The Middle

It is said there are three sides to every story. Your side, my side and the truth. The principle of polarity explains that opposites stem from one thing, with a place they meet in the middle – called neutral. So why do people fight for control?

I asked my father one day what it was like for his family to experience divorce in the 1950s. An unexpected answer came with his reply. He said his father was there each weekend, making it an everyday thing. Still, I wondered about my grandmother. She was a woman who stepped outside of the norm and experienced a contrasting side of things. It was the 1950s when people fit into the All-American Family, with divorce an uncommon thing. Centuries ago, people also were persecuted when they didn't fit in.

My DNA is English, Irish, and Scottish. A trait must have been acquired to view things as normal or stay unconscious of what is underneath. The characteristic that stands out is where we go outside the circle and experience things differently. When I told my cousin John our Irish itinerary would lead us from Northern Ireland to the south in County Cork, he recognized this must be our family as it stretches coast to coast. This is from where our grandmother Marjorie's family tree grows.

Our Irish hike began along the Antrim Coast, where legend says an angry giant tore up chunks of this northern land and hurled them into the Irish Sea, paving a bridge to Scotland. I lean into a mighty wind and peek over the cliffs that drop a hundred feet below, watching the untamed sea crash against the flank of Ireland. The day before, we hired a local guide in Derry, hoping to learn where our ancestors first arrived. Instead, we learned of a more modern time essential to understanding Ireland.

Alexander Rankin, my 9th great-grandfather, was born in 1636 in Ayrshire, Scotland. The Rankin name originates from the Chieftain Clann Mhic Rating and is a sept of the Clan McClean of Duart. Known for the number of bagpipers produced, they were musicians and attendants of the clan. The 17th century was called the "Killing Times" in Scotland when Protestants were brutally persecuted as a religious minority. Alexander and his family were forced to flee in 1688, arriving on the northern shores of Ireland. This migration group, Ulster Scots, were humble farmers and came to work the rugged land. Peace was short as Alexander and his son William took part in the Siege of Londonderry in 1689 when it was besieged by Catholic King James II. They defended the walls for 105 days until William, King of Orange, relieved the siege. Alexander Rankin became one of the signers of the petition of thanks to the Protestant King for his timely assistance.

Our ancestry became insignificant, being led through Derry by our Schein Fein guide. He shared more recent stories of life outside the walls and accounts of where divisions grew. The Troubles were a violent conflict impacting Ireland for 20 years that began as a civil protest demanding equal rights in 1968. The other side was accused of gerrymandering to exploit their political control. It sounded like a familiar story with US politics starting their own tug of war. On that cloudy afternoon, I stood outside Derry's walls where the conflict grew and listened to our guide tell of how his neighbors heard the first gunshot ring. Seeing the memorials and murals surrounding the site are a constant reminder of what happens when two sides divide to an extreme. Here still pain remains.

Needing a day off from Irish history, John and I began our coastal walk, wondering how our 17th-century ancestors are seen today. I was uncertain whether to be proud or embarrassed by our heritage, as religion and politics have complicated it. Our roots are no longer persecuted but are now a source of control.

I push myself into the Irish gale when a local walking club starts to pass us by. Two men greet us, their names are Billy and Thomas, and we begin to walk alongside. The next thing I know, a playful gust of wind lifts Thomas' cap off his head, and Billy starts to chase the hat along the cliff's ridge. It would be easy to fall with a fatal end. If sprites exist, the next thing proves it so. I watch the animated wind repeatedly tease him along the 100 ft drop while my stomach rises to my throat. The sprite pulls the hat away each time Billy reaches past the middle ridge of land and sea. Then in one final effort, with a foot on the ground and his body poised in the air, he grabs the brim determinedly. Billy smiles and casually hands Thomas his hat. He states, "My friend would not have been happy on this hike without his cap." John and I remained silent because there was something remarkable about what we saw. We witnessed a man with unshakable balance along the ledge of Ireland. A fearlessness we had not seen before. 

My stomach returns where it belongs as we ramble down the trail, taking in peaceful green fields with sheep on one side and a wild blue sea on the other. We arrive at a local pub to celebrate the end of our hike. With a Guinness in hand, Billy, Thomas and their friends reveal a few things. They are a walking club of retired police officers from Belfast who share stories of the Troubles from a side of government control, including how it became routine to check for bombs under their cars with morning coffee and the need to take helicopters to work when roads were unsafe to travel through. Street fighting, sniper attacks and bombs evolved into normal and every day. I listened closely, thinking about Billy, the cliff and the hat. It was clear that Billy was not afraid of death because he had already been to the edge, knowing where the middle might be.

Depending on whom you ask, a wrong and a right side exists. It is best to remain neutral as a tourist, especially in a pub in Northern Ireland. One fellow leans in, asking my view of Trump, ready to shift from Irish history to an American political debate. Withholding my recent US activist efforts, and opinions of what I learned about the Troubles the day before, I change the subject to something lighter in tone. 

John and I drive the next day to County Cork on the southern coast, where additional family roots are to understand. Beginning with Richard Cox, Bishop of Ely, born in 1500. During the Tudor time, he was a well-known English clergyman and chaplain to Henry VIII. He was said to have a hot temper, wanting power to constrict those different from him. Later he was an active supporter of the Reformation, a Protestant cause, having little patience for Puritans. But it was Michael the Adventurer, his great-grandson, my 9th great-grandfather, the first Cox to arrive in Ireland in 1600 from Wiltshire, England. He grew considerably wealthy, though he was dispossessed in the Irish Rebellion of 1641 with little remaining. Yet, this family did see prosperity again. 

His son, Richard Cox, was born in 1624 in Kilworth, Cork, Ireland and was a valiant Captain in the English army. He married Katherine Byrd, and they had one child, Sir Richard Cox, 1st Baronet, born in 1650 in Bandon. His father, Captain Cox, was murdered with a pocketknife while walking down the street by an officer with a grudge. Katherine died soon after, likely caused by grief. This left Richard orphaned at three years of age to be raised in County Cork by his grandfather, Walter Byrd. In Richard's autobiography, he mentions his mother, Katherine Byrd, as "an ingenious and pretty black woman." Black Irish was once used to describe people of Irish origin with dark features, black hair, a dark complexion and dark eyes. Traits that several of my family members still share. 

Richard was not idle and grew a fortune as a respected lawyer and judge. He was knighted by King William in 1692, made Baronet in 1706, and authored an early history of Ireland from an Anglo-Irish view. Of many attainments and titles, he was known as a historian and Lord Chancellor of Ireland. He married Mary Bourne, who was only fifteen, and they are said to have had 21 children together. In his autobiography, he admits he may not have married her if he'd known how small her fortune was, the source of a bitter family quarrel with his mother-in-law. Richard is described as enjoying good food and drink, loving music and fine clothes, and having a lively and charming personality. Though his character was honest, his prejudice against Catholics meant he could not be impartial in cases of religion.

The narratives of the Rankin and Cox families advance into the 18th century when they meet and leave Ireland. Joshua John Cox and Mary Catherine Rankin, my 6th great-grandparents, married, then migrated with other Ulster Scots to America. Arriving in Pennsylvania in 1700, they settled in Virginia along the New River Valley. Lieutenant David Cox, my 5th great-grandfather, spent the next several years on the Virginia frontier in the French & Indian War, a conflict between European settlers and Indian tribes. His brother Captain John Cox was captured by Indians, held hostage, and wrote of his escape. Despite the neverending perils, including their house being set on fire by Indians, these families endured continuing this family tree.

On our last day, John and I stood on a serene beach in Clonakilty, Cork, Ireland, feeling at home, consumed by history. Our ancestors migrated many times over one century, experienced their share of extremes and maintained the fortitude to survive adversity. Yet, there is one final branch of Marjorie to share. It has nothing to do with Ireland, but it is vital to know, as it leaves us with a symbol for something more.

“An instant of excitement, the sailors ready to fasten the boat. It touches the rock! The woman who stood foremost at the bow on the way over springs from the boat, catching at the hands of the nearest man to steady her foothold on the slippery stone. The keen wind and spray have dashed color in her cheeks, the sun's brilliance on the snow reflected in her eyes...” – Mary Soule Googins, Women of the Mayflower

Mary simply wanted to get off the boat. It had been a dangerous voyage of 66 days until they finally reached land and sat in Provincetown Harbor for more. Her father, James Chilton, my 11th great-grandfather, had died just eight days before. He was the oldest passenger on the Mayflower and signed the Mayflower Compact, setting the first set of few rules for living in the New World, though he did not step ashore.

He lived as an English tailor in Canterbury, Kent, England and became a freeman by gift in 1583. With Separatist views, he and his family moved to Sandwich in 1600 upon his wife being excommunicated from the Church for attending a private burial. Hoping to worship as they pleased, they met other Mayflower passengers drawn into the Pilgrim movement. Known as Puritans, they were outliers and a persecuted minority. They felt courts were corrupt and questioned the religious authority of the Church of England, with the Monarchy being the head of both Church and State, preventing them from getting closer to God. As persecution persisted, they fled to Leiden, Holland, where new obstacles arrived. In 1619, James and his daughter Isabella, my 10th great-grandmother, were caught in a riot when 20 boys began throwing rocks at them. James started to speak up and was hit in the head with a large stone, requiring the services of the town surgeon.

Adventures to an unfamiliar land were familiar to the Chilton family. They are of French descent. The name originated from the chalk cliffs of Dover or the Crusaders when Robert of Normandy embarked for the Holy Land, and titles were bestowed. When William of Normandy set sail for the conquest of England in 1060, Sir John Chilton was inscribed on his banner roll. It was normal to leave everything behind. And with considerable courage and faith, on September 6, 1620, the Pilgrims set sail on the Mayflower for a New World, including James Chilton, his wife and youngest daughter, Mary. Mary's sister, Isabella and her husband would arrive later with the remaining Leiden contingency. 

So, when Mary Soule Googins wrote the description above in quotes, Mary Chilton simply wanted to get off the boat. The world was likely to feel crumbling at her feet. When the chance arrived, she let her spirit break free without care of what a proper Puritan woman might do. She stood at the front when the dinghy touched the rock and sprang from the bow — becoming the first female to set foot on Plymouth Rock.

Not an everyday thing.

Her mother died in that first winter of sickness, leaving Mary orphaned at thirteen in the New World. In genealogy, it is rare to find records of women in history. Women had few rights, wills or property for centuries, but Mary was an exception. She was given three shares in the land division in 1623 and recognized as one of two women from Plymouth who made a will. Some say her step on that rock was the first for women's rights in the New World. With a tangible monument of freedom next to her name, she is my 13th great-ancestor. 

These three branches of Marjorie Leonard are part of one thing, a family tree. Each branch has two sides and a middle, serving us differently. When my grandmother divorced in the 1950s, she experienced her side of things. I am still determining what they are. Yet, after revealing the stories of our ancestors, I see how we may have earned a family trait. Which is, on occasion, to be chill.

It is also called the middle, where two things come together at the topmost edge with a ridge. It is the place one stands to encounter freedom without control.