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Finding Coolross
When I stood at the gravestone of Arthur Byrne and his wife Eliza, my third great
grandparents, I began to wish that I could commune with the dead. I wanted to
dig them up and rattle their bones and demand to hear their stories. Not being
clairvoyant or psychic, I had to find another way to unearth my family roots.
A simple electronic copy of the death certificate of their son, my great great
grandfather Edward Burns, had started me on this journey. This document
provided the names of his parents and his birthplace –County Wicklow, Ireland.
Knowing that Edward’s parents were Arthur Byrne and Eliza Kehoe, I tapped the
rootsweb mailing lists and posted a query – where should I look to find the
townland they left to escape the famine? Within hours, I had a reply suggesting
that Arthur and Bess Byrne of Coolross, tenants on the Fitzwilliam Estate in
County Wicklow might be the folks I sought. They had a son Edward of the right
age – and 8 other children too. They left Ireland in 1847 and eventually settled in
Throoptown, just north of Prescott Ontario.
With that piece of information, I visited the Grenville Historical Society in Prescott
and the flood of data began. Before long I had learned of the seven children who
were living in 1851 and of the hundreds of descendants of this couple. This
information was most welcome and filled up the branches and leaves of the
family tree quite quickly. It was almost satisfying – but as I stood and gazed at the
headstone in Throoptown cemetery I wanted to know more about Coolross and
the life they had left. What had become of this place in the 160 years between
then and now?
While the research was hugely satisfying I had to go to Ireland and see Coolross
for myself. The opportunity presented itself in 2008 – not once but twice. They
were hugely different journeys.
In May I visited Wicklow and was given a tour of the area once part of the huge
Fitzwilliam Estate. Part of that tour included a stop at the area thought to be
Coolross. The rolling land was beautiful but unoccupied. I took photos anyway.
The rest of that trip was a guided coach tour which was terrific.
Once home I shared the photos with my father – previously the source of much
family information and many stories. He’d been to Wicklow but had never known
about Coolross and he wanted to see it – prophetically as part of his bucket list.
So, we went.

Our discovery
Thursday, September 11, 2008 dawned grey and rainy, not an encouraging start
to the day, but things would get worse before they got better – much better. At
breakfast Dad wasn’t feeling at all well. This was the second such episode that
week although he brushed off the first one. So this particular morning, after some
rest and with no sign of improvement, we went to see a doctor.
His shortness of breath and general feeling of malaise were not signs of anything
new. He was after all, 89 years old and had heart problems. Dad thought it best
that we go home as soon as possible.
It wasn’t yet noon. Going home was not a matter of getting into the car and
driving across town. Home was in Ottawa. We were in Tullow, County Carlow,
Ireland. Our flight home was scheduled for the following Tuesday. To change our
reservations it seemed best to contact our travel agent in Toronto, where it was
not yet 7 am. With two hours to wait before we could make arrangements, I
suggested we drive to Coolross - that's why we were there. Dad agreed that sitting in the car
shouldn’t be any more stressful than sitting in our B&B, and would provide a
distraction, so off we went.
The purpose of our 10 day trip had been to visit the places from which our
ancestors had come. We’d enjoyed four days in Counties Antrim and Down,
searching in vain for clues to the McCullough family. Through pouring rain on
Wednesday, we drove to Tullow with plans to locate our ancestral townland in
Wicklow, which was less than 15 kms away.
Our destination was Coolross, home place of Arthur Byrne near the borders of
Wicklow, Carlow and Wexford. Arthur’s son Edward, husband of the elusive Eliza
McCullough from Antrim, was Dad’s great grandfather. With considerable
trepidation on my part, but great optimism, a map and directions, we headed for
Coolross.
Ireland’s country roads are narrow, twisting, not well-marked and our journey
which should have taken about 20 minutes, ultimately included more than a few
wrong turns. Our first stop was made to confirm our route. The helpful woman
we asked indicated a road nearby which was much shorter, but she said that it
was a back road and we could easily miss our turn. I think of it now as the road
not taken – and a good thing too because nothing would have turned out as it did.
As it looked much less promising than the route we were on, she told us of an
easier way via the village of Shillelagh where we’d have the Church as a landmark
to make a turn. From there it was only a few kilometres and easy to locate.
Somehow, we missed the Church, sailed through the village, into the countryside,
in the rain, with no signs in sight to match up with our detailed map.
What we did find eventually was a friendly delivery man who had stopped on the
roadside to eat his lunch. He grinned and said we were farther away than when
we started. Although not familiar with Coolross, it was next to Park Bridge where
there was a well-known pub, and he gave us directions there. By now it was well
after 1 PM.
Back we went through Shillelagh and this time we saw the Church. We followed
the road to Park Bridge, at the crossroads on our map then turned right and drove
along stopping to take photos of what we hoped was Coolross.
Still unsure that we were really there, we noticed a farmer working near the road
and stopped to confirm our location. After introductions he said that his name
was John. He assured us that we had found the right townland. Dad told him that
we were searching for the land of our ancestors, Arthur Byrne and family, who
had left during the famine in 1847. Astonishingly, John said we should see Jim
Byrne whose farm was a short distance back the way we had come.
Just then, a car approached from the other direction and there was no room to
pass. John said that’s Mary Byrne, Jim’s wife. He went over to speak with Mary
who then asked us to follow her home.
Jim came in from his fields as we arrived. Mary had sent him a text. With great
astonishment we listened as Jim told us the story that he had heard all his life. A
family that was kin of his had left Coolross during the famine and had never been
heard from again. They set out with a group of families from the parish of
Moyacomb, on foot, to the port of New Ross, 60 miles away, with the financial
assistance of Lord Fitzwilliam.
After an exchange of what we knew, notably names that were common in both of
our families, we concluded that we could be descendants of that lost family. Jim
had never heard any names of the family which had left. Arthur Byrne was not
much more prosperous in Canada than he had been in Coolross. There was
nothing to offer any Irish relatives, they couldn’t read or write and all contact was
lost. Those left behind had no idea if they had even made it to New Ross.

Shortly afterwards, the children arrived home from school and Mary made dinner.
Dad turned to me and said that he was feeling much better and that we would
stay until Tuesday as planned. Before we headed back to Tullow for the night, Jim
took us to a spot, called The Copse, where according to the story, his long lost
relatives’ cabin had once stood.

It was soon evident that our unexpected arrival had generated immense interest
in the family. Jim, his siblings and cousins made sure we enjoyed tremendous
Irish hospitality and learned more about the area where our family had once
lived. Over the next few days we met many Byrne relatives and were treated
royally. Plans were made for a longer visit in the summer of 2009.
When we returned to Canada I hired a researcher who specialized in records from
the Fitzwilliam Estate where the Byrnes had been tenant farmers. Rental records
and maps placed Art’s cabin exactly at the Copse on land adjacent to Michael
Byrne, ancestor of Jim. A number of estate and church records have led us to
believe that our Arthur was the brother of their Michael. The exact family
connection is still unknown but for us it’s enough to have formed a strong bond.
To meet genealogical standards, the addition of our Irish relatives will not be
made on the family tree until more convincing data is found.
On Christmas Eve 2008, Dad and I enjoyed a phone call from Ireland and we
talked about our return visit, planned for the following August. Sadly things did
not come about as planned. Later that evening Dad suffered a heart attack from
which he could not recover. He passed away peacefully in hospital on Christmas
morning.
The trip however did take place. On August 2, 2009 I arrived in Coolross with my
brother and his family. The Byrnes had prepared a simple ceremony to celebrate
the reunion with the lost family and to mark Dad’s passing.
Jim had planted a beautiful Canadian Red Maple tree, beneath which we buried
some of Dad’s ashes.
We followed this ceremony with a family reception at Egan’s pub at Park Bridge,
complete with traditional Irish music – quite by chance as award winning musician
Lawrence Egan came home for a surprise visit.
The surprises were not quite finished. Some days later Jim contacted a former
neighbour, Anne Hunt, who had been raised across the road from The Copse. The
final surprise was revealed. When Jim asked Anne if she remembered the Copse
she said, “Oh, Art Byrne’s place”. That was how her family had always referred to
the spot, for generations after he’d left. Coming home late or in the rain they
would park their bicycles under the holly tree at Art’s gate, cross the road and
climb over the stile, to take a shortcut home. I now had further confirmation that
it was indeed Art’s land. The iron gate, the stile and the holly tree are still there,
although almost completely overgrown.
My research will continue until I’m certain there are no more places to look to
establish the specific connection. Records are spotty from early 19th century
Ireland yet we continue to seek them out. Even if I don’t find another word of
information, I do feel that we were somehow led to our “home place” and that
my dream, of finding living relatives in Ireland, has been more than fulfilled.
The return for the Gathering at Coollattin will be my fourth visit since finding
Coolross.