A story that came full circle at Cullen House

Some stories have a way of coming full circle.

Six years ago, I wrote in this column about Sally Henderson, the fascinating former lady of Cullen House, Beauparc — a woman who had left a lasting impression on my own family.

Both my grandparents worked at Cullen House and it was there that they met. My grandmother Josie worked in the house as a maid while my grandfather, Johnny, worked on the farm as a ploughman for almost 50 years and looked after the pedigree Aberdeen Angus Cattle show cattle.

Sally made such an impression on my family that she inspired my own name, and I grew up hearing stories about her.

When I wrote that diary, which can be read here I had spent years wondering about the beautiful ivy-clad house beyond its gates. It had fascinated me since I was a child, when I would pass it and imagine what life was like inside the big house.

I had never been inside and ended that piece with the words: “One day I might get inside.”

I never imagined that sentence would eventually come true because of a message from Canada.

Earlier this summer, I received a message out of the blue from Laura Murphy, asking if I was the person who had written about Cullen House.

Laura explained that her grandfather, Bill Murphy, was a first cousin of Sally Henderson. She and her family were planning a visit to Ireland and, having read my article, wondered if I could put them in touch with the current owners.

I did — and last month, Laura, her husband, daughters, parents, aunt and nieces travelled from Canada to Cullen House. My parents and I joined them.

We were warmly welcomed by Leon and her parents, Leonard and Nanette Kinsella, who have owned the house since 1999. They opened their home to us, showed us around and even laid on a wonderful spread of sandwiches, scones and pastries, with wine and beer for those who wanted it.

And Cullen House was every bit as majestic as I had imagined.

Inside were magnificent chandeliers, ornate mirrors, beautiful fireplaces, paintings and tapestries. We were even shown a room where Sally used to spend much of her time.

For me, there was something incredibly special about finally standing inside a house that had been such a part of my family's story.

My grandparents had worked there. They had met there. Sally had known them both.

But then came something I could never have anticipated.

We were shown old black-and-white footage of Sally at Cullen House — including film of her pushing a pram and a tennis match taking place on the lawns.

As we watched, my father suddenly spotted someone familiar. It was his own father, my grandfather Johnny.

There was something almost impossible to comprehend about watching a moving image of my grandfather, decades after his death, standing on the same estate where he had worked for more than half a century.

For my father, it was a glimpse of his father as a young man. For me, it was a piece of family history suddenly brought to life.

I had spent so many years imagining what life must have been like inside Cullen House. Now, not only had I finally walked through the front door, I was watching my grandfather walk across its grounds on a screen.

It was one of those moments that makes you realise how connected people's lives can be, even across generations and oceans.

Laura and her family had travelled from Canada to reconnect with their own family history.

I had first written about Cullen House because of mine. And somehow, six years later, the two stories had come together.

As we talked and shared stories over tea and treats, I thought again about that final line I had written all those years ago.

One day I might get inside.

I had no idea then that a message from Canada would open the door — or that, once inside, I would see my own family history moving across a screen.

Sometimes you never know where writing a story will take you. And sometimes, quite unexpectedly, it takes you home.