There were other times when it would be a small tub of champ of mashed potatoes swinging in a bed-sheet, with rolls of butter in cans of buttermilk, to be knifed into plates of champ to make a golden dip.

She showed her pride in the glow of her face because of the sight of so many workers – even though she had made allowance with extra mugs for those who had come unbidden by word or hint. This ‘sight of people’ was a measure of her esteem among the neighbours.

‘Hoigh! Hoigh! Drop what youse are at an’ come on! Empty yer braskins …’

Some feigned to linger over a job and she called again, admonishingly. The women in the field came slowly to the head-rig and like everyone else pounded down the briars with their twisted boots before sinking to rest, making small cries to conceal the moan of real weariness.

‘The big fall hard!’ with a laugh. 

‘Aye, they’re low that God can’t raise!’

On her knees the woman herself is handing out mugs of tea; others pass them along the row of workers sitting and squatting against the ditch. The split farls of soda-bread squelching butter are also passed along. Eggs and spoons, maybe tossed to someone, are also given out, with grains of salt in twists of paper, each to serve three or four.

And if sufficient mugs are not at hand, himself will charitably ‘wait on a mug’ until someone has eaten, while another may drink out of the lid of a can. The dog awaits the scraps to be thrown, for fingers haven’t been washed, and anyhow tradition says you should throw away the last bite, lest hungry Grass grow around the site of such a scrapless meal.

Chat and talk and banter move in a light and allusive shade – sometimes garbed in the words of traditional euphemisms if the knowing-young are present – though jokes at their expense which they as yet do not understand bring wild laughter from the older ones …

“Ah, me pipe, avick … thank ye .. good man …

.. that the hair may grow in thamogs where it never grew afore …”

…

Editor’s note: Thank God we still have the words and wisdom of the master, for little else remains of this life, now long gone.