The gravel crunched under her tyres as she drove into the parking lot, loudly revealing her arrival. The back door of the house was open with just a screen door closed to keep the flies out. She noticed it was unlatched and ajar and hoped someone was nearby. Silk robes hung on the line, strung across the porch in the Australian autumn sun, the whiteness of the silk, shimmering, and playing with the sunlight. Gathering her papers she got out of the car and felt her legs stretch again after the two hour drive. She opened the gate that thankfully creaked, hoping someone would have been alerted she was there by now. She was feeling very apprehensive, but compelled continue on. This could be her answer, she thought, after years of searching she might just find what she needed. She was compelled by the need for the truth, yet here in this small church, in this small town in South Australia, she laid all hopes on disturbing the afternoon of Father as a last resort to find out.
Without invitation, she walked up the two steps to the screen door and gently knocked, but could hear no movement inside. Peering into the depths of the long corridor that was ornately decorated with leadlight doors she knocked louder again. This time it brings some movement from within and a man emerged. She felt a sense of peace emerge from the house with him as he opened his door to greet her. She explained why she was there showing him her theory spread across two pages, and told him she only hoped he could help her with one small bit. He invited her inside, leading her to a large country kitchen. She remembers thinking how long it had been since she had been in a kitchen so large, in a house with so much olden day character, how she missed visiting her family home.
While she sat as his kitchen table, he disappeared into the passageway and she then lost all sense of time awaiting his return. His footsteps became louder within the house, and when he came back to the kitchen he was blowing dust of a large yet thin book. In amazement she watched as he then wiped the rest of the dust off with his cuff and sat down across from her, laying the book out in front of him. Her heart and mind were racing in anticipation for what he may or may not find. It was a little while before his eyes adjusted to reading the 19th century scrawl and after a few pages; he said “Ah, here we are”. He had revealed that precious piece, the proof required, and the entry that pieces it all together. Here was the church record of her grandfather’s baptism in 1871, when no government birth record existed. It was priceless, a golden piece given to her when all other hard work failed. Another link to the Farrell Clan was proven and a sense of belonging came to her.
I recently went to buy a washer and dryer and the sales lady looked at my name and asked if I am related to Colin Farrell. I did not say yes (since I really have no idea of family history) but also did not say no. After 10 mins of discussing how much she loves him and blushing from her brush with ‘fame’, she gave me 15% discount. Thanks Colin; I owe you a beer!
Call to all Bloggers, Writers, or anyone that has something to share. Do you know about Genealogy, History, Finding your roots, Ireland, have an awesome adventure involving Farrell’s or something I didn’t even think about? Maybe even a video. Well we want to hear about it!
1. Register at http://blog.farrellclanireland.com/wp-login.php?action=register
2. Write Something.
3. Send me a message so it can get approved.
P.S. Videos would be awesome!