My family’s immigration story to the United States is relatively average. With half of my family immigrating in the mid-1900’s and the other half immigrating in the late 1800’s. Those who immigrated earlier assimilated easily into the United States as it was still a growing nation, with less of a national identity than today. Those who immigrated later retained their cultural identity for a sizeable amount of time, however that may be because my mother was the first generation of her family to be born and raised in the United States. Never forced by terrible circumstances, they came to this country in search of new opportunities by in the end elected for the journey.
On my mother’s side both of my grandparents were born in Ireland, immigrating to New York in the 1940’s. My grandmother, Emily Noble, is from Daulkey, Ireland, a suburb of Dublin, along the Southern coast, which is now considered the “Beverly Hills” of Ireland. My grandmother grew up in a strict Catholic household, where there were certain expectations of who she would marry and how she would live her life. However, refusing to bend to my great-grandparents’ will, Emily left the house one night, literally climbing down from her window using a bed sheet as a rope, when she went and signed up for the Army Nurse Core. After registering the commander told her to return in two weeks which she answered “if I go home I’ll never come back” (due to her parents’ strictness), and therefore left that night for London. In London, my grandmother worked as a nurse and became engaged to a British officer who, to the shock of her Irish Catholic family, was protestant. Not to be outsmarted, my maternal great grandparents convinced Emily to come visit them in Ireland, as they were leaving for America in the coming week, when they trapped her and forced her to immigrate to New York with them, leaving her fiance and job behind in London. My grandfather, James Walsh, was born in Ballyhaunis, a small city in Co. Mayo, Ireland. He was one of thirteen children, and was formally trained as a butcher in a small meatpacking factory on the edge of Ballyhaunis. James joined the Merchant Marines when he turned 19 in an attempt to see the world. Besides his desire to escape a small farming city in Northwestern Ireland, James left in order to pursue opportunity that wasn’t available to him in Ballyhaunis. Being the fourth son meant that the farm and the butcher shop were given to my grandfather’s two eldest brothers. During his work in the merchant marines, when he found himself in New York he decided that New York was where he wanted to be. He deserted, never returning to the Marines, however after six months, since he was there without papers, James was deported to the Canadian border where he applied for citizenship, returning to New York as soon as he was let back into the country. Emily and James met at a dance in New York City, and to the despair of my grandmother’s parents, James Noble was also protestant.
My father’s side of the family has lived in this country for much longer than my mother’s, with his family arriving here in the 1890’s from both Ireland and Denmark. Our knowledge about my father’s side of the family is limited although we do know that the Irish part of our family worked as farmers and the Danish relatives were electricians.
My mother’s family was fortunate enough to have immigrated to this country not out of necessity, as most of the Irish did during the Famine, but out of personal desire. That side of my family worked as businessmen in Dublin, and were living very comfortable lives. Hands down, the most interesting member of my family, the one whose stories were told about at family reunions, is my mother’s grandfather, or my great grandfather, Louis Noble. Louis Noble was in the Irish Republican Army in the early 20th century. He maneuvered his way into the British National Army seeing as he was born in Henley, England and used this position to expose the British ammunition routes, which he then relayed to the IRA. Louis Noble was also an accomplished bagpiper, winning the Irish National Piping Championship in 1910 and 1914.
Once in this country my family stayed in the New York area, but did not really take on the persona of being a “New Yorker”. In regards to my maternal family, my mom was raised in a very Irish household. As a young child in public school, my mom was mocked as a child for her accent and general way of speaking. For example, some differences in the way the Irish speak that my mother still retains to this day includes pronouncing the letter “h” as “haych” and the letter “z” as “zed”, as well as using the phrases “in hospital” and “in military” instead of “in the hospital” or “in the military”. Unfortunately due to years surrounded by people who saw being “Irish” as negative, my mom learned to speak like an “American”. I personally think of my maternal grandparents as immigrants, as they lived in the United States for twenty years until receiving a status of full citizenship. Like in Ireland, my grandfather worked as a butcher in Rye, New York, as his family did for generations before him. My personal conception of being a “New Yorker” is definitely different than what it was when my grandparents first immigrated here. Firstly, when they immigrated to New Yorker it was a much whiter city, with Irish citizens being considered a minority or not white, facing widespread discrimination throughout the latter 19th century and the early 20th century. While today, New York is far from a singularly caucasian city, being one of the most diverse cities in the United States.
