The Parsons and the Lappin clan all appeared to have been involved in medicine
and
apothecary work of one kind or another. Read on and see what Jane has to
tell us about
her ‘family tree’.
THE FAMILY TREE
My late Uncle Harry’s legacy to us was the ‘Lappin Family Tree.’ Apart from being so
interesting, it is a great reference for birthdays, cousins, their spouses, etc. But, it does
leave me wanting to know more than when someone was born, married, conceived and
died. What about the person? I’m always looking for the black sheep or the exciting one
who didn’t follow the norm, or who made it on their own.
My maternal grandfather Lappin’s history was tragic. Within five years of his parents
marriage, he and his sister were born and both parents died. They were brought up by
their maiden Aunt, Miss Elizabeth Parsons, and in deference to her, incorporated
Parsons into the family name. My beloved granny honoured this for all her children, but it
was not incumbent to pass it on to the next generation. It was quite an unusual thing to
have a double-barrelled name like Parsons Lappin in a country where Murphy and Byrne
were far more prevalent. One of the new daughters-in-law loved the impression it made,
luckily her children helped her get over it! How interesting that a name can be symbolic
of such a tragic history.
The Parsons and the Lappin clan all appeared to have been involved in medicine and
apothecary work of one kind or another. The old “Medical Hall” still exists in Church
Street, Kells, which my mother was supposed to take over after she qualified. She did a
far, far better thing by marrying my father and bringing us up in our beloved Arklow by
the sea. Kids who lived inland were always considered deprived by us. Medicine is way
down the scale of professions these days, so maybe my cousin Peter will be the last of
that line.
The paternal Byrne history is relatively easy, as, apart from a copy of the confiscation of
the farm Coolbeg on 14th March 1604 and further inheritors from 1784, there is nothing
at all personal. When I asked my cousin, the current owner, about his mother’s side of
the family, his reply was “Ah sure, they’re all mad.” This had been the general attitude to
the Blake clan, but that’s hardly suitable for a “tree” which is probably the reason there
isn’t one!
The only reason I have the ‘papers’ was my question one day as to whether the Byrnes
were squatters who had taken over the fine house. It wasn’t the norm for Catholic
families to live in such grandeur!
My paternal grandmother from the mad side, on the death of her fourth son of pernicious
anaemia, put the full blame on his boarding school and took to her four-poster bed [not
unlike Florence Nightingale], and entertained the country from there. I have no idea of
what she was like, other than how she looked in the usual sepia family photographs
where everyone had those blank looks, with large eyes staring at the camera. Ne’er a
smile or a grimace anywhere. Digitals have brought us a long way, have they not?
As was the custom, the eldest son inherited the farm in name, but was obligated to his
siblings to see their education through. Not an easy task with three sisters and two
brothers, you would have thought. It actually turned out fine, as my father qualified and
got his independence early on. His ‘oh-so-genteel’ little brother Jack [“Finch” of the Mazo
de la Roche books to a ‘T’] entered the Jesuits, never was ordained, but became a
librarian in the order, so was no bother. And the three dynamic sisters all entered the
Irish Sisters of Charity, so all that was required for that was a hefty dowry!
That meant we only had one set of cousins on that side, which I always felt was really
not fair.
Coolbeg, the beautiful Queen Anne house, has been restored to its former glory, thanks
to the Celtic Tiger which hit Ireland with a bang. It will be inherited by Conor Eugene
Byrne, an only child who is studying Law, and will probably never farm the land!
I’m told the new motorway comes right up to their gate, so instead of gazing on tranquil
fields with crops and the pond with its elegant swans, it will be a case of noisy traffic,
belching smoke. Sic transit Gloria.
So now, having waded through family history, I am more inspired to get on with my
childhood memories, as hopefully the next generation will get a feel for the times being
written about and come closer to an understanding of what made the people tick behind
those names on the gravestones.
§