So, Hubby’s Mum’s over at the moment. On arriving from the airport she was forced to accept the customary strip-search enforced by the boys to relieve her of any contraband, ie chocolate and cash. The Nanny-frisking successfully completed (several squashed Easter eggs and some bonus Cadbury’s Crème Eggs, plus cash and cuddles too), we decided to head up to Cavan to continue with our search for Hubby’s ancestors.

First of all we took a drive around the tiny Cavan village where Hubby’s Father and his two brothers were brought up by foster parents after their own parents died. We searched long and hard for any sign of the little single storey dwelling Hubby’s Mum had visited when they were first married and although we found a few promising derelict little buildings, nothing rang a bell.

More success was achieved after we popped into a café, got chatting to the new owner and were pointed in the direction of the church office. A very stern lady with glasses and seriously dark lipstick (thought I’d better not point out that a lighter shade would be more flattering) barked at us to wait in the office (which we did, feeling unnecessarily guilty) where we waited like school kids summoned to see the Headmaster until Stern Lady with Glasses returned with an official looking red file and ongoing absence of smile. The office smelt funny and was full of candles and stuff and I was starting to feel very twitchy. I must explain here that anything vaguely religious makes me very uncomfortable, (I’m with Carrie Bradshaw - a fully paid-up member of the ‘Church of Be Nice to People’) - and Stern Lady with Glasses just made it worse by explaining that un-baptised babies wouldn’t have been buried with their mothers (Hubby’s paternal Grandmother Rose died in childbirth, possibly to a girl called Teresa) in consecrated ground or possibly would have been sneakily placed in the casket but definitely wouldn’t have been listed on the gravestone (I need to check all this with J, who knows all about Catholic stuff and will be able to explain about limbo and all that). Anyhoo, I’m waffling now. Stern Lady with Glasses found the name and plot number, snapped the book shut with a flourish in case we saw something we shouldn’t have done, and sent us blinking out into the sunshine.

So, long story short, we found the plot where Hubby’s foster Grandparents were buried and were slightly disappointed to find a dead end (excuse the pun) as they were the only occupants of the family grave. Interestingly, though, his foster Grandparents had the same surname, so it was apparently a strong possibility that they were actually related in some way. In those days, people would often have taken in their relatives’ children when they died, and we knew that Rose gave birth in Kells, so we headed there next. More of this scintillating stuff tomorrow. Don’t get too excited.

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