The Indomitable Offspring of Brian Boru

Further Explorations into My Family Tree and Ancestral DNA

Perhaps the greatest of all Irishmen, Brian Boru was born around 940. He was the younger of two sons of Cennedig, head of one of the royal free tribes of Munster: the Dal Cais. He grew up during the worst days of the Viking’s tyranny when the Dalcassians had been driven in to the present county of Clare. As the eldest son, Brian’s brother Mahon eventually succeeded Cennedig as chief of the Dalcassians.

The Dalcassians were hemmed into Clare by the Norse Leader Ivar of Limerick and Mahon was willing to accept terms. However, Brian had seen almost all of the Dal Cais tribe, including his mother, brutally murdered by a Viking raid when he was only a child and refused to be any part of such a truce. He deserted Mahon and, together with a group of soldiers, lived in the hills of Munster and attacked Norse settlements.

Brian’s fame spread throughout the province and infuriated Ivar. Although he had only a handful of men, Brian’s skill as a tactician led him to defeat vastly superior numerical forces. After a number of small battles, Brian had trained an excellent Dalcassian army to face the Vikings. The stories of his triumphs had led to vast numbers of young men volunteering to join his side and the feud between Brian and his brother Mahon ended. Mahon renounced his truce with the Vikings and the brothers rejoined forces.

The two men triumphed and in 963 Mahon took the throne of Cashel. A few years later, in 968 at Sulchoid in Tipperary, they over-whelmed Ivar’s forces and marched on Limerick while Ivar fled back to the Norse lands. The Viking tyranny in Munster thus collapsed and Mahon ruled peacefully for eight years.

However, Ivar returned to Ireland and murdered Mahon. Brian honourably challenged him to open combat, in which he killed Ivar, thus avoiding a bloodbath between his forces and those of Ivar. Brian succeeded his brother as head of the Dal Cais and immediately took the field against his brothers enemies. He attacked the Vikings of Limerick and their leader, King Imar, and his sons fled to the monastery on Scattery Island to take refuge. However, Brian was not deterred by the sacred traditions and broke into the sanctuary, killing hundreds of Vikings and desecrating the church. Step by step he established himself in the Kingship of Munster and fortified the province. In 983 and 988, his fleets ravaged Connaught and plundered Meath.

Meanwhile, another great leader had arisen in the North — Malachy the second, the Ui Neill King of Tara (b. 948). Malachy became High King when he overthrew a Norse army and took Dublin at the battle of Tara in 980. A clash between the Brian and Malachy was inevitable. At last, in 998, they met and divided Ireland between the two of them, Brian becoming the King of the South and Malachy the King of the North.

By 1002, it was becoming clear that the joint sway of Malachy and Brian could not last. Malachy, unable to gather enough support to take on the mighty forces of Brian, allowed Brian to take over his lands peacefully. This was the greatest moment in the history of native Ireland. Brian, by his title, “Ard Ri”, was claiming the monarchy of the whole Gaelic race.

Before the time of Brian and Malachy, Ireland was divided in to a number of petty kingdoms, which were sometimes at peace, sometimes at war with one another. The Vikings themselves joined in the struggles between the Irish kingdoms and also fought bitterly among themselves. There was no one king until Brian Boru who was responsible for the defence of Ireland against the Vikings and had control over the entire island.

Brian had much to do as High King and was tasked with lifting Ireland out of the ruins of the Viking Age. He rebuilt ruined churches, built new ones, and sent men overseas to find replacements for lost books and artefacts. He did all that he possibly could to heal the wounds of the past two centuries of Viking pillage.

In 1013, Mael Morda, King of Leinster allied himself with and the Dublin Vikings and revolted against Brian. The Dublin Vikings also sought allies overseas. The great Sigurd, Earl of Orkney, came with a large contingent while other Viking contingents came from as far afield as Iceland and Normandy. Brian defeated them at the Battle at Clontarf on Good Friday, 1014. However, as the Vikings were retreating, one of their leaders, Bothair, murdered Brian.

After this, Malachy resumed his position as High King and the Dal Cais strength remained only in Munster. The Viking presence in Ireland continued after Brian’s death but their military power was crushed. They remained in the country as traders and intermarried amongst the native Irish. Ireland was never again to have a king to control the entire of the island. The cost to Ireland, and to Brian, of crushing the Viking power in this country was a great one, for Ireland was never again to have a true “Ard Ri”.**[1]**

Which is all very good, soul-stirring, chest-beating, rip-roaring stuff, but why on earth am I suddenly obsessed with Brian Boru, an Irish hero who lived over a millennium ago.

Well, the answer is simple. I recently wrote an essay all about tracing my family tree. In that essay I described my background as “village” and stated that, on all fronts, all the way back to around 1500 where reliable records began to be kept, my forebears were farmers and strayed little from the English Midlands and Lancashire. None were notable and none were important.

And, in short, what I need to say now is that almost everything in that essay was a lie. Because I did manage to dig further and, Boom! A vein of gold (or three) has opened up.

Remember when I said that, in order to break the 1500 barrier, you need to tap into some noble lineage? Well, that’s precisely what I managed to do. In my first essay I mentioned a Rye Wroe (1540–1581) who moved across to Lancashire (ending his days in Radcliffe Tower, a fortified manor house still partially extant in the town whose name it bears) from Rathbarry Castle, Cork, Munster, Ireland.

Radcliffe Tower, Radcliffe, Lancashire

I dug around this Rathbarry Castle which also still stands (sometimes referred to as Castle Freke these days after a family which later held it), and that’s where I struck gold. Rye, it transpires, was one of thirteen children had by James FitzRichard de Barry, Lord Ibane, 4th Viscount Buttevant and the first of his four wives, Lady Ellen Eliza MacCarthy Reagan O’Callaghan. Of those thirteen children, eight were sons and Rye was one of the younger ones which probably explains why he left to seek his fortune elsewhere, since he wouldn’t be inheriting much from his parents.

Castle Freke, Rathbarry, Co. Cork, Ireland

Now the titles Lord Ibane and Viscount Buttevant piqued my interest. They sounded important and so their genealogies would probably be recorded somewhere, right?

Right. Some research on Google found them listed loud and clear. The Buttevants were an offshoot of the FitzGeralds, Lord of Kildare, who resided at Kildare Castle.

Most English people are, sadly, quite ignorant of Irish history, which is a shame, since it is so interlaced with our own, that we should be more aware. The FitzGeralds were one of Ireland’s pre-eminent families and their name indicates their roots and the source of their power. “Fitz” means “son” for Normans and so the FitzGerald’s take their lineage from one Gerald FitzWalter de Windsor, 1st Castellan of Pembroke Castle (1075–1135). His father, Walter (d.1099) came over with William the Conqueror in 1066 and was clearly one of his most trusted vassals, for he was made the 1st Constable of Windsor Castle (yes, that Windsor Castle). Following the subjugation of England, they then moved onto Wales, hence Gerald building Pembroke Castle, and then, after that, they moved across the sea to Ireland for more plunder and wealth.

There was, however, already a Celtic aristocracy in Ireland and so, to cement their new power, the FitzGerald’s did what nobility has always done: they intermarried. So it was that Gerald de Windsor’s son, Maurice FitzGerald, wed one Lafracoth Ua Briain, daughter of Muirchertach Ua Briain (1050–1119), King of Munster, High King of Ireland. So, there you have it, royalty and, go back three generations to Muirchertach’s great-grandfather and we find ourselves face-to-face with the gentleman discussed at the start of this essay: Brian Boru, my 31x great-grandfather.

Which is pretty damned incredible if you think about it.

Or is it?

The fact is that Brian Boru is 34 generations away from me and each number of direct ancestors (forget cousins and uncles and the like) doubles with each generation, so, there is one of me, two parents, four grandparents and so on. For the 31x great-grandparent like Brian, we have no less than 8,589,934,592 to choose from.

Yes, 8,589,934,592. Eight and a half billion.

According to the World Population Clock, as of today there are only 8.2 billion people in the world. Back in Brian’s day, it is estimated that there were 275 million souls abiding on this planet.

The maths works because, with all that intermarrying, a lot of those eight and a half billion direct ancestors would be appearing multiple times in one’s genealogy. Brian Boru is probably there hundreds of times, it’s just that this is the route where I’ve been able to prove it. Indeed, even if he only appears once, with but 275 million to choose from, and most of them being extremely far away in civilisations with little contact with one another, then the chances of being descended from Brian Boru are high.

Even so, for me at least, there is one thing about, statistically, probably being a descendant of Brian Boru, and quite another being able to prove it. To see my physical link with a real historical figure from the distant past.

And to think that, if on one of those early raids against the Vikings, Brian had been killed, then I would not be here today.

The vagaries of chance.

Nor is Brian the only illustrious ancestor I have found. Indeed, he is not even the end of his line. I’ve traced that back further to a chap named Fedlimid Rechtmar, High King of Ireland from 104–113. Going back that far and figures start to get semi-mythological but still.

And remember Gerald de Windsor in Pembroke? Well, he married into Welsh royalty and so I’m also a descendant of such luminaries as Hywel ap Cadell King of Gwynedd, Dyfed and Powys, Prince of Seisyllwg and Deheubarth (d. 950), and Rhodri ap Merfyn King of Gwynedd (b. 820 on the Isle of Man, d. 878 Anglesey, Wales).

Hywel ap Cadell, better known as Hwyel Dda (Hwyel the Good)

And through another branch on my father’s side, I have now traced one line back through Norman nobility to Normandy and then, before then, when they were Vikings who sailed down from Oppland in Norway, bearing names like Eystein Glumra Ivarsson (788–870) or his wife Ascrida Rognvaldsdottir (812–890).

And yes, it is cool to imagine myself looking out over a fjord at my longships, ready for the next adventure on the high seas.

The real question though, romantic imaginings aside, is what this actually means to me (or anyone else) and why do so many of us find tracing our roots to be so important?

Well, perhaps it is easiest to start with what it does not mean. What is emphatically the case is that, despite being descended directly from Brian Boru, I do not now regard myself as Irish. No, I have not switched my rugby and football allegiance, I still don’t particularly like Guinness and, most definitely, I will not be signing my name Maitiú Ó Pointeáin from now on.

Because I am not Irish. I was not born there, nor have I ever lived there. True, I have several Irish friends and I have explored the island fairly extensively, but it is not my island, and those green fields are not my green fields. Even regarding the DNA test which kicked off this entire journey, whilst I do have 1% Irish DNA, 99% is something else and 91% of that is England and Northwestern Europe (this section, I think encompasses those Vikings).

So does that mean that my Brian Boru (and Hwyel Dda and Eystein Glumra Ivarsson) connection is meaningless? No, I don’t believe that either.

The key lies in the name of a popular UK TV programme all about tracing family roots. ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ Who do you think you are?

It’s all about you and finding out who you actually are as a person. Know thyself was the maxim that the Ancient Greeks preached and by exploring one’s lineage many feel they might land on the answer. After all, even our the poet Philip Larkin knew the impact that our parents have upon us:

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to, but they do.

They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn

By fools in old-style hats and coats,

Who half the time were soppy-stern

And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.

It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

And don’t have any kids yourself.

Our parents mould us through both our DNA (nature) and how they bring us up (nurture). But they too were moulded by their parents and so on.

And it is that connection to the past that so many long for. Liz, a friend of mine has also done a DNA test recently. Her mum was Italian was told as a new arrival to the UK that one should assimilate into the wider society, Liz was never taught Italian as a child and there were a lot of holes left in the story of that side of her family, including such intriguing questions as whether her Italian ancestors were always Catholic or actually forcibly converted Jews. Her quest is not just a general exploration of the family tree, a meandering quest to find a Brian Boru (although she is also descended from him it seems!), but a concrete effort to colour in that Italian half of her soul.

Others take a more mystical approach. Remember my explorations of past lives? Well, my friend F does not believe in them, but does believe that what we experience as past lives is, instead, some sort of DNA imprint left on our brain by our ancestors, a bit like an LSD trip from one’s youth that can lie dormant on the brain and then return unexpectedly.

My initial response was to pooh-pooh this. After all, a lot of the things that I felt were answered by the past lives theory — my connections with monasticism, the Balkans, the Holy Land, communist partisan movements — are noticeably absent from my DNA. If her theory was correct, then surely I would spend my life having visions of farms in the Staffordshire Moorlands or factories in the Manchester conurbation.

And yet, even as I type those words, I realise that there could be some truth in her theory. Yes, it leaves the Holy Land and Balkan connections unexplained, but it does provide reasoning for a great deal else. I do have a very deep connection with the land and, particularly, the Staffordshire Moorlands where most of my nearer ancestors dwelt. I have explored every village and I feel closest to God when walking through the green lanes of my home region. I am at peace with my surroundings and securer in my identity than either Liz or F or a great many others that I know.

Could that be down to those ancestral connections?

And as for the factories of Lancashire, well… I do have a fascination with the industrial revolution and working class politics. And my lifelong obsession with railways… it turns out most of my paternal grandfather’s family worked on the North Staffordshire Railway.

‘Travel in 1885 — North Staffordshire Railway up Manchester express near Stoke’ © National Railway Museum

And even Brian Boru’s Ireland and Hwyel Dda’s Wales are places that I am close to and love to explore. Is that because they are quite similar to my own homeland or is there something more?

Ultimately, we will never know, but it is fascinating to speculate. At the same time though, a word of caution: the name of that TV programme is misleading and dangerously so. Your family roots are not who you are, they are merely something that contributed to that wonderful fizzy cocktail that you call you. It matters naught which part of Central or Southern Asia F’s ancestors hailed from, nor whether Liz’s Italian forebears originated from Pisa or Palermo, or whether they were Catholics or forcibly converted Jews or something else entirely. That was them, and them alone. No one should ever be a prisoner of their past.

We forge our own destinies.

Even so… I do quite fancy a trip to Ireland, that I do, for I’ve been hearing that Brian Boru’s grave can be found at St Patrick’s Cathedral in the city of Armagh, so it can, and that would be worth seeing, would it not…?

Top of the morning to you!

And for reference purposes, here’s the lineage between myself and Brian:

1. Matthew Pointon (1977-), Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire, son of

2. Janet Pointon née Earlam (1953-), Draycott-en-le-Moors, Staffordshire, daughter of

3. Thomas Earlam (1926–1996), Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire, son of

4. Lily Earlam née Blackburn (1897–1963), Patricroft, Lancashire, daughter of

5. Florence Blackburn née Pendlebury (1871–1940), Manchester, Lancashire, daughter of

6. Richard Pendlebury (1838–1908), Handforth, Cheshire, son of

7. Richard Pendlebury (1806–1869), Radcliffe, Lancashire, son of

8. Richard Pendlebury (1777–1832), Radcliffe, Lancashire, son of

9. Richard Pendlebury (1742–1826), Radcliffe, Lancashire, son of

10. James Pendlebury (1718–1775), Radcliffe, Lancashire, son of

11. Francis Pendlebury (1680–1751), Radcliffe, Lancashire, son of

12. Nathan Pendlebury (1646–1725), Radcliffe, Lancashire, son of

13. Isaac Pendlebury (1606–1683), Radcliffe, Lancashire, son of

14. Dyna Pendlebury née Allen (1568–1611), Radcliffe, Lancashire, daughter of

15. Dorothy Allen née Wroe (1555–1647), Radcliffe, Lancashire, daughter of

16. Rye Wroe (1540–1581), Rathbarry Castle, Cork, Munster, Ireland, son of

17. James FitzRichard de Barry, Lord Ibane, 4th Viscount Buttevant (1520–1581), Rathbarry Castle, Cork, Munster, Ireland, son of

18. Isabel de Barry née FitzGerald, daughter of

19. James “the Knight of Rhodes” FitzGerald-Leixlip (1491–1537), Castle Kildare, Kildare, Leinster, Ireland, son of

20. Gerald FitzGerald, 8th Earl of Kildare (1456–1513), son of

21. Thomas FitzJohn FitzGerald, 7th Earl of Kildare (1421–1477), son of

22. John FitzMaurice FitzGerald de jure 6th Earl of Kildare, son of

23. Maurice FitzThomas FitzGerald, 4th Earl of Kildare (1318–1390), son of

24. Thomas FitzJohn FitzGerald 2nd Earl of Kildare (-1328), son of

25. John FitzThomas FitzGerald 1st Earl of Kildare, Lord of Offaly (1250–1316), son of

26. Thomas FitzMaurice FitzGerald, son of

27. Maurice FitzGerald 2nd Lord of Offaly (1194–1257), died Youghal Monastery, Ireland, son of

28. Gerald FitzMaurice FitzGerald 1st Lord of Offaly (1150–1204), son of

29. Alice FitzGerald née de Montgomery, daughter of

30. Lafracoth Ua Briain, daughter of

31. Muirchertach Ua Briain King of Munster, High King of Ireland (1050–1119), son of

32. Toirdelbach Ua Briain King of Munster, High King of Ireland (1009–1086), son of

33. Tadc MacBriain (-1023)

34. Brian Boru (Bóramha) High King of Ireland (941–1014), Killaloe, Clare, Ireland

Written 18–17/03/2025, Smallthorne, UK

Copyright © 2025, Matthew E. Pointon

[1] Adapted from https://www.askaboutireland.ie/reading-room/environment-geography/island-life/scattery-island2/brian-boru/