Capitol Theatre & iIrish Unveil iIrish Film Hub

All Our Yesterdays: Preserving the Stories Before They’re Lost ~ A Conversation with Mayo Documentarian and Filmmaker Breege Rowley

As Mayo filmmaker and documentarian Breege Rowley prepares for the Cleveland premiere of her film, All Our Yesterdays, she reflects on an extraordinary 11-year journey—one that began with a simple but unsettling realization: once a family’s cinefilm is thrown away, a piece of its history can disappear forever.

That moment came in 2015, when Breege learned that someone had discarded their family’s old cinefilm. Rather than let that happen again, she set out to preserve the lived history of her native Swinford, Co. Mayo, before the people who carried those memories—and the stories themselves—were gone.

Over the next 11 years, Breege interviewed approximately 70 people, documenting personal stories that reach from the Penal Laws, the Famine and the Land League—including the legacy of Michael Davitt—through the generations that followed. Participants opened their family archives, sharing photographs, letters, music and memories that bring an intensely personal perspective to Ireland’s history and the experience of emigration.

The urgency of that mission became even more profound as the years passed. Six of Breege’s interview subjects have died since the project began, while others have faced the effects of Alzheimer’s. Their stories, once preserved on film, remain.

For Breege, however, All Our Yesterdays is about far more than preserving history. It is about people telling their own stories, in their own voices—and discovering the resilience, pride, community and connections that continue to link Ireland with its worldwide diaspora.

Our conversation also explores Breege’s own journey: growing up in Swinford, discovering her passion for cameras and storytelling, building a career in film and television editing, and spending six years at the Sundance film labs on Robert Redford’s ranch, where she worked alongside some of the industry’s best.

Those experiences helped shape the filmmaker she would become, but it was her connection to people—and her belief that every person has a story worth preserving—that ultimately brought All Our Yesterdays to life.

Now, as the film arrives in Cleveland, Breege hopes audiences will see more than a history of one Mayo community.

They will see themselves, their families and the generations who came before them.

Excerpts from our conversation:

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What was your catalyst for All Our Yesterdays?

Every time somebody passes, an archive is lost. They have lived, this is our lived history, what they have experienced. Every time a box of cine film was thrown away or somebody passed away, their archive was gone unless somebody recorded it.So that was the catalyst for me to start All Our Yesterdays.

You started 11 years ago, that would have been at the leap of the digital craze. You were aware of that?

Yeah, actually in 2015. There is a clip in the film of this guy, called Tom Oliver, and it was his archive that was lost. His interview in the film was done through Zoom (or such) at that stage. I always wanted to go back and film him once I had the the bones of the story together. Unfortunately, that never happened. He passed away around 2023. I just didn’t have the opportunity to go to England.

Yeah, 2015 actually. The guy that I interviewed through Zoom, there is this clip in the film of this guy called Tom Oliver – it was his archive that was lost. His interview in the film was done through Zoom (or such) back in 2015.

I always wanted to go back and film him once I had the bones of the story together. Unfortunately, that never happened; he passed away around 2023. At that stage, I just didn’t have the opportunity to go to England and actually rerecord a story.

But look, it’s authentic; this film isn’t perfect technically probably, as a cinematic blockbuster, but it has all the essence of the human story and that’s what any filmmaker is trying to relay, his human story and the emotion, other pieces, and he does it even in the in the zoom quality.

He gets the story across. Authenticity is there. It’s all about the lived experience.

I think that trying to tell that story in the right tone with respect – that’s can be the hardest part, making it authentic for people, making them want to say, “Hey this touched me, it wasn’t it was over cinematic or you lose some of the flavor, some of the authenticity itself too, and that’s what I wanted to do. I wanted people to tell their own story in their own voice. That is one of the things that’s very authentic about this film.

Basically, it is the people telling their own story. Within the 70 whatever people that I interviewed, each of them has their own nugget of information.

Tom & Ann Costello

That is hugely important to the overall story, going right back to the time of the penal laws, right through into the history of the famine, the Land League, Michael Davitt. We had a great historian in Swinford, Michael Comer, he had done all the research of the area in relation to that period of time in history.

It’s a Swinford lens, but really, it’s an Irish story. Anyone could relate to these people, our people; their voices.

I may be biased, but I think there’s a quintessentially Irish trait of caring deeply about preserving history and passing stories from one generation to the next. We spend a lot of time here trying to preserve, present and promote Irish history in a way that goes beyond simply focusing on An Gorta Mor, the IRA or the hardships Ireland endured.

How did a country that experienced so much hardship manage to maintain such a positive spirit—one expressed through music, storytelling, singing and celebration? And how important is that spirit of resilience and remembrance to preserving Ireland’s history?

You can tell the story much better, as you said, authentically from their voice. That comes from them rather than me talking.

That’s the thing about it – they have the human connection with the stories. Everything that we relate to, the War of Independence or the Civil War, there’s a human story in every town around the country. and how it translates, through the immigration of our people all over the world.  

We’re 70 million, our diaspora, that’s the figure on it. If you think of all the Irish that have gone before us: I always say this this line and it means so much to me, we are who we are because of the people who’ve gone before us.

They are the legacy, we are the legacy, of their drive, their resilience, their pride, and I think also, you mentioned music there. I think that’s a universal language. For me, the music in this film is hugely important, because every piece of music in this film comes from a Swinford person, all the bridging music came from the musicians here in Swinford.

The actual compositions were done by Swinford people. For example, Alana Thornburg, a fantastic harp player, and a composer – all these people gave their time their talent to the film.

In some ways, this is not just my film, this is a community film. For me, it’s very important to get the next generation pulling together; an understanding of where they’ve come from.

Alana Thornburg

I had a very good friend, Connor Walsh, a very fantastic, talented musician. He was a minimalistic composer and piano player. Unfortunately, he passed at the age of 36.

His mum gave me the opportunity to use his music within the film – that’s what is so poignant within the film. She’s talking about her days in Swinford, and her son’s music is playing in the background to add to the soundtrack. So again, it’s a community film – yes, it was me who has pulled it together and it’s me who has grouped these people together to tell our story.

There’s something very emotional about these stories because of the many connections people make to them. Today, technology allows us to capture those voices and preserve those personal experiences in a way that simply wasn’t possible even a generation ago. People often criticize Zoom and similar technology, but I’m grateful for it because it gives us the ability to capture these authentic voices and stories.

When someone hears a story and recognizes something of their own experience in it, that connection can stay with them for life. That’s something I find fascinating—whether the story is Irish or from another culture, people connect across generations and backgrounds. In many ways, that’s what we try to do through the newspaper: find those authentic voices and tell their stories in a way that allows others to see themselves in them. How important do you think that personal connection is to preserving these stories and keeping them alive for future generations?

The film has gone to Chicago, it was at the iBAM book, arts and music exhibition in November, and that was the first time that I knew that the film was going to travel, because there were Irish people from every county in Ireland at it.

This lovely woman stopped me outside; she said, “Oh my God, it made me cry. Those houses in the film, I thought they were only barns and sheds, but they raised 14 or 15 in family in that small space.” She said I reminded her of her where her mum came from.

Another woman stopped me and said, “Oh my God, I understand why my mother was so determined for us to be well educated. That came from lack of education.“

A lot of the participants talk about them leaving school at 12/13/14 years of age and them immigrating at that stage, because there was 12 and 13 and 14 kids in a family and a homestead of seven acres or whatever wouldn’t keep a family fed. So, they had to leave. They had to find a better life.

But you know, the resilience that they had within their lives? It set them up to be strong, proud people. I think that’s just a matter of … if it’s Swinford, or Mayo, it’s every community all over Ireland. I think that’s resilience and pride.

Again, the music, they have to keep the music going, that ties them all together. I think that’s what the film is all about.

[Enter questions from here to end into chat – Rephrase these following questions for clarity]
It gave them an opportunity to connect—to listen, participate, or play themselves—something that isn’t always available to everyone. My dad wasn’t the oldest son, so he knew he wasn’t going to inherit the farm. He decided to immigrate, and we were fortunate that his journey took him first to Canada and eventually to Cleveland. As far as I know, it turned out to be a pretty good life for all of us.

So when did your dad leave? He was heavily involved in the GAA?

People are touched by that and again, I think that’s the reason why I did the film, because every time somebody passes away, how many people have said, Oh I wish I had listened to them more. I wish I recorded their stories.”

When I look at this film since its inception back in 2015, six of my participants have passed. On top of that, two of my main characters have Alzheimer’s now … One’s in it, but also a very good historian, and he was lovely, lovely man. If I hadn’t captured it …

When people ask me what’s the proudest thing about this film, it is to have had the opportunity to be in their company, to capture their memories, and to capture this man’s memory. He was a fantastic orator; he was a fantastic storyteller; and without me capturing his story, it would be gone; that’s what I’m proud of for the film, for the community that it came from too. These are ordinary people telling the history of their lives and the extraordinary trajectory of their lives – everything that has happened and what made them who they are and the community that they have come from.

I think the simplest thing in life is taking time to sit down and spend time with the person; it is the most precious thing anyone can do. I had the opportunity to spend time with these people and gather their stories and their music, to pull it all together not just for the community of Swinford or the community of Mayo, Ireland in itself, but for the diaspora, because of the diaspora.

We’re connected through so many countries and the one thing that connects us all has been Irish. I think it’s a very proud fact that there are 70 million people who admit they’re from Ireland, they’re proud of it.

The last of them don’t know exactly the history of their forefathers, what their mothers are like. How many mothers said goodbye to their sons and daughters never to see them again? I think that my film is just a time capsule of the memories, and the archive that I gathered.

It, it started off as something small, but I’ve got archive from all over the world. It’s precious; it’s never been seen before. These are ordinary people telling ordinary stories, with their small photographs; you get the emotion from a photograph.

When you hear a story and then you see the photograph – it’s so powerful. The simple life that they had, without money. They had each other.

I remember one of the characters said to me, Now Breege, we didn’t have a lot, but we had each other, and that was enough. Everyone was in the same boat. No one was any better than anyone else.

They were all poor; not all, you know what I mean, the majority of people that had to immigrate didn’t do it out of choice back into the 50s, 60s and 70s. Now? Yes they are immigrating because of choice, they want to see the world, they want to see what’s out there. I think travel gives the best education in the world, but back in the 50s 60s, when your dad emigrated or immigrated [not so].

That’s the part of the story that is very evident in [plain sight], in the small village where I’m from, just outside Swinford. Within a period of 10 years, there was, say five families, and in [each] there was 10/11/12 kids. They all immigrated within 10 years – all that was left was a house and a mother and a father. Then the son might come back when they got sick.

Think of that – a whole generation of people left over that period of time, from your father’s time in 1951, or my mother’s time – it was all around the same time from the 1950s to the 60s, it was after the Civil War. There was no money in this country.

Things were very bleak. But they had each other.

They had the American wakes; there was always a party to say goodbye to a son or a daughter. Parents probably never thought they’d see them again. As you said earlier, there wasn’t the technology, there wasn’t the phones.

It was a letter, and part of the film as well – you’ll see archive from this great pub in Swinford, called Mellett’s Emporium. Joe Mellett was the proprietor, and the guy I interviewed. He has stacks and stacks of receipts and letters and IOUs.

You go, What is this this? Is this the filing system from the 1900s and it’s just unique? You’d never get it anywhere else. They didn’t have a computer, it was in their head or on a wire strung from the door.

Joe Mellett – Mellett’s Emporium Estd. 1797

You know part of the story as well. There is a woman in this, her name is Kathleen Benson. Her mother was the one of the commanders in the Cumman na Bhan. She was the chairperson.

There’s a letter that she wrote to her uncle in New York about the skirmishes that were going on in Swinford and the fighting. Again, a simple story, but it’s a story that could relate to any community across Ireland at the time. You know that history still lives on in Ireland.

Kathleen Benson

There is politics in every country. But again you look back at a community now, and there’s still remnants of that history within the community. But it’s great. that’s what makes us, absolutely.

You can look at the entire state of Ohio. All of Ireland could fit inside Ohio, and Ohio is just one of 50 states. So, in a sense, Ireland may be small geographically, but its reach certainly isn’t.

Ireland is worldwide now. There’s good and bad in every community, every country, and every county, but I believe there is far more good than bad. Just look at the mark Irish people have left around the world—their influence, their accomplishments, and the impact they’ve made in so many different places.

And I think that comes back to the resilience we were talking about. We were born into a tradition of fighting for survival, fighting for something better. That spirit is still with us. We’re always trying to improve, to be better, to accomplish more—and ultimately, to leave our mark on the world.

I think Irish people do that very, very well, all over the world.

Yes, I think the Irish have always had a strong ability to make a difference in the world. They care about legacy—about the impact they have and what they leave behind.

My dad accomplished a lot in his life, and I learned so much from watching him. It wasn’t as though he consciously set out to accomplish a long list of things. He was simply doing what he had always done—working, helping people, getting involved. In the process, he created a legacy.

I think that helps explain why Irish people so often rallied around newcomers. They helped them find a job, an apartment, or simply the connections they needed to get started. When my parents came from Montreal, they had nobody. There were just the two of them and my two sisters, starting over as immigrants. But somehow, connections were made and doors opened.

Eventually, the USGAA asked Dad if he would come to the States and do more work with the GAA. Cleveland’s Irish community has a strong connection to Mayo, while our family was from Roscommon, so in some ways, we were double outsiders.

But then there was Pat Kearney, another Roscommon man. He met my family and took us under his wing. For decades, we went to their house for Thanksgiving, and they came to ours for Christmas. Those relationships became part of our family.

The GAA was another important connection. Henry Cavanaugh, an Irishman who had made his own impact in Cleveland, met with Dad. They sat in Henry’s squad car and talked about the GAA in Cleveland. That conversation ultimately figured into Dad’s decision to leave Montreal and come to Cleveland.

And now, from those two people who arrived as immigrants, there are 51 nieces, grandnieces, nephews and grandnephews. That’s fascinating to me—the number of people who came after them, and how much they were able to overcome and accomplish, often simply by getting a little help from their friends.

I just wish I had asked Dad more questions while I had the chance.

I think what you’re talking about there in relation to your father – there was another Roscommon man; it was about creating community. You were stronger with others than on your own. I think that was that’s hugely important. I think that’s something that the film talks about as well.

Again, the music is a universal language. It didn’t matter if you were from another county, the music was the same and it was the same tempo. It was a way of bridging communities and counties together.

This is why I’m so proud of this film, because yes, it is the links, stories told through the lens of Swinford and the Swinford people, but really, this is everyone’s story worldwide. That’s what I hope for with any audience member going to see the film, and they laugh as well, because it’s not just about history, it’s about living, getting through it, being a community; I think that’s something that will resonate with all the audience.

That’s the thing about …  when you live in a community and know everyone is fighting for each other, you know the mail, you know if somebody was sick years ago, everyone would come together to make sure their hair, their turf or whatever needs to be done was looked after.

That’s what I hope any audience member going to see the film and they laugh as well, because it’s not just about history, it’s about living, getting through it, being a community; I think that’s something that will resonate with all the audience.

When I was putting this together, it was an Irish story in my head, it was a diaspora story, because Irish people know the history within reason, but they even tell me they learn a bit. They say, I know about the Civil War, I know about the War of Independence, but when you pull it all together …

You have a pride when somebody finishes watching this film – it is where they’ve came from and who’s came before them. The illumination out to them, they learn something from it.

Breege Rowley

Did you grow up in Swinford, or did you move there later in life?

I grew up in Swinford until my dad died when I was 18 years old. So going to college at that stage wasn’t going to be a runner. We came from a farming background; we didn’t have a lot of money. So I ended up working with Baxter Healthcare, which is an American company with the head of factory [located] in Swinford.

I’ve always had a love for video cameras and cameras because my aunt was a phenomenal photographer; phenomenal woman; phenomenal story; phenomenal background. She was a nun in Australia. When she’d ever come home, she’d have the big camera and I’d always have it in my hands, and taking photographs, so she was a very big influence on me.

When I was 21, I ended up having a party and buying my very first camcorder. Basically, it went from there.  

By the age 24, I’d returned to college in Ballyfermat and started working or started educating myself in film. Before I went to college I had set up a production company, doing videos for weddings, videos for holy communions or events and stuff.

I was always immersed in this for the community. Part of the story as well is Síamsa Sráide Festival – that’s a festival that just finished last week. It’s 42nd year consecutively, only for the COVID pandemic. It’s a draw for everyone to come home at that time, it doesn’t matter where you’re from, all over the world. I used to film at that festival so …

Straight away I was always interested in people. I always was interested in where they were from, what they were doing, and what the connection was. From doing that, I went on to work in film and television in Dublin. That’s my career for the last 25 years – I’ve had a phenomenal journey.

I might not have a lot of money in my pocket, but I’ve had a phenomenal journey in getting to where I am. I’ve done some amazing stories, so I feel lucky.

That’s a richness in your brain, experience?

Yeah but also human connection and I would always say that when it comes to … my background is editing, so pulling all the stories together – I would always say that I’m a biography documentary maker. I love drama.

It’s really it’s about the human story. It always has to have a human story.

That’s the work that I love. I enjoy telling people’s stories. So that’s where I have come from and hopefully that translates within the documentary itself.

Me telling your story is nowhere near as powerful as you telling your story. It’s not the same.

The subject matter, that’s where I feel lucky as well, in relation to the film. I didn’t realize how lucky I was until I started putting it together. People relaxed when I was asking them questions because they knew me – they were more open, and that comes across – there’s nothing stilted about it.

They’re just telling you their story and yes, it is the history of Ireland, but it’s not really history. I’m not trying to give people a history lesson. I’m more telling them about who these people were, what they endured, where they came from and where they went, … and what they have left behind.

It’s powerful. I don’t want to use the same words over and over again, but absolutely, it’s powerful.

I’m very dyslexic. Film and television have always been my medium of communication.

There’s a photograph of me when I was nine years old with my aunt’s camera on my shoulder, her video camera. I remember when I was in my 20s, she gave me a present of that videotape that was in that camera. When I put it on, it was my dad coming through the door. I go, Smile Daddy, you’re on camera.

He pauses for a minute, and he goes, Put on that camera down, you’ll break it.

I hadn’t heard his voice in years, and that memory was back again! This is why archive and our memories, our archive and our stories, are hugely important; there was no monetary value on that tape, but for me it was the most precious thing that somebody gave me.

Robert Redford Ed Harris Phillip Seymour Hoffman Sundance

So that was that was one turning point. The other turning point was when I was 21 and got the first camera.

I got an opportunity to go to Sundance for six years on Robert Redford’s ranch. I worked with the best of the best and I got the training from the best of the best.

For me, that was a catalyst because I got the opportunity to move outside Ireland, see how other industries worked, and I worked with the Robert Redford in the edit suite and Ed Harris. In front of me was Philip Seymour Hoffman, in the frame.

At the time, I probably didn’t realize how important it was, because when we were growing up, we had two channels: RTE 1 and RTE 2. The only film you’d ever see was on a Sunday and it was called a Sunday Matinee. We’d all sit down to watch the Sunday Matinee.

It was Cowboys & Indians, some was American films; it was transporting me out of Ireland into another world. That’s what always interests me – people’s stories, people’s lives and like.

Assassins
I have cut footage from the Himalayas to Tibet, all over the world, and human stories – some of them are hard. I have cut stories called assassins, a series called Assassins. It’s about the cartel and the Kinahan Organized Crime Group, who ran Ireland. Then they went abroad and were the cartel for worldwide crime and drugs.

I did a program on addiction and how drugs and addiction affects people, not just the person addicted, it’s the family around them … we are who we are because of the people who’ve came before us. Sometimes people don’t get the opportunity to get a break, but it’s how the resilience comes into play – the next generation have to pick themselves up and be better than where they’ve came from or try and get out of that line.

So the human story has always influenced me, the human story is so important. Sometimes you have to look at every angle when you’re a documentary editor, you can’t just take one political view or one view on something; you have to have a balance.

I think that’s where my ability as an editor comes across in relation to the direction of this film. I’m not there trying to make somebody feel a certain way.

I didn’t point a finger or make people go on tangents. I just revealed the story. I gave them the information so they can make up their own mind.

Are they proud of where they’ve come from? Can they relate to the story that I’ve told, in their own story? And hopefully, they can see the resilience in their own story, not even just Irish people; if it was a story from any community around the world that they can relate too.

Every human being has basic needs and basic wants, but the biggest thing that people want, and I think it’s hugely important, is to be respected. Commune with and spend time with great people, that’s what this film is about.

Me spending time with great people is what I’m proud of. You mentioned opportunities, [for things] to be different. You have to be open to that.  You do. You could go right back, and you would never notice.

Sometimes it’s looking back to, Oh, this was an impactful moment for me. But sometimes, just being open to hear it; they’re comfortable talking to you, so they tell you something maybe they wouldn’t have told somebody else – that’s where you really learn what, for this person, made them go. What way made them go to America? What made so and so go here or there?

But you know, it’s even a line in your e-mail – you said opportunities pass by; they do not pause. At the end of the day, you have to take that opportunity.

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