The lamplighter
My aunt Bunny told me this story several times. Grandma had suitors before she got serious with Grandpa, but she liked to mention one fellow in particular when she looked back on her days as a young colleen.
I wasn’t sure whether to tell this story, but then realized Mom mentioned him in this poem:
and yet
before the great depression
before his father died
before they left the house that he was born in
my father had his picture taken in a studio
short fair curls
warm kitchen eyes
his arm lay on the pedestal beside him
before her sister’s breakdown
before her sweetheart died
before she was the only girl of four to marry
my mother had her picture taken on a donkey
long dark hair
eyes fierce with spanish dreams
her hands ready at the reins
and yet
she never left the house that she was born in
although she married him and moved away
~ joan vayo ~ June 19, 1977
That line: “before her sweetheart died” hadn’t caught my eye until recently.
And so we will tell the story of Marty Murray.
Family lore tells us Marty Murray pointed Grandma out to his mother: “There she is. That’s the girl I’m going to marry.”
Cecelia Margaret Regan was a lovely lass, after all:
Marty was born in New Haven on April 7, 1904. His parents were Martin and Catherine Murray. Martin the father was a teamster, working as a foreman at a local coal yard.
Marty had a little brother – William – but, sadly, only for seven months.
They’re buried together at Saint Lawrence Cemetery in West Haven, Connecticut.
So it was not a lovers’ spat that broke up Grandma and Marty Murray. It was his death.
Marty worked as a lamplighter in New Haven. He lived with his parents on Fillmore Street. I believe this was their home:
I wish I knew more about Marty. He was just 19 when he passed away from an illness on October 3, 1923.
Here’s a photo of a lamplighter from that era. In New Haven, by the time Marty was lighting lamps each evening, the practice was being edged out by electric streetlights.
Marty Murray, Cecelia Margaret remembered you. My good-natured grandfather remembered you. We will remember you as well.
In closing, here’s a verse from a traditional Celtic blessing:
May the blessings of light be upon you,
Light without and light within.
And in all your comings and goings,
May you ever have a kindly greeting
From them you meet on the road.
“and yet” © 1977 Joan Vayo. All rights reserved.
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