My Irish people, I so wish I knew something of their world. I did find reference to a Thomas Sugrue in the old newspapers, Thomas being the name of Bartholomew's father, who with one of his sons, also called Thomas, was part of a mass of rioting villagers, up in arms against an unwanted new priest who was replacing the villagers much beloved priest. The villagers therefore forcefully threw the new priest out from their chapel, which although locked up, he had broken into to perform mass there for the first time. That was back in the spring of 1845, the year before Bartholomew was first to be seen in Greenwich, marrying there an older woman Ellen Sullivan. John Sullivan was one of the other rioters, the name of Ellen's father, so one does wonder could these be the actual fathers involved in this rioting. The other men who were majorly involved were three MacCarthy brothers, Denis Barton, Joseph Kennington and John Murphy. John McCarthy, one of the brothers, happens to have later been the name of one of Barthomew's lodgers, as revealed in the census of 1861. The hated new priest, Thomas Carmody, was from Ballinamona and the rural chapel, which was at Tonereigh, alias Toneragh, was one built and maintained by the villagers themselves, who wished still for their long serving priest David O'Connor, whom the Bishop had deemed no longer capable of doing his duty. The villagers would not allow the new priest to enter, keeping the chapel doors and windows nailed up, but on that particular Sunday morning the priests men came and broke open the doors with sledges and hammers. Once the priest had got up to the altar and was beginning his mass, Michael MacCarthy, followed by others, leapt over the rails, and struck his fist on the altar and announced "Where is the person who will say mass" while cursing with the 'most violent and blasphemous language'. A woman had to then interfere to stop this fellow from beating the priest with his stick. Thomas Sugrue was further back in the church with a crook in his hand, with which he tried to strike the back of one of the priests men, although missing him, and he was blocking the door to prevent the priests clerk from coming in. The priest, in fear for his life, ran away, there being more than a hundred people assembled against him. The only people accepting of the priest, who had come to the mass, numbered around 7 or 8 persons. Once the priest had fled the men nailed the chapel up again. One of the women present, Ellen Callaghan, it was her father who the new priest resided with and the hatchet to break down the doors was her fathers. The villagers were in court declared to be a lawless mob. The new priest declared that if they would now regret their 'senseless and foolish conduct' he would forgive them. And that they should permit him to perform his duties for the next six months and if at the end of that time they still did not approve he would give up the parish. I do so try to envisage the rural Irish ways my people would have known prior to the famine. It was in the year that the people rioted against the priest that the famine began, which would continue for seven years. Traditionally the rural men of Ireland would twice yearly voyage to England and there work in the fields, like as I have seen with the hop picking, and Bartholomew may well have done likewise, and for sure some women of the families would have accompanied them too. In this way they would save some money from their English wages to bring back to Ireland. The women, along with their children, had their own habit of seasonal roaming and begging. I don't imagine this to have been borne of destitution as it was later, but that they would have profited from gathering blackberries, crab apples, seaweeds, whatsoever of natures wild harvest, this being a way that was still semi-nomadic, born of an old hunter-gatherer culture. But all becomes more dire when the untamed lands get snatched up by landowners who seek to profit by this, by which the old ways are thwarted. When nature provides less, then begging from those of better means becomes relevant, and ultimately a means of survival in times of need. The loss of cultural ways breaks the vibrant spirit, hence the turning to alcohol and dysfunctionalism. Bartholomew didn't remain in Ireland to try and survive through that famine, being early on seen in Greenwich. Even in his hardest times to come, in and out of the workhouse, he never sought to return to his homeland. Maybe, as with the rioters, he had got into trouble there. I imagine that while in England doing seasonal work he was attracted to the employment opportunties in the booming building trade, while also falling in love. The Irish had been settling in Greenwich in small numbers long before such times, as for instance, as I've seen reference in one old newspaper, in 1841, in regard to an Irish woman, Mrs Moriarty, who was a brothel madam in Greenwich, keeper of a 'house of ill fame' on Roan Street. As I have seen, Roan Street looks so tame, quiet and inconsequential now. Quite wild in those days though.
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I was back to focusing on genealogy. My genealogy passion website neededa presentation, long due, about the Seagroves of Greenwich. All day I did my genealogy write-up of the Seagroves, all day long, with extra research to bumpf it all up. And I was seeing that but a year after my Maria was imprisoned for two months hard labour, for having a scruffy home and scruffy children who didn't go to school, she was again imprisoned for those same reasons, this time for four months. That makes three prison sentences for her that I am aware of now, the third reference being from when later she and her children ended up destitute in the workhouse, during which time for some unknown as yet reason she was thrown into prison for a further eight months. Dear Maria, whose eyes were all a-twinkle, she had a lifetime of suffering behind her, her mother having died of tuberculosis and her father losing his mind and committing crime and himself being in prison and the workhouse, indeed both father and daughter in the workhouse at the same time. The following day I was embellishing still more on my website write-up about the Seagroves. And what super photos I found of old hop picking adventures in the Kent countryside, our family having been ones to join the many Londoners in this seasonal exodus, their holiday time in effect, where there were men on stilts reaching up to the highest hops, cooking in big pots over open fires, and plenty of laughter and fresh air. This write-up on the Seagroves, I shared a link to on my facebook and as I guessed it would be, this was a shock for my mother to see. And she's never been so interested in this work I here do, but this was close to home, being the family her granny Mary Ann had been born into. A pauper life, the workhouse, prison, scandal, all is there. 'Every family has skeletons' I wrote 'and as a genealogy researcher I uncover what they had long though buried.' As my mum wrote 'Oh dear, so I never did really think we had Downton Abbey connections. I often wondered why there was little mention of Nanna Bane's family when I was a child.'
![]() My genealogical study right now is the old world of Pluckley, back when there was never a mention of the village being haunted, when stealing a loaf of bread from someones house could get you the death penalty, when cattle driving Welsh drovers passed by like something out of the Wild West, when lightning was known to strike dead sheep in fields and turn maidens blind, when pigs roamed freely munching on acorns, and just about everyone among the peasantry lived on tea, bread, cheese and potatoes. One fellow in 1823, John Bates, was caught out having 'wickedly, feloniously and against the order of nature' committed 'an unnatural offence upon the body of a mare' for which he was imprisoned for nine months in the house of correction. Hop picking was part of the scene in Pluckley, seasonally attracting more than a thousand workers. And I do know from family elders that my Greenwich ancestors, every year, were among the Londoners who came down to Kent to join in with this. In 1832, treasure was found in the Pluckley churchyard by workmen who were digging a vault, uncovering a trove of silver and gold coins, including at least five gold coins of Augustus Ceasar. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. |
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