International Women’s Day was Sunday and last weekend I attempted to research the occupations and careers of my direct line female ancestors. Including the scope to aunts and cousins broadened things too much in my mind. Unfortunately, there were too few who had recorded careers outside of “keeping house” or similar descriptions in census records.
Shocking, I know.
In two weeks we will be celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day, when I often create a graphic, usually about updates to my genetic ancestry results or immigration patterns. I opted to borrow that approach to all my direct female line ancestors, but obviously more recent ancestors skew the results away from the origin story. But in that case, how do I create a rule about whom to include?
I generally know all my 3 × great-grandparents. Or rather, I have researched them and know who they are. (I did meet and remember my one great-grandmother, but that is as far back as my personal recollections go.) Since immigration generally happened in that generation, with the exception of my Carpatho-Rusyn roots, I figured I would limit my research to those women.
Shockingly, most were Irish.
Nine were born in what is today Ireland. At that time, Ireland was an integral part of the United Kingdom—like Scotland and Wales today. Six of those, however, I have yet to find any evidence of even a county of birth, let alone a village.
Fortunately, I have uncovered where three of these women originated. Maybe. Margaret McGrenery’s death record—from February 1918 of influenza, most likely the infamous Spanish Flu—lists her birthplace as County Donegal and contains the full name of her mother—Katherine Harkin—but was provided by the doctor. I have no reason to doubt it, but 81 years is a timely gap between birth and death and a long time for whisper down the lane to play its part in memory. Family lore says the McGrenery line was related to that of James Patrick McGranery of Philadelphia, Attorney General under Harry Truman, and I have some paper records proving he was known to the family, but the genealogical proof eludes me.
Mary O’Hern’s birthplace in County Cork is supposed, but comes from a family history published online that otherwise checks out. So again, I believe it, but would not be surprised if, somehow, later evidence emerges challenging the fact.
Finally we have Ellen Buckley, for whom I have a primary source: her baptism record from Kildorrery, County Cork in January 1833. Suffice it to say, researching that took years of work.
Others’ Irish origins away from the this generation are known to me. The Doyle line, of which I have written much, married an Ellen Connaughton, whom I know to be a Galway girl, but she is my 4 × great-grandmother and out of scope here. But far from forgotten.
Four other women, however, lived in what is today Slovakia, my Carpatho-Rusyn ancestors. They hailed from the villages of Kružlova, Kečkovce, and Roztoky all in the Carpathian Mountains. Kečkovce and Roztoky on opposite sides of a ridgeline and Kružlova two river—really more stream—valleys to the southeast.
I have found few records of them beyond church births of their children—from whom I obviously descend, so no complaints there. Luckily the Hungarian government took a thorough census of the region in 1869 and the records survive today. They paint a semi-detailed portrait of the family life. Frankly, it documents just how impoverished they were.
For Anna Szolyanka, however, it recorded her as the daughter of the village cantor. He led the singing in the village church and, likely, had some degree of education and respect in the village. It is nice to think that perhaps Anna sang, but that is pure supposition unsupported by any evidence.
Helena, or Elsie, Gorun, however, I did find one final record for back in 2013. I was visiting Slovakia at the time and made a point to visit the local archives. There, with some difficulty because I spoke only a few words of Slovak, I nonetheless found her death record in 1898 at 48 years old. Like I said, the Carptho-Rusyn life was, generally speaking, a rough one.
Two were born in the United States. Both women’s ancestries go back only one further generation to their parents. Mary Remington’s mother was Eliza Garrotson. The surname spelling varies, but given her New York roots and the surname, I would venture either Dutch or English ancestry. It is said the Remingtons connect into the famous Remington line, but I have no evidence to support that claim.
Martha Atkins is trickier. Atkins could be English or Irish. Later census records would record her ancestry as both. However, her marriage record from the Catholic Church shows she converted the day of her wedding—a big deal in the day. Her mother’s maiden name is not on the record and she appears only as Elizabeth, wife of James Atkins. Nevertheless, her baptism on her wedding day leads me to believe her Delaware roots were more likely English in background.
I frequently mention the concept of the second death in genealogical and family history discussions. Put simply, we die for the first time when we, well, die. But we all die a second death when the last memory or record of us ceases to exist. And I wanted this post and this graphic to be a way of remembering these women for at least a little while longer.
Is it likely that further research will uncover more about Joanna Miley or Maria Osifčin? Unfortunately, not. Possible, certainly, but I doubt it. Does anyone have a story they can relate about Catherine Sexton, who died of heart disease in 1872 at the age of 35? And so in my own way, combining the records and research I have done is really the least I could do to keep their memories alive.
Credit for the piece is mine, both research and design.