A Tribute to Teddy

Teddy Winters died in Ireland on Tuesday 12 March 2019. He was 92.

Teddy and I were members of the WINTER clan, my mother’s paternal line. We met in Ireland for the first time in 2014 and I caught up with him again, just a few months ago, in September 2018 – and I’m so glad I did.

On both occasions, finding Teddy had its obstacles. But perseverance and good fortune rather than foresight and good planning got results in the end.

Here’s how it happened…

 

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2014 My first trip to Ireland

In August 2014, I took the long awaited trip to Ireland in search of my roots. With years of research tucked into my backpack and with no information about living contacts I headed ‘home’. My plan of attack was vague: limit the search to three ancestral surnames, visit their birthplaces, and basically, just ‘ask around’. That was it. It may sound a little foolhardy, but it turned out to be quite a good plan, especially in the case of the WINTER surname when I hit the jackpot with finding Teddy.

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Henry’s Cafe, Dromcolliher, Co. Limerick

‘Hi,’ I say to the friendly looking woman behind the counter of Henry’s cafe. ‘I’m from Australia and I’m researching my family history. Do you know of anyone by the name of Winter living in the area?’

Henry’s cafe is in Dromcolliher, a small town in the south west of County Limerick, not far from the border with County Cork. The reason I’m here is because Dromcolliher is the most often mentioned birthplace on the Australian death certificates of the WINTER immigrants.

The cafe is a random picking. It seems like a good idea to head to where the locals might be hanging out.

It’s 10 am in the morning and there’s a few people sitting around, chatting at small tables covered with blue check tablecloths.

‘No, I’m sorry I don’t,’ she replies.

I’m mentally prepared for negative responses but I know from previous experiences that it’s premature to slip into immediate despondency. Just days ago a visit to a cafe in Co. Tipperary led to a Monsignor who showed me the original baptismal records of some other forebears. So, now it’s time to order a brew, sit back and ponder my next move.

My great great grandfather, Edward WINTER, left this part of Ireland for Australia in September, 1839. Legend has it that he came in search of the girl he loved. She was Catholic and he was Protestant and the family and/or families opposed the match. However, love prevailed in the rapidly expanding colony and Edward married Honoria TANCRED in St Lawrence’s Church of England, Sydney on 28 January 1840.

On delivery of my teapot the waitress hesitates by my table. She adds, ‘…But the manager of the Historical Centre is sitting right over there.’ I look across. There’s two men deep in conversation sitting at a table by the wall. ‘He might be able to help you,’ she continues and calls out to him. ‘Liam*,’ she says. ‘This lady’s looking for Winters. Do you know of any?’

A tall fellow in his 40s comes over to my table. ‘Hi, my name’s Liam,’ he says. Great. It’s an Irish accent I can understand. I invite him to join me. He tells me he’s originally from Northern Ireland and he’s been living here in Dromcolliher with his wife and and young family for the past two years. He hasn’t heard of the Winter name but, as he says, he’s not a local.

I show him my research. It’s all neatly categorized and labelled in the WINTER folder. He’s impressed by the amount of research I’ve done. His positive reaction helps subdue my feelings of imposition. After telling him my story and why I’m in Dromcolliher the conversation turns to Irish history. I soon discover it’s a subject he’s well versed in.

After a while his friend comes over and joins us. Liam introduces him as Con*. We shake hands and he sits down opposite me. Con has a cheeky face with well developed wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. I give him a brief summary of my research then Liam picks up where he left off. We’re up to the Normans. I sense Con staring and it’s not long before he interrupts Liam and says to me, ‘And you’ve come all this way to find out about your family?’ Half question, half statement.

‘Yes,’ I reply.

Liam segues effortlessly into the Saxons. Con interrupts again. ‘Liam,’ he says. ‘We’ve got to do something for this lady. She’s come all the way from Australia.’

Liam awakens from the Irish/English wars and says, ‘Perhaps there’s some Winters in the phone book.’ He calls out to the waitress, ‘Have you got a phone book Mary?’

Mary brings over a tattered thin book. The three of them search through the Ws and find two ‘Winters’. I’m not fazed by the ‘s’ on the end of Winter; I’ve learnt to expect variations in the spelling. Unfortunately, neither of these Winters live in Dromcolliher. I jot down their details anyway for possible future reference.

Mary thinks the guy who lives ‘up the road’ is a Winter. Con agrees. The three of them discuss and try to decipher Mary’s location of ‘up the road’. I sit and listen. It seems I have my own research team!

I feel so grateful and humbled by their generosity and willingness to help even though it looks like we’re not making a great deal of progress. As an aside I mention that the landlord of the Winter’s farm in the 1800s was a Lord Muskerry of Springfield Castle.

‘Do you know where Springfield Castle is?’ I ask. At least if I can’t find any members of the WINTER clan I can check out the landlord’s premises.

‘Of course,’ Con says. ‘I can take you there. Lord Muskerry still lives there. He might even ask you in for a drink,’ he says with a wink.

I thank Liam and Mary for their help and I follow Con out of the cafe.

‘OK,’ Con says outside. ‘I’ll get my car from around the back and you can follow me. We’ll drop in on that fella first and see if he’s home.’ That ‘fella’ is the Winter, Mary thinks lives up the road.

It’s raining now. I quickly figure out the windscreen wipers and I follow Con through the town. We drive up a narrow lane where there’s only a couple of houses. He stops and comes over to my car window. He says, ‘I’ll just go and see if he’s home.’ I watch as he half runs up to the front door of one of the houses. No answer. He points to the house next door. Someone answers. He comes back to my window. Droplets of water are dripping off his curly hair.

‘The neighbour tells me he’s
away unfortunately.’

‘That’s bad luck,’ I say.

‘Now, keep following me and I’ll take you to the castle.’ Con’s bouncing around like he’s on a boys own adventure.

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Springfield Castle

A little way up the road we pull off and stop at a large stone entrance. There’s a plaque on one side—‘Springfield Castle’ it says. Con jumps out again and comes to my window.

I knock on the wooden front door and wait. Hope fades as I eye the dusty cobwebs around the door hinges. No one answers. Despondency beckons again….until…a white van pulls up. A tall man in overalls with a mane of grey hair hops out. I walk over to put my case to him before he has a chance to accuse me of trespassing.

‘Hello. My name’s Margaret,’ I say. ‘I’m from Australia…I’m researching the Winter family…they had a farm around here and Lord Muskerry was their landlord.’ Then I breath in.

‘Oh, I don’t know anything much about that’, he says in a rather gentrified English accent. ‘I’m a ring in,’ he continues. ‘I married into the family. I’m married to the present Lord Muskerry’s sister. We look after the farm. Lord Muskerry’s in South Africa.’

‘Ohhh,’ I say. Then I breath out. Good. He doesn’t consider me a trespasser. As he talks I note his ruddy cheeks and the broken capillaries on his bluish nose. I’m reminded of Con’s remark about the invitation to have a drink.

He continues. ‘The castle is rented out now for accommodation. No one lives here. There’s a group staying at the moment.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean
to impose.’

‘No… Anyway, I think they’re out.’

He then proceeds to tell me a bit about the history of the building. It used to be twice as big as it is now, that is, before it was burnt down by the Black and Tans. (You can read about the castle here ). He’s heard that the Lord Muskerry of my forebears’ time was ‘very nice to his tenants’. Good to hear, I thought. He then tells me there’s a cemetery nearby that I might be interested in.

My spirits lift. ‘Oh yes,’ I reply, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

‘Just go through the farm down that track there and it will lead you to it.’

I thank him and return to my car. He hops back in his van, accelerates and vanishes. I ponder for a minute the serendipity of what just happened.

I drive up the muddy track carefully inching my way around the major puddles. I pass the rather plain farmhouse and arrive at a beautiful, manicured cemetery.

I’m excited. Will I find the final resting place of the Winters?

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The Cemetery at Springfield Castle

It’s raining heavily now and, not surprisingly, I’m the only numbskull here. Up with the umbrella, I make my way over to the headstones. After only about five minutes I’m face to face with a Winter plot. ‘William Winter’ it says. I resist the urge to jump and down on the spot.

On further inspection, however, I note the death dates are too recent to be my Winter forebears. But I do note that the headstone was erected in 1875 so this still might be my forebears’ resting place.

After the obligatory photos are taken and I’ve had a brief scout around I head back to the car. I have another hour’s drive ahead of me back to the B&B in Ballyvourney. It looked so much closer on the map!

That night I realize I only have one more day to find out anything more about the WINTER clan. So, I try the two phone numbers Liam found for me in the phone book in Henry’s Café.

There’s no answer with the first one but I have success with the second one. The gentleman who’s not particularly excited about the family tree, tells me that I should get in touch with his cousin, Teddy Winters in Kanturk. ‘He knows all about it,’ he says.

‘Great,’ I say. ‘Does he have a phone?’

‘No.’

‘An address?

‘Just a street. Main Street*.’                             

‘Number?’

‘No number. Just ask
around.’

So, the next day, that’s what I do.

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Finding Teddy – the First Time

I park the car in the said street in Kanturk and purvey the scene. The street is lined with rows of two storied cement houses young and old. With no other directions to go by I start walking up the hill out of town. I stop a teenager as he comes toward me. ‘Do you know a Teddy Winters?’ I ask.

He thinks for a while, and then says, ‘The only Teddy I know is the blacksmith.’

The blacksmith! What century am I in? I thank him and walk further up the street. I see a lady in her front garden.

‘Excuse me,’ I say. ‘I’m looking for a Teddy Winters. Do you know where he lives?’

‘Oh. Teddy. He’s down further,’ the lady says, pointing in the direction I’d just come from. ‘Now how can I tell you?’ she continues.

‘Is he on this side?’ I suggest, in an attempt to forestall her directions turning into a convoluted series of turns which the Irish seem to have become famous for.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘He is. Isn’t he Seamus?’ A man appears from behind her. I gather it’s her son.

‘Yeah, he’s in the old pub,’ he says.

‘Oh. That’s right,’ she says. ‘And near the other pub. There’s a vacant block of land near it too.’

I get the general idea, thank them and walk back down the hill. I find the vacant block of land they mentioned and the ‘other pub’ near it. But I don’t see anything that looks like an old pub. Determined not to let this beat me, I venture into the functioning pub. All eyes are on me.

‘Do you know where I can find Teddy Winters?’ I ask, directing my question to the bartender but really to any of the five or so men sitting around.

‘Yes,’ says a middle aged fellow with a rather large gut sitting at the bar. He stands up, and guides me back out to the street. I follow. ‘Do you see that vacant block?’ he says pointing to the block I’ve just passed. ‘He’s next to that. In the old pub.’ I thank him but I still can’t fathom which building’s the ‘old pub’.

I knock on a side door of the building next to the vacant block. A petite apronned lady in her 30s opens the door. ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘Sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Teddy Winters?’

‘He lives next door,’ she says. ‘I’m the dentist’s wife.’

The dentist’s wife escorts me back out to the footpath. I follow. She tells me she hasn’t actually ‘met’ Teddy but she knows his movements. ‘He’s probably up at his nephew’s,’ she continues. ‘He goes there most Sundays for lunch. The best time to catch him is about eight-thirty in the morning when he goes out to get the paper.’

Well, that’s not going to
happen; I have this day and no other.

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Meeting Teddy

She knocks on the double wooden doors of the old building next to hers. The large front windows are covered with brown paper. After what seems like an age that sinking feeling of disappointment bears down on me again. But, no, the door opens and an elderly gent with sparkling blue eyes and a ready grin is standing there.

‘Hello,’ I say. ‘My name’s Margaret. I’m from Australia. My mother was a Winter. I think we might be related.’ Teddy shakes my hand vigorously.

‘Ooooohhh,’ he says. And what he said after that is a complete mystery. His rolling Cork accent mixed in with a lisp and an unknown number of teeth made it very hard to understand him. But one question was quite plain, ‘Do you have a car?’

‘Yes,’ I said. It’s right over…’ and to my amazement I’d unknowingly parked it right opposite Teddy’s place, ‘…here.’

I thank the dentist’s wife and Teddy jumps into the passenger side of my rental car. It all feels perfectly natural, like he’s been waiting for me.

Teddy’s a lifelong bachelor. He’s been a bookie in his time, hence the traditional wearing of the bookies’ cap. I suspect it doesn’t ever leave his head. He talks continuously about his nieces and nephews and what they’re up to and he fills me in on his line of Winters. I can’t even fathom yet how we are related but he seems to be saying all the right names – or the ones I can catch anyway.

‘I’ll take you to my nephew’s place,’ he announces.

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Lunch with Teddy’s nephew

We come to a neat little house not far from Teddy’s place.‘Drive right in,’ he says.

Here we go. I’m driving into the front yard of some poor unsuspecting family and I’m about to lob on their doorstep in the company of someone I’ve just met up the road. It seems a little crazy.

I follow Teddy around to the back door. I can see some surprised faces through the window. He lets himself in unannounced.

‘Hello. My name’s Margaret,’ I say, on entering and Teddy takes over from there.

In that small kitchen there are four people, two in wheelchairs.

‘This is Brendan*, my nephew,’ Teddy says, pointing to one of the people in a wheelchair and then he introduces Carmel*, Brendan’s wife who seems to be looking after everyone else. I’m not sure where Brendan fits into the clan but somewhere along the line he’s gained some Winter genes.

With introductions over and my connection to them all vaguely established, Carmel invites me to stay for lunch.

‘Oh no,’ I protest. How could I possibly impose on these people any more than I am now?

‘You may as well,’ she says. ‘Teddy’s staying for lunch.’

She’s got me there. Teddy’s promised to take me around the cemeteries to see the Winter plots so I have to stay.

Teddy, Brendan and I discuss the added ‘s’ to the Winter name in Ireland. Teddy is aware the name was always WINTER but somewhere in his line it got changed to WINTERS. He doesn’t know the reason why.

At some point in our great great greats I glean that Teddy and I really are descended from the same ancestral couple, William Winter and Lydia nee Hovendon. I’d like to know more about this couple but Teddy doesn’t seem to know too much more than I do. He suspects their farm was in Kilmeedy about ten kilometres north of Dromcolliher. I had heard about Kilmeedy before and I’d driven around there the other day. It is beautiful undulating pastoral land.

Teddy and I seat ourselves at the kitchen table after Carmel has fed her relatives. First of all there’s soup, followed by meat and veg with the obligatory onion and a third course of strawberries, apple pie and ice cream. I’m totally overwhelmed and humbled by their generosity. This is the famous Irish hospitality in action.

Before we leave for the cemeteries, Teddy shows me a photo of his father in his army uniform hanging on the wall. Even though it’s black and white I can see the translucence in his father’s eyes the same translucence I’ve seen in photos of my own grandfather. I ask Teddy if his father had blue eyes and he says ‘Yes’. I can see Teddy’s blue eyes would produce the same effect. A Winter trait perhaps.

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The Cemeteries

Teddy was brought up a Catholic as was I, but the earlier generations of the WINTER clan were Protestant so some are buried in the Protestant cemetery and others in the Catholic cemetery.

We start with the Catholic cemetery in Kanturk. Teddy’s parents Timothy WINTERS and Catherine nee MCSWEENEY are buried here. Teddy tells me that his father emigrated to America in the early 1900s. He grazed sheep, fought in the First World War as a soldier in the US army and then he returned and settled in Ireland when the war was over.

Teddy then directs me to the Protestant cemetery in Newmarket. There he shows me the headstone of William WINTER and Jane GARDINER, his great grandparents.

This William WINTER was the nephew of my great great grandfather, Edward WINTER, who emigrated to Australia in 1839.

How Teddy and I are Related

Feeling totally bamboozled at this stage by all these Winters and how they’re related to me I sit with Teddy in the car and together we work out our family trees.

We start with our great great great grandparents, William WINTER and Lydia HOVENDON.

Teddy’s ancestral line from William and Lydia: 1.William, son of William, 2.William, son of William, 3.William, son of William, 4.Timothy, son of William and, 5.Teddy, son of Timothy.

My ancestral line from William and Lydia: 1.Edward, son of William, 2.William, son of Edward, 3.William, son of William, 4.Teresa, daughter of William, and, 5.Margaret, daughter of Teresa.

Phew! That’s a lot of Williams.

According to our calculations, Teddy and I are in parallel generations; the 5th generation down from our common ancestral couple. But as far as what sort of cousins we are…I have no idea.

As for the location of William and Lydia’s final resting place Teddy doesn’t know, but his father told him that ‘all the old Winters’ were buried in the plot I saw at the cemetery near the Springfield Castle. So, maybe I did see their final resting place. I’d like to think so anyway.

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Teddy’s Childhood Home

Next, we’re off to where Teddy grew up, the original farm of his great grandparents, William WINTER and Jane GARDINER in Rossacon, Co. Cork, a 5 minute drive from Kanturk.

Teddy poses for a photo at the entrance to the property. We can’t go in. I’m thinking this might be the end of ‘the tour’ but, no, Teddy has other ideas. ‘I’ll take you to meet my sister,’ he says.

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Meeting Teddy’s Sister

I’ve no idea where we are but Teddy gives me directions to pull up at a farmhouse with a pretty floral garden in the front. There’s no answer at the front door but Teddy walks on in as he did at his nephew’s, like he’s done it a hundred times before. He calls out his sister’s name as he walks through the house.

That feeling of imposition is creeping over me again; I’m about to land on another poor unsuspecting soul. But Teddy’s on a roll now, so I follow. At the end of a corridor he enters a bedroom. ‘Here she is,’ he says and invites me in.

As I swing around the door I see an elderly lady resting on a hospital bed. Teddy tells me his sister has osteoporosis with vertebral fractures. The similarities are striking. The scene is reminiscent of my mum when she suffered from the same complaint.

Teddy wakes her up. Surprisingly, she doesn’t seem fazed at seeing her brother and a complete stranger in her room. He introduces me and I tell her a bit about myself. I’m aware she’s pretty groggy and I’m not sure she takes it in. Fortunately for her we don’t stay long.

UPDATE 14/2/2021

Following recent contact with the family of Teddy’s sister, I have been given permission to include her name, Imelda, and a photo of them both on the day I visited.

Now the exhaustion’s really hitting home. My brain’s scrambled. I suggest to Teddy that we call it quits before he comes up with any more ideas. And like yesterday I have another hour’s drive back to my B&B in Ballyvourney. Teddy’s fine with this. I drop him back in the town centre of Kanturk at his request; he’s keen to catch up on the day’s horse racing results. I thank him profusely for his generosity, the family information so kindly shared and the ‘tour’. I promise to keep in touch. And we do for a couple of years…he sends me newspaper clippings of the achievements of his nieces and nephews and we exchange Christmas cards.

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2018 My second trip to Ireland

I thought I’d be back in Ireland in two years but it took four years to get my act together. In September of 2018, I head to Ireland again. This time the plan is to meet another Winter relative and to catch up with Teddy.

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Finding Teddy – the Second Time

I stay in a B&B in Mallow, County Cork and one Sunday, I drive to Kanturk, Teddy’s home town. I recognize his home, the ‘old pub’, straight away. The windows are still covered with brown paper. I knock on the wooden doors as the dentist’s wife and I did four years ago but there’s no smiling Teddy to greet me this time. I curse myself for not mailing him a note to tell him I’m coming.

The street is Sunday quiet. There’s no one around and the shops are closed. Being Sunday I think Teddy is probably at his nephew’s but I can’t remember how to get there. As I stand and ponder I notice a door open at the ‘Clubhouse Kitchen’ just down the road. I wander down to get a coffee.

‘Hello,’ I say, to the young couple on entering. I take note of the chairs all stacked on top of the tables.

‘I’m sorry,’ the owner says. ‘We’re not open. We’re just waiting for someone to collect a fridge.’

I tell her my reasons for visiting Kanturk.

‘Oh, yes,’ she says, smiling. ‘We know Teddy. He comes in here every day for lunch. He’s in respite at the moment. In Mallow, I think. Teddy’s very sweet.’

Mallow. From whence I’d just come. Not to worry. She kindly makes me a coffee, I thank her and I head back to the car to return to Mallow.

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Meeting Teddy Again

Like the good community nurse I purport to be, I’m not going to let this beat me. We’re good at finding lost clients. So I start ringing around the aged care facilities in Mallow. I find Teddy on the second try. I ask the nurse to tell him that Margaret from Australia is coming to see him that afternoon.

On my arrival, Teddy is sitting up in the dining room. I don’t recognize him at first. He’s aged so much in the last four years. But he still has that winning smile and those twinkling blue eyes. He knows me straight away. He says that the nurse had told him I was coming. We talk about my visit four years earlier. He recalls everything we did that day: lunch with his nephew, the cemeteries, visiting his old home and visiting his sister on the farm. I’m impressed. He asks after the health of the Winters in Australia like the gentleman that he is. His love and interest in family is ever present.

There’s a look in Teddy’s eyes when I speak about his home. The look says it all; he knows he won’t be going back. I drop in to see him again a few days later. He’s tucked up in bed looking very cosy. We revisit what we know of our forebears and he gives me some pointers to help me with my ongoing research. I thank him and say my goodbyes. My farewell is bitter sweet: I know I’ll probably never see him again, but I feel so blessed to have ever met Teddy at all. He is very special.

Vale Teddy Winters. A true gentleman.

* The names have been changed