Last week, I talked about the connection between my Scot-Irish ancestors and my two
historical books, River Passage and Songbirds are Free. Both these books
took place after the Neely family had arrived in America from Ireland.
When
I began researching for Vicki’s Key,
my book featuring CIA psychic spy Vicki Boyd, I knew the plot required her to
fall in love hard and fast. I combed through surveys conducted through major
women’s magazines on what most women found attractive in a man—such as the five
o’clock shadow and a sense of humor. Then I stumbled upon the accent.
It
turns out that most women find the Scottish accent most appealing, followed by
the Irish accent and then the Australian accent. As I pondered which to use, I
looked more deeply into the cultures of the Scottish, Irish and Australians, as
well as the geography. It was then that my mother’s side of the family—the Harpers—began
to surface in earnest.
The
more I read about the Irish, the more I saw my mother in them (shown above beside my father's picture). She loved a good
laugh, and throughout her lifetime she and I had an ongoing “Laugh of the Day”.
Long before the Internet, long before email and free long distance, I would
snail-mail jokes to her that I’d heard during the course of my day. I
frequently cut comic strips out that I thought she would enjoy, and when I came
upon books with jokes she’d like, I bought them for her. When she passed away,
I was astounded to learn that there were drawers filled with my letters, comic
strips and jokes that she had held onto for decades.
She
loved good stories—telling them and listening to them. She could spin a story
like no other, and I believe I inherited much of my storytelling talent from
her. The most fun I ever saw her having was when her sisters came to visit and
they sat around and told one story after another.
The
Irish have always been known for their good humor. And it’s downright
impossible for a woman not to fall in love with a man who loves life and every
minute in it.
I
named the character Michael Dylan Maguire; Michael is my son’s name and Dylan
was my grandson’s name (pronounced Dillon). In America, the character is known
as Dylan but as the series progressed and he returned to Ireland, the nickname Mick was a glimpse into a past that he’d
left behind when he sought to reinvent himself.
Dylan
had emigrated from Ireland to the United States, and I found it fascinating how
so many Irish left predominantly rural homes for a country they knew nothing
about, a culture far different from their own, and for the opportunities they
lacked in their native country. Many people make the mistake of believing that
we are similar to Ireland, Scotland and England simply because we speak the
same language (though there are huge differences between American English and
British English). The truth is that they are vastly different.
My
father was always very quick to point out that his side of the family was
Scot-Irish, not simply Irish. As I delved into this, I discovered the
unfortunate fact about immigration into the United States: apart from the British,
it appears that we have discriminated against every other group of immigrants.
Whether they were the Chinese building our railroads, the Italians, Germans,
Japanese, Pakistanis, Indians (from India) or Mexicans/Hispanics, there have
always been groups that tried to place them at the bottom. The signs of “No
Irish Need Apply” below signs of employment or businesses prohibiting the Irish
from eating or entering establishments have largely been forgotten; but they
did indeed exist.
Those
with higher education that had proven themselves as leading businessmen sought
to put distance between themselves and the massive immigration of the Irish,
particularly during the potato famines. I always believed my father’s family
fell into this group, always making certain that people knew they were
Scot-Irish. (Scotch-Irish, by the way, is incorrect; the Scottish people will
be the first to inform you that Scotch is a drink and not a people.)
Later,
when I began researching A Thin Slice of
Heaven (release date May 2015) I realized the differentiation went far
deeper. More on that in a future blog.
My
father’s family had black hair and green eyes and they were tall. My mother’s
family, in contrast, had many redheads among them and many of the women tended
to be petite. My mother, when she married, was only 5’3” and weighed 105
pounds.
There
is a saying amongst the Irish: “Red on the head where the Vikings tread.” As
the Vikings moved south into the Irish Sea, they often raided villages close to
the sea. It involved raping—or sometimes falling in love with and marrying—the Irish
women. Further inland, particularly the western side of the island which was
more geographically inhospitable, one didn’t encounter red-haired or
fair-haired people. All of this has changed over the centuries, of course, as
the world has become smaller and it seems no place on Earth is out of bounds.
Next week: I’ll talk about Dylan Maguire’s
journey back to his homeland, the Irish bogs and the small village in which he
lived—and the true story of my own ancestors.
