Some minutes later, after the Communion, when the priest was wiping clean the chalice, he loudly asked his mother,

‘Ma, is he reddin’ up now?’

The people of South Armagh may be long removed from the Gaelic tongue of their ancestors but their language, attitude and tradition is still reflective of that byegone day.  Their speech is succinct and impregnated with a startling, intellectual patience.

‘Don’t have your heart in a thing!’ they will say, of the offering of a helping hand, or a gift, meaning merely that it should be freely given. 

‘Sorry for your trouble’, may sound trite – almost meaningless to a stranger’s ears – when offered to the recently bereaved.  A mantra maybe, but the hearer is content that the feeling expressed is genuine and the words bridge a gulf that might otherwise be filled with embarrassment. 

‘He got the bad word yesterday’, conveys both the degree and the nature of the acquired illness.  If he had got ‘the good word’ then the feeling of relief at the áll-clear’ diagnosis is matched by the speaker’s heartfelt empathy, correctly taken for granted.

I recently was witness to a short conversation between two locals, where the first was attempting to foist a bad bargain on the second.  They are neither slow nor stupid!  I was awaiting the devastating riposte.

Ách, sure you’re grand!’ he was told, good-humouredly.  Confused by the undercurrent, I quickly scanned both faces for the body language.  Only the faintest trace of a smile betrayed the mutually accepted message.  He was not to be taken for an amadan, but they could part as friends.

You couldn’t bate them with a big stick.  I love my people!