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R. Linda:
Here follows me ancestry, glorious no, but interesting . . . not really. Me father (pronounced in Irish -- faatha) be named Phadraig (prounounced fadrig -- in English it be a form of Patrick) and me mother (pronounced maatha) be named Enya, no her name is really Siobhan (pronounced hovan but in the US be pronounced she-von and means Joan), her last name was O'Connor.
Me Ma be from Derry (if you are a Catholic the place be called Derry, and if you be a Protestant personage, then you call it Londonderry). Me Da met me Mam when he got all fired up over the riots that started back in the 70s and eventually culminated in Bloody Sunday. He had gone up with a group of his peers to protest this, that, and the other thing, when in the crowd he spied me Mam.
Yes, there she be he said, "Standin' in a doorway lookin' all fine and very, very, scared. Much (pronounced mooch) like a rabbit." (So romantic.)
Him (having had a few pints of what be good for you -- Guinness), decided to save her from the hordes. Now the hordes where his own bunch of hooligans (love that word, been called it enough upon growing up I used to think it were me middle name), which he seemed to forget he was with, and up he runs (pronounced ruins) to her and says, "Lass, ya be caught up in this ruckus if ya don't (pronounced doont) find safety. Let me see ya home before the trouble (pronounced truebble) starts."
Now then, when he said the word trouble (truebble) her eyes got wide and forgetting he was probably one of the hooligans himself, she rushed out the doorway and down (doon) the alley with him. Keeping the charade alive, he had her running (ruin-ing) so hard, she couldn't get the chance to think let alone realise who she be with. To make a long story short, it turned into love and they married and he brought her back to the family homestead in Newry (against her father's (faatha's) wishes -- but that's another story in itself).
I was not the first born, but the second. The first being me mean old sister Sile (pronounced hi lee and in English is Sheila), who beat me out with that honour. She be three (tree) years older than me I be happy to say, and I don't let her forget that come each birthday she has. Sile is married to a man named Donal (pronounced ghonuil and is a form of Donald in English). Now me Mam decided because of the times, that she'd name me a more English sounding name, so I might get ahead instead of ending up a lorry driver or worse an alcoholic. Only problem, was she named me after an angel associated with the Catholic church, and who would I be fooling with the last name O'Sullivan? I ask you. Unless she named me William Coltraine, or Angus MacLeod, there'd be no chance me being mistaken for what I be.
Now me sainted 'maatha' saw that me upbringing was in the Catholic school system with the sisters who I think to this day are dried up old prunes of women, that because they are dried up, take their resentment out on young lads like meself. Me hands, as well as me posteriour have worn the stripes from being beaten with a ruler many a time for speakin' me mind in class.
Sister Maire (pronounced wa're and in English means Mary) Aiden in particular, will always live in me mind as me saviour from Sister Anne, who was of the English persuasion and not a kind person to be dressed as a sainted penguin. Sister Maire Aiden was an older woman who was a friend of me Mam's, so I had an 'in' with her. Many a time she saved me from the wrath of Sister Anne's ruler or worse, her booted foot up me rear end, until me 'faatha' heard about me run-ins and went down to the school and raised such a ruckus, they sent Sister Anne away.
For years, I used to jump at the shadows thinking she would come back to get me, because it was ME she blamed for her ill rotten luck. She told me I'd burn in purgatory for me sins and would end up a drunkard. The first part she got right, I still haven't lived up to the second.
I have a hundred or more cousins, aunts, uncles, you name it I got it. Irish Catholics procreate like rabbits and there are O'Sullivans all over the place. Hear a "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph" and you know an O'Sullivan is about. We have the uncanny knack of sarcasm especially when it comes to the law, that many of us reside in nicks all over Ireland.
Me sainted 'faatha' did a stint some seventeen years ago when he was stopped by a guardian of the law, who asked him what he was doing out of his neighbourhood. And, the officer understood it was the Catholic Lenten season, wasn't 'Paddy' cheating on giving up his drink? Now me 'faatha' had a few pints in him, and was insulted to be accosted in such a way. Worse it had happened twice before that night. He said, "This be the third (turd) time this has been asked of me and I should be taking offense me thinks? I gave up pig entrails for Lent, not me jar. This be a free country (cone tree) I can go where I want, when I want, so get out o' me way!" Now that sounds not too bad until you understand that's not the all of it. It was ok until he added, "You ruddy pink faced sausage, move your Thomas Beckett and get out o' me way before I smash yer face to puddin'. Now feck off!" (The feck meaning the 'f' word.) For THAT he was hauled off.
He was back within 'tree' days in a snit, but he was the star of the pub telling and retelling his police encounter, that became more exaggerated with each telling. And he wouldn't be a good Irishman if it didn't.
R. Linda:
Here follows me ancestry, glorious no, but interesting . . . not really. Me father (pronounced in Irish -- faatha) be named Phadraig (prounounced fadrig -- in English it be a form of Patrick) and me mother (pronounced maatha) be named Enya, no her name is really Siobhan (pronounced hovan but in the US be pronounced she-von and means Joan), her last name was O'Connor.
Me Ma be from Derry (if you are a Catholic the place be called Derry, and if you be a Protestant personage, then you call it Londonderry). Me Da met me Mam when he got all fired up over the riots that started back in the 70s and eventually culminated in Bloody Sunday. He had gone up with a group of his peers to protest this, that, and the other thing, when in the crowd he spied me Mam.
Yes, there she be he said, "Standin' in a doorway lookin' all fine and very, very, scared. Much (pronounced mooch) like a rabbit." (So romantic.)
Him (having had a few pints of what be good for you -- Guinness), decided to save her from the hordes. Now the hordes where his own bunch of hooligans (love that word, been called it enough upon growing up I used to think it were me middle name), which he seemed to forget he was with, and up he runs (pronounced ruins) to her and says, "Lass, ya be caught up in this ruckus if ya don't (pronounced doont) find safety. Let me see ya home before the trouble (pronounced truebble) starts."
Now then, when he said the word trouble (truebble) her eyes got wide and forgetting he was probably one of the hooligans himself, she rushed out the doorway and down (doon) the alley with him. Keeping the charade alive, he had her running (ruin-ing) so hard, she couldn't get the chance to think let alone realise who she be with. To make a long story short, it turned into love and they married and he brought her back to the family homestead in Newry (against her father's (faatha's) wishes -- but that's another story in itself).
I was not the first born, but the second. The first being me mean old sister Sile (pronounced hi lee and in English is Sheila), who beat me out with that honour. She be three (tree) years older than me I be happy to say, and I don't let her forget that come each birthday she has. Sile is married to a man named Donal (pronounced ghonuil and is a form of Donald in English). Now me Mam decided because of the times, that she'd name me a more English sounding name, so I might get ahead instead of ending up a lorry driver or worse an alcoholic. Only problem, was she named me after an angel associated with the Catholic church, and who would I be fooling with the last name O'Sullivan? I ask you. Unless she named me William Coltraine, or Angus MacLeod, there'd be no chance me being mistaken for what I be.
Now me sainted 'maatha' saw that me upbringing was in the Catholic school system with the sisters who I think to this day are dried up old prunes of women, that because they are dried up, take their resentment out on young lads like meself. Me hands, as well as me posteriour have worn the stripes from being beaten with a ruler many a time for speakin' me mind in class.
Sister Maire (pronounced wa're and in English means Mary) Aiden in particular, will always live in me mind as me saviour from Sister Anne, who was of the English persuasion and not a kind person to be dressed as a sainted penguin. Sister Maire Aiden was an older woman who was a friend of me Mam's, so I had an 'in' with her. Many a time she saved me from the wrath of Sister Anne's ruler or worse, her booted foot up me rear end, until me 'faatha' heard about me run-ins and went down to the school and raised such a ruckus, they sent Sister Anne away.
For years, I used to jump at the shadows thinking she would come back to get me, because it was ME she blamed for her ill rotten luck. She told me I'd burn in purgatory for me sins and would end up a drunkard. The first part she got right, I still haven't lived up to the second.
I have a hundred or more cousins, aunts, uncles, you name it I got it. Irish Catholics procreate like rabbits and there are O'Sullivans all over the place. Hear a "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph" and you know an O'Sullivan is about. We have the uncanny knack of sarcasm especially when it comes to the law, that many of us reside in nicks all over Ireland.
Me sainted 'faatha' did a stint some seventeen years ago when he was stopped by a guardian of the law, who asked him what he was doing out of his neighbourhood. And, the officer understood it was the Catholic Lenten season, wasn't 'Paddy' cheating on giving up his drink? Now me 'faatha' had a few pints in him, and was insulted to be accosted in such a way. Worse it had happened twice before that night. He said, "This be the third (turd) time this has been asked of me and I should be taking offense me thinks? I gave up pig entrails for Lent, not me jar. This be a free country (cone tree) I can go where I want, when I want, so get out o' me way!" Now that sounds not too bad until you understand that's not the all of it. It was ok until he added, "You ruddy pink faced sausage, move your Thomas Beckett and get out o' me way before I smash yer face to puddin'. Now feck off!" (The feck meaning the 'f' word.) For THAT he was hauled off.
He was back within 'tree' days in a snit, but he was the star of the pub telling and retelling his police encounter, that became more exaggerated with each telling. And he wouldn't be a good Irishman if it didn't.
Gabe
Copyright © 2003 All rights reserved
Copyright © 2003 All rights reserved
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