Patrick McCullagh Meets Eileen McKeown

TODO: Insert Img, Eileen And Patrick

My mother was the fourth child, and second daughter born to Jack McKeown and Mary Sheridan. Delia was a year older than her, Peter (Petie) three years older and Jamesy five years her senior. In turn my mother was older than Kathleen (Kassy) by three years and Rita by six. Whatever my mother was christened, she became known as Mary Ellen. Indeed I am unsure when she adopted the name Eileen instead. Perhaps she was called that at home. I know however that she gave her name as Mary Ellen at marriage and again on the birth registration of several of her children. Certainly the double forename would have been considered unfashionable in town some forty years ago though now it is back in vogue.

My mother rarely told us anecdotes of her home life. She did however once tell me that after each child was born (at home) some weeks might elapse before Jack was back in Newry and in a position to register the birth. This would be the last chore he'd undertake before returning home and consequently he was usually much the worse for drink (the horse could find its own way home!) by the time he called at the registry office. Not all the girls as a consequence were registered according to their given names! If he couldn't remember, he'd call them after their mother. More than one sister was registered Mary, though this was not the baptismal name of any of them!

James became a blacksmith like his father and was clearly destined to inherit the farm. A second farm at Dungooley, County Louth was bought for Petie. The girls would have to find their own way in life. It would be expected that eventually they would marry and move away from Sheetrim. In the meantime, as they came of age they would have to find an occupation so that they could pay their way. Granny McKeown, as already intimated, was well able to keep house without the aid of her daughters.

When his daughters reached school-leaving age (14) Jack McKeown put them on the bar of his bicycle and took them to Newtownhamilton where they were “hired out” for six months at a time usually. (This is according to Mary Maguire (Kelly). Thereafter they went into “service”. In my mother's own words, she became “a skivvy”. She lived in the attic room of a middle-class home, and earned her keep and a pittance of a wage by washing, ironing, cleaning and cooking for this family from morning until night. She was expected to feel privileged to have a position at all.

My mother's first real job was looking after the home of her parent's friends Mr and Mrs Patrick O'Neill, who lived not far away. Eileen was a very young teenager and still at school. The lady was pregnant and needed a little help around the house. Mum was well able for this and her efforts were greatly appreciated. In fact she was retained long after her intended "contract-time" had expired. Sometimes Mr O'Neill would slip a little extra money into her hands. “I know you've been paid already,” he'd say, “but I just want you to know I appreciate all you do.” She was there for several months. Indeed sometimes later she'd be asked to do a few days work there, and she was happy to oblige when she could. Much later when Eileen herself was having children, Patrick O'Neill would turn up with a present to celebrate the happy event. They remained lifelong friends.

Her parents found a place for her as soon as she left school in the home of Patrick McConville in Crossmaglen. He owned a pub/grocer's shop and funeral parlour. She worked there for a short time. At least it was nearby so that she could keep in regular contact with home. One might expect that since her parents knew her employers, she might not be treated as harshly or with the disdain that servant girls usually received, but Mrs McConville was a “harsh bitch” (Mary Kelly's words). Mum learned her trade there and by the time she moved to Newry she was well able to keep house. (Perhaps ironically, some twenty years later, two of Mrs McConville's daughters were to train as nurses in Belfast City Hospital alongside Patricia and Mary, my sisters and the daughters of the former servant girl!)

My mother's first home in Newry was on the Armagh Road. Today the house serves as a second parochial house to the Cathedral clergy. I was in the house some years ago when my close friend Father John McAreavey lived there. Indeed my mother was back visiting there thirty years ago when she was consulting Fr Matt O'Hare about her eldest daughter's pending marriage. She forgot her own problem with the shock of seeing him tuck into a sumptuous meal cooked and served to him by a maid as she had been in the same house, while he (Fr O'Hare) dispensed cheap words of advice to a poor widow with fourteen hungry mouths to feed! Mr Berkeley, who owned the house, worked at middle management level in Haldane-Shiels. His wife issued orders freely to Eileen and she was worked hard, with little free time to herself.

My mother recalls that she first met Sonny McCullagh at a dance in the Newry Town Hall, though from a private diary we read from the ‘secret' steel chest under the stairs, we learned that she first encountered him while walking the Camlough Road. “He never would have kissed me though I often wished he would!” (She had had a previous boyfriend, whose name she still remembers, but it wasn't at all serious!) Sonny was nine and a half years older than her. Since she was still a teenager, this age gap must have seemed considerable. In spite of that their relationship grew and blossomed into love. They could not see much of each other as Eileen had little time off. Sonny worked long hours then too as a baker in McCanns. They had little money between them and their dates inevitably constituted long walks together. The Fathom Line, with the still waters of the Ship Canal, the wooded seclusion of Benson's Glen and its old world charm, was a particular favourite. The townland of Carnaget was another well-trodden trail.

They were married during the Second World War. Strangely, that huge conflagration which spanned three continents and caused the deaths of tens of millions of human beings had little effect on Northern Ireland. Indeed it may be said to have had some little beneficial effect for it brought many servicemen to our town whose money made a considerable contribution to our local economy. The Yanks were billeted in Haldane Shiels' grounds just fifty yards from Granny McCullagh's (and Sonny's) house. There was rationing and little to be served in her eating-house. One young recruit, and regular customer, took exception, raided the army store and returned to 43 Monaghan Street bearing on his back the gift of a sack of flour with which she might make bread for him. Sadly he was caught and disciplined.

It was, however, to this house that Patrick McCullagh took his young bride. Frank, his elder brother, had enlisted in the Marines and was doing his bit to oppose Hitler's fascism. Sonny was a half-uncle to Paddy Vickers, who also lived there. (Paddy's mother Maisie was an older half sister to Sonny: they had the same mother but different fathers. Paddy was in effect being raised by his granny). At that time Paddy was about to leave school and seek work as a general labourer. Much later he would become a baker too, as all the menfolk in that house seemed to be! My aunt Dolly also lived with her mother there. Dolly was seven years older than Eileen and nowhere nearly as competent about the house. Increasingly Granny Bridget came to rely on her daughter-in-law as business flourished. Dolly was prone to jealousy. In addition as my parent's family grew, pressure for space intensified.

My elder sisters too could make pests of themselves, as children will, poking into rooms and drawers that are out of bounds. When Sonny and Eileen were finally allocated a new home in the Meadow in 1948 it came as a blessed relief to everyone concerned. My granny had died in 1944 and for three years Eileen had had to endure living and working there with Dolly as the woman of the house. It took some few further years before their relationship could get back on a cordial level. It did and we all grew up developing a warm friendship with Dolly.

The British government used Northern Ireland as a way station to prepare their troops (and those of their allies) for the coming battles in Europe. For the soldiers, American, English, Scottish and especially Welsh (there seemed to be more of them!) it was the calm before the storm and they made the most of it. Some struck up relationships and married local girls. Some, raw recruits, had no stomach for the coming fight. I remember my father telling me a story of aiding one young American to desert and flee to the (neutral) Irish Republic.

They walked to the border checkpoint on the Omeath Road and almost made it across when the guard there recognized the man's footwear as army issue boots. The soldier was arrested as a deserter: Sonny raced home and jumped into bed to establish an alibi for himself. He escaped punishment. I am told that when the police returned to question him some days later, he was a patient in Daisy Hill Hospital. He had had an accident at work, resulting in the loss of some fingers of his right hand. The police pursued the matter no further.

My three eldest sisters were born in Daisy Hill Hospital. Of course it was still then the old workhouse building (it had burnt down and been completely rebuilt in 1910). Bernadette and I were born at home in Monaghan Street. The others (to Eugene) were born at home in “The Meadow”. Childbirth had become routine for mother. She was however to have serious trouble in childbirth with Eugene, and consequently the last two, Caroline and Brian were born in the hospital, where the doctor and midwife could keep a close eye on proceedings.

But I am now going to let my elder sisters tell their anecdotes of us growing up in the fifties and the sixties.

TODO: Add Img, Kathleen and Pauline, and back of Brian's head

TODO: Add Img, Sister Kathleen

TODO Add img,, Kathleens Confirmation Day

TODO: add img, Lucia, Martin, Gary, David, Marty (Paul wasn't born yet!)