Valentines of the Past by Eileen O'Finlan

 

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Have you ever wondered how Valentine's Day got started? First of all, the full name of the holiday is Saint Valentine's Day, but unlike Patrick, the 'Saint' part is usually dropped, possibly due to the fact that it doesn't have much to do with the real Saint Valentine, a late third century Christian martyr. He was beheaded on February 14th and that is his feast day according to the Church calendar. There are several legends about Saint Valentine which purport to explain his attachment to the holiday that bears his name, but they are most likely apochryphal. Nonetheless, they are probably the reason the holiday is named for him.

Valentine's Day seems to have been first mentioned in the Middle Ages in the writings of Chaucer, possibly the first 'love poet', particularly in his poem, The Parliment of Fowls, where he indicates that Saint Valentine's Day is an annual occurrence as a day for birds to choose their mates. Some scholars believe that Chaucer was the originator of Valentine's Day being a day of romance. By referring to Valentine's Day in poems suggestive of courtly love and associating it with nature, romance, and lovebirds, Chaucer helped to create the notion of Valentine's Day as a day set aside to celebrate romantic love.

Not long after publication of The Parliment of Fowls, other poets began referencing Valentine's Day in their work. John Lydgate, a monk and poet who was a contemporary of Chaucer and friend of his son, was likely the first person to use the word 'valentine' to designate a type of poem. The variety of uses for the word 'valentine' continues today in that a valentine can be a card (I received a valentine), a poem (I wrote a valentine), or a person (Be my valentine).

Frenchman, Charles d'Orleans (Charles , Duke of Orleans) is reputed to have been the first to send a love poem or letter to someone in observation of Valentine's Day in 1416, calling his wife, Bonne d'Armagnac "my very gentle valentine." He was imprisoned after having been captured by the British in the Hundred Years War at the time. His captor was married to Chaucer's granddaughter and he was known to have read Chaucer during his captivity.

Women sent valentine's in the Middle Ages, too. The first known English language valentine was written in 1477 by Margery Brews to John Paston of Norfolk England. In it she addressed John as "my right well-beloved Valentine." Not long after, the couple were married.

Because Chaucer and others connected Saint Valentine's feast day with the mating of birds and romance among people, many tried to find connections between the saint and romantic love, hence the legends such as Saint Valentine performing secret Christian weddings during a time of persecutions throughout the Roman Empire. However, these legends are most likely false.

As time went on the popularity of Valentine's Day waxed and waned. During times of popularity over the following centuries, it became a day for gift giving, banquets, and parties among the aristocracy and rituals involving matchmaking and divination of future mates among other classes. But no matter what other traditions grew up around it, the act of exchanging written sentiments of love and affection remained central, evolving from hand-written verses to homemade cards to commercially made cards. The giving of flowers and candy soon followed.

In America, the popularity of Valentine's Day soared in the 1840s. Previously, it was generally known as a European custom not much recognized in the States. The holiday's new-found popularity stemmed from the commercially produced Valentine's Day cards made in England beginning in the 1820s. Over the next few decades Valentine's Day cards would become a craze in England and by the 1840s that craze had migrated to America with 15,000 cards exchanged in New York in 1843, rising to as many as 30,000 by 1847. Esther Howland of Worcester, Massachusetts, aka The Mother of the American Valentine, produced some of the first elaborate valentines in 1848 and founded the New England Valentine Company. 

While the giving of Valentine's Day cards is central to the holiday and still observed today, it was done a bit differently in mid-19th century America. For one thing, a reply was expected. If a gentleman sent a card asking a lady to be his valentine, she was obliged to respond yes or no. As the transmission of valentines could take days, this ritual extended for over a week. Besides cards, printers sold pamphlets, first in England and later in America, called "Valentine Writers." These pamphlets offered various poems suitable for use by those not gifted in crafting poetry. Some pamphlets offered possible responses, as well. 

The recipient of a 19th century valentine did not always know from whom it came. Often they were sent anonymously. For many, it was exciting to know they had a secret admirer. However, not every valentine held sentiments of affection. Some were funny, satirical, or downright rude in their texts and/or illustrations. A few were even sexually suggestive.

The mid-19th century was the start of the movement for women's rights. Many who were opposed, took Valentine's Day as an opportunity to reprove women who sought equal rights with men. Often these discourteous cards ended with lines such as "You will never be my Valentine." One could imagine the recipient's response being something like, "Thank goodness for that!"

When the Valentine card craze was hitting America, stationers and printers took advantage of it by advertising heavily in newspapers, creating elaborate window displays, and even sponsoring Valentine-themed activities within their shops. The appeal took off and moved from being a ritual between lovers or would-be lovers to include family and friends, especially children. Thus was born the commercialization of Valentine's Day. In fact, the success of printed, commercially made Valentine's Day cards gave rise to the greeting card business as a whole, with Christmas cards following next then cards for all other occassions. By the 1920s greeting cards of all types were common.

As we know, giving cards, flowers, candy, and other gifts on Valentine's Day is alive and well today. Like nearly every holiday, the rituals associated with it have evolved over time and will probably continue to. But however you celebrate it, I wish you all a happy Valentine's Day!

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Information for this post was gleaned from America's Favorite Holidays: Candid Stories by Bruce David Forbes

Sleigh Ride! by Eileen O'Finlan

 

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I can't believe I've lived in New England all my life and I've never been on a sleigh ride. Well, it will have to go on my bucket list. Especially after the fun my characters, Meg, Kathleen, and Nuala had when they indulged in a sleigh ride. Meg, Kathleen, and Nuala are domestic servants in Worcester, Massachusetts in the 1850s. Irish immigrants, they all came from the horrible starvation of An Gorta Mor, the Great Hunger. They were lucky to survive. But now they have new lives in America. It's not all fun. They work hard sun-up to sun-down and then some. But unlike their lives in Ireland, they are able to earn good enough livings to send money back to their families, save for their futures, and partake of an occasional indulgence. Usually it involves clothing that mimics that of their employers. But on a day in February they decide to find out why the children of their employers are so fond of sleigh rides and pool their money to hire a sleigh and driver for themselves. Here's a peek at what happens:

Blankets and foot warmers in hand, the three bounded out the door. Two large chestnut horses trotted up the street, stopping in front of the house. The sleigh driver was the same Irishman who had taken the Claprood girls and their cousins for a ride.

“Where to?” he asked, jumping down to assist them into the sleigh.

“Anywhere you like,” Nuala told him. “We're out for enjoyment. It doesn't matter where we go.”

A flicker of recognition showed on his face as Nuala spoke, her brogue giving her away. “You lasses are the helps?”

“Aye,” said Nuala, “but today we're your passengers.”

Looking at Meg, he furrowed his brow. “Didn't I see you at the Claproods'?”

“You did. I work for them.”

A broad grin spread across his face. “This is a grand thing indeed!”

“What do you mean?” Kathleen asked.

“'Tis the first time I've driven Irish lasses. It's always Yanks that hire me. We're every bit as good as they are even if they don't know it, aye? One day we'll be as successful as them. Then you'll ride in sleighs and carriages anytime you want.”

They all giggled at the thought. Meg wondered if it could really be possible.

“What's your name?” Nuala asked.

“Seamus O'Herilhy, at your service, m'ladies,” he said, with a sweeping bow that from most people would have seemed mocking, but from their countryman held an air of genuine respect.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Seamus O'Herilhy,” Nuala responded. “I'm Nuala O'Flaherty, and these are my friends, Meg and Kathleen O'Connor.”

“A pleasure it is,” he said with a smile before climbing onto the driver's box. With a snap of the whip, the horses were in motion.

For the next two hours they traversed the hills and valleys of Worcester. It was obvious that Seamus knew the city well. They headed northwest to the Tatnuck section. Filled with meadows, pastures, and farmland, Tatnuck appeared like a fairyland. Last night's snowfall covered the landscape like a pristine white cape with a million glistening diamonds. Only where farmers had gone about their chores was the seamless white garment rent by plodding footprints.

Wind whipped their faces as the sleigh sped along, the horses picking up speed in the open fields. Meg gazed wide-eyed at the world of white domed by a clear blue sky. The easy glide of the runners with their accompanying whoosh made her grin so hard it hurt. She'd never before felt such exhilaration.

Nuala nudged her. “Aye, but this is exciting!” she exclaimed.

Meg nodded, the bracing air stealing her breath. She glanced at Kathleen. She, too, was grinning as she peered first one direction then another. The big draft horses kicked up sprays of snow as they ad-vanced, their bells resounding in the brisk air. The sleigh slowed as they crested a hill, then sped up again as it raced down the other side. The friends screamed with delight, falling into a fit of laughter upon reaching the bottom.

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Erin's Children Now Available!

 

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I am very excited to announce that my new novel, Erin's Children, the sequel to Kelegeen was released by BWL Publishing, Inc. on December 1, 2020! 

Erin's Children picks up three years after the end of Kelegeen. Meg has arrived in America, found employment as a domestic servant in Worcester, Massachusetts, regularly sends life-saving money back to her family in Ireland, and saved enough to buy passage for her sister, Kathleen.

Sounds like everything is going just fine, doesn't it? Not quite.

Meg and Rory married just before she sailed for America. They had planned to wed anyway and thought it safer for Meg to arrive in a strange country as a married woman. Wrong! It turns out that a domestic servant, the best job for a female Irish immigrant, must live in with the family she serves. There's no room for a husband and the children who will undoubtedly soon follow. 'No Irish Need Apply' signs among the help wanted ads abound making it difficult for Irish men to find work. When they do, it pays little forcing them and their families to live in squalid housing tenements, if they're lucky. Meeting the rent is hard enough, but they still have to eat.

Meg loves and misses Rory. She came to America with the plan that he would join her and they would make a life together. Used to a one-room, nearly bare cottage, and a diet almost soley made up of potatoes (before the blight left them with nothing), Meg shouldn't mind making the best of living in a tenement. That's what she believed upon her arrival.

But that was before she moved in with the Claproods in their Grecian style home in the up-and-coming neighborhood of Crown Hill. A beautiful house, a room to herself, three good meals a day, money enough to send home with extra to save and a little more to buy clothes as nice as those of her employers - it's all become the norm now. How can she give it up? But how can she give up Rory?

While Meg struggles with her internal conflict, her sister, Kathleen, faces the daily invective of the Pratts, particularly Mrs. Pratt and her eldest son, Lemuel. Mrs. Pratt is suspicious, bigoted, and impossible to please. Lemuel seems downright dangerous. The only bright spot is Clara Pratt, the sole daughter of the family. A bright, friendly, but lonely girl, she befriends Kathleen much to her mother's dismay. Eventually Clara is all that holds Kathleen to the Pratts until she is finally forced from the home. Where she goes from there is the start of an adventure she could never have imagined.

Surrounding everyone is the tumult caused by the fight over slavery, the rise of the nativist, anti-immigrant, anti-Catholic Know Nothing political party, and the ever-present specter of a looming civil war.

Meg, Kathleen, and the other Irish immigrants must navigate all these obstacles in a land very different from their own while trying to keep their personal lives together even as their new country seems about to be torn to pieces. They will need all of their resiliance, faith, and mutual support to make it.

To celebrate the release of Erin's Children, I invite you all to join me for my blog tour beginning today. Click here for a list of blog sites where Erin's Children will be featured over the next ten days with spotlights, interviews, reviews, and guest blog posts as well as a chance to win free copies of Erin's Children!

A 19th Century New England Thanksgiving by Eileen O'Finlan

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Thanksgiving figures heavily in my forthcoming novel, Erin's Children, sequel to Kelegeen. Why Thanksgiving? Why not Christmas? Erin's Children is set in Massachusetts in the 1850s. Thanksgiving was the quintessential New England holiday at that time. Sure folks had started celebrating Christmas to a degree, but it was nothing in comparison to the grandest holiday of all – Thanksgiving.

It was English Puritans who came to Massachusetts in the early 1600s bringing with them a great distaste for anything that smacked of the Church in Rome which meant December 25^th was just another day on the calendar. Anyone caught celebrating Christmas could find themselves in trouble with the law. But Thanksgiving? That was a different story.

Though Puritanism had died out by the 1850s some of the Puritans' ways remained. It wasn't until the American Civil War in the 1860s and beyond that Christmas gained the foothold that would eventually catapult the holiday into the commercialized juggernaut of today. Thanksgiving, on the other hand, took pride of place in the hearts of New Englanders.

As most know, the “First Thanksgiving” took place in 1621 in Plymouth Colony with the Pilgrims and Wampanoag Indians sharing an autumnal harvest feast. For the following two centuries days of Thanksgiving were celebrated at various times by several of the colonies. It wasn't until 1863 when President Abraham Lincoln proclaimed a national day of Thanksgiving to be held every November that it became uniform. Still, by the 1850s the holiday was pretty well set as a tradition, even to the point of always being observed on a Thursday in November. Lincoln just made it official.

Thanksgiving was a huge celebration which entailed a tremendous amount of work. Imagine the work of preparing for Thanksgiving today and multiply it by at least ten. A fresh turkey had to be purchased before dawn on Thanksgiving morning, scalded in boiling water to loosen the feathers, then plucked. The bird was beheaded, gutted, then roasted all day. As if turkey wasn't enough, a couple of chickens were often included. Mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry sauce, and a multitude of pies, most of them baked weeks in advance and kept frozen in a closed off section of the house, rounded out the feast. Just thinking about the preparation and clean up makes me exhausted.

Often families traveled to spend the day – or if they traveled any real distance, several days or even a few weeks – with relatives. Or, they may have been the hosts, as are the Claprood family in Erin's Children, with relatives coming to stay with them. Not only was there the big Thanksgiving meal to prepare and enjoy, but other frolics that went on for days. In Erin's Children, Mrs. Claprood's brother and his family join them for a week at Thanksgiving. The young people are especially jolly, celebrating with sleigh rides and a taffy pull during the days following the big feast.

Here is a short snippet of the taffy pull scene in Erin's Children:

The scents of hot chocolate and taffy lured Oliver and Benjamin into the kitchen with Nancy and Ethan right behind.

“You've come at a good time,” Deborah announced. “We're ready to pull!”

Kathleen placed the baking pan on the table while Meg set the crock of butter beside it. Once each had thoroughly buttered their hands, they lifted the thickened mixture, each grabbing hold of a section. Meg and Kathleen watched as the young people stretched and pulled the taffy, then folded it in on itself to stretch and pull again. Laughter filled the room as they set themselves up in teams to see who could stretch it furthest. The combination of slippery butter and sticky molasses mixture made for plenty of adventures and a few mishaps.

“Don't you want to pull, too?” Alice asked Meg and Kathleen.

The sisters looked at each other. The thought had not crossed their minds.

“Try.” Pamela encouraged them.

Kathleen's wistful expression decided it for Meg. She held out the crock of butter to her sister who eagerly greased her hands. She and Kathleen each held an end of the taffy and began pulling. To Meg's surprise, the odd mixture of slippery and sticky along with the sweet aroma appealed. She and Kathleen were soon laughing along with the others. For a few moments she felt part of the family. When their stretch of taffy broke, the end snapping back to curl around Meg's hands, she and Kathleen dissolved in gales of laughter.

Available for Purchase on December 1, 2020

 

Flowers, Past and Present by Eileen O'Finlan

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I love flowers. I love them so much, I turned my front yard into a garden. I had a white picket fence with an arch installed and a landscaper design and plant perennials inside and outside of the fence. I gave him free reign with only a few non-negotiables. He had to include roses that climb the fence, honeysuckle that will wind its way over the arch, plants that will blossom at different times from spring through late fall so that something is always in bloom, and lots of color. Oh, and low maintenance. That was important because I have health issues and not nearly enough time to keep up with a garden. I'm so glad I insisted on that last point. While I've always loved working in the garden, the advance of ankylosing spondylitis has put an abrupt end to that endeavor. Fortunately, I have a neighbor who has been doing an amazing job at keeping my front yard garden in great shape. Thank you, Wendy!

In Erin's Children, my forthcoming sequel to Kelegeen, readers will meet two characters who love flowers even more than I do. Pamela and Deborah Claprood are the daughters of the family for whom Meg O'Connor works as a domestic servant. Their love of flowers leads them to set up a conservatory in the back parlor where they can indulge not only their love of gardening all year, but also engage more fully in their favorite past time – the language of flowers. 

Known as floriography, the language of flowers has been around for thousands of years but was especially popular during the Victorian era. Each flower has a meaning. It was all the rage to send one another messages through flowers, but it only worked if you were conversant in the language. Pamela and Deborah are fluent. Meg, on the other hand, being practical as ever, thinks it's ridiculous. “If you have something to say, just say it” is her opinion.

I wonder what the Claprood girls would think of my garden. Could they use cuttings from my garden to send messages? What, indeed, does my garden say?

First Draft Completed! by Eileen O'Finlan

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After more than a year of research and writing, I've finally completed a first draft of Erin's Children! I am so happy with how this story came out and can't wait to share it with readers. 

Of course, a first draft is just that – a FIRST draft. Now I'm on to editing and revising, painstakingly looking for all the grammatical and typographical errors, making sure the story line never went astray, and that characters I was just getting to know when I first began didn't suddenly act out of character in later chapters. Flow and continuity, word choice, story and character arcs – all these things must be running smoothly throughout the entire story. The purpose of the editing and revision phase of novel writing is to make sure they do.

Still, having an entire first draft completed is a huge relief despite all the work yet to come. Two of the most gratifying words an author can type are “The End.” The only better two words, at least in this author's opinion, are “Chapter One.”

My Own Personal Research Historian by Eileen O'Finlan

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As any historical fiction author can attest, an enormous amount of research is necessary before and during the writing of an historical novel. That research can include reading primary and secondary sources, visiting historical sites, museums, and the location of the story’s setting. It may also include Internet searches and the use of digital archives. Speaking with experts, such as I’ve been fortunate enough to do while researching my forthcoming novel, is always of great value. It also tends to lead to more research as often the author is given more book titles and websites to peruse.

I consider myself especially fortunate in that I have tucked away in my pocket, so to speak, my own personal research historian. His name is Tom Kelleher. Tom is a professional Research Historian and Curator for Old Sturbridge Village, (OSV, aka the Village) a living history museum in Sturbridge, Massachusetts which portrays rural life in an 1830s New England town. 

I first met Tom when I worked for Old Sturbridge Village. I was a Museum Assistant in the Department of Research, Collections, and Library during the mid-1990s. My position entailed administrative duties to the Director of Historical Research as well as the all other research historians and curators. Along with the secretarial duties, I got to assist with research projects for books and museum exhibits as well as helping curators catalog the artifacts and reproductions. It was an amazing experience with a fantastic group of people.

Tom had already been working at OSV for many years by the time I started. He began as a costumed interpreter, mostly working in the Blacksmith shop and the saw and grist mills. Before long, he knew the whole village and its crafts well enough to fill in just about anywhere. With a Master’s Degree in History and a Bachelor’s in Education, he moved up the ranks to Historian and Curator.

Tom is one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met in my life. He’s also one of the most capable and self-sufficient. He has a blacksmith shop at his own home. He also does his own coopering, making barrels, butter churns, pails, etc. for gifts or paying customers. He learned to do stone carving so that he could replace the headstones in the Village’s cemetery (not a real cemetery). He was also kind enough to make headstones for my beloved cats when they passed away and I buried them in my backyard. He is adept at tinsmithing, pottery, milling, and any number of 19^th century crafts. He’s sewn some of his own work costumes using his grandmother’s treadle sewing machine. I could go on, but you probably get the point.

Over the years, Tom has created and portrayed many 19^th century characters at Old Sturbridge Village including at dentist, a peddler, an itinerant preacher, and even a phrenologist (yes, he learned to read the bumps on people’s heads, just as the 19^th phrenologists did when it was all the rage.)

Tom’s abilities are a wonder to behold, but they don’t begin to compare with what’s in his head. The amount of knowledge he has in regards to history (and many other things, for that matter) is astounding. I sometimes wonder if he has an eidetic memory. He is especially well-versed in 19^th century American history for obvious reasons, but his Master’s Degree was in European History so he’s got a vast store of knowledge on that as well. In fact, I’m always amazed at what he knows about almost any time period and place.

Tom and I got to know each other very well during the three years I worked for Old Sturbridge Village. Actually, that’s an understatement. We started dating and continued for eight years. We got engaged, almost got married, broke up, and got back together as friends. Tom is probably my best friend in the world and, hopefully, always will be. He is a constant in my life. We were right not to marry, but we were also right to remain friends. Our relationship is stronger than ever today.

One lovely bonus of my deep friendship with Tom is that he is happy to act as my personal research historian. Countless times, I’ve needed an answer that would have taken precious time to look up, if I could find the answer at all. A quick text to Tom and I’ve got what I need in minutes. Here is a sample of some of the texts we’ve shared while I’ve been working on Erin’s Children, the sequel to Kelegeen.

ME: If one 19^th c. person is telling another one not to spend too much money is it okay if he says, “get what you need, just don’t break the bank”? According to Google, the expression goes back to the 1600s, but was it in common use in the 1850s?

TOM: That is fine. Lots of banks broke in 1837.

ME: Did people drink hot chocolate or hot cocoa in the 1850s?

TOM: Yes. Drinking chocolate was the most common way to consume it then. But not cocoa.

ME: Would the man of the house carve the Thanksgiving turkey at the table or is that more of a Norman Rockwell fiction?

TOM: The wife.

ME: Seriously? At the table? The husband led the blessing, though, right?

TOM: Yes to both.

ME: How much did it cost to rent a sleigh and horse for an hour or two in 1851?

TOM: I guess 25 cents is about right. With a driver, make it 50 cents.

ME: Could they have gone for a sleigh ride on a Sunday or would that be against the having too much fun on a Sunday law?

TOM: Not on a Sunday. Sorry. Go to sleep. (Okay, ‘cuz I sent that particular text at 11:00 p.m.)

ME: In what year did most northerners realize civil war [American Civil War] was probably inevitable? Was there a specific incident that made them feel that way? I mean before Fort Sumter.

TOM: Well, people had warned about it since the 1830s at least. But inevitable? No. Even when South Carolina left many thought they could be brought back. Jackson did as much in 1832. When six more deep south states left many thought it could be reversed. When the upper south left many on both sides thought it would be a quick war. The long blood bath surprised most. So no.

This is just a small sample, but it seems as though any history question I have, whether about huge events or the details of everyday life can be answered with a quick text to Tom.

To attest even further to this, when I was speaking with Holly Izard who is the Curator of Collections for the Worcester Historical Museum and a former research historian at Old Sturbridge Village, I happened to mention that I often text Tom with my questions. Holly, who knew Tom years ago when she worked at the Village, said to me, “There are times when I just can’t find an answer to an historical question. When that happens I email Tom. He never fails me. There are just some things I know for a fact only Tom will have the answer to.”

I hear that!

Historian, Curator, and Costumed Interpreter at Old Sturbridge Village,

Tom Kelleher

Catacombs Where You Least Expect Them by Eileen O'Finlan

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I've long been intrigued by catacombs – those underground chambers and passageways most commonly associated with Rome or Paris. Their secret nature, association with burials, and use as hiding places long ago captured my attention. I've always wanted to find a way to incorporate them into my writing. Never did I think it would be in the book I'm setting in my own city.

Last October while perusing the gift shop of the Worcester Historical Museum during one of my research trips for Erin's Children, the forthcoming sequel to Kelegeen, a slim volume titled Worcester's Forgotten Catacombs caught my eye. Astounded, I snatched if from the shelf. Could there really be catacombs beneath the streets of Worcester? I grew up in the next town, worked for decades in the city itself, but never once had I heard so much as a rumor about catacombs. I simply had to find out.

According to author Charles W. Longeway, Sr., catacombs do indeed exist beneath the streets of downtown Worcester. Likely built in the 1700s, possibly used in the 1850s for nefarious business such as illegal gambling or being in the more noble employ of the Underground Railroad, they were seemingly forgotten by the late 19^th century. The author claims to have been fascinated by the tales of the Worcester catacombs for over 50 years after unearthing several published accounts of their rediscovery in the 1930s.

The catacombs contain more than thirty rooms forty feet below the ground. Built of brick with massive pillars, elegant archways, and thick, almost sound proof walls, the underground chambers invite speculation as to their origins and subsequent use. The jury is still out on both, though several theories abound. Built in the 18^th century, some say they were created as a foundation in the downtown section of Worcester which was supposedly a mass of quicksand. Others say they were actually the basements and lower floors of the first homes built in the area and later covered over by numerous changes to the grading of the streets.

More intriguing is their possible later use. A 1930 newspaper article claimed them as the site of an 1850 50-round “Fistic Battle” - a bare knuckles prize fight featuring the then famous English heavyweight, Jem Mace.

A 19^th century hostelry sat above one section of the catacombs. It appears to be well attested that the hostelry employed a number of African Americans who may have used the chambers as living quarters. The discovery of a 19^th century bathtub in one of the rooms suggests that some such use was made of them. Since Worcester was an anti-slavery hotbed, the possibility of being a part of the Underground Railroad is a valid theory, though whether they were an official stop on the famous route north or simply a hiding place for runaway slaves is unknown.

What is not in question is the fact that these catacombs exist and have been in existence since the 18^th century. Since Erin's Children is set in Worcester in the 1850s I can't possibly resist making them part of the story. Since what use they were put to in the 1850s is, and maybe always will be, debatable, I have creative license to let my imagination run free. I'm getting near the section of the story where the catacombs will come into play. I have some ideas as to what will happen down there, but even I'm not sure until I actually write it. My characters tend to have minds of their own so I may be as surprised as anyone about what was going on in Worcester's catacombs. One thing's for sure, I will have tremendous fun finally setting part of a story in catacombs even if they are in the most unexpected place.

Pictures courtesy of Charles W. Longeway, Sr.

and

BuzzMediaLife - "This Week in Worcester"

Solo Writing Retreat by Eileen O'Finlan

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It's time to seriously focus on the sequel to Kelegeen, so I spent the last week of February secluded in a hotel suite in Worcester, Massachusetts, where the sequel will be set, to work undisturbed and undistracted.  I arrived at the Residence Inn in Worcester late on Monday afternoon.  Once I was settled in, I got right to work.  The suite has a great little work area with the most comfortable chair ever – I wish I could have taken it home!

The first hurdle was getting on the Internet.  I was given my WiFi password when I checked in, but getting to a screen that actually asked for it seemed an impossible task.  I finally stumbled upon it, put in the password and I was off and running.  The table is right in front of the windows, so during the day the sunlight helped a lot, which is a good thing since the lighting in the suite left a lot to be desired as did the lack of dish liquid and a frying pan, but I digress. 

I wanted to get as much as I could out of this week, so I made it an early night.  I had not realized just how exhausted I’d been until I tried to wake up the next morning.  Even after my brain woke up, my eyelids refused to open.  I think it was around 11:00 a.m. before I dragged myself out of bed.  Yikes!  Most of the morning already gone before I could even eat breakfast, shower, and dress. 

Assuming, I’d have no problem getting online, I fired up the laptop only to find that I had no Internet connection.  After trying in vain to retrace the steps that finally connected me the night before, I gave up and asked the guy at the Front Desk for help.  He obligingly came to my room and had my laptop online in about two seconds.  For those who don’t know (until then, that included me) when you can’t reconnect to a public WiFi connection, try going to a site called purple.com.  It reroutes your computer to get you back online.  Who knew?  I sure didn’t.  Good thing Front Desk Guy knew.  Thank you Front Desk Guy!

I spent the rest of the day with my eyes glued (not literally – I mean, ouch and yuck!) to Erin’s Daughters in America:  Irish Immigrant Women in the Nineteenth Century by Hansia R. Diner.  Between reading, note-taking, and checking information online, the afternoon flew by.  I did make a point of ungluing my eyes long enough to walk all the hallways on all four floors of the building just to keep my circulation going.  There was little chance of falling asleep at the desk despite feeling like I could nod off at any minute (still in the extreme exhaustion phase) since the air around the desk felt as icy as if I’d opened the windows.  I hate being cold, but, hey, it kept me awake and working.

I went to bed extra early that night, hoping to make up for my late rising.  It didn’t work.  Well, I did get up a little earlier than the previous morning, like around 10:30.  It dawned on me that I needed this week as much to rest as I did to research and write so I decided to stop mentally berating myself for sleeping late and make the most of the time I was awake. 

When I finally finished Erin’s Daughters, it was time for my tour of the four floors.  I remembered seeing photos of various places in Worcester in the hallways of each floor so this time I took my camera.  Meg, my main character, would have arrived from Ireland on a ship and docked in Boston Harbor, then taken a train to Worcester.  I know the current train station wasn’t built until 1911 so I’ve been trying to figure out where the station would have been in my story.  One picture might have given me a clue.  It’s the outside of a building with the words Boston and Albany – New York – New Haven and Hartford – Boston and Maine engraved in the façade.  Hmmm…could this have been the original station?

Research brings both answers and questions.  The more I find out the more I need to know.  So along with my notes I have a growing list of questions, most of which have to do with the who and where in Worcester in the 1850s. 

After checking the website for the Worcester Historical Museum I found that they have a plethora of information on Worcester in the 19^th century.  I gave them a call, only to find I was speaking with a woman who took the online course in Church History that I just finished teaching.  What were the odds of that?  She informed me that the museum’s archivist is an expert on Irish immigrants in Worcester.  Pay dirt!  I made an appointment to meet with her so the last night of my solo retreat was spent writing out those all-important questions I want to ask her.

Oh, and one more thing – Chapter 1 is well underway.  The sequel has officially begun.