THE IRISH WAKES, Our Yesterdays, Jefferson Co., MT

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"List transcribed and organized by Ellen Rae Thiel, thieljl@aol.com All rights 
        reserved."

  Copyright, 1998 by Ellen Rae Thiel. This file may be freely copied for non-profit 
        purposes. All other rights reserved.

                              THE IRISH WAKES

Dearest Mama,

Last week a dear friend of mine died in a tragic accident. He was
found and brought to his mother s home by a group of men from the
neighboring ranches. His mother knew without asking that was
hopeless by the sad looks on their faces. Soberly, they carried
his broken body into the house and laid him on a bed. Her sobs
filled the house. I tried to comfort her as best I knew how, but
felt that my attempts were futile for there was no consolation
for the loss of her son.

We sat numbly in the kitchen when the men had gone, one heading
out quickly on horseback to fetch is wife to stay with the man s
mother. Before long, he arrived with three women to help with the
task of preparing the body for burial. They went into the bedroom
and began to bathe the poor soul and dress him in his best
clothing. They lovingly combed his hair and mustache and fixed
his face with talcum powder. One of the ladies cleaned and cut
his work-worn fingernails and when they were finished they folded
his arms gently across his chest. The men all this while had
began building him a coffin, putting forth all their skill and
energy to provide him with a decent burial. Some of them began
digging a grave with picks and shovels, taking turns resting, for
it was hard work in the firm sod of the little churchyard.

I don t tell you this to displease you, Mama, but only to try and
explain how very different things are here in the Boulder Valley
from the way they were back East. The people are for the most
part Irish, hardworking and equally hard playing. Their burial
rite is called a wake or waking which means simply staying awake
and vigilant so the dead will not be alone. The bereft family is
not left alone to mourn because as soon as their friends here,
they begin to come in to take turns staying with the family until
after the burial, which usually takes place in two or three days.

We now have a cemetery behind the church, but before that the
dead were lead to rest in a sheltered spot on their homesteads
and the mounds were marked with stones or a cross. During the
wake, the women worked very hard, cooking for all the people. It
seemed they started the next meal before they had the dishes
washed from the previous one. The plates were never put back into
the cupboards but instead were set right back on the table, in
place for the next meal. A whole venison was consumed in three
days, the meat prepared by boiling. Potatoes and gravy and
various dishes brought in by visitors rounded out the meals. 
They ate much more lavishly than usual as no one came empty
handed and the assortment of fare was unbelievable.

The mother spent most of her time visiting and cooking, and was
really kept too busy to mourn. During the night, the womenfolk
wearied of visiting and lay down beside their sleeping children
all through the house. Some of the menfolk had gone home to do
their chores and would return before the night was over. The men
stayed awake by playing cards, Blackjack and poker, I think, and
reminiscing over the events in the life of the deceased. He was
such a good man and a good friend to all. Everyone had tales to
tell, which, of course, became taller as the night wore on and
the barrel of whiskey dwindled. The party became more raucous as
dawn approached, everyone getting louder and wilder. Some of the
friends decided to dance to stay awake. They simply pushed the
casket off to the side and brought out a fiddle. The stomping
wakened some of the womenfolk who arose and fixed breakfast. It
would soon be time to leave for the church.

At the graveyard, each person threw a handful of dirt on the
lowered casket. Two of the men stayed behind to complete the
task.

The Irish, being of the temperament that they are, didn t mourn
long. Life was for the living, and as they left the church two
wagons took off at a dead run and raced back to the house, I
think to se if there was still a drop left in the keg. They were
joined by the rest of the mourners, who would eat yet another
meal there before returning to their homes.

I know things are different there, Mama, and death is so very
somber and serious and properly mourned. Here, the people accept
death as a part of life, and even in death a person is treated
exactly as he was when he was living. His friends included him in
on the conversation even though he lay still and couldn t talk
and laugh back. They played cards as they had done only the week
before, but this time he held not the winning hand. And they
drank to his demise, to his life, to his happy future ...
somewhere.

God willing, I ll die in the Valley of which I have become a
part. And when they have laid me out and waked me, you will know
that I have died as I have lived....amongst friends.

                         Your loving son.