‘When the school holidays came,’ Fabian went on, ‘we would set off by pony and trap to Omeath. My father operated a jaunting-car to Calvery and sometimes even to Carlingford at the weekends.
John McCullagh
Fews Glossary Y-Z
Vapour boast: ’till hear him vapour, ye’d think he owned the townland’
Words quarrel: ‘we’d words once, but we don’t spake now’
cross words: ‘We’d words, and now we’re fell out’
Yalla yellow
Yammer complain
Yap complain, gern: ‘quit yapping there!’
n. ‘he’s nothing but a wee yap’
yerk pull: ‘he yerked me be the arm’
‘he was yerked into the ditch’
Yoke car, machine: ‘that’s a quare yoke yer driving’
Matched: ‘them two’s well-yoked’
Yon that
Your day generation: ‘Aye, twas different in your day!’
Yowl cry, yelp
Funeral Customs
‘The wakes and funerals of the Irish,’ wrote Rev Nelson in his History of Creggan Parish (1840), ‘are no less interesting. On death the corpse is carefully washed over and, if an adult, dressed in the usual manner. It is placed under board, as it is called, that is, on a long table (often provided by the funeral undertakers who keep one for the purpose) about six foot long and two foot wide but when this cannot be got, two small tables pushed together and draped with a white sheet. The corpse too is covered in a white sheet as is the wall at its head. To the latter are attached great quantities of emblematic pictures of crucifixion, resurrection etc. The table under which the corpse is laid is covered with candlesticks varying in number according to the circumstances and respectability of the deceased. The number is always odd and varies from three to thirteen.
The Rhymers or Keeners, mostly women, are sent for from a considerable distance to perform the funeral rites. Arriving at the house they partake of some refreshment and a glass of whiskey (Are these things different? Ed) then the females are arranged into two divisions, one on each side of the corpse. One of the Keeners then begins her lamentation in Irish, expressing some of either the good or the bad qualities of the deceased, or a number of foolish rhetorical questions such as, ‘Why did you die?’ or ‘Did you not like the world?’ The Keenagh or cry then goes up and all join in. The Rhymers on the other side then begins her lament and is joined in like manner by the rest, the one praising, the other disparaging the corpse.
Strip Search, Miss?
‘I tried to look her straight in the eye’, the restaurant manager explained, ‘but given her advanced state of undress, that wasn’t easy for me!
I thought at first that her tears signified extreme embarrassment. I looked again. They were tears of disappointment. She felt rejected.
What could I do?’ he pleaded. I wondered how to answer him. I hoped he would elaborate without further prompting. He did not.
What did he do? I wondered idly.
When the police arrived, the manager of the Taco Bell Restaurant, Fountains Hill, Arizona told the whole story (well, without that interesting ending, anyway!).
‘The caller on the phone said he was a police officer’, he explained. ‘He asked me if there was a young female customer with a red jacket and long blond hair sitting alone. He described her to a T. He told me she was suspected of theft. He wanted me to give her a body search. He said it was my legal obligation so I ordered her into a back room.
Then he told me to order her to disrobe and to give her a thorough all-over body search. So I did. It was only when he told me to make her stand on one leg and then do jumping jacks that I became suspicious. I asked him how I could be sure he was a police officer. To prove that he was he started to pledge allegiance to the flag. But he forgot the words and then hung up. I realised all was not what it seemed. I tried to explain to the young lady. That’s when her tears began to flow.’
The report was the latest in a series of hoax strip-searches that have been plaguing fast-food restaurants throughout America. ‘It’s mind-boggling how he gets away with it,’ said Sheriff Joseph Arpaio of Maricopa County. ‘Why would any responsible person do something like this just because some guy calls them on the telephone and tells them he’s a cop?’
I could think of a reason but I didn’t like to interrupt.
‘Yet we’ve documented more than seventy of these hoax calls and in almost every case the manager has agreed to perform the strip-search. Even more incredibly, the female customers have almost always gone along with the scam.’
What was the outcome at Taco Bell? I wanted to know, but he was unusually coy on that account!
‘This guy is clearly a sexual pervert looking for a cheap thrill. But as he has gone on, it’s become more about power and his orders have become ever more bizarre.
We think he walks past a restaurant, sees a girl he likes the look of, then phones from across the street while looking through the window. He never gets to see what goes on in the back room, however… unless..
Wait a minute. I’ve got a phone call to make!!’
Posthumous Award
The first letter from the grieving widow was listened to with compassion at the Management Meeting of Mullaglass Clay Pigeon Shoot. After all at the time of his demise, Philip McGunn was the reigning champion and it was not an unreasonable request that after his cremation, his ashes should be scattered at the scene of his greatest triumph. He had won the Inter-County Championship several times. The request was quickly acceded to.
The second, explanatory letter arrived when all the Championship arrangements had been finalised. It explained that his friend Willie Winner would be representing the late champion this year. The cartridges he would be using were stuffed not just with the usual lead shot but also with Phil’s ashes.
Some members were determined to disqualify him, aware that fierce controversy might ensue. They were fearful of bad publicity in the event of Willie’s triumph.
A heated debate ensued but eventually the entry was reluctantly accepted.
The Judging Committee had no hesitation in declaring Willie the winner for he had clearly ‘hit’ more clay pigeons on the day than any other competitor.
An immediate appeal was lodged. The Panel of Judges was amazed to learn that the appellant was none other than Willie. His appeal was on the grounds that his friend, the late Phil had smashed all those clay pigeons with his ashes. It was his contention that Phil should posthumously be declared the winner.
The Management Committee was outraged that it had been so foiled and it was unanimous that the original decision should stand.
Legal counsel was sought. It advised that the Committee (and not the late Phil) did not have a leg to stand on. Phil McGunn was declared the winner.
The press, local, national and international had a field day. Phil McGunn’s name became a household word.
Willie and the widow were called before the Committee to explain themselves but mainly to get a good drubbing down. The Chairman concluded,
‘And we want your categorical assurance that such a ruse will never be repeated!’
‘Sorry. Can’t do that, Sir,’ explained the widow. ‘We promised Phil he’d go on winning for years to come.
We still have fifty cartridges filled with his ashes, for next year’s Championship and for all the following years!’
Our photo shows ‘Quinns for Value’ lorry delivering to Milestone O’Hagan St/Hill Street shop, now Dunnes. Beattie’s Shoe Shop is in the background, now Rocks’s. Number plate is a clue to the year. Can anyone help?
Many Cures
I promised you more cures. The first I remember being applied to myself as a young boy!
Chest Infection and Colds: Apply camphor oil to brown paper resting on the chest beneath one’s clothes.
Chin-Cough: ‘To cure this it is necessary to find a man and his wife who had the same name before marriage. Affected children are then sent to them for some griddle-bread which must not be paid for and must be given with a blessing. No expression of thanks must be given’.
Toothache: ‘Procure a nail from a blacksmith in God’s name and bury it at the roots of a hawthorn bush.’
Stye: This can be cured by a married woman who has now the same surname as her maiden name. The cure is affected by pricking the stye with a thorn from a gooseberry bush’. We called the fruit, goosegams.
Warts: ‘If washed in water used to cool blacksmith’s irons they will perish.’
Sprains: ‘An eel skin bracelet prevents such happening. There is a charm as well’.
Arthritis of hands: Wear a copper bracelet.
To stop bleeding: Take a cobweb and place it on the cut.
Whooping Cough: Again, a house where the married woman has the same name as her maiden name. Ask for bread, butter and sugar.
Burns: Find a mankeeper and lick its belly three times in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. After that the person doing the licking will be able to cure a burn by licking it.
Mumps: Sufferers were led to a drinking place of farm horses. They were paraded wearing horses’ winkers. There they swallowed three mouthfuls in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. It was essential to remain silent on the way to the water-hole and back.
Dan Collins
Twenty-five years after his early death, acclaimed Newry teacher and colourful local character Dan Collins is still remembered fondly and vividly by generations of local people.
The Pedlar
As in most callings there were two or three classes of pedlars. The King of Pedlars was the man who, with a tidy balance at the bank, and an account with some great wholesale drapery house, usually drove a van with a horse along the principal roads of the country and disdained to call on any person lower than the rank of strong farmer. As a rule he was loud, pushing and loquacious, a good salesman and a decent fellow all round.
Then came the pedlar who drove a mule or donkey-cart and who also frequented fairs where his gaudily-decked booth containing coloured, cotton handkerchiefs, cheap muslin and articles of small ware, was a prominent feature. He was more or less looked down on by the big man who drove his horse; but the man with the mule had in turn a corresponding contempt for the poorer brother who, with his pack strapped over his shoulders, sought the favour of his customers on foot. But the latter wayfarer had one advantage over his bigger brethren. He could, and did penetrate further into isolated districts and so reap many small orders from clients who were not so much in touch with highways.
And in truth this latter specimen of the tribe was the most interesting of the lot. He was generally past middle-life with the healthy, hardy glow in his countenance that much living in the open air usually gives. His face seemed so open and truthful that it was difficult to believe he could over-praise his goods or over-reach one in a bargain.
But with all that our pedlar was a man with the shrewd eye to the main chance. It was pleasant to see him approach the open door of the farm-house, and if the time was evening and he contemplated resting for the night, his greeting was doubly voluble and gushing:
June Memories
June switches back our thoughts to childhood days – that joyous period of our lives when everything is idealised and appears to us now as grown-ups a fairyland tinged with a roseate hue.
It recalls balmy breezes with the scent of greening grasses and wild flowers and herbs.