John Corbett takes a look at life in rural Ireland in former times 

 

When we were young, we regarded November as the shortest month of the year even though that distinction falls to February. November days were dark and appeared to vanish rapidly. We liked the long nights, most of which were spent in our thatched cottage lit by a double-wick paraffin lamp, attached by a nail to the wall.

Our local dressmaker, Triona Kelly, had an Aladdin Lamp which was much brighter than ours and this made the task of dressmaking easier in the evenings. A few people had Tilly lamps which were also more effective than the oil burners. Of course, the light emanating from the open hearth also augmented the illumination, giving warmth and comfort to those gathered round the fireside.

Snow, rain, storm or harsh weather, had little impact on the residents of such abodes. Another plus was the fact that many of the houses were sited on low ground, which was meant to protect them against storms.

It was an important consideration, especially after ‘Oíche na Gaoithe Móire — ‘The Night of The Big Wind’, in 1839, which caused great havoc, resulting in the deaths of almost three hundred people and the destruction of many houses and buildings. It’s not surprising then that people building houses later, would do their utmost select sites that weren’t exposed to the elements.

MUSIC AND FOLKLORE
Turf was the main source of heat in our village. Sometimes small quantities of timber were added. Very little warmth was needed in our house on account of the regular dances and music sessions that took place there.
Dad sang and played the concertina and fiddle, and lots of local performers were ready to join him, especially during the long winter nights. Fiddles, accordions, and fifes were the predominant instruments.

However, Walter Pritchard, who lived near Woodlawn, once brought his saxophone to entertain the revellers. Although he played well and received warm applause for his efforts, most of the audience felt that the instrument was too loud for our small kitchen.

We had heard the songs, stories, recitations, and party pieces so often that we almost knew them by heart. Yet, the local artists were so talented and convincing, that they never failed to delight. My sister, Marie, and I were sometimes allowed to stay up late during these gatherings but lack of sleep and common sense dictated that we generally had to retire long before most of the sessions came to an end. Although disappointed, we still had the consolation of drifting to sleep with the sound of music and merriment ringing in our ears.

Clock-watching wasn’t in vogue and the revelry often continued until it was time to begin the morning chores such as milking the cows and looking after animals and fowl.

THRILLING TALES
On some occasions storytelling and discussions replaced the music. We liked these too. The local seanachies had an endless supply of fascinating stories. Pat Kenny’s selection centred on seditious acts, such as breaking up meetings that the authorities had organised to induce people to join the British army. He and his accomplice, Mickey Burns, frequently escaped arrest by fleeing quickly over fields and hedges after they had disrupted the meetings. Ironically, Mickey’s father was a sergeant in the RIC, and I often wonder if he was aware of his son’s escapades?

Continue reading in this week’s Ireland’s Own

 

Picture: Mass in a Connemara Cabin by Aloysius O’Kelly (National Gallery of Ireland)