“Boots.”
That was the description of my paternal grandfather’s occupation in 1926, according to the newly released census. John Ferriter was a porter in Hayes Hotel on Liberty Square in Thurles, Co Tipperary and is listed alongside other staff: waiters, housemaids and kitchen maids. Perhaps that square did represent a liberty from the small Kerry townland just outside Dingle he had moved from, where he had been listed in the previous census in 1911 as a “general labourer”, one of a family of eight.
In those 1926 days, hotel guests could leave their boots outside their rooms to be cleaned by a porter; hence the description bestowed on him. And there would have been no shortage of muck and dung to scrape off given that Liberty Square was also the location for cattle fairs. Do I imagine him, then a single man, being delighted with his role and status, taking pride in his uniform and care in turning himself out impeccably? I can only speculate, as he died before I was born, but I do know that he stayed a porter in the same hotel for 46 years, and that he was there during the War of Independence period.
When he retired in 1963 he was interviewed by the local newspaper, the only account I have of his own words, and he recalled the Black and Tans making terrifying visits to the hotel: “I often got a hammering from them when they were not satisfied with the answers they got. Of course, I knew quite well when I gave them that they would not be satisfactory.” He also recalled the number of boots: “I remember when we would have had more than one hundred cattlemen crowding into the hotel on the eve of a fair.” John was referred to on his retirement as Tipperary’s “Grand Old Man of the hotel business” and he died the following year.
The opening of censuses makes us grasp the snippets, imagine, and search for linkages and leads. There is often a puzzle, or something that jars with family lore, or an entry that does not fit. Why was John’s age listed as 28 when he was, according to other data, 33? Was it a simple mistake or was the wrong age provided deliberately? The census return for 1926 for the hotel staff was filled out in one hand, by a waitress, presumably in keeping with the hierarchy of hotel staff, so it is not his writing. Yet I know he was recorded as aged seven in the 1901 census and 18 in the 1911 census. More speculation ensues: did his older brother Patrick, who had moved from Dingle to Thurles to work on the railway, arrange his job? Was there some reason to pretend he was younger that had to do with the job?
Like so many others, I have been drawn into that web of wonder with the release of this census. Perusing the census is a nice respite from feverish focus on the fraught present. It also presents conundrums that often cannot be solved or more questions than answers, but that is a measure of its fascination. The returns represent a valuable part of our national heritage, and an invaluable resource for genealogists, local historians and anyone wishing to trace their ancestry. Crucially, and something to be applauded, the material is available free of charge, which is not the case with accessing census returns in some other countries.
The Irish registrar general who supervised the compilation of the 1926 census was William J Thompson, and he had a particular interest in public health. He had also overseen the census in 1911 and asserted: “It may be laid down as a principle that no inquiry is worthy of being included in a Census Schedule unless it has for its object the eliciting of some facts of wide material interest … The statisticians inquiries should be so combined as to bring out the social and economic character of the people.” It was also, he maintained, about using such data “for the promotion of remedial legislation … the results of the inquiries made should lead to improvements being effected for the benefit of the population under each of the various headings, such as education, house accommodation, industrial occupation”.
A measure of the struggle to achieve those improvements is provided in another heritage initiative launched this week: an exhibition in Ireland’s emigration museum, Epic, titled No Irish Need Apply? It is an economic history of the Irish in England, also based on the compilation of statistics, including birth, death and health records, to document the living standards and challenges faced by Irish emigrants to England. Some of that data is drawn from the experiences of many who feature in the 1926 census, a reminder of how many boots were taken on journeys out of Ireland.
