"You mean, he’s not a Michael?"

I’ve done a little more genealogical digging. Ireland had a census in 1901 and 1911–so I put in information for my great-grandmother, Annie Talbot McManus, since I knew she didn’t arrive in New York until 1912 (she of the famous almost-got-on-the-Titanic story).

I found her, living in County Mayo with her aunt and uncle, at age 16, listed as a domestic servant.
I tried looking up her future husband, but it was far too confusing–McManus being a rather common name.
But the other side? Found ’em. My great-grandfather Michael was 18 in 1911, his birthday being in November, so he hadn’t turned 19 yet. He’s living at home with older brother Thomas and younger sister Mary Ellen. His mother was Ellen. His father?
“Not Michael?” I exclaimed. Calculating back, Patrick was born in either 1861 or 1860–about ten or so years after the Potato Famine. He’s the oldest ancestor I’ve found so far.
And there was another surprise. I’ve always been told that the Athys were northern Irish–from Belfast. Well, supposedly, somewhere in between the Tudor plantations and Oliver Cromwell, Catholics in the north were pushed out and sent to the west of Ireland–places where there are only sheep and cows, like Galway and Mayo.
My great-grandfather and his entire family, according to the Irish census of 1911, were all born and living in Mayo.
I’m going to solve this tree–and try to determine which McManus are my McManus–and figure out why I can’t find any records on my grandfather’s mother, Winifred, who I was almost named after. She doesn’t appear in the Irish censuses–I’ve looked her up under multiple counties, different spellings of her name, etc.
Oh, Winnie, where are you?

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