Nothing But Bad Times: Chapter Two, Part Two
As Glasgow came closer and closer to view, the Gothic architecture, intriguingly intertwined with factory chimney’s and scaffolding, made sure that all heads in the boat were firmly fixed facing upwards. It was fascinating to be in such a place, and the Owens’ were feeling bittersweet. This was it; this was the place they had left home for. Their new life waited here for them, yet, on the other hand, would Bernard survive. He seemed likely to last the journey, but would he last the week?
Arriving at Richard Street, the family must have been amazed to see two story houses on a cobbled street. It was not a small street at all, it was quite busy, something quite on the contrary to the fields of County Down and Tyrone before that. Sanitary conditions were not desirable at all, but this was better than before. They knew that. Of course they did. They would make do; after all, Catherine and Charles had worked for nearly three years to give them this new life.
When the family met up with Catherine again it must have been a shock for her to see her father in such a frail state, spluttering his words and blue in the face. It wasn’t a very good reunion at all. Despite this, she smiled and hugged her parents, and then her husband, and lastly her siblings, John, Bernard, Elizabeth, Ellen and Joseph. Then of course Catherine introduced her family to her children, Charles, who was three, Eliza who was one, and Margaret, only a few weeks old. Catherine and Charles would continue to have more children, John in 1886, Catherine in 1888, Christina in 1890, Thomas in 1894, Peter in 1896, George in 1899, and Bernard in 1901.
Bernard did stay in his new home for the first night. It was decided that if he got some rest, he may get better, after all, they thought he simply had a bad cold. These were the days before hospitals, before the medical profession really took off, in regards to proper diagnosis and treatment. The germ theory had only been published twenty three years previous. Nevertheless when Bernard did not respond the next morning (March 26 1884), he was taken into the Western Infirmary. There was nothing they could do for him, and he died there on March 27, at 00.30. He died aged 45.
For Bernard, the vision was over. The new life he hoped for in Scotland crumbled, and as for the rest of his family, it must have devastated them. All of Catherine’s work, and now this? It just didn’t seem fair, but nothing really was back then. The family’s faith had taught them not to question God’s will. Things were alot worse than they are today. The family now lost its head just hours after setting up their new life. Bernard was gone, and to this day, I haven’t been able to find where he rests, although he may be buried in Lochburn Catholic Cemetery, Glasgow.
Bernard’s death must have put quite a strain on his family. Number 45 Richard Street was now home to a widow and her five youngest children. It was the first loss Eliza felt since her two sons, in Ireland. Perhaps, Scotland wasn’t going to be the great relief she thought it was.
Moving on from Bernard’s untimely death, this is where the story shifts, from Catherine, to Mary Ann, my great, great grandmother. For shortly after her losing her father, she seems to have found some comfort. She began a relationship with a man named Francis McDonald, a seaman of Irish birth, like her. He was from Mullingar and was born around 1860 to a policeman called Henry, and his wife Agnes. Very soon, Francis was seen to be Mary Ann’s pillar of support, and the two married in St Patrick’s Chapel, Anderston, on November 20 1885. After a long period of grief and uncertainty, the family had reason to celebrate. Things were starting to look up...
Copyright © Matthew Reay, 2008
