Your Irish Ancestor: A Day in the Life, Midwinter 1876

Céad Míle Fáilte – and welcome to your Letter from Ireland for this week. As I think about how our Irish ancestors lived through winters past, I’m noticing how darkness falls by 4:30 in the afternoon here in County Cork. There’s a raw dampness in the air that makes the peat fire (or “turf fire” as we say here in Ireland) all the more welcoming when you step inside. How are things in your part of the world today?

Being just in from letting the animals out of the barn, these morning tasks connect me to those daily rituals of generations past. I’m warming my hands around a mug of Barry’s tea as I write, so do join me with a cup of whatever you fancy yourself as we start into today’s letter. 

Note: I realise that many of the traditions I describe below applied to those in the Roman Catholic church – which made up over 95% of the County Galway population at the time. So, the rituals of your own Irish ancestor may have differed slightly.

My Irish Ancestor: The Dolphin Household, County Galway, Midwinter 1876.

This morning’s crisp darkness reminded me of the stories my mother used to tell us about winter life in her own grandparents’ farmhouse in east County Galway. The time would have been about 1876, and the eight children were like steps of the stairs aged from one to fourteen.

The day would begin before dawn, when her grandmother would carefully rekindle the turf fire that had been banked the night before. The skill of keeping the fire alive overnight was crucial – matches were precious, and every bit of fuel had to last through the winter months. This was both a practical and sacred morning moment – tradition held that if the fire went out completely, it was a sign of misfortune to come.

By first light, around 8am, the whole family would be up and moving. The men and older boys would head out to the cows, warming up with the animal body heat as they milked the cows and fed the animals. Every beast was precious during winter – the cattle, pigs, and chickens would all be carefully tended – they were the difference between survival and hunger for our Irish ancestors when winter stretched so long.

Inside, the work was equally vital. The day’s first porridge would be bubbling in a pot hung over the open fire, made from oats grown and dried on the farm. Potatoes also would be set to boil – these were the staples that saw families through the lean months. Any meat was usually salted or smoked, hanging from the rafters, and inside the fireplace – carefully preserved to last until the next harvest.

If It Were a School Day…

The National School was about two miles away, and these winter mornings brought an extra flurry of activity for the school-age children. They would gulp down their porridge and wrap themselves in whatever warm clothes they had – but shoes were typically kept for a Sunday. Each child would carry a piece of turf for the schoolhouse fire – a “heating fee,” and as essential as any learning they’d do that day.

The walk to school was usually through the fields and could be bitter in midwinter. Each child would have a little bag with a book or two, and perhaps a piece of bread for their lunch. 

In the one-room schoolhouse, the turf fire would be barely enough to keep the place heated. Children would sit close together for warmth, their feet often wet from the journey. The younger ones would practice their letters by tracing them in ash on stone, while older students might have a precious slate to write on. The schoolmaster would keep one eye on the lessons and another on the fire.

During the shortest winter days, children might arrive home with the sun already setting, just in time to help with the evening chores. Still, education was seen as a precious opportunity, worth every cold morning and wet walk through the fields.

If It Were A Sunday…

The rhythm of this winter day would change entirely if it fell on a Sunday. No matter how bitter the morning, the whole family would put on their Sunday best and set off walking to Mass at the church three miles away. My mother remembered how her grandfather would sometimes carry warm potatoes in his pockets – both to keep his hands warm on the long walk to church and to keep the children’s fingers from freezing as they clutched them. Needless to say, they were eaten well before the return journey!

For our Irish ancestors, Sunday Mass was more than just a religious obligation – it was the community’s main social gathering during these dark winter months. The priest would often make announcements about upcoming fair days or share news from neighbouring parishes. People would linger after the service, sharing their own news and the latest gossip. 

Though animals still needed tending, the rest of Sunday was kept as a day of rest. No spinning or repairs were allowed as there was an old belief that any work done on Sunday would have to be undone in Purgatory. Instead, this was a day for visiting neighbours, teaching children, and perhaps enjoying a slightly better meal than usual – including a bit of meat if times weren’t too hard.

If It Were A Fair Day…

Winter fair days were vital events in our Irish ancestors’ lives, and were usually held once a month in the larger towns. Even in the depths of winter, people would travel for up to 10 miles, often leaving before dawn to reach the fair. These weren’t just markets – they were essential gatherings that helped communities survive the winter months.

Farmers would bring whatever they could trade – perhaps a calf, some eggs, or excess butter they’d managed to save. The women might have knitted items or spun yarn to sell. The fair was where you could get needles, thread, maybe even matches if you had enough to trade. But more than goods, it was about information – finding out how other villages and townlands were faring, learning which families needed help, sharing news about upcoming weather or illness outbreaks  – among people or animals.

The Candles of Advent

Leading up to Christmas, during the season of Advent, my mother often commented on how her Irish ancestors would have marked this time with special reverence. In the farmhouse window, the traditional large white candle was placed. It would not be lit until Christmas Eve by the youngest member of the family. The ritual of keeping a light burning during these darkest of days held deep meaning for our Irish ancestors.

During Advent, the already-busy household would also take on extra tasks. The women would begin a thorough cleaning of the house. Every corner would be swept and every surface scrubbed. The children would be sent to gather holly and ivy for decorations, though these weren’t put up until Christmas Eve.

My mother also commented on how the ordinary winter evening prayers would be lengthened during Advent. The family Rosary would include special intentions, and children would be encouraged to make small sacrifices – perhaps giving up a portion of their evening meal for the Poor Souls in Purgatory. The four weeks of Advent were seen as a time of preparation, both spiritual and practical.

But Daily Life Continues…

As darkness fell early, the family would gather closer to the fire’s warmth. This was the time for stories, for passing down family history, for teaching young ones the old songs and traditions. My mother remembered how her grandparents would often tell tales of the fairies and other supernatural beings during these hours, teaching children to be respectful of the ancient ways, which must have had a special impact as they gazed out a dark window and heard a howling wind outside.

The last task of the day would be “putting out” the fire – though not completely. Like generations of Irish ancestors before them, the precious embers would be carefully buried in ashes, keeping them alive through the night to be used the next dawn. As the family climbed into their bed boxes (often sharing body heat for warmth), they would say their own prayers, grateful for another day’s survival in the harsh winter months.

Each winter season was a test of preparation, community, and resilience. Like many Irish ancestors before them, neighbours helped neighbours, sharing what they could, for everyone knew that survival depended on working together. If someone’s fire went out completely, they could always go to a neighbour for an ember – being sure to repay the kindness at a future time.

Six of the eight siblings I mention above went on to emigrate to the USA and Canada – most before the age of twenty. I’m sure they brought many of their traditions and ways with them into their new households. How about your Irish ancestors – did they walk miles to the winter fairs? Do you know which market town they would have visited? Were there special Sunday traditions that were passed down through your family?

Have any winter customs survived in your family to this day? Do let me know in the comments section below. 

That’s it for this week,

Slán for now,

Mike.