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Note: My father, William James McGoldrick, Jr. remembers Emma (who made corsets) and her sister Sara (Sade). They lived near or in Boston when he and his family lived in Marshfield, MA. Sade was cheery and outgoing and Emma staid and sober. Note: Sarah wrote poems, my aunt Margaret Ann McGoldrick Wilburn has a book of them. I have photocopies of 3 pages/poems. They are credited to Sarah J. Ryan and the illustrations to D. F. Anderson. Note: Letter from Sara to Margaret Maher McGoldrick Dear Peg, As I promised some time ago to dig up my ancestors as far back as I can trace them, I will delve around the roots of the family tree carefully, lest I shake off some windfall that might be rotten fruit. Whoever the antediluvian pair that first started the ball rolling, I do not know but the O'Ryans came from Tipperary, Ireland, and as the Mc and 0 s were supposed to be true Irishmen, they descended from the old Celtic race. In 1818 my grandfather, William Ryan, having spent or lost two fortunes in Ireland, and being an Irish rebel believing in self-government, as I do, came to Quebec, P.Q., in a sailing vessel. I suppose he walked from Quebec to St. Andrews, N.B., which is about five hundred miles. Of course in those days, it was either oxen or foot it, staying over wherever night would overtake them. The railroad must have started to be built up the St.Croix and as it was under the Stars and Stripes, where he wanted to be, he went up the river and bought up land, started a farm. He could not have stayed there long, when he went back to Ireland and brought his wife and father back with him. He must have had a restless roving nature, perhaps prospecting for a better lay, for a few years after, he was returning home from a trip and was told of an old man being sick, and the Indians going to St. Andrews which would be about twenty-five miles, to get the priest. He hurried home, and a few days later the Indians took the remains of his father down the path or road and were towed across the river to St. Andrews which was the only Catholic consecrated ground for miles and miles. That was about 1822. I am sending you a snap of the cemetery. I had hard work to find it. The wooden cross shown here and there through tall branches, a tumbled down fence overgrown with bushes and brier and old headstones fallen down. That man would be my Great Grandfather and Will's Great Great Grand father. My brother Will who died in 1893 was named for Grandfather Ryan and Will, in turn, was named for both. There are some verses by Grandfather Ryan saying he couldn't stand being poor, so he left the tyrant nation. I remember him with very white hair, buckles in his shoes, and a tall hat with a big handkerchief. He used to turn the beaver upside down, mop his brow and put the kerchief in it; and woe betide the kid who molested it. He had a goodly temper and a dominant spirit, but I can see now that it was hard for him to come to a new section and blaze the trail. Grandmother's name was Ryan, and they say they were both educated. I have a book of Latin that belonged to them. Ted's grandfather and my grandmother were brother and sister. Grandmother died at middle age. Grandfather lived to be ninety-eight. Their sons were born on the farm; my father Matthew Ryan was one. He was a hustler and too bright a man to have to live in that country. He married my mother when they were both nineteen. He bought a farm (where my brother John lives) but farming was too slow for him so he lumbered for years, first in Maine, then later on a bigger scale in Nova Scotia during the winter, being home in the summer. He always hired help for the farm. Mother's name was Malloy. She was born in Canada and had one brother. Her mother's name was MacAleer of Scotch and Irish parentage. They were farmers, as there was little else to do in those days. Mother said her people came from Wexford County, Ireland, as I remember, but whether they were married in Ireland or Canada, I do not know. Grandmother Malloy was not young when she married and had just the two children, Mother and Uncle Mike. I remember Mother crying - so lonesome after her mother. They lived near each other in Baileyville, Maine. Grandmother Malloy died in 1862 and Mother in 1898. How strange is this life. It is hardly worthwhile for one to weep after the other. And so my dear Peg, I have shaken the limbs of the family tree. There may have been some hot tempers and restless natures, but no real bad fruit or I would know it. I think had there been more business in that country to feed their ambition on, they would have been more contented. I love to wander back to the old scenes. I think it was Whittier who said - "The hills dearest to our childish feet have climbed the earliest, The streams most sweet are ever those from Which our young lips first drank." Buried: Find A Grave e-Memorial
