Transcript

Do bhí sé ina chónaí i mBaile Arcáin i bparóiste na Cille fear bocht gurbh ainm dó Liam do Búrc. Duine bocht ana-dhealbh ab ea é ach bhí sé fíormhacánta. Do mhair sé le bheith dhá bhliain déag agus cheithre fichid. (...) (chóiríocht) ó rugadh[1] é. Do chonaic sé an Drochshaol agus do chonaic sé uireaspa agus gorta. Nuair a bhí sé ina fhear óg, sé an chóir leapan a bhíodh air ná a chuid éadaigh a chaitheamh de agus é féin a shá isteach i mála agus codail go sámh go maidin ann. Nuair a bhí sé ina dhi-... dhuine chríonna cuireadh mé féin ar theachtaireacht go dtína thi-... bhotháinín agus cheapas go raibh sé ina shuí mar bhí an doras oscailthe. Ach ní raibh, mar ní raibh aon chomhla riamh leis an ndoras. Bhí sé sa leabaidh nuair a chuas isteach agus sé an piliúr a bhí féna cheann ná carraig chloiche timpeall trí troithe (ar) faid agus soipín éadrom féir anuas uirthi agus a cheann anuas ar an gcarraig agus a cheann i ngiorracht trí troithe dhon doras.

Do ráinig san am céanna go dtáinig misinéirithe go paróiste na Cille. Agus do chrom comharsa dhó gurbh ainm dó Seán Ó Sé ag tathant air chun dul go dtísna misinéirithe. Níor chuaigh an fear bocht riamh go dtí aon aifreann mar ní raibh riamh air ach na giobail. Agus deireadh sé i gcónaí gurb é an creideamh ar fad "déin an mhaith agus seachain an t-olc". Agus éinne a threasnaíodh air é deireadh sé, "Anam gach éinne ar ghualainn gach éinne an lá deireanach, beireadh leis nó fágadh."

I gcionn cúpla lá dh'imigh sé in éineacht le Mac Uí Shé go dtí an séipéal. Agus nuair a chuadar isteach san tséipéal, ní hag paidreoireacht a bhí mo dhuine bocht. Chuaigh Mac Uí Shé ar a ghlúine agus dhein an Búrcach aithris air agus bhí sé ag (ardfhéachaint) ar fuaid an tí... ar fuaid an tséipéil. Do labhair sé le Mac Uí Shé: "A Sheáin," ar seisean, "is breá an tigh feirmeora a dhéanfadh sé." Níor labhair Seán.

I gcionn tamaillín eile do thug sé sonc dá uillinn dó. "A Sheáin," ar seisean, "ba ghlic an diabhal a chuir an ceann air. Féach mar a chuir sé an prapa fén (gcúpla)."

Bhí Mac Uí Shé ad iarraidh gan gáire a dhéanamh agus d'éiríodar agus chuadar fé dhéin faoistine. Ach bhí ábhar daoine rompu agus b'éigean dóibh fuireacht le huain. Agus mar ' bhíonn cuid des na mná mífhoighneach is gearr gur sciurd bean rompu. Agus d'fhéach Mac Uí Shé... d'fhéach an Búrcach ar Mhac Uí Shé. "A Sheáin," ar seisean, "níorbh ceart é sin."

I gcionn tamaill eile do sciurd bean eile rompu agus dúirt sé an chaint chéanna in ard a chinn agus a ghuth. Ach do ráinig go raibh Mac Uí Shé i mbosca na faoistine agus b'é an Búrcach an chéad duine eile a bhí le dul ann. Agus do sciurd bean eile agus thug sí iarracht ar dhul roimis. Phreab sé ina shuí agus rug[2] sé uirthi agus bhain sé casadh mórtimpeall aisti. Agus dúirt sé in ard a chinn agus a ghuth, "Bain siar, a striapaigh, sé mo thurnsa é!"

Chualaigh an misinéir an gháireáil agus é istigh sa bhosca agus chuir sé a cheann amach agus chonaic sé an fear fiain, dar leis, agus greim ar an mnaoi aige. Bhí dealramh ana-fhiain air mar ní bhearraigh sé riamh é féin is bhí sé lán d'fhéasóig. Bhuel, dhein sé síocháin eatarthu agus chuaigh an Búrcach chuin faoistin.

Agus é féin a bhí á nisint do Sheán Ó Shé conas mar éirigh dó nuair a bhíodar ag dul abhaile. "A Sheáin," ar seisean, "nuair a chuas go dtí an misinéir níor threabhamar lena chéile. Ní raibh aon fhocal Gaolainne ag an misinéir is ní raibh aon fhocal Béarla agamsa. Agus níor thuigeamair a chéile. Dúirt sé liom dul go dtí Séamas, sagart... sagart a bhí sa pharóiste san am céanna. Chuas amach, agus amuigh sa yard a fuaireas Séamas agus cathaoir fé..."

Translation

There lived in Ballyarkane in Keel parish a poor man by the name of William Burke. He was a poor destitute man but he was truly gentle. He lived until he reached ninety two years of age. (...) minded(?) since the day he was born. He saw the famine and he saw want and hunger. When he was a young man his sleeping arrangements were that he would throw off his clothes and put himself into a sack and to sleep soundly until morning in it. When he was an old man I myself was sent to his little cabin and I thought he was up because the door was open. But he wasn't, because there was never a door-leaf in the doorway. He was in bed when I went in and the pillow under his head was a rock around three feet in length with a light bundle of hay on top of it and his head was on top of the rock and within three feet of the door.

It happened during this time that some missionaries came to Keel parish. And a neighbour of his called John O'Shea set about trying to persuade him to go to the missionaries. The poor man never went to any mass because he never had anything to wear except rags. And he always said that all that religion amounted to was "do good and avoid evil". And to anyone who disagreed with him he would say, "Everyone's soul on his own shoulders on the last day, let him bring it with him or leave it behind."

After a few days he went with O'Shea to the church. And when they went into the church, my poor man didn't pray. O'Shea went on his knees and Burke copied him and he was looking up and around (?) the house... around the church. He spoke to O'Shea. "John," he said, "It would make a fine farmer's house." John didn't speak.

In a small while he nudged him with his elbow. "John," he said, "The man who roofed it was a clever devil. See how he put the prop under the couple(?)."

O'Shea was trying not to laugh and they got up and went to go to confession. But a few people were before them and they had to wait their turn. And as some women can be impatient it wasn't long before a woman skipped ahead of them. And O'Shea... Burke looked at O'Shea. "John," he said, "that wasn't fair."

After another while another woman skipped ahead of them and he spoke the same words at the top of his voice. But it happened that O'Shea was in the confessional box and that Burke was next in line to go in. And another woman skipped and tried to go in front of him. He jumped up and caught her and spun her around. And he said at the top of his voice, "Go back, you whore, it is my turn!"

The missionary inside the box heard the noise and put his head out and saw this wild man, as he thought, who had a hold of the woman. He looked very wild because he had never shaved and had a full beard. Well, he calmed them both down and Burke went to confession.

And he himself told John O'Shea how he got on while they were going home. "John," he said, "when I went to the missionary we didn't get along. The missionary had no word of Irish and I had no word of English. And we didn't understand each other. He told me to go to James, a priest who was in the parish at the same time. I went out and I found James sitting on a chair in the yard..."

Footnotes

Commentary

This is a narrative about a person known to the storyteller, and appears not to be related to any other known narrative types, or contain any major motifs of note. It may simply be a humorous anecdote.