A needle in a Graveyard

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Those of you who know my father will know that he is a self-made professor of history. On learning that Jess and I were headed to Cuba, he produces an old letter from a haphazard filing system in the back room where all the old photos, letters, poems, songs and all sorts of other things are kept. The letter was dated 7th January 1949 with an address in Havana, and was written by Ellen McGrath De Galban, a cousin, to my grandmother. So Jess and I were to become detectives for a day in Cuba. Dirty work but someone's got to do it.

We headed first to the local graveyard to see what the dead might reveal to the living. The Necropolis de Colon is no ordinary graveyard, we're talking gianormous! Tombs line every avenue across 5km sq, complete with street names and sign posts so you won't get lost. About 3 million sleep together with more joining them everyday.

The staff in the archives were very helpful, but we had little for them to go on. No dates of when Ellen or her husband Luis died (or even if they died in Havana, it is possible they left after the revolution, although we know from the letter that she was quite old in 1949), just a name and crossed fingers. Whilst plot owners were computorised, burials were registered in thick tall books with faded ink kept in a high grand bookcase. Time to take a chance and just wander around the cemetery.

Where do you start in a place this big? We randomly picked a street. I said to Jessica 'Maybe you could say a prayer asking your Grandma for help'. Two minutes later Jess stopped to look at some broken stones on the ground, I turned around and there it was on the corner of G and 7th Street. De Galban. A coincidence? (Thank you Ann, and also Sister John because Jessica put a word in with her too.)

Made from white marble, the family plot was about 10ft sq rising 3ft from the ground, divided into three chambers that appeared to have separate rectangular lids. Although there were no fresh flowers or signs of recent visitors, marble flower pots and plaques were dedicated to passed loved ones. The matriarc, Carmen Ramirez De Galban (died 1906), was placed in the centre. Carved into the headstone, it said she was remembered by her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. There was no sign of an Ellen or Luis De Galban, but other names included Eugenio and Julia. One plaque commemorated a young boy who died in 1928 aged 17. We took a small piece of marble (from the broken pile that had led us to the grave) and a leaf from a beautiful tree which shaded the plot.

Next to investigate was the address. Streets in Vedado are in a grid system like Manhattan, but with numbers and letters. The full address on the letter was 15 & K, Vedado, Havana, Cuba. Unfortunately no house number. The area is known today as new Havana so many of the old beautiful mansions have been pulled down and dreadful tower blocks put in their place. Think of 15 & K as a crossroads. We walked the streets of 15 and K around the cross and took pictures of any remaining houses. On one of the streets, we noticed an old man and young woman sitting on a porch. No harm in asking. With letter in hand, the old Senor duly did oblige. He happened to have 5 books with names of all who lived on that block for generations. He kindly went through every name, but alas no De Galbans. They wished us luck and directed us to another street and house in which someone had that block's records.

No luck there either, but we were invited into an old colonial home by a mother and daughter who were lovely. The house was very interesting. The original front door remainined, with another built later to the left. After the revolution, the house must have been split between a number of families. Downstairs only a 9ft block wall divided them - remember the ceilings in these old houses are about 15ft high! You had better like your neighbour. Murder could be on the cards. Can you imagine two tvs, two radios, two sets of families all under the same roof?! Inside this family's quarters were framed pictures of Papa (Fidel Castro), Che and days of the revolution rallys. Their dinner table was old, worn down from hungry elbows, its once elegant legs were dusty and faded. Formerly fancy chairs were now re-upholstered with sack-like cloth. Wires hung all around. Possibly live?! A once magnificent mansion now contains a magnificant home with wonderful friendly people.

We do not kow if we found or saw Ellen De Galban's home, but I think we got a glimpse of her life as an Irish lady in Cuba.

From James

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