Episode 16

full
Published on:

17th Aug 2026

Mirror Worlds, Midnight Trains, and the Silent Hand of Grace

The Stories

  • "The Singer and the Valley of Paradise" (Kabyle Folktale from North Africa) — Told by Jim
  • "Midnight Mariah" (Personal Ancestral Narrative) — Told by Denise Paige
  • "Nancy of the Notions" (Cork City Heritage Story) — Told by Maria

The Hook

Storytelling carries us across physical borders and generational divides, revealing that our lived experiences—no matter how distinct—are bound by a shared human thread. In this deeply moving episode, guest storyteller Denise Paige joins Jim and Maria to explore ancestral resilience, multidimensional memory, and the subtle ways communities wrap each other in unspoken grace during times of trial.

The Chapters

[00:00] Welcome & Story Roads

Jim and Maria welcome guest storyteller Denise Paige and reflect on how stories travel across geography, linking Northern Finland, Dakar, Cork, and North Africa.

[02:34] Jim’s Story: The Singer & The Valley of Paradise

Jim shares a Kabyle tale from North Africa about a gifted metalsmith and singer who journeys through rugged mountains to prove the existence of a paradise, only to uncover a deep truth about illusion, identity, and the choices we make.

[11:25] Unpacking Time and Memory

Denise, Maria, and Jim discuss multidimensional time, Irish concepts of circular time, and how ancient symbols like triple spirals reflect the continuous life-death-life cycle.

[13:30] Denise’s Story: Midnight Mariah

Denise Paige shares her signature launch story: her mother Dorothy’s memory of childhood loss in 1920s Connecticut, the comforting rumble of a midnight train, and a transformative moment in a former family home that preserved her dignity and determination.

[35:43] Carrying the Ancestral Steel

The hosts examine why hard family histories are often held back until the next generation develops the "steel spine" required to understand and carry them without bitterness.

[41:47] Maria’s Story: Nancy of the Notions

Maria tells a Cork City story set during "The Emergency" (World War II), following Nancy: a talented seamstress who faces sudden heartbreak and isolation, only to be embraced by her neighborhood's quiet, protective solidarity.

[01:01:00] The Silent Hand & Shared Humanity

The trio reflects on non-transactional community support, the Jewish wisdom surrounding preserving a neighbor's dignity, and how story shifts shame into enduring ancestral pride.

[01:06:11] Closing & Invitation to the Story Road

Final farewells from Cork and New York, with an invitation for listeners to share their own ancestral tales with the community.

Key Takeaways

  • Stories as Sacred Vessels: Ancestral truths are often guarded by elders until descendants possess the internal "steel spine" needed to hold the weight of historical trauma without being consumed by it.
  • The Silent Hand of Community: True communal care operates discreetly, preserving individual dignity and shielding neighbors from humiliation through quiet acts of non-transactional support.
  • Beyond the Illusion of Circumstance: Life's true path is not defined by external hardship or societal marginalization, but by choosing the journey that connects us to where we truly belong.
  • The Sacred Duty of Discretion: Uplifting others requires protecting them from shame, honoring the deep cultural truth that public exposure harms the soul of a community.

Closing

  • Join the conversation and explore deeper mythological breakdowns on the Healing Monsters Substack: https://healingmonsters.substack.com/
  • Have an ancestral story that shaped your life? Leave a comment or reach out directly: we read every single message from The Story Road.

Our Guest: Denise Page

Denise Manning Keyes Page is founder of Ubuntu Storytellers, an ensemble of story artists of Black and Brown ancestry. They tell personal narrative stories of “being in the skin they are in” as well as stories of “simply being – the shared experiences of being human.” Her passion is giving voice to and hearing the voices of the traditionally unheard.

Her newest work is a trilogy, “Legacy of A Wealthy Slave”. The title is a paraphrase (and oxymoron) taken from a headline from the New York Times obituary of her great- great grandfather, Alfred C. Manning.

Learn more at her sites:

Transcript
Maria:

Hello from Cork

Jim:

Hello from New York

Maria:

Is mise Máire, Seanchai Chorcaí.

Maria:

It's Maria, the Cork-based storyteller

Jim:

It's me, Jim, here in Fayetteville, New York

Maria:

We can't wait to tell you a few stories.

Jim:

So welcome everyone to this episode of From Cork to New York.

Jim:

As you know, we started off just Cork to New York, and now we've spread our wings

Jim:

and we're bringing in storytellers from around the world, and it's just a delight.

Jim:

Today, we have Denise Paige with us, and it's a, a real joy to be able to bring

Jim:

her to you, all of you, and to let her, share her story and her life with you all.

Jim:

So, Denise, welcome.

Jim:

I'm gonna start us off today.

Jim:

So I've had this interesting encounter with a story that led me to another

Jim:

story, the way this world works.

Jim:

But some time ago, we told a story, Maria told a story about a midwife in Cork.

Jim:

And of course, that reminded me of a story that I knew about a midwife in Dakar.

Jim:

Recently I started researching stories from another part of the

Jim:

world, and I was looking at the Kven people, which are the, some of the

Jim:

indigenous people of northern Finland.

Jim:

And what do you know?

Jim:

They have the story, too.

Jim:

They have a story about a woman who travels under the ground to the mirror

Jim:

world, and they have a mirror world.

Jim:

And she travels under there to be a midwife, and it's the same

Jim:

story from that point forward.

Jim:

But that just tickled me to no end to, to find that story in yet another place.

Jim:

But that's all been part of a bigger exploration, which has led

Jim:

me to North Africa, of course.

Jim:

Where else would you go from Finland but to North Africa?

Jim:

And, this is a story from the Kabyle people, and it's a story about a young

Jim:

man who was just a remarkable metalsmith.

Jim:

Now, at that time, and for those people, metalsmithing was kind of

Jim:

the most important thing you could do because you could make swords with

Jim:

metal, and they were people who had to defend themselves all the time.

Jim:

So this one smith, he could make the best swords, and it was really…

Jim:

He was treasured by the community.

Jim:

He didn't like making swords, so he was glad when the battles would

Jim:

subside and their need would die down because he would make plows.

Jim:

He made plowshares.

Jim:

And you would think that that was his true love.

Jim:

But his real true love was in singing.

Jim:

And he would sing of places, he would sing of flowers, he would sing of healing.

Jim:

He just loved to sing, and he was good.

Jim:

People loved his songs, and not just because he had a good voice, but because

Jim:

when he sang, he took you to where he was singing about, just like in stories.

Jim:

And the favorite song that his community loved was his song

Jim:

about the Valley of Paradise.

Jim:

And this was a song that could go on for hours and hours, and he would sing

Jim:

about the beauty of this place and the birds that lived there and the streams

Jim:

that ran through it, and he would just go on and on, and everyone who

Jim:

listened was transported by this song.

Jim:

Now, he wouldn't always sing it.

Jim:

Sometimes people would say, "Come and sing us the story of the Valley of Paradise."

Jim:

He would say, "No, I, I, I can't go there right now." But usually he would.

Jim:

Now, this young smith also had a great love for this woman

Jim:

who lived in the village.

Jim:

He was very attracted to her.

Jim:

She was sweet, she was pleasant to look at, she knew how to move,

Jim:

and he really did hope that he would be able to win her hand.

Jim:

But someone as wonderful as that had more than one suitor, of course.

Jim:

And there was another fellow who was a merchant, and he knew that the smith

Jim:

was gonna win because of his singing.

Jim:

And so he started sowing seeds of doubt in the young woman's mind.

Jim:

He said, " This smith, he keeps telling stories about this Valley of Paradise,

Jim:

but I don't think they're true.

Jim:

I think he's making it all up." And the seed of doubt got sown,

Jim:

and so she went up to him and she said, " these songs you sing of the

Jim:

Valley of Paradise, i- is it real?"

Jim:

And he paused for a moment and he said, "As real as real can be."

Jim:

Well, that didn't satisfy her, and she kept pressing.

Jim:

And, and, and finally, the merchant arrived, seeing what was going on,

Jim:

knowing he had the opportunity.

Jim:

He said, "If it's real, why don't you go there and bring us back proof?"

Jim:

And the smith said, "Oh, it doesn't work that way."

Jim:

And the merchant turned to the woman and said, "You see? You

Jim:

can't trust him. How can you marry someone that you can't trust?"

Jim:

And the smith, well, he saw what was happening.

Jim:

And so he gathered his belongings together and he said, "I will go and I will bring

Jim:

back proof." And with that, he headed out.

Jim:

Now, the land of the Kabyle is full of rugged mountains.

Jim:

It's very difficult terrain.

Jim:

And so he started climbing mountains and scaling down valleys and crossing

Jim:

dangerous rivers, and he went on for day after day after week after week.

Jim:

More than once, he came close to losing his life.

Jim:

But finally, he reached the Valley.

Jim:

And words can't quite describe what he found there.

Jim:

Much time went by until he finally returned to the village.

Jim:

But when he returned to the village, he had aged.

Jim:

No one else had, but he had aged like you wouldn't believe.

Jim:

He was bent over, his hair was long and scraggly, his clothes were torn.

Jim:

He walked with a cane.

Jim:

In fact, the first person to recognize him was the merchant.

Jim:

Everybody thought he was just some, you know, itinerant moving through.

Jim:

And he called out to him, "Smith, Smith, did you find the Valley?"

Jim:

And people gathered around, including the young woman.

Jim:

And he said, "Yes, I did," but everyone could see that he was broken.

Jim:

He said, "Was it not what you expected?"

Jim:

He said, "Well,

Jim:

when I got there, it was beautiful.

Jim:

Even more beautiful than I could sing about.

Jim:

And everyone there was just like us."

Jim:

And people said, "What do you mean just like us?

Jim:

You mean they were people like us, not something else?" He said,

Jim:

"No, they were just like me.

Jim:

They were just like you.

Jim:

Every one of us in this village was in that valley.

Jim:

And I thought, how strange that there should be these reflections

Jim:

of us in this beautiful valley!

Jim:

And then I understood:

Jim:

They weren't reflections of me.

Jim:

I was a reflection of them.

Jim:

It's not they who are the illusion, it's me, it's us."

Jim:

At that, everybody just looked at him and laughed.

Jim:

And in that moment, the young woman decided she indeed

Jim:

would marry the merchant.

Jim:

Within a few days, the smith had withered and died.

Jim:

And not long after that, anyone who had heard the story from

Jim:

his lips also withered and died.

Jim:

Because what they failed to realize was not that they were an illusion,

Jim:

but that we all have many, many more lives than we could ever realize.

Jim:

And the path we choose to follow should be one that takes us

Jim:

to where we truly want to go.

Jim:

And that's my story from the Kabyle people.

Multiple speakers:

That's lovely, Jim.

Multiple speakers:

Oh.

Multiple speakers:

So much wisdom, you know?

Multiple speakers:

That's insane.

Multiple speakers:

Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

A lot in that story to unpack.

Multiple speakers:

Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

There is, and I'd been wrestling with it because- Mm … I

Multiple speakers:

didn't like it to begin with.

Multiple speakers:

Mm. You know, I, I didn't like the everyone withers who hears this.

Multiple speakers:

Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

Uh, um, but it's grown on me.

Multiple speakers:

It's grown on me.

Multiple speakers:

Mm, mm.

Denise:

It, it brought me back to, um- I guess I, I… Well, there was a period

Denise:

in my life where I spent a lot of time thinking about the three dimensions of

Denise:

time- Mm … and how we were existing in all three dimensions simultaneously.

Denise:

And one of my friends that I told a story about it, it, at, uh,

Denise:

Woodstock, she and I spent so much time with that and trying to prove it.

Denise:

And so this story, when he went there and he said they were us, I thought, oh.

Denise:

It, it brought me back to that.

Denise:

Mm. Mm. To that, uh-

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

And there's something similar for me because, um, in the Irish

Maria:

tradition, we talk about the time outside time, you know?

Maria:

Mm. The time that could still be going on, you know?

Maria:

Mm-hmm.

Maria:

And I suppose we would have always known that time was circular, and

Maria:

it would've been- Mm … in the old carvings, the ancient ones, I mean, from-

Maria:

Mm … uh, Stonehenge, where you had the spirals and- Yeah … there's, uh,

Maria:

one spiral where there's three intersecting, and they call that, uh,

Maria:

you know, the, there's… People are just kind of surmising what does it mean,

Maria:

but one of the- Yeah the popular things that it's the life-death-life cycle.

Maria:

Mm-hmm.

Maria:

And how nothing is lost in that, you know, so.

Multiple speakers:

Right.

Multiple speakers:

Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

Right.

Multiple speakers:

Right.

Multiple speakers:

Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

Beautiful.

Multiple speakers:

Beautiful.

Multiple speakers:

A story to chew on.

Multiple speakers:

And I… Yeah, a story to chew on.

Multiple speakers:

And so, um, I'm wondering now- Denise, if that has lit something in you?

Denise:

I do wanna share.

Denise:

I'm not sure either one of you have heard this story.

Denise:

It is a story I tell a lot, and it is my, I call it my premier story with

Denise:

air quotes 'cause the first time I told it was at a community event, and we

Denise:

had index cards that you could keep.

Denise:

Oh.

Denise:

I'm not sure I actually used them, but I know I wouldn't have

Denise:

gotten through it without them.

Denise:

So, so

Denise:

anyway, so I consider it my launch story.

Denise:

And this story, this story, along with the person who asked, who s- didn't ask,

Denise:

she demanded that I be a storyteller.

Denise:

So between the person who demanded that and my need to tell this story,

Denise:

they, those are the two reasons that I became a storyteller, this story and

Denise:

the person that pushed me to do it.

Denise:

So with no- Love … further ado, uh,

Denise:

The story is Mariah, and, um, it's a story told to me by my mother about herself.

Denise:

When I was growing up, I heard so few stories about my mother.

Denise:

Hardly any stories about my mother at all as a child, and most of the

Denise:

stories that I did hear came from her.

Denise:

They were very, very few.

Denise:

I heard more stories from her when she was older in the years that she

Denise:

met my dad, but until then, they were so sparse, and I longed for them.

Denise:

I longed to know my mother as a little girl, to know more about her childhood,

Denise:

and I would beg her, "Please, Mommy, please tell me the story," that she told

Denise:

most often, the story called Mariah.

Denise:

And on this particular day that I'm going to share with you, she did tell me the

Denise:

story of Mariah, and she told me a second part that I had never heard before.

Denise:

At this point, I was about 13 or 14 years old, and I think she just

Denise:

thought maybe I was ready to hear it.

Denise:

And so very excitedly, because she had agreed to tell this story, I

Denise:

curled up in the big red reading chair, but also the listening chair,

Denise:

and waited expectantly for her story, and she began, my mother, Dorothy:

Denise:

Niecy, that's what she called me,

Denise:

Niecy.

Denise:

When I was a very little girl, I was seven years old actually, was seven

Denise:

years old, and it was 1927, and I would be tucked very tightly in a

Denise:

cot in a sparsely furnished room.

Denise:

The only light in the room came from the gas streetlights below, and across from

Denise:

me a few feet lay my recently widowed mother, also tucked tightly in a cot.

Denise:

You see, I know it was 1927 and I was seven years old because my

Denise:

dad had died just a few months before from tuberculosis, and now

Denise:

I was in the room where I came weekends only to be with my mom.

Denise:

I would be lying in this cot listening, listening desperately

Denise:

for sounds of life from her.

Denise:

Any sound of wheezing, gasping, but nothing but silence.

Denise:

"Mama, Mommy," I would cry out in my spirit, but I wouldn't say it out loud

Denise:

because, because I was afraid of no response, or really, what would I ask her?

Denise:

So I'd lie in bed, and I'd wait patiently, patiently for

Denise:

the coming of Midnight Mariah.

Denise:

Now, Midnight Mariah isn't what she was called.

Denise:

It was a train that came through New Haven on Saturday evenings about midnight

Denise:

every week, and Midnight Mariah is the name I gave her, and in my very

Denise:

young life, she had become one of the very few constants that remained.

Denise:

It was just sheer fear and daughterly love that kept me awake until midnight, and

Denise:

then, and then gently, before I saw her or heard her, there'd be this faint rocking

Denise:

in my cot, just ever so slightly swaying.

Denise:

And then, and then the big one-eyed light of Mariah would appear and

Denise:

light up the room momentarily.

Denise:

And then as she exited, she would lean on her horn, and I had heard the

Denise:

as she exited.

Denise:

But in that moment that there was light, I snuck a look at my mother, looking

Denise:

for the rise and fall of her chest, and then, and then gathering my courage,

Denise:

"Mommy? Mommy, did you hear her? Did you hear Aunt Mariah blow her big old horn?"

Denise:

And then after what seemed like an interminable silence, length

Denise:

of time, my mother would whisper, "Yes, Dorothy, I heard her.

Denise:

Now you get your rest.

Denise:

You'll need it for Sunday school tomorrow." Well, with that, with that

Denise:

comforted with the knowledge that God had spared me and my little sister, Edwina,

Denise:

your aunt, from being orphans at least for one more day, with that comfort, I

Denise:

turned to go to sleep, and, and when I closed my eyes, I would dream about the

Denise:

place that we would go when our family was healthy, when everyone was healthy.

Denise:

Well, I'm not sure it was dreaming.

Denise:

I- it might have been more like remembering, but anyway, it would

Denise:

be this place, it would be the place where the Queen Anne's lace and

Denise:

the blueberry bushes, they tumbled along the mountainside and spilled

Denise:

into the Connecticut River below.

Denise:

It was a place where the Victorian house sat high on the

Denise:

hill in Deep River, Connecticut.

Denise:

It was the home of my grandmother's sister and her husband, and when my

Denise:

parents had been healthy, in the summers and some weekends, we would go there

Denise:

as family and spend this time with them in this house that was full of wa-

Denise:

porcelain washbasins and down coverlets.

Denise:

It was filled with art and books and music and love and

Denise:

laughter, just like our house was.

Denise:

Our house in New Haven, where our family lived, that too was filled with books, my

Denise:

mother's great love, and art everywhere.

Denise:

The art was the work of my dad, and our house was abundant with

Denise:

love and laughter and good health.

Denise:

Well, I think on these evenings, on these weekends, I dreamt of the place in Deep

Denise:

River, not of our home in New Haven, because the last time I had been to Deep

Denise:

River, that house was still filled with all the abundance of life well-lived.

Denise:

But our house, our house had slowly been stripped by the illnesses that had come to

Denise:

visit, the tuberculosis that took my dad and the cancer that my mom was fighting.

Denise:

The books and the art were no longer a part of that home, and so

Denise:

dreaming of Deep River, dreaming of Deep River, it gave me a sense of

Denise:

comfort and, and hope for the future, remembering when life was well-lived.

Denise:

Well, Niecy, of course those weekend visits with my mom came to an end as

Denise:

she succumbed to the breast cancer.

Denise:

And with her passing, with her passing, your Auntie Edwina and I, overnight we

Denise:

had gone from the panache of being the daughters of Edwin Manning Yalie to

Denise:

the stigma of being wards of the state.

Denise:

And in 1927, you can believe that was a stigma.

Denise:

You see, when my dad was alive, my dad, he had an art studio

Denise:

on State Street in New Haven.

Denise:

You know State Street.

Denise:

He had an art studio there.

Denise:

And when I was a, a little girl, obviously, when I was a little

Denise:

girl he sometimes would take me there when he was healthy on the

Denise:

weekends and I would help him paint.

Denise:

You see, he was a sign painter, and as he was painting these signs and letting me

Denise:

help, he would say, "Now, Dorothy, I may have been a Yale School of Art student,

Denise:

but like most people with a fine arts degree, you gotta find something practical

Denise:

to do to earn a living. And folks always need themselves a good hand-painted sign."

Denise:

And this, Niecy, this is where he would also repeat, ugh, his oft-repeated mantra,

Denise:

"Now, you know, Dorothy, not everybody can afford to go to college, but it's a

Denise:

darn fool who doesn't get all the free education that's available to them" Well,

Denise:

when my parents were gone, remembering those words and knowing someone had told

Denise:

me that my dad had been able to squirrel a- away a little bit of money that the

Denise:

state wouldn't be able to touch, and that money was so that I and your aunt

Denise:

could go to college when the time came.

Denise:

The knowledge that there was a nest egg for me to do that, and the memory

Denise:

of those words, and the memory of our intact family with culture and art

Denise:

and music, that's what sustained me.

Denise:

That's what kept me holding onto my dignity, my sense of

Denise:

self, my sense of purpose.

Denise:

Usually, when my mother told me this story, it would stop here, and of course,

Denise:

my eyes would well with tears at the thought of living a life with no parents.

Denise:

But on this particular evening, she went further, and she started with what I call

Denise:

her only brag, and she brag- she bragged about this every time she referenced this.

Denise:

It started with, "In 1936, when I was 16 years old and starting

Denise:

teacher's college…" At 16 years old.

Denise:

You see, her only brag.

Denise:

"When I started teacher's college, with what was left of the money that

Denise:

my dad had left so that your aunt and I could go to college, and it wasn't

Denise:

really enough money to get me all the way through, and so I got a part-time

Denise:

job to supplement the cost of tuition.

Denise:

And I got this job, it was in the East Rock section of New Haven, and I worked

Denise:

as a weekend domestic and seamstress.

Denise:

And I really enjoyed this job.

Denise:

You know how much I love sewing, and it was a decent enough job, but there

Denise:

were two things that worried me.

Denise:

You see, the family, the mister and missus, they, they used to air

Denise:

their dirty laundry in front of me."

Denise:

Well, it was even worse than that.

Denise:

It wasn't like in front of me.

Denise:

It was almost like to me, like they couldn't wait for me to come so they

Denise:

can unload all the stuff that they wouldn't share in their social circle.

Denise:

You see, unburden, but still be able to wear the mask.

Denise:

This bothered me, 'cause it made me feel less than, and I wasn't

Denise:

interested in their dirty laundry.

Denise:

And the missus, the missus, when she would get tipsy, she would tell me even the

Denise:

most intimate details about her husband And her husband, well, when he was in his

Denise:

cups, and that was most nights after work, that's what she called it, he would leer

Denise:

at me in a way that made me feel unsafe.

Denise:

And so I knew it was time for me to find another job, a job that would give

Denise:

me the money to supplement my tuition, but would have a schedule that it

Denise:

would allow me to keep going to school.

Denise:

And so this one particular day, I'm walking along Ashford Street.

Denise:

Now, I have to tell you, I don't know why I was on Ashford Street in DC.

Denise:

It was way on the opposite side of town from where I lived, and nothing

Denise:

in my life had ever caused me to come over to that side of town.

Denise:

But whatever the reason, there I was, and I had in mind that I had to get this job.

Denise:

And I'm walking along Ashford Street, and even though I knew I had never been

Denise:

there before, it was hauntingly familiar.

Denise:

But nonetheless, in my walk, I notice a dry cleaners, and the dry cleaner

Denise:

has a sign in the window, "Presser wanted." Well, I knew I could press.

Denise:

No seamstress worth her salt, every seamstress worth her

Denise:

salt knows how to press.

Denise:

It's a significant part of being a good seamstress.

Denise:

And so with a little trepidation, I walk in.

Denise:

Th- this was an all-white neighborhood, and this was a white establishment,

Denise:

and much of New Haven was all white then, but some more all white than

Denise:

others, and this was one of those.

Denise:

And I go in, and behind the counter is a kindly eyed, blue-eyed

Denise:

man with bushy white eyebrows, and he looks kindly enough.

Denise:

And I approach him, and still with a bit of trepidation, I ask for an application.

Denise:

He hands it to me, and I fill it out.

Denise:

I hand it back.

Denise:

He mutters something, and I mumble something in response.

Denise:

I'm already defeated.

Denise:

I'm not gonna get hired in this establishment.

Denise:

I turn to walk awa- out, still keeping my pride intact.

Denise:

And as I approach the door and put my hand on the knob, the room begins

Denise:

to sway just ever so slightly.

Denise:

And then a ch, ch, ch, ch, ch…

Denise:

and one of the afternoon trains comes rumbling by, and I don't know,

Denise:

I don't know what that did to me, Niecy, but for some reason, it,

Denise:

it gave me courage or something.

Denise:

I can't explain it, but for some reason, I turned around and I yelled

Denise:

to the man, he was now heading to the back of the establishment.

Denise:

His back was to me, but I said, "Um, excuse me, sir. Um, excuse me.

Denise:

Could you tell me when I might hear something, you know, one way or

Denise:

the other?" He turns around, and my application is still in his hand.

Denise:

I don't think he had looked at it yet, but I grew strength from the

Denise:

fact that it wasn't yet in the trash.

Denise:

And then before he could say anything, I twirled around with

Denise:

again, with this confidence.

Denise:

I don't know where it came from.

Denise:

You see, I had on an accordion-pleated skirt that I had made, and I said to

Denise:

him, "I made this skirt myself, sir. I pressed all the pleats in myself.

Denise:

I'm not only a fine presser, I'm a seamstress. I can do alterations."

Denise:

Now, he looks down at the application.

Denise:

He looks back up at me

Denise:

"Manning?"

Denise:

he says.

Denise:

"Dorothy Manning?" "Yes." "Huh.

Denise:

Well, I knew a fine colored gentleman by the name of Edwin Manning.

Denise:

Any kin of yours?" And then, you see, the room was no longer swaying gently.

Denise:

It was spinning wildly.

Denise:

"My father," I whisper.

Denise:

"My father is Edwin Manning." "Why, he was a fine gentleman, M- Mr. Edwin Manning.

Denise:

Folk tell me he was a Yalie." I knew better than to respond to that,

Denise:

because I really needed this job.

Denise:

"You know, I bought this place from him," he says.

Denise:

And I look up at the industrial ceiling fan.

Denise:

Of course, it hadn't been there when it had been our home, the

Denise:

Manning family home in New Haven.

Denise:

When it had been our home, this had been a regular sitting room, our front

Denise:

parlor, and the walls had been lined with books and, and art, my father's art.

Denise:

And of course, he didn't have that commercial window in the front.

Denise:

This was our home.

Denise:

This was the home where years before I had been on just two flights up

Denise:

on the third floor, spending my last time with my mother before the

Denise:

thievery of cancer took her away.

Denise:

Our family home…

Denise:

"When can you start?" he says to me.

Denise:

And so it wasn't easy.

Denise:

And so it was that for the next two years, I sat in the back of my family

Denise:

home, now the dry cleaning establishment, I sat in the back in the kitchen with

Denise:

the heat from the pressing tables, I sat in the back doing gratefully and

Denise:

competently the job he had hired me to do.

Denise:

I sat in the back knowing, "Now, don't come out in the front to wait

Denise:

on customers, you understand? They may not understand, you understand?"

Denise:

And of course, I understood.

Denise:

And so it was that in 1936, I, I hid, I hid in the back in the kitchen, the

Denise:

kitchen of the home that my father had owned, and before him, my grandfather.

Denise:

In 1860-something, the home that a Black man, a Negro, a colored

Denise:

man had owned, and I sat in the back hiding, pressing clothes.

Denise:

And you know what?

Denise:

I was grateful.

Denise:

I was grateful that even from the grave, my dad and his mantra, "Get all the

Denise:

education you can," and the memory of Midnight Mariah rumbling by, they had

Denise:

made a way for me to do exactly that.

Maria:

Hmm.

Maria:

Oh, my goodness, Denise.

Maria:

What a legacy, Garlene.

Maria:

What a history.

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

Whoa.

Maria:

Does that put steel into the spine of Denise?

Maria:

I bet it

Maria:

does.

Denise:

You can imagine, when she first told me that, I thought, "All these

Denise:

years you've told me that story, you never told me the second part." Yeah.

Denise:

Said, "You had to be ready. I knew you'd have a reaction."

Multiple speakers:

Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

"You had to be ready." Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

Mm-hmm.

Multiple speakers:

Oh, my goodness.

Multiple speakers:

So… You know?

Multiple speakers:

Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

The power- Mm-hmm … of the ancestral stories.

Multiple speakers:

Yeah, yeah.

Multiple speakers:

So…

Denise:

And how trauma robs us of our memories, 'cause that story is

Denise:

actually the first story in a trilogy I do called Legacy of a Wealthy Slave.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

And as I said, that story I had been doing, 'cause I always wanted

Denise:

to tell that story for my mother.

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

And she wasn't alive when I told it, but, um, yeah.

Maria:

Oh.

Maria:

Thank you.

Maria:

So many resonances, you know, because- Yeah.

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

Well, thank you.

Maria:

My great-grandmother was born in, uh, 1878.

Maria:

'Twas the- Ah.

Maria:

Yeah, so she was- Yeah … a, you know, she was the generation

Maria:

after the, the famine that halved- Oh, yeah … the population.

Maria:

Okay, yeah.

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

You know?

Maria:

Mm-hmm.

Maria:

And I remember her- Oh my God, like the stories that she told of it-

Maria:

That's what I was gonna ask … she, yeah You heard the stories, yeah But

Maria:

I, like, you know, when you, when, when you hear those stories, you think

Maria:

to yourself are, a- and I remember her telling us this, that that blood

Maria:

that was in me that helped me survive that, that blood runs in you, Denise.

Maria:

Mm-hmm.

Maria:

That blood runs in you.

Maria:

Exactly.

Maria:

You know?

Maria:

Exactly.

Maria:

So, yeah, there is that.

Denise:

No, exactly, Maria.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

And without giving it away, the second part of the story, which obviously,

Denise:

um, is the story of an ancestor I never knew existed until two years ago.

Denise:

Oh my God.

Denise:

And, um, because of my mother being orphaned, all that family history was

Denise:

lost- Mm 'cause she was too young for anybody to have told her anything.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

And, um, and that story, if you think this one put steel in my

Denise:

spine- Mm … this, his story.

Denise:

In fact, I'm heading to his birthplace the end of this week so I can stand

Denise:

in the space and, and feel him.

Denise:

Uh, but thank you.

Denise:

Thank you for your-

Maria:

I, I have to hear that story now . That story must be heard.

Maria:

Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

I'm doing it for Adam Booth Speak on, on August 11th, which

Multiple speakers:

I think can be, is gonna be livestream.

Multiple speakers:

Oh, please.

Multiple speakers:

So I'll be doing the whole thing then.

Multiple speakers:

Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

Please send us the link so that we can attach it to, uh, the podcast for our

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listeners- Oh, wonderful … because like me- Yeah like me- Okay, will do.

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Thank you … there will be, oh, you have to tell me that story.

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You know?

Multiple speakers:

I, I will do.

Maria:

Because those stories, I suppose, are meat and potatoes to us, you know-

Maria:

Exactly … the, the whole, uh, one of the big functions of story is to

Maria:

give us the lesson so that we don't break our own backs trying to discover

Maria:

or reinvent the wheel, you know?

Maria:

Yes.

Maria:

So- Yes … um, yeah, you know, what, what, uh, what a legacy

Maria:

to come from, what a bloodline.

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

What, um, resilience, you know- Yeah … I just, I just- … bow before it.

Maria:

It's absolutely amazing.

Maria:

Oh, thank you.

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

Thank you.

Jim:

Denise, I, I wanna ask what might seem like an obvious question.

Jim:

Mm-hmm.

Jim:

But I'm not sure the answer's obvious to everyone.

Jim:

Mm-hmm.

Jim:

What do you think your mother was afraid of?

Jim:

That held her back from telling you the second part of the story?

Jim:

What was it that you had to be old enough to?

Jim:

And I- Oh.

Jim:

You know, I, I just wanna put that out.

Denise:

I love that you asked that, Jim.

Denise:

So of course, this was the '60s, and if you think what was going on in the '60s,

Denise:

um, and my parents used to say to me all the time whenever I would see stuff on…

Denise:

'Cause, you know, I was raised in Connecticut Mm-hmm And I would see stuff

Denise:

on television like the, the hosing of black folks and the, and the, the Freedom

Denise:

Riders, and I would get very worked up.

Denise:

And my parents would say to me, "That's why God had you born in

Denise:

Connecticut, 'cause you would not have survived. You're so feisty."

Denise:

And I confront everything.

Denise:

I, I confront social injustice.

Denise:

I did from a little, little, little girl.

Denise:

And I grew up in the early part of my life, I lived in the city,

Denise:

but m- most of my life I lived in white suburban Connecticut.

Denise:

And she was afraid for me to have to carry that story as I walked among my

Denise:

peers, knowing how I responded to things.

Denise:

I had to be at a place where I could take that and put it in context,

Denise:

and then… So that's, that's what it was And do, do you- Rather than

Denise:

feeling this anger toward… Yeah.

Denise:

Yeah.

Jim:

Do you think she didn't know that you knew that already?

Jim:

You know what I'm saying?

Denise:

Oh, here's what's interesting.

Denise:

I'm doing work on this 'cause this has always fascinated me, and I

Denise:

know so much more about it now.

Denise:

She knew I knew it.

Denise:

My parents made sure I understood racism and discrimination- and all that.

Denise:

And discrimination and prejudice, of course, happened to us all

Denise:

the time, but overt racism was something in my environment that

Denise:

only- I- … happened in the South.

Denise:

Gotcha.

Denise:

I had never had any evidence of it being, you know, clamping down that way here, and

Denise:

that was really my first realization that, okay, we, we know you couldn't do certain

Denise:

things, but, you know, we, we could go anywhere we wanted, as could my mother.

Denise:

In the 1920s in New Haven, there weren't restricted restaurants

Denise:

or theater or any of that.

Denise:

So that was the thing, was like I know it, but it was out there.

Denise:

Gotcha.

Denise:

And this brought it right into our family.

Denise:

Mm-hmm.

Jim:

Thank you.

Jim:

That's what I expected, but I think sometimes it's good to make that explicit.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

Thank you for asking that.

Denise:

Yeah.

Maria:

I, I think, like, you know, I suppose I would have a shade on that

Maria:

as well- because, of Irish history that would have been down to us

Maria:

through our stories in particular.

Maria:

And when you're, uh, telling a story, stories are such a safe place

Maria:

where you can say the unsayable and where things can unfurl.

Maria:

And there is a time in your life when something will put an imprint on you,

Maria:

and I know that there was stories that, that I only received when I had found

Maria:

my own steel spine, when I knew who I was, you know, um, so that you wouldn't

Maria:

be affected by the other making you less than because of where you were born- Yes

Maria:

you know?

Maria:

So- Exactly.

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

So there, there's this- That's exactly it, Maria.

Maria:

Yes.

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

You know, so- Yeah, thank you for that, Carla.

Maria:

Yes.

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

Exactly right.

Maria:

Exactly right.

Maria:

So- Yeah.

Maria:

Yeah … yeah, it's, it, it's amazing.

Maria:

Um- Mm-hmm … but then once the stories are s- told in the safe distance of

Maria:

story, and also in the geographical safe distance of where you were in Connecticut,

Maria:

then they become, you know, kind of a, a treasure, so they get changed,

Maria:

you know, to transformed, and that's another- Yes … great gift of story,

Maria:

the shape-shifting- Mm-hmm … you know?

Maria:

Yes.

Maria:

Yeah.

Maria:

Yes.

Maria:

So, like- Yeah … like telling that story with the, uh, pride, the due pride of a-

Maria:

granddaughter or a great-granddaughter- … who is so proud of their root

Maria:

is then becomes um, like a gift.

Maria:

So, and I suppose you can be aware of that gift even in the circumstances

Maria:

that you find yourself in this day.

Maria:

Oh, absolutely.

Maria:

You know?

Maria:

Absolutely.

Maria:

So you might kind of go, "Okay, that was a tough old day, but I

Maria:

survived it-" Mm-hmm … you know?

Maria:

Yes.

Maria:

Yep.

Maria:

And, and now I can tell it To like, you know, for me it would be the

Maria:

grandnieces and the grandnephews.

Maria:

Um, and, and I love that.

Maria:

And I love the way sometimes, uh, the way they told us the story was

Maria:

by the questions that we asked, and I don't know if this is familiar to you,

Maria:

Denise- … where you'd say, "Go on, Granny, tell me that story about…"

Maria:

You know?

Maria:

And she'd say, "Well, what do you want to know of it?" And in the

Maria:

what you want to know tells her how ready you are for the next hard bit.

Denise:

You are so right.

Denise:

You are so right.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

And the second part of my story in the trilogy, I bring us back to the period in

Denise:

my life when I'm five or six, when I would ask the specific questions of my mother.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

And, um, and out would come… And as I said, really I can't… You know,

Denise:

there were, like, two stories from her.

Denise:

Mm-hmm.

Denise:

Um, 'cause that's all there was.

Denise:

She was seven.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

All her stories were of death and dying.

Denise:

She- Yeah … chose not to share them with me and, and I'm not mad at her for that.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

So, yeah.

Denise:

Oh, as I said- when she met my dad, then the stories started again.

Denise:

But- Yeah … that period in between, that cleaner story is the only story

Denise:

I can remember her telling of her being in that age, from 16 to 24.

Denise:

That's, like, the one story.

Multiple speakers:

Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

Mm. Mm, mm. Wow.

Multiple speakers:

Do you know?

Multiple speakers:

Yeah.

Multiple speakers:

That's amazing, and I look forward to hearing more and

Multiple speakers:

more stories from you, Denise.

Multiple speakers:

Thank you.

Multiple speakers:

And of course, in the tradition, it has reminded me of a story.

Multiple speakers:

Um, so I will, I will tell you this story now.

Multiple speakers:

Please.

Multiple speakers:

And in- Okay … in our tradition, we change the names and the places, because

Multiple speakers:

we're a small island country, and it would be very easy for people to go

Multiple speakers:

back and go, "Oh, I know who that was."

Multiple speakers:

So, uh, so the names are changed, um, and the exact places in my city

Multiple speakers:

are changed, but here is the story.

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It was a time when the whole world seemed to be at war.

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They called it World War II.

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They called it the Great War, and in Ireland they called it the Emergency.

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And in my small little island country, who had just, uh, received her ability

Multiple speakers:

to be a Republic of Ireland once again after 800 years, we were not

Multiple speakers:

gonna get involved in that big fight.

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And in 1938, my mom was born into Cork City.

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Well, people tell loads of stories about that time, and

Multiple speakers:

this is one of those stories.

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There was a woman, and she came down from the west of Ireland.

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In the west of Ireland, we have very stony ground, and people subsist mainly

Multiple speakers:

on the fishing that they would get from there, or on the foods that they

Multiple speakers:

could get trundled in on the carts and the trains from the rest of Ireland.

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When she came into Cork City, she could not get over that butter was so freely

Multiple speakers:

available, and big floury potatoes, and fine, happy, healthy, laughing people.

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One of the things that you couldn't forgive somebody for

Multiple speakers:

in a time like that was being so multi-talented, and Nancy was that.

Multiple speakers:

She was a great seamstress, Denise, just like your people were, and she could

Multiple speakers:

make something from nothing in the larder so that it felt like a king's feast.

Multiple speakers:

She was able to buy clothes, and she was able to soak them in the carbolic soap.

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Then she'd unpick all the stitches.

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She'd turn the material inside out, and she'd make brand-new coats from it.

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Oh, she was the talented woman, and all the time she'd be singing

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songs as she was at her work And the women of Cork, they looked on

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her, and unkindly they labeled her.

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And they kept her out a little bit because Cork, even though it's

Multiple speakers:

my city, can be a clannish city.

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And if you knew the history, you would know the reason why that's so.

Multiple speakers:

And so they gave Nancy the name Nancy of the Notions.

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"That one, she have notions, so she does." She had notions for herself

Multiple speakers:

to become as educated as possible, and she had dreams for her children.

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Well, she had no children yet and no man, so she went to the local

Multiple speakers:

dances in the clothes that she'd made herself that looked as if they'd

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come off of the catwalk in Paris.

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And in those days, all the men would line up on one side of the room, and all the

Multiple speakers:

women would line up on the other, and they'd start playing the music, and the

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men would start smoking away, and nobody would be dancing because the women would

Multiple speakers:

be waiting for the men to make the move.

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Until, until the man said, "Well, now it's ladies' choice." And Nancy sailed across

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the room with eyes on only one man, Harry.

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Harry was a musician.

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His smile came easy.

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He was strong because he was a docker in Cork City and lifted barrels every day.

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And as she came across the room, and as they began to look into one

Multiple speakers:

another's eyes, the room disappeared for everybody but the two of them.

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He took her out for one dance, two dance, three dances, and the women of Cork

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said, "Look at her, the cheek, throwing the glad eye at our Harry, the most

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eligible bachelor in the whole parish." And it wasn't long before they were

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walking out, and it wasn't long before the banns of the wedding were read from

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the altar before they got married, and they settled in the marshes of Cork City.

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Oh, I can't even describe the marshes to you.

Multiple speakers:

To the outside world, they were deemed the, the worst of all of the slums in

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wartime Europe But to the people who came out of the marshes, well, they

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talked about the great heart that people had and how they helped one another

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out, and how they all had to, to, to, to, to depend on one another, to the

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extent that if the rent man was coming and you didn't have the money this

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week, you would say to your neighbor woman, "Tell him you haven't seen me."

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And then on the week that you paid your rent, you told

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him that you hadn't seen her.

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And they had one piece of precious cloth, and they saved

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it in blue paper and brown paper.

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And when this Donegal woven lace was on the line, you

Multiple speakers:

knew that there was big news.

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A child had been born or somebody had gone to meet their maker, because it was

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the first cloth that young skin would touch, the richest of what they had to

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offer to this new hope for the community.

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And it was the last thing to go under the chin of a dying person so that

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they knew they were still treasured as they went to see their maker.

Multiple speakers:

Well, Nancy could see all of this stuff going on, and where they could,

Multiple speakers:

they allowed that to happen, but they didn't make small talk with Nancy.

Multiple speakers:

They didn't make freedom with her, and she didn't mind because she had

Multiple speakers:

Harry, and then she had her ducks, one, two, three, and one on the way.

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And Harry came back with the awful news that there was no work in the

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docks They'd also put in an application that they might get one of the new

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houses that would be built on a hill in Cork City called Gránabráthar.

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Gránabráthar in the Anglicized version, it means the love of the brothers, for

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a monastery had been on that hill once.

Multiple speakers:

So they were hoping for this little house, and he came back with the

Multiple speakers:

bad news, and he said, "I'm going to have to go to England." And

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something in her stomach fell.

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"I don't want you to go," she said.

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"I don't want to go," he said, "but I have to go." "We may do," she said.

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"No," he said, "I won't have that said of my children.

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I'm going with the neighbor men.

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We all grew up together.

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All will be fine." But she hadn't grown up with them.

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She did not know who they were.

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He left on the boat, and he went to England, and as promised, in the first

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weeks, there was a letter every day.

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And they couldn't wait for the postman, so they'd run down the hill of Shandon to the

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post office, and they'd get the letter.

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And Mam would read the bits to the children that was meant for them, and she

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would hold to her heart the silent pieces that were meant only for her own eyes.

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And once a week, there'd be money in the envelope, and she'd take that

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money, and she'd roll it up in with all of the other money that he had sent.

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And she'd put an elastic band around it, and she'd put it into

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the middle of the tea caddy.

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Wouldn't he have a great surprise when he came home that she'd gathered

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this money, and they might even be able to buy a house of their own.

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And she made do with her sewing and her baking and all of the little

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fipperies that she could sell.

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But then the letters stopped coming every day, and then the

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weekly letters stopped coming.

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And then she got a letter here and there, and when she'd look, there'd

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be no money in it And then the letters dried up altogether, and she was fair

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concerned because it was going to be the confirmation of their eldest child, and

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he hadn't even thought to send a card.

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How would she explain that to their son?

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And she tried to keep their hearts up and their spirits going, and she got that

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little envelope saying that they were going to get a house in Gránabrougher.

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And they moved in, and that, that kind of kept her going for a while.

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And there was no money for furniture, so she bought the orange boxes from

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the traders down in the Coal Quay, and she brought them up, and when

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they stood up upright, and she put a cloth over them, that was their table.

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And when she laid them down on their side, that was their chairs.

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But with clever disguise, with a beautiful blanket that she had made

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herself, her place looked like a palace.

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And she lined her children up, and she made them look out the window on

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the top of the hill over Cork City.

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And as the glimmer man, the man who lit the gaslights of Cork City, as he made

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his way around, it looked as if there was fairy lights coming to life outside their

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window, and she'd say, "Look at that.

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What more riches do we need?

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We're looking out over the fairyland of Cork City." And her children

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knew nothing of how she was feeling.

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One night, after the glimmer man had been and lit the lights of the

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city there was a knock on the door.

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When she opened the door, she couldn't believe what she saw, for there

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was a policeman outside the door.

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Her hand went to her neck.

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Her breath left her body.

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"And tell me," she said, "And tell me, is there bad news about my

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Harry?" And the policeman said, "I can't tell you anything here.

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You'll have to come with me, madam.

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We're going to walk to the police station." So out she went, and she

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closed the door behind her, and it was a, a mark of how scattered she

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was that she left her children inside.

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In those days, as soon as you could talk, you were babysitting another child.

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But not in Nancy's house.

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Nancy had never left her ducks alone before, and they sat there now

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looking out through the banisters like steps and stairs on the stairs.

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She made her way down that hill of Cork, Cathedral Road it's known.

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Then they turned right onto Shandon Street, a steep hill, and they

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walked into the city and crossed the bridge to the Coal Quay of Cork,

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the trading place, and into the, uh, Garda station that was there.

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"Oh my God, Nancy Mair's hair. Did you see who's after coming into the

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garda station now? What did Nancy do?"

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Said all the people inside in the, inside in the Garda station,

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and she couldn't even hear it.

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She couldn't even feel it because she was so worried

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about the news that was to come.

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The policeman brought her to a back room in the Garda station, and when the door

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opened, there was the priest with his stole around his neck, and he offered a

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seat to Nancy, and she was taking it all in in one area of her brain while the

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rest of her brain was in scrambled egg.

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The priest was asking her to sit down, and he was standing.

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Had the world turned topsy-turvy?

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She took the seat because she was afraid that her legs would give way, and she

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said, "And Father, and Father, please don't make me wait, and tell me, and

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tell me, is Harry dead?" And the priest looked at her, and he said, "He's not

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dead, Nancy, but it might be better for you and your children if he was."

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"What are you saying to me, Father?" she said.

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«" Can't, I can't understand.

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What are you saying to me?" He came down, and he held her hands, and he asked her

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to call for the seal of the confession. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

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It's been two days since my last confession." And then he looked at the

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policeman, and he said, "Everything that goes on in this room now is

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under the seal of the confession."

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The priest took off his hat and put it under his arm, and he said, "And

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nothing is to leave this room."

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"I hear you, Father," he said, "and from this moment forward, I hear nothing." And

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he turned his back on the little scene.

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Then the priest said to Nancy, "When he was younger, when he

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was 18, he went to England.

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There he met a woman, and he got married in the Catholic Church.

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It is the first wedding.

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It came before yours, so your wedding is null and void in the eyes of the church."

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He put his hands on her shoulder then and he said, "I forgive you now in

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the name of God for sleeping with a married man, and I won't be telling

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anybody that your children were born on the wrong side of the blanket. Don't

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worry, he'll never come back here. He's been told not to set foot here."

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And she looked at him, and the news and her grief and the sorrow, uh,

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it wasn't even anger yet because she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

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And then the priest said, "Now, walk Nancy home." And as she was going out the

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door, he said, "I'll see you on Saturday."

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Saturday was the night for the confessions, and he knew she would

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have digested the information by then.

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The, the policeman walked her home, and all that she was thinking when she was

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going home was how much was in the tea box, how would she eke it out to keep

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her children going, that all her plans were gone, that her Harry was gone.

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And she went in the door to her home.

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But the priest was not finished yet.

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He called the women around, and he didn't tell them any lie, but he

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didn't give them any information.

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He said, "Harry's not coming home anymore. Nancy is rearing those children on her

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own." And Madge, with the cigarette always hanging out of the side of her

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mouth and one eye closed because she was so busy smoking, said, "Father, don't

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worry, boy. We'll take care of that."

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The next day, she arrived up at Nancy's door.

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And when Nancy opened the door, there was Madge, a sight to behold,

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with a big stew pot in her hand, and she said, "Listen now, girl.

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My fella thinks I'm a great manager, so he does.

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But I got all my measurements mixed up, and I made twice as

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much as I needed for the stew.

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So will you take this off my hands if you don't mind?

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And never tell a soul."

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That was the way that the women had to help one another out without

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bringing shame down on poverty, and they called this the silent hand.

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Well, Nancy knew what Madge was doing, and she said, "Thanks very much."

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And she took it with great gratitude.

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And as she was taking it in, Madge said, "I'll be wanting the pot back.

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That was a wedding present." And Nancy said, "I, I poured the stew in, into my

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own pots now." And she says, "No, no, girl, I'll come back for it on Friday."

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You see, that way Madge could keep an eye on her, and she could call into her.

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They could have the cup of tea, and they could get to know

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one another on a deeper level.

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Three or four days after that, Mrs. Duggan arrived up at the door.

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"Hello, girl.

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My fella's in off a legit over there in England.

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Didn't he go and buy clothes for the children?

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And I told him I was after buying the clothes down the Coal Quay.

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Well, imagine if they woke up on Christmas morning and had two sets of clothes.

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They'd expect two sets of clothes every year from that moment forward."

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So she gave the clothes to Nancy, and Nancy worked her magic on them,

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the carbolic soap, the unpicking with the little pin, and in the night

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when the children were in bed, she made them their Christmas clothes.

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On Christmas Eve, all of the women in their shawls were on the one side of the

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North Cathedral with all of the children, and all the men were on the other side.

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And when the mass was done, the priest came from the altar to have a talk with

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the flock, and he came to Nancy and he said, "How are you doing, girl? How

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are you doing?" And, Madge put her arm around Nancy and pushed her back, and

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she says, "She's doing great, Father. Sure, she's one of our own." The highest

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compliment you could ever get in Cork City, to be called one of our own.

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Sin é mo scéal.

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That is my story.

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I hope it landed with you.

Jim:

Oh, Maria Yeah.

Denise:

Indeed it landed, yes.

Denise:

Oh.

Denise:

Wow.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

Ooh.

Maria:

The girl who gave me that story, Denise, when she told me about

Maria:

the priest, I was like, "Oh my God," you know, righteous indignation.

Maria:

And she said, "No, no, girl." She said, "It was a different time, and

Maria:

you can be a tourist in time." Yeah.

Maria:

Mm-hmm.

Maria:

And she said, "That priest could have read my mother from the altar and let everybody

Maria:

know, and added to the shame." Sure.

Maria:

Mm-hmm.

Maria:

"Instead, we became part of the community, and everybody was our mam

Maria:

then, and everybody- That's right … was our dad," like, you know, and stuff.

Maria:

So yeah.

Denise:

Now, it's a great story about community, and it's, you

Denise:

know, and it also for me, um, it brings up what I love about story.

Denise:

Mm-hmm.

Denise:

Because the parallels of culture and communities that we often just don't

Denise:

know exist, 'cause you could pluck that story out of Cork and set it, I

Denise:

would imagine, all over the globe- Yeah

Denise:

And it would be the same story and the, and the same response.

Denise:

And I think too often, um, we don't know that about others.

Denise:

Mm-hmm.

Denise:

We think our, our experience is un- unique to this place, this time, this community,

Denise:

and so much of it is just shared humanity.

Denise:

Um- Yeah … that's beautiful.

Denise:

Beautiful.

Denise:

Thank you.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

Thank you.

Jim:

And, and to that point, Denise, one of the, one of the moments in that

Jim:

story that touched me- Mm-hmm … in that way was the, again, the priest.

Jim:

Okay.

Jim:

But also the neighbor women who had this wonderful dodge to help

Jim:

somebody without embarrassing them.

Jim:

Mm-hmm.

Jim:

Mm-hmm.

Jim:

And that is such a powerful Jewish tradition as well.

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Mm-hmm.

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So, as, and, and I don't mean- Whoa.

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I don't, I don't mean to say exclusively, you know?

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Yeah.

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But we can, we can, we can find that.

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How lovely.

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No, absolutely.

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Yeah.

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No, absolutely.

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Yeah.

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We, we s- As Maria was saying it.

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I'm sorry.

Jim:

The rule is that you shouldn't make somebody blush,

Jim:

even if your intentions are good.

Jim:

Mm-hmm.

Jim:

Because when you blush, your cheeks grow red because of

Jim:

blood that fills them, right?

Jim:

Mm-hmm.

Jim:

And that we call spilling blood.

Jim:

Oh.

Jim:

And you should never spill another's blood.

Jim:

I ne- And that- Wow.

Jim:

And so gossip is equated to murder.

Jim:

Wow.

Jim:

For a reason.

Jim:

Wow.

Jim:

Yeah.

Jim:

It- So it's, it's a powerful thing.

Jim:

Wow, that's, yeah.

Jim:

But yeah.

Jim:

Yeah.

Jim:

Like you say, it goes in every direction to every culture.

Denise:

It, it does.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

It does.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

Uh, it really brought back memories.

Denise:

I saw actual scenes where my mother and/or father were were, were having that

Denise:

moment with somebody who was in need.

Denise:

Mm-hmm.

Denise:

Um, yeah, and I remember, if I can digress a moment, I've

Denise:

shared with you where I lived.

Denise:

Mm. Um, there was a house at the beginning of the street which, you

Denise:

know, in our community everybody knew that they were… You just know.

Denise:

They're just the least affluent of everybody in the neighborhood, and

Denise:

they were the most overtly racist.

Denise:

And they came against a very hard economic time, and, um, friends of ours in the

Denise:

community were taking up a collection for this family, and of course, they, they

Denise:

came to our house, and I can remember the whole conversation that my parents had.

Denise:

And I guess what I will say is that it was just an act of not charitable giving,

Denise:

it was an act of, "This is what we do.

Denise:

We're blessed to have this-" … "and this is what we do-" … "when others

Denise:

need." And who they've been and what they've done have no bearing on what

Denise:

our responsibility is to community.

Denise:

And I'll never forget that moment, 'cause I thought, "How could they do

Denise:

that?" And, you know, anonymously and the, and the whole thing.

Denise:

Mm-hmm.

Denise:

So.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

It's amazing.

Denise:

So beautiful.

Denise:

Just a gorgeous, gorgeous story.

Denise:

Yeah.

Denise:

And there was so m- there was so much phrasing you used that I thought,

Denise:

"I won't write it down, 'cause if I do it might crop up in my story."

Maria:

I know.

Maria:

Well, you know, that's, that, that's the shared red thread, Denise.

Maria:

That shared red thread.

Maria:

You know, so yeah.

Maria:

Yeah, so

Denise:

I thought that was phrased so beautifully, so

Denise:

succinctly, and just captured it.

Denise:

Oh.

Denise:

Yeah, yeah.

Denise:

Thank you.

Denise:

You know- No, thank you for that.

Denise:

Mm.

Maria:

That we, I come from an oral, aural tradition, so a lot

Maria:

of stuff- Yeah, so a lot of stuff- Yeah … when it's said, I mean, I

Maria:

wish I could say they were my words.

Maria:

But, uh, oftentimes it, it's the words of the person who's told me, and I've,

Maria:

and I honor- Yes … you know, so yeah.

Maria:

You know, so yeah.

Jim:

Well, I am going to have to draw this to a close.

Jim:

Oh.

Jim:

As much as I don't want to.

Jim:

But, uh, it's the- The chatting has started now, Jim.

Jim:

The chatting has started- … and, you know, the world, that, one

Jim:

of those dimensions of time is about to come crashing down, so.

Denise:

Well,

Denise:

thank you for inviting me to this party.

Denise:

It is, it's, it's a joy.

Maria:

And I, I suppose on, on this, um, episode in particular, we'd love

Maria:

it if our listeners have, if it's, if it's pricked, uh, y- you know, something

Maria:

in you- Mm-hmm … and if you have a, a story to, to tell or a story that

Maria:

you're proud of, if you could leave it in the comments or send us an email.

Maria:

Oh.

Maria:

We read every single one.

Jim:

We read every single one.

Jim:

We do.

Jim:

We do.

Jim:

So it would be great.

Jim:

Oh, nice.

Jim:

Yeah.

Jim:

Great.

Jim:

Okay.

Jim:

Oh, I look forward to it.

Jim:

Yeah.

Jim:

Yes, and we look forward to the- Thank you so much … Thanks to another one of

Jim:

those dimensions of time- … by the time this appears, we can have a link to the

Jim:

storytelling that you do and share it-

Multiple speakers:

Oh, wonderful- the second one.

Multiple speakers:

Yes, I will send it to you.

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Great.

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All right.

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Great.

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So bye-bye, everyone.

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Yeah, thank you so much.

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Great seeing you both.

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You too.

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Okay.

Multiple speakers:

Have a great rest of your day.

Maria:

Will we say goodbye from Cork?

Jim:

And goodbye from New York, but only for a while because we'll be

Jim:

back again with another episode.

Jim:

Absolutely.

Maria:

We can't wait to see you on The Story Road one more time, and from this

Maria:

time till that, be safe on The Story Road.

Show artwork for From Cork to New York

About the Podcast

From Cork to New York
A cross cultural story bridge connecting the narrative traditions of Ireland and the United States - and beyond.
"From Cork to New York" acts as a cross-cultural Story Bridge, stitching together the rich narrative traditions of Ireland and the United States while welcoming guests from a vast array of cultures around the world. By gathering these diverse international voices to share their unique crafts, the show creates a rich space where global perspectives meet, mingle, and find common ground. At its heart, the podcast explores the concept of transformational storytelling, delving into how narratives - both ancient and modern - can foster community healing and personal growth across the globe. It serves as a vital digital thread connecting distant shores, using the deep-rooted ties between Cork and New York as a foundation for a truly global conversation.

About your hosts

Jim Brulé

Profile picture for Jim Brulé
Jim Brulé is a transformational storyteller, death doula, teacher, and mentor, drawing on a unique background that encompasses advanced degrees in both clinical psychology and artificial intelligence. For the past seven years, he has directed Transformational Storytelling, an online school accredited by the National Storytelling Network. This global community trains spiritual storytellers from diverse traditions to craft narratives that inspire healing and foster spiritual growth.

Co-authored with Rebecca Lemaire, his book 'Stories of the Heart' presents 18 global tales for navigating life and death. https://StoriesOfTheHeartBook.com/

Jim is the recipient of the 2025 Oracle Regional Service & Leadership Award (Northeast Region), and participated in setting the Guinness World Record for the longest continuous oral storytelling at the 2025 Marrakech International Storytelling Festival.

Jim's classes, workshops, and communities embody his dedication to multicultural wisdom, grounded in the belief that true abundance arises from interconnected generosity and gratitude. You can learn more here: https://TransformationalStorytelling.org/

Maria Gillen

Profile picture for Maria Gillen
Maria is the current Storyteller in Residence for the Kerry Writers Museum. She is a well known Bean An Tí (Irish Session Host) on the Irish Storytelling Circuit. She loves listening to stories and will tell a story at the drop of a hat. She loves co-creating stories with anyone ‘from the cradle to the grave’. She believes deeply in the power of stories to build communities, heal prejudice and to build resilience. She is a member of IACAT (Irish Association of Creative Arts Therapists). She is an award-winning storyteller, having won the longest-running Story Competition in Ireland - Finuge - twice and the Butter Roads Storytelling Competition.

Maria was the Irish Storyteller in Residence for Kerry Writers Museum from 2019 to 2022. She was the Artistic Director for the Listowel International Storytelling Festival 2020 to 2022. Maria is currently working as an archivist with Sheahan’s Storytelling Cottage in Finuge – a 300 year old traditional Rambling House in Finuge, Co. Kerry

She is a well-known popular storyteller on the storytelling circuit in Ireland and on the Cyberspace Platform. She is a well-known Bean An Tí (Irish Session Host) on the Irish Storytelling Circuit.

She is the preferred storyteller of Colette Travel Agency (the oldest existing travel agency based in the USA) for their premium storytelling experience in Cork. Maria delivers stories of Ireland’s Ancient East, Wild Atlantic Way, the Diaspora bond with America and the impressive history of Cork City and Cobh Harbour.