Chapter 5

Chapter 5 5-31-99

 

August 8, 1969

 

 

“Come right in Mr. Dineen, Mrs. Dineen,” Father Barr greeted the couple the next morning as the ancient housekeeper showed Brian and Caitlin into the priest’s study. “I heard you were in from America visiting your Uncle Peter and I was hoping we’d get a chance to meet before you went on.”

“I hope we’re not dropping in at a bad time, Father. If you’re busy, we could come back later,” Brian said as he shook the hand of the young priest.

“Please sit down. And may I offer you some tea?”

“Thank you, Father,” Brian replied, “But I think we will have to decline. We’re working on a tight schedule and anyway we probably shouldn’t be taking up your time. I’m sure you have many more important things to do than to be receiving visitors from the States.”

“If the truth be known, Mr. Dineen, I’d be looking for things to do if you hadn’t stopped by,” the young priest replied. “We’re not a big parish as you can see, and we’re not a rich parish. As a matter of fact we’re a gradually shrinking parish with so many of our young people going off to find work in Dublin or London or America and never coming back. And many of the older parishioners look on me as being too young and inexperienced to understand their needs, so being a parish priest here has it’s lonely moments. I suppose if I’m here another thirty years and go gray enough, the parishioners will start to accept me as their pastor. But that’s not a complaint, mind you. Are you sure you don’t have time for tea?”

“Well, if you’re sure we’re not imposing. What do you say, Caitlin.”

“As long as we’re not taking up too much of your time, a cup of tea would taste just right about now,” Caitlin answered.

“Mrs. Stanton,” the priest said looking at the housekeeper. “If you please.”

The darkness of the parlor was amplified by the low wattage light bulbs in the three table lamps that served to define the room’s perimeter. Glass enclosed bookcases on two walls housed volumes Brian was sure hadn’t been looked at in decades. There was an official, almost canonical look about them much in contrast to the appearance of their current master. The overstuffed dark leather couch seemed appropriate for the setting, as did the two non-descript fabric-covered armchairs which completed the sitting area. In front of the room’s sole window was the priest’s leather topped mahogany mahogany desk where, Brian assumed, the lesser gravity activities of the parish were conducted in proper order. Two penitential looking chairs were positioned neatly on the opposite side of the desk from the padded swivel chair for the priest. The occupants of those chairs, awaiting the transaction of whatever church related business was at hand, would see the room’s only true illumination as a halo of light entering the room behind the ordained one.

Father Barr led his visitors to the sitting area and offered them seats on the leather couch. He, himself, chose one of the armchairs separated from the couch by a century old tea table.

Before Brian had a chance to explain the purpose of his visit, the priest crossed his legs and inquired “And how are you finding our little country? This is your first visit, I assume? I expect it’s much more compact than you might have imagined it to be. Most people find that to be the case.

Without waiting for them to reply the priest continued “Have you had much opportunity to travel around since you’ve been here?”

“Since we arrived Monday morning we managed to drive for two days stopping at Galway, Oughterard and Westport, and two days visiting our relatives here in Mayo. My father is from here and Caitlin’s parents are from Carracastle. Her mother and some other relatives live in Dublin and that’s our next stop after here,” Brian answered.

“While we are here I hoped to get a copy of my father’s baptismal certificate and the marriage certificates for both sets of my grandparents, if that’s possible.”

Brian’s explanation was interrupted by the return of Mrs. Stanton with a tray of tea, cream, soda bread and butter. “Will there be anything else, Father,” Mrs. Stanton asked after she placed the tray on the tea table. “If not, I’ll be going for the day, if that is all right with you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Stanton. “That will be all.”

The priest poured the tea into china cups with saucers, placing the first cup in front of Caitlin, next to the linen napkin and spoon set there by the housekeeper. He followed that presentation with the silver creamer and sugar bowl, then repeated the service for Brian. He poured himself a cup of tea from the pot but chose not to use either cream or sugar and returned to the armchair. If they wanted soda bread, they would have to reach for it. Caitlin was satisfied with the tea. Brian could not resist the soda bread.

After the second cup of tea was poured all around, Brian again brought up the subject of the certificates.

The priest walked over to the desk for a pad of paper and a pencil and returned to his seat. “I’ll need to know your grandparent’s names and the years when they were married, and your father’s date of birth to start my search. The baptismal certificate should be easy but the marriage certificates will take some time since we’ll have to do some digging in the parish archives. I should ask your father’s Christian name and we can get going on that one.”

“ It was Martin Dineen and he was born on March 25,1901 here in Kilcummin,” Brian answered. “And my grandparents on my mother’s side…”

That won’t be necessary. Since your father was born after 1895, we’ll have all that information in our records over in the church vault. Because of the spelling of names used at the time and whether their names were given in Gaelic or English, it will be easier for me to use your father’s baptismal certificate as a starting point to get to the others.”

Brian and Caitlin put their tea cups back on the table expecting to leave momentarily for the church record room, but the priest continued to talk, changing the subject back to the Dineens life in America. They kept the conversation going for another fifteen minutes before Brian looked at his watch.

“I’m afraid we’ve overstayed our welcome, Father, and we’ve taken up too much of your time. Suppose I leave you our address and when you have time to find the records you could mail the certificates to us in New York.”

“We can get a copy of your father’s baptismal certificate now, if you can spare another ten minutes. And yes, I will mail your grandparents certificates to you as soon as I locate them.”

The three left the parish house and walked next door to the stone church. The church was simple by American standards, Brian thought, though a great deal of care and thought went into building it. The floor was old, well worn marble, black, white and green and the pews, with their folded up kneelers were not attached to the floor. The chapel, to the left of the church body, was equally sere. The ceiling construction was like that of an inverted boat. The ridge beam was keel-like and was held in place by hand-formed two-part ribs, twenty on each side, cantilevering up from the stuccoed stone side walls. The color scheme of the interior walls was two tones of salmon. Stations of the cross were painted oil on canvas and were mounted along both sides of the church in hand carved Gothic frames.

As they neared the front of the church, Brian saw the old pre-Vatican II altar was still in place and served as the tabernacle of the council required new altar table facing the congregation. However, the plain clothed tableau altar was separated from the people by a still intact, in use altar rail.

The three entered the sacristy through a hand caved oak door immediately forward of the chapel and walked through the room where all preparations are made for the sacred liturgies and other church services. Glass enclosed closets at the left of the room served to store the Gothic style priestly vestments that were popular in the early half of the century. Brian could see what the priest meant when he said this wasn’t a rich parish.

The chamber to the rear of the sacristy housed the church vault, a stone room about twenty five feet square with oaken ledger shelves along three walls and a long, well worn table resting as an island in the center. Exposed two strand electric wiring, attached to the walls and the arched stone ceiling by ceramic insulators, provided the only twentieth century accommodation.

Father Barr removed a ledger, bound in canvas and leather, from a shelf on the right hand side and carried it to the center table. The volume was marked with a plain faded gold leaf cross on its cover and the legend 1900-1902 on its hand tooled green leather spine. He turned the yellowing pages with reverence and found an entry in April 1901 bearing Martin Dineen’s name.

“Here we are,” Father Barr declared with enthusiasm as he pointed to the entry.

“Martin Dineen. I wonder if it’s the same Martin Dineen my former pastor, Monsignor McReady used to speak about. They would both be about the same age.” He turned one page earlier in the book and located an entry Charles Emmet McReady. “Here it is, my former pastor was baptized six weeks earlier than your father.

“Monsignor McReady retired about eighteen months ago after his third heart attack. But in the six years –almost seven- that I served here as his assistant he often included the name Martin Dineen, in his masses. They were friends, I believe, at the time of the ‘troubles.’ Do you think it could be the same man?”

“I never heard my father talk about a McReady. But you are right, they are about the same age. If we were not in such a hurry, I might like to talk to him. People around here seem to remember nothing about my father except that he went off to America. Even my Uncle Peter could contribute nothing.”

The priest copied out the pertinent information from the ledger for the baptismal certificate and also noted the names and ages of Martin’s parents and the maiden name of Martin’s mother on the same page of the pad. “I’ll be able to give you a copy of your father’s certificate as soon as we get back to the parish house. And I have the information I need to accertain when your grandparents were married. If I come across anything else I think might be of interest to you, I’ll include that when I write.”

Father Barr filled out the certificate and placed the parish seal over his signature. “You’re welcome to stay for supper. Mrs. Stanton is gone for the day but I’m sure I can put something tasty together for us.”

“Thank you just the same, Father,” Brian replied, “but we really have to get going and visit the rest of the relatives tonight so we can leave tomorrow for Dublin.”

“Yes, thank you Father, you’ve been a big help to Brian and we appreciate your generous offer, but we really must be on our way,” Caitlin chimed in.

“Now before you leave,” the priest said,” I must get your address in New York so I can mail the marriage certificates when I get the information.”

Caitlin took the pad from the priest’s desk and wrote out their names and their address. “We can’t thank you enough. You’ve been a bigger help than we could have hoped. By the way, Father, where does Monsignor McReady live now?”

“He lives in Westport, Mrs. Dineen, about 50 kilometers from here. He has a nice cottage and spends a lot of his time fishing. Here, I’ll give you his address in case you want to write to him.”

The priest wrote out the address for Caitlin and after another round of good-byes, the couple walked to their car for the ride back to Whitecreek

“You know, Caitlin, “ Brian said as they were on the road back to Ballina, “I used to think that you were shy and didn’t know how to bring a conversation to an end. But in the few days we have been here, I’m convinced that none of the Irish know how to stop talking. I noticed the same thing at home with my parents and my aunts and uncles, and now I know where it all comes from.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of myself, Mr. Dineen. From what I’ve seen around here, the opposite seems to be true. These people don’t know how to remember. Or haven’t you noticed. Father Barr is the first person that has actually relaxed in our presence and I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

“And while I’m on the subject, why don’t we take a drive over to Westport and see Monsignor McReady, Brian?” Caitlin asked.

I don’t think it’s worth the effort. I’m sure he won’t remember any more than his parishioners did, and besides, it’s a long drive there and back, and we have to get on with our trip.”

“What if I insisted we go, Brian?” Caitlin replied. “If we don’t follow this lead, and mind you, it’s the only lead we have, not knowing if it could lead somewhere will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Who’s getting caught up in this quest now – me or you? I thought it was important to you that we stay on schedule and get to visit your mother and the others in Dublin?”

“It is important to me, Brian. But you are more important. I expect to be living with you a long time, Brian and I don’t want something as small as a car ride to cause us problems later on in our life.”

“Well, if we’re going to Westport we’ll have to stay over another day so I better stop at the bed and breakfast and book us for another night. I should also tell Uncle Peter that we’re staying an extra day.”

“If you don’t tell your uncle, and he learns we stayred an extra day – which is more likely than not—he’ll never forgive us.”