Finding our Gleeson Roots
Over the years I asked my father many times if he was interested in going back to Ireland to visit his father and mother's birthplace. The last time that I asked the question was on the occasion of my parents 50th wedding anniversary celebration in June 1987. My sister, Ann, and I thought a trip to Ireland would be an appropriate gift. Once again he declined saying he wasn't interested by citing a comment from his brother, Walter, "There is nothing there, I can see why Dad wanted to leave." Eight months later (February 1988) my father died without knowing that he was really missing something special.
In 1992 shortly after my daughter, Leah, graduated from Boston College, she and two other fellow graduates took off on a backpack, touring trip of Europe. There last stop was in London, where I arranged to meet up with Leah. The two of us then flew to Dublin, rented a car at the airport and set out to explore the West of Ireland with the plan to stop in Youghal (my grandfather's birthplace) on the loop back to Dublin.
Back in 1992 there weren't many highways in Ireland, just lots of windy two-lane roads that made driving a challenge. When we picked up the rental car, we discovered it had a manual shift with the steering wheel on the right-hand side of the car. This also meant driving in the left lane instead of the right. We had only gone a few miles from the airport before my lack of driving skill became evident. We hit a curb and blew a front tire. Along came an Irishman who offered to help change the tire. However when he closed the hatch-back, he caught the radio aerial and snapped it off. So here we were driving on an old spare tire and no radio. Fortunately Dave Connolly, who many years later gave his life while serving his country in Afghanistan, had given Leah a tape of Irish music. So we spent the next 7 days listening and enjoying the same Irish tunes over and over.
The day we arrived in Youghal we had no idea of how to contact relatives, but we decided the first thing to do was to find a B&B. When I told the proprietor why we were in town and what was my last name, she told us that we shouldn't be staying with her but rather at the Mt. Carmel B&B up the road. The Mt. Carmel was run by Mary Gleeson Lynch, a family member. After we checked into separate rooms I asked Mary the cost for the two nights and paid her in advance. She then requested that I sign the guest register, which I did. After Leah and I got refresh and return the living area, Mary said that she was surprised to see our last name (Gleason). She said that they don't see many Gleason visitors in Youghal; it is traditionally a Tipperary name. And when she said it was her maiden name, I responded, "I knew that." She was startled until I told her how the women down the road had pointed us to the Mt. Carmel. It was very exciting to meet Mary and we quickly established what was our relationship; our grandfathers were Gleeson brothers. Note: in Ireland the name is spelled Gleeson and in the USA, Gleason.
The first place that Mary sent us was down to the Gleeson farm, which was still a functioning 220 acre dairy farm run by my cousin, David Gleeson. David and his wife, Bernie, lived in the farm house but next door were the remains of the original Gleeson home. The walls of the old house were made some form hardened mud; the roof, which was falling down, was thatched; and the floor was dirt. Each room had a hearth, so the house could be heated with peat moss. When I first walked into the old house, I was overcome with emotion. It was hard to imagine my grandfather growing up in what could be described as cave. But more importantly, I couldn't get my father out of my mind and thinking about he would have felt if was standing in my shoes. Leah could see how emotional I was. It was definitely one of the most emotional experiences that I have ever had. The old house is now demolished but fortunately Mary's husband, Maurice, let me borrow his video camera and that moment has been preserved forever.
In honor of our visit Mary quickly organized a party at the B&B, and we got to meet about 50 relatives, many of whom brought their musical instruments to entertain. But the biggest surprise of the evening came when I found out that no one in the family drinks alcoholic beverages, a contradiction to the stereotype of an Irish party. And once again, I couldn't stop thinking of my Dad and how much he would loved the whole visit.
Putting names and relationships together was made easier by a cousin who furnished a family genealogy. See link below.
In 1992 shortly after my daughter, Leah, graduated from Boston College, she and two other fellow graduates took off on a backpack, touring trip of Europe. There last stop was in London, where I arranged to meet up with Leah. The two of us then flew to Dublin, rented a car at the airport and set out to explore the West of Ireland with the plan to stop in Youghal (my grandfather's birthplace) on the loop back to Dublin.
Back in 1992 there weren't many highways in Ireland, just lots of windy two-lane roads that made driving a challenge. When we picked up the rental car, we discovered it had a manual shift with the steering wheel on the right-hand side of the car. This also meant driving in the left lane instead of the right. We had only gone a few miles from the airport before my lack of driving skill became evident. We hit a curb and blew a front tire. Along came an Irishman who offered to help change the tire. However when he closed the hatch-back, he caught the radio aerial and snapped it off. So here we were driving on an old spare tire and no radio. Fortunately Dave Connolly, who many years later gave his life while serving his country in Afghanistan, had given Leah a tape of Irish music. So we spent the next 7 days listening and enjoying the same Irish tunes over and over.
The day we arrived in Youghal we had no idea of how to contact relatives, but we decided the first thing to do was to find a B&B. When I told the proprietor why we were in town and what was my last name, she told us that we shouldn't be staying with her but rather at the Mt. Carmel B&B up the road. The Mt. Carmel was run by Mary Gleeson Lynch, a family member. After we checked into separate rooms I asked Mary the cost for the two nights and paid her in advance. She then requested that I sign the guest register, which I did. After Leah and I got refresh and return the living area, Mary said that she was surprised to see our last name (Gleason). She said that they don't see many Gleason visitors in Youghal; it is traditionally a Tipperary name. And when she said it was her maiden name, I responded, "I knew that." She was startled until I told her how the women down the road had pointed us to the Mt. Carmel. It was very exciting to meet Mary and we quickly established what was our relationship; our grandfathers were Gleeson brothers. Note: in Ireland the name is spelled Gleeson and in the USA, Gleason.
The first place that Mary sent us was down to the Gleeson farm, which was still a functioning 220 acre dairy farm run by my cousin, David Gleeson. David and his wife, Bernie, lived in the farm house but next door were the remains of the original Gleeson home. The walls of the old house were made some form hardened mud; the roof, which was falling down, was thatched; and the floor was dirt. Each room had a hearth, so the house could be heated with peat moss. When I first walked into the old house, I was overcome with emotion. It was hard to imagine my grandfather growing up in what could be described as cave. But more importantly, I couldn't get my father out of my mind and thinking about he would have felt if was standing in my shoes. Leah could see how emotional I was. It was definitely one of the most emotional experiences that I have ever had. The old house is now demolished but fortunately Mary's husband, Maurice, let me borrow his video camera and that moment has been preserved forever.
In honor of our visit Mary quickly organized a party at the B&B, and we got to meet about 50 relatives, many of whom brought their musical instruments to entertain. But the biggest surprise of the evening came when I found out that no one in the family drinks alcoholic beverages, a contradiction to the stereotype of an Irish party. And once again, I couldn't stop thinking of my Dad and how much he would loved the whole visit.
Putting names and relationships together was made easier by a cousin who furnished a family genealogy. See link below.