By the time I was born in 1948 my father’s father had lost the farm and was dead. I’m not sure when but my older brothers remembered grandpa and the farm. We never talked about that time. My grandma with a maiden sister lived in a three room shack in a tiny town that is now almost extinct. My uncle, who had gotten a college education and was working for a newspaper, had purchased it. It did not have running water. It did have electricity. I think that there was either a gas stove or an electric stove. The old wood burning stove was still there but unused. You had to pump water and use an outhouse. My aunt, who had married a doctor, provided for them. She wanted them to come to KCMO to live but they refused to leave Pettis county. I now have figured out why. My other uncle who was bi-polar and an alcoholic, lived there. You don’t leave family who needs you.
My father’s maternal grandfather came over from Ireland in 1850 at the age of 8 with his brother’s and parents to escape the potato famine. Now that was really hard times.
My father’s maternal grandfather came over from Ireland in 1850 at the age of 8 with his brother’s and parents to escape the potato famine. Now that was really hard times.
In 1972 I lived in Nepal for a few months. Traveling through that part of the world, I saw a lot of poverty...wearing rags, bathing in the river, sleeping on dirt floors, burning cow dung to stay warm, etc., etc.
A few years ago, we drove around Ireland and visited some cultural museums. I staggered at the poverty and unending misery endured in that cold, wet country. My ancesters came to Canada during the potatoe famine. Nothing in Asia appoached the misery of Ireland. Tough, tough survivors!
All I could say was, “Thank God! They immigrated!”
If I am ever that poor, I’m moving to the Bahama’s! I don’t want to die cold, and wet.