Funny Old World, — November 19, 2009 10:38 — 0 Comments

Mrs Finn MacCool: eejit’s version

MRS FINN MCCOOL (wig, cap, apron)

(Irish jig or mocking, light music while I change wigs and put on apron

 

– ‘Maestro! Play the air I have just sung.

 

MRS FINN MCCOOL (wig, cap, apron)

 

They say there’s a woman behind every famous man. That’s me. My man’s very famous, you’ve all heard of him.

 

An’ I think there’s probably a man behin’ every famous woman too. 

 

That’s why I’m not famous, no man behin’ me. No, I’m just Missus. Missus Finn McCool. Missus Nobody. No one has never heard of me. 

 

Just him – he’s the big hero. Spent his life off gallivantin’ an’ fightin’ an’ leavin’ me to bring up wee Oisin on me own, pure wild for the want of a daddy. 

 

I’d like to tell you about Finn – ’cause I’d hate young people to grow up today thinkin’ fightin’s important and not childern.

 

Sure, God help him, Finn, he started off on the wrong foot. First of all, he was born at a bad time, when there was fightin’ everywhere – when the bloody Highking of Ireland was King Conn of the Hundred Battles. Effin’ KingCong I call him.

 

Secondly, Finn come from what they call a dysfunctional family. His daddy was beat up an’ killed before Finn was born, so what did the Mammy do with baby Finn? Give him away to be brung up in a cabin in the forest deep in the woods of Co.Kerry. Sure what chance had he with that start?

 

Then when he was a teenager he run away from home an’ hooked up with some oddball who was living … wait to you hear this …  livin’ on the banks of the Boyne for seven years hopin’ to catch … wait for it … the salmon if Knowledge. 

 

I mean, I ask you, the Salmon if Knowledge! Pull the other one.

 

Eventually, the pair o’ boyos catches a wee salmon an’ Finn decides to cook it. Finn! Who doesn’t know how to boil an egg –

 

I know what I’m talkin’ about, I’m his wife! 

 

So the bloody fish goes on fire an’ the next thing Finn burns his hand. There’s no woman aroun’ to bandage it so what does the big baby do? – Puts his thumb in his mouth and then he thinks he gets a fishy taste an’ comes up with this theory that he has tasted the salmon if Knowledge so he must now be a genius.

 

 

He goes then to Tara an’ tells KingCong.

 

(Shtrong Kerry twang for Finn throughout.) 

 

"I caught a salmon," says he, "Your HighKingship. An’ I cooked an’ ate it all by myself, I’m a genius. I think you should make me Commander of the Fianna." 

 

(Have yiz heard of the Fianna? They were the first Irish Army.)

 

(heavy nasal accent) "Begod," says KingCong, "A genius. I could be doin’ with a genius runnin’ the Fianna – they have great muscles but they’re short on brains. You’re taken on."

 

So that was the start of it – you’ve all heard of the mighty deeds if Finn McCool, the big giant of a man that lept over mountains an’ scooped out Lough Neagh to throw intill the sea an it become the Isle o’ Man. 

 

Who is he tryin’ to fool? Do you believe that? 

 

That he scooped out the Irish lakes to fling at Goll McMorna an’ missed, and they made all the Irish islands. Not at all, he wasn’t even a giant. I’m his wife an’I can tell you that some parts of his body was smaller than usual – an’ I’m not talkin’about his beer belly!

 

What else, oh aye, in the official story that Finn tells, I disappeared one day an’ he spent years lookin’ for me. (eyes up) Nice romantic yarn. He disappeared. Always gone! Always some excuse to be away. I mind one day I says till him:

 

"You’re not off again," says I, "Where are you off to this time?

 

"To kill me enemies," he says, "What else?"

 

"Enemies," says I, "Are they not all dead yet? You’ve been killin’ enemies for years an’ years. Tomorra’s our 25th anniversary. And Saint Valentine’s Day. What about me? What about us?

 

"Good God, Sadhb," says he (Sadhb’s my name, by the way – just for the record – I have a name), "Good God, Sadhb, are we 25 years married. That’s a good one. Twenty-five years out hunting for you day an’ night, killing your enemies, protecting you and little Oisin. 

 

An’ you tell me ’tis twenty five years? Well, I don’t begrudge you one of those years. An’ did we get married on Valentine’s Day. Yerra, weren’t we the romantic couple. Listen, I, I won’t be able to make it here for tomorrow, but would you maybe nip out an’ buy a Valentine Card from me to you an’ sure I promise you I’ll sign it as soon as I get back – an’ I’ll pick you a nice bunch o’ flowers on the way home."

"I didn’t ask you for flowers," says I, "Deliberately. Do you mind the last time I asked for flowers, you brung me back a whin bush! You’re about as romantic as an oul’ billygoat!"

 

Ay," says he, "Now you’re talking. I can lep like a billygoat. No better man."

 

God is he thick! Don’t talk to me… But I’ll stop, for Finn wants to sing a song he made up. Take him with a pinch o’ salt, will you.

 

(Take off woman’s wig – or headscarf – and put on man’s cap sideways)

 

Finn: (Shtrong Kerry/ twang for his speech and song) I’m goin’ to sing a song in praise of my loving wife, her beauty and charm. Now this is much more than a song, ’tis pure poetry for all members of the Fianna had to study poetry for seven years. So here you are now, in praise of the woman I love…

 


Come all you young giants and lisht to my song

I will not detain you, I’ll not keep you long.

I will sing of a hero, his name it is Finn

And his beautiful wife with her shnowy white shkin.

 

 Dansce tap a tap deedle go one two an’ three

 Sing shweetly in fond admiration.

Now, you notisce the lovely poetry – I mean, good poetry like this, ‘her shnowy white shkin" – twould nearly give you bad thoughts. 

 

Oh, I once met a woman, the fairest I’ve seen

A beautiful lovely shweet Irish colleen.

I ashked her to marry me, then held my breath,

She said "I’ll put up with you, dear, until death."

 Dansce tap a tap deedle did ever you dream

 Of a love shtory half so romantic?

 

My Missus she dansces, she dansces with joy

She dansces attendansce on me, her big boy.

She shteps through the kitchen as gay as could be

She cooks porridge an’ turnips an’ shpuds just for me.

 Dansce tap a tap deedle go one two and three

 In heav’n we were made for each other.

 

I said to my Missus, to my own turtle dove,

"Have you milk for my shpuds, my dear shweetheart, my love

She waltzed to the byre and she milked our shweet cow

An she said to me "Dear, are you satishfied now?"

 Dansh tap a tap deedle go one two and three

 We’re as happy as pigeons in shpringtime

 

She shkips to the river, my bright comely queen

And fondly she washes my drawers in the shtream

I think she adores me from bald head to socks

And she says I am handsome and cute as a fox

 Dansce tap a tap deedle go one two and three

 She says "How did I ever deserve you?"

 

She dansced into bed, proud of my daring deeds

I said "Be romantic, for I have my needs,

And when you are done, sure our work never shtops

Will you dansce to the field for to empty the slops

 Dansce tap a tap deedle go one two and three

 I could cry overcome with emotion

 

My love for my wife has me crazy, a fool

Her name it is (pause) dear Mrs Big Finn McCool.

The pride of.. (pause) whereever she comes from, I’m sure

She’s the flower of.. that same place, so gentle and pure,

 Dansce tap a tap deedle go one two an’ three

 Shweet Mrs McCool, we adore you.

 

To end my shmart ditty, dear men, I will…

 

What? What do you mean you want to sing the last verse? But are you sure you can sing, my dear? Oh… (looks knocked to be losing the limelight) Very well, so… (to audience) 

 

My Missus wants to sing the last verse

 

(Wig on again for woman to sing)

Oh what can I say, girls, to such loving words

I think it is clear he’s away with the birds.

He’s dumb, he’s absurd, but I’ll have the last word,

I’ll domesticate Finn or I’ll leave him.

 

 Dance tap a tap deedle, go one two and three

 He must share my workload or make do without me

 He can empty his own slops, his turds and wee-wee,

 Or I’ll leave his dysfunctional family.

 


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