The Slevins of Kilregane

Like many at the turn of the 20^th Century, John Slevin and Mary Hogan came of age in an Ireland where the Great Famine was within living memory and emigration continued to decimate the population. The country was an economic mess and there were none of the social supports that we now take for granted. Pensions and social welfare provision were minimal and the old, sick and indigent were largely dependent on family and the goodwill of neighbours. 

John Slevin & Mary Hogan

John Slevin was born in 1876 in Kyleagoonagh, Tombrickane, Borrisokane the fourth son of James Slevin and Elizabeth Flanigan, a family of mostly farmers and agricultural labourers that had been in the area from at least the beginning of the nineteenth century. 

By 1901, the 25 year old John had moved to live with his aunt, Catherine (Kate) Hogan in Kilregane, a 40 minute cycle ride away from his home. Kate was 60 and owned the farm; she lists him on the Census form as an ‘Agricultural Labourer’. 

In 1910, aged 34, John married 21 year old Mary Hogan from Kilfadda, Borriskane. It appears that the couple eloped to get married, and went all the way to the Cathedral in Ennis, some 80km or 50 miles away, where they found a sympathetic priest in Fr. D O’Dea. Two locals from Ennis, Michael Hastings and Mollie Doyle, stepped in to act as witnesses. The age difference would not have been that unusual but apparently there was an expectation that John would marry Mary’s older sister, Margaret. A week after the wedding, the newlyweds announced their marriage in the Nenagh News. There doesn’t seem to have been any long-term repercussions: there was certainly no falling out with Margaret, who later married Jack Carroll, and they apparently had the support of Aunt Kate: the couple moved into Kilregane with her, and Kate passed control of the farm and household to John. 

Mary (Hogan) and John Slevin, 19th August 1951

Growing Family

Over the next twenty-two years, Mary gave birth to sixteen children the first, Lizzie or Lil, arriving in 1911 nine months after the wedding; the last, Paul was born in January 1934 when Mary was forty-four.

There followed Anna (Jo), Margaret, Jim, Catherine (Kitty or Kate), Michael, Bridgie, Maura, Seán, Patricia (Teeshie), Nora, Willie, PJ, Timmie, Christina (Chrissie) and Paul. In an era where childhood mortality was high and relatively simple infections could be fatal, it is remarkable that all the children survived, and most lived well past middle-age. One of the children, Michael, died aged 8 from meningitis; Paul died tragically following a car crash aged just 35. John and Mary too lived past 80, and three of the siblings, Kitty, Tim and Chrissie are still with us. Kitty celebrated her 100^th birthday on 28^th November 2016. 

By the end of 1918, John and Mary had six children, and Mary gave birth to three more during the turbulent years of the War of Independence and Civil War. This cannot have been easy, regardless of political affiliations. North Tipperary was one of the most violent parts of the country during this time, registering proportionally more civilian deaths than Dublin or Cork. From August to October 1922, pregnant with Seán and with eight children under 11, John and Mary would have been very aware of the anti-Treaty IRA guerrilla campaign operating around them. Especially since Mary’s brothers (especially Uncle Pack – Paul Hogan’s father) was very involved. And on the other side, John’s eldest brother Michael was an RIC officer. Kitty was too young to remember any conversation or activity about war or politics in the house. She does however have a distinct memory of soldiers coming and taking John’s hunting gun. She assumes that Uncle Pack and Aunt Maggie would also have been raided: both had guns and Aunt Maggie in particular had a reputation as a good shot having shot an hawk in Kilfadda. 

The Family c. 1937: Back L-R: Maura, Nora, Mam, Willie, Lil, Teeshie; Front L-R: PJ, Chrissie, Paul, Tim

The family c. 1938. Back L-R: Sean, Mam, John, Margaret, Willie;
Front L-R: Nora, PJ, Paul, Tim, Chrissie, Lil 

Life at Kilregane

As the family grew, they all somehow fit into the small house with Aunt Kate becoming ‘Gran’ to the children and providing an extra pair of hands in the household. Later however, Aunt Kate lost most of her sight and suffered from shingles. As she grew frailer, she was confined to her bed, saying her own rosary and being nursed by Mam. 

The house was a traditional Irish stone cottage, white-washed with a thatched roof. It had three windows to the front, and one door that opened into the kitchen, with an open fire for cooking and warmth. There were two rooms to the right, and one on the left that John partitioned into two to make an extra room. John and Mary slept in one half of this space, with an iron cot that could hold a baby and a toddler; the other half of the room was occupied by some of the girls, sleeping head to tail. Aunt Kate occupied the ‘far room’ with the remaining room for the boys. There was a loft above the house but it was never habitable. 

John Slevin with his bike at the gates of Kilregane

The farm itself was sizeable enough, especially when O’Meara’s field was acquired. Outside, the farm had a stable, a cow house, a ‘fowl house’, a piggery and a shed. Water was drawn daily from the well in Bullock’s Field across from the house, some 200 yards away, and it was everyone’s job to ensure that cans of water were kept filled through the day. The family also had a bog near the house that kept the house going with turf. While John cut the turf, Mam footed it, with the children helping and playing around her. Kitty remembers one such occasion when she was maybe 3 or 4 years old. The children were playing while Dad, Mam and their neighbour Mr Darcy cut and footed the turf. Kitty slipped into a bog hole and had drifted to the other side when Mam ran over and managed to grab her dress and pull her to safety. Kitty was more concerned about Mam having to leave the work to take her dripping wet daughter home. 

Life at Kilregane through the 1920s and 30s revolved around the seasons and farm work, with religion and hurling playing major roles. For the boys, hurling was a pastime and a passion. Tim recalls that they “couldn’t get away fast enough” after mass on a Sunday to go to Blakefield for hurling practice or head off for a game.

The Young Hurlers

Despite the number of mouths to feed and the shortage of income, in all the school photos the Slevin siblings stand out as well dressed and they all remember their childhood as one with few luxuries or frivolities, just hard work and carefree times exploring the fields and byways near home.

The children walked across the fields to school in their bare feet, carrying their socks and boots to avoid the wet and mud. They would then stop at the stile near the school to wipe their feet clean and put on their shoes. (The stile was known as the Moneyhole as it was thought that people left money in a crevice by the stile, but the children never came across any.)

On a First Friday, Mam liked the children to go to mass before school, which meant going without breakfast as they had to fast for three hours beforehand. On those days, Mam made a bigger lunch and arranged with Mrs Boucher in the local forge to give the children a mug of hot tea and a slice of bread straight after mass. 

The Boys at School in Lorrha: the Slevins are all in the front row: PJ 1st left; Tim 5th from left; Willie 2nd from right.

Clothes were simple, and mostly homemade. Some of the boys had Sunday suits made from old soutanes by a local seamstress, Mrs Dympna Darcy. The girls occasionally were delighted to get clothes handed down from their Aunt Maggie’s two daughters, and felt very smart when they wore their new lovely white pinafores. 

At home, there was no wireless and few games or toys and the children were left to use their imagination to entertain themselves. Games were simple, like playing on the wood heap to see who could balance themselves on a log the longest. They might play ‘shop’ with broken and chipped cups and jam jars and packets, or just mess about in the yard. ‘Jackstones’ was a favourite game in which the children competed to throw, catch and bounce a set of five stones. When they got their first Yo-Yo, the children had great fun and played endlessly with this novel toy. 

Nora looking on as Tim and Paul play in the yard at Kilregane

At Christmas there was no such thing as individual presents. Anything that came into the house was for the whole family and the holiday was marked more by getting a short holiday from school and visiting the crib in the church. They did put up holly and on St Stephen’s Day people would hunt the wren. Birthdays came and went without acknowledgement or fuss and the children weren’t even aware when Mam and Dad had a birthday. 

It was everyone’s job to earn money where they could, encouraged by their father who “was great for getting us out to help the neighbours and earn a few shillings”. Most of the meagre earnings were handed straight to Mam. Kitty recalls her brother Jim as a young man coming home from work placing his wages in front of Mam. Even Kitty, working for a few months in the convent kitchen in Portumna would present her mother with a jar of dripping from the convent kitchen: “it was relished by Mam and even more if the dripping had bits of bacon in it”.

The boys often went to their cousins’ and uncles’ farms to thin beet and turnips; if they were fortunate they might earn a half-crown: “a lovely looking coin” as Tim says, “that would make you feel rich”. The older girls would be sent to help too. Kitty remembers Mrs Flannery – a Carew and a very generous woman – would bring them bottles of tea, “so thick with sugar that you couldn't drink it and we would carefully tip it into the grass”.

From end of August to the end of October, the older boys, Jim, Seán and Willie would earn some money working with their Uncle Pack (Paul Hogan’s father) who had a Threshing Mill. One of the biggest days in the year was Threshing Day when the mill would arrive at a farm, and family and neighbours would come together to thresh the oats, barley and wheat.

Threshing at Kilregane. Note the dog minding the bottles of stout.

In 1936, there was an exchange at Slevin’s farm during the threshing that ended up in court with Michael Sammon, a publican from Carrigahorig, suing Edward Harding for £50 damages for slander. The Nenagh Guardian reported the case in March 1937. It was alleged that, on the 22^nd October, while at Slevin’s threshing (using Harding’s threshing machine), Harding was heard to say that he “got bad whiskey at Sammon’s public house and have been poisoned”. After some exchange, the judge decreed that John Slevin had impressed him and his evidence was believable. It was likely that the words uttered were “I got bad whiskey in Sammon’s and it damn near did for me”. Sammon was awarded £10 damages. The judge however was not impressed that the case had ever come to court. “He was often amazed at the way sensible people go on over these matters and why they choose to come in and waste a lot of money fighting a case like this passes his comprehension”, and the whole thing should have been settled by the solicitors with an apology. He went on: “I would think in the last fifty to one hundred years such a thing, that a publican keeps or sells bad whiskey has been said thousands and thousands of times and thousands of men have vomited after coming out of a public house. Most of them said they got bad whiskey.” 

Incidentally, according to the testimony, it was entirely normal for the fifteen to twenty men at the threshing to quench their thirst with pints of draught stout. On the day of the alleged conversation, the men had already downed three mugs of stout at Flannery’s threshing at 08:30 that morning, and were offered more at Slevin’s in the afternoon.

They girls vied with each other to do jobs for Mary Murray, an older woman with no family to help her. “She was a generous soul and would give us a sixpence or a shilling for getting her a bucket of water from the well or for collecting her pension and a few messages.” 

Throughout, the matriarch of the house, Mary Hogan – Mam – remained the person who worked hardest of all and held the family and farm together. She enjoyed remarkable good health throughout her life: no one can remember her being ill, or a doctor coming to the house except to see Willie who suffered from migraine. There was a new baby nearly every year, or as Kitty remembers: “we'd come home from school to find another baby in the house”. Each time, the children would be sent out to play when Mrs Kelly from Borrisokane came to the house carrying a large bag by her side. The widow Darcy, Ger Darcy's mother, “always seemed to know the day and the hour to come across too”. No doubt both were summoned by John Slevin. Mam would then buy soft cotton to sew up nappies, swaddling and binders for the babies, always using the same pattern. 

And she had a sharp sense of humour: Kitty remembers her mother telling her about being given dinner at a neighbour’s. No doubt the neighbour was put to the pin of their collar to put a chicken on the table, but Mam later told Kitty with some disgust that all she got was the bits of the chicken that were for ‘walking and scrawking’: the feet and the gizzards.

The family and farm were truly self-sufficient: Tim recalls his mother saying that the only thing she ever had to buy was tea and sugar. 

The Slevins grew all their own vegetables and grains, reared their own meat and cows for milk and butter. Both parents milked the cows and Mam used the milk and churned buttermilk and butter. Kitty remembers that one of the cows was quite wild and would only accept Dad for milking. But one day, Dad was away and it was left to Mam to attempt to milk the wild cow. Resourceful as ever, she put on Dad's coat and approached the cow.  The subterfuge worked, the cow calmed and Mam successfully milked her.

After churning and working the butter into shape with a pair of paddles, Mary would set some aside for the house, maybe send some over to Uncle Pack and sell the remainder in Lorrha and Borrisokane along with the eggs gathered from her flock of hens. The butter must have been premium quality: Kitty and a few other girls got dressed up to have a rare day out in Dublin when they were selected by Portumna school to demonstrate their butter-making skills at the Spring Show in the RDS. 

What we call foraging now, was a way of life then. Kitty remembers O'Meara's field, off the Kilregane road, where they would “find wild strawberries and blackberries galore”. Vegetables were mostly turnips and cabbage and the potato crop was a combined effort. One of Mam's jobs was to cut the seed potato, making sure to leave two eyes on each cutting. She kept the seed potatoes in a pit near the house, covered with turf or scraw from the bog to keep the light out and protect the potatoes from turning green. Dad's job was to open the drills for planting. The boys would then turn the dung into the drills before Mam and the girls planted the seed. 

They also kept their own pigs; Mam looked after the sow and any banbhs, often staying up all night making sure the small pigs survived. The pigs would be born, raised, fed, slaughtered, cured and eaten on the farm. As the younger ones grew up, Jim would come home to help kill the pig. While Mam was busy with the meat, the children would save the bladder and pump it up to make a football. They then had two weeks of waiting while it hung to season near the fire in the kitchen before they could kick it around the yard.

As well as the pigs, beef cattle supplied fresh meat, though this was rarer. More regularly, the family lived on seasonal wild game, especially pheasant and rabbit. 

Sunday during the winter was hunting day, and the teenage boys would walk the ditches to snare a few rabbits. Sometimes they could borrow the neighbour’s ferret and let it kill the rabbit in its burrow; this made things easier for the young hunters as they only had to dig out the burrow and pick out the rabbit. A good day’s hunting was one where they would snare enough rabbits to bring home a few to Mam for cooking with some left over to sell to neighbours for six pence to a shilling each. They saved the skins and were able to make more money selling the skins for a shilling each to the Travellers who came by. Occasionally, the boys might bring back a hare, which was less tasty for stew or pie but which Mam could turn into a delicious Hare Soup.

In the kitchen, Mam kept her store of salt and bread soda in ridged glass jars on a shelf near the flour. The bread soda was used to make bread and to treat Dad's heartburn. Often twice a day, Mam made a cake of bread, mixing and kneading it on a wooden losset, baking it in the wall oven by the fire, then using the losset to cover the open sack of flour until the next time.

The empty flour sacks were saved to make sheets. Mam would carefully unstitch them, then wash them in a small amount of washing soda to remove the writing. She then sewed four sacks together to make a bed sheet that would last a lifetime. 

On occasion, Mam would kill one of the chickens to roast for dinners. At Christmas she would kill one of her geese, fattened for the big feast. She would pluck the goose, saving the feathers and down. No one outside the family has come close to recreating the flavours of Mam’s Christmas goose with its tender meat, and roasted potato cakes and orange on top.

John Slevin, is remembered as being fair and hard working and well respected in the area. 

He was a silent man and Ger Darcy, with whom he cut turf, was one of the few who could make him talk. In the local area, he was known as the Ploughman and at ploughing time would earn some money by taking his plough and his horse around the neighbouring farms.

John Slevin and his plough, with Margaret and Paul

He wasn’t hugely interested in sport, but enjoyed having a few pints and reading the daily newspaper. Like most men of time, his role was working the farm and he “never did a turn in the house”. As Kitty recalls, “he was the head of the household for sure but Mam steered the ship.” 

He could be variously tough or soft with the children. He was never known to refuse a request from one of the girls to go off on the bike to visit cousins at Sharragh or Carrigahorig or Kilfadda. He had no need to warn them to be home before dark: they knew that was an unbreakable rule. But he could also be strict: on one winter’s evening when he found the younger ones playing cards, he grabbed the cards and threw them on the fire, telling them to get back to their books.

But he also had a softness and thoughtfulness to him: in a storm, he would cover the windows with a sack to stop them rattling. Kitty also knew enough not to say goodbye to him in public when she’d be leaving for a long journey. “I'd go down to the barn to say goodbye and I'd tell him to look after Mam even though I knew he did anyhow.” 

He was a devout man, and in the evening he would take his rosary beads out of the round zinc ointment tin on the kitchen window and start the rosary while Mam called out the various mysteries. He also helped in the parish by scrubbing headstones in the graveyard. In the church in Lorrha, the Slevin seat was in the corner, accessed by the side aisle. As the family grew, the seat couldn’t accommodate everyone. John first went down with wood and a hammer and extended the seat. That held the family for a time, but in the end he “told us to sit in Mr Reddan's seat as there was always some room there”. 

He was also resourceful. One day, he arrived home with a thick wool overcoat that had clearly been made for a taller man. No one dared ask where it came from. John got the girls to carefully take the seams apart, thread by thread. When completely undone, he brought all the pieces to the tailor in Lorrha who returned a ‘magnificent’ coat that John wore for many years to fairs across the county. 

The family had its share of struggles. There was a time when John struggled to pay the rates on the farm and the milking cows were impounded and taken to Birr. John and Mary sought the assistance of John’s brother Michael. Probably drawing on old connections from his time with the RIC, and perhaps paying some of the monies owed, Michael helped to get the decision reversed and the bailiff returned the cows to Kilregane. It seems that neighbours were supportive during this awful episode and helped by keeping the family going with pails of milk. However, it must have been a difficult ordeal for the proud family. Decades later, Kitty can still see the hoof marks across the empty yard as the cows were loaded and taken away. 

It has to be unusual that only one of the children died in childhood: Michael became ill with meningitis in August 1927 aged just 8. There is only one known photograph of Michael, which was nearly not taken. It is a school photo, and apparently when Michael asked for the pence or shillings needed to bring to school he was told he couldn't have the photo taken. He was so disappointed that Mam reached high up on a shelf where she took coins from a jar to pay for the photo. When Michael became ill, Kitty was sent running across the fields to Carrigahorig dispensary for the doctor. It’s clear that the family quickly understood the seriousness of the illness. Her father dispatched Kitty again, this time to Carew's to see if Hubert Carew, a religious Brother, was home and could come to the house to say prayers; being closer, he would get to the house quicker than a priest. Mrs Carew seeing the 10 year old Kitty distraught and out of breath, settled her and comforted her with a slice of currant cake. 

When Michael died he was laid out on his parents’ bed by the local women. Kitty recalls Mrs Carroll from Ballyquirk doing “a lovely job”, with the young boy dressed in a white robe with a blue sash, and his lovely curl still on his forehead. 

For Margaret, her brother’s illness and death left a lasting impression. Aged 12 at the time, Margaret remembered neighbours calling to the house as the child lay ill. One of the callers mentioned that there were oranges, an uncommon exotic import at the time, in the window of the grocer’s in Borrisokane. John Slevin, on hearing that ‘there’s magnificent curing in an orange’, had someone cycle all the way to Borrisokane to get the orange; it made it back to Kilregane just in time and young Michael passed away with the sweet tang of a fresh orange on his lips.

When the Slevin grave was opened for Mam's burial, a child's tooth and a button from a cardigan were found which made their way to Kitty in Australia. Later, when PJ died, the grave was again opened. This time, the younger Slevins who had never met the child Michael, were able to hold his skull in their hands and make an oddly comforting physical connection with the sibling and uncle they had never known.

Growing Up and Going Away

Through these decades, John and Mary’s family continued to grow, but as the younger siblings came along, some of the older ones, especially the girls, moved away. 

It was not easy coming of age in Ireland during the second quarter of the century. Ireland was coming to terms the Civil War and Éamon de Valera’s Fianna Fáil Government was moving the country towards a new Constitution and republic. In a rural community like Lorrha, there were few jobs outside of farming and labouring. Only one son (rarely a daughter) could inherit the farm or business and the jobs that were available were poorly paid and offered no future guarantees, and certainly not enough to set up a home and family. Many emigrated.

Although there were nine girls and seven boys in the family, most of the girls were born first. Of the first eleven children, eight were girls. In 1941, as the last of the five girls entered the convent, the structure of the family was completely reversed, with four boys and one girl under the age of fifteen.

It’s not surprising then that five of the older girls became nuns. Apart from their vocation, the religious life was a respectable choice and offered girls the only real possibility of further education and the chance of a career in teaching, nursing or missionary work. 

The lack of jobs, inheritance and opportunity in Ireland meant that, for those who stayed, marriage was delayed or foregone to an extent not found in any other population in human history. In Ireland in the 1930s, the average age of marriage was 33 for men and 28 for women; over half of 30-34 year-olds were single, and more than one in four 50-54 year-olds. 

The Slevin siblings who got married very much reflected this societal pattern. The girls married at 39, 31 and 30; Nora married youngest, at 28. Similarly, the boys all married in their 30s apart from Willie who married at 52, and PJ who remained single. 

Neither were the Slevins unusual in leaving school at 14 or 15. What was unusual is that only one of the siblings, Paul, took the emigration route, and went to New York. 

For the boys who stayed, there was one other option. With no real state support, and certainly few nursing homes, older people with farms and homes would sometimes seek assistance in return for a promise of future inheritance. Three of the boys were, at various times, offered the option of moving in with someone who needed help, in return for which they would inherit the land.

The family reunited in 1964 for the first time in over 30 years. Back L-R: PJ, Tim, Nora, Willie, Margaret, Jim, Lil, Sean, Chrissie, Paul. Front L-R: Teeshie (Sr Ignatius), Jo (Sr Attracta), Mam, Kitty (Sr Francesca), Maura (Sr Vincent). Bridgie was too ill to travel and was the only surviving family member missing.

The family was close to the three Conroy siblings who had a pretty cottage close to Kilregane. Growing older, and with no one to inherit, the Conroys approached John and Mary to offer the cottage to one of the boys if they would maintain it and look after them for their lifetime. Seán was picked and he duly inherited the cottage. PJ too came to own a small farm near Birr after working there for a few years. 

When Tim was about 12 years old, his parents were approached by the Hensworth family who owned a farm towards Rathcabbin, not too far away. The Hensworths had no one to inherit the farm, and in a step not unheard of at the time, offered effectively to foster Tim if he would live with them and work the land during their lifetime; in return he would inherit the farm on their death. Tim wasn’t even aware that the conversation was going on, but his mother refused considering him way too young to make such a commitment.

Read more about the the Slevin Girls, Boys and Nuns in separate posts.

End of an Era

The family was hugely fortunate in that someone had a huge interest in photography. There is a treasure-trove of photographs that chronicle life in Kilregane, including threshing, farming and unusual informal portraits of the youngest children playing in the yard. As the older ones left home, Chrissie took up the mantle. With her trusty Box Brownie, she sent a steady stream of valued pictures to the nuns, helping the images of home come alive with her short notes on the reverse. 

Kitty still has the last photo Chrissie sent her of her father. John is sitting in his chair reading, oblivious to the photographer. On the reverse, Chrissie notes, “I think we told you that Dad doesn’t read – but here he is trying to study Dev’s speeches. He never knew I took this, so you can see for yourself he is not too bad at all.” The photo was taken on 3^rd March 1957, less than three months after the family had moved out of the old homestead. Willie took over the farm in 1955 and built a new house near the road. He moved in with his parents, PJ and Chrissie just before Christmas 1956. John only lived another seven months and died in August 1957, aged 80.

John Slevin, photographed by Chrissie, reading DeValera's speeches in March 1957.

Kitty describes the morning in August 1957 when she got word of her father’s death, aged 80. She was in Fiji and was gratified that the famously ‘moody’ Bishop Foley responded to the news by offering Sunday mass for her father. Kitty still chuckles at this as she remembers being proud that her unassuming father of simple tastes, had mass offered for him by the Bishop in the Cathedral in Suva.

The members of the family who could make it home gathered for John Slevin’s funeral. Tim, based in Geesala, Mayo, hired a car. He went first to pick up his sister who was on holidays in Ballycastle, an hour away. He was met by a heartbroken Teeshie who was not allowed to travel alone as she was still new to the convent. Despite pleading that Teeshie would be with her brother, Tim left alone for the long drive to Tipperary. To add to the grief, the delay in Ballycastle meant that Tim was too late to see his father at Kilregane, and he arrived just as the funeral was going in to the church.

Mary Hogan would live for another seventeen years until her death in 1975 at 85. It was April, and as Mam's funeral procession made its way from Kilregane to mass in Lorrha, flurries of snow started falling. Maura quipped that it hadn’t taken long: Mam was already plucking a goose in Heaven.

In latter years, Mam kept healthy if bent over and continued to exert her gentle power over the family and farm. The many visitors to Kilregane will remember Mam cooking in the kitchen, with the clocks on the walls, each chiming different notes on the hour; and Old Moore’s Almanac, the Messenger and Ireland’s Own stacked on the window-sill. She continued to serve up generous feasts in her blue pinafore with her grey hair up in an elegant bun. Sundays remained centred around hurling, and when television arrived, the crowded kitchen would be shushed to listen intently while Micheál O’Hehir called out the match results.

Mam in the kitchen in the new house in Kilregane

The era of Slevins in the old homestead in Kilregane came to an end in 2007, when Willie and Agnes built a new house a short distance away and the farm and old house were sold.

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The Slevin Boys

Willie, Tim, PJ, Paul, Jim and Sean

Jim, Seán, Willie, PJ and Tim in 1984

Jim, the oldest boy, went to work “as soon as he was old enough to hold a pitchfork”. He worked on the home farm as well as at Flannery's. After he left home he was “great for coming to ramble on a Sunday”. At 32, he married Julia Fahy and moved to her home place and farm at Rodeen, near Borrisokane. It was believed that Uncle Jim, John’s brother, was instrumental in bringing the couple together. 

Jim and Julia on their wedding day, 9th June 1948

For the first few years, Seán worked near home milking the large herd of cows owned by the Watson estate. He worked with Uncle Pack threshing, later moving to Limerick and then on to Colemanswell Creamery in Cork.

Willie and PJ continued to live with their mother at Kilregane until the 1970s. Willie inherited the farm, and PJ moved to his own house in Carrigahorig. PJ was a well-known figure as he went around the country on his Honda 50. He worked for many years as a lorry driver for Flynns of Carrigahorig. He didn’t marry and lived quietly, keeping up the old tradition of living off the land. He had a fine cottage garden and grew apples, gooseberries and other fruit and vegetables. He also continued to hunt and there was usually a snipe or a rabbit around the house being readied for eating. Through all the years, he kept up his small kindnesses to Mam, whether it was leaving her a mug of tea by her bed in the morning, or bringing her back 'the salty bit' of bacon that she loved.

As one of the youngest in the family, Tim was particularly close to his mother and father. After leaving school, he stayed in the area working at home and then worked for his brother Jim for a couple of years.

In 1950, the ESB’s Rural Electrification Scheme arrived to bring electricity to the area. The 21-year-old Tim took short-term work with the crew. After a few months, he moved from Lorrha to Cork, up to Donegal, through Mayo and finally Leitrim where he settled with Tina, whom he had met during his time in Charlestown, Co. Mayo.

As he travelled the country with the ESB, Tim frequently sent money home to Mam, and on more than a few occasions, gave his father money for a few pints. In the mid-50s, Tim considered joining the Garda Síochána and his application was successful. The move was encouraged by his uncle Michael, his father’s eldest brother, who had been an RIC officer. But Mam was less supportive, questioning why he would want to join “that auld bad crowd”.

Tim went on to have a 34-year career with the ESB and his unique photos of the time are available on ESBArchives.ie. His reflection on his time there, and especially his attempt to bring hurling to Leitrim is recounted by Seán Mac Fearghail’s in ‘Then There Was Light[i], a collection of stories of rural electrification. Tim and a few of his colleagues, especially Barry Ormond from Co. Waterford, carried their love of hurling to Mayo and Leitrim. Their skills and determination gave hurling in Mayo and Leitrim an enormous boost and they lifted their club and county teams to win a number of Senior Hurling medals. In 1996, Tim was featured in the print advertisement celebrating the 50^th anniversary of the rural electrification scheme.

Tim settled with Tina in Mohill, Co Leitrim and still supports Tipperary hurling. His vegetable garden and precise drills of potatoes, cabbage, carrots, onions and peas were admired by many and remain as testimony to his love of the land and perhaps his father’s ploughing skills.

Tim spent time in Mayo and settled in Leitrim, where he helped build the county hurling teams.  Here he is defending in his usual full-back position.

The youngest, Paul may have considered joining the priesthood and went to school at the Salesians in Limerick, but returned to Lorrha after a year. He hurled with the Lorrha senior team from 1955 to 1961 alongside the renowned Tony Reddan. Paul was considered a great full-back, holding his own against much bigger men like Philly Ryan of Borrisoleigh. Even after moving to New York, he continued to play with one of his team-mates, Seán O’Meara. In New York, Paul lived in the Bronx and, helped by his GAA connections, got a job as a bus driver. He married Eileen Heffernan there in 1964, and in 1969, they made the decision to return home. 

By mid-1969,  he had secured a job and was enjoying reigniting old friendships during a visit home. In June, he was travelling with friends to the Munster semi-final when the car crashed near Cahir. Tragically, he died from his injuries a few short weeks later, leaving his young wife and two young daughters. Kitty recalls much discussion about who would break the news of Paul's death to Mam: Ned Flynn, their very good neighbour, stepped in and took on the enormously difficult task of telling Mam her beloved son was gone.

Paul Slevin

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[i] Then There Was Light – Stories behind the installation of Ireland’s Rural Electrification scheme. Co-edited by PJ Cunningham and Dr. Joe Kearney (Ballpoint Press 2016)

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The Girls

The older girls got work in shops in Portumna, thinking nothing of the 9km (5.5 mile) cycle each way every day, and Kitty was paid for her work at the Convent. These would have been coveted and rare positions and must be a reflection of their brightness and position in the community. That notwithstanding, the wages would have been paltry, but enough to contribute to the family coffers and create a degree of independence for the young women.

Jo worked at Claffey's and Margaret at O'Keefe's. A real treat for the other girls was to go O’Keefe’s where Margaret would sell them one of the fancy biscuits with cream in the middle.

Both Margaret and Lil also worked for a Mrs O'Meara in Killimor. At Christmas Lil would bring home a hamper from Mrs O'Meara, giving the family their first taste of unfamiliar delicacies like raspberry cordial or bananas. Lil also worked in Mountmellick for a time. In 1948, two days before her 32^nd birthday, she married Phil Lynam and they moved to Moate.

Margaret at work

Margaret leaving home for Longford in Ned Flynn's car, with Dad, Mam, Chrissie and Paul

After O’Meara’s, Margaret moved to Riverstown near Birr, and later would go all the way to Longford to get work. In Longford, aged 38, she met and settled with her new husband, Tom Hopkins. Unfortunately, the couple’s one child died at birth. Margaret’s home at Ferefad is remembered as being full of warmth and generosity, with the big kettle on the spotless range at constant boil, ready to make a cup of strong tea at any moment of the day.

Nora, coming eleventh, was sandwiched between the two distinct groups of siblings with seven older sisters and four younger brothers. She was a quiet girl and spent much time looking after the younger children. She also helped out the neighbours and families in the area, especially with new babies and was the first person people thought of when they needed help.

At 28, Nora married Robert Young and settled with him and their six children in Rathcabbin. He was eighteen years older and family history suggests that the couple was brought together by Jack Carroll of Rathcabbin. Nora sadly died at only 46, leaving six young children behind. Bob died six months later. Jim was appointed guardian of the children and their aunt, Nan Young who was matron at St James’ Hospital in Dublin, came home to look after the family.

Nora and Bob with Mary, Frances and Noreen

Chrissie worked for a time in O’Meara’s in Portumna and later in Heenan’s shop and bar in Borrisokane. After she married Mick Hoctor, she set up her own successful business on Pearse Street in Nenagh. It was a grocery shop, known for selling local produce including fresh eggs, cakes and fresh sausages weekly from Tullamore and Roscrea.  It was a landmark shop in Nenagh up to the late eighties when it closed. For the last 25 years, Chrissie has worked in St Mary's of the Rosary Church in Nenagh as the sacristan. Like her sisters, particularly Patricia and Bridgie, she was gifted at making handicrafts such as rugs and tapestries and won prizes for them at Nenagh's Annual Agricultural Show over a number of years.

At Kilregane in 1964, Nance Carroll, Lil, Chrissie, Tina (married to Tim), and Nora.

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The Nuns

Anna (known as Jo) was the first to join a convent in July 1933 and became Sr Attracta. She was followed in 1934 by 14 year old Bridgie who joined the Ursulines. In 1935, two months after turning 18, Kitty joined Jo in the Cluny sisters and took the name Sr. Francesca; she had wanted to take Michael, in memory of her brother but her request was refused on the basis that there were too many Sr. Michaels. In 1938, 18 year old Maura (Sr Vincent) joined the Sisters of Mercy and would spend her life in England; Teeshie (Sr Ignatius) followed in 1941, a month after her 17^th birthday.

The youngest children, PJ (b.1928), Tim (b.1929), Chrissie (b.1930) and Paul (b.1934), were hardly old enough to have any memory of their sisters as young women in Kilregane and would only get to know them much later as adults.

With only ten years between her and four of the nuns, Nora probably felt their departure most keenly. Her sisters would have been her close companions through her childhood, but by 1941, when Nora was only 16, all five nuns had gone, Lil had married, and only 27 year old Margaret and 10 year old Chrissie remained at home. On Kitty's last night in Kilregane before leaving for her new life in Paris, she and Nora shared a bed and Nora wept with the knowledge that this would be their last time together for many a day.

The sisters themselves could go decades without meeting, and it wasn’t until 1964 that the entire family planned to reunite back in Kilregane. Sadly, Bridgie took ill at Paris airport as she was about to board for home. She had to turn back and would have to wait another few years before she would see her family again. All other 14 surviving siblings made it home.

Mam with the five nuns, from R-L: Maura, Jo, Kitty, Teeshie and Bridgie.

The visits home for all the nuns were bitter-sweet, especially in the early years when they were required to stay in the local convent and were effectively under curfew during the precious days and weeks they were home. If they were lucky, the convent would have no room and they could stay at home. 

At Kilregane they were welcomed home by Mam when she was alive, and later by Willie and his wife Agnes MacDonald.  There they would rely on Ned Flynn to pick them up in the morning to take them to Mass in Lorrha. On more than a few occasions, the sisters would be waiting well on time on the road, while Ned drove up, just on time and with his tie and shoelaces still undone.

The sisters revelled in the freedom of country life. Over the long days of the Irish summer, they walked the lanes and byways stopping only to have a chat or pick blackberries. They loved going in to Lorrha and catching up with all the local news with neighbours like the Hardings. On sunny days they would go to the bog, tramping happily alongside Willie on his tractor. 

Jo

Jo and Kitty were in Ferbane together with the Sisters of Cluny. Every Sunday they would have an hour together in recreation time and would see each other every day in the chapel. They also got the occasional visit from their father who cycled the 30km (or 18 miles) there and back to see his daughters. As Jo set off for Dublin and Africa, the girls had to say their goodbyes the Sunday before she departed. Even though Jo and Kitty were in the same Congregation, there was no communication between the sisters in the different countries in those days. Kitty remembers being shocked to see how old Jo looked when they met again 17 years later. 

Jo spent most of her life on missionary work in the Gambia and Sierra Leone. She was bursar and in charge of managing whatever funds the community had. She enjoyed telling a story of the time the sisters complained about the near inedible boiled eggs they were getting. Jo spoke to the cook and explained the need to boil the eggs for a shorter time. When this didn’t work, Jo bought an egg-timer and gave it to the cook, but the eggs remained inedible. Jo went to enquire why the egg-timer had made no difference, only to learn that the egg-timer had been put into the saucepan with the eggs.

Kitty

The departure of each sister from Kilregane was marked with stoicism, sadness and some memorable moments. As Kitty readied on morning of her departure to her new life in the convent in Ferbane, Mam prepared a special breakfast of rabbit pie. Kitty, aware that she was most probably eating some of that day's dinner and worried that someone else would get less to eat later, did her best not to eat too much.

Mam went with her to Ferbane, bringing along the one year old Paul. Kitty remembers Paul being given sweets in the convent parlour. She can also remember the moment of anguish as her coat was taken from her, never to be seen again. The stylish tan-coloured woollen coat had a round collar and a row of buttons along each sleeve and had been made for her by a local needle-woman, Mrs Lavelle. Kitty had paid for it herself from savings from her job in the convent kitchen in Portumna. While hoping that the coat would go to a needy person, Kitty wished she’d had the foresight to give it to one of her own sisters.

Kitty had, like Jo, joined the Sisters of Cluny, a French order focused on teaching and missionary work. Kitty was professed in Paris in 1937 as Sr Francesca of Christ the King, and was allowed a short visit home before being sent overseas. The message with Kitty's travel itinerary was sent to Lorrha post office and Miss Raymond or Miss Fleming in the post office got the message to Kilregane. John Slevin borrowed a car to pick up his daughter and bring her home.

Kitty recalls arriving home dressed in her new habit and how “there was holy murder in the house when they saw me dressed up”. Kitty has a strong memory of photos being taken of her in her habit standing with her proud parents and of trying to resist the pressure to pose. She was worried that photos of this nature were frowned upon by the Order, as they were somehow considered a form of vanity and an unwarranted personal indulgence.

Kitty with Mam and Dad, not entirely comfortable with the photographs being taken.

Kitty travelled widely with the Cluny sisters, setting up communities and teaching in Martinique, New Zealand and Fiji. Her last posting was to Australia and she still lives in Melbourne where she celebrated the 80^th anniversary of her profession in July this year.

Kitty was sent first to Martinique where she had to adjust to a vastly different climate and new language and culture. She was also the only Irish sister there. They had a school for girls and Kitty had some responsibility for the forty or so boarders. She was in charge of ringing the bell for five o’clock prayer, and would reach out her bedroom window to pull on the rope. Kitty made her final vows in Guadeloupe, taking an overnight boat journey from Martinique to Pointe-à-Pitre. 

In 1948, having completed ten years in Martinique, Kitty arrived back in Ireland. She had clearly acquitted herself well and, though still very young, rose in position to become Mother Francesca. After a short time teaching at the Cluny school in Sackville Street in Dublin, she was charged with setting up a new community in New Zealand.

In an expedition lasting 16 days, the five nuns took fifteen flights, one ferry and one five hour bus journey, travelling to Auckland via Scotland, Iceland, Montreal, Toronto, Winnipeg, Vancouver, San Francisco, Honolulu and Fiji. 

The nuns were featured in the Winnipeg Free Press on 21st February 1948 as they made their way to New Zealand via Iceland, Canada, the US and South Pacific.

At Winnipeg, exhausted but resilient, the nuns were met by a Mr O’Brien of Trans-Canada Air who brought them to the Fort Garry Hotel, one of the most elegant, grand hotels in Canada. The women ordered room service and wondered at their good fortune to be eating such delicious food with “scarcely anything but silver glittering on the table”. While they worried that such indulgence might be going against the ‘Rule’, Mother Francesca noted that no one had thought to anticipate setting a Rule prohibiting five Sisters feasting in the finest five-star hotel in Winnipeg! The next day, O’Brien brought along a photographer and reporter to do a feature for the Winnipeg Free Press newspaper. After this ‘séance’, as Kitty called it in her diary, “our friend Mr O Brien proposed to drive us around the city to have a look at it and to visit the Cathedral. Of course, our curiosity rose to the occasion. How lovely too to see the sun shining on the heaps of snow. You can be sure I realised that I was no longer in dear Martinique!”

After nine years in New Zealand, Kitty moved to Fiji. In 1955, the Cluny Convent in Fiji hosted the Von Trapp Family, whose story inspired the musical ‘The Sound of Music’. The group were on a tour of the South Pacific, their last tour, and there is a lovely photograph of Kitty with Maria, Baroness von Trapp in Suva. 

Kitty with Maria, Baroness von Trapp whose story inspired the musical 'The Sound of Music'. In 1955, the von Trapps were hosted by Mother Francesca in the convent in Suva, Fiji while on their last world tour.

The contrast between Kitty’s old and new life was immense.  On one visit home, she and Maura stayed in Nenagh with Chrissie. They had a room facing the street and they “liked nothing better than poking our heads out the window at night and marvelling at the sights and sounds of the street” and hearing the sound of the feet on the pavement and seeing the cars go by.

Kitty's last move was to Australia, and she still lives with the Convent in Melbourne.

Around 1964, on one of her long journeys between Australia and home, Kitty stopped off in New York. There she met Paul and his wife-to-be, Eileen. She spent a very happy afternoon with Eileen who modelled her new wedding dress. Kitty, in her full habit, attracted attention wherever she went. Taxi drivers, bus drivers and tour operators all let them travel and site-see for free; even the local diner gave them a free breakfast. Seeing the effect his sister had, Paul was tempted to keep Kitty with him for a few weeks!

Bridgie

Only 14 when she entered the convent in April 1934, Bridgie and three others, including Mary Leonard from Lorrha and Dympna Darcy from Redwood, travelled to the Ursuline convent at St Chamond in the Loire valley. Having never travelled before, the girls’ itinerary comprised a simple instruction to go to Paris where they would be met at the train station. Bridgie became Soeur Marie du Sacré-Coeur and it would be 12 years before she saw Ireland again. In theory, she was allowed a visit home every seven years, but her first visit was thwarted by WWII and then she was too ill to travel.

Bridgie, May 1940

When Bridgie finally got home in 1946, much had changed at home and so had she. She had left as a young girl, and returned as a respected teacher with a degree in Latin and Philosophy. She also pursued studies in and taught Greek and French philology and was admired for her perfect mastery of the French language. Indeed, in later years on her few visits home, she would marvel at her struggle to remember words in English.

In 1948, she was elected Superior of the community, and remained in this position until 1973 apart from a short six-year period. She struggled to enjoy good health after contracting TB. At one stage, Kitty was allowed to travel to see Bridgie and spent three days with her. She remembers someone had attempted to alleviate Bridgie’s illness by placing red cabbage leaves on her chest, and covering them with a white cloth. While Bridgie recovered, she was too ill to travel home for the family reunion in 1964, and in 1973, she effectively retired and moved to the convent in Monistrol-sur-Loire. She reverted to her birth name and was known thereafter as Soeur Brigitte. She was also the first of the nuns to go without the veil, causing some surprise when she arrived home to Kilregane in “a nice skirt, blouse and crucifix”.

Although she remained fragile healthwise, Bridgie never lost her enthusiasm for life. As a teacher, she was remembered for her sense of fun and engaging in at least one memorable snowball battle with the students. She also developed a passion for rugby and loved watching Ireland playing on television, especially against France. She remained a core member of the community to the end, driving the other nuns around and doing the shopping for the convent. She was also an accomplished embroiderer and talented seamstress, producing dresses, skirts and even bedspreads for members of the community.

Maura

Maura too became a successful teacher and worked in schools and convents in Hull, Middlesbrough, the Lake District and latterly Whitby, Yorkshire. She was extraordinarily intelligent and rose to become principal and head teacher wherever she went, driving new building work and setting up schools. In Hull and Middlesbrough during the war years, she would have been subject to the same rationing and deprivations as everyone else in England. She may have tried to describe some of her observations of life in her letters home, but the letters would arrive with half the words and sentences cut out having been censored by the authorities.

The stress of her work took a toll on her health, but she never lost her quick sense of humour. On visits home, she would revel in being part of the farm again and especially loved looking after the bantam hens, geese and other fowl around the farm.

Teeshie

Teeshie, Sr Ignatius, was the only one of the nuns to remain in Ireland. She moved to Belmullet, then Ballina where she had a long career teaching short-hand and typing to the girls in the secondary school. She was a talented calligrapher and her fondness for board and word games was legendary. Few could beat her at Scrabble and she relished the Crossword in the daily paper. She was very talented with her hands and produced beautiful pieces of lace and crochet. Kitty valued one particular piece of very fine crochet which she brought back to Kew where it was used to cover the ciborium in the chapel.

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Key Dates for the Slevins

Acknowledgements

With heartfelt thanks to Sr Francesca Slevin (Kitty), Tim Slevin and Chrissie Hoctor for their memories and storytelling. Chrissie also deserves much credit for the sizeable collection of amazing photographs that we have. In putting the Slevin story together it was clear that so many other stories and details have been lost to us. This history could not have been written without Mary Young: we owe her immense gratitude for recording Kitty’s memories and giving life to our history. Thank you also to Michelle Hoctor who initiated the idea and to Michael Slevin (brother!) who reviewed and gave every encouragement to the project. Thanks to to Jennifer Slevin with whom we share a great-grandfather for her newspaper clippings and especially for her original work on the family tree: it saved me no end of time! And thank you Niamh Slevin for your diligent proof-reading.

Any errors in this are totally my own. Please help add to the stories by commenting here or getting in touch directly with me.


Fiona

Key Dates for the Slevin Family
Acknowledgements