How We Keep Our Irish Ancestors’ Stories Alive at Samhain

Céad Míle Fáilte, and welcome to your Letter from Ireland for this week. The days are drawing in now here in County Cork, and there’s a definite chill in the evening air. Darkness settles over the land by half past six, and the shops in town are already full of Halloween decorations, though many of us here still call Halloween by its older Irish name: Samhain.

I’m sipping on a cup of Lyons’ tea as I write, and I hope you’ll join me with whatever you fancy as we start into today’s letter. Given the time of year, I want to share something that perfectly captures the spirit of this season, a time when we Irish have always turned our thoughts to those who came before us.

 

When the veil grows thin: honouring our ancestors at Samhain

Some time back, I received this message from Meg in Kansas, USA. Her discovery is one that I’m sure will resonate with many of us who’ve delved into our family histories. Meg wrote:

“I’ve been searching for the final Irish resting place for my great-grandmother’s family for some time, but this has turned out to be the year of discovery! A new research cousin gave me the information I needed. The family is buried in a plot with a tall Celtic cross standing guard over their final resting place.”

What a moment that must have been for you, Meg! I can only imagine the feelings that washed over you when you finally saw that Celtic cross, knowing that beneath it lay your great-grandmother’s family – people whose blood runs through your veins, and whose stories shaped your own family’s journey.

Meg’s discovery reminds me that the time between late October and early November has always held special significance for us Irish when it comes to remembering the dead. Long before it became the commercial holiday we see today, Halloween was Samhain (pronounced SOW-in), an ancient Irish festival marking the end of the harvest and the beginning of winter, a transition into the darker half of the year.

 

A time for remembering

Our ancestors believed that at Samhain, the boundary between this world and the otherworld became thin and permeable. The dead could more easily cross over, and the living could more easily sense their presence.

But rather than being frightened by this, the Irish embraced it. We’ve never been a people to shy away from death, as you may have discovered if you’ve ever attended an Irish Wake!

This tradition of remembering our ancestors never really left us. Even today, throughout Ireland, families visit cemeteries in late October and early November to tend graves, place fresh flowers, and light candles. It’s a time to whisper names and prayers and feel that invisible thread across generations.

Last year, we made our own pilgrimage to the old cemetery where Carina’s side of the family is buried. The autumn sun was low and golden, casting long shadows across the weathered headstones. Some of those stones date back over 200 years often with simple markers, their inscriptions worn smooth by wind and rain. Yet they’re still there, standing witness to lives lived, families raised, and hardships endured.

I found myself thinking about all the descendants of those people scattered across the world now – in America, Canada, Australia, England. How many even know these stones exist? How many are searching, like Meg was, for that connection to their Irish roots?

 

Links in an endless chain

There’s something profound that happens when you discover where your ancestors are buried, when you find their names in old parish records, or finally piece together the story of how they lived and why they left Ireland.

It’s more than satisfying curiosity – it’s a kind of homecoming.

The Irish have always understood that we’re all just links in an endless chain. The people who came before us shaped the world we inherited, and we, in turn, are shaping the world for those who come after.

At Samhain, when the veil grows thin, it’s easier to feel the truth of this in your bones.

I think that’s why so many readers have written to me over the years about your family research journeys. There’s a hunger there and a need to know where you come from, to understand the struggles and triumphs of your people, to walk (even if only in imagination) the roads they walked and stand in the parishes where they stood.

Some have shared incredible discoveries with long-lost cousins found through DNA testing, family Bibles discovered in attics, emigration records that finally explained family mysteries. Others are still searching, hitting brick walls, frustrated by records that were lost or never kept in the first place.

But every single one of these journeys matters. Every name recovered from obscurity, every story preserved, every connection made across the ocean and across the years – they all matter. They keep our ancestors alive in memory, which is, I believe, a kind of immortality.

So, in this week before Samhain, perhaps take a moment to remember your own ancestors, wherever they may be buried, whatever their names may have been. Light a candle for them. Speak their names aloud if you know them.

And remember, the thin veil works both ways. If they can reach across to us, perhaps we can reach back to them too, with love and gratitude for the gift of life they passed down through the generations.

Because remembering our ancestors isn’t just about looking back, it’s also about continuing their story in our own lives.

How about you? Have you made any discoveries in your Irish family research this year? Have you found the resting places of your Irish ancestors? Do let me know in the comments section below.

That’s it for this week,
Slán for now,
Mike