The lot of the soldier's wife was unenviable

   So little was etched into the written record about our great-great-great grandmother, Mary McDonnell (1794–1869), the earliest known of our ancestors in this line from the county of Mayo. Of course, the system of record keeping favoured male heads of household, tradesmen, and soldiers. Women tended to fall off the archival radar.

   While we are fortunate to have been able to trace our McDonnell line back to 1794, gaps remain between the few bits that are known to us. Limited information, interspersed by extended intervals, can frustrate the interpretation of events, an understanding of what led to next, and even the ability to hazard a guess as to why things happened the way they did.

   Such is the case during the last half of Mary Burke's life. In a very short span of time, her husband died—leaving her with limited (if any) financial resources, her daughter was married in haste (a blessing in disguise), and her son was given into the armed service at the tender age of thirteen years. Her children entrusted to the care of others, Mary had only to worry about herself.

   What were the alternatives available to a forty-five year old widow? Relief from the parish was a remote possibility, but the population was transient, and thus the coffers likely suffered. There was the workhouse, but everyone knew that once you went through those doors, chances were you were an inmate for life—with a reduced life expectancy at that. There were only a few options remaining for a woman of middle age: laundering, hawking, the peddling of wares.

   The lot of a soldier's widow was unenviable.

Link to biographical sketch for Mary Burke née McDonnell (1794–1869).

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© Alison Kilpatrick, 2015. All rights reserved.
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"The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there."—Lesley Poles Hartley (1895–1972), The Go-Between (1953).

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