In Search of Owen Roe

Vanessa O'Neill

• Publisher: Currency Press
• Year: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781925359770
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Drama
• Index: Literature

'An unmarked grave containing the bodies of my great-grandfather, Owen Roe O'Neill, and his young daughter. A little further away lie the graves of all the other family members. All have tombstones and grave sites. Only Owen Roe has nothing.'%##CHAR13##%%##CHAR13##%Thus begins an exploration of ancestry—a weaving together of stories from the past and their resonances with the present. In Search of Owen Roe is a powerful and engaging piece of storytelling featuring myriad characters, an evocative sound design and richly nuanced text.

PROLOGUE

Pre-show Irish music plays as the audience enters the theatre. The tune, ‘Slow Air’ (featuring uilleann pipes¹), is played at key moments during the show.

The lights fade to black.

NESS comes slowly down the stairs, as if suffering from insomnia, holding a cup of tea. The lighting suggests three or four in the morning. She moves around the space in a dazed state, as if looking for something, wearing a dressing-gown. She then sits on the ground by the table, looking through various papers.

As she does so, a soundscape starts playing, featuring a whole range of different voices, all of which will feature throughout the play. They include the voices of her father, her son, nursing home staff, Aggie Charlotte, quotes from Macbeth; all interwoven with sections of Irish music.

The soundscape builds to a climax. It snaps out with a lighting change to daylight. NESS discards the dressing-gown and stands centre stage, directly addressing the audience.

NESS: The O’Neill clan have been summoned. There is to be a gathering.

From the far reaches of various parts of Australia, everyone from the family has been called to Perth. Sisters, brothers, children, partners, grandparents, aunties, uncles, cousins. Ordinarily these people would not all come together. There are too many unspoken grievances, too many past misunderstandings.

There is only one reason that they have come together today. Mikey has called them. And when Mikey O’Neill calls, they answer. Mikey, with the big heart and twinkling eyes, brings out the best in everyone.

The reason for the gathering? The birth of Michael O’Neill’s first grandchild. My son: Daniel Michael Kelman O’Neill. The first male grandchild to have the surname O’Neill. And that is worth celebrating.

My father is in his element. Talking and laughing with everybody. Passing around the grandchild for all to admire. Beaming.

And as I watch my little boy being passed around—this future O’Neill—I wonder what stories I can tell him about his ancestors. My great grandmother—Little Grandma—is the stuff of legend. Lived until she was one hundred. But what about my great-grandfather who no-one seems to know about? What about Owen Roe O’Neill?

Soundscape of train sounds.

She sways back and forward gently, to signify being on a train.

On a train bound for Cottesloe Beach, later that afternoon. Two hours entirely to myself. I am going to surrender to the depths of the Indian Ocean. I need to wash away the stresses of a morning spent with family members I barely know, trying to explain my bizarre life …

Hot sun on the window, warm train, drifting …

She makes a movement to signify falling into a dream. She speaks as though addressing a circle of relatives—all asking her questions.

Yes, theatre—no, not movies so much, no, not TV—more theatre really—no, not musicals—these little kind of one-woman-shows—storytelling really—no, there’s not a lot of money in it … No, Daniel’s father doesn’t live with us—yes, they do see each other—no, not in our house—yes, it’s fine—thanks for asking …

She jolts to signify waking suddenly.

Where am I?

Karrakatta station: the cemetery, where all my relatives are buried. Before I know it I’m off the train …

She wanders through the space, as if looking at an array of grave stones.

I am going to find my great-grandfather’s grave. It is meant to be. I’m going to stand and look at his headstone—read the words that were written to remember him by. Bring Daniel back here when he’s older …

Such a huge cemetery, so many graves, and my God it is hot. But I know that I will find Owen Roe. I can feel it. My ancestors are calling me. They will lead me to my great-grandfather’s grave. Surely …

She stops, noticing a particular grave.

An O’Neill—heaps of O’Neills. There’s Grandpa Jack and Grandma Ellen and Auntie Nell and Little Grandma. Where is Owen Roe? He must be close by. Jesus, it is hot …

Call my cousin Mary. She is a lawyer and very sensible. She will know what to do.

MARY: What were you thinking? Didn’t you know that the cemetery has a website where you can look up peoples’ names? Owen Roe O’Neill. Plot 220. Oh, and he is buried with his daughter.

NESS: Plot 220 …

She searches, then stops at a spot, centre stage.

But there is nothing here. A patch of bare earth.

I had imagined that I would stand at the gravestone of my great-grandfather and cry. Seeing his name written in stone. Linking myself with the Irish heritage that I am so proud of.

How can there be nothing?

Below this bare plot of earth, this unmarked grave, lie the bodies of my great-grandfather, Owen Roe O’Neill, and his...