Sitting in the kitchen of The Rectory in Pomeroy, County Tyrone, where my grandfather spent the first 18 years of his life, I finally feel the connection to my Irish roots. Not only do I actually feel a quarter Irish now, but I’m truly proud of my Gaelic heritage. There was no guarantee that my search would turn out this way – all I knew was that my great-grandfather was a vicar at the church in this little village in the centre of Northern Ireland. Driving up the High Street in the inevitable Irish rain I held out little hope as, like so many tiny villages in Ireland, there were three churches to choose from; after learning about and trying to understand the island’s history, it is so intertwined with religion throughout the centuries, so perhaps this was to be expected. Having already ascertained that the Irish are amongst the most friendly and welcoming of people, we were hopeful that someone may come to our rescue, so ventured into the Post Office in the village square. The lovely ladies in there couldn’t have done more to help us, giving directions to a verger with a set of keys to the central church (just a hunch this could be the one) while also showing us pictures of how the village looked in 1901, the year my grandfather was born – barely changed over 120 years later. On our way to the keyholder’s house, we stopped to chat to a lovely, lively lady, Flora, who proudly told us that she was 91 years young, had lived in the village all her life and now, after a recent death, was Pomeroy’s oldest resident! Utterly charming, Flora was interested to hear about my family connection and pointed us in the direction of the Rectory – is it the strong community spirit here or all that Irish rain that makes for such delightful, chatty locals?! The key holder wasn’t at home, so we were very grateful to our chance meeting with this wonderful nonagenarian for her tip, as we continued down the hill to the Rectory. Knocking on the door with trepidation, we still had no idea if we were on a wild goose chase, but couldn’t have been more delighted to find the current tenant was not only at home, but immediately offered to help us on our quest by calling another verger……and so it was, that we found ourselves sitting in their kitchen, having a cup of tea with the owners and the best key holder of them all – Hazel. Hazel immediately confirmed that my great-grandfather had been the Parish vicar for 27 years and this was indeed the house where he and his family lived; quite an emotional moment for me imagining my grandfather, the youngest of 7 children, spending his childhood in this house and it’s glorious garden. After much chat (did I mention how friendly the Irish are?!), we finally jumped into Hazel’s car whereupon she brandished the much sought-after keys and the door to the Altedesert church was finally opened. Whilst we perused this beautiful church, seeing the plaque erected to my great-ancestor, Rev. Glenn, along with one for his eldest son who died in the Great War, Hazel was rummaging through the church vault in search of records kept by this meticulous Reverend whom she remembered as having really large, clear writing – she clearly knew a great deal about this church’s history. In this digital age, it’s a great joy to see hand-written records and when the huge books were finally located, it felt very special to flick through them and see records of each service, the number in the congregation (average 150 – he obviously did a grand job looking after his flock!) and even the quite considerable offertory takings. Whilst we pored over these ancient records, Hazel was delving even further back in the vault until she finally found what she was looking for……a record of baptisms. And there it was – written by the now unmistakable hand of my great-grandfather; my grandfather, Robert William Lowry Glenn’s baptism performed in that very church by his own father. What a moment – I felt as though I had won the lottery! Obviously, finding my great-grandfather’s grave was too much of an aspiration, but Hazel suggested that we look in the church of his birth place……you will have to read til the end to discover the most extraordinary and unexpected coincidence that came about later, whilst on the path of my fellow Irish roots tracer and life adventure companion, Giles.

Yes, it turns out that our families have an unexpected common link!

You may be wondering why we were in Ireland in the first place. Having been too busy living life and not having had time to write my blog for far too long, a quick recap: I’m still a long-haul airline pilot, living in the Algarve with my gorgeous man Giles and equally gorgeous dog Sandie who still loves getting out on the road in Skye, our perfect little home-on-wheels. This is now the third summer when we have left the heat and crowds of the Algarve behind and headed off on an extraordinary road trip. The goal is also to find somewhere that is within an easy commute to London for my work trips and I’m extremely fortunate to have the support of Giles in this endeavour, as it also means that he ends up with the lion’s share of the driving. So, although I had to fly to Washington and Los Angeles, Giles had a much more punishing travel schedule, driving from the Algarve all the way to Rennes in Northern France, without the luxury of an autopilot and with just his co-pilot Sandie to keep him company! We had a truly magical fortnight in Northern France (hopefully the subject of a future blog……dependant on whether Irish rain keeps us “van-bound” and Irish pubs aren’t too beckoning!!), a few weeks in England, a couple of days in Wales (see photos below for a selection of our activities) before making the Fishguard-Rosslare crossing. If our first nightstop is anything to go by, our 5 weeks in Ireland are going to be remembered by stunning empty beaches, glorious sunsets and friendly, chatty locals!

On our way up to Dublin, we had a great climb up a hill in the Wicklow mountains, discovering firsthand what a peat bog really is, as Giles almost completely disappeared from view in one, having fallen down a big crack! The great city of Dublin treated us royally, with a wander through the thriving Temple Bar district and an Irish Stew (and Guinness, of course!) in front of the famous pub at night and then a full tour by bike the following day, finding ourselves inadvertently scooped up in a Pride march just outside the illustrious Trinity College Dublin. This was the first port of call, as my grandfather travelled from Pomeroy to study medicine at this esteemed institution, Ireland’s oldest University. Walking around, I couldn’t help reflect that my grandfather would have trod the same paths and it was a real ‘moment’ on the start of my Irish roots quest – little did I know what would lie ahead! Time was cut short in this lovely city as I had to fly back to England that night for my work trip the following day – but just time enough to pop into a pub on the way to the airport to take in the second half of the Irish football semi-finals, an exciting mix of football, rugby and basketball. Taking place in Croke Park, a few miles away, it was good to see a packed crowd, with good-natured supporters from both teams thrown in together. This was testified by Giles who managed to bag himself a ticket to the Finals the following day!

Arriving back into Belfast a few days later, we made out way out to Islandmagee for a cliff walk at “The Gobbins”. Suspension bridges and walkways that had initially been built in 1910 led us to the great bird nesting site at the end where we were told that there could be a small chance of seeing a puffin. The sight and sound of all these birds launching from their nests clinging to the cliff-face was something to behold with the cry of “puffin” being the icing on the cake, as we watched a small black bird with an orange beak land awkwardly on the water (relieved to say that my landings are somewhat better!).

The city of Belfast was next with a highlight being a trip around the “peace walls” – most people take the ‘Black cab tour’ but I took the ex-serving Army Officer’s motorhome tour instead!! We’ve worked hard to understand the background and history that led to this island being divided in two and the so-called “Troubles”, but seeing these huge walls, murals and double gates brought it all home to me; I have a small understanding now of the deep-rooted feelings on both sides and am amazed and relieved that the Good Friday agreement brought an initially fragile peace that has now held for over 30 years…..long may it last 🙏

The other thing we had on our tourist list for Belfast was to see the ship building district and visit the Titanic museum, having listened to the excellent “The Rest is History” podcast series which gave us the background to the growth of this city from linen factories and ship building, along with an inkling into the poverty and divisions within the workforce. We enjoyed working our way through this superlative museum which has been created so sensitively – there is a moving memorial to the huge loss of life situated in the centre of the dry dock where the ship was built in 1911, along with a fascinating account of the underwater search for the wreckage that only succeeded on its very last day of funding. It was all so clever with displays like life-size dominoes each outlining a safety omission (and subsequent rectification) that all came together to topple this ‘unsinkable’ ship and a huge eerie ghost-like ship model slowly turning, suspended from the ceiling in a darkened, cavernous room, making us feel as though we were underwater, seeing photos floating up of those who went down with her. The experience was topped off by a revisit of James Cameron’s famous film (admittedly it took us 3 nights to get through it!) – if anyone is visiting Belfast, then I cannot recommend this museum highly enough, it was wonderful.

And so, back to tracing our Irish roots! Giles spent the first 6 years of his life growing up in a beautiful house in County Donegal, just over the border from Londonderry and we had a very happy visit with the man who used to help with the farm all those years ago. We then headed to Fahan, a small fishing village where he remembered going to church and playing in the rock pools and found the most fantastic spot for the night, right beside Lough Swilly. After a long walk on the beach and a bracing swim the following morning, we went in search of his grandparents’ graves which we found in the small church cemetery. And the coincidence – remember back to Hazel suggesting that my great-grandfather might be buried in the place of his birth? Well, out of all the places in Ireland, it turns out that this tiny hamlet was where he was born……what were the chances of that?! So, not only do I now feel more connected to my Irish roots, I also share a very special place in my past with my special man ☺️

Now, please get on and issue that Irish passport for me!!