A 19TH CENTURY PHOTOGRAPHIC MYSTERY The Story of an Irish Immigrant

By Mary-Brigid Mahoney


I absolutely love everything about photography! Well, ok, almost everything. I would consider myself a landscape, flower, and macro photographer. There is something about nature and tiny, intricate universes that thrill me. Something that I have never enjoyed, however, is photographing people. Unless one is a teen obsessed with selfies (don’t get me started on that!), I have found that most people do not like having their photo taken. For me, one of the great joys of being behind the camera is that I do not have to be in front of the camera. What befuddles me is that everyone protests so vehemently yet, immediately after the shutter closes, they want to see the photo! It’s not that I take terrible photos of people. I have many lovely shots of my mother’s hands as they shield her face! I just cannot fathom the sudden zeal after the objection. It makes my head spin and so I avoid it as much as possible. The only thing that leads to head rotation more than this is when people discuss genealogy. One needs only say “second cousin once removed” and all the blood drains from my head and I feel faint. Recently, however, I came to understand how beautifully intertwined these two topics are and my appreciation of both grew a hundredfold. All due to a 19th century photo.

In 1914, at the age of 19, my grandmother left Ballyconneely- a small, picturesque farming and fishing village so far out on Ireland’s west coast that they like to say that the next parish over is Boston. After staying with her aunt in the North End, she joined several of her siblings in
Portland, Maine where she worked as a nanny and seamstress. Bridget met my grandfather, Jack, they married and settled in Boston where they raised their ten children and welcomed their thirty five grandchildren. My cousin, Linda, is our family’s genealogist and she does an amazing job. I am in awe of her skill and patience. She has spent many years meticulously researching our family and has compiled such a wealth of history that we are all greatly in her debt. While exploring our family’s connections in Portland, Linda began conversing online with a woman who was coincidentally searching for similar information. She had found our distant cousin, Stephanie! (I would try to explain exactly how she is related but, because of the aforementioned vertigo, I will refrain!). Linda travelled to Portland, met many relatives and toured the Maine Irish Heritage Center where Stephanie is a board member. Located in the historic St. Domenic’s Church, the Center’s mission is to preserve the history of Maine’s Irish community. St. Domenic’s is also the home of Maine’s Irish Genealogical Center, Museum, Archive, and Library.


While perusing eBay, a genealogist discovered a photo from the late 1800’s taken by a Charles W. Hearn. The listing simply said, “Mary Kelly, Portland, Maine.” Intrigued, the Center bought the photo and they were shocked that on the back was an address. (In an amazing coincidence, one of the Center’s genealogists currently lives there!) Research yielded the name of a wealthy merchant who resided at this address in the late 1800’s but Mary Kelly was not listed as an occupant so it was surmised that she was an Irish immigrant maid. They assumed that they had reached a dead end because there were four Mary Kellys living in Portland at that time. Then, a genealogist recalled mention of a Mary Kelly in a narrative that had been donated. Review of this document revealed that this woman came to Portland in 1880 and worked as a maid for 10 years before returning to Ireland, married Michael Cloherty and had nine children. The accompanying photo, by Charles Hearn, proved without a doubt that the mystery had been solved. The creators of this narrative- my cousins Linda and Stephanie. And what of Mary Kelly? She is our maternal great grandmother.

On their own, one is just a photo of an Irish domestic, the other, a story. But paired, they breathe life into each other and Mary Kelly rises as a vital part of our identity. While I may never understand portraiture or genealogy, I am grateful. I am grateful for Mr. Hearn, a 19th century artist who forever captured the visage of Bridget’s mother; for the diligence of Portland’s genealogists. I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my cousins, artisans of their discipline, whose love of family has given the most precious of gifts- Grandma Cloherty.

Lá fhéile Pádraig sona dhuit!