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Originally posted by: Campion
How far back have you . . . traced your ancestry? Anyone cool in your family tree?
Not very far, . . . but he did visit his "homeland".
15 years ago DonDiego visited Ireland.
He drove about the island for two weeks and saw pretty much all the popular sites and lots of smaller, neater things too, . . . like an 800-year old stone footbridge away from the tourists on the Dingle Peninsula. And he was lucky enough to be in Dublin when The Curragh Racecourse held a meet; the coolest thing was betting with the independent bookies who set up shop nearby where one could see each bookies odds on chalkboards and watch the bookies change their odds as they watched each other change their odds. Some interesting bets offered too, . . . like eliminating the favourite from the betting. But DonDiego digresses.
In the middle of the trip DonDiego visited County Donegal, . . . and the town from which his great-grandfather had emigrated " 'cross the Atlantic to Ameriky." He went to the local Anglican Church and paged through some century-and-a-half old records and noted some of the dates-of-baptism and dates-of-death for some of his ancestors.
And he connected with an old man in the village who recognized DonDiego's family-name, and directed DonDiego to the plot which they had farmed, . . . right on a bay of the Atlantic. There was an 8-foot tall white cow grazing when DonDiego visited, . . . a cow which wanted to accompany DonDiego through the gates; luckily she chose not to push the issue or poor old DonDiego could've been trampled or brought up on charges of rustling.
And the fellow even had a story about DonDiego's great-great-grandfather. He informed DonDiego that folks at the pub would tell him that it was his great-great-grandfather's artificial leg hanging on the pub wall, . . . but, in fact it was another man's artificial leg. Nonetheless DonDiego great-great, . . . or maybe great-great-great, . . . grandfather had lost his leg. It seems a large oak tree had floated into the bay, and large trees being uncommon in Ireland because the Bastard British had pretty well deforested the island, the townsfolk congregated to retrieve the tree from the surf. During the effort DonDiego's ancestor was crushed and lost his leg.
Which reminds DonDiego of his visit to a music festival the previous week during which another old man had recited a long, . . . very long, . . . poem/song in Gaelic, . . . a rough, guttural language, indeed, . . . and concluded with a rousing shout: "Damn the British !" But DonDiego digresses.
DonDiego ate one meal in a converted manor house, . . . now a bed-and-breakfast. During the Great Famine it is almost a certainty that DonDiego's ancestors ate there too; the Landlord had established the manor as a food kitchen for the neighboring peasantry and fed them there.
It was shortly after the Great Famine that DonDiego's forebears sailed to America. They ended up working in the coal mines or on the railroads of Pennsylvania. That is pretty much what the Irish did.
So, if peasants are cool, yes, . . . yes, indeed, . . . DonDiego's ancestors are cool !
DonDiego knows little of his paternal grandmother's Polish ancestry. Likewise his maternal grandparent's German ancestry is pretty much a mystery; they ended up in Pennsylvania Dutch Country. That's pretty much what the Germans did.
Oh, . . . the Guinness in Ireland is much better than in America; it is fresher and the bartenders know how to draw a pint properly. And the music in the pubs is real too.
Galway Bay
