Just come back from having my hair chopped off...so I'll be showering before much longer to get those itchy little bits away.
Most country Irish people talk...about more or less anything which springs to mind...the woman who cuts my hair probably beats the talking record hands down...topics covered in just under an hour were...the closed Hotel...the bypass...her daughters up- coming wedding...her daughters plan to buy a couple of horses...the dog being prescribed diuretics'...taking her Father to Spain...the town dentist reviving a heart attack victim on the 'plane...her daughter's wedding cakes...she's having an iced lemon cake as well as a traditional fruit cake and another one made out of cupcakes...moneys no object there then...and then we ended with her Granny's dementia.
Her teenage niece was doing the sweeping up and the hair washing...I was trying to tell her about poison parsnips but Auntie kept interrupting, though I think she caught the gist.
There was a sort of a squabble on the Irish gravestones site today...one chap was incensed on finding the gate to an old burial site firmly locked and bolted. He goes there on a regular basis to play his harmonica to his long departed relatives...unfortunately, when he wrote about this he sprinkled his missive with the 'f' word and your man in charge objected and scolded him ...gently scolded, mind you.
Then your man had a sly dig at me 'cos he said all burials in the cillins were accompanied by country blessings and so there was no need for the church to be involved...and I was a bit cross actually, because country people might well have used old blessings, but to them it was very much a case of second best...they'd have much rather had a grubby down at heel Priest say something official.
But I had some likes and he didn't. Then he 'fessed that it was probably important to Catholics...and he spelt 'cillins' properly with the fada in the proper place and with a capital letter when everyone knows the capital letter is never used for that word...
At least he didn't mention Cromwell, which was a blessing.
And he uses the Irish version of his name which I think is terribly pretentious when it's probably John Smith in English.
I've been positively bombarding that poor woman whose tree I'm poking about in...found an incredibly interesting excerpt from a diary which I sent her last night...it's about the Mormon family who went to America and their quite appalling experiences. The Father had only been there a month when he ate a poison parsnip and died 'in agony' a few hours later...a baby was born and died of cholera the same day then her Mother died the day after...nothing seemed to go right for them at all...it was one dreadful occurrence after another.
Even the voyage was fraught with difficulty...they ran out of firewood and used the fresh water casks to light the cooking fires then the food ran short and it had to be strictly rationed...by the time they reached America they were almost on their last legs...
It was Susannah...the rather cross looking lady whose photo I put on a couple of days ago... who wrote everything down and kept her letters and diaries inside a Bible she'd bought especially to take to America with her...
And something I need to look into further is that you could employ a wagon train...didn't know that, I thought they'd have set off on their own. But you hired the wagons and the drivers and a couple of out riders or scouts...they were usually Indians who knew the terrain well and also knew the watering places for the horses or the oxen.
I'm thinking you'd have needed plenty of money...paying for the passage on the ship and then the wait for an available wagon train...and then the payment for that and I don't suppose it came cheaply.
And of course I also ought to contact the people who put this excerpt from the diary on to Ancestry...they've either seen or own the original papers and probably the Bible also...
What puts Susanna's and her families adventures into perspective is they were travelling across barren wastelands seeking a place to call home at much the same time as Ireland was recovering from the Great Famine and ten years after the publication of the hard bound copy of Punch I bought in a junk shop...my Great Grandfather was breeding countless children and employing four men in his tailoring business and the downtrodden ag labs were getting to grips with the new mechanical machines which put many of them out of work.
And there are those who say that history is dull!