Growing up, our family had a Christmas tradition of going around the dinner table and each naming our favorite gift.

Not the gift of family, faith, talent, or brains. This was about what had awaited us under the tree that morning. A toy, a doll, a game.

Looking back over the decades, I’d have to say my favorite unwrap-it gift involved multi-generational family members, plus talent.

It was this painting:

In short, this is a painting that Grandpa Vayo (Dad’s dad) made for Grandma Cassidy (Mom’s mom) in 1972. There’s something about the fact that both sides of the family were involved that warms my heart.

Here’s the photo of the Kelly family home the painting was based on:

The photo was taken in 1958, when Mom’s cousin Betsy and others took their first trip to Ireland. Cousin Betsy took careful notes during the trip and shared them with the family. Here are a few excerpts of her quest to find the Kelly family home:

Wednesday, July 9, 1958

Spent the morning in Belfast not getting too much accomplished. It’s just like being in another world over here, where time is meaningless. I’ve completely lost track of days and dates.

I went off on my own for a while and found St. Peter’s Church, where Gram was married – lovely church with beautiful mosaic tiled floors and sanctuary, and light brown marble pillars. Arches along nave of sandstone; walls pale yellow. Dark wood ceilings and pews. White marble main altar with marble canopy above. Found Lady Street nearby, where Pop lived for a while – brick apartment house, sort of.

Got ride to Toomebridge, arrived mid-afternoon, and didn’t know where to begin inquiries, so stopped at a tiny store. The town is very small, and hasn’t grown much in the last 60 years. One main street, one hotel, railroad station, few small shops. Mainly farm country, so houses are scattered.

Lovely rolling hills with meadows and trees nearby, just like countryside at home.

Was sent to Kathleen Kelly, worked in a garage as clerk: 22, dark hair and eyes, quite cute. Talked to her. She wasn’t too sure about family history. She said Kelly family members live at Green Hill now – William John Kelly. I was really getting excited, but didn’t know how to walk in there. We walked up there anyway, through the country, cut up through the fields and arrived at the house. which is on a high knoll overlooking the countryside.

Can see Lough Neagh from the house.

Met Marie, who is 16 and keeps the house since her mother died of cancer five years ago. She’s short and real cute – dark eyes and hair. The house is thatched, whitewashed, but kind of weathered. Two dogs, chickens in the yard, a few cows in the pasture. She had us come in, and her father came home soon. He was surprised to see us, to say the least!

He had bought the farm after Gram’s brother James died, who had inherited the farm from his father. His grandfather Patrick was Gram’s uncle Patrick, who lived at the next farm over. He was real nice, very tall and gaunt – very lonesome and awfully sad. I guess he never really pulled himself together after his wife died. He talked about her all the time.

The house is not fancy at all – tiled brick floor, white sectioned ceiling, small black stove. We had supper there. A sitting room, which looks like it’s never used, and on the other side are bedrooms. Five children: Brenden, 19; Kathleen, 18; Marie, 16; Patricia, 12; Dominic, 11.

Kathleen is just darling – real short dark curly hair and green eyes. She and Marie took us to a Gaelic football game. I really liked them. They said young people don’t marry until 25 to 35, and do little actual dating until after 20.

Thursday, July 10, 1958

Went to Mass at Moneyglass Church this morning. It’s a beautiful church built of dark stone from a nearby quarry – all hand-cut. Met Father McMullan, who was so nice – gave us a ride to 22-year-old Kathleen Kelly’s house, whose father is Neil, William’s brother. The family gave us a huge breakfast, and we sat and talked until noon. Nice farm house; we met the whole family.

Went back to tell William Kelly good-bye, then saw the house where Gram’s Uncle Patrick lived. It was really cute – low yellow house with thatched roof, tiny rooms inside. Outside are big gateposts with things that look like whipped cream on top, painted brown and white stripes. We met Neil John Kelly, who lives there now (Gram’s uncle Patrick was his grandfather). Real old wrought-iron gates with bird heads on them.

I couldn’t believe that I’d already been and gone from Gram’s old place, something I’d wanted to see for so long.

When Betsy visited Gram’s hometown, Pop had been gone for 17 years. Gram was in her 90s. She helped her granddaughter plan her trip to Ireland.

Betsy’s notes included the name of the church where Gram and Pop were married. Their wedding day was Wednesday, February 1, 1888. (A few months later, they set sail for the United States, never to return.)

After finding St. Peter’s Cathedral’s website to be under construction, I reached out via their Facebook page with a few questions and heard back minutes later from Father Martin.

He kindly sent me information about the church’s long history.

Father Martin also sent this treasure:

It was late afternoon when I sent the first message. Suddenly, it hit me that there’s a six-hour time difference.

Oops, sorry Father. Mea maxima culpa.

Father Martin is not only a night owl, he’s quite personable as well. He taught me about murmuration and sent this lovely video to illustrate the phenomenon (watch with “sound on” for the best experience).

I shared “murmuration” with Dad, who’d only just heard the term over the past weekend*. What a coincidence! We decided Mom is behind this, as she had a life-long love affair with words, and collective nouns in particular.

Sidebar: A few days after publishing this post, I received the following in an email from my brother Dave. He said it was he who’d recently discussed murmuration with Dad: One late afternoon I was in the meadow that was just outside our door. Big flocks of starlings were flying by, sounding exactly like wind rising and falling in the trees – magical. I already knew flocks of starlings were called murmurations, and I’ve seen plenty of starlings here in Bloomington [Illinois], but to really hear the murmuration it has to be very quiet, you have to be close to them, and you have to know what you’re listening for. </sidebar>

With his permission, here’s a photo of Father Martin.

Judging from comments on St. Peter’s Cathedral’s Facebook page, he is well liked.

From the notes Father Martin sent me, I learned St. Peter’s dedication ceremony was on October 14, 1866. It took a while for the church to be complete, though.

By 1885, enough money had been raised to at last add the twin spires, plus a carillon of ten bells.

Those many decades ago, curate Father James McGreevy, CC commemorated the dedication of the spires and bells on August 9, 1885 with this verse:

The Bells of Saint Peter’s

The Bells of Saint Peter’s are dearer to me
than Shandon’s sweet bells over the silvery Lee.
No harp sounded grander in Tara’s famed halls,
than the bells of Saint Peter’s sound over the Falls.

It’s many long years since I left the old home
that lay shelter in your saintly dome
but I dream I was back ‘neath its walls
and heard the dear bells ringing over the Falls.

“Sweet Vale of Avoca,” “Erin the Tear,”
“Oft in the Stilly Night,” ringing so clear.
Songs of old Ireland fond memory recalls
when I hear the dear bells ringing over the Falls.

Dear bells of Saint Peter’s chime sweetly, chime long
“Faith of our Fathers,” that soul stirring song.
I hear your deep tolling, the Angelus calls,
God bless the dear bells that ring over the Falls.

The bells of Saint Peter’s! The bells of Saint Peter’s!
Oh ring them out gaily – nor ever forget
that the voice of their chiming from your lofty steeples
shall echo the shouts of our liberty yet.

Many thanks to Father Martin for helping me fill in some of the blanks in my ancestry.

Fourteen years after Betsy’s trip to Ireland, Grandpa Vayo presented his painting of the Kelly family home to Grandma Cassidy, Maggie Kelly Regan’s youngest daughter. It hung in Grandma’s New Haven living room for several years.

A few years later, she gave it to three of her siblings. May, Pip, and Martha, lived in nearby Orange, Connecticut.

After his sisters died, Pip stayed in the house for another dozen years. He passed away in June of 2002. Later that summer, I asked Mom about the painting, hoping it would stay in the family. Maybe I could have a copy made?

Mom promised to check. I didn’t bring it up again.

That Christmas morn, one of the elves (usually the youngest son who could read well enough to get packages into the correct hands) lugged a large present over to me.

I’ve never been so surprised by a gift.

It was the painting! Two of Mom’s cousins (she had loads of cousins), who had inherited Pip’s belongings, offered it to her when she told them how much I loved it.

Grandpa’s painting of the Kelly family home will forever be displayed in a place of honor here at our house.

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