Galway City
Tuesday October 18, 2005
I knew that Claddagh was a fishing village on Galway Bay. I thought it was a good ways away. It had not occurred to me that in the days when Galway was a walled city, what made Claddagh a separate village was it being outside the walls – as was the adjacent area on the other bank of the River Corrib, known as Fishmarket. This is where my great-grandfather moved as a young man to find work – and found a wife. Somehow this adds even a bit more significance to the Claddagh ring my wife gave me and is a replacement for my wedding band that was lost in the river that runs behind our house.
Galway City is a combination of old and new. It is somewhat similar to Boston. It seems a great place to visit but not really a place I think I would like to live. While my hometown of Lawrence – the place that my grandfather settled in when he went to America – is not on the ocean and is not as big, it does share some important characteristics. Both cities are divided by a river with one canal running parallel on each side and, periodically, spillways – and the rivers are both crossed by three bridges.
This river creates a vista to the dome of the Catherdral of St. Nicholas – a church opened by the late Cardinal Cushing, Archbishop of Boston, a church leader revered in my youth. The old church is where likely where my great-grandparents wed and is where their first child was baptized. The city has done a beautiful job of creating a river walk between one canal and the river. Pedestrians and cyclists move along it from one bridge to the next.
I start at Fishmarket and wander around to Claddagh. At home we have a flock of domestic mallard ducks and one gray goose. Each morning I open their pen and they dash through a gate and into the river. I chuckle each time since in recent years the old fence has decayed and I have removed most of the sections. All that is left at that end of the yard is the gate that the ducks continue to scurry through each morning. In the evening I go out with their food and my “quack quack” is returned in chorus and ripples appear on the water as our flotilla returns home for the night.
As I approach the new boat ramp at Claddagh, there are gulls and mallards and to my dozens of Swans on the water. I am as surprised to see the ducks and swans swimming together in Galway harbor, as folks paddling up our river are to see our ducks swimming wing to wing with a goose.
Soon it is raining. It is clear that this does not faze people here. Rugby practice continues. For most including me it has become business as usual.
I wonder if the building my great-grandfather lived in is one of the ones along the dock or if it has long since been replaced. As I wander through the old parts of the city, I think that he likely walked these same streets with his bride to be. He was an “older man” in his early 30s and she only in her early 20s. I stop in a bookstore and find a street map of Galway City and look up the Suckeen Lane – the street she lived on, but there is no listing.
At the appointed hour of half six, I phone back a woman who responded to one of my letters to folks with the surname of Fox. Her elderly mother received the letter and it was passed on to her. Valerie Fox Egan is about my age and tells me that she is quite sure that her family is not related to my great-grandmother, Delia Fox. Her family is from Clare Galway and moved to Galway City after my great-grandparents met and moved back up to Tuam. However, her family did have a shop on Suckeen Lane and she can tell me where to find it since the name has long been changed. Even though it is dark now, I follow her directions and find a short street that I think is Suckeen. There is a house at number 10. I don’t know if it was her father’s house or not. Someday I would like to go to the Galway City library and look at the old maps and find out.
I knew that Claddagh was a fishing village on Galway Bay. I thought it was a good ways away. It had not occurred to me that in the days when Galway was a walled city, what made Claddagh a separate village was it being outside the walls – as was the adjacent area on the other bank of the River Corrib, known as Fishmarket. This is where my great-grandfather moved as a young man to find work – and found a wife. Somehow this adds even a bit more significance to the Claddagh ring my wife gave me and is a replacement for my wedding band that was lost in the river that runs behind our house.
Galway City is a combination of old and new. It is somewhat similar to Boston. It seems a great place to visit but not really a place I think I would like to live. While my hometown of Lawrence – the place that my grandfather settled in when he went to America – is not on the ocean and is not as big, it does share some important characteristics. Both cities are divided by a river with one canal running parallel on each side and, periodically, spillways – and the rivers are both crossed by three bridges.
This river creates a vista to the dome of the Catherdral of St. Nicholas – a church opened by the late Cardinal Cushing, Archbishop of Boston, a church leader revered in my youth. The old church is where likely where my great-grandparents wed and is where their first child was baptized. The city has done a beautiful job of creating a river walk between one canal and the river. Pedestrians and cyclists move along it from one bridge to the next.
I start at Fishmarket and wander around to Claddagh. At home we have a flock of domestic mallard ducks and one gray goose. Each morning I open their pen and they dash through a gate and into the river. I chuckle each time since in recent years the old fence has decayed and I have removed most of the sections. All that is left at that end of the yard is the gate that the ducks continue to scurry through each morning. In the evening I go out with their food and my “quack quack” is returned in chorus and ripples appear on the water as our flotilla returns home for the night.
As I approach the new boat ramp at Claddagh, there are gulls and mallards and to my dozens of Swans on the water. I am as surprised to see the ducks and swans swimming together in Galway harbor, as folks paddling up our river are to see our ducks swimming wing to wing with a goose.
Soon it is raining. It is clear that this does not faze people here. Rugby practice continues. For most including me it has become business as usual.
I wonder if the building my great-grandfather lived in is one of the ones along the dock or if it has long since been replaced. As I wander through the old parts of the city, I think that he likely walked these same streets with his bride to be. He was an “older man” in his early 30s and she only in her early 20s. I stop in a bookstore and find a street map of Galway City and look up the Suckeen Lane – the street she lived on, but there is no listing.
At the appointed hour of half six, I phone back a woman who responded to one of my letters to folks with the surname of Fox. Her elderly mother received the letter and it was passed on to her. Valerie Fox Egan is about my age and tells me that she is quite sure that her family is not related to my great-grandmother, Delia Fox. Her family is from Clare Galway and moved to Galway City after my great-grandparents met and moved back up to Tuam. However, her family did have a shop on Suckeen Lane and she can tell me where to find it since the name has long been changed. Even though it is dark now, I follow her directions and find a short street that I think is Suckeen. There is a house at number 10. I don’t know if it was her father’s house or not. Someday I would like to go to the Galway City library and look at the old maps and find out.
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5:05 AM
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