The Horned Women (Reimagined)

  The Horned Women (Reimagined) The wind howled like a wolf at the door, clawing at the stones of the cottage and rattling the oaken shutters. Within, the woman of the house stirred her pot, a hearty stew bubbling and spitting over the fire's crackling heat. Her hair, streaked with the silver of a dozen harsh winters, was braided back tightly, revealing the sharp contours of a face lined with strength, labour, and loss. It was past midnight, that hour when the veil between realms was thinnest. She felt it, deep in her bones, a foreboding cold that no fire could chase away. It was then, as she stoked the flames with a practiced hand, that the knock came. A hollow, grim rapping at the door. The kind of knock that brooked no refusal. She hesitated but a breath, then set down her iron poker. Her hands, strong from work but trembling now, gripped the latch. With a creak that seemed to echo into the night, she opened the door. There stood a woman, cloaked and cowled, with eyes as pale as...

Irish Proverbs and Sayings - Seanfhocail

Seanfhocail or "old words" were a favourite of my Grandfather's. He was a Gaeilgeoir and an Irish teacher in his lifetime. He used to do Irish lessons with me when I was very small. He is the inspiration behind this blog and the associated YouTube channel. At some point he lost his voice permanently and could only whisper, unless he got really mad which wasn't very often. In that case he'd shout "Jakers Christ!" which was the loudest thing that came from his mouth apart from a good old sneeze, both of which would frighten me silly. I still remember his whispering voice telling old folk tales as bedtime stories. The Legend of Knockgrafton, a tale of Irish folklore, and the Babes in the Wood (an English fairy tale) were two he would tell often.  I'm not sure he ever told me the name of the Legend of Knockgrafton, it was only recently I found out that was the name of the story. 


Another story he told, which may have been rooted half in reality, half in fiction was about Bloody Sunday. Apparently as a young boy he travelled up to Croke Park for the match that day. We didn't verify this but how could you... Sometimes when I wouldn't sleep I'd ask him to tell me about it again. That was probably a harrowing memory for him to tell. None of those stories were particularly suitable for a small child but for some reason - probably the whipsering - they would send me off to sleep.


Seanfhocail are old, Irish proverbs. They are a unique part of the Irish language and can be wise, pithy, funny and useful. They've been passed on through generations and as part of the channel I've been doing Shorts with both the Irish and English translation. Many seanfhocail are still insightful wisdom today and have similar counterparts in English and other languages.


One thing I'm trying to do with recording seanfhocail and folklore is to help preserve these things digitally. There are a lot of websites containing seanfhocail but it's difficult to understand the pronunciation when you are reading a different language. For many, Irish / Gaeilge will be a foreign language. Even unfortunately in Ireland where we have grown up learning the language. 


Another key issue is finding my voice both as Gaeilge agus as Bearla (in Irish and in English). The way Irish was taught when I was in school and probably still is today very much centred around rote learning. Conversational Irish is uncommon outside of the Gaeltacht areas unless you actively seek it out. So what I have to go on from memory are teachers with their various hybrids of Connacht, Leinster, Munster and more rarely Ulster dialects and the tape recordings from the aural test in Leaving Cert Irish.

Léigh anois go cúramach, ar do scrúdpháipéar, na treoracha agus na ceisteanna a ghabhann le Cuid A


Most people that read this will hear the voice in their heads along with the shocking BEEEP after it.  The text means "Now read carefully on your examination paper the instructions and questions attached to Part A." The stuffy voiced man that spoke these horrifying words is where I default to when I try to read Irish aloud. There's nothing like a too loud cassette tape being played at the front of a cold classroom to instil generational fear. 


I'll finish up this bit of word vomit with one of my Grandfather's favourite Irish seanfhocail - Is Binn Beal ina Thost, Silence is Golden.



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