A while into what sounds like a busy retirement in Hudson Valley, upstate New York, Barrie Peterson and Bea Conner decided four years ago they would like to emigrate, as Peterson puts it, “yearning for a safer, less cruel place to spend my final years”. He had worked in nonprofit leadership, career counselling, taught business ethics (“not always an oxymoron!”); she’s a playwright, actor and director, after retiring from teaching special education.
But where to go? They considered France, but language was a barrier, and Scotland, where they had some connections. “But the royals still have their claws into it, and I’m a republican,” says Peterson. “Brexit seems to be dragging it down. The independence movement has unfortunately faltered.”
In autumn 2023 they spent a month driving around Ireland, and loved it. They finally fixed on “the sunnier, or less cloudy, southeast”. They fancied a country cottage, “but the L-roads convinced us we didn’t want to be driving. That put us into a town,” says Peterson. They moved to Clonmel in June 2024 and bought a small house in town “for half what I got for my modest house in the Hudson Valley”.
They slid right into the community there, getting involved, making friends volunteering. “And we love it,” he says. “Our house is within two blocks of a butcher, a produce person, wonderful bakery, appliance store, dry-goods, pizza parlour, pub. It’s all right there. It has worked out wonderfully, and the longer we’re here, the happier we are.”
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Emigrating meant leaving friends and family, a factor Peterson points out in a note he shares with friends thinking of leaving the US. He has two brothers with families in the midwest; she has a daughter and four grandchildren, a son and a favourite niece (in Boston, who has visited twice). They stay in touch via video-calls, and visits back.
They have Stamp Zero visas, which can be renewed four times, to ultimately become residents, on the path towards citizenship.
The visa stipulates you cannot spend more than 90 days outside Ireland, “which is reasonable,” says Peterson. “The government wants you to be committed to Ireland, not be a tourist. And we’re not tourists. We’re living here. We’re loving it. The visa requires about €50,000 income, a couple of hundred thousand [euro] in assets, private health insurance, a clean criminal record, a doctor saying you’re not deathly ill.”
They met the requirements with ordinary pensions and social security. “We’re not rich”, but “comfortably middle class.” As retired immigrants, they can’t earn money nor access Irish benefits. All the same, they were surprised by energy credits and other pluses for non-income-taxpayers, including the prescriptions cap of €80 per month. Medications are a third of US prices. When Conner had a medical issue, “excellent” ambulance and hospital care “cost €100. In the States, you could add two zeros to that,” says Peterson.
At a Clonmel storytelling event recently, Peterson spoke about real, human interactions with locals, businesses and cultural leaders, and being blessed by a “welcome sociability, intelligence, generosity”. The owner of the hotel where they first stayed gave them lifts, the plumber introduced him to the Workman’s Boat Club. He describes great service and expertise from local shops and tradespeople at reasonable prices; helpful gardaí, the OPW, medics.
Has Peterson an overly romantic, rose-tinted view of Ireland? “I reported what I had experienced.”
Only two things have disappointed. “Bus service at night is absent. If we want to go to Cashel or Waterford for a show, you can’t do it at night. And a lot of nonprofit groups use Facebook instead of websites. Information about a local chorus or theatrical group is on Facebook ... I think a website would be more friendly.”
Peterson, who is 80, speculates about Ireland’s friendliness. “Perhaps hundreds of years of foreign domination produces a general kindness to your neighbour in the face of larger factors beyond control. Or, despite the recent loss of credibility of Catholic Church leaders covering up abuses, there exists a foundation of charity, forgiveness, kindness. With millennia of pagan, Celtic and pre-Christian nature appreciation, values are deep-baked. These live in pilgrimages, sacred wells, Gaelic myths and holidays.”
They both have some Irish background, from centuries ago, “too far back to claim citizenship!”. Peterson has Swedish and Ulster-Scots ancestry, including McCauleys, Presbyterians from Dunbartonshire who initially moved to Ulster.
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Conner’s great-great-great grandfather Michael Conner, son of William Conner and Rosa Byrne, emigrated from Carlow and served during the American Revolution around 1775-1776. “He pops up in Louisiana in 1798, marrying Victoria Prineau,” a French-Canadian, says Conner. She hopes to find out more about him.
She’s African-American, and Peterson observes “we weren’t anticipating any bias, or people looking at us strangely as a couple. We haven’t had one bit of that. That’s not a surprise. We had a positive view of Ireland’s kindness and pluralistic attitude.”
Other good things: “The Irish have such wonderful humour, in every interaction making jokes and kind of being sarcastic as a form of showing they like you. The GAA, what a wonderful asset to the whole island. It’s voluntary, it’s organic. Holy mackerel. In the States the big sports are totally commercialised,” says Peterson.
Conner “grew up in the city, where everything is closed in. Here’s these wide open spaces. Even when it’s raining and cloudy, it still has that beauty. Then the people, who are more concerned about community. It’s what I grew up with. We lived in Brooklyn” with a mix of nationalities in their apartment building, playing together.
Conner says they didn’t leave the US because of Donald Trump, who wasn’t in power while they formed their plans. “We wanted a different life. We wanted the lifestyle that fitted us. The cruel stuff started after we moved.”
Peterson is involved in Clonmel community chorus. Conner joined the dragonboat team of breast cancer survivors. “I felt so much warmth, compassion, support, understanding,” she says. “To welcome a stranger you don’t even know. Especially when I tell them I can’t swim! They said, we can’t either! Compassion is one thing that used to be in America that’s no longer there. It’s me-me-me-me. Ireland still has that community feeling and emotion and attachment.”
We would like to hear from people who have moved to Ireland. To get involved, email newtotheparish@irishtimes.com
