Garvaghy Church

As I mentioned earlier, I visited the Public Records office of Northern Ireland (PRONI). I had information about the marriage of my great-great grandparents, Henry Kerr and Catherine Toman, but the original documents were not there. They were listed as “in local custody.”

I contacted Garvaghy church of Ireland and was put in touch with George Musgrave, church historian. George answered my email and asked me to call him. I emailed back that I’d call; as soon as I arranged transportation to the rural church well off of regular bus routes. “Not to worry,” he wrote back. “Just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.” I was delighted by his offer—but not surprised. From what I have seen of the Northern Irish, their generosity and kindness, I almost expected him to offer. Helen and I made our way by bus to the nearby town of Dromore where George was waiting at the stop with his car.

George took us out to the 200-year-old Garvaghy Church. He had already gone through the record and made copies, not only of Henry and Catherine’s Marriage registry, but of any record the church had with the name “Kerr” or “Toman.” Still, he opened the safe and removed the old registries so we could look at the actual document. I was able to touch the place where they “signed.” I was surprised to find that my 30-year-old great-great grandfather was apparently unable to read and write. His and Catherine’s signature were in the same handwriting as the man who registered the marriage. Above each “X” in their signatures were the words, “his mark,” and “her mark.”

George showed us around the small church that he said had not changed much in 200 years. The communion rail, added in 1830 would have been in place when Henry was married in 1849. Aside from the carpet, it looks exactly the same. Helen and I posed for a “wedding photo” where Catherine and Henry stood 162 years ago.

Knowing so little about my family beyond Henry’s marriage information, I was interested to see the cemetery. Fortunately, George had done a three-year survey of the cemetery and used his civil engineering skills to create a scale map of each grave. Going back through church records, he identified who was buried in grave whose markers were lost or unreadable.

I cannot be certain that any of the five Kerrs buried in Garvaghy are my ancestors, but I wanted to see if a connection could be made. One of the oldest graves in the cemetery is from a family named “Ker” missing the second “R.” Almost unreadable, the stone is listed in a book titled Gravestone Inscriptions, Vol. 19 published in 1983. It reads, “Sacred to the memory of Thomas and Elizabeth Ker whose remains are interred here and some of their children. Also Robt. Ker of Katesbridge who departed this life April 12, 1806 aged 62 years.”

I can determine for certain that the “Robt.” is not the same “Robert” listed as Henry’s father on the marriage registry. Henry was born in 1819, and this Robert died in 1806. It is possible, however, that “Robt.” could be the Henry’s grandfather. As Henry was illiterate, it would stand to reason his grandfather, Robt., was as well. Unable to spell the family name, it would be left up to someone else—like the man who carved the grave marker— to determine the spelling.

A better possibility is a different grave marker of a James Kerr who died in 1901 at the age of 67. This would have made him born in 1834. Henry also worked a farm with his brother, James, in 1863 according to an old lease.

I was amazing to stand where they stood, to see what they saw.

The Orange Day Parades

Orange Day, July 12 is a big day for the majority of the residents of Northern Ireland.

WARNING: Mini History Lesson to follow

In 1690, King James II, a Catholic who had been deposed in 1688 by his Dutch son-in-law, William III, attempted to reclaim the throne. James had many supporters in Ireland and was amassing an army with the help of his cousin, Louis XIV of France. Although they may not have realized it at the time, the critical outcome of this meeting between James and William was whether Ireland (and the rest of the British Empire for that matter) would be Catholic or Protestant.

Long story short . . . William won. Protestant rule.

July 12 is the modern calendar date upon which this momentous battle took place. It is the day that Protestants all over Northern Ireland march, and celebrate throughout the country. There are 12 County Grand Lodges, 125 District Lodges, and 1134 Private Lodges throughout Northern Ireland. Throughout late spring and summer, there are hundreds of parades. These parades and the bands that participate are part of the Orange Order. The parades intensify and culminate during the height of Marching Season beginning on July 1—the day we arrived in Belfast. They peak on July 12.

The Belfast Orange Day Parade goes right past our flat at the end of Lisburn Road just outside the Loyalist/Unionist community of Sandy Row. After the bonfires of the previous night, people partied in the streets until morning. At about 8:00 a.m., the crowds and their beverages and lawn chairs started showing up to claim a spot on the street outside out flat. By the time the parades started at 10:00 a.m., many people had already been drinking since 8:00am. Although public drinking in this area is not legal, police turn a blind eye that day to public drinking and intoxication. I am told that outside of the city, parades are much calmer.

At 10:45, the first of the bands made their way to the end of Lisburn Rd. Band after band went by in a seemingly endless stream: bands from Orange Lodges all over Belfast, from Canada, Scotland, and England. After about 2 hours, the last band passed. I expected people to go home. After all, these people had partied through the night. But they didn’t. They stayed and drank, and drank some more, and . . .well, you get the picture. They stayed for four hours. I was surprised that, despite all of the drinking, there were no fights, no arguments, no violence.

About 4:30, the bands came back. This time, they were more animated, loose, some wearing silly hats and dancing. Spectators would rush into the street to hug and kiss friends and family members who were marching. They were singing along with the tunes played by the drums and flutes.

When the final band passed, the crowd dispersed leaving behind and unbelievable amount of trash—mostly in the form of alcoholic beverage containers. There was a solid layer of containers on either side of the street extending two or three feet into the roadway. Cars going by would occasionally run over a bottle sending a spray of glass shards onto unwitting nearby pedestrians.

These parades are being promoted by the City as a celebration of Protestant culture and a family day. However, there is an unmistakable undercurrent of “claiming turf” and a show of intimidation. In some parts of Belfast and other parts of Northern Ireland, Orange Lodges insist on their right to march through Catholic neighborhoods. These parades are seen in Catholic areas as provocation.

But here in Belfast, it was just a big party.

11th Night . . .The Bonfires

At midnight, July 11^th, throughout Northern Ireland, Loyalist communities (Protestants who want Northern Ireland to remain part of the United Kingdom) light massive bonfires. These bonfires are a commemoration of the bonfires lit in 1690 to guide King William III’s ships carrying his army safely up the River Boyne near Drogheda, Ireland for his battle with the pretender-to -the-throne, James II.

These bonfires would never be allowed in the USA. No permits, no effective fencing of the area, no firefighters on standby, no police presence to be seen anywhere. Small children running quite near the fire site.

The bonfire building starts around July 1. It seems to be a job for the teenage boys. As it grows in height, they take turns keeping watch all night so no one lights it prematurely. Lacking any scaffolding, safety equipment, or tools other than a hammer and nails, they build these bonfires to amazing heights using wooden shipping pallets.

On the Morning of the 11^th, a street fair took place in the Sandy Row area of Belfast near our flat. Families were out, booths selling Orange Day souvenirs, flags, batons, and toy drums sat alongside food trucks and inflatable moon bounce options. Kids were able to battle each other with heavily padded pugil sticks.

As afternoon moved on, the party took a more adult flavor. The moon bounces gone, the streets were full of people drinking, singing and dancing to a DJ awaiting the midnight conflagration. (See video).

One repeated song that was sung with a lot of gusto was “Simply The Best” with the words changed to suit an anti-republic point of view. Then there was John Denver's "County Road" rewritten as "Sandy Row."

Near midnight, fireworks filled the sky as a group of about 30 teenage boys and girls huddled near the base of the towering, and leaning, wooden structure. The boys lit and hurled petrol bombs at the base, hoping to ignite the dry wood, but these proved ineffective. Then it got interesting. A few young men scaled the tower with cans of flammable liquid while others concentrated on lighting a fire at the base. These men were climbing this leaning, partially lit, 3 story structure while sort of hanging off the side and carrying what appeared to be a kerosene container between their teeth. They would soak paper with the kerosene then throw the paper inside the structure. Then as one area would ignite, they would climb sideways to light another area. Shortly thereafter, the flames engulfed the entirety of the tower. Amazingly, nobody fell off the tower and not even one person got burned.

The flames and heat were unbearable as everyone retreated farther and farther. After a few minutes, the tower toppled to the cheers of the crowd. (See video)

The fire burned through the night as a DJ blasted dance tunes, people danced in the street, and entrepreneurs with their extra-legal beer stands saw brisk business.

There is an unfortunate element to these bonfires. While they are promoted as a celebration of Protestant culture, which they are, sectarianism is front and center. The bonfire is adorned with the Flag of the Republic of Ireland—a flag associated with the Catholic/Republican community and the IRA. The Orange Festival has the potential to become a big tourist attraction, but the sectarianism—on both sides—can’t be part of it for that to happen.

Dublin

Helen and I took a day trip to Dublin on Saturday. Coincidentally, it was our 28th wedding anniversary. The highlight of the two-and-a-half hour bus trip occurred just after we crossed from Northern Ireland into the Republic of Ireland.



First, there is not sign marking the border. The only way we could tell was the road signs in the republic are written in both English and Irish. However, our biggest hint was when the bus was pulled over on the side of the highway and Irish immigration officers came on board and checked everyone’s passport.

Dublin, meaning Black Pool in Irish, is the largest city in Ireland. It has a long history of Norse and Celtic invasion with evidence of Vikings surfacing every time a new building goes up or road is constructed. We walked around the city for a few hours before boarding a tour bus with a driver giving live commentary.

There were many more tourists on the streets of Dublin than there are in Belfast. The locals can be spotted by their rubber boots. Everyone seems to be wearing them.



We walked past a busy market where the stalls are run mostly by women. The license is passed down from mother to daughter and stays in the family for generations. The produce in Dublin looked better and cheaper than that we have see in St. George's Market in Belfast.

Having seen the film, Michael Collins, I was thrilled to stand in front of the General Post office that is so prominently featured at the start of the film. Bullet holes are still visible in the Doric columns of the neoclassical building.

We toured two old churches full of history and quirky features. Originally Catholic, they are now both Anglican. St. Audoen’s Chuch, built in the 12^th Century has the Lucky Stone that once stood in the town square. The covered bridge spans the street leading to Christ Church Cathedral where an old ruin of the old priory. Both structures provided interesting rocks to add to my stonework back in the USA.

We finished our day at The Brazen Head. This pub was established in 1198. Just over 800 years old, it is the oldest pub in Ireland.