One of the Irish gang

Rick Morain

Tuesday of last week was St. Patrick’s Day, “the day when everyone’s Irish,” as the saying goes. I’ve always gone along with the celebration, wearing green and saying “top o’ the mornin’,” although I never thought I had any squeezings of the Old Sod in my veins.

Between Kathy and me, she’s been the legitimate celebrant on St. Paddy’s Day, proudly celebrating her 50% Irish heritage, through her father’s side. Me, my melange has always been Norwegian, German, English, French and Scots-Irish. That last flavor is close, but it’s not the real thing. So no Irish in my stew. 

At least that’s what I thought.

Dad always told us kids that the name “Morain” is a variant of “Moraine” or “Moraigne,” and that that strain was French Huguenot. My paternal grandmother’s maiden name was Dillavou, since she was born and raised in northwest Greene County as part of the clan for whom the Dillavou Cemetery is named. So I figured I had French ancestry from two sources.

C’est bien.

But - - -

Brother Bill, studious and inquisitive as ever, decided to test Dad’s theory. A few months ago he dug into the clan’s heritage using the Family Search app. And he found Dad was wrong. “Morain” is a variant of the name “Moran,” a widely known Irish surname. Some of our ancestors spelled it one way, others spelled it the other. But they’re all Irish.

Bill traced the line back to (as Irish luck would have it) his namesake William Moran, born 1616 and died 1677, all in Edenderry, County Offaly (Contae Uibh Fhaili), near County Kildare, Ireland. County Offaly lies halfway between Dublin on the east coast and Galway on the west coast. It’s replete with peat bogs.

As Bill wrote, there “the known line ends (or starts, if you prefer).” But that’s twice as far back as Jonathan Morain of Piatt County, Illinois, the most ancient ancestor with whom we had been familiar.

Jonathan Morain’s great-great-grandfather, Gabriel Moran (1691-1733), was born in Edenderry, Ireland, but died in Charles County, Maryland, in British Colonial America, where he was a tobacco planter. He was our adventurer who crossed the pond. He was the grandson of the aforementioned William Moran of Edenderry.

So the morning of March 17 this year I put on my green shirt for real, and passed the day in certain knowledge that I’m one of the gang. Kathy made her truly delicious potato leek soup from her Irish cookbook for dinner.

The skills of Irish writers are legendary. I’m still just a trainee. But erin go bragh, and slainte, whether you’re the real thing or a pretender as I used to be.

Rick Morain is a reporter and columnist with the Jefferson Herald.