Beattys Overseas

After a lovely day in London at our very generous friends' home, we took a daytrip to Bath, which is WSW of London.  Our 90 minute train ride provided some lovely scenery, and a little iPod/quiet time for each of us.

Bath is a very special city, famous for the natural hot springs that lie there, complete with a very well-preserved site of public bathing.  During the Roman occupation of Britain, elaborate temples and bathing complexes were built at the Bath hot springs, starting in the first century and visited for four centuries. After the Roman withdrawal in the fifth century, these fell into disrepair and were eventually silted over and disintegrated. The hot waters, thought to be medicinal, still had a strong presence in the city, and were used through the Middle Ages and redeveloped in the eighteenth century, housed in gorgeous neo-classical buildings.  Georgian and Victorian-era architecture is featured at the complex, as the City of Bath developed around the sacred waters.  The Roman complex was rediscovered in 1890 and reopened to the public in 1897.  We visited the Roman Bath complex, which is meticulously designed in its presentation of the underground baths and archeological findings.  With our ticket to the Baths, we were also provided tickets to the Bath Museum of Fashion, which was also very cool, but not nearly as extensive as the baths.  (Full photos in the England photo gallery)

Whitney really wanted to see the Royal Crescent,  a road of 30 limestone houses designed in a semi-circle shape.  It was built in 1774 by notable Bath architect John Wood and his son (also named, shockingly, John Wood).  It is among the greatest examples of Georgian architecture in the United Kingdom, and it's quite breathtaking.  The crescent faces a large lawn, which was built to provide the wealthy residents an unobstructed, picturesque view of Bath.  Within the Royal Crescent lies the Royal Crescent Hotel, which apparently has a spit in the basement kitchen that was operated not by human kitchen workers, but by dogs.  Apparently, if the mutt didn't move fast enough, the cook just shoveled a few hot coals in the treadmill to liven up the pace.  (Naturally, Whitney is horrified at the thought, but John overheard the fact from a walking tour guide whose group we followed for 10 minutes.  Hopefully, he's full of bologna). 

I followed Aunt Rose Marie's advice and rang up her dear pal of many years James Ferguson.  James lives in a beautiful area of London called Holland Park .  He offered to have Whitney and I to lunch in Notting Hill, at a Pub directly opposite the Kensington Police Station.  How appropriate!!  Well, Whitney wasn't feeling so well, so I went solo.  Wanting to save $89.00 U.S. in taxi fees (and be as much like a local as possible) I tried to grab the bus to Notting Hill over on Chamberlain Rd. near the Ford's house.   I stood patiently at the stop - which was clearly marked - for about 15 minutes, waiting for the thing to pick me up.  I then realized that I was on the wrong side of the street, since the traffic here is opposite, errr... and needing to head in the correct direction, I risked life and limb, crossing just in time to be waiting for the bus as it approached.   The bus driver passed right by me.   I ran after him for about 100 yards, where the bus was now stopped at a red light.   I tapped angrily on the door, watching the driver slowly turn his head towards me, look me right in the eyes, and quickly step on the gas as the light turned green. I was left in a cloud of doubledecker fumes.  I thought I was back in New York!

Well, I caught up to him at the next stop (2 blocks further up the Road).  Steamed, literally and figuratively, I entered the bus and told him where I needed to go.  He said he knew where it was, and that it was just up the Road.  Well, I stood  near the front for about 2 minutes when he told me, as if I were 5 years old to "sit down, and I'll tell ya when you need to get off."  He then proceeded yell out my stop, along with a helpful woman who'd overheard our diologue.  I got off the bus and realized that I was a wee bit short of my destination, though.   According to the two chaps that I asked directions from on the street I only needed to go about a mile or so further up the hill, it seemed.  

Anyway, I made it to the pub, where James was waiting patiently, and had one of the best afternoons I could have asked for.  James was charming and hysterically funny.  He had so many great stories that the lies that I tried to tell paled in comparison to his true tales of adventure.   Thank you James for the fantastic lunch and the pints and the stories.  It was well worth coming to meet you.  I know now why Rose Marie holds you so dear to her heart!  See you again soon.

BTW: I told Jon and Vanessa about it my bus incident.   It seems that one needs to not only be at the bus stop in London, but to wave the driver down as well if actually you want him to stop.  If you are standing by yourself.  Or if you're in a group.  Or something like that.  I should figure that out before we try to catch a London bus again. 

Editor's Note 31 Oct:  I found this on the web:

Hailing A Bus [In London]

Some bus stops that for some reason are deemed less important are labelled 'request stops'. The only difference with these is that it is necessary to stick out an arm for a couple of seconds in order to request that the bus stop for you. In practice it is usually a good idea to stick out your arm politely whenever you intend to board an oncoming bus. In the case of night buses this is doubly necessary, and passengers travelling very late at night are advised to stick out their arm in plenty of time and to keep it out until they see the bus indicating to pull over. Meanwhile, some of the more unusual bus routes have Hail and Ride sections, along which the bus can be hailed from a number of stopping places. Signs marking recommended stopping places are scattered along these sections and act as minor bus stops, and are the best places to hail the bus from.

Despite being hailed, bus drivers can use one of several reasons not to stop for you, and may even accelerate a little in order to prove their point. The bus may be overloaded or at risk of being overloaded due to the number of people waiting at the stop, or the driver may be near the end of his route and will simply decide not to bother stopping. Other reasons include a slightly emptier bus being right behind the one you are hailing, or that you weren't quite at the bus stop when you stuck your hand out and so all the running you did simply wasn't worth it. Meanwhile, there are those irritating buses which display the route number you are waiting for, but read 'Sorry! Not in service'.

- John

Saturday morning started late - due to a late night on Friday - and we went for a long brisk walk around the Queens Park neighborhood where our dear friends J & V live.

Among the many notable characteristics of this London neighborhood are the obscenely large leaves that have fallen off the trees during this Autumn week.  John Love knows what kind of trees they are, but they produce some extremely gargantuan leaves (see Love's comment below).

Other notable aspects of Queens Park is its very diverse community (there are two Islamic elementary schools in the neighborhood within walking distance of a Starbucks, a Fried Chicken takeaway restaurant and a pub featuring Salsa dancing on Thursday nights), the extremely well-maintained park (featuring an almost storybook-like parade of parents/nannies with babies, old men playing soccer, gardeners tending to flower beds, and senior citizens practicing tai chi), and the confusing sidewalk protocol (where English pedestrians stay to the right of the sidewalk when you pass each other, which is a direct opposite of the driving rules here where you stay to the left side of the street. Essentially, the pedestrians follow 'American' rules of the road. Maybe I'm a silly American tourist, but this really throws me for a loop.).

Other than that, we've had an expectedly swell time in the land of the Royals.  Sorry, there are not too many London photos or journal postings, as we have been here before and haven't done any tourist/sightseeing activities.  We promise to post more educational & enlightening journals in the future.  Tomorrow, in fact, we're heading to Ireland for a few days, then onto Scotland.  Cheerio!

- Whitney

Our first Ryan Air flight to Derry was fast, easy and efficient (no wonder they call themselves the On-Time Airline!).  When we got off the plane at the diminutive Derry Airport, John was smiling like a little boy.  We drove into Donegal town, and checked into our adorable B&B, Rhu Gorse, on Lough (Lake) Eske.  We treated ourselves to a ridiculously expensive nice dinner, and went to find a pub with live music.  We had been directed by our B&B proprietor to find Dunions, a nice local place where there wouldn't be too many partying young people (it was the weekend before Halloween, so there were a few costumed rowdy groups at other bars in town). 

We found the place friendly and welcoming, and the traditional Irish music being performed in the back room kept us company for the first few minutes.  Gerry singings with the band - Click to watch Video! Then, we met Gerry, a wonderful guy from Dublin who was on a "wee holiday" in Donegal for the weekend.  Gerry happens to be an excellent source of Irish history and a breathtaking singer.  He sang along with the band a few times and, after the band had stopped for the night, sang a cappella and had the pub crowd fixated on every note.  The night was a success, and we went back to the adorable B&B with big plans for the rest of our stay in Ireland.

- Whitney

My great-Aunt Bridgie told us during a recent visit that seeing my family in Culacrick in the town of Annagary, Donegal would not be a problem, even on short notice.  Or, even, with no notice at all. She was also very excited at the prospect that we'd visit "Den Johhny" the house where she and her older sister (my grandmother), Annie [nee O'Donnell] Gallagher, were born.  They were the first of 10 children born to Daniel and Gainnie (Grace) O'Donnell.  

Aunt Bridgie regaled us with great stories about her childhood home and home town, then gave us two contact names, no numbers and said to send her love.  When I asked how I'd get in touch with her cousin Rosha Ferry and the rest of the cousins she said, "Just get there.  The word will get out that you're there, and people will find you."  I was so proud of my family!

Now, I had been to Annagary with my immediate family and the Love's back in 2000, so I had some recollection of the town and the cemetery behind the church where my great grandparents on my Mom's side are buried along with their daughter, Sarah Roarty and her husband, Uncle Jimmy.  Even though we hadn't called a soul to announce ourselves, based on Aunt Bridgie's confidence I was not concerned at all.  Well, maybe just a little bit.

 I'd been telling Whitney during our long drive North from Donegal town how "the cousin's" had operated, both in Donegal and in New York.  In between her moans about queasiness in her tummy from the road I told her about the visits to and from Ireland and Scotland, and how the cousins (my Mom, her siblings, cousins in the USA and those in Ireland and Scotland) had been getting together over the years, and how wonderfully the old relationships have endured and new ones been created, all across the pond. 

We arrived early afternoon Monday having taken the N56, certainly the longest, curviest, windiest, waviest and bumpiest two lane highway ever cut into the earth. Following Aunt Bridgie's instructions we went straight to the Annagary Post Office to seek out Bridge Dora, our 1st contact person.  Only Monday happened to be a bank holiday, and the post office was closed.  What we didn't know was that Bridge Dora lives right behind the office, and we could have met her had we only rang her bell.  We are very sorry we missed her, but will certainly see her on our next visit!

On then we went down the road, thinking that I'd find the cemetery and have to leave town with out saying hello to anyone I was related to.  I was also feeling bit nervous about my ability to find "Den Johnny".  Aunt Bridgie had given Whitney and I clear instructions to also seek out cousin Una Ferry, her own cousin Rosha Ferry's Daughter.  Well, I had no idea who was who.  I had heard the names many many times over the years but always thought that my Mom or her sisters' Pat, Grace or Rose Marie would always be present to clear up any introductions.  Oops!

Feeling a bit lost we soon pulled up to Benjie's pub, where we introduced ourselves to the bartender and explained our predicament.  He smiled and said "maybe one of the boys can help ya."  Just then one of the 3 gents in the pub introduced himself.   "Sure", said Bernard.  "I know Rosha Ferry.  Do you have a car?  I'll take you to her."   After some lovely conversation, in which Bernard informed us that we'd not only taken the long route, but also the most nauseating, so much so that he only travels it alone, in order to have time to be car sick  :) we headed out.  Off we went up the road, just one quick turnoff and soon we saw Bernard pulling over to speak to a woman standing in front of a house.   I thought for sure he was lost and that we faced a long day ahead! As it turns out, we did have a long day ahead, but with great reason.  This woman WAS Rosha Ferry! 

Two minutes earlier we had been lost and were planning a hasty exit from my ancestor's hometown, the current home of many of the cousin's we had looked so forward to seeing.  Now we were out of the car, kisses and hugs, whisked into the house in front of a gorgeous fire, and Rosha put the call out that "the yanks" had arrived.

Visiting with the Ferry family

Then in came her daughters Una and Anne, and their cousin Patrick, and Una's daughter Marian, and what a fantastic time we had!  While the introductions were still happening, I admitted to my beautiful and understanding cousins that I was under the impression that they were a lot older than they actually were; since my 96-year old Aunt Bridgie has spoken of them so often, I assumed they were all in their 80s! Soon platters of delicious sandwiches appeared with a pots of tea and chocolates and sweets, and I was forced to eat until I thought I'd be rolled out of the house.  The ladies were fantastically sweet and kind.  The calls went out, as Aunt Bridgie said they would, and in 50 minutes I had taken four phone calls on Rosha's line. 

Whitney and I soon had dinner plans for later on, a place to sleep that night, and arrangements were being made for our Scotland leg to visit Auntie Mary, Bridgie's sister, in Glasgow!  Even Auntie Mary rang the phone to welcome us!

It was incredible.  Whitney and I laughed and laughed.  We loved meeting everyone.  We talked about the family, and all of our lives, and we felt so at home.  After Rosha took care of arranging for us to see Den Johnny's, we all headed outside for a quick photo, said our goodbyes and Whitney and I headed down the road. 

One of the calls I had taken at Rosha's was from cousin Sadie, who insisted on driving from Letterkenny (45 minutes to an hour away!) to bring the keys to open Den Johnny's, which is still in the family and used by its owner, cousin Michael O'Donnell, during the summers.  She was joined there by our cousin Daniel Roarty (son of Sara and Jimmy) and his daughters Sheila & Kathleen, who all graciously braved the cold, wet day to light a fire in Den Johnny's and sit and catch up with us.  We had last been together there before, when they hosted me at Den Johnny's the first time in 2000. 
at DenJohnny's!The girls are almost grown now, and funny and beautiful, and again we had a great time.  We walked around inside and outside, and talked about the lives that the O'Donnells had.  We talked about the ones who emigrated, and the sickness, and the tragedy of Aunt Sara.  We talked about life in that house and those born after the oldest had left, and the lives of Aunt Bridgie and Annie and Mary and then Daniel pointed out that the family had never once been together under one roof. 

And we were humbled.

Again, we said our thank you's and goodbyes in front of Den Johnny's, and took some pics and hugged and off we went to Leitier - a lovely area off of the Gweebara River - Donegal to meet more cousins!  

Another call I took at Rosha's was from cousin Grace [O'Donnell] McGeehan, who graciously opened her stunning home for a delicious supper, great conversation and a beautifully warm bed.   Since her home was a bit off the main road, arrangements were made for her brother, Daniel O'Donnell to meet us at a pub near her home and lead us back.  Well, I'll admit I'd done a fair share of driving, and it was dark, and by the time we found the pub it was late and we'd passed it at least once going too far.  We were lagging.

When we entered the pub, I didn't recognize anyone, so I was again a bit deflated.  We stepped up to the bar and as my eyes searched the room, I took out my mobile to once again pester Grace with apologies and questions.  I then heard the gentleman to my left say "You can put your phone away."   A handshake and a smile later we were whisked back to Grace's where we shared a huge delicious home cooked meal.  We were heartily welcomed by Grace, and we loved talking with her daughter Aileen, who has recently left Dublin where she was teaching elementary school students in a very tough neighborhood;  so tough, I'd seen the exact neighborhood once on a BBC special!  Grace's husband Danny was missed, as he was away on holiday.

Cousin Daniel's stories (and his recognition of my status as a charmer) endeared him to me almost as much as when he said, 30 seconds into our mention of visiting Glasgow, "I guess you're stayin' with me, then."  What a great guy.  When I attempted to explain who was who back in New York over dinner, he said, "You don't need to explain the relationships to me, I know who everyone is," he proved it by entertaining us with his great travel tales.  We look forward to his hospitality in Scotland.  He's even offered to pick us up at the airport, and he threatened to have the rest of the Scotland cousins come out so we might meet them as well!

John and Grace

Monday night at Grace's and Aileen's was truly wonderful, and today began with a lovely breakfast and chat with Grace, who spent the morning with us and made us feel like we were really welcome.   Her home isn't just aesthetically pleasing, but - like Rosha's beautiful home - it's a place where Whitney and I were made to feel wonderfully comfortable and cozy.  And we loved it!  Thank you!

- John

After we said our goodbyes to Grace and she mapped out our route on Tuesday morning, we made our way to Dunlewy. Dunlewy is the Donegal town where my Mother's Dad, Michael (Mickey Darby) Gallagher was from. Right before we left NYC for this trip I spoke with Aunt Pat Love who gave great directions (third house into town on the left, main road of town, I think, and also some background on Cousins Dermott and his wife Maggie Gallagher who we were going to see). I had met Dermott back in 2000 when we visited their home. But I also remembered that my parent's had spent such a wonderful time there during a trip they took with Aunt Dolores and Uncle John Power years before. As Dermott reminded me, the house was jammed with people and they all stayed up singing and talking till 5 a.m., as Maggie had arranged for all of the local cousins to come over for a party in honor of the Yank cousins! The guests arrived in a bus! This is a small town, so it was quite a show. Mom was very surprised and honored. I need only refer to the photo albums at my Dad's house to see what a great smiling time my parents had!

I was so looking forward to showing Whitney the Gallagher house site in Dunlewy, as it is located at the foot of Errigal Mountain, just above a beautiful lake. It is simply too stunning for words.
I also wanted to pet some sheep, but that was not to be :( 
Baaaaaa

Once again, though, I tired our hosts out with needless calls and timetables, only to be told not to worry. When I got Maggie on the line while we were enroute, she said, "John; PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE stop worrying. Don't bring anything but yourselves. In our house, you can come anytime. Just drop in when you can". We were soon there, and I found Dermott in the back of the house playing with his gorgeous granddaughter Moira, his Daughter Mary's little girl. Hours and hours passed over in front of a beautiful and hot peat heated stove with more delicious sandwiches, scones, and pots and pots of hot tea. Over and over Maggie and Dermott threatened us to eat everything! I told them one more bite and I'd need to nap on their sofa. Their response was to invite us to stay the night!

Dunlewy
Dermott was generous enough to take us in the car to Pop Gallagher's boyhood home right next door, which his own dad Brian Gallagher-the oldest of the brothers- had also been born in. He spent hours-literally-explaining to us 5 generations back in my Grandfather's family, along with remembrances and anecdotes from him and Maggie. I was amazed, and profoundly grateful for the knowledge, the food, the tour of Dunlewey, the tour of the old house which has been renovated and is lovely, and the tour of the brand new home his son Paul is having built next door (the views are incredible!). He also took us to the cemetery to visit his parent's grave, and down all the way into Poison Glenn, the amazingly picturesque village below his home.

As we were set to head for Letterkenny, our next stop in an attempt to meet my Dad's people, Maggie brought out a Gaelic book report her son had done about 20 years ago on the family lineage. In it was an incredible photo of my Grandfather home visiting Ireland back in April 1955. He is shown with his Mother, who died only 2 months later. Maggie gifted to photo to me, for which I am incredibly grateful. I'll scan it soon and post it here, too.

At last we said goodbye, and after kisses from the Ladies and a great big hug from Dermott we drove off. We made one last stop a few hundred feet up the road to see the original home of the Gallaghers. It is boarded up now, but I can envision its original strength and beauty. Dermott told us it is privately owned now. Perhaps someday we too can live in Dunlewey!

As I climbed back in the car from taking my last look, I drove off towards Letterkenny. I guess the entirety of the visits, and the love and kindness shown to us got the better of me. As I shed some tears, I thought of my Mom, and I thought that my Donegal Forbearers, who had ALL worked so hard through incredibly difficult circumstances, would be very proud of how Whitney and I have been treated these last two days. And how proud of them I was.

Whitney kindly asked if I wanted to pull over. No, I thought, I just want to get to Letterkenny and spend time with more of my family.

- John