Gillardstown

 

My grandfather was called John Gillard. So was my father. So is my brother. 

To hear the name, I wonder where you would place it geographically? It sounds pretty English to me: Frank Gillard and Ian Gillard being well-known bearers of it. There used to be Gillard's Pies somewhere near Luton. I've had one: they weren't bad.

Also, if you have lived in France, you probably met a Gillard or at least a Gaillard.

But our John Gillard wasn't from England or France, and had a readily identifiable accent. It would probably give you a clue if I said my other grandparents were called Quinn, Kilmartin and Nolan. Yes, 100% Irish. Well, not quite 100%, or they wouldn't have been called Gillard.

In 1798, on the basis that 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' (and maybe some vague pan-Catholicism), Bonaparte sent a fleet (well fleet is rather giving them the best of it - there were three ships) with squadrons of marines to assist the Irish rebels in overthrowing or at least seriously winding up the forces of the Crown. 

And on the basis that there were no Gillards in the area before the invasion and by 1950 there were about 200, it is clear that a Gillard (or possibly two brothers) decided not to return to France after the rising was eventually harshly put down. The French marines were being allowed to return, but clearly at least one of them saw better prospects in County Mayo.

So now, in and around the village of Bonniconlon, about 14 miles from where the 'fleet' landed, there are lots of us Gillards, and one particular township was the one where we used to spend summer holidays with our Granny and Aunt and Uncle and cousins in our childhood. Here are some Gillards in about 1960. That's my Grandfather, Father and Brother. I love that one.

The township was called Rathreedane, but Irish being a bit tricky, my Dad always  pronounced it 'Roary-Dawn', as did we. I think that's how you say it properly in a Mayo accent.

We used to travel over from Leeds (with loads of other families) and there were many lovely differences and things that I remember still. Turf smoke; huge lichen-covered boulders in the fields; peat-dark streams bubbling like Guinness; Guinness itself; the horrible taste of milk still warm from the cow.

But what I was most struck by was that everyone had two first names and didn't seem to have a surname.  You went round to Paddy Billy's or Mickey Charlie's or such. It was only many years later that I realised it was because nearly all of them had the surname Gillard, even though they were safely non-consanguinous. So if you said 'Go round to Paddy Gillard's the reply would have been 'Which one?' So I didn't really realise how much of a Gillardstown it was until I grew up.

But it does mean that if I meet an Irish Gillard they are quite likely to be related to me, as we have been busy, regional and fertile. And eventually, the local people decided to put an actual sign at the end of the Boreen to guide, I suppose, distant emigrant returnees. And that is the sign at the top of this post. Welcome to Gillardstown