John McCullagh October 7, 2004
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I heared meself of two men from this parish of Dromintee that sold themselves to the devil.  Ay, there was one of them ony had to think of a thing and it happened.
 
He was watching Stephen McDonald’s ones putting pork for Newry market into a cart one Thursday morning.  Says he to the mother standing there,
 
‘Wouldn’t it be a quare thing if they weren’t fit till get the pigs in the cart?’
 
An’ damn me if they cud: nor half the country cud lift the pigs into the cart.
 
Another time coming out of Newry he went into Caseys for a drink and there was a barmaid in it.  Whether she said he had enough or whether he passed some remarks out of place, she said he’d get no drink.  The bar was full.  Says he till her,
 
‘For two pins, I’d leave ye standing on yer head on that counter!’
 
No sooner said nor done.  Before the whole bar she was up on her head and who the hell was fit to get her down?
 
An’ when he’d be out rambling at night and neighbours would be in cracking with the mother, she’s the one would know before he arrived that he was on his way home. From a good distance away, the plates would start rattling.
 
‘He’s turning at the cross now’, she’d say.
 
Then the plates would start to hop and dance and hell knows what else.
 
‘He’s at Jemmy’s now!’ she’d say, for sure.
 
Half the kitchen would be hopping by the time he walked in the door.

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