Matthew Timothy Fennell (1893-1960)
On May 2, 1957, a sixty-three-year-old shopkeeper in Kilrush, County Clare, picked up a pencil—his rheumatism-stiffened hand unable to manage a pen—and began to write to his daughter across the ocean. "I suppose you will bless yourself when you receive this scrawl," Matt Fennell wrote to Aine. "I am very badly able to write and had to write with pencil. My arm is stiff with rheumatism but I am ashamed I did not write sooner."
The letter is remarkable not for what it accomplishes—the handwriting is difficult, the thoughts tumble out in the oral cadence of spoken Clare English—but for what it reveals: a man in his declining years, struggling against physical limitations to maintain the bonds of affection across distance. Matt wrote of family members, of grandchildren, of his daughter Catherine in London who "never forgets me." He signed off with hope—"My arm may be better the next letter. Please God"—and blessing: "good bye and God bless you."
Three years later he was dead, and the question becomes: How did a farmer's son from a crowded household in rural Clare become the proprietor of a boot warehouse and grocery on Henry Street, a member of the town council, and the patriarch of a family scattered between Ireland and England? To his grandchildren, he would be known simply as Granda—but the path to that role began decades earlier, in a very different world.
The Beginning: Brisla, 1893
The story begins in Brisla, a townland near Cooraclare, where Matthew Fennell was born on June 1, 1893. His parents, Michael and Margaret, farmers working land that had sustained their families for generations. baptized their newborn son the same day he was born—a common practice when infant mortality was an ever-present threat. Matt entered a household already crowded with children, andmore would follow. By the time of the 1901 census, when Matt was seven, he was the eighth of what would eventually be fifteen children.
The Fennell farmhouse at Brisla East held thirteen people that census night. Michael, at fifty-two, headed a household where all the older children could read and write—a mark of rising educational standards in rural Ireland. The family was bilingual, with Michael and Margaret fluent in both Irish andEnglish, though the children primarily spoke English, the language of commerce and advancement in the new century.
For a boy with Matt's place in the birth order—neither the eldest son who might inherit the farm nor young enough to remain at home indefinitely—the path forward required leaving. By 1911, at eighteen, Matt had made his way to Galway city, where he lodged in a house on Dominick Street Lower. The census recorded him as "Matt Farnell" (a transcription error) and listed his occupation as Commercial Clerk. He was one of several young men boarding in the household—clerks and shop assistants seeking their fortunes in the city's commercial life rather than on the land.
Two Brothers on the Threshold
Sometime around 1922, in the years between Matt's return from Galway and his establishment in Kilrush, a camera lens captured a moment of stillness between two young men. In a formal studio portrait taken against a painted backdrop of drapery and architectural illusion, Matt Fennell sat in an ornate chair with barley-twist legs, dressed in a three-piece suit with a watch chain visible on his vest. His expression was earnest and composed—less stylized than his brother's, suggesting a more seriousor reflective temperament. His hair was still full, not yet showing the receding hairline that would mark him by the time of his marriage.
Standing beside him, one hand resting on the back of Matt's chair, was his brother Joe Fennell. Joe's arms were crossed with a hint of theatrical flair, his neatly styled moustache and confident bearing suggesting perhaps a touch more extroversion than his seated brother. His suit was smartly tailored, with a crisp pocket square visible—subtle details that spoke of personal pride.
The photograph captured the brothers side by side, not formally posed like strangers but with an ease between them that spoke of genuine connection. This was Matt before the shop, before marriage—a formative moment frozen in time. Both were dressed in their best suits, perhaps borrowed or newly tailored for the occasion, and neither could yet have known the roads that lay ahead. The partnership they would forge on Henry Street still lay in the future, as did its eventual dissolution.
Between 1911 and 1928, Matt acquired the skills and capital to establish himself as a merchant. He also survived the tumultuous decade of revolution and civil war that convulsed Ireland. West Clare saw incidents during the War of Independence and raids during the Civil War, with Kilrush experiencing its share of upheaval. The violence and instability tested the resilience of anyone trying to build a business.
A Union Rooted in Clare: June 26, 1928
By June 26, 1928, when Matt married Mary Catherine Comyns in the Cathedral at Ennis, he was thirty-five years old and established enough to list his occupation as "merchant." Catherine, known to the family as Cissy, was thirty-one, also from Kilrush, the daughter of a farmer. The marriage united twofamilies with roots in the rural economy of West Clare, but Matt and Cissy's future would be built in town, not on the land.
The wedding portrait captured them in the visual language of dignity and restraint typical of the interwar period in Ireland. Everything from posture to dress to background was deliberate, lending the image an air of permanence—a visual declaration of union. Cissy stood to the left, wearing a dark ensemble, likely a modest wedding dress or tailored suit. Decorative detailing on the collar and cuffs added quiet sophistication—understated, perfectly in line with the aesthetic values of post-independence Ireland. Her hairstyle was a fashionable bob, sleek and tucked neatly, and her expression was composed, slightly soft, with a steadiness in her eyes—a woman meeting life ahead with calm assurance.
Matt sat to the right in a three-piece dark suit, his pocket watch and chain just visible. A light-colored tie with a subtle pattern gave a gentle lift to the dark tones, and a small floral boutonnière—likely a white carnation or rosebud—was pinned to his lapel. His expression was open, proud, and warm. Helooked directly into the lens with the quiet confidence of a man who had found his partner and was beginning a new chapter.
The chair and table, likely studio props, added a slight domestic frame to the image—symbolic, perhaps, of the home they were about to build. There were no smiles in the photograph, only seriousness—but not coldness. They brought more than rings and flowers to the studio that day. They brought the quiet determination of Clare's working class—he, a shopkeeper in the making; she, apartner whose strength would show more in action than adornment. A lifetime lay ahead, and they met it together, already side by side.
Building a Life: Fennell Bros on Henry Street
The Fennell Bros businesses on Henry Street became the center of their lives. By the mid-1930s, Thom's Directory listed the enterprise—Joe and Matt ran the grocery while Cissy managed the boot shop across the street. This family operation made practical sense in a small market town. Boot repair served farmers and labourers who needed sturdy footwear for hard work, while the grocery provided daily necessities. Running such shops required long hours, especially on market days when the town filled with farmers and their families. It also required the delicate business of extending credit to reliable customers while avoiding the accumulation of too many unpaid accounts.
The 1930s were difficult years for Kilrush. The Economic War with Britain depressed farm prices, hitting the rural economy that sustained the town's trade. Labour riots erupted in 1931, and street clashes between republicans and Blueshirts in 1933 brought military intervention. Through all this instability,the Fennell family maintained their shops, building a reputation for fair dealing and establishing themselves as respected members of the business community.
During the Second World War—the Emergency, as it was known in neutral Ireland—shortages and rationing tested shopkeepers' ingenuity. Matt would have managed ration books, found substitute goods, and navigated the constraints on transport and distribution. Yet for those who adapted, there were also opportunities, and the Fennell Bros shops survived and continued.
Between 1936 and 1949, directory entries recorded the Fennell Bros presence on Henry Street—each year another testament to the family's stability and service to the community. Matt and Cissy raised at least seven children who grew up in the rhythms of small-town commerce, in the rooms above or behind the shops.
But partnerships, even among brothers, don't always last forever. Sometime after 1949, the arrangement dissolved. The boot shop closed, and Matt opened his own competing grocery on Henry Street. Joe continued operating the original Fennell Bros grocery—an establishment that would remain in business long after both brothers were gone, eventually managed by Joe's children following his death in 1969. Regardless of the separation, the brothers maintained family ties—Joe stood among the chief mourners at Matt's funeral in 1960.
Matt's involvement extended beyond his shop. He served on the Kilrush Urban Council for many years, participating in local governance during a period when councils managed housing, sanitation, and the gradual modernization of Irish towns. His political affiliation was with Fianna Fáil, the party that haddominated Irish politics since the 1930s under Éamon de Valera. Being a councillor meant navigating the practical politics of a small town—balancing interests, allocating limited resources, maintaining relationships.
A Life's Work: Mid-1950s
By the mid-1950s, a photograph captured Matt Fennell behind the counter of his own shop on Henry Street—the independent grocery he now operated apart from his brother. He stood in his white shopkeeper's coat, the uniform that signaled both tidiness and tradition, wearing a dark tie and glasses, his composed bearing speaking to a generation that valued professionalism and respectability even in the smallest of business settings.
His expression was measured but warm—this was a man who had greeted generations of customers, watched children grow up, and listened to the daily comings and goings of the town. There was pride here—not showy, but steady. Behind him, the shelves burst with goods: Bird's Custard, Tate & Lyle, OXO cubes—familiar comforts. Large glass jars of sweets, likely cherished treats for local children, perhaps even his own grandchildren. Canned and dry goods—the basics of a household pantry, all overseen by a man who likely knew every regular's preferences, every family's circumstances, every child's favorite sweet.
The shop was more than a business. In post-war Ireland, such establishments were hubs of local news, centers of a credit-based economy, even venues for matchmaking and community connection. Granda wasn't just selling groceries—he was holding a thread in the fabric of Kilrush life, a thread that connected families, seasons, celebrations, and sorrows.
But time was catching up with him. The photograph shows a man in his sixties, successful and respected, but the years of long hours and physical labor were taking their toll.
The Letter and the End
When Matt wrote that letter to Aine in May 1957, his body was failing him. The rheumatism that made writing difficult was likely part of a broader decline. He apologized for not writing sooner, for the poor quality of his penmanship, for his limitations. But through the difficulty, his affection flowed—concern for his children, delight in his grandson "called after me sure why not may God bless him," gratitude for Catherine in London who "never forgets me." The letter closed with hope: "My arm may be better the next letter. Please God."
It was not to be. Within three years, acute pulmonary edema would claim his life. He died at home on Henry Street on August 21, 1960, with his son John present. He was sixty-seven years old.
The funeral on August 26 drew a large crowd to Breaffa Cemetery. The Clare Champion obituary noted that Matt had been "a prominent member of the local business community for many years" and that "his passing was regretted over a wide area." The chief mourners included his widow Cissy, his sons and daughters, his surviving siblings including his brother Joe, and his son-in-law Laurence Blake who had come from London with Matt's daughter Catherine. Two of his children—Aine and Patrick, who had made their lives in New York—could not make the journey home. Distance and circumstance meant they mourned their father from across the Atlantic, an ocean away from the man who had struggled to write them letters with his rheumatic hand.
A Life in Three Portraits
Three photographs trace the arc of Matthew Fennell's life. In the first, a young man sits beside his brother, both dressed in their best, poised on the threshold of adulthood with their futures unwritten. In the second, that same man—now thirty-five, more settled, his hairline receding—sits beside his bride in formal studio dignity, beginning the partnership that would sustain them through decades of challenge and achievement. In the third, an aging shopkeeper stands behind his counter in a white coat, surrounded by the goods that fed his community and the shelves that represented a lifetime of work.
From Commercial Clerk in Galway to merchant and councillor in Kilrush, from the eighth child of a farmer to the father of seven, Matthew Fennell's life traced an arc of modest but real achievement. The photographs document the external journey—youth to marriage to establishment. But the letter he struggled to write in 1957, with its affectionate concern for scattered children and grandchildren,captures something more essential: despite physical decline and the dispersion of his family, he maintained the bonds of love and duty that had shaped his life.
The shop on Henry Street is long gone, as is the generation that knew him as neighbor, councillor, and friend. But his grandchildren remember him still, and the photographs remain—three windows into the life of a man who built something lasting not through grand gestures but through steady presence, fair dealing, and enduring love. To those who never met him, he is history. To his descendants, he will always be Granda.
About the Author
Terry grew up in the United States knowing her maternal grandfather, Matt, only through fragments—his name, his place in the family, and the quiet absence he left behind. Born and raised in County Clare, Ireland, Matt died two years before Terry was born, and as a result, he has always remained something of a mystery. Family stories have long centered on his wife, whose life was extraordinary, while Matt's story lingered at the edges. This work brings her grandfather to life in his own right, offering her family a deeper understanding of the man they never had the chance to meet.
Sources
Vital Records
Irish Genealogy birth or baptism records. Birth record for Matthew Fennell:https://www.irishgenealogy.ie/files/civil/birth_returns/births_1893/02289/1859156.pdf
Marriage registration of Matthew Fennell and Mary Catherine Comyns, 26 June 1928, Roman Catholic Cathedral, Ennis, County Clare.
Death record for Matthew Fennell, 21 August 1960, Henry Street, Kilrush, County Clare. Cause of death: acute pulmonary edema.
Census Records
Ireland Census 1901. Residents of a house 10 in Brisla East (Cooraclare, Clare):http://www.census.nationalarchives.ie/pages/1901/Clare/Cooraclare/Brisla_East/1080576/
Ireland Census 1911. Residents of a house 12 in Dominick Street Lower (Galway West Urban, Galway).
Business Directories
Thom's Directory, various years 1936–1949. Entries for Fennell Bros, bootmaker, boot warehouse, and grocer, Henry Street, Kilrush, County Clare.
Private Documents
Matt Fennell to Auna Fennell, letter dated 2 May 1957, Henry Street, Kilrush, County Clare; private family collection, transcription by Terry Fitzgerald.
Photographs
Studio portrait of Matt Fennell and Joe Fennell, circa 1920-1922; private family collection.
Wedding portrait of Matt Fennell and Mary Catherine (Cissy) Comyns, 26 June 1928, Ennis, County Clare; private family collection.
Portrait of Matt Fennell in his shop, Henry Street, Kilrush, mid-1950s; private family collection.
Newspapers
Obituary for Matthew Fennell, Clare Champion, 26 August 1960.
Burial record, Breaffa Cemetery, Ballykett, County Clare, after 21 August 1960.