The story of Chief O'Neill owes a great debt to his great-granddaughter Mary Lesch. It was Mary who followed through on family stories and hunted down her famous ancestor's unpublished manuscript. Then, with the aid of Chicago historian…

This year marks an uneasy halfway for me—I have been in Australia for as long as I lived in Ireland. So where does that leave me? The truth, I have come to realise, is somewhere in between. In Australia, I am regarded as Irish. My accent, parlance, even my ‘writing voice’ are often differentiated as such.…

I have been asked many times about Galway, a city in the west of Ireland that I once called home, but I say nothing, not knowing where to begin. But the passing of a dear friend shed some light on my dilemma, and I now know just where to start this love story.

(Left: The Spanish Arch in Galway…

I’m about to embark on a grand adventure, and I feel almost like one of my own romance novel heroines!

Tomorrow marks the beginning of my Wild West Irish Tour…

I once held the conceit that Maureen O'Hara was my mother. So it came as both a surprise and a delight to come across a picture of the deservedly famous Irish redhead standing alongside my father.

In the photo above, Dad is standing, third from left, next to film star Maureen O'Hara. To Dad's right is a…

Ireland has been calling to me for many years and last month I finally answered.  My sister, Gloria, our life long friend, Valerie and my newphew Chris and his girlfriend, Morgan, spent nine days (not nearly enough time) visiting Dublin and Northern Ireland and we even made a day trip to Glasgow and Edingburgh,…

When at 18 or 20, or in my case 24, you fly away on the adventure of a lifetime, you aren't thinking of your future self. When I first winged my way to Australia, I had no inkling where it would lead. Or all the losses it would lead to. For me. For my future husband. For our future children. For our…

The more presentations I make of my book, HIMSELF, A CIVIL WAR VETERAN'S STRUGGLES WITH REBELS, BRITS, AND DEVILS, the more readers and commentators lead me to read further and think deeper. If I were to rewrite this historical novel, I would include episodes depicting how poorly received were Northern veterans upon returning home, how much they were forced to turn to one…

The first time I fell in love was in the children’s section of Brooke Park library. I was 11 and she was 10, and her name was Josephine and she had so many freckles on her face that she was a haze of delight.

It didn’t take long for me to work out that she changed…

I still remember the whole thing like it was yesterday. Summer of '73 and me standing on the kitchen table in my Uncle Dan’s house in Forest Park singing Bad, Bad Leroy Brown and the whole place…

'Christmas is coming; the goose is getting fat.

Please put a penny in the old mans’ hat.

If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will…

His name was Eoghan, and I never did catch his last name. A solid year spent with the desultory coming and going of this enigmatic man through the door of The Galway Music Center, and I came to accept him as Kieran’s friend from Derry. Kieran rarely explained himself, much less anyone attendant, and because he was the…

I’m partial to the west coast of Ireland for its myriad wonders, which appear in small towns that are hidden like gemstones in neat grids of logic separated by rambling, idle roads. There are worlds within worlds in these Irish small towns: history and lineage and myth and folklore, meaning so resonate and full of…

Even on the best of days, when the weather is temperate and the sky soft and cloudless, Galway City has a worn, secondhand feel to it: an historic, pensive, erudite quality everywhere you roam down its serpentine streets. But there’s also an energetic undercurrent to Galway that seems to thrive on the idea of opposites,…

It was nine o’clock on a Sunday night when Johnny Og came to collect me, and it was raining—not one of those misty, soft rains, as is often the case on the west coast of Ireland, but one of those howling, unforgiving, relentless downpours that comes from no discernable direction, save for the threatening sky overhead.…

In 1965, my father, at the age of 60, decided it was time to find his Irish roots. The only problem was that one of his daughters was to be married late that summer. My mother declared he could go, but to give her some relief, he would have to take their youngest child with him, which was their 11-year-old daughter. This is how…

"Our past shapes us and makes us what we are" was a favorite adage of my late grand-mother. To qualify this, she would add, "My tough background gave me strength of character which enable me to cope with what life had in store for me…" For many, our past is in another country. As we live life, we experience many different…

 Childhood memories if School . In Ireland school days commenced at the age five years . I was born in the January – so I was five and a half years old when I started school/ I followed my older sister Ronnie [Veronica] and brother Pat [Patrick or Watser- his nick name] who also attended St Patricks National School Bray Co Wicklow . Pat however had been transferred up to St Cronins School boy’s school before I started school. My mam ; aunts and uncles all attended St. Patricks R.C School…

After traveling from the new Terminal 2 at Dublin Airport to Galway on a GoBus luxury coach I needed to contact my brother as we had arranged. My American cellphone could not get service. I am…