Flight of the Irish Wild Geese

The Irish military diaspora in Spain

Hola Global Jigsaw Friends,

I was surprised to discover, soon after moving to Madrid, that a major throughfare near our apartment was named Calle O’Donnell. It felt nomenclaturally discordant, an Irish note in a Spanish melody. An explanation for this oddity was forthcoming after I met, a few months later, the father of a good friend, Ultano Kindelan. His Irish-Spanish creole of a moniker hinted at a fascinating story. And it is the same Señor Kindelan who is the author of this week’s guest post, highlight a fascinating chapter in European history that explains how some of Spain’s leading families are Irish in origin.

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The Irish military diaspora of the 16th and 17th centuries was the result of Protestant-Catholic wars that turned Ireland into a ravaged cemetery. Fleeing religious persecution, thousands of Irish, - many from elite, landed backgrounds - fled their homeland to join the armies of Catholic nations like France and Spain. Nicknamed the Wild Geese these military officers and soldiers formed clusters of Irish settlements in continental Europe.

Ultano, an aeronautic engineer, and former head of Merill Lynch in Spain, is amongst the most erudite people I have met. A seasoned raconteur and amateur historian, he presents the story of the Flight of the Irish Geese:

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The Battle of the Boyne of July 1690 spelt the end of Ireland as an independent nation, which was now subsumed under an avowedly protestant Britain. To escape execution, many of the Catholic officers of the Irish army fled to continental Europe. Spain was a popular refuge. These Irish “wild geese” were received into Spanish regiments, specially created for them, such as the Regimiento Irlanda, the Regimiento Hibernia, and the Regimiento Ultonia.  All three of these regiments were manned by Spanish troops and led by Irish Officers.

The Battle of the Boyne by Benjamin West

Today, family names such as my own, as well as, O’Connor, O’Donell, O’Shea, O’Higgings, Murphy and so on, have become local, both in Spain and South America.

To many Irish, the Flying Geese were the social elite, who had abandoned their people to their fate under the British boot. But this historical background rarely impinged upon my consciousness until I met a certain Dermot Kinlan, in Madrid in 2000, at a cocktail party at the Irish Embassy. A lawyer by profession, Dermot was a bachelor and close to seventy when I met him. He had just been appointed Inspector of Prisons and Places of Detainment of the Republic of Ireland.

Of more immediate relevance to me, he was the splitting image of my grandfather. So, it wasn’t a total surprise when he claimed to be a Kindelan relative. The difference in the way we spelled our family names, he said, was due to an error in some old registry book.

He insisted I visit him in Ireland, an offer that was irresistible. And so, I found myself being picked up at the airport in Dublin, on a warm spring morning in 2001, by his driver and bodyguard, Martin. Dermot lived in Ballsbridge, a quiet and elegant sector of the city, in a house surrounded by foreign embassies. He had prepared a full agenda for me, including visiting his cottage in the village of Sneem, a place which he summed up as being somewhere, “where nothing is what it seems, the church is a pub, the square is a triangle, and the school is a jail.”

For our first outing, Dermot had a arranged a visit to the Tara Mounds, an archaeological site north of Dublin. We arrived before opening time, and so having time to spare, dropped in at a coffee shop for a hot cuppa. A lady walked up to take our order, at which point Dermot ceremoniously introduced me as, “Ultano Kindelan, leader of my clan, a direct descendant of King Laoghaire of the seven hostages, and Prince of Ard Braccan.”

I was lost for words, all of this being news to me. In the meantime, the lady, clearly overcome by these imposing visitors, had taken my hand with her eyes wide open and was sinking down into a deep curtsy. I had no alternative, but to play along.

But once she had left, I turned to Dermot and asked what on earth he had meant by that introduction. I was no leader of any clan.

The Inspector of Prisons said nothing, but his smile told me there would be more trouble ahead. And indeed, there was!

The next day he had organised a visit to the well of St Ultans, near the town of Navan, where my ancestors had once thrived. Located on the grounds of a medieval church, the well is a small pool carved out of stone. As we neared the spot, we were greeted by someone I took to be Dermot’s friend. The “friend,” turned out to be the mayor of Navan. He shouted out, “OK we are ready now, come over.”

And it was only then that I realized that something was going to happen at my expense. The mayor, having gathered a gaggle of locals around him, delivered a ten-minute speech celebrating the Kindelan clan and the Flying Geese.

I wanted to kick Dermot, but he was too far away. The mayor finished his speech and presented me with a beautiful book, while everyone applauded. I had to rise to the occasion and reply as best I could, overcoming my emotions, as I really was moved by this totally unexpected homage.

The rest of my visit had other wonderful surprises, (black beer not the least of them), and left me with a warm and profound feeling for the Irish. I tried to convey those feelings in a goodbye verse I wrote for Dermot.

I have heard the welcome

I have heard the welcome

from mountain streams in Kerry;

and heard whispers in the wind in Tara,

from St Ultan, and King Laogharey.

Winds from long ago that speak of kin,

of sad partings to foreign lands;

and rekindle in my heart a sacred fire,

which never died, and today begins.

I am Ultano, a Kindelan from far away.

Dermots kin; an Irishman today.

So say the mountain streams,

So say the Tara winds,

So say the Kinlans, my Kin.

ADDITIONAL BIO NOTE

My ancestor, Vincent O’Kindelan was one of the Flying Geese. He served the King of Spain,Felipe V, with distinction in Italy and North Africa, and married Mary O’Regan, with whom she had two sons, Sebastian and Juan. Sebastian went on to become the governor of Havana, Cuba, in 1818, and his descendants prospered and multiplied. But following the Spanish American war of 1898, my paternal great grandparents left Cuba and fled to Spain.

My grandfather, Alfredo Kindelan, a pioneering aviator, and staunch monarchist, was to become the head of the nationalist air force during the Spanish Civil War (1936–39). His son Ultano (after whom I am named), was posted to the Spanish Embassy in London as Air Attache in 1942, during the blitz, I suspect on the strength of his marriage to an English girl, who soon joined him, with me in her arms. We were lucky to survive, and I was doubly lucky, as I learnt English as a first language.

Educated in England, (Aeronautical Engineering, Imperial College, London University, 1961) at a time when Britannia was still a world power and Spain was very poor, I was awed by the English, and it took time for me to accept myself as a Spaniard and proud to be so.

Ultano Kinderlan

But today, thoroughly Spanish as I am, thanks to my English I am part of huge multinational universe, of which India is the brightest star.

I hope you enjoyed this introduction to a little known corner of the patchwork blanket that is global history. We will be back next week. In the meantime, a big virtual hug. Do send in your comments and share widely.

Hasta pronto,

xoxo

Pallavi