Jamesy McKeown

A little has been written already about James McKeown. His story could fill a book. Everyone has his or her own precious memories of him. I will always be grateful for his friendship and especially for the willing and complete way he embraced Flo into the family right from the beginning. It seems ironic to me that my first cousin John Laverty, who was reared in Grannys alongside Jamesy, should later leave that home in anger (and totally in the wrong) over a supposed non-acceptance of his Protestant girlfriend by those there. Not only is this untrue of Jamesy - it is a travesty. I should know. My wife and children never found a more open and welcoming home than at Sheetrim and this includes the early period of our marriage before Flo had chosen to take the Catholic faith. We continued to visit regularly even when Jamesy was bed-ridden after his road traffic accident. I remember clearly visiting him in hospital in Belfast where he kept the whole ward (including the nursing staff) amused and entertained with his tales and his ready wit. Indeed he had to be frequently chastised for there were very sick people there who could ill afford to be laughing almost continuously!

I couldn't wait to introduce him to Walter Harrison, my father-in-law, a staunch Presbyterian and ex-shipyard worker from east Belfast, himself a self-taught student of the university of life and a lover of nature. I was prepared for a clash of culture. Jamesy's language flowed strong, smooth and incessant; Walter's was considered, measured and bereft of any hint of swearing or blasphemy. When Flo and I led her father to the lower room where the invalid man was abed, we were both apprehensive. And with some justification. It wasn't long until Jamesy indicated his pleasure at the visit with a few ill-chosen swear words, and the taking of the Holy Name in vain, to boot. We decided an early retirement from the scene was the best move on our part. We left the two of them to it. We eavesdropped a little, lest things get out of hand. The two men were talking continuously, and at the same time, in entirely different veins. Neither was listening and could have had no idea what the other was on about! Needless to say they became the best of friends and met many times more.

Indeed on one subsequent visit, the Cardinal Tomas O'Fiach was visiting and Walter - one of whose favourite topics of conversation was the errors of the Church of Rome - got to meet the spiritual head in Ireland of the Roman Catholic Church. This time I was really worried. I had always parried Walter's jibes by agreeing with most of them and countering with others he knew nothing of. He therefore considered this the ideal opportunity for him and I to “sort the Cardinal out” together. I had considerable difficulty dissuading Walter from this course of action and had to resort to an appeal to my livelihood - and by extension that of his daughter and grandchildren. I taught in a Catholic school. Didn't he realise my position would be compromised by a public indictment of the temporal head of the Church on the grounds of supposed theological errors of that Church? He relented and conducted an informal and innocuous conversation with the Cardinal. They got on well and Walter had no difficulty later in describing him as a pleasant and interesting character. I was relieved. Walter could scarcely have understood the enormous esteem in which “Father Tom” was held in South Armagh, and in that home in particular. Indeed I was impressed myself that day with the near reverence with which the Cardinal was treated. For myself, I chose to treat him as a man of the people, in keeping with his public image. He seemed content with that.

James McKeown was trained by his father as a blacksmith. His younger brother Petie was a poor hand at it, but Jamesy was adept. He practised his trade until the tractor finally drove the shire horse from the farm towards the end of the fifties.

Before that he had met and fallen in love with Rose Keenan of Tullinavall, Cullyhanna. Rose was a trained nurse. They married on 8 November 1945. Their first child John was born in Newry hospital as also was their first daughter Rose. Ann was born at home in 1951. Their last child was born dead in 1957. My mother was unable to attend her brother's wedding in 1945 as she herself had given birth just days before.

Jamesy had to find an alternative source of employment. He laboured for a time for Eddie Keenan who was a house-building contractor. Then he got work with John Harvey of Drumuckavall, Crossmaglen who had won a contract to extend the water pipeline through South Armagh begun in 1948. In 1963 areas such as Whitecross and Newtownhamilton were being reached. On 7 December 1963 Jamesy was involved in a road traffic accident that killed his employer, John Harvey. Jamesy himself received multiple wounds that included head injuries. For the next twenty-one years, as his condition steadily deteriorated, he was lovingly and capably nursed at home by his wife Rose. It was during these years that I got to know him well. I was just sixteen at the time of his accident. After my grandparents' deaths the home belonged to Jamesy and Rose and I loved to visit them. At first I went with my mother and Mary and Patsy. Later I called with my girlfriend who was to become my wife. Jamesy loved to see us all as we loved to see him. I remember he took a particular shine for Sarah.

We were aware of course that he was unwell but he was never anything but courteous and welcoming to us. I just loved his craic. I loved his accent, and the smattering of Irish words in his everyday speech. He had stories too and folk tales handed down. I remember one in particular about some unfortunate wayfarer who never could find the right expression to suit the circumstance he found himself in. One episode told about this....

“ wanderer who came upon two men who had fallen into a bog. One had struggled out but the other was caught fast. He said what the last person he had met had told him to say. (I forget these words but it was totally inappropriate and insulting.) He was chastised, and he asked what he should say. He was told to say -- “one's out, may the other soon be out!” He proceeded on his way and the next person he met had only one eye, with an empty socket where the other should be. So he said, “one's out, may the other soon be out!”

It was a very long story, and every predicament was worse than the one that preceded it. But it wasn't the story that mattered as much as the telling of it. Jamesy was a natural storyteller, hugely enjoying his own tales, as if hearing them for the first time! I regret that I didn't record them or even write them down.

Jamesy died on 12 June 1984. Rose had nursed him to the end, suffering his occasional bouts of depression and mild rages. He had not been the Jamesy of old for some time. Flo and the children and I continued to visit her at Sheetrim. If Jamesy was my favourite uncle, then Rose - though not a blood relation - was my favourite aunt. I love her honesty and forthrightness. We became firm friends over the years. I often think of Jamesy.

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Just recently I unearthed from the depths of my garden shed a DVD featuring Rose McKeown. When I loaded it to our TV my wife and I were both delighted. It felt as though she was present again with us, to answer our questions. We both love Rose very dearly and, now that she is gone, we miss her and remember her fondly. In the early ‘90s I had determined to interview her and record it for posterity.

Now, courtesy of the knowhow and skills of my sons, we can all view this on Youtube (Insert URL here, pl). This will be a bitter-sweet experience for those elders of my siblings and cousins, who remember Auntie Rose of Sheetrim. (We were always taught to respect our family relations and give them their rightful title, Aunt … Uncle … etc).

Viewing it myself again, I am struck by Rose’s appearance. Clearly 30 years ago, she prepared for the interview by dressing up - but also spoke and behaved relaxed. She was the perfect interviewee - anticipating questions, calmly spoken, elaborating and prepared to go off in tangents as the thought occurred to her.

It felt more like a fireside chat than an interview. I was delighted that Rose proved to be yet another of those wonderful informants who told the story for me. She had no difficulty accepting the confidentiality imperative - and took it to the grave.

Much of what I learned from this interview I already knew from Mary (Kelly) Maguire. Her mother, also Mary, was a sister of Jack the Blacksmith. Any confused reader is referred to the separate Family Tree - which contains over 1200 names, boxes containing names, with birthdates, marriage dates and deaths - all linked with joining lines. The data I gleaned from these two wonderful informants correlated well. In addition both ladies were of my mother’s generation and had great sympathy and agreement with the need for family confidentiality. I trust that the present reader has likewise. All family information is for family eyes only.

I'm not sure that too many of you will find Rose's DVD riveting. It’s not Indiana Jones stuff, surely. Rose is a lady of considerable erudition, wit and charm, but she chooses here to come over simple, calm, honest and accurate. She presents a formal and formidable presence and it takes patience and interest to see the DVD through. Therefore I present here a short summary of the content. You may find it easier to read than it is to see the DVD to its end.

My Aunt Rose was widely accepted as a worthy historian of South Armagh. She also had a brother, Owen, who was the man who accidentally unearthed the burial vault in Creggan Churchyard of the great Gaelic O’Neill clan who ruled here in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. This helped propel the fame and notoriety of the churchyard to national and international renown and importance. Creggan Churchyard is also the last resting place of the famous Gaelic poets of that time. The first burial recorded there in Church records is that of Patrick Loy, of our line.

The most important and famous man of South Armagh of the twentieth century was Cardinal Tomas O’Fiach. I began our interview by asking Rose what she knew of him.

TODO: Add Rose Video

TODO: Add Flo and John Wedding Photo

Front row: Brian, Caroline, Angela, Eileen, John, Flo, Fr Jim Kerr, Sandra Griffith, Pat Kavanagh, Geraldine Harrison, Ann Kirkwood 2nd row: Phyl, Michael, Lucia, Martin, Jean Small, Patricia Sherry, Rita Mc Ardle 3rd row: Eugene, Gerry, Carmel 4th row Kevin, Kate, Jennifer and Raymond, Mary Mooney, Bernadette Fox, Eddie Sherry 5th row: Billy Harrison, Patsy Mooney, Tony and Kathy Docherty, Kieran and Pauline Devine, Christina Kavanagh, Beth Diamond, aunt Ruby Small, aunt Kathleen Small [wife of John], behind.. Peter Small and his wife Pamela, behind is David, friend of bridesmaid Sandra, Desie Fox, Eamon McArdle.

My mother had three sisters in addition to the two brothers whose stories have just been told. Delia married Hugh Laverty from Oram, near Castleblaney and settled down to married life there in the early forties. They had six children who are named, now with husbands and children of their own, in a family tree herein. Rita, the youngest McKeown girl met and married (in 1944) Eddie Flynn, the son of Matthew Flynn who had three daughters and three sons besides Edward. They settled in Forkhill and raised a large family of their own in the house that is still Rita’s home today. Their family tree is also included.

Kathleen (Kassy) didn’t marry until she was thirty-three years old. Her groom was Mick Dennison from Newtownhamilton. They had three children. I met Mick several times. He was a gentleman. Mick did not long survive. After a few years in the country without her partner, Kassy got a transfer and came to live in Slieve Gullion Road Newry where she lives alone today. Their descendants are also mentioned in a family tree herein.

And so I begin my mother’s story.

TODO: Insert Img, Eileen McCullagh today, with Naomi and Dara Tully

Eileen McCullagh today, with Naomi and Dara Tully