From the Great Blasket to America Read online

  MIKE CARNEY (Micheál Ó Ceárna), born in 1920 on The Great Blasket Island, emigrated to the Hungry Hill neighbourhood of Springfield, Massachusetts in 1948. He knew little English when he travelled to the mainland at sixteen. In Dublin he worked as a barman and wrote an Irish-language column for The Irish Press. In Springfield, he worked as a grocery store manager and as a security officer. He was president of the John Boyle O’Reilly Club for sixteen years and helped to create the Blasket Island Centre (Dunquin). He was awarded an honorary doctoral degree in Celtic literature from the National University of Ireland Maynooth in 2009, honouring his lifelong devotion to preserving the language and culture of his native place.

  GERALD HAYES is married to Mike’s daughter Maureen. He visits West Kerry frequently with his family and makes the trip over to The Great Blasket itself whenever weather conditions allow. Hayes is a retired vice-president of Westfield State University in Massachusetts.

  These memoirs are dedicated:

  To Seán Tom Ó Ceárna and Neilí Uí Cheárna, my father and mother, for inspiring me to pursue my dreams.

  To my beloved sister Cáit who raised us with a mother’s care and affection and who sacrificed much so that we would grow up healthy and wise.

  To my dear brother Seán, who died on The Great Blasket Island at the age of twenty-four. His death led to the evacuation of the island. And to my brother Seámus who died before we even knew him.

  To my other brothers and sisters, both living and deceased, Maurice, Martin, Paddy, Maureen, Tom and Billy, with whom I shared the adventure of emigration and who collectively established a new home for the Ó Ceárna/Carney/Kearney family in the United States.

  To my courageous forebears, particularly my great aunt Nellie Carney, the first of my family to emigrate to America. They paved the way for me and my family to relocate from Ireland and to build a better life for ourselves and our descendants.

  To the Ó Cinnéide family of Moorestown, County Kerry, and to all who collaborated in the preservation of The Great Blasket Island, its history, its literature and its spirit. They created institutions that will keep the memory of the island alive forever.

  To my children and their families who are a source of enormous pride and who themselves have worked hard to advance the preservation and memory of the island.

  And finally, to the love of my life, my deceased wife Maureen Ward Carney. This Roscommon woman put up with my passion for The Great Blasket Island for more than sixty years. She had the grace of Mary and patience of Job. I miss her so.

  MICHAEL J. CARNEY

  (MICHEÁL J. Ó CEÁRNA)

  MICHAEL CARNEY WITH GERALD HAYES

  Contents

  Map of The Great Blasket Island

  Introduction

  1. The Most Beautiful Place on Earth

  2. Mike Carney: Islandman

  3. Island Life

  4. Island Education, Literature and Culture

  5. The Carneys: An Island Family

  6. From The Great Blasket to Cahersiveen to Dublin

  7. The Decline and Evacuation of the Island

  8. Doing All Right in America

  9. An Island Legacy

  ‘The Blasket Sound’ by Devon Bowers

  Chronology

  Acknowledgments

  Photograph, document and quotation credits

  Bibliography

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  Imprint page

  Cover photographs

  Front (main and spine): The Great Blasket Island (Kevin Farnham); top (l–r): Mike Carney’s father, stands in front of his house on The Great Blasket (Thomas H. Mason); Blasket Island boys pose for a photo. Mike Carney is standing, far left, with his brothers Tom, Martin and Paddy sitting in front (Blasket Centre Archives); A&P store on Main Street, Springfield, Massachusetts (Springfield Public Library). Back (l–r): a view of The Great Blasket Island, looking northeastwards (Blasket Centre Archives); Mike Carney (right) with his sponsor, his uncle Tom Carney, in 1948 (Carney family archive); island children on the strand. Mike Carney is second from left (Blasket Centre Archives).

  Map of West Kerry showing the location of the Blasket Islands.

  Introduction

  Mike Carney is my father-in-law. More importantly, Mike Carney is my friend. When I met Mike almost thirty years ago, I had never heard of The Great Blasket Island. Mike was incredulous that anyone who claimed Irish heritage (I am half-Irish) could possibly be ignorant of such a significant aspect of Irish history. He was more than a little wary of me.

  I achieved a breakthrough with Mike when we realised that he had been friendly with my by-then-deceased grandfather, Daniel J. Hayes, who had lived to be a spry ninety-seven. Dan was quite fond of a pint of Guinness and a shot of whiskey at the John Boyle O’Reilly Club in Springfield, Massachusetts, on an occasional Sunday afternoon. An emigrant himself, Dan was a bit of a local celebrity in his own right. He and Mike would relax and share the boundless joys of Irish heritage on those Sunday afternoons many years ago. Mike let me know in no uncertain terms, however, that my grandfather was from Limerick (the village of Effin, Kilmallock) and that Limerick was, by definition, far inferior to the glorious Kingdom of Kerry.

  As we became closer, Mike took to calling me, affectionately I’m sure, a ‘goddamned narrowback’. At the time, I thought he was drawing a contrast between the physical attributes of those like me who grew up in the relatively soft environs of the United States with those like him, who had endured the rigours of life on a sparse island off the coast of Ireland and had the broad back to prove it. But now it seems that he was simply comparing my American birth with the genuine article, an Irish immigrant, a so-called ‘greenhorn’.

  The fact that I married his daughter Maureen was not sufficient to seal the deal. I had to be educated about The Great Blasket. Out came the photos and the stories … and more stories. I was surprised by my level of interest in what turned out to be a fascinating saga. Tell me more about ‘The Great Blasted island,’ I would tease him. Little did I know that the word ‘Blasted’ actually reflected his own personal view of the derivation of the word ‘Blasket’.

  Over the years, Mike introduced me to two ardent Blasket stalwarts living in Ireland: Edna Uí Chinnéide of Moorestown in County Kerry and her son, Micheál Ó Cinnéide, currently of County Wexford. Edna is the widow of Caoimhín Ó Cinnéide, Mike’s second cousin and one of his best friends in Dublin where they both lived during their twenties. Edna and Micheál are dedicated and tireless patrons of all things Blasket. They have been extraordinarily kind, generous and patient as I expanded my Blasket knowledge.

  Then there were trips to Ireland and to The Great Blasket Island itself. My wife Maureen and I were profoundly moved by finally standing in the ruins of the long-abandoned Carney home on the island, together with our children, Michael and Andrew. We also gained a fuller appreciation of the significance of the Blaskets during an elongated personal tour of the Blasket Centre (Ionad an Bhlascaoid), courtesy of its director, Micheál de Mórdha.

  Later, my wife and I pitched in with her cousin and Blasket descendant, Sean Cahillane of Springfield, to coalesce support for the creation of The Great Blasket Island National Historical Park among descendants of the participants in the Blasket diaspora. This effort is gradually coming to fruition after more than ten years of sustained effort on both sides of the Atlantic.

  At some point in our relationship, Mike inexplicably switched the way he referred to me. Instead of addressing me as a ‘narrowback’, he began to call me either ‘Captain’ or ‘Doctor’, depending on his whim. I took that as a subtle affirmation that my Blasket immersion wa
s complete. While I will never be an ‘islander’, I have gained from Mike Carney an appreciation for the true meaning of the term.

  These memoirs stem from a realisation that the story of the Blaskets and the interrelated story of Mike’s own life as an Irish emigrant are really quite remarkable. After hearing anecdotes of island life and of his personal journey to America for many years, I eventually recognised that Mike’s story is worthy of preservation. In the winter of 2008/2009, I decided that I had procrastinated long enough. Mike and I undertook a series of Saturday morning interviews eventually totalling more than twenty-five hours. His often vivid recall at the age of eighty-eight was extraordinary, especially considering the fact that he left the island at the age of sixteen. I then sorted the interviews and filled the gaps to create a coherent storyline. While the story is Mike’s, I edited the overall flow for readability.

  To some extent, this collaborative writing process is reminiscent of the literary interaction that earlier island authors undertook with their collaborators: Tomás Ó Criomhthain with Robin Flower; Muiris Ó Súilleabháin with George Thomson; and Peig Sayers with her son Micheál Ó Guithín.

  Since we approached the exercise as a memoir, this story presents Mike’s lifelong memories and personal perspectives in the first person. It is not, in any way, a disciplined history in the traditional sense. It is pure Mike Carney. It is entirely possible that Mike’s memory of details may have failed him and he might be guilty of embellishment from time to time, but the underlying story is an accurate portrayal of a fascinating life.

  One interesting aspect of island life is a series of apparent contradictions and clear contrasts. They include: the physical beauty of The Great Blasket with the harsh living conditions endured by its people; the happy singing of Mike’s mother with her yearning for her family off-island in Coumeenole; and the uncomplaining approach to life with folk music characterised by lamenting. A more practical contradiction involved living on an island and making a living by fishing on dangerous seas with the fact that few learned how to swim.

  These contradictions suggest a quiet discontent that must have been a factor in the acceleration of emigration from the island. Mike acknowledges these issues, but he shrugs and accepts them as a reflection of the reality of island life.

  Perhaps the most vivid example of the prevailing ambivalence toward the island is Mike’s father’s emigrating to America, not once but twice, and moving back to the island both times.

  One constant in Mike’s life has been his unrelenting pressuring of the Irish government. From 1947 to 1953 he was involved in trying to persuade the government to evacuate The Great Blasket Island. Then, over the last twenty years or so, he has been involved in persuading the government to preserve the island properly and recognise its contribution to Irish culture. Mike disavows any interest in politics, yet he has certainly developed the persistence and tenacity of a lobbyist in the pursuit of his goals.

  One editorial struggle involved the use of the word ‘emigrant’ rather than ‘immigrant’ and associated derivations of each. It was a close call, but ultimately I chose to use ‘emigrant’ because this is Mike’s story and he views himself more as an emigrant from Ireland than an immigrant to the United States. Case closed.

  To respect the authenticity of Mike’s voice, some of his routine conversational expressions are incorporated in the narrative. For example, when referring to past events, Mike will often say ‘in them days’. When referring to people going over to the island, he invariably uses the preposition ‘into’. I hope that these nuances and others add to the flavour of the story.

  Finally, there is the matter of language. I have found Irish, frequently referred to as ‘Gaelic,’ to be a challenge. It operates on its own alphabet of eighteen letters and there are multiple local dialects. There are even variations in the exact spelling of certain words and names. Nevertheless, in order to add to the authenticity of this work, I have tried valiantly to include the Irish spellings for names, places, artifacts and selected expressions that seem closest to the local Irish convention in West Kerry. The Irish is presented in parentheses immediately after the first use of a particular name, word or expression. For names, I have included the most commonly used version, either Irish or English, and provided both versions where individuals changed their common name over time. My apologies if I have mangled a name or a word or two … or more.

  I hope you will agree that Mike Carney’s story is particularly poignant because of his stature as the oldest and one of the last surviving native Blasket Islanders. At the time of writing, there are only ten islanders remaining, seven in Ireland and three in America, including Mike and his sister Maureen Carney Oski.

  Let me acknowledge the terrific work of Cole Moreton in his book Hungry for Home, Leaving the Blaskets: A Journey from the Edge of Ireland. Moreton chronicles the 1953 evacuation of The Great Blasket Island and related events. His work is based, in part, on his own interviews with Mike, his sister Cáit and his brothers Paddy and Martin – as well as other Springfield-area Blasket descendants, including Sean Cahillane. Regrettably, Cáit, Paddy and Martin are now deceased.

  The publication of this book in 2013 coincides with the sixtieth anniversary of the evacuation and the twentieth anniversary of the opening of the Blasket Centre. It is altogether fitting to publish a new Blasket memoir at this time to help mark these significant milestones.

  This memoir differs from other books in the Blasket library in at least two respects. Firstly, it encompasses the emigration of an islander to America and his subsequent efforts to preserve the legacy of the Blaskets. And, secondly, it is also likely to be the last book written by a Blasket writer. I hope that this work is a fitting contribution to this long and captivating tradition.

  I will concede at the outset that this written account cannot possibly capture the charm of the story as told by Mike himself. There is something about the lilt in his voice, the twinkle in his eye and his hearty chuckle that communicate his pride, passion and emotion. Such are the limitations of the written word.

  I hope that I have done justice to the man and to his story. After all, Mike Carney is my friend.

  GERALD W. HAYES

  1. The Most Beautiful Place on Earth

  The Great Blasket Island (An Blascaod Mór) is located about 3 miles off the southwest coast of County Kerry. It is one of the westernmost points of land in all of Europe. The island is about 3½ miles long and half a mile wide, about 1,100 acres in all. At its highest point, it is about a thousand feet above sea level.

  The Great Blasket’s beauty is breathtaking. The whole area, including the island itself and the Dingle Peninsula (Corca Dhuibhne), has been called ‘the most beautiful place on earth’ by National Geographic Traveler. I couldn’t agree more.

  This island is my homeland. Even at almost ninety-three years of age, I dream about it almost every night.

  The first thing I see in my dreams is the white sandy beach (an tráigh bháin) on the coast of the island facing the mainland. When we were children, we used to roll up our trousers and run in the surf or play Gaelic football and other sports on the beach that we called ‘the strand’. This is the only fairly flat land on the whole island. To the right and left of the beach is a coastline of black jagged rock running north and south with cliffs averaging about 30 feet high.

  Blasket Sound is called ‘An Bealach’. The water is very rough with lots of rocks and reefs, many of them hidden under the surface of the water. It is a treacherous place and navigation is very tricky, even for the most experienced sailors. Over the years, there were a large number of shipwrecks in the Sound. A ship from the Spanish Armada, the Santa Maria de la Rosa, sank here in 1588 and there is a stone monument over on the mainland commemorating its wreck. Other shipwrecks included the Lochie, the Commerce, the Caroline and the Quebra. These are dangerous waters indeed.

  The Great Blasket Island, centre left, with Inishvickillane to the far left, Beginish and Tearaght to the right.
The village of Dunquin is in the foreground.

  At the left of the beach in a small cove is the only island pier (Caladh an Oileáin) with a slipway. It is hidden from view as you approach the island, behind a large rock. It is very risky trying to get a boat of any type into or away from the pier. Even today, you have to bless yourself before you make your landing!

  There is a well-worn clay path leading from the pier up a short distance to the village. The homes were built on the rising slope looking out in an easterly direction across the Sound towards the small mainland community of Dunquin (Dún Chaoin). The island village is clustered in a small area. There are two sections: ‘bun an bhaile’, the bottom of the village, and ‘barr an bhaile’, the top of the village. The bottom section is close enough to the Sound that you can hear the waves constantly crashing on the shore, especially in bad weather.

  The island was occupied for hundreds of years until it was evacuated by the Irish government in 1953. The first known inhabitants were probably monks or maybe even Vikings. They left behind a few stone beehive huts and an old stone fort on one of the island’s two peaks. Later, after the English takeover of Ireland in the sixteenth century, the island was owned by the Earl of Cork.

  There was an influx of people from the mainland into the island when land rents were going up all over Ireland in the early 1800s. Tenant farmers couldn’t afford to pay their rent and bailiffs representing the landowners came around chasing people for money. It was a big controversy. Some people went into the island from the mainland to avoid the unaffordable rents.

  Aerial view of the island village in 2012 showing the ruins of the homes, the Congested District Board houses at the top of the village, the roadways and the fields.

  The islanders used to tell stories about a bailiff from the Earl of Cork coming into the island to collect rent. It seems that the bailiff was stoned from the cliff above the pier by the women of the island and he went away without any money. At some point, the bailiff just gave up. There wasn’t enough money to be raised for the amount of aggravation involved. So, in effect, the land on the island was mostly free of charge.