Ireland to America the Last Generation

By Kathie Wycoff

Names appear, here and there recorded for posterity, and then the page turns and new names continue to be written. The pages fill up, are turned, and life and generations go on. So it is with families. They continue to move through the pages of history. Some are simply a line, recorded to acknowledge a birth or a death, while others had significant lives evidenced by volumes of testimony. This historical fiction novel depicts the life of Martin Renehan, born and raised in Kilkenny, Ireland. In 1834 he followed his young lady across the Atlantic to America where he settled in Washington, D.C. There he served as usher in the White House for five presidential administrations beginning with Andrew Jackson. He lived his life close to the pulse of his adopted land and worked in the Capitol city through the Civil War and the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. His Confederate son was captured and placed in the Old Capitol Prison. This presented Martin with a new set of problems. Many stories have been recorded about the intelligence and wit of this well-loved Irishman. During his life he was a colorful fixture in the society of Washington, D.C.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 11, 2009
• ISBN: 9781467053211

Kathie Wycoff

Kathie Wycoff was born in Washington, D.C.  She considers the city her hometown as she spent most of her life living in and around the area.  She was raised in a three generation family with her Irish grandfather, Vincent Claude Offutt, the grandson of Martin Renehan, her German grandmother, her grandmother’s sister, her parents, two sisters and a brother.  She can trace her heritage back to the beginnings of Washington when Col. Ninian Beall first sailed up the Potomac River, saw the cliffs near what is now Georgetown, and called it Dumbarton because it reminded him of the Rock of Dumbarton in his native Scotland.    She honed her knowledge of the District of Columbia from the memories and stories that circulated around the kitchen table of nine.  When she began working on her genealogy, she became fascinated with the life of Martin Renehan.  Ireland to America, The last Generation is her first novel.  She resides in Southport, North Carolina, with her husband Ray.  They have four children and numerous grandchildren.

Book preview

Chapter 1

A Child Is Born

In the year 1808, the Renehans lived at Common Hall, a small alcove of homes off Vicar Street. The area was known as Irish Town. Getting there from the city of Kilkenny meant walking up the hill of High Street, turning right on Dean Street and passing the steep steps to St. Canice Church of Ireland. Dean Street followed along the high stone wall that used to shield the little town from invaders. In about a block, the street turned left and became Vicar Street. Common Hall could be found by turning left shortly after the turn in the road. The little circular neighborhood backed up to the great church of St. Canice which had a 100 foot tall round tower. The church and tower perched upon the crest of the hill over top of the stone wall.

There were two groupings of houses in Common Hall, one on the left and another on the right. Each grouping had common walls but the homes were not at all identical. There were no front yards, only small cobblestones with dirt and moss in between them. The houses on the left side of Common Court, where the Renehans lived, had rather substantial back yards which were all conjoined. It presented a bountiful sight toward the end of the growing season when all were overflowing like a horn of plenty. Because the front had no plantable ground, colorful flowers abounded in containers in front of doors, hanging from windowsills, and winding around posts and doorframes. Each house was a different color and each different colored house had a different colored door. Several houses had a bit of a stoop and an overhang which offered some slight protection from rain. Each had two stories and a chimney. Roofs were slate. Windows and doors, front and rear, were opened to provide ventilation in the summer. Lace curtains flowed freely into and out of the windows. It had only been a generation or two ago that England taxed the Irish on the number and size of the openings of windows and doors. This taxing was reflected in older homes where the window sizes were small and even door frames were shortened to save money. The Renehan house was built after this time of tithing for openings and so had a double window in the front kitchen facing the court.

Common Hall was a nice place to live as most of the families worked in town and had their own businesses. Oftentimes, there was a horse or two tethered to a hitching post with the resulting danger of fresh manure being tracked into the house. Consequently, each house had a boot scrapper anchored outside the door. Tidy homes sometimes required boots to be left outside. The presence of manure added to the richness of the soil in the gardens. It provided an earthy smell, particularly on the feet of toddlers. Despite their two stories, the homes were small. Generally the kitchen was in the front as it was the area where family and friends gathered. The back room was often a bedroom and doubled as a work room for sewing, weaving, writing and the like. Upstairs was more of a loft with a room for however many straw beds were needed for children. Straw was changed seasonally or as needed depending on the toileting habits and behavior of the children. Each house had its own outside latrine with various paths for arriving there in a timely fashion. There were three pumps for drawing water and the families shared them. The pump in the courtyard area served to fill the water troughs. In hot weather, it became a bathing spot for small children. Each side of the Court had a pump near the center of the conjoined back yards. It served as a meeting place when water was drawn to satisfy household and gardening needs.

Of the six houses in the left grouping, the Renehan house was the last one on the far end. It jutted out about five feet from the others but was the same depth. This gave them additional back yard and a bit of a patio which they paved with large oval cobblestones. Being the end house, they had a side yard which abutted the tall stone wall. This wall, at about 10 feet high, was formidable and provided protection from the wind and weather but could also make it very hot in the summer. Fortunately, Ireland has rather mild weather except for winds and rain. Many times, the families would sleep outside in the summer, weather permitting. The patio allowed the Renehans to gather in the shade for working outside of the house and gave them a dry place for straw to sleep in the summer. It wasn’t unusual to see several toddlers napping there, having come to play and then fallen asleep while their mothers chatted and worked.

Way above the homes sat St. Canice Church. Originally a Catholic church, Cromwell took it over in 1650 and housed his horses there in order to desecrate it. The ousted Catholic congregation built a small chapel, also St. Canice, to the right of the large church on Dean Street. This is where the Renehans attended Mass. Troysgate Pub was to the left of Common Hall on Vicar’s Street near the corner of New Road. It was on New Road, near the River Nore, where William Renehan had a livery stable and harness shop. There was a stream flowing between Dean Street to the North and Abbey Street to the South. It passed to the southwest of Vicar Street and then entered the River Nore. The stream was a sweet stream as water mumbled and tumbled across and around rocks. There were grassy banks full of clover and small shrubs. Women used the stream for multiple purposes depending on the need. It was a good place to give children a quick bath or to cool them off before bed.

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The exact location of Common Hall is unknown. This picture is from the area where Common Hall is believed to be located.

Linens were washed there and even left to bleach on the shrubs as they dried. Occasionally watchers were treated to an otter at play or saw one catch a small fish. Near where the stream and the river met, there was a large open field which provided a good place for William’s horses to graze and drink from the stream.

William’s mother, Alice Britt Renehan, had been raised on the Britt farm in Lower Damma where her brothers continued to farm several parcels of land. Will, as his family called him, grew up on the farm but left as a young man and eventually fell into the livery stable business by acquiring horses. It was on one of Will’s trips to County Wicklow to purchase two matched black stallions that he met Margaret Story and her family. A courtship ensued and the two Roman Catholics were married on September 30, 1800, at St. Mary’s in Kilkenny. James Story and Mrs. Murphy were the witnesses. St. Mary’s was a small chapel, just outside of St. James’ Gate and it functioned as a cathedral.

Margaret had a dowry of four horses, two grays and two whites. Her brother, James, helped deliver them and was an occasional visitor to the family. There was absolute poverty in some places in Ireland in the early 1800’s, but Kilkenny was not as affected. The farms were larger and the soil was good. Ownership of the land was always in flux but generations of the same families remained to run the farms and never accepted anyone’s claim to ownership except their own. Will, being a well-respected man and known for his sincerity and generosity, was able to provide a good living. His stable and horses were a commodity needed by all, especially those more prosperous;

consequently, he avoided involvement in the rampant landlord and tenant strife.

Will had a reputation for quality harnesses and saddles which he would often purchase for resale. Near the stable there was an old, small, thatched-roofed cottage which had a tiny door and one small window. The thick thatch was a home for mice which were the prey for several stray cats. Once Margaret tossed a handful of sweet pea seeds on top and the roof twined and bloomed all summer. Will would stay at the cottage overnight if a horse was about to give birth. When the traveling farrier came to the area, he would set up shop at the cottage. On occasion, Will brought young Thomas, his first born son, to help exercise the horses. Thomas, born December 10, 1802, was a tall child and well able to help his father at the livery stable. He often made trips between home and shop to save steps for his parents. Following Irish tradition, Thomas had been named for his paternal grandfather. Thomas had a younger sister Anne. Margaret told Anne she was named after the Blessed Virgin’s mother and added that her birth had occurred on an unusually cold day in early February. Anne’s Baptism was dutifully recorded in St. Canice’s records as February 7, 1805. As a young child, Anne stayed home with Margaret. Her incessant chatter makes the horses jumpy, Will told Margaret out of little Anne’s earshot.

On a particularly warm day in early July 1808, Will, Thomas, and Anne were gathered around the kitchen fireplace. Will’s face tensed anxiously. Sweat beaded up on his forehead and made its way down the furrows of his cheeks, dropping off onto his shirt already wet from the heat of July. The early morning coolness had tapered off and the warm afternoon had begun to settle into early evening. Despite the warm weather, a fire crackled in the hearth. Will was unable to sit for more than a moment before getting up to pace around the table. He was a large man, unusual in his height. His broad shoulders and muscular arms told of his years of hard work. It was rare for Will to spend this much time in the kitchen, ordinarily Margaret’s domain. His young son and daughter picked up on the tension as they tracked him with their eyes. In the small room to the back of the house, neighborhood women entered and left and one could hear the sounds of a woman in labor. As Margaret keened and struggled, the children, Thomas and Anne, grew noticeably frightened. Ellen Byrne, from the same cache of homes in Common Hall, came out of the back room and took the children to her house for porridge, scones, and a glass of warm milk. Ellen was Anne’s Baptismal sponsor along with John Phelan whose wife was currently attending Margaret. Several women from Vicar Street came by Ellen’s to ask how the labor was proceeding. Conversation was casual and congenial as they also exchanged pleasantries and discussed the weather. Ellen had kept the kettle water hot so as to offer tea and scones to all who dropped in. Labor and the culmination in birth was a waiting game and the women were well acquainted with it.

Shortly after dusk, Will came bursting across the Byrne threshold excitedly shouting It’s a boy! It’s a John! John was the name of Margaret’s father. Will snatched up his wee Anne and grabbed the hand of Thomas. Ducking down to avoid the door jamb, this hulk of a man hauled them back to the house to meet their new brother.

Little Anne was delighted to have a new baby in the house and fell in love with the infant immediately. As was the custom, the priest at St. Canice Catholic Parish was called and John Renehan was baptized on the day of his birth, July 6, 1808. James Story and Mary Purcell were his sponsors. Will stood as proxy for James who was home in County Wicklow. There was much happiness on July 10, St. John’s Fair Day, as the family celebrated the namesake day of their newest member. Unfortunately the boy was sickly from birth. Despite their efforts, he died within the first few of weeks of his young life. He was buried with much sadness at the side of St. Canice’s in the little Catholic cemetery.

Within three months Margaret Story Renehan became pregnant again. Will gave Thomas and Anne the job of caring for their mother throughout the pregnancy. Despite her young age of four, Anne proved capable of following her mother’s directions and readied the food for cooking. She knew which mushrooms to pick, how to pluck a young nettles plant without getting pricked, and how to measure kitchen staples for the soup pot. She could identify herbs and pick them with adult precision. Anne would bring the vegetables and herbs to her mother to be cut up before placing them in the bubbling broth. With the help of Thomas the heavy iron pot was swung over the fire and out again as the stirring continued throughout the morning. During the day, the children kept a permanent eye on their mother and were ready for her every need.

Books were a rare commodity but Will and Margaret insisted their children learn to read and write. Until they were able to attend school, the little ones sat at their mother’s feet while she read aloud, told stories, explained history, recited poetry, sang, and drew letters and words in a saucer of sand. A relative, Laurence Renehan of Thurles, had been educated at Freshfield. When he exhausted all he could learn at that small country village school, Laurence was sent to Kilkenny to further his education. Kilkenny offered the best Catholic school available in the South of Ireland. Laurence came to live in the city at age 11 because of his propensity for learning and desire to become a priest. When possible, he would slip away to the Renehan home, bringing books on loan as a way to keep the family supplied with both old and new writings. The Renehans, in turn, encircled him with hospitality, warm love, and local news. It was this warmth exuded by the family that led to the Renehan household becoming a regular stopping point for travelers and a place for neighbors to gather.

As her pregnancy advanced, Margaret began to feel a bit better and was able to assume more of the chores around the house. It was getting to be early spring and there was much to do. Although Will and Margaret lived in the city of Kilkenny, the Britt farm several miles down the Kell road provided all the necessary produce for jams, smoked meat, flour, root crops, herbs, and cheeses. In the small back yard, Margaret was responsible for the fresh vegetables that would get the family through the summer months and into the fall. She had carefully put away the seeds of last year’s crop and she brought them out to be planted to continue the garden. Will had worked the soil with a spade as the area was too small for a horse and plough. He had spread manure from the horse stalls every other year and the ground was fertile and sweet, producing a large amount of food in a small space.

Thomas took over the job of hoeing rows into long, raised hills. With the handle of the hoe, he marked an indented line down the middle of each row. His mother sat on a hewn log with a twisted willow back and directed him as to which row he needed to plant the seeds. The pole beans were planted with flowering sweet peas against the wall in the back. There were already willow twigs entwined in graceful arches, ready to bear the weight of the ripening pods. Last year’s vines had been pulled down, the remaining beans dried and used in soups throughout the winter. The dry vines themselves made it easy to set a fire for the early morning cups of tea. Next came the root crops. The vines would be pushed toward the wall and out of the way of those plantings. The roots would have some moisture from the wall as the rain slid down from one rock to another and dripped to the ground, allowing the nourished vegetables to grow large as spring went on. In these rows were turnips, carrots, rutabaga, and potatoes. Because she was able to obtain most root crops from the farm, there was only enough planted to grab fresh for a pot of quick stew or to mash for a meat dinner. Next Margaret would have Thomas put in a row of flowers to hide the ungainly vines and tops of the previous row. These would often be snap dragons, cultivated foxglove, perhaps a transplanted bush or two of lavender or rosemary, and, of course, her favorite, the wild primrose. The latter was divided in late fall and planted in a row to frame the edge of the garden. Now with a few days of warm weather the large, rich-green leaves were being parted at the center by small bud clusters. The rest of the garden would be sown with small plants of tomatoes, peppers, or onions which had been started in the only window on the sunny side of the house, near the kitchen area. Nearest the house was an herb garden which was often a bit unsightly as the herbs ran wild, one into the other. It was Margaret’s habit of over-planting vegetables so as to have enough to give to the church for distribution to the growing number of displaced, hungry people in the northern area of the county.

As summer solstice approached, the time of the baby’s arrival grew near. The countryside was awash in colorful foliage glistening from the spring rains. The swallows had returned in March and were busy snapping small bugs from the air. Sitting in the chair at the side of the kitchen fire, Margaret could feel the baby’s strong kicks. She silently prayed for a healthy child, her ever-present Rosary beads in her hands. Anne increased her doting on her mother and was almost underfoot in an effort to be near her. Will checked in at home more frequently. He made it a point to be home at noon which was their biggest meal of the day. Thomas ran between home and stable when errands needed to be done as he wanted to be the first to spread the news that labor had begun. Mrs. Phelan and Mrs. Hanlon were always at home and both promised to alert Will at the first sign of labor. Pat and Anastasia Toby were neighbors in Common Hall. Anastasia had given birth to a girl, Kathy, in April and so brought the small infant with her as she daily checked on Margaret.

Will loved his Margaret and tried to remain positive even though he was deathly afraid of this birth. It seemed to him Ireland lost more women and babies in childbirth than they ever did in the civil unrest. Prayer was a daily part of their lives and they always prayed the Rosary around the fire after a light evening meal before the children went to bed. Even if Will couldn’t be there because of the stables, it didn’t stop the rest of the family from the custom. Will had taken to praying the Rosary when the church bell rang at noon. It was the signal to begin his trip home for a meal and he traveled while thumbing the beads. This was a sacrifice for him as his work had to be arranged around it. While it was doubtful anyone knew it, on careful examination you could see the large calloused fingers counting out the Hail Marys and his lips moving in rhythm to the repetitious prayers. Occasionally, he would be seen, Rosary beads in one hand and horse lead in the other, making his way to a customer across town.

It was during one of his noontime Rosaries that a breathless Thomas came yelling and racing to the stables. Heads popped out of Troysgate Pub on Vicar Street as Thomas had begun screaming almost before his second foot was across the stoop. Thomas, making a circle without stopping, collected his father and they both raced home. The heads wished them well, shouting they would be praying for a healthy baby and an easy birth. It was sometime late in the day of July 19, 1809, when a wee boy with light brown curly hair made his first noisy appearance in the world. Little Anne cried and squealed with tears of joy as the child flailed about and pushed out his legs looking for the missing sides of his safe cocoon. Both Will and Margaret had decided to name him John in remembrance of the infant born and lost last year. Knowing of the loss of the first John so recently, the parish priest arrived when this John was less than an hour old. He wanted to baptize him in the first few hours after birth. Anne protested that he couldn’t be named John because John had died and she very much wanted this brother of hers to live. With the priest present, it was agreed he would be called John Martin Renehan after St. Martin and placed under the saintly protection of both St. John the Evangelist and St. Martin, saint of the poor. His Baptismal sponsors were Michael Brennan and Bridget Shea. Michael lived in Knockeenbaun but was a frequent visitor to the livery stable and a staunch Catholic. Bridget was a young girl who helped Margaret in the kitchen and sometimes spent the night.

Anne, barefoot and tiny herself, was all smiles when the wee child, now baptized, wrapped in a soft lambskin blanket, was placed in her arms. Still smiling, with tears streaming down her small pink cheeks, she turned her head down toward the tear-wet forehead of her brother and gently kissed him, softly crooning to him with her sweet childish voice. Martin appeared to look directly at her and the kinship that was to last for the rest of Anne’s life began.

Chapter 2

Early Childhood

As winter approached, Martin proved to be not only a healthy baby, but also a happy baby. In his infancy, Martin was short and wiry but very sturdy. He loved to clasp his hands around Anne’s long fingers and pull himself toward her. If he whimpered, Anne was right there to soothe him with her childish whispers and giggles. Christmas came and went with its usual abundance of food and good cheer. Neighbors made the rounds of houses and singing always seemed to emit from somewhere in the tight little court of Common Hall. The Renehans prepared baskets of food with other St. Canice parishioners for those less fortunate. Will and Margaret encouraged Thomas and Anne to find ways to give of themselves. Thomas ran errands for several of the older widows and occasionally he would put both Anne and Martin into the trap and take them on a visit to Matthew Kealy, a baker and spirits merchant on High Street. They would collect the day-old bread and carry it to the Church for distribution to the poor.

As January rolled into February, the children were more than ready for spring. Martin was crawling around the floor and babbling back at Anne in what appeared to be a perfectly intelligent two way conversation. Margaret hummed and sang as she baked, cooked, and cleaned. Thomas was gone most of the time to school and then to the livery stable. At dusk he and his father came home for a light supper. Thomas would take out his school books and review the day’s lessons. Sometimes he would preach them to Anne who followed his every lip movement with unblinking eyes. The next day, she would, in turn, preach them to Martin if she could keep him sitting in one spot long enough.

By Martin’s first birthday, the family began reaping their early spring garden and Margaret Renehan was canning, drying, and storing food for the next winter. She began hanging herbs upside down to dry in any place she found suitable. The house smelled of the herbs as some would fall to the floor and be crushed underfoot. In the evening, it wasn’t unusual for a group to gather in the kitchen: neighbors, visitors, relatives, friends, and sometimes Father William Shea or Father William Grace from St. Canice. Oftentimes, Margaret would make extra pancakes and soda bread. She would put the soda bread seasoned with herbs in a pot with coals on the top and bottom. By the time it was ready, the aroma had the group hungry for the snack.

Conversational topics varied depending on the politics, weather, and season. Catching a snippet here and there like a thief with his ear to the wall one might hear: There’s no poverty under the sheets, or Bad weather is coming, the sheep are under the bushes, and once from Will Renehan on politicians, with a frown from Margaret, If you were cleaning the manure up after them you would know this isn’t a one-horse town.

By now, Martin was toddling around and generally needing constant attention. At five years of age, Anne was his sister, baby sitter, and little mother. She was able to read sufficiently to sit with him for hours pointing out letters of the alphabet, numbers, animals, flowers, and trees. Patrick Kelly lived at Common Hall No. 3 across the court. At 31, he was a bachelor schoolmaster, still living with his mother. He brought books home that were suitable for Anne and she devoured them with gusto. A lending library developed with children’s books for the younger Renehans and adult reading from Laurence for the older Renehans. With the absorption of knowledge, there was never a lack of stimulating conversation as the family gathered from the corners of Kilkenny for their main meal of the day.

By spring of 1811, Margaret was pregnant again. Thomas and Anne were both in school and Martin enjoyed the attention of his less busy mother. They watched the swallows return from South Africa all atwitter with the hope of spring. They counted magpies: one for sorrow, two for joy, three a girl, four a boy, five is silver, six is gold, seven is a secret that’s never to be told. She walked to the livery stable sometimes carrying a snack for Will, examining the wild foxglove, primrose, and cowslips in the ditches. They once watched a hedgehog and family scurrying along beside the stream. Martin shrieked with laughter when they curled into balls, hair poked out like porcupines. He also learned not to touch them.

On November 21, 1811, a third son James was born and baptized with James Holrahen and Mrs. Wall as sponsors. Martin, now about two and a half, was on his own more and more. From Dean Street No. 6, Thomas Kealy a blanket manufacturer, his wife Margaret, and their four children stopped in one Sunday after church bringing a gift of a new blue wool blanket for the infant James. Margaret and Nicholas Kelly, merchants of groceries and spirits on High Street, also stopped in, leaving several days worth of meals and a block of ice for the growing family. They even brought a bottle of Irish whiskey for Will who straight away opened it and offered it around with a God save you. They responded to the toast with a God save you kindly.

Martin and Anne continued to experience a very special kinship. He loved to laugh and had followed her with his eyes even before he could walk. She would carry him in front of her, secured between her two little arms, as she rode on horseback. His mop of hair, which began far back on his forehead, bounced in rhythm with the horses strides. Sometimes she rode beside her father as far as her grandmother’s farm with Martin, all a-giggle, perched in front of her. She taught him the difference between flowers and weeds. When he sat on a stinging nettle, she told him, ’Tis a sign of an early spring and then she showed him how to crush a dock leaf and rub the spots on his bottom to stop the burning. They looked at moss on the north side of trees and Martin liked to pick up chunks of it to see what insects he could send scurrying underneath. He tried to start a collection of small snails until his mother found it from the stench. When Martin continued to have an interest in growing plants, Margaret helped him make a dichotomous key to identify trees.

As the next few years unwound, Margaret sometimes put her little ones in a donkey trap and led them to Lower Damma and the farms of Britt cousins, aunts, and uncles. The farms were just past the crossroads where one could continue on to Ballycallan or choose the upper road to Knockeenbaun or Kilmanagh. The farms were a part of the hundred acre area called the Tulach or Assembly Hill. The large hill was now divided into fields.

Margaret was careful to travel in daylight and often would join Michael and Margaret Kelly and their son Michael who were headed out to a sheep farm in that area. Michael and Margaret were weavers who lived on Dean Street not far from St. Canice. They collected plants along the way for use in dying the wool. Last fall Michael had boiled goldenrod in large pots. When he dipped the new wool in it, the wool took on a rich, deep-mustard color. His wife Margaret wove the yellow wool into a batch of purple wool which had been colored from a pot of boiled spring lilac blossoms. Margaret Kelly had a fringed shawl of the fabric and often wore it as an unspoken advertisement for their business. Although it was only a few miles to the farms, the group sometimes dawdled on the way, watchful for tinkers, gypsies who traveled around in caravans and who could be a bother. They tried to plan their visits at times of least unrest between the landowners, middlemen, and tenants. Assassinations were becoming prevalent—murder really, pure and simple-but there were people gathered on both sides of these political and religious problems and each felt justified in their strong feelings. Everyone became keenly watchful.

The Britt family prided themselves on being able to keep the farms together. They were frugal people, not afraid of hard work. They had benefited by the Catholic Relief Acts of the latter part of the 1700s and received some concessions on their land leases. As generations of Britts passed over the land, they became a part of its history. The family, generations ago, named the fields: the straw field, the kill field (where limestone was burned), the slough field (because it became muddy after a long rain), the big field, the little field of the gate, and the shearing field. There was concern that they would lose a field if they were unable to pay the taxes on it. If this happened, another farmer might pay the taxes which would, in effect, give the other farmer the land.

Down the road to the main farm, the house sat on the left. It was an old house, perhaps built in the late 1600s. It had two full stories and a roof made from slate which always seemed to be in need of repair. Family history says the roof was never made of thatch. Those with thatched roofs knew that any straw fit for thatch had to be cut by a reaper and binder and threshed by a mill. In the fall the reaper would ride through the area with sickle and scythe and cry out grim reaper here, roofs for a bargain. A good thatched roof would last about 20 years. A slate roof lasted much longer except that occasionally individual pieces would flake and need replacing.

It was always a joy to approach the old farm house. Neighbors and relatives shouted greetings and would sometimes join the little family for part of the walk. There was a garden and orchard in the back of the house separated by a large pond. A hedge divided the area between the Britt farmhouse and the house next door. It was typical for farmhouses to be gathered together so as to make a close knit group of neighbors, always ready to help and lend a hand to whatever chore needed to be accomplished. Nearer to the house was the haggard, a small field used to store the fodder for the animals during the winter. The Britt house was stucco and stood slightly taller than the barns across the hard surfaced yard. Attached to one of the barns, at a right angle back toward the front of the Britt house, was the dairy, a cold room where butter was made.

One entered the house on the yard side. There were two windows to the left of the door and two more on the right. There were four windows on the second floor and two chimneys rising out of the roof. A foyer opened to the kitchen on the left with the living area on the right. A pond was visible from the kitchen window, the single window on that side of the house. The abundance of windows made the inside of the home sunny and bright. Upstairs were several bedrooms whose walls reflected the stone. They were painted but not finished as were those downstairs. Additionally, the ceiling was very low by the eaves. Still, it could sleep a number of people and with the presence of the kitchen below and the chimney from the fireplace in the parlor, it was kept warm enough. In the summer, most people slept outside. The parlor had a big window and a marble fireplace. The fireplace and circular hearth made the room warm and comfortable with plenty of space to serve tea and scones. Wattle ceilings were particularly well done in this room with the narrow strips, laid end to end, nailed precisely in place, and then covered with thick plaster. It was a warm room in the winter and on cool spring and fall evenings, it could be most inviting. A fire was lit there at sunset and the Britts sat around it, often joined by neighbors dropping in to chat.

This welcoming home of in-laws warmed Margaret as she rarely got to see her own relatives in Wicklow. When she brought the children, the Britts fawned over them and fed them goodies from the kitchen. Jams, jellies, and butter were spread on fresh scones and they were given sweetened tea to drink. Margaret felt at ease in the farm house and relished the warmth of the hospitality.

Martin enjoyed the whole scene and took it into his memory. He sometimes visited the small house of the live-in workman who walked him past the barns and stables and down to the ducks at the far pond out near the straw field. When there was no one else to entertain Martin, Anne would play with him in the large yard in front of the house and then cross to the barn where the potatoes were stored in a dug out area under the ground floor. Martin loved it when she lifted him into the corn loft for a better view. Because Damma was located on two plains, it was easy to see for a good distance. From the loft, Martin could see the rhubarb and bush fruit, the garden and orchard, and the beginning of the field in back of the working area of sheds and barns. When Martin named the various animals and pointed them out, Anne told him stories about calves and turkeys and chickens and dogs, making up tales as necessary. Behind the loft they could look through the cracks and see the wagons and other farm implements by the haggard. Once out of the barn, the children would cross the field to the hay cart in front of the cowshed. More than once, they picked apples, sat on the hay, ate the fruit, and fell asleep. Margaret would find them there when she was ready to head back home.

In times of planting and harvesting, Thomas would spend weekends at the farm helping with sowing the corn or winter wheat. In the fall, the biggest job was saving the hay since this was feed for the animals in the winter. It needed to be cut when the weather was dry. All hands were put to use on those days to accomplish this chore. Thomas wasn’t allowed to cut but he helped bale and stack it. He didn’t care for the job of moving the farmyard manure as he felt he had enough of that at the livery stable. The dung, however, needed to be spread on the fields and he did as he was told. Margaret told Thomas he was blessed to be moving the big heaps of manure. If you were farther west, she said, you’d be picking stones for the rest of your life. She was referring to the stone covered fields at Connaught. She cautioned him, Don’t you be envious of the rich land owners either. Your windows would be shuttered and lined with lead to be protecting you from the blunderbuss of your enemies, now don’t you know.

Margaret alternated her visits between the larger Britt farm and the farm of Grandfather Thomas Renehan, young Thomas’ namesake. Grandfather Thomas had pure white hair which had turned from medium brown when he was barely 30 years old. This interesting trait seemed to run in the Renehan family. Because Grandfather Thomas had a high hair line, similar to Martin’s, it gave him the look of a wizened old man, a look he often used to his advantage. When he let his beard grow, it was brown, the color of the hair of his youth. It amused him and so he kept the beard, short and trimmed. The Renehan farm was out the Callan Road from Kilkenny and a few miles from the Britt farm. In addition to the crops, the farm was working 60 cows and kept a family or two of pigs. Grandfather Thomas had bought a heifer but found it gave too much milk. Margaret, he said, tell my son Will I bought a couple of calves to feed off the extra milk from the new heifer. But, do you know, that heifer refused to nurse those calves and would slam them against the wall! Broke its tethers and would have nothing to do with the poor calves except to thump them around before I could intervene. It’s a crazy animal, not worth a cuckoo’s spittle! Doesn’t act at all like a heifer. Tell Will he can have it if he wants it. Put it out to field with those horses of his. It’ll give all the milk you be wanting.

Once a year, Grandfather Thomas slaughtered a pig or two. He would skin it to remove the hair and place large pieces of the pig into barrels of brine. After about three months, the pickled pigs were hung on nails in the kitchen to dry out. He always seemed to have a nice hock to give to Margaret when she visited, generally cautioning her to soak it in water to take out the excess salt before cooking it. Why, of course, Grandfather, I shall be sure to do so, Margaret would reply gratefully.

About two months after one of these visits, Martin, now almost five, was joined by yet another brother, Patrick, born April 9, 1814. Martin felt his one sister was all he needed and in fact he didn’t want to be replaced by a baby girl. In his childish mind he thought Anne might prefer playing with a girl more than spending time with him. Margaret’s sister, Catherine Story, was visiting at the time of Patrick’s delivery. She sponsored Patrick at Baptism and helped Margaret for the first few weeks after his birth.

The turbulence in the country continued with the resulting Peace Preservation Act of July 1814. Its passage had been expected to settle some of the unrest but the peelers, as the Special Police were called, expected their upkeep and pay to come from those who most needed protection. Taxes put a burden on the landowners which filtered down to the poorest of tenants. Always this seemed the basis for crimes but taxes were considered a crime by themselves, so the argument continued. Small farmers were kicked off their land for nonpayment of taxes. Sometimes they tried to steal back their crops.

This terrible level of poverty caused entire families to live in hand-dug caves on the side of the road. Children died from malnutrition-related diseases such as dysentery and scurvy and clawed the earth for a place to lay their heads. Eventually some moved their families farther west but the land was poor and the fields were covered in stones.

On February 18, 1817, with the country stagnating in turmoil, the Renehan household rang with the laughter of children as William Renehan, the sixth Renehan male, was born. Martin’s luck was holding out. Anne was still the only girl. Joseph and Alicia Renehan, Will’s brother and sister-in-law, sponsored William but were unable to be there for the Baptism and so it was done with Thomas standing in as proxy.

Just before Christmas 1817, a very tired Margaret gave birth to Agnes Margaret Renehan. Well, well, said Ellen Byrne as she cleaned up the newborn infant, you be William’s wee Irish twin what with both of you born in the same year. Now don’t you be putting up such a fuss, child, I be getting that caul off your face as fast as I can. She’s going to be a seer, Margaret, just you wait.

As it turned out, Agnes was the last sibling. Agnes was baptized in the little house at Commons Hall by a visiting priest at St. Canice. As it happened, he neglected to place her name and the names of her sponsors in the register. By the time of Agnes’ birth, Martin was considered an older sibling and his relationship with Anne was cemented. There were now seven children in the household and Thomas was the only one out of school. Thomas spent his days working alongside his father at the livery stable and seasonally on the farms.

The fall of 1818 was exceptionally rainy. Ripe corn rotted in the fields. Oats were cut, still unripe. The plague descended onto the island and thousands of people died from eating rotten, half-ripe food. Even the potatoes were wet, tasteless, and offered no nourishment. The Renehans were fortunate to have a supply of meats and cheeses from the family farms.

At nine, Martin was a free spirit. He read every book that came his way. If he wasn’t reading, he was in the garden experimenting with the plants. He was losing his main source of books, as Laurence Renehan, because of his abilities, had been accepted as a candidate for the Logic Class at St. Patrick’s College. Laurence left immediately for Maynooth, about 12 miles from Dublin. Martin had already read every book Patrick Kelly had to offer. He started reading the newspapers and following the politics of Ireland as best he could. He listened intently to the kitchen fireside discussions.

In 1819, there was building unrest in the country and small skirmishes, murders, vandalism, and beatings were becoming commonplace. Although they centered more in the Galmoy area north of Kilkenny, the assizes were held in Kilkenny. Each sensational event thumped in Martin’s chest and he waited to see how his family reacted before he could breath easily again. There had been years of decline for Ireland under the rule of England. This was hastened by the transfer of power to Westminster in 1800 under the Act of Union. To make it more distasteful to the Irish, this Act could not be repealed or changed except at Westminster and the House of Lords where there was no Irishman to represent them. It was the growing differences between London and Dublin that fomented the troubles. This was government without representation for those being governed. Martin heard and saw the emotions of those affected by this unfairness. While he didn’t understand it all, if it affected his family and friends, it affected him. He wondered how life could go on with all of this whirling around him.

God became a refuge for Martin and he stopped in the chapel daily. When he timed it right, he attended Mass and received Communion. In the spring with Lent drawing to a close, Margaret hurried the children out the door and to the chapel. It’s to the kissing of the cross we must be going, she said. You need to be cleaned up and scrubbed behind your ears as everyone you know will be looking at you.

Is this when we get the blessed water, Mum? asked Martin seriously.

That’s tomorrow morning, Martin. Margaret peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. Why?

Well, I was hoping to be getting some to sprinkle on my garden.

Looking at Martin with amusement and warmth, Margaret replied, I suppose if we can sprinkle it on the animals, we can just as easily sprinkle it on your garden. I’ll ask Father Grace to give you a bit extra for yourself but you’ll need to take your own little bottle.

Glory be, Margaret whispered to Will, if those seeds don’t come up, I’m going to have to sneak in some young plants. He won’t be worth living with. I often don’t have any idea what goes on in that head of his.

When spring turned to early summer, the garden was teeming with vegetables. Mum, spoke Martin with some reflectiveness in his voice, is it okay if I take some of these to the Shee Alms House to be given to the poor?

Well, now, me young man, that’s a fine idea you have there. I’ll go with you to be sure you’ll not be getting into trouble and take a few loaves of me own bread. They hooked up the pony and trap, loaded it with a good variety of leaf vegetables, beans, rhubarb, and cabbages, and started down High Street to Rose Inn Street. It was a fine, soft, fresh day and they were both in a good mood. On the way back, they stopped at William Cody’s, the rope maker, to pick up some straw rope for Will. He would twist it into an O shape to make an Irish horse collar. This would be put over the horse’s head when it was going to work and tied to the harness. For a particularly frisky horse or stubborn mule, he wove briar withes into it. The rope was put into the trap before they crossed the street to the Tholsel. Although the Tholsel used to be the place where tolls were paid, it was now a covered market place with a lantern clock tower above its five double arches. Margaret bought sugar and a stick sucker for Martin. Son, said Margaret, looking at him proudly, let us be spending a few minutes at St. Canice and light us a candle and give thanks for your good fortune with your crop. They led the pony trap up the hill and tethered it to the post. Reverently, mother and son bowed their heads and entered the little rundown chapel that was such an integral part of their lives.

Chapter 3

A Young Martin At Home

The Renehans were considered well educated. Although schooling was not mandated in Ireland, both Will and Margaret had completed the highest grade possible in Catholic school. Will attended school in Kilkenny and Margaret attended school in County Wicklow. They wanted their children to be educated, informed, and of course, happy. They instilled in their children a love for the written word and a passion for Ireland. Their modest home in Kilkenny continued to be a gathering place for a rather colorful blend of people. Sitting almost in the shadow of the large round tower of St. Canice Cathedral, it was likely you would find patriots, thespians, troubadours, musicians, and journalists all sitting around the hearth in animated discussion of the issues of the day. At times, the atmosphere would become so charged with heated emotions it seemed to challenge the blaze of the peat fire. In the evenings a passerby might hear a lute or fiddle and catch a few words of Irish history recorded in the many ballads and songs of Ireland. On those wondrous but rare occurrences when a bard, an old Celtic poet, passed through with his harp and epic songs of Ireland, the entire community gathered about the hearth, hanging at open doors and windows and spreading into the square of Common Hall. Anne and Martin thrived on these occasions, joining in wide-eyed, often tearful wonderment at the playing of the harp, the soulful singing, and the heart-wrenching sagas of these traveling minstrels. If hatred of England didn’t pulse in an Irishman’s blood before they performed, it would when they finished.

It was in such a gathering where Anne, a young lady of 16, first acquainted herself with William Fitzgerald of the Jessfield Fitzgeralds. William, never Will or Willy, was of rather noble birth if Ireland can be considered to have nobility. He could trace his Fitzgerald family history back to when absolute monarchs ruled over entire counties of Ireland. Historically, his ancestor, Maurice Fitzgerald, was given the manor of Maynooth by Strongbow in 1176. He, in turn, erected a castle there to protect his family from the native Irish. The Maynooth Castle was enlarged and rebuilt in 1426 by the sixth Earl of Kildare and eventually became an Ireland powerbase. This was the beginning of the original split between the Fitzgeralds and England as the English monarchy disliked the power the Fitzgerald family was amassing. Besides their significant land, they had fleets of ships roaming the seashore, protecting the fledgling country from invasion. The English solution was to tax them heavily, strip their fields of lumber, and demand allegiance to the English king.

Of course as is true in most Irish families, each generation or two produced the brave patriot who was drawn toward the insurrectionists. One of William’s ancestors, Silken Thomas Fitzgerald, (he acquired his nickname because of the fine clothes he wore) was proudly remembered because of his rebellion against the King of England. Silken Thomas was also Lord Offaly, son of Garret Og, the ninth Earl of Kildare. When his father, Garret Og, was arrested and held in the Tower of London, Silken rode to the well-fortified Dublin Castle, threw down the sword of state, and declared himself an enemy of the King. Unfortunately, England defeated the family. They executed Silken and five of his uncles in London and took over the stronghold of Maynooth. There was a large yew tree at Maynooth, said to be over 700 years old. Legend had it that Silken played the harp beneath its branches on his last night at Maynooth. He likely played Greensleeves for his Ireland:

"I have been ready at your hand,

To grant whatever you might crave,

I have both waged life and land,

Your love and good will for to have."

Currently Maynooth Castle stood guard, although in a much deteriorated state, at the entrance to St. Patrick’s College in County Kildare where Laurence now resided. This college, officially known as the Roman Catholic College of St Patrick, was founded by an Act of Parliament of Ireland in 1795. It was already well-known for the education of Irish Catholic priests. During the centuries after the taking of Maynooth, William Fitzgerald’s family underwent a transformation from sword to sage, becoming known as gentle, wise scholars, teachers, businessmen, and farmers.

In County Kilkenny the Fitzgeralds had been considered the local historians for generations. Being blessed with an exceptional memory, William retained a vast knowledge of Irish history and consequently, he was sometimes considered a bit stuffy--which was definitely something the Renehans were not! The Renehans were lively and animated, full of Irish wit, and forever bustling about the community. Music, singing and dancing were as much a part of their daily lives as their solid love of Catholicism. Anne, being well-read herself and used to defending her ideas, teasingly accused William of debauchery. Her flashing and darting pale blue eyes were accented by the smile crinkles at their outer edges. Her deep auburn hair with its inclination to curl framed her small fair-skinned face and enhanced the cluster of freckles covering the bridge of her nose. Her hands were not the delicate hands of a genteel lady but rather her long fingers showed signs of her tomboy childhood and her passion for digging in the garden. When she cocked her head, chuckled, and let loose with her broad Irish smile, William fell easily and completely under her spell.

William’s father James lived on 35 acres in Kilmanagh on family land. They had leased acreage scattered about as did many of the larger farmers. James Fitzgerald and his brother John farmed nine acres in Kileen and an additional 11 acres in Kilmanagh. None of the tracts, however, was as large as the farm they owned. Less than a mile away, they held about 12 acres in Knockeenbaun at the bottom of the hill. It was a rich piece of land and suitable for farming or livestock. With no house on the property, it was a constant source of worry as it had to be continually protected from squatters. The Knockeenbaun land was leased from the Earl of Normanton and so they were forced to tithe to him. William’s brother James, or Jamie as the family called him, was a carpenter by trade but also had a business in Kilkenny where he sold spirits, flour, provisions, and hardware. Jamie and his family lived above the store on High Street. William was working in the store and delivering purchases to stores in Kilkenny when he began courting Anne. He was a few years older and made a striking contrast as he was nearly a head taller. He had dark, almost black hair and sported a dark mustache with hints of blonde. He kept both meticulously trimmed. When William called on Anne during their courtship, his breeches were clean and his shirt sun-bleached. While he certainly didn’t need it for walking, he carried a walking stick which he had fitted with an ebony colored marble ball handgrip. Martin, having noted William’s attire, would tease Anne saying, You’d best be sprucing up. Silken has come to call.

At this same time, northern County Kilkenny was experiencing more than its usual difficulties. The smaller farmers were paying a tenth of their crop annually on wheat, oats, meadow, barley, rape, and even potatoes. They tried to work the rent out in crops and labor to the landlord. This allowed the landlord to make very extensive improvements around his personal property with little out-of-pocket expense. The less scrupulous landowner subagents were ruthless in that they wanted money and not the crops. The amount of money was arbitrary at the discretion of the agent. Potatoes