Charles Stewart Parnell, Irish Nationalist leader died this week in 1891. Though a member of the Anglican church, he was beloved by the Irish people for his support of land reform and home rule. This stone wasn't put in place until 1940, but his name was still so well know, the tombstone of Wicklow granite bears only the name Parnell.
My mother's sister was in town last weekend. Aunt Marian turned 90 in May and is the only daughter left in Mom's family. She lives in Denver and I'm in New York so we seldom see each other. Two of her brothers, My Uncles Bob and Leslie are thankfully still with us and were there also. It was a bittersweet reunion, I couldn't help wishing Mom had been there too. Her sister looks so much like her I found myself staring and wanting to hug her--so I did, several times.
Assorted cousins were in attendance and I found that some of them are interested in genealogy! As we discussed our research and conclusions I found myself growing more and more interested in my maternal line. I'm ashamed to admit I've neglected them badly. I did take a stab at it a few years ago but couldn't find much, and was so dismayed by the only two researchers of the Lash line I could find, that I abandoned the effort. They had no sources, lots of assumptions and just plain bad genealogy, like the assertion a ten year old was someone's father??? They had been trading "information" and their trees were identical and filled with errors like the ten year old prodigy. Then too, the Lash and Fiddler families are German and this is an Irish blog. But in honor of Matrilineal Monday I've decided to throw caution to the wind and blog about my Germanic roots.
I do have another motive for tracing my Mother's line, the birth of my new grand-baby. It occurred to me it would be nice to trace the female line for her. I'm back to 1730 and still looking. But back to the Lash family.
The surname Lash, like so many others, did not start out that way. Records of the German Reformed Church in Rhinebeck spelled the name Loesch. The family may have come to America very early on. The years 1708 and 1710 saw large influxes of Germans from the Palatinate in Germany. Indeed, a ship list of Palatines from 1710 includes the surname Loesch.
My first known Lash family member, Henry, was born in Dutchess County, New York, but I'm not sure about his parents. I believe them to be George Lash and Elizabeth Schuck who may or may not be from Germany. Henry married Sarah Fiedler, or Feidler, or Fiddler, take your pick. I know Sarah's father John or Johann, came from Germany and even when he came because I found his Revolutionary War pension application where he thoughtfully spelled it out,"born April 15, 1760 in Germany;came to America in 1775. Lived in Rhinebeck and Red Hook, then came to Victor, NY". Unfortunately there is no other family information contained in the paperwork. It does indicate however that it's likely his daughter Sarah was born here since he was so young when he immigrated.
The Lash family migrated to Atlas Township in Michigan between 1850 and 1860, with only my great great grandfather Morgan Lash remaining in New York. These lines are so early that census records are of little use and New York of course didn't keep records that early, that leaves church records, Lutheran church records. Does this mean I need to study German? Or learn to like German beer? Glancing through some German genealogy sites I can see I have alot to learn about the subject.
I don't know who these people are, but the back is labeled, "After the funeral 1904 Dorchester Wis." They appear to all have the same nose, siblings perhaps?
Even though there are no names, it does give you an idea of what was considered proper funeral attire around the turn of the century.
This Thursday I'm thankful for the volunteers at my local historical society who scurry back and forth fetching microfilm for researchers. This particular society doesn't allow you to retrieve your own films so it's up to the volunteers. I don't get there very often since I started working because unfortunately their hours seem to coincide with mine, but once in awhile I find an opportunity.
Last week I walked in, eager to look through some early issues of the Shortsville Enterprise. Seating myself at a reader, I began looking through the film catalog. Almost immediately a lady asked if she could help me, looking up I saw...Mrs. Martin! My 10th grade history teacher. I should tell you before going any further, teachers intimidate the devil out of me. When our kids were in school I was known to make my husband do the parent/teacher conference thing, or at least accompany me. I know, it's weird. I will snarl at anyone who tries to keep genealogical records out of my hands, but teachers cause my delusions of competence to fly right out the window. These people have Master's Degrees!
Hello, I said, accidentally dropping the catalog while introducing myself as a former student. Mrs. Martin smiled politely but noncommittally, no doubt thinking,"what a shame, after all these years she's still not applying herself." Actually, I don't think she had a clue who I was. The whole experience was bizarre in the extreme, she was supposed to be ordering me around, not vice versa; I wanted to get the films myself and then go to the office and mimeograph some tests for her. Remember those? The ink was purplish and never quite dry and the fumes coming off them could have killed a water buffalo.
While I found the whole situation time warpy, (I think somewhere in the background I heard Kool and the Gang singing, "Jungle Boogie"), Mrs. Martin happily brought me the needed microfilm, chatted about genealogy, and even pretended to remember me. What more could one ask of a volunteer? So this Thursday's thanks very much, goes out to all the Mrs. Martins out there, where would we be without you?
I've been spending alot of time in graveyards of late. Which sounds odd if you're not a family historian, but which suits me to a tee. It also reminds me of some useful things that can be found there:
- Several times I've discovered a county of birth on an ancestor's stone, the Irish were especially fond of doing this.
- I've found the correct spelling of names. Sometimes the handwriting of census takers left a whole lot to be desired, not to mention their spelling skills. I hear there was often some cronyism going on with regards to who was appointed census taker, and it wasn't necessarily the most educated person in town.
- Names of spouses are often spelled out--literally
- Of course dates are on stones, but are not always correct. The birth date is particularly suspect, but even the date of death can be off if the family erected the stone at a later date, like after they had saved enough money to do so.
- If it's a Catholic or other denominational cemetery, the persons in it are probably of that religion. But not always. I have several relatives buried with spouses of different persuasions.
- Observing who was buried in the same plot can be very informative. I know there is a connection between Darby Hogan and my 3rd great grandfather Cornelius Ryan, since he and several family members are buried with Darby; and I will find it!
- This last one will require you to find the records of the cemetery. Worth it because sometimes those records will contain a cause of death.
My great, great grandma, Mary Gunn Power was born in Ballygologue, County Kerry in the spring of 1860; she never saw Ireland again after leaving it in 1879. Mary died from a severe attack of bronchitis two weeks before Christmas of 1927 at her home in Manchester, NY surrounded by her family. She lived a remarkable life here in America, becoming the owner of a large farm at no cost to herself, see details here.
The will Mary left was as remarkable as herself. She had very strong ideas about what should happen to her farm after her passing, and she spelled it out clearly. Her husband Philip would have lifetime use of the property, but he could not sell it, he was even forbidden to sell the furniture. After his death, the farm was to be passed on to their two sons Philip Jr. and George, neither of them were allowed to sell it either. Only after their demise did Mary's daughters come into the picture, according to her wishes, they were to divide the farm equally. It never came to that however, Philip Jr. outlived everyone, and since he couldn't sell the place it remained in the family until 1978.
Mary's probate file contained in addition to the will, invoices from various creditors including the local grocery store. Apparently the Power family was in the habit of buying their groceries on credit and paying it off at the end of each month. The invoices were itemized, listing the usual products, but one thing stood out, the enormous amount of salad dressing this family consumed. Three or four bottles every week, sometimes five made their way into the Power shopping basket. They must have been putting dressing on everything, only four or five people lived at the farm at that time.
At first I thought the condiment they held in such high esteem might have been Miracle Whip, we've always been a Miracle Whip family, no mayo here thank you. Perhaps this is where it all began? But no, Miracle Whip made it's debut at the Word's Fair in 1933, six years after Mary's death. After looking into the matter further, I discovered the Kraft Cheese Company began bottling salad dressing in 1925. Their first variety was French. Oddly enough, my Irish ancestors were addicted to French dressing!
