at Okinawa the most prolonged and bloody encounter the world has ever seen. On his return he settled in Texas where he now directs an expanding business concern. His present address is, 5300 Duff Street, Beaumont,Texas. Beaumont is a growing city of over 100,000. Patrick and his wife Connie are kept busy with their six children all of whom have Irish names. Betty, Patrick’s sister is married and lives in Washington.

Brigid, or Teresa as she was known to her American friends, revisited Ireland in 1920 with the hope of seeing Winnifred (Sister Alphonsus) who had entered a convent in England in preparation for the foreign missions. Unfortunately the longed for meeting did not take place at that time, as Winnie had already sailed for Africa before Brigid reached England. Brigid had planned to return to America, but Providence had arranged otherwise, and some months later, she married Michael McCormack, of Crenane, a neighbouring townland. Of that marriage there were three children, Patrick, Betty, and Miceal. Betty’s death at the age of three caused enduring and bitter sorrow to her mother. Patrick (Pa) and Miceal are two hard working young men who are much more progressive in their approach to farming than were the men of a former generation.

As we have seen, Elizabeth emigrated to New York in 1909. There she worked until 1920. In her evenings off she used to meet Brigid and Mary and other Irish friends. They discussed home and Irish affairs. These gatherings were happy events. Plans were made to get positions for brothers and sisters who intended to emigrate. As to be expected a touch of romance added spice to those jovial gatherings, for hearts were then young and hopes ran high. Since her trip was long overdue, Elizabeth visited Ireland in 1920. She found many changes in the old home. As we shall see, mother had died in March 1915, Peter had gone to America, Winnie had entered the convent, and Tom had left for the Christian brothers’ Novitiate in Castletown, Laois. Father, Margaret, Alicia and Dominic were all that were left. While Elizabeth was at home, she met one of her former school companions from Rooskey, named Paddy Hopkins. I believe there is some evidence that Elizabeth and Paddy used to “exchange glances” around the same old school where years before Mary and Dominic Bligh became conscious of each other. Mark well that all this was strictly “sub-rosa”. Be that as it may, the poet’s dictum that “the thoughts of youth are long long thoughts” must have some truth in it, for Paddy and Elizabeth married. To Canada they went. But finding conditions unfavourable, they moved to Chicago and settled in Flourney Street. Their union was blessed with six children. Thomas, the eldest, was the only boy. The girls are Rita, Kathleen, Elizabeth, Mary and Agnes. They grew up a happy family with many characteristics of an Irish home. They all received a first class education in Catholic High Schools in their own locality. In 1939, when World War II broke out, Tommy had graduated from High School. Two years later the U.S. entered the conflict, and Tommy joined the colours and served with the American navy in the Pacific. Rita saw service with the Medical Corps in the western states. When peace was restored both returned safe and sound to their home in Chicago. Tommy on marrying moved to Houston Texas where he carries on a successful business. Kathleen became a Dominican nun, having taught in Detroit, and Oaklands near Chicago, she was transferred to St. Petersburg, Florida not far from her parents who live in retirement there. Elizabeth entered the Salvatorian Congregation in Milwaukee. Rita, Mary and Agnes are all married and live in Chicago.

We shall now return to Aughalustia and follow the fortunes of remaining members of the Egan clan. Mother who was overjoyed with seeing Nora and Brigid in 1911, was visibly affected at their going. One may say that from that time her health began to deteriorate. The pain of parting for the second time proved too much for her. Then in August 1914, the news of the First World War rocked the world. The old militia were called up. Characters like Murty Foly were compelled to go. Regiments like the Connacht Rangers and the Leinsters were thrown into battle on the Western Front to check the German advance. Towards the end of the eventful year mother’s health began to cause alarm. Doctors to our home became unwelcome visitors. Little improvement was shown. In the early Spring of 1915 her condition grew worse and we all became painfully aware that there was little hope for her. The neighbours were constant visitors and gave every help possible. Early in March, the late Canon Denis Gildea, who was then one of the curates in our parish, administered the last sacraments. We all then knew that her end was near. After months of suffering she entered on her last agony on Friday, 11th March. Hers was a prayerful passing and to the end she remained conscious. I can still remember some of the aspirations she uttered in her dying hours. At about 7 p.m. she closed her eyes in death, and her pure soul went out to the Creator she had so nobly served. So the long years of prayerful toil and suffering were over. The bitterness of so many partings, the yearning for the long-absent children she would never more see, the never-ending struggle with grinding poverty had all given way to the peace and joy that await all those who follow, as she did, the footsteps of the Master. She was laid to rest at Kilcolman cemetery. The following weeks for all of us were heavy with sorrow. Tearful letters of sympathy began to arrive from New York. For young people, death in its stern silence holds a horror all its own. “In dying we are born to eternal life”, exclaims St. Francis. But it is only in the later years we begin to realise this consoling truth.

The gloom caused by Mother’s death in March had scarcely lifted, when clouds of another parting had begun to gather. The fear of conscription was in the air. No member of our Clan would be prepared to lay down his life on a foreign battle field for his majesty, the King of England. Paul Casey of Lissian had planned, on the advice of his father, to go to America. Peter thought it was wise to accompany him. The news came as a shock to us all. Father was now growing old and was sad with the recent bereavement. To Peter we looked as our guide. Dominic was still in his teens. The position seemed desperate. It was my first experience of what the “curse of emigration” meant. The haunting hopelessness of the words, “all, all are gone” echoed in my youthful mind, on that early Monday morning, 1st June, 1915, as I watched Peter for the last time move down the field out of sight on his way to the train that was to take him on the first stage of his journey into exile. As we shall subsequently see, I did not meet him again until thirty-one years later when I was his guest in New York. He and Paul crossed to Liverpool, where they were met by Father Jack, Paul’s brother who was on the English mission before returning to his native diocese of Achonry. They sailed from Liverpool on an uneventful voyage.

On arriving in New York in June 1915, Peter had the consolation of knowing that his four sisters, Mary by that time Mrs. Dominick Bligh – Nora, Brigid and Elizabeth were there. They met him at the boat. City life for a mature man like Peter – he was then thirty-two – who had his roots deep in rural Ireland, must be bewildering in the extreme. Those of us who have lived in exile have no doubt about the haunting memories that were his for the first few months in a highly urbanized setting. But he was fortunate in having the help and advice of his four sisters. It appears they disliked his Irish suit, and quickly provided him with more modern attire. With our “advanced” knowledge of psychology we now know that the feminine mind is keenly preoccupied with style in dress! The female section of the Egan clan is no exception. But for Peter the most urgent problem was to get a job. Like the vast majority of Irish emigrants at the time, he had to surmount the painful barrier of the lack of post-primary education. As a result of that barrier our young male immigrants were forced to do heavy work for small wages, while our women-folk had no option but to serve as maids in the wealthy American homes. So for a few years, Peter had to endure the usual disappointments of most emigrants. Then God’s Providence directed him into a permanent pensionable position in the famous National Museum on Fifth Avenue. There he worked until his retirement in 1954. For the first five or six years his daily round was by no means easy. The maintenance of heat in the Museum was his concern. This task involved long hours in intense heat. Once coal gave way to electricity as the heating power, Peter’s work became much easier. Across the street from the Museum was the Jesuit Church in which Peter assisted at Mass each morning before reporting for work at 8 o’clock. He made many friends among the men who worked at the museum. Besides, the Sunday night parties, a feature of the social life of the Irish in New York, brought friends and neighbours together. At one of those gatherings, Peter met a girl called Rose Rodgers from near Bailsboro, Co Cavan, whom he subsequently married. Until the middle thirties they lived at 240 Street, When the coloureds began to occupy the streets in that area, Peter and Rose moved “up town” to a spacious apartment in Ellwood Street off Broadway. Unfortunately the two children born to them died in infancy. Peter’s life-long ambition, for which he daily prayed, was realized in 1954 when on retiring, he returned to Ireland. In the townland of Lung, near Ballaghaderreen, Co. Roscommon, he purchased a farm of about thirty acres on which there was a bungalow. There he, and his wife Rose are now enjoying blissful retirement after forty years of toil in New York.

Let us follow events in Aughalustia after Peter’s departure for America in 1915. As we have seen, mother died in March of that year and a few months later Peter went into exile. On the Western Front mighty armies were locked in mortal combat. Casualties were frightening. Some sixty thousand Irishmen fell in that “war to send all wars”. British bands went on recruiting tours through the small Irish towns. Little success attended their efforts, for the men of rural Ireland had no sympathy with the British Empire. The Volunteers, who had been organized a few years previously, were drilling in every district, and the firey oratory of men like Pierce awakened echoes in the hearts of young Irishmen. It was a time of expectancy and of hope. Meetings were frequent, at which defiant speeches against Britain were made, and Ireland’s right to independence clearly enunciated. The news of the 1916 Rising set the country aflame. Massive arrests followed. The jails of England were crowded with Irish “rebels”. The British troops swooped down on our town and arrested over a dozen young men, who spent many months in an English prison. Local enthusiasm was aroused at the historic anti-conscription meeting in Ballaghaderreen in 1918, when Eamon DeValera and his political rival John Dillon spoke from the same platform against conscription. It was the largest hosting our town had ever seen. Over a dozen bands playing Irish marches made the event a memorable one. The War of Independence soon followed demanding heavy sacrifices from the whole population, only to be followed by a bitter civil war which blighted all our hopes.

After Peter’s departure, five of the family were left in the old home. The three girls were: Margaret, Alicia, Winifred; and the two boys Dominic and Thomas. Thomas and Winifred were still at the local National School. Father was growing old, so Dominic, although still in his teens, had to assume the heavy responsibility of managing the farm. To his credit he stuck manfully to his task and Time, the unerring judge, has proved how successful Dominic was. After the First World War (1914-1918) prices fell rapidly. Prices for cattle and agricultural products were extremely low. People had to rely on what the land produced. There were no industries in rural Ireland to augment the family budget. Then in the late twenties and early thirties, the world-wide depression struck. During that period the price of cattle fell to an all time low. Before any substantial recovery was possible in the commercial sphere, the flames of World War II had begun to envelop the tortured world. This was a time of stern challenge for the small farmer.

Up to 1917 Winnifred and the writer were attending the local national school. The standard there was low due to the frequent change of teachers. The question of our going to the town schools was often discussed at home, but owing to the opposition of Fr. Gallagher, the Administrator of St. Nathy’s cathedral, to pupils from rural areas attending the Brothers’ school and the convent in Ballaghaderreen, nothing was done. Finally in September 1917 it was decided that I should go to the Brothers’ school and Winnie was to enroll at the convent. That we had done little study in the “Academy” was painfully brought home to us when we saw how advanced the pupils in these schools were. A minor incident may illustrate how opposed the local clergy were to our change of school.

As I was hastening home from the Brothers’ school on the very first day I attended, whom should I meet on the road about a mile from the town bur Fr. Gallagher. Rather gruffly he asked: “Who are you’ What school are you attending?”? I supplied the information and we parted. Next morning as I was about to enter the classroom, Br. Albeus Ryan, my teacher called me aside, and gently as he could gave me the following instructions: “Call to Mr. Joseph Carron, the principal teacher of Aughalustia national school this afternoon and explain to him why you left his school”. I could sense sympathy in the Brother’s attitude. The gruffness of the previous afternoon and the Christ-like approach of the next morning even to my inexperienced mind provided a striking contrast.

This was a stern assignment for a young lad from a rural area in the year of Our Lord 1917, several decades before the “democratic right thing” cast its ominous shadow against our island. Nor were there any volunteers from the ranks of the family to accompany me on this distressful enterprise. I had to face the ordeal alone. But there were other difficulties besides. “How am I going to deal with the cross dogs in Ballinthurlay? I mused as I set out. For some unknown reason, the dogs did not mount their usual attack, so on I went up the old bog road. Imagine, reader dear, how my heart thumped against my ribs as I gently knocked on the blue door of Mastor Carron’s two-storey home. You may on occasional have experienced the peculiar suspense between the time of knocking and the drawing of the bolt on the inside when you confront the occupant. In my case “confront” was the operative word. My luck was in. Willie, Joe’s brother opened up and apologised for his brother’s absence. In faltering tones I explained the reason for my visit. That I had left his brother’s school was not only known to Willie but to the whole locality. The reason why I left was the nub of the whole affair. In a moment, some form of inspiration seemed to operate, so I struck the spiritual note and went on to state somewhat untruthfully that I believed I had a religious vocation and sought the help of the Brothers to enable me to make a decision. Willie appeared to be impressed and promised to tell his brother Joe all the facts. The ordeal was over and the mission accomplished! Homewards I went along the same bog road that I had come. The fear of the dogs was still with me. Once again I had to face up to the problem, and as I approached the Ballinthurlay homes, a determined attack was launched from the canine stronghold. Fortunately John Cunningham was at hand to rescue me from disaster. It occurs to me that I happen to be the only survivor of all those connected with this minor episode. Sergeant Death has summoned the others.

For some unexplained reason, Br. Albeus Ryan, my teacher, took a keen interest in me. He offered to teach me Algebra and Geometry, if I were in at 9 a.m. I suppose he realized how backward I was in comparison with the rest of the sixth standard. In rain or shine I tore down the big field, then into Pat Gordon’s land at the end of which I encountered the bog drains. These I cleared without difficulty until the bridge was reached. A fast trot along the road brought me to the school at 9 a.m. It is necessary to add that Winnie made the same journey more sedately over less rugged terrain? Brother, God reward him, always greeted me with a smile and a joke. Strange though the Algebraic symbols were to me then, I made progress thanks to sympathetic , capable teaching. Before leaving for school in the morning I was regularly reminded to be home as soon as possible to do the “jobs”. Despite the warnings I managed to have a game of handball after class which meant my homecoming was delayed. An explanation was usually demanded. While making no mention of handball, I had to fall back on the “late study theory”. No matter how late I was, the “jobs” had to be done. Night during the winter had come down long before the last two items on the agenda were reached, viz. the bringing on of the turf and the locking up of the geese in their congested abode. Homework then claimed the drowsy attention of a faltering pupil. Let us hope some little work was done as the night wore on. Then gentle sleep applied balm to the tired mind. While school days and the many humorous events that flash across the memory claim a review, that claim alas! must be denied, as it would take me too far afield. Such a theme engaged the attention of the poet, Tom Moore when he sang of:

How I envied Winnie at that time! She had little difficulty with study and was soon leading her class. Like the obedient man of holy wit she could speak of victory. Besides having most of the brains of the Egan clan, she was a dedicated student. Unlike her brother, a mere plodder in the educational field, no flashing visions of mighty encounters in handball and football ever distracted her studious mind.

The next event that affected our family was my going to Castletown, Laois to join the De La Salle Brothers on 14th June, 1918. When I come to write about my place in the Aughalustia Egans, I hope to deal more fully with this event. The early months of 1921 marked Winnie’s departure for Launceston, Cornwall, to join the Newcastle Dominicans, a congregation founded to work in South Africa. Her going happily marked the end of our family’s exodus. In the first twenty days of the present century, the emigrant ship to the shores of America claimed Mary, Nora, Elizabeth, Brigid and Peter. Death in March 1915 swept mother away. 1918 marked my going, while 1921 witnessed Winnie’s departure. So in twenty years, eight of us bade a tearful farewell to the old home.

When Winnie and I left, only father, Dominic, Margaret and Alicia remained in the Egan home. Margaret being the senior managed the affairs. She gave Winnie and me the encouragement to follow the calling to the religious life. She was kept busy. Management of a rural home requires constant work. She was fortunate in having such a capable partner as Alicia. Then when Dominic needed help at the hay and turf, Alicia was always willing to lend a hand. After the rising in Dublin in 1916 and the cruel execution of the sixteen leaders by the British , the Volunteer Movement claimed the allegiance of Ireland’s young men. Companies of volunteers were formed in every locality. Aughalustia did not lack its share of excitement. It, too, had its company under the leadership of Johnny Gaughran who had been a drill master in the British army in Palestine. Drilling went on apace. Preparations for ambushes on the “Tans” engaged the men at night, so did visits to people who expressed hostility to the cause. Disputes usually about land had to be settled. Then when the War of Independence grew in intensity men “on the run” had to be fed and housed. The local volunteers kept guard lest the “Tans” swooped on homes where the weary men slept. A cead mile failte awaited these hunted soldiers in our home. Their memories awakened bitter memories of some thirty years previously when Pat Egan, our father, was “on his keeping” during the land agitation. So relentlessly was he hunted down, that he was forced to flee to England. Our landlord De Freyne had his revenge when he summoned the forces of the crown to evict us. Of this incident I shall deal later. The formation of a fife and drum band by the young men in the area added further excitement. Practice was held at night. “Ginger” Carty, r.i.p. played the big drum, while Tommy Callaghan and Jim Carron were the leading fife players. The cymbals were entrusted to Dominic. May we express the hope that the minor role of cymbal player in no way detracts from Dominic’s reputation as an accomplished musician!

There was great rejoicing in the Egan home when Lizzie’s proposed visit was announced. She was an attractive maiden sporting the modern American attire. Parties were organized. The neighbours came in big numbers to welcome her. Among the first visitors was Catherine Mac wearing her customary white apron! Most of the callers had sons and daughters in New York so the conversation centred on America. Long Island, Bronx and Broadway were names familiar as the neighbouring townlands. At these parties for the visiting Yanks, the violins and fifes went into action early, and the dancers held the kitchen floor until dawn. Food, though plain, was plentiful. The men were treated to occasional “snifters” of whiskey and foaming tumblers of Guniness at its best, while the ladies modestly sipped small quantities of wine. From information already possessed by the reader, he may justly assume that a young man, Paddy Hopkins by name, contrived to be present at all Lizzie’s parties, because for him Lizzie was the party, while she in the time-honoured feminine fashion feigned total indifference to his presence. Yet their meetings in the romantic light of the “silvery moon” had another tale to tell! One must remember that the Victorian era held sway right on to the 20’s, when circumspection in public characterised a young lady’s behaviour.In this context “public” is the operative word. For readers who may not have studied English History in depth, Victoria, derived from the Latin “vinco” meaning “I conquer”, was queen for many years in the nineteenth century of a country called England, to which we in this benighted island owe so much! Unfortunately nature failed to endow this illustrious monarch with any arresting beauty, if we are to judge from the embarrassing rotundity which her statue outside Dail Eirann, Dublin, unhappily reflected. Woe to the Philistines who ordered the removal of that artistic beauty! Let us now return to our home.

Fortunately, Lizzie had arrived home before Winnie had left to enter a Dominican Convent in Cornwall. As already recorded, Lizzie and Paddie Hopkins were married before sailing for Canada. Brigid soon arrived on her second visit. We may recall that she and Nora were home in 1911. Brigid’s purpose in coming was to meet Winnie before the latter sailed for the mission fields in South Africa. Due to some miscalculation, the meeting did not take place. Ten years were to elapse before Winnie’s first visit home in 1931. As we know, Brigid did not return to the U.S.A. She married a year after coming home. One cannot fail to see the hand of Providence in all this. Shakespeare had his own inimitable way of expressing the same idea:

As we have seen, Winnie was a pupil at the local convent. About the time she was preparing for the Senior Grade examination - equivalent to our Leaving Certificate – a Dominican sister visited the classes in search of vocations for the South African mission. Little was known about the foreign missions at that period. What might be called “the Irish Missionary Movement” of this century had not yet begun. Missionary magazines, so numerous today, were unknown then. A neighbour, Br. Edward Jordan, who went to Australia in 1908, was the only missionary we had known. The Dominican Sister must have been disappointed, for Winnie was her only volunteer. We all seemed to share some vague idea – never expressed – that she would be a nun. On arriving home one afternoon from school, she broke the news of her intention. Strange, there was no objection raised by any member of the family that her vocation demanded a journey of six thousand miles. Nobody asked “why don’t you enter the Loughrea Convent, with your first cousin Alicia Casey?”. Even father, who had experienced so much parting was perfectly resigned to God’s will.

A few weeks before Winnie set out on the first stage of her long voyage, she and Maggie traveled to Castletown, Laois, to see me. Despite the fact that I was then a faltering pilgrim on the rugged road of the novitiate, we had a few enjoyable days together. Our parting was painful in the extreme. The haunting memories of the many happy years we spent together tended to linger, and the long hours of silence and study afforded ample time for museful thought. We both seemed to realise that slender was the hope of our meeting again, for at that period, it was assumed that a young girl’s decision to go to the foreign mission involved the sacrifice of never returning home. This was total dedication to the cause. What a pity that we could not foretell the future then!

The date arranged for Winnie’s departure was February 3rd, 1921. Her destination was the Dominican House, Launceston, Cornwall. This was a most unsuitable time for Travelling. The War of Independence was at its height. The Black and Tans roamed the country burning and shooting as they went. The volunteers, using all the tactics of guerilla warfare, struck back. In these circumstances, Winnie could not travel alone. Dominic, himself a volunteer, decided accompany her. They had what might be called an exciting journey. At stations, they were searched and questioned. After much anxiety they reached Launceston without being arrested. For Dominic on the return journey, the rough treatment was repeated. The anguish of the folk at home gave way to joy when he arrived and reported that all was well.

At the Launceston convent Winnie found a number of young Irish girls preparing for the foreign mission. Despite the long hours of devoted prayer and study, the limited recreation period provided a golden opportunity for fun, laughter and Irish jokes. Some two years later, having completed their novitiate course, they set out for South Africa. They sailed from Southampton on a Union Castle steamer. A new world opened up before these young sisters, whose lives up to this had been so carefully sheltered. The had to contend with the rush and bustle on the wharf before boarding the vessel, the worry concerning the whereabouts of their luggage, the location of their berths when they went on board and a number of like problems. They were scarcely two days out of port when sea-sickness made its nauseating appearance. That unpleasant experience lingered on until the rough seas gave way to the calm sunlit waters at the equator. South they sped in glorious weather; and after fourteen days at seas reached Capetown harbour in almost the shadow of Table Mountain. There for the first time, they saw the natives who do all the heavy manual work at the docks. On leaving Capetown, they sailed along the coast, and called at Port Elizabeth and East London, before finally reaching Durban after a voyage of three weeks. By train, they travelled to the various convents to which they had been assigned. Many of these sisters, after decades of dedicated work for God, often done in most adverse circumstances, have gone to their eternal reward. Like so many of their race, their final resting place is in alien soil.

Soon Winnie’s letters bearing the address “Dundee, Natal” began to arrive. One found it difficult at that time to visualise what South Africa was like, but her accounts of the native people and their customs provided interesting reading. In those early years, my “epistolary contributions” were meagre. It is probable that a paragraph on the weather helped to fill up the page! However, a regular correspondence between us had mercifully survived the tempests of a half century. Is it necessary to set down here that Winnie’s letters, as the years rolled on, became models of spiritual inspiration a la Dominicaine? Mine, “the short and simple annals of the poor” may lay claim to no such sublime literary endeavour. School work soon began to make demands. Examinations tended to monopolise the work of education. One might compare them to pressure groups which have invaded our modern society. The evils of examinations have captured the literary attention of many and while the evils have been ably high-lighted by most writers, few have offered a satisfactory alternative. Man finds little difficulty in exposing what seems to him glaring defects in an other’s achievements, but he appears to lack all enthusiasm when asked to outline his method of accomplishing a similar task. Destructive critics are far too numerous amongst us. What we urgently need in society are people who would be prepared to devote their ability and energy to the construction of alternative plans. Examinations are but one of the many themes clamouring for the dedicated work of constructive critics. Since each of us mortals is unique, difference of opinion is inevitable. A Roman writer some two thousand years ago was mindful of this fact when he observed: “Quot hominess tot sententiae” – there are as many opinions as there are men. So much for examinations which for decades have cast their shadow across the paths of the two of the Egan clan as they toiled through the days in classrooms in many lands. Let us now leave Winnie with the South African problems in education, while we return to the homeland and follow events there.

A friend of mine, on being upbraided for striking the “personal note” far too frequently in conversation, and for manipulating his stories so effectively that he usually proved to be the here in most of his enterprises, humorously defended himself thus: “He that bloweth not his own horn, the same remaineth unblown”. The reader must detect the biblical flavour in this reply! As I am about to set down an account of my doings in the Egan family, even blowing a metaphorical horn would be unwise. It is, I suppose true to say that there is little to blow about by most of us if the whole truth were known. When one ravels back the twisted years of a long life, and then submits them to the search-light of rigorous scrutiny, he must in all sincerity strike his breast and cry “mea culpa”, or he may in the modern idiom confess to his brothers and sisters what wrongs he has done and what good he failed to do. How fortunate we are that our brothers and sisters don’t know the full story.

When the Irish poet, Tom Moore sang: "Fond memory brings the light of other days around me" he could be voicing the opinion of all who love to recall their boyhood years, at least he speaks for me. A youth, living in an Irish rural setting during the early years of the present century, had few problems. The child's sense of wonder was his. He lived in the "gay garden" that was childhood. He transfigured the commonplace into a pure flame, and found a beauty which only he knew. As with most children, school-life was the only cloud in an otherwise sunny sky. Heaven shone on earth when football and handball were around. Obedience presented little difficulty. We mercifully escaped the Generation Gap, nor were we aware of that modern thing called "Our Democratic Right". How fortunate we were! Travelling any considerable distance was unknown to us, hence the need for pocket money did not arise, save the few pence we received for sweets when to Mass on Sundays. Sunday was a big day for us for it meant not only assisting at Mass, but visiting the town, viewing the sweet shops and buying the cherished sweets. "Bulls Eyes" proved the most popular brand. Economic laws operated even in our transactions. We traded where the best value was available, which explains why the "Bulls Eyes" were in heavy demand. Due to our limited financial resources, priority had to be given to quantity.

The 10 o'clock Mass in St. Nathy's Cathedral was for the children. The town pupils under the watchful eyes of the Nuns and Brothers occupied the Gospel side of the middle aisle, while the epistle side was assigned to the rural school children supervised by their lay teachers. A short time was devoted to Catechism when the adults had left the cathedral. No startling theological discoveries results from these sessions, as visions of "Bulls Eyes excluded all other considerations.

The Sunday afternoons brought the children together for play. The Bartleys, the Gribbins, the Caseys and many others were present. We provided our own entertainment and truly enjoyed ourselves. Despite what the modern psychologist has to say in this context, we were never conscious of any drabness in our lives. What more attractive setting could there be than that which nature in rural Ireland provides? Across the waste of years memory fondly recalls the dusty boreens sheltered on either side with white thorn hedges, and along whose sides a profusion of wild flowers made their cheerful appearance every Spring. There were shades of green in the fields where the white daisies added a pleasing contrast, as well as the surrounding bogs where grew the purple heather in wild profusion. The tuneful songs of a good variety of birds, the arresting contribution of the cuckoo and the not too musical efforts of the corncrake added further charm to the freshness of the scene. The cattle lying in groups in the fields contentedly chewing the cud never failed to convey to the youthful mind impressions of utter peace and contentment. One cannot fail to contrast these healthy, peaceful surroundings with the crowded, urbanised centres which intense industrialisation in the name of progress has imposed on modern man.

But our youthful years were not all sunshine. We had school to contend with. For me, the grey two-roomed building only some fifty yards from our home, seemed to reflect the greyness of my thoughts concerning this school and all the stern activities within. Fear of the master was ever present. That was true of most schools in that period, for in many respects it was an age of fear. As a race we were living in bondage. Many were painfully mindful of the chains that bound them. The unlimited unlawful authority invested in the British army of occupation, the R.I.C., the law courts and the landlords did engender fear in some, while there were others, as every previous generation, who were prepared to challenge that enforced slavery even at the cost of their lives.

About the time I was in the junior standards, our school became co-educational. It was arranged that Miss Brady should manage the young pupils, while Master Carron would "lecture" to the senior students. Some of us had grave difficulties with arithmetic. The heights of "Long Division" were only captured and held after many assaults. Later we were confronted with problems such as the following: "If Gill were 21 and she would be 5 years younger than Pansey was, two years before or after Gill had attained her present age. Find the ages of Gill and Pansey?" The good man who thought out these sums was evidently well versed in feminine psychology, for we note that 21 was his favourite number. This age problem baffled all our best mathematicians. 'Tis said that even the master failed to track down the ages of the two maidens. Some complain of ambiguity in the question. Reader, you need not work it out, for the answer given at the back of the Arithmetic book was: "Each maiden was 21"! In brackets we find an ambiguous remark which reads "Sweet 21 and never at a football game"!

Christian Doctrine was yet another field where the going was tough. We in the senior division had mastered all the "theology" contained in what we called the "Halfpenny Catechism", but now we were confronted with the formidable compendium of sound doctrine found in the "Penny Catechism". This branch of learning assumed an importance all its own, since there was an annual examination in the subject at which each candidate was summoned to the rostrum to defend his thesis. Just one example in this vast field of knowledge will suffice to convince the reader of the dizzy heights we had attained:

Question: What do you think of theatrical representations and other amusements, particularly at wakes, in which religion, its ministers and sacred ceremonies are ridiculed?

Answer: Theatrical representations and other amusements in which sacred things are ridiculed and all such representations at wakes, are highly criminal, and are strictly forbidden by the first commandment.

Imagine we took those theological hurdles in our dashing, youthful stride; and now that our years are in the "yellow leaf" the difficulty of coming to metaphorical grips with those elusive "theatrical representations" has not been wholly resolved!

You, Latin scholars, know that "Alma Mater" means "gentle mother". Many who toiled in that "seat of learning" known in prosaic terms as "Aughalustia National School" may question the aptness of that soothing poetic title "Alma Mater". However, in July 1917, I bade goodbye to the "Academy", and in September of the same year enrolled in the Christian Brothers' school, Ballaghadereen. I have already told of my work there. It was customary for the Vocational Director to visit annually each of the Brothers' schools in search of recruits for the Order. In Spring of 1918, he paid us a visit. In his address to us, he emphasised the need for young Irish boys to follow Christ and help to spread His Kingdom. In a vague kind of way that made an appeal to some of us, Christ's pleading, "Come follow Me", was easily understood in our day. The many worries that torment young aspirants to the religious life now were unknown fifty years ago. Dialogue, confrontation, commitment, orientation of motivation and a host of other concepts thrust upon us during the past decade or so. It would appear that the modern emphasis on psychological study in the context of the religious life tends to over-highlight the ego to the exclusion of Christ. Christ's call to His apostles was simple and clear, "Come follow Me". Implied in that invitation is the Master's assurance that He will make good the many deficiencies in those He calls. Does not Christ's teaching make it clear that all He demands of us are Faith and Obedience? If we "become little children" totally dedicated to Him, He will make use of us "weak instruments" to spread His Kingdom.

"Over Simplification!" "Times have changed!" "A Pathetic platitude from the Dark Ages!" These are a few of the comments one might expect from our modern commentators on the views expressed above, and perhaps they are right, who knows!

One morning, about a month after Br. Anselm, the Vocational Director, had addressed us, I was told on entering the classroom that I was wanted at the Brother's residence. Awaiting me in the wee parlour was Br. Albeus. Jokingly he said "I have a man here who is going to give you a dressing down". In walked Br. Anselm broadly smiling. He was affable and put me at ease. He inquired about my family and what I intended to do upon leaving school. Like a good politician, he moved gently into what we now call the "sensitive area". "Did you ever think of becoming a Christian Brother?" he asked. I suppose my thoughts had been running along those lines, Seeing that I showed some interest in his question, Brother advised me to say three Hail Marys every night for direction. He gave me a booklet on religious vocation. The contents of that slender volume have long since faded from memory save the opening paragraph on the solemn theme of eternity. "Where shall I spend my eternity"? was the arresting question posed by the author. In an effort to illustrate the concept of eternity, he asks us to imagine a massive rock to which a bird returns every ten thousand years to wipe its beak and in doing so wears a little of the rock away on each occasion. When the rock, after millions of years, has been reduced to dust, still eternity would be only beginning. Such an illustration was capable of arousing thought even in a youthful mind.

On arriving home that afternoon, I told of my interview with the Brother. All, including father, were enthusiastic and agreed to pray for the intention. My decision was then made and T.G. no doubt ever arose in my mind. "Master, go on, and I'll follow Thee to the last gasp with faith and loyalty" is Shakespeare's eloquent way of expressing a noble resolve. Preparations for my departure were soon underway. Friday morning, June 14, was all aglow as I set out on the side-car with Dominic as the driver to the Ballagh railway station. There Br. Albeus awaited us; and he accompanied me to Dublin. A completely new experience opened up before me. This was my first train journey. The world seemed to be whizzing by as the train sped along. Even on that first trip to Dublin, I did not fail to contrast the fertility of the midlands with the "stony grey soil" of the Connacht I knew. We were soon at the Broadstone station in Dublin, a landmark that has long since disappeared. The jarvey that drove us across the city to Kingsbridge station had a pronounced Dublin accent. Both his side-car and horse had known better days. I had difficulty obtaining a seat on the train to the south as British troops in great numbers were on their way to Curragh. The khaki-coloured uniforms did not commend themselves to the majority of Irish people for their wearers in our midst symbolised centuries of domination. Br. Albeus parted with me at the station. Pointing to my Sinn Fein badge which young people wore in those days, one of the soldiers asked: "Are you a Sinn Feiner?" In no uncertain terms I assured him that I was. "Why are you one of those fellows?" he demanded. "To make Ireland free", was my reply. He was a good-natured soldier, for at the next station he dashed out and bought me a punnet of strawberries. Such a luxury I had never previously enjoyed. The troops left the train at Curragh, so I was alone in the compartment until I reached Mountrath, my destination. There a brother met me and took me to the college located in the village of Castletown some two miles from Mountrath. Castletown, on the main road between Limerick and Dublin is a picturesque village built around a green near the banks of the river Nore. In this "De La Salle Retreat" as it was called, I was to spend the following four years as part of my training.

Training it definitely was. Prayer, study, some manual work and games were the ingredients of the daily round. In summer, there was swimming in the rover Nore, occasional picnics and long walks. So well organised was the day's programme, that we had little free time. Is it necessary to state that Lady Obedience held gentle sway over all operations? This was of life did not impose any great hardships then, for most of the students had their roots in rural Ireland where a healthy discipline prevailed, and where manual work was taken for granted. It is true to say that the rural homes of Ireland were admirable training centres for those who were called to encounter the demands which religious life inevitably imposes. The period in the senior novitiate provided ample opportunity for things spiritual. We were fortunate in having men in charge of us whose dedicated lives exemplified the sublime doctrine they taught. The sincerity, the charity and the Christ-like humility of our Superior, Br. Baronius made an enduring impression. Physically he had little to commend him. He was tall, rather emaciated and bald, yet we all loved him because of the qualities mentioned. Nor were we unmindful of his impartiality and of his burning patriotism. No less impressive was Br. Albert who directed the senior novitiate.

From Castletown we were transferred to the Scholasticate in Kilmacow about five miles from the city of Waterford. Study was now more intense as we had to undergo a state examination in order to qualify for entrance to De La Salle Training College. We now came face to face with those people called poets, and were compelled to listen to their "sweet and sad complaints". Some of them solemnly warned us that "all heads must come to the cold tomb", while others confided the information that "the paths of glory lead but to the grave". The grave we knew, but the paths of glory were extremely remote. Self-pity finds frequent expression in the realm of poetry. Listen to Shelley: "I could lie down like a tired child and weep away this life of care". Our own Mangan informs us that he was "betrayed in friendship and befooled in love". In his first and only love affair, he laments in the bitterness of his soul that the shallop of his peace "was wrecked on beauty's shore". A more attractive theme was the moon wearing a mantle of blue while she admired herself in the vast mirror of the ocean in the typical feminine fashion! Of course Shakespeare was the prince of entertainers.

On the last two years of training, emphasis was on the method of teaching. The theory was thoroughly covered and a few hours each week were spent in the practising school about a mile from the college. Two student's were assigned the students teaching efforts. The professor of method was on the job also. Besides the classroom work, we had what was called "crit lessons". In a specially designed hall near the school, these teaching exercises took place. The poor student-teacher was there alone with his class and the eyes of all upon him. The youthful spectators were ever on the look out for a laugh or even a hearty cheer should misfortune strike when the budding pedagogue was endeavouring to lead his pupils along the steep highway of knowledge. Incidents, where operations broke down, were by no means unknown. One example must suffice.

A scientific-minded student was asked to prove to his pupils by various experiments that there was moisture in the air. His first piece of apparatus was a slate. Like a skilled magician, he held up the slate for all to see. "Now", he learnedly stated, "I shall breathe on this slate, and I want you to observe what happens". Having done as promised, he again held up the slate to indicate the existence of moisture on it. But strange to relate, none of us could detect the moisture. Never daunted, our young scientist, feigning to breathe on the slate once more, quietly licked it, and confidently held it up for a second time. The track of the scientific tongue was clearly visible. The students greeted the startling "discovery" with prolonged applause. When the uproar died away, the teacher was ordered to dismiss his class. At the post mortems - ever a painful feature of the "crit lessons" - the professor's humorous remarks were greeted with further applause. Unfortunately, space does not permit my recording several other such incidents.

At the end of our training, the Brother's were assigned to various schools in Ireland, while the newly-qualified lay teachers returned to their native districts where teaching posts usually awaited them. After a few years in the classroom, we answered the call to University College, Dublin. So it was back to the books once more! Time-honoured gentlemen of the classical age provided stern entertainment. Cicero's letters indicate that matrimonial problems are common to all ages. In his De Senectute, he sternly defends the advantages of old age. Virgil in his great epic is occupied with the greatness of Rome. According to one of his poetic admirers; Virgil was the "moulder of the stateliest measures ever molded by the lips of man". The professors usually arrived five or six minutes late for their lectures. Note-taking kept one busy at first lest one crum of wisdom might be lost. As time passed, all interest in crums disappeared. Even the sumptuous table from which these particles fell had too often little to offer. One had to spend many hours in the libraries gleaning the necessary knowledge. Weeks before the examinations, the students lavishly burned the proverbial midnight oil. The moment of truth arrived when one wrested with the questions. There were, alas! times in those hours of stern endeavour when one felt he was engaged in an unequal struggle. At the end of it all the day of conferring arrived. The cap and gown provided a novel attire for a few hours. The formidable parchment in classical Latin tended to convey the false impression that the dizzy heights of learning had been valiantly captured. As the years rolled on, however, Father Time too often painfully proved that you were still a shuffling pilgrim at the foot of those same heights.

As was usual at our Annual Retreats, volunteers were sought for the foreign missions. The Provincials wee book was passed around, and you entered your name and the mission on which you would like to serve. The four usual areas open to the members of the Irish Province were: Far East, Mauritius, South Africa and Australia. While you made your choice, the Provincial had the final say. Though I chose South Africa, yet I was assigned to Australia. So in September 1931, with Br. Cyril Healy as companion, I set sail for Australia from Tillbury Docks, London. Our ship, named the Barabool was a one-class vessel. Many of the passengers were English in the Indian Civil Service, and were returning to India having spent a holiday at home. Those were the days when La Britannia ruled the waves, and the belief in the superiority of the mighty Empire was unhappily reflected in the conduct of our fellow travelers. Those days of glory have passed and the Empire is no more. Through the Mediterranean, the Red Sea and the Suez Canal we sailed. The Mediterranean weather was delightful. A visit to Port Said was an experience. Poverty was evident on all sides. Large numbers of disheveled Arabs moved through the narrow streets. the world-wide depression was sadly evident in that region. The oppressive heat intensified the misery. One Arab more enlightened than his peers recognising our Irish accent shouted "Up De Valera!" On we sailed through the Indian Ocean. Our next port of call was Colombo on the island of Ceylon. Here we parted from the civil servants and no tears were shed. We were well received at St. Benedict's College which is under De La Salle control. As in Port Said, much poverty was in evidence. Another eight or nine days brought us to Freemantle which was our first sight of Australia. It was from this area that John Boyle O'Reilly and his fellow prisoners escaped from a convict camp and reached the U.S.A. O'Reilly was one of thousands of Irish patriots who had been transported to Australia and Tasmania. Love of freedom was their only crime. In later times, a fitting monument was erected to the memory of those patriots in Waverly Cemetery, Sydney. Inscribed on that monument are the plaintive lines from "The Men of Ninety Eight":

Irishmen, who frequently visit that monument to pray for their patriot dead, do so with no little emotion. One of the custom officers whom we met was a Clare man. He had spent thirty years in exile in Fremantle with little hope of ever seeing his native Clare again.

From there we sailed through the Australian Bight to Adelaide. As we left this port for Melbourne, we were then on the last lap of a voyage lasting six weeks. We had covered about thirteen thousand miles. It was surely refreshing to be on terra firma once more. The food towards the end of the trip had become extremely insipid. One missed too the genial companionship, a feature of our community life. People, however, calling themselves missionaries must be prepared to accept any minor inconvenience that may arise. A few Brothers were at the docks to welcome us. In a short time, we had reached Malvern College where the community was mostly Irish. Questions about Ireland came thick and fast. Remember this was the age before the aeroplane had been developed. Soon the classroom claimed attention and once one is caught up in the intense activity there, all other considerations are excluded. The following year I was transferred to Ashfield, Sydney. Two years later saw me on the march again. This time a country town named Orange was my destination. To get there, one travelled by rail across the picturesque Blue Mountains. The old road across these blue hills was built by Irish "convicts". Orange, like most Australian towns, was carefully planned. The streets are wide with rows of trees down the centre. The congestion of the old European towns was wisely avoided. In the mid-30's Orange had a population of about fifteen thousand.

The Catholics numbering about 30% of the total population were by no means affluent. Like all Australian Catholics they were loyal, and were generous supporters of their churches and schools. The maintenance of Catholic schools imposed a enduring sacrifice on them. Unfortunately, this undemocratic system still operates. No less generous were the nuns and brothers who staffed those schools, for the income in the poorer areas was scarcely able to support these devoted religious, who had no luxury problems in those stern times.

Let us now review the happenings at home during the decade before the outbreak of World War II. To the surprise of our family, Winnie (Sister Alphonsus) announced that she was coming to a Convent in London, and would be allowed to visit home for ten days. Her visit brought consolation to all, especially Father who was now old. Friends and neighbours came to welcome her and admire her black and white habit. There was grief at her departure. Alicia's marriage to Denis Carty was the next event of importance. Mary, now Mrs. Dominick Bligh, after an absence of thirty years came on a visit from New York. One may imagine the joy her visit brought. Her amiable manner endeared her to all. She used to speak at length about her childhood experiences. This was the first of many trips she made to Ireland until her death in the early 60's. Dominic's marriage to Nellie Duffy was another significant event. As we have seen, they met in the late 20's when Nellie was on a trip from New York. About this time Helen Brady, Nellie's niece visited Ireland. She had just finished her High School course. Rural Ireland for a maiden reared in New York must present many problems. That these young students can adjust themselves to such a life reflects favourably on their upbringing and the education they received in school.

By 1937, Pat Egan had passed the ninety mark. Rheumatism in the hip was his only complaint. He did light work well into his eighties. He was cheerful, light-hearted right up to his death. His last years were really prayerful. Few men were more prepared to meet the final reckoning than he. He peacefully passed to his eternal reward in January 1937. Our parents sleep side by side in the old part of Kilcolman cemetery where a Celtic cross, erected by the family, marks their grave.

As already stated, I had booked on the German vessel, Franken. It was glorious weather as she moved slowly from Sydney harbour, a really enchanting region. Our first port of call was Burnie, Tasmania, for a cargo of iron ore. The passengers numbered ten, most of whom were Germans returning home for a holiday. My cabin was neatly furnished and most comfortable. The food was excellent and the stewards kind. The prospects of a restful three week voyage to Durban were bright. Burnie nestling at the foot of green hills has a population of about eight thousand. The two days spent there were enjoyable. Having no friends to visit, I spent most of the time on the beach. We in Ireland associate Tasmania with the Irish patriot John Mitchell, who had been transported there. He, like John Boyle O'Reilly, managed to escape and reached America. Unlike most Irishmen, he fought with the southern states in the American Civil War. From Burnie, we crossed over to Melbourne. The four days I spent in that beautiful city with the Brothers were happy ones. As night came down the Franken moved slowly out of the harbour. We were now on the long voyage to Durban. Having left the Australian Bight, we reached the sunlit waters of the Indian Ocean. Christmas Day at sea was a novel experience. The crew erected a Christmas tree and provided sumptuous food. The days were glorious and the sunsets unique. One recalled Coleridge's poetic description of such a sunset:

In a diary which I kept on that voyage, I find an account of one of these sunsets as it appeared to me while I sat on the top deck. The imagination took flight and the following was the result! "Did you write such nonsense" I asked myself on reading it recently. It may cause a laugh, and doctors tell us that laughing is good for us!

"the sunsets at the present time have aroused my interest. Clouds, like faithful warriors keeping mournful watch during the last hours of their devoted chief when his life is slowly ebbing out, surrounded the sun. Moved at the majesty and nobility of his passing, and robed in all the reflective splendour at their command, they attend in anxious silence his solemn demise. Even the deep, callous though it may be, cannot remain insensible as it beholds this awe-inspiring sight, and so heaves a sigh that his age-long peer in greatness, is forced to yield before the onset of that hideous monster darkness".

Reader, do I hear you laughing?

After a most enjoyable voyage we sailed in the Durban harbour as darkness fell. The following morning revealed feverish activity on the various wharfs. Crowds of native in a most ragged condition were busy on the docks. Nor did the few white overseers impress as they issued their imperious commands. The high humidity in Durban renders the heat during the summer rather oppressive. The following afternoon I was on the train for Johannesburg, a journey of about 400 miles. Through Natal we went. The countryside was fresh and green after the recent rains. We passed through some historic places such as Lady Smith, around which major battles were fought during the Boer War. The morning found us in Transvaal. The veld there had little of Natal's fertility. Soon the mine dumps came into view, and before long we had reached Germiston Railway station. Germiston was the address to which I had been writing regularly for the previous ten years. All the imaginary pictures I had of the place gave way to reality. I was soon at the Convent where Winnie and the other Sisters welcomed me. The next ten days were really happy ones. Almost ten years had "stretched their length between" since we parted in Castletown. There was a full agenda. The agenda is always full when heart speaks to heart. Thanks to Fr. Braniff it was my privilege to visit most of the interesting places on the Rand. Pretoria about fifty miles from Johannesburg was one of the most memorable places I visited. Government House is a striking building. Paul Konger's massive bronze statue surrounded by soldiers also in bronze arrested attention. Paul's rugged features bearing a gloomy expression harmonised with that dour Calvinistic doctrine of which he was an ardent supporter. On the soldiers' faces is depicted an air of expectancy as if awaiting a British attack. Mindful of our own prolonged struggle with the same English foe, one could not but feel sad that the Boers, in a supreme effort for their cherished freedom, went down before the might of Britain.

Time had run out. I was once more on the move. A train journey to East London gave me an opportunity of seeing the South African countryside. The absence of rain is especially evident in the Orange Free State and in the Cape. Much of the land is arid and incapable of producing crops except maise. The train journey of thirty hours makes the traveller weary. After a few days' rest, I again set sail this time on a vessel called the Neckar, a sister ship of the Franken. Until we rounded the Cape, the rugged South African coast remained in view. Then northwards we went, crossed the Equator and sailed into Las Palmas. There is an air off medievalism about this Spanish settlement. The dark twin spires of the cathedral, begun in medieval times tower over the area. It was here that Columbus prayed before setting out on his memorable voyage to discover America. As a trip into the interior revealed, the island is rich in the growth of a variety of fruit, which forms one of its principal exports. We were soon on our way again. Biscay was more subdued than usual. Finally, we reached Dunkirk which a few months later hit the headlines in the early stages of World War II. I crossed to Dover and in a few days was back in my native heath.

It was refreshing to be home again. There were many changes. The presence of young nieces and nephews was a delight. The sight of my suitcases aroused Pauric's interest. Excitement took over. I suppose his youthful imagination conjured of visions of vast treasure from the Orient hidden away in the spacious areas of these containers. In reality what can be more ordinary than the contents of a man's suitcase! The meagre contents are not even orderly arranged. Contrast this with the neatly placed items of a lady's luggage, and in addition carefully tucked away are suitable presents for each of the family. Alicia's daughters, Mary and Elizabeth, were already attending the "Academy". Michael was still a baby. A ride on the bar of my bicycle proved Elizabeth's delight. With my precious cargo on board, I used to speed down the road while Elizabeth gave a running commentary on what she saw. The occasional bag of sweets aroused excitement which only children can enjoy to the full. A visit to the old school brought back memories of other times. The rapidly declining population of the area sadly reflected the diminished number of pupils. Two decades later there were no school-going children. Death like sleep stole over the "Academy". Its demise is a painful indication of the inevitable decay which is already threatening the area the school served so long.

Thanks to the able statesmanship of Mr. De Valera, we escaped the ravages of World War II. The shortage of petrol and other imported materials did cause inconvenience, but we had sufficient essential food. Compared to Europe our lot was a happy one.

Soon I was back in class in Ardee, Co. Louth, where I had spent five years before going to Australia. Time passed quickly. Extra-mural activities such as games filled up ones leisure hours. The war was drawing to a close when the Provincial informed me that he wished me to go to South Africa as soon as it was possible to travel. In the autumn of 1946, a booking to South Africa was made. I had corresponded with Peter regularly since 1921. The possibility of our meeting was a constant theme in our letters. Peter was anxious to hold down a good pensionable job from which he was not allowed to be absent for more than a few weeks. ON hearing of my going to South Africa, Peter wrote immediately offering to finance my trip to the U.S.A. if I could manage to travel. The provincial granted permission and I was in South Africa early in January.

As is was then only the Spring of 1946, it appeared that there was ample time to be in class for the opening of the South African schools. We did not, however, reckon with the post-war problems of transport. Severe restrictions were imposed on those entering the U.S.A. for the first time. Unfortunately my travel agent failed to instruct me on the conditions of entry, with the result that the booking made for June had to be cancelled, as the American Embassy refused to issue a visa until all the conditions had been complied with. This necessitated affidavits from Peter and statements from his bank. At last permission to travel to New York was granted. A second booking was made for the 15th July. On the very day I arrived in Shannon to board the aircraft, orders had been issued that all planes in that company be grounded for examination owing to some structural defect. No official at the office knew when the planes would be allowed to fly again, so I returned to Dublin. There is no need to labour the other frustrations that attended my proposed trip. However, I did fly out towards the end of September. Rose, Peter's wife, and my sister Mary, both of whom I had never met, were at the airport to meet me. Even in the free, frustration contrived to haunt me, for the Italian taximan who was engaged to take us to our destination got a puncture on the way and had no spare wheel! Luckily a good Samaritan going our way did the needful. The joy of meeting Peter after a lapse of 31 years atoned for all the frustration. We talked through the night until dawn. Mary, who had gone to the States before I was born, was overjoyed at our meeting. She took me to her home in Long Island where I met her family, including May, Sister Veronica O.P. So here was New York which I had so longed to see. Our neighbours, many of whom were in exile for over three decades, came in big numbers to welcome me. With Tom Moore we gathered around the bowl of vanished years, while memory called up many humorous events of our school days. My faltering pen is incapable of describing the goodness, kindness and generosity of those I met in America. There were parties go leor. That Peter had a host of true friends soon became evident, and the fact that I was his brother assured me of a cead mile failte at their homes. "The wrong man became the Christian Brother in the Egan home", was a humorous remark one frequently heard at these parties. There was a ring of truth in that observation even though passed as a joke. Patrick Duffy, a neighbour of ours was a taximan in the city. On his days off, he took me to any part of New York I wished to see. Even the Bowery did not escape us! Most of those whom I met in New York in 1946 have gone to their heavenly home. May the good god reward them for their goodness to me.

An invitation awaited me from Elizabeth, Mrs. Hopkins, and her husband Paddy in Chicago. So off I went. It was a long train journey of about a thousand miles. Here lived Lizzie's family of six, none of whom I had ever seen. Tommy, the eldest, and Rita had returned from service with the American forces. Kathleen was a Dominican sister in Detroit, her sister Elizabeth (Sister Maureen) was a Salvatorian in Milwaukee, while Mary and Agnes were still at high school. The glowing hospitality at Flourney Street was surely refreshing. Enthralling were Tommy's accounts if his war experiences in the Pacific. That novel instrument called the Onija Board provided exciting entertainment. Despite Rita's dexterous manipulations we got little of that "destiny which shapes our ends". When time allowed Paddy, Hughie Gribbin and I held learned discussions on Irish History, Gaelic football, and American boxing! As in all such sessions we started several proverbial hares but failed to run any of them down! Mary and Agnes, modest maidens then, were caught up in study. Mary was an ardent worshipper at the Shrine of Modern Music which had just "crashed" upon my world. My failure to appreciate Frank Sinatra caused deep disappointment. Sister Maureen travelled from Milwaukee to meet her "distinguished" uncle. Permission would not be granted but for the fact that we have Mother Superior the impression that the "auld" uncle was in poor shape, and was severely hampered by an accident to his luckless wooden leg. These were pre-conciliar days when permissions in convents were hard to come by. Strategy was called for in such circumstances, before the beneficent, ecumenical winds blew through the corridors of the cloisters and our convents. Sister Maureen exemplified the modesty, humility and other virtues one associates with fervent aspirations in the formative years of religious life. She discussed the many aspects of that life. It is my regret that my contribution to that discussion shed little light on those sublime themes. But of course I had to feign profound knowledge in order to impress my fervent niece! Kathleen, Sr. Eileen Patrick, was unable to travel from Detroit so I visited her there with Rita as my guide. The sisters gave us a warm welcome. Kathleen was young, fair and affectionate. She displayed more than usual interest in Ireland and its tragic history. The time was much too short to cover the many aspects of the subjects. With pleasant memories of the Hopkins clan I returned to New York. My next visit was to Washington D.C. As we have seen our sister Nora was married there to a Donegal man named Michael Mc Gettigan. Nora died about 1925 leaving Michael with two young children, Patrick and Betty. At the time of my visit in 1946 Pat having returned from active service with the American forces in the Pacific, had married and settled in Beaumont, Texas. There was then no hope of meeting Pat. However, that hope fondly cherished down the long years may one day be realised. What a agenda we'll have to cope with! Peter and I had a wonderful time with Michael, his wife and Betty his daughter. They did everything possible to make our visit a happy one. To me the state buildings were majestic. On returning to New York there was another round of parties before I took off for Ireland. Messages and cash were entrusted to me for the neighbours at home. having delivered these and visited some friends, I prepared for my next journey.

Shortly after Xmas I set out. The weather was cold, wet and stormy. The crossing from Dunlaoire to Holyhead was unpleasant as most of the passengers were sea-sick. There was then the train journey to London. The city presented a drab spectacle. The havoc wrought by the German bombs was painfully evident. The prolonged showers of snow and sleet added to the sombre setting. At Southampton I joined the Union Castle steamer, and as night was falling we set sail.

Once the stormy seas were left behind we all enjoyed the glorious sunshine. After fourteen days at sea we reached Cape Town. The oppressive heat made the three-day journey to my destination, East London, slightly unpleasant. Fortunately I had as companions three Irish nursing sisters of the Little Company of Mary. A hearty welcome awaited me at the East London College. An addition to the family is usually an occasion for rejoicing! As I was about to retire, Br. Austin, the Principal handed me a letter that had come from Ireland for me a few days previously. Immediately I recognized the Provincial's handwriting. Seeing that I had met the Provincial in London the day I sailed out from Southampton, I wondered what news he had for me. It was a short note informing me that I had been appointed Superior of De La Salle College, East London. Letters such as this cause forebodings, fears and a nagging consciousness of one's inability to carry out the task. South Africa was a foreign land to me. I was totally unfamiliar with the system of education, and above all a new College had to be built, the erection of which World War II had caused to be postponed. Now the true meaning of obedience came home to me. Were not taught over and over that our Lord speaks to us through lawful superiors? "Roma locuta est." The "weak instruments" which God uses to do his work was a doctrine most apt in my situation. Yet with help of a dedicated community we pushed on. The financial conditions of the College were most unhealthy, so the prospects of building a new one were far from bright. A superior from Rome who paid us a visit suggested that the College should be closed because of the chronic financial situation. We, however, submitted a detailed statement to the Irish Provincial outlining the steps we proposed to take to raise funds. An enthusiastic parent's committee was formed and soon the money began to pour in. The Provincial who visited us later to study the whole situation highly commended our efforts and from the superiors in Rome obtained sanction for the erection of a new College. Building on a new site was soon under way. A few days before my six years' term of office came to a close, the new College was blessed and opened by Bishop Boyle. Two days later I was on my way to Mauritius, a small lonely island in the Indian Ocean some two thousand miles from the African coast. For me the six years of stern endeavour had come to an end.

From Johannesburg I set out for "Isle Maurice". Here was a setting the likes of which I had not previously experienced. In area the island is about the size of County Waterford with a population of 800,000, comprising Hindus, Creoles (half casts) Chinese, Pakistani and a small number of whites of French descent. Sugar cane is the main product. The standard of living is extremely low. The two races of Indians were brought to the island to work the sugar. They and increased and multiplied with the result that they out-number the Creoles and to a much greater degree the Chinese who control much of the commercial life of the island. The Creoles are the least energetic of al the inhabitants. Many of the small group of whites seeing little prospects for the future of Mauritius have emigrated to France and to South Africa. I was assigned to St. Joseph's College, Curepipe in the centre of the island. The college was a large modern structure housing about 700 post-primary pupils drawn from the groups mentioned above. The various racial groups tended to live apart, a characteristic which was reflected in the class-room. Colour is a vital question in Mauritius and teachers are well advised to steer clear of racial themes and political issues. English was the medium of instruction in class. Otherwise it was rarely used. It was generally accepted that there were 18 languages spoken on the island besides the "bad language" which claimed a rather prominent position! Owing to the lack of fluency in English among the pupils teaching was more difficult than in other countries. Our community had an international flavour. France, England Mauritius and Ireland were represented. Ten years had now elapsed since I left Ireland, so word from H.Q. in Ireland telling me to return home was welcome. The Australian plane took me to Johannesburg. There I spent some days in Germiston with Winnie who was once more burdened with authority. My next stop was East London. It was surprising how well the college had progressed in my absence! Soon I was on the high seas once more. The weather was beautiful and Biscay was in a cheerful mood. Some eighteen years had run their weary way since I was over this track. In a short time I was home among the Egan clan. There were lots of stories about the black people of Africa which the neighbours really enjoyed. After a brief holiday I was back in the class-room with hosts of memories of foreign places.

There were many changes. The nephews and nieces had grown. Elizabeth had commenced her training as a nurse in St. Michael's, Dunlaoire. Mary Alicia had announced her intention of entering the Medical Missionaries of Mary in Drogheda. Pauric was busy on the land and had begun to show tendencies toward rotundity! Michael Carty was also occupied on the farm. Pa McCormack was an ardent worshipper at the shrine of a fair maiden called Phyllis Morley whom he subsequently married. They tell us that Miceal is contemplating taking the "plunge", but mystery seems to surround his amorous activities! Peter and Rose had returned from a long exile to spend their days of retirement among their own folk. Mary and her husband, Dominick Bligh, had spent a years' holiday in a rented bungalow near Loughglyn. In the early 50's Lizzie, her husband, Paddy, and their daughter Agnes came from Chicago to spend a holiday in Aughalustia. Winnie announced her intention of coming on a visit. A quarter of a century had gone by since she was home. One can easily imagine the joy that her visit brought to all the family. In America also four of Lizzies family had married and set-up their homes. Tommy settled in Houston, Texas. Mary established her home in Florida while Rita and Agnes are living in the Chicago area.

Towards the end of the 50's Sergeant Death appeared on the scene and made his impervious demands. The first victim of his attack was Brigid's husband Michael Mc Cormack. Michael was a kind charitable man and highly respected by all. In his final illness it was his happy lot to be cared for by his wife and two sons. Denis Carty, Alicia's husband was second on the list. The long years of toil claimed their inevitable toll. His heart condition had begun to cause alarm. His daughter, Elizabeth now a qualified nurse, and their mother bestowed all their care upon him. He went to his everlasting home in peace. The third was Rose, Peter's wife. Although she was reluctant to admit sickness, yet she visibly declined. Few expected that she would die so soon. Sudden death spared her the anguish of a long illness.

Mary, Mrs. Bligh, who had visited Ireland several times was the next to answer Death's call. She had been ill for some weeks and finally suffered a fatal stroke. Her daughter, Sr. Veronica, O.P. nursed her in her last illness. Mary assisted at daily mass throughout her life. Her enduring devotion to Our Lady was an outstanding feature in her prayerful life. Her reward must be great.

Paddy Hopkins had been in indifferent health for some years before his death. On retirement he and Lizzie purchased a home in St. Petersburg, Florida. Soon Paddy became the victim of a fatal illness. Fortunately Sr. Eileen Patrick was teaching in a local convent, and she was able to assist her mother in nursing the patient. Further medical care necessitated his removal to Chicago. He bore his painful illness with resignation and is now reaping the reward of a life spent in prayer and toil.

The early years of the 70's gave renewed hope for the survival of our clan because two of our nephews and a niece were married. In 1970, Michael Carty wed Mary Creighton. The following year Pauric Egan took as wife Beatrice Kenny, who happened to be Mary Creighton's first cousin, and later that year Elizabeth Carty married Dominic Naughton. As to be expected these weddings awakened keen interest in the locality. A special hotel to accommodate about a hundred guests has to be booked. Invitations have to be sent out and a host of minor details claim attention. To some old conservative who might grumble at such extravagance comes the time-honoured reply: "Ni gach la bhionn Tadg da phosadh", which loosely translated runs: "Tadg doesn't walk to his doom every day".

In 1970 Lizzie and her daughter Kathleen (Sister Eileen Patrick O.P) visited us from Chicago. Twenty five, most of them weary years, had ebbed since we met. We had no small difficulty in recognising one another. Father time with his destructive hand had been on the job. "He burgled our bank of youth". Kathleen enjoyed her visit to Ireland of which she had heard so much from her parents and friends. Her jovial disposition won her friends everywhere. The following year they were home again. On their second visit, Sr. Maureen of the Salvatorian Congregation accompanied them. There was laughter and fun go leor. Dominic was severely handicapped as censorship had to be applied to his many stories. Fortunately there was a Christian Brother there who applied the guillotine when necessary! Sr. Maureen had to go to Rome on business of her Order, so I accompanied her. If space allowed I could write at length on that memorable visit. We travelled down to Naples to visit Mary Alicia (Sr. Agnese) who is nursing in the M.M. of Mary Hospital there. Together we spent a long, hot day amid the ancient ruins of Pompey. Sr. Maureen returned to Milwaukee and was appointed Provincial of the American Province. A few month's after Kathleen's return to Chicago, she entered a cloistered convent in Detroit. She had closed the tomb with her own hand. Never again will her ringing laughter awaken echoes in the Egan home. Is it too much to expect that even from the silence of the cloister she revisits in memory that home and its rural setting to which she brought so much joy? She will, we trust, remember in prayers those of us who are shuffling in the gathering gloom while we await the inevitable summons to the "Better Land".

As we are approaching the final paragraphs of this essay, it is only fitting that one of them should be devotd to our brother, Peter, who passed away on Sunday, February 25th, 1973. There is not one of our family who would disagree with the opinion that he was not only our senior in age but our model and inspiration. We, and his host of friends, recognised his charity, generosity and unfailing consideration for others. The least trace of selfishness found no place in this splendid man. His sympathy went out to all in suffering; and he never failed to help them when he could. Peter exemplified Cardinal Newman's definition of a gentleman: "One who never inflicts pain", and who "carefully avoids whatever may cause a jar or a jolt in the minds of those with whom he is cast". In my many conversations with him, I came to realise that his was a life of prayer and meditation, and from this souce derived the esteem of which he was held. Splendid and holy causes are served by men who are themselves splendid and holy. Our family have reason to thank god that a man of Peter's worth and nobility is one of their number.

As his health began to fail and the budren of caring for him proved too much for Magaret, he was brought back to the home where he was born. Both Nellie and Beatie agreed that nursing him was an easy task, as he so often apologised for the trouble he caused them, and so highly appreciated their kindness to him. He died peacefully as he had lived. That he would find his last resting place in his native parish was one intention he prayed for at daily mass during the toilsome years of his exile. That prayer was answered when he was laid to rest beside his wife, Rose, in Kilcolman cemetery. Surely a cead mile failte awaited him from the loving Lord he so nobly served.

Evictions have been a tragic feature of our history fo centuries. Reference has been made in these pages to the Cromwellian confiscations which involved ruthless evictions on enormous scale. The same weapon was widely used by the landlords down the years. At the whim of a tyrant, helpless people were forced from their homes which, to prevent the owners from re-occupying them, were burned down.

That the Egans of Aughalustia endured the horrors of an eviction may surprise many. The year was 1903. "What caused this tragedy?" ine may ask. It would take us too far afield to explain the land problems of that period. Suffice it to say that Michael Davott from the village of Straide, Co. Mayo, who had spent fourteen years in a British dungeon, launched a campaign advocating the reduction of rents. The farmers clubbed together and refused payments unless their demands were met. De Frayne, the landlord in our area used the harsh weapon of eviction an th leaders of the Campaign in each locality. Pat Egan true to tradition was caught up in the movement. This was not the first time that he challenged tyranny. We recall that he was "on the run"in the 90's to escape arrest and imprisonment for refusing to b a slave.

In 1903 De Frayne once more moved against him. In a beautiful morning in May of that year, fifty well-armed police arrived on the scene. The neighbours in hostile mood hurried to the Egan home but were helpless against so many guns and bayonets. Terror seized the young children at the sight of the police. The modest furniture was hurled into the open in preparation for the burning of the house. Fortunately the burning, the final scene in the tragedy, was not enacted, as someone with influence restrained the tyrant's hand. De Frayne, however, had his revenge in a more subtle way. By ordering the deeds of the property to be handed over to Uncle John Casey of Lissian, he denied Pat Egan the right to own his land. On this condition were the Egan family allowed to return to their home. The years passed. The tyrannical power of De Frayne and his class was forced to yield to the rising tide of an enraged people; and today the Egans flourish in Aughalustia, while ruin has overtaken the only lordly mansion in Frenchpark.

The Irish country parish as a geigraphical unit has a long history. It has its well-defined boundaries and time-honoured tradition. Its ruler is the parish priest. In some regards it might be regarded as a state within a state. The parish church, the dwelling place of our Eucharistic King, is the centre from which all parochial activities have their beginning. To that church the infant is brought to be baptised. There he receives his first Holy Communion and the sacrament of Confirmation. The same familiar surroundings witness his marriage; and when death claims him, his mortal remains rest near the high alter fir the last night before the grave opens to receive him. All this is true of my native parish of Kilcolman.

Ballaghaderreen, a small town, with a population of a thousand, is not only the centre of Kilcolman Parish, but the cathedral town of the Achrony Diocese of which Kilcolman is a parish. Ballagh, as it is locally called, is situated at a point where the three counties, Mayo, Roscommon and Sligo meet. It is on the main Western Road equi-distant between Ballin and the River Shannon. The name Ballaghaderreen is derived from two Gaelic words, "bealach" ,eaning a way or passage, and "Doirin" a small wood. Achrony, a village in County Sligo, was the original centre of the Diocese. There St. Nathy the diocesan patron lived in the fifth century, and there a pre-Reformation cathedral bearing his name stood. Towards the end of the sixteenth century the so-called reformers confiscated the cathedral and its adjoining lands. The clergy were dispersed and Achrony as a diocese ceased to function during the long night of persecution. When the harsh Penal Laws gave way to more humane times, Ballaghderreen, proving more suitable, became the cathedral town where stands today the new St. Nathy's cathedral and the Diocesan College of the same name. So, of the twenty two parishes in the Achrony Diocese, Kilcolman may be regarded as the most important.

The parish of Kilcolman dates back to the fifth century. A mile north of Ballaghaderreen on the Sligo Road is a lare cemetary. In the more ancient part of it are the ivy-coverd ruins of the "Cill" or church of St. Colman. Little is known of this Colman. He is one of the many Colmans listed th Irish saints. It is beleived, however, that he was one of those early Irish monks, who, after the custom of their time, built a small chapel in a selected spot, where he could devote his life to prayer; and in time the parish grew necessitating a more spacious building. Grants of land were usually given to the church by the local Gaelic chieftain. In this respect St. Colman's church was well provided for.

In about 1140 the Normans arrived in Ireland and were soon helping themselves to the land of Ireland at the expense of local chieftains. A certain Norman lord named De Angelo which was later changed to Costello had received a generous grant of land in County Meath. In the early part of the fourteenth century, we find a branch of the Costellosplundering their way to the west. They reached the parish of Kilcolman and coveted the territory of O'Gara at Castlemore. The struggle was short and decisive, leaving Costello the master. The parish of Kilcolman had lost devoted patrons. However, the Costellos like most of the Norman invaders soon adopted the Irish way of life, spoke the Gaelic language, and as the historian has it, "they became more Irish than the Irish themselves". In time the Costellos became benevolent landlords, for the records show that they established two monasteries in a neighbouring barony which they managed to acquire. The first of those estabishments was in Ballyhaunis which was entrusted to to the Augustinian Friars, the second, in the same locality on the shores of Lake Urlor, some twelve miles west of Ballaghaderreen, was controlled by the Dominican Fathers. Grey, silent ruins are all that remain of those once flourishing monasteries.

In 1590, the Costellos who were no longer the cherished children of the British crown were in turn driven from their territory in Connaught by a ruthless family of landlords called Dillon, who by this time had acquired by force vast territory in Connaught. The Dillons, with Castlemore as one of their strongholds remained landlords until comparatively recent times, when land-lordism and all the injustice and tyranny associated with it were finally swept away. So Kilcolman Parish and the surrounding locality once the home of the Clan O'Gara passed into the hands of the Costellos, who in turn were forced to yield to the unscrupulous Dillons. With the passing of the O'Garas, the parish lost the help and support for centuries gladly afforded. A visitor to Castlemore today finds nothing but a few pathetic ruins. Silence has settled over the scene. The pomp and power have passed away.

Up to 1650 the population of the Kilcolman parish was no more than a few people. While there are no statistics on which to rely, one may, by inference, arrive at an approximate figure. It has been estimated that the total population of Ireland in the middle of the seventeenth century was about one and a half millions. This population was mainly rural and tended to concentrate on the rich land of Leinster and Munster. Much of the land in Connacht especially in the area of Kilcolman parish was hopelessly barren being mainly bog which up to two hundred years ago was covered with forests. Only small numbers could hope to find a living in such conditions.

In 1653 came the terrible Cromwellian Plantations and confiscations. "To hell or to Connacht", was the harsh imperial edict. Into the west poured the dispossessed from Leinster and Munster with their few miserable belongings, and wherever a vacant patch of ground was available, they erected their mud huts. This poignant period in Irish history marks a beginning of the increase of population in the Kilcolman parish. A hundred years later, the forests in the Kilcolman parish began to disappear, as the landlord found a lucrative market for wood in the smelting furnaces of Great Britain. Each area as it was cleared of trees found families eager to settle there no matter how barren or marshy it might be. The steep rise in the Irish population is relected in Kilcolman parish. In 1845, the year of the Great Famine, the population of the parish was approximately twelve thousand. Fifty years later the number had fallen to seven thousand, and today the whole parish may claim no more than 2,500. This alarming decline is due to emigration which in turn is caused by the uneconomic holdings of 90% of the parishoners. What hope have a people with the ever-increasing cost of living and with the total absence of industry where the average holding is eight to ten acres of extremely poor land.

The parish is about ten miles square in area. The land is low lying with the exception of the short line of low hills that border the parish on the north west. The river Lung flows though the south eastern part of it into Lough Gara, a neighbouring lake, whose name perpetuates the O'Gara Clan to whom reference has already been made. Both river and lake provide excellent trout fishing. Lough Gara is one of the most important Irish archaelogical sites. In 1952, due to drainage operations in the district the level of the lake was lowered, then a large number of lake settlements were found. "Crannogs" is the Gaelic word for these ancient habitations. On being explored, they proved to be lakeside settlements in marshy swamps rather than artificial islands in deeper water. A survey revealed 350 crannogs, forty wooden dug-out canoes and excavations brought to light Late Bronze Age material and house sites, as well as ninth century finds.

The land of the parish is poor, 50% of which is reclaimed bog. It yields fairly good crops of potatoes, oats and barley. The poverty of the soil makes wheat unprofitable as a crop. A flourishing creamery in Ballaghaderreen has proved a tremendous boon to the people of the locality. The farmers not only receive a good price for their milk, but artificial manure and agricultural machinery are made available at a reduced price.

Few of the parishioners may justly claim to have attained greatness in the worldly sense. But if enduring toil, emphasis on spiritual values and a high moral standard are factors contributing to greatness, then most of the people of Kilcolman parish are among the august company of the really great.

One family that has contributed much to the well-being of our parish is the Dillons. They are in no way connected with the landlord Dillons already mentioned. John Blake Dillon was a prominent member of the Young Ireland Party. He, with other patriots like Gavan Duffy and Thomas Davis were it's founders. John Blake Dillon's son, also called John, became an outstanding member of the Irish Parliamentary Party who represented his native constituency for many years in the British House of Commons. His name as an orator stood high. His remained on politics until 1918 when his party was defeated by Sinn Fein. John's patriotism and honesty of purpose were universally recognised. He had a distinguished family. One of his sons, James, who is at present leader of the opposition in Dail Eireann was the only member of the family to enter politics. In the late Government he proved a successful Minister of Agriculture. Like his father he is a brilliant orator. Two of his brothers became priests, one of whom up to recent years was Abbot of the Benedict Monastery of Glenstal. Myles, the yougest brother, is now a professor of Celtic Literature in the National University, Dublin.

Mother Arsinius is yet another outstanding member of our parish. At the invitation of Dr. McCormack, Bishop of Achrony, she established a convent at Ballaghaderreen in 1877. If Pauric Pearse's dictum be true that "splendid and holy causes are served by people who are themselves spendid and holy" we are right in concluding this humble nun was both splendid and holy. When she came to found the convent in 1877, thirty years had elapsed since the Great Famine which had swept away two millions of the Irish Race, yet the poverty in the Ballaghaderreen area was appaling. The year before the convent was established the potato crop in the locality had failed. "The result was", states her biographer, "that when Mother Arsinius came there, most families had to depend on the remittance of the exile in America, or the spalpeen in England to keep body and soul together".

As soon as the Sisters were established in Ballaghaderreen, Mother Arsinius undertook the visitation of the sick, the poor and uninstructed. Hunger, poverty and souperism had produced among the dense population the usual results of nakedness, illiteracy and the consequent neglect of the sacraments. The devoted Sisters made themselves acquainted with the home conditions of every family in the parish. As a result of their zeal 880 adults were instructed and prepared to receive the Sacrament of Confirmation. Instruction in Christian Doctrine of the children attending all the schools of the parish was undertaken with a similar dedication. In addition to the school, Mother Arsinius had built a laundry, kitchen and teachers' apartments. Her aim was to train the girls in all branches of house work. To provide employment she had spinning and weaving taught. For twenty years she laboured on. The noble work she so devotedly undertook has been carried on ever since by the Sisters in Ballaghaderreen. The laundry, the orphanage, the schools enlarged and modernised remain as a fitting monument to that prayerful Sister whose name will endure as a cherished memory among the people of Kilcolman parish. But her work was not yet finished. At the request of the Superiors, she went to Foxford, some twenty miles to establish the now famous Providence Woolen Mills. After forty years of constant toil, disappointments and financial worries she went to her reward in April 1932. So the dictum must be true, "splendid and holy causes are served by people who are themselves splendid and holy."

We have at length reached the end of the Egan story. Many words were pressed into service for the telling. The reader will notice that not one of the family attained any greatness in the worldly sense. There were no success stories like those we read on the Sunday newspapers. Greatness has to be defined. There is an evident lack of balance in this essay. This is due to the fact that the writer travelled so much and lived in so many countries. Readers would obviously expect some observations from the traveller on these places. This may explain the evident imbalance in this story. The writer is well aware that the account could be told in a much more forceful and attractive manner, and that we have members of our clan capable of doing it. "Why then", you will ask, "did these people not undertake the work?" The answer is thousands of miles divide us rendering consultation impossible.

Speculation is an exercise that seems to appeal to many of us. It enables us to move well away from the stern realities of life. A spot of it at this stage may be helpful. It it is possible that at some future time, say fifty years hence, a student of history, claiming links to the Egan Clan, may in the basement of his luxurious mansion come across these pages now tattered and almost illegible. Their contents, though crudely presented, may set his interests aflame, with the result that from his fluent historical pen may come a work highly capable of perpetuating the memory of the clan.

This is a "not for profit" project bringing the 53 page book entitled "The Egans of Aughalustia" to the web so that all Egan descendants world-wide might have access. This short book was "self published" by Brother Robert Egan (1904-1985) of Ballaghaderreen, Roscommon Ireland in circa 1973. Please send inquiries to fresmith@hughes.net

Updated on 23 June 2019