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Written by Ethel Fitzpatrick
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Tuesday, 01 June 2004 |
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Miss Ethel remembers the midwives of old on the local beat in High Street.
They were Nurses McKegney and Loughran. When they were spotted
arriving, with their large leather Gladstone bags, the children raced
after them for they knew they were bringing a baby, and they all hoped
it was to their own house.
The Butter Market was situated at the bottom of High Street. Every
Thursday farmers from Ballyholland and further afield would transport
kegs of milk by cart while women would carry baskets of butter on their
arms.
‘The milk was poured into a large granite trough. Dairymaids using
wooden ladles would dispense it from there to customers. Those wishing
to buy butter would scoop a portion with a coin for tasting.
The Hiring Fair was in the same location. It happened every quarter
year. Fine looking young men and women from the country would stand in
the street for hours, being vetted by farmers bent on hiring the ablest
and strongest for least wages.
Then every Friday the herring man from Omeath came around hawking
their wares. “Herrn’ alive!” they would shout, meaning the fish was so
fresh it was still alive. It wasn’t but it was fresh! Their bright
navy-blue carts were shining with shoals of silver herring. Women
would throng around, especially on Fridays. Half a dozen, wrapped in
newspaper, was a not uncommon order.
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Reminiscence 
