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The Garngad Heritage |
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The Polis – A Reprise
For a large part of my working life I was a police officer, hopefully a good one and I have documented a few incidents in the original script. The first 15 years I served with the City of Glasgow Police and on amalgamation, served the remaining 15 years with Strathclyde Police. I have been asked if I ever experienced bigotry during my service? This is a touchy subject but I will answer it in this way. I have been present when a police officer, who did not know my religious persuasion (not a Catholic) made bigoted remarks about Catholic colleagues and been present when a police officer (a Catholic) made bigoted remarks about Protestant colleagues. On one occasion in an office I was working in, a colleague present, made a remark, within the hearing of other officers, strangers to our area, who had entered with prisoners, which I never had any doubt conveyed my religious persuasion. This colleague suffered acute embarrassment when I turned towards him and let go with a verbal tirade that would have made “Big” Gracie smile. Could I have went further in my Police career? Was I promoted beyond my capability? Had I dedicated and immersed myself completely with nothing else but a police mentality it is possible that I could have progressed further. I have seen others with this mentality climb up the ranks. Was I promoted beyond my capability? I think that is for others to decide. I did well in my initial training as a police officer which ended with me being the top student from the City of Glasgow Police and others who were well below me achieved a higher rank. There were officers who in my opinion achieved high rank undeservedly through favouritism & nepotism and others who didn’t who would have made great senior officers. One colleague I remember who had achieved the unthinkable, a 100% result in his exam marks at the Police College and whom I believe won the baton of honour there (the award to the overall best student), never got beyond the rank that I achieved. I’ll say no more. I have given some examples of some police experiences in my original ‘Garngad’ submission which may have been a little serious. I now offer a few more which in retrospect were quite amusing. I had a colleague Robert (Bob) Elder, now sadly no longer with us who died in service, who was a bit of an enigma. Bob was a very serious and dour character at the best of times but when he relaxed, he could be quite entertaining. He was required occasionally to be the Divisional Van Driver but when not driving, his usual Beat was 11½10, which stretched from Queen Mary Street at London Road, Bridgeton, west in London Road to and round Bridgeton Cross into Dalmarnock Road and from there to Dunne Street. My usual Beat area was 15½16 which purely for this information stretched from London Road at Orr Street (Bridgeton Cross) eastwards along London Road to Fielding Street where the current Divisional Headquarters are located. One day while patrolling with Bob near Bridgeton Cross, a car containing C.I.D. officers drew up alongside us. These officers questioned Bob about the whereabouts of someone, whom Bob had extensive knowledge of; they were interested in talking to but despite Bob’s own questions as to why they were so interested, they repeatedly refused to explain why they wished to speak to the gentleman in question. The impasse continued for some time then Bob relented. He informed them that the party of interest lived in one of the large housing Estates on the periphery of the City and gave them the fellow’s address. At this information and without any further explanation, the C.I.D. officers zoomed off in their car. Bob with his ‘come with me young fella’ gesture with his head, made his way to nearby premises where he was always welcome (on my Beat), followed by me of course and telephoned his ‘friend’ and warned him that the C.I.D. where on their way to ‘interview’ him. Bob’s comment “That will learn them for keeping me in the dark” or words to that effect. Bob Elder again. In the earlier days of my service, whenever a member of the public made a complaint that was usually repeated, a complaint card was issued for you to deal with the matter then complete and return it within about 10 days. Bob was issued with a card to deal with a complaint about persons urinating in the backcourts late at night in Ruby Street (just off Dalmarnock Road) facing the old Tram Depot. This was a genuine complaint as the marks of dried urine were regularly visible on the rear wall of the tenement building and on the ground at the wall. Bob was annoyed at being issued with the complaint card but was determined to eradicate the complaint. We were on night shift at the time and I was on my usual Beat neighbouring the great man when off we went to Ruby Street. In the backcourt, we secreted ourselves in the midden, that’s ash pit or refuse area for those who are not fully aware of Glasgow colloquialisms and waited. After midnight we heard the sound of someone entering the backcourt and shortly afterwards, the hissing of urine being expelled from a body. Bob shone his powerful torch directly on the offender and there, held terrified for a moment in the beam of light was a young woman, with knickers at her ankles doing the business. She screamed, leapt up, knickers still at ankle length, the urine still being expelled and left the scene with great alacrity. Bob had no more complaints about persons urinating in the backcourt at Ruby Street after that. One weekend, we were working an extended tour of duty while on late shift. To explain, our normal duty would have been from 2pm until 11pm but on Fridays and Saturdays, with plenty of money being available for overtime, we were required to work from 2pm until 1am. The night shift, normally working from 11pm to 7am the following morning were required to start at 9pm so that in fact, two shifts were on the street between 9pm and 1am. Patrolling London Road after 11pm one Saturday night with my neighbour, I saw the extension light in London Road for the police box in Kirkpatrick Street (on my Beat) flashing. This was before the advent of the personal radio for communications and the police were obviously required somewhere. We made our way up Kirkpatrick Street, answered the summons and got the message, “There is a naked woman wandering about Heron Street”, would you believe, Bob Elder’s Beat again. Bob was not on the street that night. My neighbour and I made our way with utmost haste into Heron Street about quarter of a mile away, searched but disappointedly, found nothing. However, we did notice a fairly noisy party in progress, in a house one up in a tenement building, which we knew, was occupied by one of our better known Bridgeton miscreants. We made our way up the stair, found the front door of the house opened, invited ourselves in and saw the walls in one of the rooms, covered with blood. There was broken glass on the floor everywhere. We were of the firm belief that someone had been seriously assaulted in the house but no one was talking. A little later, two of the night shift sergeants, who had come on duty at 9pm and who obviously had been visiting most of the local licensed hostelries in the area, entered with a lady who was wearing nothing but a fur coat. I noticed blood, which had apparently run down her right arm inside the coat sleeve dripping a little the end of her hand. I had no doubt that she had been assaulted. One of the night shift sergeants, now showing more than a little evidence of the past few hours then said “We’ll have to get you to the Royal Infirmary Hen (Hen, another Glasgow colloquialism for young lady) tae have you fixed up” then he said to me, “C’mon with me young fella so that there is no allegations”. I wondered what meant? The sergeant then ushered the lady into a separate room and I followed as I had been ordered (I have to mention at this juncture she was a member of the oldest profession and known to the police). In the room the sergeant said to the woman, “C’mon Hen, ye’ll have to get dressed” but the lady, being a little distraught said, “Ah canny sergeant, a’m too embarrassed”. With that, the sergeant whipped off her fur coat leaving her as nature intended. With an “Oh sergeant” she bent forward in a semi foetal position covering her groin area with her right hand and her mammarys with her left forearm. The sergeant retrieved a pair of lady’s undies from somewhere and said “C’mon Hen, get these on” but the lady refused to cooperate. The sergeant then lifted up one of her legs and placed it in one of the legs of the panties then carried out the same procedure with the other leg and pulled them up as far as he could. The lady, still in semi foetal position refused to move her hands and without hesitation, my senior officer slapped her across the right hand, which was still covering her private area. Her immediate reaction was to exclaim “Oh sergeant” drop her left arm which was covering her upper body and place her left hand on top of her right. At that the sergeant, with both his hands, threw her sagging bosoms upwards. The poor female, with another “Oh sergeant” removed both her hands from the groin position and placed one over each exposed breast. The sergeant, quick as a flash pulled up the knickers to her waist level. I had to avert my gaze. Eventually, he managed to persuade and assist her to get fully dressed. He then said to me “You’ll be off duty soon son, away ye go we’ll do the report” and I breathed a great sigh of relief. I was never so glad to get off duty after what I had witnessed. A few weeks later when I was on early shift, about 1 o’clock on a sunny afternoon, I met the aforementioned lady in London Road at Kirkpatrick Street. I asked her how she got on at the Royal Infirmary and she said “Oh smashin’, see thae nurses, they’re absolute magic, I got stitches in my right arm” and she proceeded to roll up he sleeve and show me her stitches. She then said “ I also got stitches here” and at that, she turned round, lifted her skirt up at the back to show me her stitches. I didn’t know that she also had been assaulted on the buttocks with a bottle. I had to avert my gaze once again. These things could only happen in broad daylight in Brig’ton. One last smidgeon from the annals of police memory and it featured Kirkpatrick Street yet again. The police box was situated about 50 yards up the street from London Road. Police boxes were constructed in such a fashion that when a member of the public wanted police assistance, they opened a spring loaded metal covering on the outside of the box and spoke into a large speaker. There was an internal ‘phone, mounted on the wall inside for the use of the Beat Constable. Someone in their wisdom decided to make communications more public friendly and constructed a square box inside, with a telephone, with a small door that could be locked internally by a small draw bolt. The ‘phone was available for public use by opening the original spring loaded metal covering. When both the outside and inside doors of the box were opened, a member of the public would be able to see into the police box. Alas! For
one poor fellow. I
wasn’t working that Beat that evening, I was further up the road on
the Celtic Park Beat and I was on late shift, but an esteemed colleague,
Angus Wilson was. I
was speaking on the ‘phone to Angus from the police box at Kerrydale
Street (at Celtic Park) when he said. “Did you here that, will you
come down and neighbour me”.
What had happened was that a young gentleman, unaware of the
changes to the more public friendly communications system, opened the
outer door of the box and shouted in “F**k the polis” while Angus
was on the ‘phone and the internal door of the box opened.
The asterisked word is one, which rhymes with pluck. Angus, with an arm that was faster than a
speeding bullet, shot his hand through the aperture and grabbed the poor
unsuspecting young man’s hair.
I of course made my way down to Kirkpatrick Street to assist and
on arrival, I witnessed a male head, halfway into the public friendly
communications system, hair still held by my colleague’s clutching
hand. The young man
later plead guilty to a Breach of the Peace. Ah! such is life
in the polis. WHAT NOW I still enjoy my hobbies, photography and lawn bowls. My camera equipment now consists solely of a Casio, 4-megapixel digital camera that I am very fond off. I use it mostly for taking family pictures but I have taken some rather good landscapes with it as well. I am a pretty average bowler but although I have never won a singles competition, I have won a number of doubles with a partner. I have now started going over to my oldest daughter’s (Anne) house on a Friday night to play chess with my grandson, Paul Michael McDonald, now aged 10. I am not a good chess player but I do know all the moves and I generally win. Paul however is learning fast. He has beaten me on a few occasions when I make a silly mistake but he is a bit of a masochist. When he has the upper hand and the ability to checkmate, he deliberately takes all of my men off the board leaving my poor king isolated. I still beat him more than he beats me but he is learning fast. Once a month, I may have mentioned it before; I have lunch in the Glasgow City Centre with my ‘wee’ brother Tommy. After lunch we usually repair to the ‘Pot Still’ pub in Hope Street, which has the largest selection of Single Malts in the Country on display. They usually have on offer a ‘Malt of the Month’ cheaper than all others. We never have more than two drams in the ‘Pot Still’. (I lie, this month, we had three). If we have enjoyed the ‘Malt of the Month’, it’s the same again, but on occasion, the second one is our own particular choice. Before drinking, we toast “Big Robey” our late father. Pop did enjoy the occasional trip to the ‘Pot Still’. Still fond of travelling, still see Betty, all being well every two years. God willing, I will be seeing her in March 2006 at the 100th birthday of her mother-in-law, Mary Valentine in Nebraska, USA. Recently I have gone over the number of Countries I have set foot in. There is of course the ‘home’ Countries, Scotland, Ireland, England & Wales, then the USA where technically, the separate States are equivalent to any full size Country. I have been, set foot in California, Oregon, Washington State on the West coast, gone further north and spent a few days in British Columbia, Canada. I have even travelled south from San Diego in southern California into Tijuana in Mexico (I think I was the tallest man in town that day). Other States I have visited include Idaho, Wyoming, Montana, Nebraska, Minnesota, New York, New Jersey, North Carolina where I travelled across the border and had lunch in Virginia. I have been to Nevada, walked across the Hoover Dam stood in the middle with one foot in Nevada and the other in Arizona, incidentally in different time zones. My left foot was one hour behind my right foot. Who says you can’t go back in time. I have been to Massachusetts where my cousin, Harry McFarlane took me to the spot where the Pilgrim Fathers apparently landed in America. My favourite spots in the USA? Must be Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming, Crater Lake in Oregon where bluest of blue water lies at the foot of an extinct volcano and Hurricane Ridge in Washington State. What a view when you reach the summit after a 10-mile drive uphill. The peaks of the Olympia Peninsula, Washington are and awesome sight. I of course have been elsewhere, to France, Spain, Portugal, Germany, Italy, Greece, Cyprus, Israel, Slovenia in the former Yugoslavia, Austria, the Czech Republic, China, Hong Kong, Singapore, New Zealand. I’ve stopped over in Holland, Malta, Sudan on my way to Kenya on National Service and sailed though the Suez Canal and stopped momentarily in Egypt on a troop ship on my way back home to Scotland. I’ve been around and still want to travel to other places, hopefully with my wife Anne. Maybe I should rest; after all have just turned 69. DISSAPOINTMENT My one big disappointment was failing to make the McLaughlin, Australia connection. My grandfather, “Red” Harry’s sister Mary settled in Australia after marrying her husband Will? His surname is not known to any of the ‘family’. I have a photo of Mary, Will and their son ‘wee Billie’ which I identified as being taken in a photographic studio in a suburb in Melbourne, Australia and another photograph of Mary, her husband and children with relations at a later date. I contacted local Associations, newspapers in the area where the studio photo was taken, a Melbourne/State of Victoria ‘National’ newspaper and the Catholic Archdiocese of Melbourne all without success. A journalist on one of the newspapers contacted me but without the surname of Mary’s husband, success was nigh impossible. Was Mary’s name really Mary? I have a sneaky feeling she was actually Maria Teresa McLaughlin, born on 23rd April 1893. My reason for this view is that children usually were referred to by a ‘pet’ or shortened version of their name; e.g. Elizabeth (Lizzie), Catherine (Cassie), Edward (Eddy), Henry (Harry) & Thomas (Tom) and that Maria Teresa may have been called Mary. Evidence? On the 1911 Irish Census, there is a two column entry with (i) total children born alive (to the McLaughlin’s of Keeloges) and (ii) children still living. In column (i) that figure is given as 12 and in (ii) 10; i.e. Tom and Lizzie had 12 children and 2 had not survived until the 1911 Census. I have positively identified the 12 children born to my Great grandparents and none of them was baptised or given the simple name of Mary. Eight of these I know to have married and survived. One elderly contact from the USA informed me that on a visit in the 1930’s, Great Granny Lizzie informed her that she had given birth to 14 children. I don’t believe that story. I doubt very much that my dear old Great Granny would have given birth to any more children after the 1911 Census, when she was in her late 50’s. ‘Mary’ McLaughlin I suspect would certainly have married sometime between 1910 and 1920 between the marrying ages of 17 to 27. I am convinced that ‘Mary’ was/is in fact Maria Teresa McLaughlin. I have tried one more shot in the dark, this month to a Catholic Publication in Melbourne but I am not that all hopeful? FINALE Although my known Irish genealogy stretches over approximately 215 years, it does touch four centuries, 1700’s - 2000’s. One can only wonder at some of the important and historical events that my family may have been close to or even witnessed. When (Old) Henry, born circa 1790 was a boy about 8 years old; he would be young Henry then; where was he and what could have happened in close proximity to his home? Henry would probably be working on the family farm, probably Keeloges in October 1798 (education almost non existent at the time) when a certain captured French Ship of the Line, The Hoche, with its prisoners, was brought into Loughswilly and the prisoners were put ashore. One of the prisoners in a French uniform was the Irish Patriot, Theobold Wolfe Tone who had gone unrecognised until then but was identified by Royalist, a former Trinity College colleague and arrested. Could Henry from his position on the hill see the ship arriving, made his way down to the Swilly and witnessed the arrest? We will never know where he was that day. Henry’s son John was born circa 1811 and died 1880. In 1837, Queen Victoria ascended the British throne. The Great Irish Famine began in 1945 but John obviously survived it, married and sired 6 sons and one daughter. How many of them survived the famine? I believe the majority of his family did survive. Sponsors to “Big” Tom’s children may have been Tom’s brothers, Henry, Hugh, John and his sister Unity as these names appear on the Church baptismal records. Some friends, relatives undoubtedly and possibly immediate family would not have survived the famine. My Great
grandparents were born in the 1850’s and in 1872, the year that
“Big” Tom McLaughlin and “Lizzie” McClure married, Legislation
was introduced which provided for secret ballots in Parliamentary
Elections. Also, the
penny-farthing bicycle first appeared in Ireland, (how’s that for
useless information). Tom and Lizzie had 12 children stretching over a period of 22 years, 1873 – 1895 and towards the end of the century and into the following, at least two of their children, William and Henry (Red Harry) made their way to Glasgow, Scotland and married and settled in the Garngad. I am aware that a brother Edward also married and settled in Glasgow; family have referred to him as “Springburn Eddie”. I believe the fabled Mary (Maria Teresa) was in Scotland at one time and if so, she would have lived near family. On the other side of the family, two of “Red” Harry’s relations, cousin Henry McLaughlin (Red Henry’s son) and 2nd cousin, Henry (Harry) Cassidy were killed in World War 1 fighting for the British; Henry McLaughlin, apparently the day before the war ended. Before WW1, Tommy (Delaney) McLaughlin, born 1900, at the age of 7 left the Garngad, made his way to Buncrana, the ancestral home. As a teenager, he joined the original IRA and fought against the British for Irish Independence. He later joined the Irish Free State Army and in 1922, was one of its members to relieve the “Black and Tans” at Buncrana Barracks. Incidentally, a story I heard when I was in Ireland in 2004 with my brother was, as a teenager, Tommy and his ‘uncle’ by marriage, his own father’s brother-in-law and Martha Jane’s husband, John Martin, were chased over the Inishown Hills by the British Army. My understanding though it was never made plain was that they were both members of the original IRA. A tradition has now been in progress fover the past few years that the current John Martin of ‘Keeloges’ the grandson of the ‘old’ John sends Anne & I a St. Patrick’s Day card enclosing a piece of shamrock. This year was no exception. On opening the card not only was the shamrock there but also small note from John indicating that his grandfather had been killed not in 1916 (in Buncrana), as I had previously understood, but in Vlaanderen, Belgium in WW1. It would appear that John Martin, ‘the old’ had enlisted in the British Army, decided to ‘absent’ himself from ‘the colours’ as he felt his allegiance to his own native land was stronger at the time of the Easter Uprising, was later detained and after a lapse of a short period, spent about 6 weeks doing ‘jankers’ (detention) then sent to the Front in Belgium where he was killed in action on 17th August 1917. Another one of ‘the Irish family’ who fought and died for the United Kingdom during the First World War. On the other side of the world, in the United States, shortly after the onset of WW1, another Tommy McLaughlin, (“Red” Harry’s brother), the only one of the family who crossed the pond, married a girl from Glasgow in 1915. This Tommy lived through the troubles of American prohibition, Al Capone gangsterism and the Wall Street Crash, in the ‘20’s. His son, another Tommy McLaughlin fought with distinction, with the US Forces in the Philippines under General McArthur during WW2 World events during my own life. Born 1936, this was the year of King Edward viii. He ascended the British Throne on 20th January, two months before I entered this world and abdicated on 10th December. He then became and remained the Duke of Windsor for the remainder of his life. WW2 started in 1939 and ended, 1945. During this period, the ugly events which had taken place at Auschwitz, Dachau, Buchenwald, Belsen and other concentration camps were revealed to the World. There are people today who foolishly don’t believe these events occurred. I left school, St. Mungo’s Academy in 1951, joined the Black Watch for National Service in 1954, completed service in August1956 but was warned that demob may be delayed because of the silly incursion of the British and French into the Suez Canal area. Fortunately, I was not required. I was a tailor’s cutter until 1959 when I joined the police and served for 30 years, leaving in March 1989. One memorable date during my service? I am not really a football fan but in May 1967, Glasgow Celtic became the first British Football Team to win the coveted European Cup. The night they brought the Cup home to Glasgow and to their Stadium, I was a cop, on duty in uniform and I was there. I now take things easy. My sister Betty, emigrating to the United States early in the 1960’s, widowed in 1992, has seen the following in her adopted Country. In the first decade she was there, the assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy on 22nd November 1963 took place in Dallas, Texas. Lee Harvey Oswald was arrested within a few hours but two days later, Jack Ruby shot him dead at Dallas Police Office. Troublesome times in America. A few years later, JFK’s brother Bobby and Martin Luther King were also assassinated as the Civil Rights movement gathered strength, racial discrimination was abolished and integration introduced in schools in the South where it was prohibited in some of the States, and public protests at the futility of the war in Vietnam (one of America’s shame’s) eventually caused the then President to bring his troops home. Lately, the atrocity of 11th September 2001, and here I insert a few words from my cousin, Grace (McLaughlin) Chamides, born and reared in the GARNGAD and who lives in Brooklyn New York: “My
husband Joe and I were working for the Board of Elections that day. The
Principal of the school we were in told us a plane hit the antenna on
the top of The Trade Centre, we all thought that it was an accident.
I called my son Craig, who told me what happened, and as we were
talking, the 2nd. Tower was hit. We were told by the police, about
30mins later, to close up the machines, and get everyone out. Joe and I
where in charge, therefore responsible, for the workers safety, we had
no idea, what was going to happen next.
We live right across the water, from it, when we went
outside, the ashes were falling on us, I had trouble breathing, I
have asthma, the smoke really got to me. The wind had taken it over
us. We were told to stay indoors, and keep the windows closed. The next
day, when we went outside, everything was covered, with ash. What a
mess. We
didn't hear any noises; we did see the smoke that was it.
All we could do was watch it on cable TV. Regular TV and phone service
was out, thank goodness for "mobile phones". Muslim extremists, had hijacked planes and flew two of them into the World Trade Centre in Manhattan, New York where the twin towers eventually crashed to the ground and killed peoples from a large number of Nations, one into the Pentagon, America’s seat of military power in Arlington Virginia and a fourth one was crashed into a field in Pennsylvania, prompting among other matters, the current, stupid intervention of America, and indeed our own Country, the UK in the quagmire of Iraq. Betty did retire from work when Dan died but because of her financial situation, she is obliged to work to supplement her pensions. She will always remain as far as I am concerned Big Robey’s beloved daughter. I’ll never forget his words in our presence, a few days before he died in 1987. My ‘wee’ brother,
another Tommy McLaughlin a little more literate than “Big Tom” our
Great grandfather, who could not write his name on his marriage
certificate, is a prolific writer of letters to the Glasgow Herald.
I wonder if any one reading this is aware of the meanings of (i) antidisestablishmentarianism;
this is pronounced as, an"tē-dis"u-stab"lish-mun-târ'ē-u-niz"um,
(ii) Floccipoccinihilipilification, this is flox-ee-pox-ee-ni-hi-li-pi-li-fi-cay-shun. Tommy
was replying to a letter on long words which included (i) but in his
reply, he not only used (ii) but included a third, (iii) Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanicconiosis;
which for the uninitiated reading this is pronounced new-mono-ultra-micro-scopic-silico-volcanic-coniosis.
O!K! I will put
those reading this out of their misery; (i) means - opposition to
the withdrawal of state support or recognition from an established
church, esp. the Anglican Church in 19th-century England; (ii) The art of rendering as useless and (iii) is a Lung
desease caused by the inhalation of volcanic dust.
Quite a journey from “Big Tom to “Wee” Tom.
A little late.
I had hoped to update this page in October but there was
information that I was searching for and only lately, snippets of that
information became available. Once I ‘launched’ my web page, I received some
information from ‘overseas’ cousins, correcting some information
that I had entered about them and their families.
Grace (McLaughlin) Chamides, Uncle Willie’s daughter
informed me (by email) that her sister Helen was born in 1936 & not
’37 and her brother James in 1942 and nor ’43 (dates still in
dispute by other sisters).
She also informed me that another sister Catherine (Rena)
first of all married Frances McKell and their child was Sharon
McKell. They were
diviorced and Rena later married Malcolm Ridley.
They had a son Stephen Ridley, born 1st
September 1982. I decided that as this little dissertation, started
off as a response to an appeal for information about the Garngad which
then blossomed into a “tree” of family past and present, I would
keep this as an open note and include any details from anyone ‘connected’
in bold italic type, if they cared to supply. Elizabeth (McCaig) Gilardi, a new email contact,
living in Florida, passed the details of the web page on to her own
neice Phyllis (McCaig) Salt, cousin Grace’s daughter
living in Canada. Before,
I thought Phyllis had married, was living with her husband and family
all born in Glasgow. How
wrong I was. These
are Phylis’s own words in an email to me Grand Uncle Robert - Glad to finally talk to
you. I came to Bramalea, Canada (about a 30 minute drive from
Toronto) in 1976 to live with my Uncle Josie (Joe McCaig),
Aunty Ann and Cousins - who I am still very close to. It was a
terrible blow to us when Uncle Josie died; he was like a 2nd Dad to me
for many years. I used to go to his house most Saturdays with my
kids where we would eat Aunty Ann's homemade soup and Scottish sausages
and bread (yes, we have our own Scottish bakery here and our bread is
better than yours)! He was always coming out with stories, some I
had heard many times but some I had never heard before. It was
just like my Granny's house on a Saturday. We still go to Aunty
Ann's most Saturdays but there is definitely something missing (no-one
to torment the kids)! Growing up I remember Uncle Henry dropping in for some of my Granny's
soup after leaving the pub in the afternoon. Uncle Willie was a
fixture at my Granny's house when I was growing up. He was like a
Granddad to me. I remember Aunty Katie coming up some Saturday nights, all dressed up,
for one of my Granny's many parties. The house always seemed full
of fun, singing and dancing into the wee hours. I have many fond memories. I loved my Granny so much. We
were going to emigrate together but I got clearance to come in the
February and we found out my Granny had cancer about the same time.
So I waited until she was gone and came here in June of that year.
As I mentioned to you before, I met my husband Steve (Salt) the day I
arrived. He was my cousin Thomas' friend and a group of us went
out that very first night. About 2 weeks later I started
dating Steve and we got engaged
on Xmas Eve that year. Married the next August with family
coming from Scotland, England and Aunty Elizabeth and her Gang from New
Jersey. I have lots of photos, old and new but I don't want to bombard you with
too many. Let me know what you want and I will have Hayley (my
computer/camera whiz) send them to you. My first son, David Colin Salt was born on January 3, 1979. I had
3 miscarriages before I had Hayley Elizabeth 11 years later on
January 29, 1990. I got a lovely surprise (shock) when I had my
last son, Niklas John on July 11, 1995 (he was actually due one year to
the day my Dad had passed away) but he came 2 weeks late. Out of
my 3 children, he is my true Scot. He saw Braveheart when he was 4
and he was never the same since. I had the 2 young ones back home
2 years ago and the first thing he did on a coach trip to Inverness was
dive out and buy himself a kilt!! He still wears it on a regular
basis, when he's outside pretending to be William Wallace. We live in the hills of Caledon, which was settled by Scottish
immigrants many years ago. We have 2 acres and are surrounded by
some beautiful countryside, very reminiscent of Scotland. We are
about a 50-minute drive North of Toronto. Note:
The boys were born in Brampton, Ontario and Hayley was born in Etobicoke,
Ontario. My son David is married now. He went to university in Lousville,
Kentucky on a soccer scholarship when he was 19. He only lasted
one year, hated being away from his family but brought a lovely girl,
Elizabeth Rose Jernigan (DOB January 23, 1979), back with him for the
summer. She never really went home and they will be married 5
years this November 25. No grandchildren yet, but I'm dying for
one. I have their wedding photo, which has all of the McCaig Clan
from Canada in it; I think you'll want that one. Anyway, I'm rambling on.....unlike my mother, I'm a talker. Hope
to hear from you soon. Take care. Phyllis. Anne and I made our usual pilgimage to Lourdes in
July this year where, as
usual, we met a lot of more wonderful people.
The St. Margaret of Scotland Youth Group were
tireless in their help for the old and hanicapped and one of our
pleasures and it was a pleasure, was ‘night prayers’ with the Youth
Group at their hotel. Father
Jim Lawlor, the Youth Group Chaplain’s nightly sermon, no it wasn’t
a sermon, more a spiritual experience was tremendously uplifting.
But it was not all prayers as well.
One evening at the night prayers, Anne and I were sitting among
friends of our own age when an elderly gentleman spoke to me in serious
tones. He asked
if I realised where I was sitting and when I looked quisically at him he
averred, “Do you realise that you are sitting with the ‘Doolally’
Group. Those of
you from Glasgow who will
read this will know the term ‘Doolally’, but for those unfamiliar,
‘Doolally’ is usually used to describe those who are elderly, a bit
past it and not quite in possession of all their faculalties. When I smiled and said that I did realise
where I was sitting, I was asked “Are you a member of the
‘Doolally’ Group? And when I replied guardedly,
“Yeeesssssssssssss! I
think so” I was met then with the question, “Have you passed the
entrance exam”? and when I replied “No, I failed miserably” my
inquisitor flashed back with the words, “You’re in, welcome” At Lourdes we met two American ladies from Nu Joisy,
sorry New Jersey who shared the same hotel as us.
One was originally from Hamilton in Scotland who had made good in the States
working in the Stock Exchange, while the other, her not so well off
American friend had been helped financially to make the trip.
I discovered that the lady, formerly from Hamilton knew one of
the priests in my home parish in Glasgow, (he had helped her on a
previous trip to Scotland, while in a different parish, when she had
lost her passport) and I promised to send her his full address, along
with photos I had taken of them when I returned home to Scotland. When I did return home, I did mention our meeting
to my parish priest who not only recalled the lady but named her as
well. In the interim, a friend showed me a photo where he
had transposed the face of the priest on to a photo of the Pope, printed
and given him a Latin name on
the bottom. Not
only did I print the photos of the ‘Nu Joisy’ ladies, I copied the
faked photo of the ‘Pope’ and sent that off too and would you
believe, about two weeks later, I received a ‘phone call from ‘Nu
Joisy’ asking how on earth did we acquire the Popes clothes and how on
earth did we know that ‘Father ???? would fit
these clothes. I
had to smile? Aren’t the American’s gullible?
Goodness, I think they do believe that George W. Bush is still
President of the United States. Enough of Lourdes, during the month of Augsut, I
was fortunate enough to win the “Vice President’s Championship” at
my local bowling Club’ I
have been playing bowls for 20 years and this was the first time I had
ever one a ‘singles’ competition.
I think I can honestly say I didn’t expect to win as in every
round of the competition, I played an opponent whom I considered a
better player and indeed, beat the player whom I had tipped to win the
competition at the start. I think I was a little cavalier in my attitude, played
just for fun but it did appear to pay off. End of August into September, Anne and I made our
bi-ennial trip to Ireland. We had never visited the “North” before and our
first three days were in a B & B about 3 miles outside Bushmills on
the Antrim Coast. The
lady of the house was exceedingly charming, ready with biscuits and tea
on a return in the afternoon after a day out.
At breakfast, we had to smile; around the whole house and in the
dining room were wooden plaques with ‘burnt’ in Christian Religious
tracks and during brerakfast, the background muzac was of a religious
nature “Old Rugged Cross” Amazing Grace” etc.
During our three days in the “North” we visited
some of the local tourist attractions, the one recognisable to all, the
Giants Causeway. The
town of Bushmills itself was a little daunting and perhaps a little
unwelcoming to those of a Religious persuasion which didn’t quite run
in tamdem with the majority view.
On every lampost there were flags, either the Union Jack, the
Scottish Saltire (St Andrew’s Cross)
but predominently, the Red Hand of Ulster.
Walking around the town I did notice that round the
local Police station was a heavy guage chain link metal fence, about 20
feet high creating a compound with a small steel entrance door into the
compound. Up
some of the side streets were murals on the side walls of gable-end
houses and in one, a fortified compound, another heavy metal fence with
the insignia of the UDA near a top corner.
Hmmmmmmmm! Finishing our three days near Bushmills our next B
& B would be in Buncrana, “Home”
but on our way, we stopped by to pay a visit to Packy McBrearty
& wife Grace in Derry.
We spent more than two hours with the McBreartys, their married
daughter Donna supplying us first with biscuits, cream cakes and tea and
before we left, rolls with sausage on them.
You didn’t need to be on a diet in the McBrearty house.
I think they must have shares in some food industry in the North,
the amount that was produced could have fed about 20 people. From Derry on to Buncrana where we settled in our B
& B for a few hours, then went out for a walk along the banks of the
River Crana (ran past the B & B) and then, in the evening, out to
meet ‘cousins’ in one of the local hotels (a suggestion by John
Martin). Anne and I were the first to arrive followed
shortly afterwards by John Martin, current resident of ‘Keeloges’.
A few minutes later, swe were joined by the Cockhill
McLaughlin’s, Eddie and Mary and then a surprise, a couple. Michael
and Catherine (Kitty)
McLaughlin joined us and were introduced as descendents of
‘Sullivan’. I
had been informed on a visit last year that
‘Sullivan’ was perhaps a son (Michael) of “Red” Henry and
had been nicknamed this because of his small size in relation to the
heavyweight champion of the world at the time, John L Sullivan.
Kitty informed me that ‘Sullivan’ was her grandfather John
who indeed was small on stature and been been given the name after John
L. We were of
the opinion at this stage that ‘Sullivan’ may have been John, a son
of “Big Tom” my Great grandfather.
What I did learn during conversation was that both of Michael’s
parents were McLaughlins, his father Michael as well and his mother
Margaret. Kitty’s father
was Michael as well and her mother, Mary Coyle.
Her grandfather as I said was John (Sullivan), no name for
grandmother at present. Further
enquiry will have to be made into these McLaughlins.
John Martin’s wife Kathleen joined us as well and all enjoyed
the ‘craic’ and the good ‘cheer’ that was consumed. During our three days in Donegal, I took Anne to
visit the Famine Museum, we visited an old collage friend of Anne’s,
and renewed my acquaitance with the McClure’s at Glenvar. I gave the McClure’s the address and telephone
number of John Martin at ‘Keeloges’ and they have since been in
contact and met up with each other.
“Big Tom’s” kin meets “Lizzie’s” kin?
There must be a story here. The next ten days we toured Ireland and without
giving a running commentary of the trip, I think it suffice to say that
we visited County Roscommon, Kilkenny, went through Tipperary to Kerry,
visited Bantry Bay in County Cork and from there went round the ‘Ring
of Berra’ and round the ‘Ring of Kerry’ the following day.
We next visited County Galway for three days and stopped over in
County Monaghan for one night before we made for the ferry in Larne on
our last day in Ireland. We did
have an enjoyable time. Outstanding
memories? The
two that stood out for me were the day we went round the ‘Ring of
Kerry’. In all my previous trips to Ireland, I had never
driven through the ‘Gap of Dunloe ’
The best advice I can give to any of my ‘kin’ is don’t.
The ‘Gap of Dunloe ’ is a narrow, mainly one track road that
twists and turns, up and down through the Kerry mountains and passing
the occasion car coming from the opposite direction is no trouble at all
as on the whole, most drivers are courteous.
The problem: dozens
of Irish Jaunting Cars, with driver usually standing up, carrying
usually 4 tourists, will just not move to one side or help in any way.
THEY are the owners of the Gap and they seem to adopt an attitude
that car drivers are an afront to their business and should not be
there. At one stage I met a Jaunting Car where the road
was so narrow, I was encourage by some walkers who were hiking through
the Gap to pull on to a grass verge and I did no reluctantly, but when
the horse, I should say the donkey pulling car(t) had passed, I found I
could not reverse out of a small ditch I was in and was thankfull for
the walkers in the area who managed to pull me out.
The ‘Gap of Dunloe ’ however is one of the most picturesaque
roads, if I can call it a road, that I have ever driven through.
After that, we stopped at Waterville for a late lucnh at one of
our favourite watering holes, the “Smugglers Inn”.
I can honestly say that I had the best clam chowder and best fish
& chips I have ever consumed, washed down by a pint of Guinness. It was a beautiful day and Anne and I relaxed
afterwards on the beach beside the
“Smugglers” and were entertained by the occasional helicopter flying
in and uplifting American tourists from the local golf club across the
road. A good day on the ‘Ring of Kerry’. The other memory for me was when we left County
Galway and stopped for a couple of hours in Athenry. We paid a visit to the local museum, an old
converted Church of Ireland church and at the entrance there was ‘no
one’ although we did read on a notice that the admission charge was 5
Euros. After several very audible “Hellos” a not so
young gentleman appeared and informed us that the admission to their
museum was approximately 3 Euros?
I was a little perplexed by the ‘approximate’ admission
price, I did not know if it was below or above 3 Euros but when I
suggested the princely sum of 2
Euros.99, the gentelman replied “Aye, that’ll be about right”.
Only in Ireland? A not so young lady then appeared and when she
heard we were from Glasgow, she said that they had a lot of visitors
from Glasgow ‘because of the song’,
The Fields of Athenry, a favourite by the Hordes at Celtic Park
during the football Season.
She then opened a glass case and handed Anne a small mace and me
a metal seal and informed us that these were the official seal and mace
of Athenry, given to the town in 1316.
We felt humble holding these relics in our hand.
As we waved goodby, we were encouraged to return and bring
friends from Glasgow with us.
We left Athenry and booked into a hotel in Monaghan, just south
of the border with the North for our last evening on Irish soil. On Saturday, 1st October, Anne and I
attended the annual dinner and presentation of prizes at my bowling Club
where I received my winner’s cup, which I retain for 1 year and a
small plaque with my name enscribed thereon which I retain for all time.
It is good to know that I am no longer ‘a contender’. On Sunday, 16th October, 2005, a red
letter day. Kathryn
Rachel Law, my fifth grandchild, an 8th generation descendent
of “Old Henry” McLaughlin, entered this world, born to my daughter
Julie, at 5pm that day, weighing in at 8 pounds, 13.5 ounces, at
Stirling Royal Infirmary.
On my visit the following day, photographs were of course taken
and she, along with her parents appear in the ‘Old Henry’s Kin’
link of my web page. Since
‘the 16th’ life has gone on a steady pace with no
‘world shattering events’ in the McLaughlin household.
Several visits were made to Stirling to keep tabs on the ‘wee
yin’ and she paid her first visit to Granny and Grandpa recently in
our Glasgow home ‘Sullivan’
I have been ‘asking around’ and so far I have gleaned the
following information which appears to be confirmed from Irish
Relatives. John
(Sullivan) McLaughlin, Kitty McLaughlin’s grandfather was
the son of Michael McLaughlin, the brother of my Great
grandfather “Big Tom”. Kitty and I are third cousins and share the
same Great great grandparents, John McLaughlin and Kathleen Doherty.
Kitty’s Great grandfather Michael married Catherine (Dobs)
Doherty in Buncrana on the 31st October 1980.
They apparently had six children (i) Charles; (ii) Michael;
(iii) Anne(Annie); (iv) Theresa (v) Bernadette and (vi) John (Sullivan).
Bernadette married a Thomas (Tom) O’Sullivan.
I have no
knowledge if any children. ‘Sullivan’
married Theresa Grant.
As far as I am aware, John (Sullivan) McLaughlin and Theresa
Grant had at least two children, (i) Kathleen who married an Alex
Daly and settled in Dublin and (ii) Michael (another one) who
married Mary Coyle
and they remained in Donegal.
Michael and Mary (Coyle) McLaughlin are Kitty’s parents
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