My ancestors on both sides are Irish, protestants from the south. My father’s people are from Westport, County Mayo, where Kenny is still a common surname (and brand name!). My mother’s family, the Cooke’s, are from Hacketstown in County Wicklow. Both families emigrated to Canada in the 1820’s, before the famine. They were part of the “Robertson Immigrant” group, brought in to settle the sparsely populated areas in Upper Canada with Protestants who would be loyal to the Crown if the Americans attacked, as they had done during the War of 1812.
This was my first visit to Ireland as an adult, and Liz’s first ever. We both loved the history, the land and the people. Liz, who is not a beer drinker, even developed a taste for Guinness.
It’s one thing to read the history, and watch the news, but to actually see the wall separating Catholics and Protestants in Belfast, to wander the ruins of a Norman abbey, or listen to be carried away by the laughter and music in a village pub is quite another thing.
Ireland is a land of contradictions – every square inch soaked in blood, and forever green; full of the friendliest people you’ll ever meet, who will hold a grudge for centuries; rooted in faith, irreverent and forever hopeful.































































