Transcript

Tá sé suas le scór blianta anois go díreach ó chuir mé aithne ar an bPiarsach an chéad lá ariamh. Budh in í an bhliain chéanna a dtáinig sé go Ros Muc an chéad am. Budh éard a bhí ann fear macánta mánla (...) nach raibh mórán le rá aige. Bhí sé an-diabhóideach uiliug go léir agus níor chualas aon fhocal eascainí as a bhéal aon lá ariamh.

Bhí an oiread gean agus grá dho mhuintir Ros Muc aige agus dhon teanga bhreá Ghaeilge a bhí acub (agus) go ndearna sé teach ina measc. Agus theagadh sé insa teach sin mí ar feadh gach bliain go dtí (uair) nó go bhfuair sé bás.

Shiúladh sé amach ag cuartaíocht i measc na ndaoine, agus go mór mór i measc na seandaoine, gach oíche. Ag piocadh scéalta agus seanchas uathub agus ag cur síos ar an gcaoi a rabh an saol sa tseanaimsir.

Theagadh sé go scoil (Iorrais Mhóir) i rith leathuair an gh(r)inn gach lá ag breathnú ar na scoláirí agus ar na páistí beaga ag spraoi agus ag rince thart. Ins an am a thosaigh an t-éirí amach bhí an Piarsach i dtús na bhfear. Agus mar gheall ar an aithne agus an eolas a bhí i gConamara air d'éirigh muintir Chonamara amach ar an bpointe bois', mar rud ar bith a dhéanfadh an Piarsach san am sin dhéanfaidís (dlí de).

Bhí mé féin agus aon scorach amháin as an gceantar a dtugaidís Colm Mág Uidhir air, agus chruinníomar scata buachaillí le chéile muid féin. Agus sé an leagan amach a bhí an uair sin beairic na bpóilíní uiliug a dhó agus a loisceadh, bíodh pílears iontub nó ná bíodh. Chuaigh muid féin agus scata eile dho bhuachaillí na háite dhon Teach Dóite le beairic a lasadh. Lasadh an beairic ach níor éirigh le aon phóilíní a bheith ann. Nuair a cheap muid go rabh chuile ní (imithe chun ciúnais) agus chuile shórt thart chuamar isteach i dteach ósta i gcomhair braoin. Ní rabhamar i bhfad ann nuair a tháinig roinnt dho na póilíos isteach. Agus bhí aon fhear amháin ann a chruthaigh go bhfaca sé mé féin i dtús na hoíche agus gur loisc mé (...).

Tománadh síos chun na Gaillimhe mé, an áit ar chaith mé sé mhí. Agus ciontaíodh insa gcúirt mé ar fhianaisí an bhuachalla seo nach rabh aon chruthú aige ach gur aithnigh sé... go bhfaca sé straidhp dhearg a bhí in mo threabhsar i lár an mheán oíche.

Ní rabh an saol thar cionn insa bpríosún. Curtaí ina suí muid ag dhá uair roimh an lá le (teann tnúis) orainn. Bhíodh muid dhá uair eile dhon lá ag goil thart i bhfáinne mar a bheadh caora leis an ngarla cam. Hocht n-uaire eile dhon lá ag briseadh cloch. Agus curtaí isteach insa seomra beag muid san oíche (...) agus chaithfeadh muid dhá uair eile dhon oíche ag (piocadh) (...). Bhuel, d'fhéadfainn cuid mhaith dhon scéal seo a insin ach b'fhéidir go bhfuil mo sháith ann anois faoi láthair.

Translation

It is nearly twenty years now exactly since I got to know Pearse for the first time. That was the same year he came to Ros Muc for the first time. He was an honest gentle (...) man who didn't have much to say. He was very devout altogether and I never heard a curse word from his mouth.

He had so much fondness and love for the people of Ros Muc and for their fine Irish language that he built a house amongst them. And he would come to that house for a month every year until the time he died.

He would go out visiting amongst the people, and especially amongst the old people, every night. Picking up stories and lore from them describing the way life was in the old days.

He would come to Errismore(?) school during the half hour of play every day looking at the pupils and the small children playing and dancing around. At the time when the rising started Pearse was at the forefront. And because of the way he was known and recognised in Conamara the people of Conamara rose up immediately, because anything Pearse would do at that time they would make a law of it (?).

Myself and one youth from the area called Colm Maguire, we gathered a crowd of boys together ourselves. An the arrangement at that time was to burn and scorch the police barracks, whether peelers were in them or not. We ourselves and another bunch of local boys went to Maam Cross to burn a barracks. The barracks was lit but no policeman happened to be there. When we thought that everything had gone quiet and that everything was over we went into a public house for a drop. We weren't there long when some of the police came in. And there was one man there who proved(?) that he saw myself at the start of the night and that I burned (...).

I was driven down to Galway, where I spent six months. And I was found guilty in the court on the evidence of this boy who had no proof but that he recognised... that he saw a red stripe which was on my trousers in the middle of night.

Life was not great in prison. We were made get up two hours before day out of jealousy(?) of us. We used to go around in a ring like a sheep suffering with staggers for another two hours of the day. Another eight hours of the day breaking stones. And we used to be put into the little room at night (...) and we would spend another two hours of the night picking (...). Well, I could tell a lot of that story but maybe that's enough for the moment.

Commentary

This appears to be a personal account of local events drawn from the speaker's experience. He makes reference to Pádraig Mac Piarais, or Patrick Pearse, one of the instigators of the 1916 Easter Rising and a famous figure from Irish history. Pearse spent a considerable amount of time in Ros Muc, county Galway, learning to speak Irish and writing stories and plays. See Angela Bourke, 'Re-imagining the Gaeltacht', in Andrew Higgins Wyndham (ed.), Re-imagining Ireland (Charlottesville, Va., 2006), 82-98: 87. The cottage in which Pearse spent his time while in Ros Muc has been preserved, and is now a visitor centre. See Michael Gibbons, Connemara: visions of Iar-Connacht (Belfast, 2004), 50. The incident referred to in the latter part of the account appears to be the burning of the Royal Irish Constabulary barracks in Maam Cross by republicans as part of the War of Independence. See Fergus Campbell, Land and revolution: nationalist politics in the west of Ireland 1891-1921 (Oxford, 2005), 312.