My Heart Belongs To The World

Never once in my childhood did I ever question my national identity. I was born and brought up in Liverpool, England, so I always took it for granted that I was English. The only indirect giveaway that I was of Irish descent I can recall was when my mother explained to me why I was always called by my second Christian name rather than my first.

"It was because whenever I took you to see your father's side of the family his mother would see me arriving and announce 'Oh, here's Ann with Little King Billy.' I did not want you to be connected in any way with that historic Irish SOB."

During those early years, especially at school, I was aware that we were different. For a start, we came from a bigger family than most. I think maybe the fact that there were so many of us made some people feel fearful and insecure.

My mother had eight children, despite being advised after the birth of the second to not have any more for health reasons. Mum lived on to the ripe old age of eighty-four. I would wager that the doctor who had advised Mum in those early days had passed away a lot sooner than her.

In time, I became aware that both of my parents's surnames were Irish. And I was reliably informed that on both sides of the family, my ancestors were Kings of Ireland. As one Irish historian I once met remarked, I had more right to be on the throne at Buckingham Palace than Elizabeth the Second. I did briefly consider mounting a challenge to Liz, but on reflection decided against it.

One of the great ironies of my later childhood years was that due to being of Irish descent, we were unfairly labeled as troublemakers. And for this, we were often given a hard time, by English troublemaking neighbors. The fact was that we were a very peaceful lot outside of the house if we were left alone.

In time I moved away from Liverpool altogether to explore the country and the rest of the world. Quite by chance, one day I happened to visit Ireland and I have to say it was revelatory. There was just something about the people and the environment that made me feel totally relaxed and at home. Now this did come as something of a surprise, and that was because it was during the period of the troubles in Northern Ireland. Throughout that difficult period, the media constantly bombarded us with how much the Irish hated us. For this, we half expected to be met in Ireland with guns drawn. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Their warm, friendly hospitality was a joy to be privileged to receive.

Even more comforting was the sight of so many pubs, restaurants, and shops with our surname emblazoned across the frontage. We felt like we owned the city. It certainly looked like we did.

These days I feel as much in tune with my Irish heritage as I do with my English one. And since I spent twenty-five years living in Spain, and eight years living in Japan, I feel a very strong affinity with those two countries as well.

Then just this afternoon I came across a very interesting article about how we can all trace our biological origins all the way back to Mitochondria Eve and Y Chromosome Adam. I guess that makes us all family the world over. All of the world's females are my sisters, and all of the men are my brothers. Peace and love to you all.