Transcript

Chuir mo hathair[1] a bhuachailleacht (mé) lá amháin le mart, bearach agus asail, siar in aice leis an abhainn. Ghoid mé slat iascaireacht a bhí aige agus siar liom agus thiontaigh[2] mé cloch. Fuair mé crumhóg. Chuir mé ar an duán é. Isteach insa pholl leis agus thlig mé breac maith amach ar an fhéar. Isteach leis aríst agus char stad mé go fuair mé trí cionnaí mhaithe. Síos liom an abhainn gá ngabháilt go tapaidh. Char smaoinigh mé nas[3] mó ar na ba.

Tháinig comharsanach toigh s'againne agus scairt sí ag an doras, "Bhfuil a'n nduine[4] astoigh?"

"Tá mise anseo," a deir mo hathair. "Goidé atá contráilte?"

"Tá do chuid ba insa choirce agus tá (sé) criathraithe acu."

"Bhuel, chuir mise buachaill leofa le haghaidh a bhuachailleacht agus p'fhéadfaí[5] gur thuit sé ina chodladh."

"Deamhan codladh air! Tá sé síos an abhainn ag gabháilt bric le do slat[6]."

"Nuair a gheobhas mise greim air brisfidh mé a muineál."

Ansin thiontaigh mise thart ' teacht abhaile. Chonaic mo hathair ag teacht mé.

"Nuair a gheobhas mise greim ort brisfidh mé do mhuineál!"

Bhí heagla orm a theacht abhaile. Shuigh mé faoi sciachóg[7] a bhí insa pháirc. Agus ar ball chonaic mé mo hathair ag teacht amach ' caitheamh a phaopa[8] siar leis an bhóthar agus ghlac mise uchtach agus tháinig mé abhaile. Bhí a fhios agam nach bhainfinn[9] mo mháthair liom.

Nuair a tháinig mé chuir mé an slat iascaireacht ina seasamh taobh amuigh den doras, suas le urla an toighe. Bhí cearc ' goil thart agus doisín éiní bheag[10] léithe agus chonaic sí an crumhóg ar an líon[11]. Thug sí léim in airde agus fuair sí greim ar an chrumhóg. (Sháith sí)[12] an duán ina gháilleach. Bhí a theanga amuigh, croichte[13] ansin. Bhí na cinní beaga ag goil ar buile ar an tsráid. Tháinig mo mháthair amach agus scairt sí ar deartháir de mo chuid a bhí ag teanamh[14] rud inteach insa pháirc.

"An bhfa'a[15] tú an cearc a bhí leis na héin?"

"Chan fha'aidh,"[16] a deir sé. "Níl sé anseo."

Thiontaigh sí thart agus chonaic sí an cearc croichte agus an duán sháite ina ngob. Scairt sí ar an bhuachaill, "Tá an cearc marbh. Rith go tapaidh."

Tháinig sé siar agus thug sé cead a bealaigh don... don cat... don cearc. Agus... ( I have a cough. )

Translation

My father sent me herding one day with a bullock, a heifer and donkeys, back by the river. I stole a fishing rod he had and back I went and I turned over a stone. I found a maggot. I put it on the hook. Into the pond it went and I landed a fine fish on the grass. In it went again and I didn't stop until I got three good ones. I went downriver to catch them quickly. I gave no further thought to the cattle.

A neighbour came to our house and she shouted at the doorway, "Is there anybody inside?"

"I'm here," said my father. "What's wrong?"

"Your cattle are in the oats and they've trampled (?) them."

"Well, I sent a boy with them herding them and maybe he fell asleep."

"He did no such thing! He's down by the river catching fish with your fishing rod."

"When I catch him I'll break his neck."

And then I turned back home. My father saw me coming.

"When I catch you I'll break your neck!"

I was afraid to come home. I sat under a bush that was in the field. And after a while I saw my father come out to smoke his pipe back along the road and I took courage and came home. I knew my mother wouldn't lay a finger on me.

When I returned I put the fishing rod standing outside the door, up against the eaves of the house. There was a hen going by and a dozen little chicks with her and she saw the maggot on the fishing line. She jumped up and took a bite of the maggot. The hook got stuck in her mouth. The tongue was out, hanging, then. The little chicks were going wild all over the place. My mother came out and she shouted at one of my brothers who was doing something in the field.

"Did you see the hen that was with the chicks?"

"I didn't," he says. "It's not here."

She turned around and saw the hen hung with the hook stuck in its mouth. She shouted at the boy, "The hen is dead. Run quickly."

He came back and he got rid of the... the cat... the hen. And... I have a cough. (?)

Footnotes

Commentary

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

This story is transcribed also in Heinrich Wagner and Colm Ó Baoill, Linguistic atlas and survey of Irish dialects (4 vols, Dublin, 1958-69), vol. 4, 297, and in Róise Ní Bhaoill, Ulster Gaelic voices: bailiúchán Doegen 1931 (Belfast, 2010), 254-7. Another version appears in Lorcán Ua Muireadhaigh, Pota cnuasaigh: an chéad chuid (Dundalk, 1923), 9-11.