Killeavy Placenames

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Dromintee 
fairy bushes
Drinans or Bushes of the Shee  
 
Garriba   
Tail of Slieve Gullion
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Dhraicklemore  
rocky outcrop Armagh/Louth border
great teeth
Monribba               townland near Forkhill on Bog Road
Clougharevan        Cloch Fhuarain, fountain rock, Bessbrook
Cloughreagh          Aghnecloghreagh, place of grey stones, Bessbrook
Cloughinny             Cloch Eanaigh, marsh rock
Crankey                 Baile Mhic Rangain, Rangan’s town
Cross                    Baile na Crosie, town of the crossing
Cullentragh            Cuileanntracht, holly district
Duburren               Dubh bhoireann, dark rocky place (Sturgan)
Derrymore             Doire Mor, great wood
Derrywilligan         Doire Ui Mhaolagain, Mulligan’s Wood
Duvernagh             Dubh Bhearnach, the Black Gap
Drumbanagher       Druimbeannchair, the peaked ridge
Enagh                    Ma Eanaigh, the swampy plain
Eshwary    Baile an eas’mhoir, the town of the great waterfall

Peter’s Away with the Fairies

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About a hundred years ago a certain Peter Malone lived at the corner where the Stang Road meets the Castlewellan Road.  One Halloween Night he was coming home from Stang Tops at a late hour.  It was a bright moonlit night and as Peter hurried along he could hear sweet sounds as of music coming from a field a short distance from the roadside.  He paused for a moment to listen and this is the refrain he heard, coming from a chorus of voices:
 
‘Saddle and Bridle; Saddle and Bridle,
‘Saddle and Bridle; Saddle and Bridle.’
 
Peter listened for a while, then carried away by the music he chimed in;
 
‘Saddle and Bridle for me!
‘Saddle and Bridle for me!’
 
Instantly he was surrounded by a company of fairies on horseback.  Then one of the fairies led up a gray mare with a saddle on her back and a bridle on her head and motioned Peter to mount.  Up Peter got and off they all went at full gallop over hill and dale and never slackening for a moment till they arrived in the sunny land of Spain.
 
On and on they galloped over high mountains and through deep valleys until at length they arrived in a large town.  Tightening their bridles Peter and the fairies cantered through the main street till by and by they struck up with a funeral procession heading towards a grand church in the centre of the town.  The fairies and Peter followed the cortege and dismounting from their steeds walked respectfully into the church behind the coffin.  They took their places in the pews and looked on while the priest recited the prayers.  Then someone called out, ‘Who will lift the offerings?’  At this the chief mourner pointed to Peter.
 
So Peter took the plate and collected the offerings.  This done he pocketed the money.  And just as he was putting the last coin into his pocket he found himself at his own gate in Stang, his coat pocket bulging with money.  It was now far into the night and the family were all in bed so Peter crept softly up to the door and knocked. 
 
After a few moments delay the wife unbarred the door and seeing it was Peter began to ‘give out’ about the bad hours he was keeping. 
 
‘Now don’t be going on like that, woman dear,’ says Peter.
 
‘Wait a moment till I show you the big heap of money I have brought home to you from Spain.’
 
Then he put his hand in his coat pocket.  But no money was there.
 
Instead of coins, Peter drew out a handful of clabber.
 
 

Agnes: Computer Woes

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Dear Agnes,
 
I know you are a computer expert and perhaps the very person to help me.  I’ve had a lot of trouble with mine!
 
The man said I could fax with the machine so I held the paper up to the TV (or is that the monitor?) and hit ‘Send’ but it didn’t.  I can’t find the ‘ANY’ key that it keeps telling me to Press. 
 
Then it started to tell me I was ‘bad’ and an ‘invalid’.  Isn’t that just rude?
 
I tried printing but the machine said it couldn’t find the printer.  I turned the TV thing round to face the printer, but it still couldn’t find it.  I called the helpline but the fellow just wanted to know if I was operating under windows.  I told him the light was fine, I could see well what I was doing!  He told me to type ‘P’ to bring up the Programme Manager.  I told him I couldn’t find the ‘P’.
 
‘P on your keyboard’, he roared.  Now, I wasn’t going to do that!
 
Then my coffee-cup holder broke!  You know that drawer that keeps popping in and out.  Well, no sooner did I rest the full cup of coffee on it that didn’t it pop in again and spilled the hot liquid all through that big tower box.  I filled the bath-tub with soap and water to clean it all out.  But it did no good! 
 
Agnes, do you think he was taking the p*** outa me?
 
Yours truly,
 
Henry Pratt
 


 
Dear Henry,
 
Box it up and send it back. 
 
You’re too stupid to own a computer.
 
Agnes Dayee

Mummers’ Cast

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To the child’s eye, the Mummers were characterised by fantastic hats and costumes, flowing beards, long coats – many worn inside out, black and painted and masked faces, oddly behaved and strangely dressed women, underwear worn on the outside, sword fights in tiny kitchens and a vague sense of threat.  They were, I suppose, the precursors of our modern amateur drama groups but the general gist of their scripts were ancient and handed-down.  There was also ready room for improvisation and adaptation, copied now in the drama of pantomime.
 
In his notes, the collector T G F Patterson refers to the similarities and differences of Cast and Performance of two groups with which he was familiar between the wars.  The Drumcree Players (yes, that Drumcree) had the following cast:
 
St George    red tunic, white trousers, sword, plumed hat
Turk             black tunic, white trousers, green beret (turkey feathers) sword
Old Woman  red flannel petticoat, shawl, stick
Cromwell     red coat, white trousers, sword, huge false nose
S Patrick      gilt crozier, robe decorated with gold and silver paper
Beelzebub    black coat, white trousers, club in hand, frying pan
Big Belly       huge padded trousers and wearing long beard
Divil Doubt   red coat, white trousers, blackened face, besom in hand
John Funny  all in white, red hat, carrying money-box
 
Locals note in bygone days the characters wore plaited straw hats with coloured streamers and feathers and had their limbs encased in straw ropes; shirts or coats were worn inside out.  This fairly describes the costumes of Sheetrim, Cullyhanna of later (1930s-1940s) times.
 
Patterson said that the Ballymore-Mullavilly Rhymers (not far removed) were dressed more in that traditional way, long shirts over their ordinary clothes tied at the waist by a twisted straw rope or coloured scarf and all carried swords made from the backs of scythes.  Hats were usually made from old-fashioned strong white (7-14 lb) paper flour bags adorned with coloured streamers.  Others wore ‘dunce’s-cap’ headgear similarly decorated.  The bottom half of bodies were neatly encased in ‘leggings’ of straw ropes or in long women’s stockings.  Their characters were similar to those of Drumcree with the addition of Turk’s Father and Big Head with Divily Doubt substituting for his namesake above!

 
 
SAINT GEORGE
I’ll beat him up,
I’ll hack him as small as any fly
An’ throw him to the divil
To make a Christmas pie.
 
TURK
What are you but St Peter’s stable boy
Who fed his horse on oats an’ hay
For seven days, then ran away.
 
That’s a lie, St George!
 
Take out your purse to pay, Sir
 
Take out your sword to try, Sir,
I’ll run my dagger through your heart
Or make you run away, Sir.
 
They fight. The Turk falls.  A doctor is called.
 
 
 
 
 
I can cure, the plague within, the plague without
The pip, the pop, the palsy and the gout
Lumbaga, sciatic and dicktolleroo
Moreover I can make an oul’ woman on critches
Burst her britches
Leppin’ over stones hedges and whitethorn ditches.
 
An’ what medicine do you use, Sir?
 
DOCTOR
I use the heart and liver of a creepy stool
The brains of an anvil
The giblets of a dish cloth
Put that in a wran’s bladder
Stir carefully with a cat’s feather
Take that fourteen fortnights before day
An’ if that doesn’t cure ye, I’ll ask no pay
Moreover I’ve a little bottle on the end of my cane
Hocus, pocus, Sally Campane
Rise up, dead man, and fight again! 

Agnes: Toilet Etiquette

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Dear Agnes,
 
Please don’t laugh at my problem like everyone else does!

It’s to do with the correct way to hang the toilet roll in its holder. 

I recognise that there may be more weighty affairs in the world (indeed, I missed an episode of Coronation Street this week!) but this thing is beginning to threaten our marriage.

 
You see, I am left-handed and the roll-holder is screwed to the toilet wall to my right when I’m sitting there.  If I try to tear off a strip of appropriate length when my wife has hung it loose end out, the whole roll unravels onto the floor. 

I cannot re-position it one-handed and it’s most indecorous to be mooning about in that position to do the job. 

I’m getting on in years and sometimes forget to close or lock the bathroom door and one time, our neighbour Mrs Patton screamed to see me as she walked down the hall to join my wife in the sun-lounge. 

 
No matter how often I reverse them, my wife has the toilet rolls in all three bathrooms hung trailing end out in a jiffy. 
 
What is the correct etiquette here?

I’m relying on you.

 
Godfrey Browning
 


 
Dear Godfrey,
 
Your underlying problem is that you’re a cornaptious, ignorant oul’ git and your wife would be well shot of you should the marriage end over this (t)issue.
 
My sympathy goes out not just to your long-suffering angelic wife but also to the unfortunate Mrs Patton who had to suffer the spectacle of an ageing Lothario with his trousers round his ankles doing pirouettes in the bathroom.
 
So you have three bathrooms and a sun-lounge!!  And how subtly you inserted that gem of information!!
 
Get a life, you dirty old man!! 
 
Agnes Dayee
 
P.S. Your wife was right, of course, as are women inevitably when it comes to matters of fashion, etiquette and style – three things, doubtless, you know nothing of!!

S Armagh Placenames

This is the 18 Arches just outside Newry
 
 
Goragh (-wood) of the goat
 
Keggal   An Cagall
 
cockle or tare’s land
 
Note that the cockle and the tare are both weeds of corn fields
 
Kilmonaghan         Monaghan’s wood
Kilrea                  coil a’Riogh, wood of the River Rye
Knockduff            Cnoc Dubh, the black hill
Lesh                   Leis, thigh-shaped land
Levalleymore        Leath-bhaile Mor, the greater half-townland
Lislea                  Lios Liath, the grey fort
Lisnagree             Lios na groi, fort of the brood/mares
Lissaraw              Lios a Rath, Mound of the fort
Meigh                  Maigh (Dysart), secluded plain
Maytown              Maigh d’Tamhain, plain of the herds
Mullaglass             mullach glas, the green summit
Serse                   baile na seisreach, town of the ploughland
 
(neither comprehensive nor concluded [see Latt, 5.6.04 and previous])

Newry from the air now

The areas depicted in these recent photos include Sugar Island, Merchant’s Quay, Town Hall, Sands Mill, Edward/Monaghan Street, Canal Street and Catherine Street.  Much of this area of the centre has remained relatively unaltered.  The principal changes are to the South of the town, especially Buttercrane Quay and The Quays.  More of that later!


Read moreNewry from the air now

Agnes: Sleeplessness

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 Dear Agnes,
 
I must write to ask how you go about getting a good night’s sleep.
 
I have tried everything from counting sheep to decorating the house.  I even transformed the garden but despite these strenuous activities I cannot find sleep.
 
I am under the attention of my G.P. who diagnosed me as an insomniac.  Flattered as I am that she thinks me so intelligent, it doesn’t help my rest. 
 
Now as I lie awake when all around me are snoring their heads off, marvelling at how clever I am, I wonder will I ever again need to sleep at all?  Or is this just a phase I’m going through?
 
Yours desperately
 
Drooping Eyelids.
 
__
 
 
Dear Sir or Madam (your nom-de-plume doesn’t determine which!)
 
I’m not confident that Drooping anything is the real problem here!  Indeed I was slightly alarmed to read that ‘in the middle of the night, all around you were snoring their heads off!’.   Just how many people are you sleeping with at the one time??  Is this a harem of yours that you refer to as ‘sheep’? 
 
And in the night hours you still find time to decorate the house and transform the garden?  You want to take yourself in hand! 
 
No, on second thoughts, that’s not a good idea!  Perhaps you can get someone else to do just that!
 
I was glad to learn you were under the doctor!  I advise you to stay right there.  She may provide the physical exercise required to induce sweet slumber. 
 
That’s what works for oul’ Dayee and me!  Not the doctor, of course, but the bedroom exercises.  Despite his name – like the Tory leader Michael Howard – he has ‘something of the night’ in him.  And thank heavens for it!
 
Agnes
 

Read moreAgnes: Sleeplessness