Rivers
I just overheard my neighbour explaining to her grandchildren which apples to place carefully in the basket and which belong on the compost. There is much to be learned and passed on in the garden.
Even though I grew up in a small fishing village in post-colonial Ireland, ravaged by sectarianism, I have fond memories of how my grandparents granted me access to the mountains, ducks, geese, kid goats, rainbow trout, and rhubarb tarts at an open fire, where the turf burnt red and by which you could read how cold the night was outside. I remember the winds howling in the chimney and us having to go back down Aughrim… praying not to be ‘wagged down’ by soldiers or some other blackened faces of men hiding along the roadside on those dimly-lit country roads.
They also granted me access to the RIVER flowing behind their house, the source opening in an underground well further up the hillside near the dam. Despite the horrific climate of ‘The Troubles’ and not only Bloody Sunday but what felt like ‘Bloody Everyday’, I was extremely fortunate to have had that river and Rusty, their golden coloured sheepdog, as well as other teachers who enabled me to learn geography and languages, instilling in me therewith the love of travel and knowledge, the Arts and poetry and especially at a young age, enabled me access to my beloved Irish – teanga mo chroÌ. Thank you, Mrs. Sheehan! I will never forget you taking us, aged sixteen, to the première of ‘Translations’ in the Peacock Theater in Dublin, (written of course by the magnificent Brian Friel, one of our most consequential dramatists).
Recently I went to see ‘An Cailin Ciun’ in the local Arts cinema and being unable to grasp a lot of the Irish, except ‘cupla focail’ here and there but to fully understand the subtitles in English, French, German and Italian (yes, I do speak 5 languages…) got me thinking and forced me to make a conscious decision to get back to that particular source. The paper-cutting I had saved, words stemming from the pen of our poet laureate, Seamus Heaney, came to mind and I signed up, within the next couple of days, for an online Irish language course. I am delighted to say those neural pathways aren’t letting me down.
I am missing a lifetime of vocabulary of course and as Irish is well known for the fact that there are more exceptions than rules… our teacher is still adamant that we can – with practice, get there!
Labhair i agus mairfidh si
(Speak her and she will live)
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I am sorry that my computer keyboard doesn’t seem to have a ‘fada’, so for any Gaeilgoir reading this, my apologies… autocorrect would also rather I wrote everything ‘as bearla…’