Mary Ellen Clavin (Boyce) McCarthy
| Mary Ellen | Born | March 12th, 1881 in Brosna, Ireland. |
| Common-Law Marriage | John Paul Boyce, born in New York in 1882. No marriage record has been found. | |
| Children of Union | John Francis (Frank) Boyce (1904 – 1973) and James Aloysius Boyce (1905 – 1966). | |
| Married | Michael McCarthy (1915 – 1971), on May 8th 1915, some years after John Paul Boyce deserted her. | |
| Died | April 29th, 1975 in Rhinebeck, Duchess County, New York City, U.S.A. |
After her mother Julia had settled in New York in 1900, Mary Ellen followed her on the Teutonic to arrive on September 20th 1901. Accompanying her was the eldest daughter of John Robert Tobin, her cousin Agnes Tobin, whose mother had died in childbirth in 1889. Mary Ellen was 19 and Agnes was 17. During the previous 10 years, the two girls had grown up together as they had both been living with their grandparents and Uncle Patrick at Brosna.
Like Julia, the shipping Manifest states that both girls were servants and last place of residence was Roscrea. There is no mention of a residential address in New York, but they do state they are going to Julia Clavin – mother/aunt.
After John Paul Boyce deserted Mary Ellen, some years later on May 8th 1915, she married Michael McCarthy. He became a wonderful ‘father’ to the boys and he and Mary Ellen obviously enjoyed a very long and happy life together. Michael McCarthy died December 6th, 1971 and Mary Ellen McCarthy died April 29th, 1975 in Rhinebeck, Duchess County, New York. Mary Ellen McCarthy’s letters to Winnie and her Uncle Thomas in Australia in the 1920s make wonderful reading. She comes across as a very feisty Irish woman, who’d prefer to be back in Ireland.
A Visit to Grandma and Grandpa McCarthy
January 5th, 1967
Mike and I walk down the stairs from Mike’s mother’s apartment and out to the street. We walk down the steep hill, trying to keep out of the slush and not to fall on the ice. The sun shines faintly through the smoggy sky of my husband’s old home — the Bronx, New York City.
A fat blond boy throws iceballs at children across the street; a short, saggy-faced lady plods up the hill lugging a heavy shopping bag, and the elevated train squeals overhead. After a few blocks, we have arrived at Grandma’s brick apartment building on Jerome Avenue.
We walk into a once-elegant hall with marble columns and a marble floor. Before we step into the elevator, I notice two security mirrors set up so a rider can make sure there are no suspicious characters lurking around. We ride up six floors in the slow, creaking elevator.
We get out and knock on the first door, which has a small nameplate that says “Michael J. McCarthy.”
We’re greeted by an old wrinkled woman with watery blue eyes and thin white hair. She stands completely upright, despite her age.
Grandma McCarthy kisses Mike and then me. “God bless ye, Michael and Judy, and do be coming in now.”
Grandpa McCarthy is standing right inside the doorway. He’s a handsome man with thick, snow-white hair and pale flawless skin, completely without wrinkles. He says, “Hello, Mike and Judy,” and kisses us both.
Grandma McCarthy leads us into the bedroom so we can lay our coats on the bed. She points to a photo on the top of her dresser. “This is one of the best pictures I have of him after he got married,” and her voice starts quavering. On her dresser she has created a little altar with artificial flowers on each side around a picture of her son, my father-in-law, leaning on a fence. He is smiling but looks tired at the same time. Above the photo is a framed memorial to “Julia Clavin, died 1923.” Grandma says, “He is set up on the altar with my mother, God rest them both.” Now she sobs, “To think that one of my own should go before me… ’tis unfair…”
Grandma starts reminiscing about her son. “And he came over here as he used to do so often with little Gloria (his youngest daughter). He sat right there in that chair, and when I got up to go to the kitchen, he laid his arm on the window sill and he put his head on his arm and I asked ‘Jim, what’s the matter?’ And he said, ‘Nothing, Mother, just a bit of a headache.’ Oh God I didn’t know then — he tried to spare me his suffering.” And the tears fell over her wrinkled cheeks. “And I brought out some cake, and then after we ate, Gloria played…”
I jotted down this description at the end of the day after meeting Mike’s grandparents. Mike’s grandparents made a big impression on me and I wanted to record something about my meeting with them. I started but never completed this description.
Judy Boyce, Edited July 15, 2011
Judy has also provided a delightful description of Mary Ellen’s husband, Michael McCarthy who co-incidentally was employed in similar circumstances in the U.S.A. as Thomas Tobin was in both Ireland and Australia.
Michael McCarthy was not related by blood, but he was a wonderful man who made a huge difference in the family. He married Mary and took care of her and the boys for many years. He was a handsome man who kept physically fit and was interested in history. He’d been a Latin teacher in Ireland, but when he came to the U.S., he worked at a variety of jobs. For one of his jobs, he worked as a prison security guard. The prison was located on an island, and he was hired because he was such a strong swimmer and could keep prisoners from trying to swim to freedom. He was from County Cork and told us that he used to swim every day in the ocean when he was young. I remember him as having a calm, soothing personality in sharp contrast to Grandma, who was lively and emotional. [Judy Boyce]