I do not remember learning the Irish word for daffodil when I was in school. Four years ago, standing in our front garden, chatting with a neighbour who knew that I had started Conversational Irish classes, SOK pointed over and mentioned ‘Lus an Cromchinn’. My questioning continued in English. I was rewarded with the expression – Flower of the Stooped Head. Every Spring morning since then, opening the front door, I smile at the bowed heads. Some days, there is a nod of acknowledgement.
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Not for the first time on our Conversational Irish walk, I was delighted with the literal translation of a new Irish word learned. Last Summer, I had learned of an expression from West Cork – as tough as ath fhéithlean, a bi-lingual acknowledgement of the strength and stubbornness of Woodbine. I had always known the plant as Woodbine, quite probably the name was ingrained following many visits with my grandfather to those institutions that no longer exist, the tobacconist. He had a preferred mix of a number of brands for his pipe. It was well into the second half of my years to date before I knew it was also called Honeysuckle.
A few weeks later, as we walked around Blackrock and Bessboro, I learned of “Fás Aon Oíche”, or “Grows One Night”. I thought it was such a lovely name, perfectly describing what was in front of us – a mushroom. Only the previous week, sitting on a high stool while on holidays, Tim imparted the benefit of his local knowledge. We now know where to find mushrooms while on holidays. A few days after that Conversational Irish walk, I headed west for the Dingle peninsula to pack up everything and everyone – the return home after the Kerry Summer Experience. Before leaving that Saturday, I headed out early and collected a cap-full of mushrooms that had sprouted up that night. It remains my most recent meal on the Dingle peninsula. I can still recall the buzz of foraging and the flavours enjoyed.
A tweet last weekend from Robert Macfarlane on ‘puhpowee’, a native North American word for the force that pushes mushrooms up overnight, assisted in getting this blog from my brain into the virtual world.
It has also prompted a separate section of other words in Irish that brought a smile with their literal translations – Head of a Cat; Seal’s Snot; and, others. Hopefully, even more will be added over time.  I didn’t make it back to the West Cork Stone Symposium. It was on this weekend but time, and life, didn’t allow me a spare day. I did order my chisels from TabulaRasa – I write that more as a rebuke and reminder to self, rather than a piece of information for readers. When visiting Paris in November 2016, I spotted this engraver adding to the writings on stone surrounding a grave. I could have spent an hour or more just watching. Disneyland was calling for a ten year old so I did not have that luxury, but in the few minutes that I stood and admired, I was struck by the difficulty in the stance of the craftsman; his patience; and, the peace of the cemetery. Leaving Cimetiére de Montmartre that morning, I remembered when, less than two weeks previous, on another lovely morning, we took time out of the Bank Holiday weekend to visit another cemetery – in Crosshaven when I left puzzled as to the correction made in a headstone. I have blogged previously as to some stone engraving that might be considered less than perfect. Unlike the headstone at St. Bartholomew’s in Kinneigh, I did not for a moment consider this to be the work of a family relative. I have on a few occasions pondered why the correction was made and allowed stand. I would have thought that many would have erected a new stone. Maybe Mr. Porteous was a bit of a joker and wanted the last laugh at those left behind. Maybe, it was deliberate to prompt passers-by, such as yours truly, to pause a while longer and think of Joseph McNeil Porteous – if so, it worked. The tweets earlier today on other headstone corrections reminded me again of Joseph Porteous and prompted this rambling.
 Sketch for the Funeral of Terence MacSwiney, Lord Mayor of Cork 1920 by Sir John Lavery Above is a painting by Sir John Lavery held in Crawford Art Gallery. Below are photographs of the interiors of three Cathedrals. Take your pick.
This blog post has been rambling around my brain for over two years – hopefully it will not be as long when you get to the end.
With the Taoiseach in the White House today, I was reminded as to a story told, possibly with some truth, of metal detectors picking up some strange findings in the White House a while back. Last December, I had a novel experience accompanied by nuggets of information – local and traditional – that many might consider trivia, but which I believe are pure gems. It was my first visit to the refurbishment of and extension to a cottage on one of the hills looking down on the city. This is my fourth decade attending building sites but that December Friday was the first time a client arrived to a site meeting with a pot of homemade hearty soup accompanied by some bread and cheese – very welcome they were, as the regular cold wind was blowing up the hill to compliment the damp environment of a house being plastered. A sheet of plywood acted as the table and it was standing room only. It was not exactly homely, but the food put a stop to all talk of construction details and contract issues. We fell into general chatter which then veered towards traditions. I had known of Gobnait’s Measure being used as a good luck charm for those in a building. I had visited the house where one of one of the Eucharistic Tiles was on a ledge over the front door to bless all those who enter the house. Until then, I had not known of the luck believed to follow the placing of coins in the floor of a building as it was being poured.
The builder told of a project, only two or three years previous, where the concrete lorry was on site but the builder was under clear instruction not to start pouring the floor until the client arrived with his coins to be placed in the four corners.
His colleague told a story from years back in Adrigole where the house owner left four sovereigns to be placed in the concrete floor as it was being poured. Seemingly, coins were placed in the floor slab, but not to the value of a sovereign. As I was writing up this blog this evening, with a dirty black pint in Tigh an Cúinne, CC queried the use of a laptop in a pub. He was aware of coins in the floor – not necessarily four. The morning of that site lunch, I had read that the architect of the White House had been born on that day in 1755 – 8th December. That lunchtime, I had heard that it is believed that the Kilkenny man, James Hoban, had placed coins in the corners of the White House which led to concern when the metal detectors went beeping, centuries later. Whether true, embellished or pure fiction, I like. Another blog post prompted by Folklore Thursday and the traditions associated with money……..  A few weeks back, I declined the option of a few hours at the Kildare Village outlet centre. Instead, I enjoyed chill out time around the town of Kildare, ending in a trip around St Brigid’s Cathedral and the adjoining cemetery. On the corner of the building that I approached, I noted that one of the corner stones had a hole from one side to the other. I was intrigued. As I was leaving, I spotted someone looking at this closely. When I asked, I learned that this was a wishing stone – one had to pass one’s hand through the stone and make a wish. I was warned that one could not wish for love or money, as both were to come to you unbidden. The topic of wealth and money on Folklore Thursday on twitter brought the wishing stone back to mind – reason enough for a blog post. |
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