West Cork Speak: Lessons 3 and 4

How are ye?

How are ye?

You all did very well, Dear Readers, with learning to speak like a true West Cork denizen. I was especially proud of all the grands and likes you appended to your emails and comments. So, now, I think it’s time for the next couple of lessons.

I wish I could really capture for you the true cadence of the language here – the colourful vocabulary, the way stories are infused with a humorous acknowledgement of the foibles of the teller and the audience, the up-and-down rhythm of the speech, the expressiveness of all communication. But at least I can teach you some of the basics, so you will feel at home when you get here.

Would you be after some scallops?

Would you be after some scallops?

Lesson 3: Using the Conditional Tense

Today’s first lesson deals with the importance of mastering the conditional tense – in other words, using the word ‘would’ and all its variations, where the rest of the world would use the simple present or past tense. This has the effect of softening a statement in quite a delightful way, but it can also be confusing if you’re not used to it.

At a recent class I took, the instructor presented her credentials by saying, “I would have qualified in 1996.” Now, if someone outside West Cork had said that, you would have been waiting for the rest of the sentence…”Except that I failed the exam,” perhaps. But she was simply saying, in the West Cork way, “I qualified in 1996.” It’s just a bit more roundabout, a bit more diffident, a bit less assertive, than baldly stating a fact. Here’s how I normally say something, followed by how it is said in West Cork:

I got married in 2004. 

I would have been married in 2004.

I don’t like jazz.

I wouldn’t be a huge fan of that kind of thing myself, now.

Hi, I’m Finola.

’Tis lovely to meet you. I would be Finola.

I’m always exhausted after yoga.

Sure, ’tis tiring, like, but you would feel great after it, wouldn’t you?

That guy is a crook.

He wouldn’t be the saintliest of fellas, like, but he would have had a hard time of it as a young lad.

I asked him to bring the umbrella.

I asked him would he bring the umbrella.

This will take some practice: set yourself the task of turning one declarative sentence a day into a conditional statement. You would want to spend a fair bit of time on it, like.

And where would you be from, now?

And where would you be from, now?

Lesson 4: Pronouns

Pronouns! Most of them are the same as English elsewhere, but with two important differences.

You/Ye. If you look up the word ye in a dictionary it will tell you the word is archaic, and died out in general usage several hundred years ago. Not in West Cork! It is in common usage, here and elsewhere in Ireland, as the plural of you. So, if you meet a group of people and are addressing them collectively, you say “How are ye?” I must say, this make eminent sense. How often do we have to qualify you by saying “I mean you, plural?” Or, “I mean both of you?”

Herself would have raised the ducks.

Herself would have raised the ducks.

Now so, are ye ready for the last biteen (we’ll deal with that word another day) of the lesson? On we go, so, to reflexive pronouns – those are the ones with self at the end of them. They are used in Ireland in a variety of ways. Himself and herself are sometimes used to denote a husband or wife, but also can have a slight suggestion of amusement or mockery.

Himself would be holding forth about politics the whole evening.

I’d like to stay a while longer, but herself has the tea on the table at six sharp.

Is it yourself? It is indeed.

It will be time for a quiz soon, so ye should study what we’ve learned so far and I’ll think about a suitable test, and maybe some prizes. Wouldn’t that be grand? Himself thinks so, too.

Is it yourself, Sean?

Is it yourself, Sean?

Loon the Sentinel

loon print

Our friend Julian lives beside the water in the Cove, and we were excited when he told us there were Great Northern Divers in the bay. During the recent storms he saw a large number of them – fourteen or fifteen – huddled together for shelter close by the shore. He called this gathering a ‘Raft’: In fact the collective noun is usually said to be Asylum, Cry or (more attractive) Water-dance. We saw them too, but distantly through our spotting scope up in Nead an Iolair, although we came across them close to when we were walking by the shore in Ahakista on the Sheep’s Head. Here they were mixed up with Cormorants (collective noun Flight of…) and Shags (Hangout of…) – but their markings were distinctive enough for us to be sure.

loonie

In Canada the same birds are known as Loons. Believe it or not, the International Ornithological Committee met especially to consider the problem of the differing names in America and Europe and proposed a compromise: the Great Northern Loon. I like the term Loon: supposedly this name comes about because the bird has large webbed feet set well to the back to assist diving but is clumsy on land. In Icelandic the word for ‘lame’ is lúinn, and in Swedish it is lam – this could well have been an influence. The Canadian Loon is featured on the one dollar coin – which is therefore know as a ‘loonie’ – the two dollar coin is a ‘toonie’.

When Finola and I were on a road trip up to the north of British Columbia (through spectacular scenery) we stopped by a lake and we could see diving birds a considerable distance away. Finola told me they were Loons and I said I really wanted to have a good look at them. She immediately put her hands up to her mouth and produced the distinctive wavering call:

I couldn’t believe it when a few seconds later a Loon surfaced right beside us! I was full of admiration (as always) for Finola’s many talents…

An endearing habit of the adult bird is that it carries its chick on its back until it can swim on its own.

Hitching a ride...

Hitching a ride…

I can’t find any Irish legends mentioning Loons, Great Northern Divers or any other variants, but there are plenty of Canadian ones among the First Nation cultures. There the Loon is invariably a ‘good guy’, and even helps Raven the Creator to make the world, and to bring Sun, Moon and Water to it. It has various names in these tales, including Big Loon, Black-billed Loon, Call-up-a-storm, Ember-goose, Greenhead, Guinea Duck, Imber Diver, Ring-necked Loon, and Walloon. We also have a very fine carved Loon on our living room wall, from Finola’s First Nation art collection.

loononwall

I call Loon the Sentinel because he seems to stay just outside our Cove, swimming and diving across the entrance – keeping it safe for us. When our spring comes (and we can begin to feel the sun getting stronger already) he will be off to colder climes to breed.

Nollaig na mBan

This post was first published many years ago – in 2014! The subject matter – Women’s Little Christmas – is just as relevant today. So, have another look…

Sounds like ‘Nullig ne mon’ and translates as ‘Christmas of the Women’, but is also known as ‘Little Christmas’. It’s today – the 6th of January – and is celebrated in Ireland and wherever else in the world there are Irish communities. There are other traditions surrounding this day (quite apart from the arrival of the Three Wise Men), and they are confusing. I was brought up knowing that the Christmas decorations have to come down today otherwise there will be some bad luck in the year. Finola, however, knows that they have to stay up all through the day as it’s still part of Christmas – so she would have them down tomorrow instead. Maybe this is a Catholic / Protestant divide? And when is Twelfth Night: 5th or 6th of January? Either one, it seems, depending on which of the many traditions you choose to follow, or which part of the world you live in.

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In Tudor Britain the whole winter festival started on All Soul’s Eve (Halloween) and lasted until Twelfth Night. On the first day a cake was baked with a bean in it. Whoever had the slice with the bean was elected Lord of Misrule and presided over a topsy turvy time when the peasant ruled the master and so on. The World Turned Upside Down is a wishful thinking concept that has inspired many artists ever since.

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In some parts of Europe a custom of house-blessing takes place today. Dried herbs are burnt and their scents fill the building. Doorways are sprinkled with holy water and the master of the house writes with chalk above the house and barn doors the initials C M B enclosed within the year (eg 20 C  M  B 14). According to the ritual he says: Caspar, Melchior, Balthasar, protect us again this year from the dangers of fire and water. Alternatively it could stand for “Christus Mansionem Benedicat” (May Christ bless this home).

Some traditions closer to home: McCarthy + Hawkes write in Northside of the Mizen

…On Nollaig na mBan (Woman’s Christmas or Epiphany), the women put all the scraps and leftovers from Christmas onto the kitchen table and it was then up to everyone else to cope the best they could. At midnight, on the eve of Nollaig na mBan, the water in the spring well turned to wine. Now that was a great thing! Ne’er a man or woman has ever supped any and that was because it was only for the Little People…

Perhaps to emphasize that such miracles should be the preserve of only the Fairy Folk, there is a tale told of the blessed well of St Brendan in Cill a ‘Ruith, near Ventry in County Kerry: here in days of yore Three Unwise Men sat up to drink their fill of wine at the appropriate hour and were turned into three large boulders which stand there as a warning to this day.

rocks

As this is a Monday, and the first one of the new year, it is also known as Handsel Monday, when children used to visit neighbours and friends and ask for money or cakes. Such a gift was known as a suggit which may derive from the Irish so dhuit – ‘here’s for you – here you are’.

Finola is off out tonight with friends to celebrate Nollaig na mBan, as she used to in Vancouver where the tradition was strongly followed in the Irish community. It is said that the term ‘Women’s Christmas’ can be explained because Christmas Day was marked by beef and whiskey – men’s fare – while on Little Christmas Day the dainties preferred by women – cake and tea – were more in evidence. Finola will no doubt tell me whether this is still the case.

The Roaring

Waves crash against the islands in Roaringwater Bay

Waves crash against the islands in Roaringwater Bay

In our early days here I read in a couple of places that Roaringwater Bay got its name from the Roaringwater River, which in turn derived its name from the sound of the water tumbling over the rocks as it neared the sea. Now, I know better. The water in this huge bay, with its multiple islands and rocks, does roar. Not all the time, of course – you could live beside it for weeks, even months and never hear it.

The view past Castle Island, after a storm

The view past Castle Island, after a storm

But after a storm, when the wind has died down, the rain has stopped, and all is calm we fling open the doors to enjoy once more the bright sunshine and balmy air. That’s when it stops us in our tracks: a constant roar, like a distant jet engine, or a working factory just out of sight. The first time we heard it we were viewing a house on a hill about a mile inland and came around to the side facing the sea – and there it was. It took us a while to figure out what we were hearing: it sounded like some kind of foundry or industrial equipment. (Aha! So that’s why they want to sell this place!) It gradually dawned on us that there was nothing like that in this isolated spot and that what we were hearing was coming from much further away – from the sea, in fact.

Is there a prevailing wind here?

Is there a prevailing wind here?

Once back home we got out the spotting scope and could clearly see the waves crashing against the islands. In the aftermath of the storm the water was still turbulent, with giant waves pounding against the rocky shores and breaking right over the rocky islets. The cliffs at the western end of Cape Clear were covered in sheets of salt spray. We have a clear view of the Fastnet Rock (more about this in a future post) and in particularly wild conditions we can see waves breaking over it, reaching up to the trunk of the enormous lighthouse.

Near Ahakista: The calm after the storm

Near Ahakista: The calm after the storm

Our recent storms have been, as we say in West Cork, mighty. A particularly vicious series of gale, storm and hurricane force winds (9, 10, 11 and 12 on the Beaufort Scale) has wreaked havoc along the coast. Yesterday we went to Ahakista on the Sheep’s Head. The damage there has been recorded by Amanda – click here to see her photos and account. We had a respite from the winds today – a perfect opportunity to listen to the roaring water.

Earth Winds. Jan 05, 2014

Earth Winds. Jan 05, 2014

Tonight we are expecting another onslaught, like the one on St. Stephen’s night that Robert reported on in his last post. I have discovered the Earth Winds Map – one of the coolest sites on the internet. Updated every three hours, it shows how the winds are flowing around the earth. This screen capture shows the Atlantic storm that is heading for us and packing winds of 109km per hour. That’s classified as “Violent Storm” and just a few km/h short of a hurricane. Met Ireland has issued a warning, especially for areas affected  by high tides, of storm surges and potential flooding. We will hunker down and keep our fingers crossed for ourselves and our neighbours here in West Cork. And when it’s all over, we will listen for the roaring of the waters.

Nollaig ar Nead an Iolair

December 25th! Must be global warming

December 25th! Must be global warming

Our first Christmas at Nead an Iolair and it’s been everything we could have wished for. The day itself was bright and sunny. We threw the French doors wide open and exchanged our gifts in the sunshine. It’s a good job we enjoyed it while we could, as the wild weather set in on St Stephen’s Day (Boxing Day outside Ireland).

Is there a theme developing here?

Robert’s gifts: is there a theme developing here?

Of course, we had to have the ceremonial first cut of each of our Christmas cakes. Readers will remember that I made Monica Sheridan’s recipe while Robert made Delia Smith’s. The verdict? Mine was way better! (This is MY post.)

The avant garde and the traditional approach

The avant garde and the traditional approach

Our new stoves were installed just in time for Christmas. This kind of supplemental heating is essential for the winter months in West Cork, where fuel is very expensive. Together with our decorations, newly purchased from the Christmas markets and hung on twigs culled from nearby hedgerows, they created a cosy and seasonal ambience in the house. Also perfect for a house-warming party, which we are finally hosting this weekend.

Ready for the house-warming party!

Ready for the house-warming party!

Now so, at the end of 2013, we have to say that it’s been a grand year, like. And to our readers, Bliain nua faoi mhaise agus shona dhaoibh – a Prosperous and Happy New Year to you all.

From Roaringwater Bay to all our friends and readers - a Happy New Year!

From Roaringwater Bay to all our friends and readers – a Happy New Year!

Stormy Weather

neadwinter

This picture of Nead an Iolair is here to create a seasonal feel: it was taken by our neighbour Dietrich in the Great Winter of 2010 – 2011 when the extremes were all about deep snow, frozen roads and frozen pipes, unusual for this little corner of the island normally kept mild by the Gulf Stream. This winter we have a different extreme – hurricane force winds!

spiked

‘Hurricane’ on the Beaufort scale means wind speeds of 118 km/hour or more. We went to bed on St Stephen’s Day evening, having measured the wind speed outside as 87 km/h. That seemed wild to us: the trees were bent over and the salt laden rain and sleet were coming in horizontally and lashing our south west facing windows. It was hard to sleep: the slates were rattling loudly above us and the aerials and lightning conductors on our roof were shrieking and bending. The noises got louder and more terrifying as the night went on. I wanted to venture outside with my little hand-held anemometer but I couldn’t face it. The violent storm began to abate only in the early hours of the morning and, when we did creep out, it was to find some damage: two trees down in the haggart, sadly, and our beautiful weather vane collapsed. It was as well that we weren’t underneath when the flying Eagle and its sharply pointed arrow came crashing on to the lawn, just missing our door.

levissession

St Stephen’s Day Session, Ballydehob

 

Earlier in the day we had enjoyed an unexpected visit by the Wren Boys to Levis’s pub, where we were involved in an improvised session. Two groups of Wren Boys in fact: the first an adult company with musicians, colourful costumes and bizarre masks, and the second a group of boys dressed in old coats turned inside out, pyjamas and sailor caps, carrying large collecting tins. All were welcomed and the festivities grew merrier as the wind strengthened.

wrenners

wrenboys

Keeping traditions going: outlandish Wrenners visiting Ballydehob – top – and local lads collecting in Levis’s Bar – below

As I lay in bed at the height of the storm I found myself worrying about our birds: how on earth could the Goldfinches, Chaffinches, Robins and Wrens (any Wrens who had escaped the St Stephen’s Day hunt that is) have survived that terrible gale – which stripped the bird feeders of everything moveable and the bushes and shrubs of their sheltering leaves? In the morning, there they were back again, and noisily demanding a refill which, naturally, I was delighted to provide.

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