I spent a good deal of time thinking about roots and what they mean to me, with a change in my wider family situation. I spent a lot of my time growing up on the family farm owned by an Uncle. I knew the neighbours, knew the dogs and was familiar with many farm chores. The farm has gone up for sale a couple of months ago. My cousin who inherited the farm can’t run it part time and make it work.
The Island
As long as my Mum had known it the farm had been called The Island. There was never a reason given for the name, but one can guess from aerial photo below. Apart from a depression where the farm buildings are, the rest of the land slopes down and away from the farm.
The land never flooded. My great grandfather died as a relatively young man so my grandfather and his mother farmed the land. Before, during and after Ireland’s bid for independence.
My grandfather married late on life and had four children. My Mum, who wouldn’t inherit the farm because she was a girl. My eldest uncle inherited the farm and eventually left it to one of my cousins as he didn’t have children of his own.
Given the changing regulations in Ireland, in order for my cousin to operate the farm, they had had to put in logged hours on the farm under supervision of my Uncle in lieu of studying at an agricultural college.
The farm changed over that time. Originally the farm house was in the depression where there are now farm buildings. Only a small store room remains from that time. During British rule, houses were put in the most unproductive parts of the land, so the original house was dank and damp. The farmers didn’t own their land but instead paid rent to British landlords. The roots of the independence meeting was much about land ownership and owning one’s own future as it was about the irish identity, culture and language.
Externally the old farmhouse looked like a chocolate box thatched farm cottage, but the reality it was different. When my Mum was a child the current house was built, some of the furniture including cupboards, dressers and chairs were moved from the old house. Everything has been covered with an annual coat of ‘oil paint’ – a gloss household paint.
I can remember when the farm started to get grants from the EEC (also known as the Common Market), my grandmother decided to get rid of the old wooden chairs and buy new ones with vinyl covered foam seats.
Around this time, the rural areas of Ireland began to see bungalows and cars proliferate. The main reason was agricultural grants making farming less of a hand-to-mouth existence and the publication of an architectural plan catalogue by Jack Fitzsimmons called Bungalow Bliss. This allowed multi-generational living on the family farm and commuting to work in the town. The homes were modern, light, airy and despised by Ireland’s intelligentsia.
I am just old enough to remember electricity going into the farm house. While Ireland was economically backward; the farm was notably late in having electricity installed. In fact, pylons had gone across the land for years earlier and electricity had first been put in to power the milking parlour. When I was in my teens an extension was built with a hot water tank, radiators, a bathroom and flushing toilets.
The old house was replaced with a hay shed and a couple of outhouses. An animal crush was built by my Dad who is handy with building and steelwork, including custom-lengthened gates. The crush was to help with treatment of the animals. There’s not much else you can do if you want to vaccinate or give medicine to cattle that weighed as much as a small car (at the time). When we’d go back as a family, gates needed maintaining including remedial repairs and repainting. My Dad and I (ok I was very young and more of a hindrance) built a concrete flowerbed in the front of the house.
When I lived there it was expected that I would start contributing labour by the time I was primary school age. Harvesting peas, carrots, parsnips, potatoes and rhubarb from the front garden. Sweeping inside the house, outside the house and fetching turf from the shed where it was stored to keep the solid fuel cooker (range) going.
Then I moved up helping herd in cattle or sheep, cleaning up after animals. Collecting bales of hay or moving them around for feeding. Feeding the farm dogs and chickens before finally collecting eggs. Helping to put up electric fences or ‘foot turf’ arranging it in a way to help it dry out prior to being stored as fuel. These were things my parents had done as children too. The Island felt atemporal linking past, present and future in the moment, the roots were clear. We never felt poor, there was always food on the table, a warm house in winter that was free from damp.
We didn’t even get bored. Doing manual labour on a farm tires you out, there was the weekly newspapers to read, and the countryside itself (particularly with a child’s imagination). Up to my teens there was sufficiently little light pollution that I could see the delicate band of the Milky Way and major stars. Because of this, I am comfortable with a good amount of rustic living if needs be.
If tractors were needed for making the hay or the silage, my Uncle would hire a contractor to take care of it. My cousin was the first person to introduce a tractor on the farm for the everyday chores such as putting out winter feed or cleaning up the yard and spreading manure.
Land
The land and the area around it had Maddens living there since at least the 15th century and likely earlier in one form or another. Madden is an anglicised spelling of Ó Madáin, meaning descendant of Madán. Over time, the family name spread around the world due to members of large families having to find their way in the world and economic emigration. Of my generation, we’re in the UK, Canada, Germany, the US and Ireland at the moment. Previously we’d been in China, Hong Kong and across the Middle East. In my family, we were the first generation to get a university education. But all of us have The Island in common.
Keeping people on the land, has been as much a political endeavour as it is a commercial one now. Yet despite government grants, small holdings like The Island struggle to keep going. Even if they are operated as a part-time farm. The countryside has been depopulated separating families from their roots, at the same time as a housing crisis sweeps the country.
Roots
Roots bind and also tie. Pre-internet letters and phone calls bridged the gap with those at home. My Mum and Dad still call home on a special phone tariff. I am connected to one of my cousins by WhatsApp and older family relatives and neighbours via Facebook.
Trying to go to school with an askew tie or scuffed shoes would bring an admonishment about disgracing the family name. And sure enough gossip did get home as I grew up both in Ireland and in an Irish neighbourhood with people who were schoolmates of my Mum. All of which reinforced the ties. More recently, they have mostly been awakened and reaffirmed going to funerals of family friends and relatives.
Roots have also been lucrative for Ireland. The country is an expensive tourist destination, yet managed to attract descendants from Australia, New Zealand, mainland Britain and the US to visit home. Often centuries after their ancestors had got on the boat.
Before decline in Irish immigration to the US, it was a market for made-in-Ireland products including Arklow Pottery, Carrigaline Pottery, Waterford Crystal and the Kilkenny Design Workshop. While the revenue was grateful, there is also largely a sense of otherness that the natives feel to their wider diaspora, which adds an underlying tension to those roots.
Up until they retired, my Mum would not go to our local GP or dentist, but instead suffer until she went home to Ireland and sought out to the local family doctor and a dentist that she’d gone to school with.
It’s not only Ireland that has this pull. Overseas Chinese flock to their ancestral home despite centuries of living in Singapore and elsewhere. Hong Kong Chinese supported the mainland due to complex family ties, even through the great leap forward and the cultural revolution.
Self
American academic Amy Cutler’s study on the sense of connectedness to roots had a number of results. Roots affected sense of self in Americans and an increased likelihood of negative life outcomes was found to correlated with the disconnected. Her work has been based on survey and interview research conducted from writing her doctoral thesis. She since kept up the line of research while holding a teaching position to find out more about these correlations.
Elias and Brown found some link between the connectedness to roots and mental wellbeing, but they also admit that understanding that linkage is nascent at best. Ambeskovic et al has work that suggests understanding one’s roots might help better understand challenges to mental wellbeing – based on animal experiments. Their work went back four generations.
Further information
Looking back to look forward | Irish in Britain
The “ideal self” stands alone: A phenomenological psychological descriptive analysis of Anglo Saxon American self-concept formation in relation to ancestral connectedness | Amy Cutler and Anglo Saxon American Self-Concept Formation in Relation To Ancestral Connectedness | Ame Cutler
At Home in the Ancestral Landscape by Solène Prince and Katherine Burlingame
