Tomaltchach's story.

[beloitpiper]

So Tomaltchach was sipping on his stout, and the man across said "Bíonn seacht n-insint ar gach scéal, a deirtrear, agus bíodh cluas ghéar againn do na hinsintí is rogha le duinne de ríscéalaithe. (It is said that there are seven tellings to every story. Let us listen then to what the king of the Kerry storytellers has chosen for us.) So we all gather 'round. A few more "Cuir uait an chaint" and "Bí ciúin" (stop talking, be quiet), and Tomaltchach began:



When Father MacGillacuddy was enlarging the presbytery he put a levy on the farmers of so much a cow. That was the old system and it was fair. If a man had only one cow he paid a half-a-crown, and if he had ten he paid twenty-five shillings. Father Mac left it to the farmers to say how many cows they had - he wasn't long in the parish at that time.

Two years after, when the farmers were looking to have a creamery built, a cow census was taken and Father Mac was astounded at the sudden jump in the cattle population. 'Oh ho," he said to himself, 'I'll have to be up earlier in the morning to be a match for these lads!'

When Shrovetime came round a young man from up near the County Bounds was getting married and he and his father came to the presbytery to settle up with Father Mac about the marriage offering.

'Seven pounds, your reverence,' the young man said, giving a bit of swee-gee to the cap, 'my place is small,'
'And wet!' his father added.
'How many cows have you?' Father Mac asked him. The poor old cow was the yardstick here too!
'I have ten cows,' says the son.
'But he's only going under seven of 'em,' says the father.
'To be going under as many as seven so early in the spring is good,' Father Mac said, 'and with the help of God in another month he'll be going under all of 'em.'

The coaxing the conversation away from the subject of money the parish priest talked to the two men about the dexter cow, and wondering whet her future was like, he put his hand into the press and brought out a bottle of the hard tack. With his other hand he hauled out two glasses and half filled them, giving the father a tint more than the son, and that was a tint well spent. The father thought the dexter cow a comical animal and said if she drove milk out through her horns he wouldn't have one of 'em on his land. They were all in good humor now and by the time they got around to the bargaining again, Father Mac toped up the glasses which drove the marriage offering up too! Father Mac was as good a warrant to drive a bargain as any man that ever stood in a fair field and before the glasses were drained he had a pound a cow got out of the young farmer.

The following day walked along the village street he said to the publican, 'Well Michael, and how much a glass are you getting for your whiskey?'
'Less than a shilling a glass, Father.'
'Ho ho ho!' Father Mac said. 'I got over a pound a glass for mine last night.'

Of course the clergy weren't always in big houses. In the ad times they lived in hovels, and hadn't a shoe to their feet while the parson drove around in his buggy. A man breaking stones at the side of the road said to the parish priest, 'Which of ye is nearer to heaven, Father. Yourself or the minister?'

'Oh, I'm nearer to heaven,' says the parish priest.
'It's hard to credit that,' says the stonebreaker. 'There are you without a shoe to your foot and here comes the minister in his carriage!'
'I'll go hide now,' says the priest, 'and when the minister's carriage is passing put your thumb and let it rub along the side of the carriage.'
The priest ducked down and the stonebreaker put his thumb up against the side of the carriage as it went whizzing by.
'Oh!' says he.
'What's wrong with you?' says the priest.
'Oh,' says he, 'my thumb is burned off me!'
'There you are now,' says the priest, 'if it is that hot on the outside of the carriage what must it be like inside!'
'Hell, father!'

That priest had a curate and at the time they lived in a one-roomed bothán. The curate was a pure saint. Every ha'penny he ever got he gave it away to the poor. He would give the coat off his back to a poor man.

One morning he was coming back from an old chapel they made of sods, and he met a beggarman looking for help.
'My poor man,' the young priest said, 'I can't help you today.' And he couldn't, for he had given away his last cent the evening before to a destitute mother to get food for her child.
'For God's sake, father, and the sake of the Holy Angels, put your hand in your pocket,' the beggar implored.
'I'm sorry,' the young priest said, 'I have nothing for you today.'
'You won't deny the Blessed Mother, Father, for God's sake put your hand in your pocket!'

The young priest did, saying, 'Look, I'll show you my pockets are empty. There isn't a...' But there he found a half-crown. He knew he had no money. Not a half-crown. He had not seen one of those since the day of his ordination. There were many uses he could put it to, but he gave it to the beggar.
He came home to the one-roomed shack and told the parish priest the whole story.
'I knew,' he said, 'I had no money. Isn't it wonderful! The age of miracles is not past!'
'Ah! Miracles my hat!' says the parish priest. 'You'd want to watch whose trousers you're putting on in the morning!'



The pub exploded with laughter, and the musicians struck up again. "An rud is annamh is iontacht!" (what's rare is wonderful!) one woman exclaimed. One of my friends leaned in and asked me what she had just said, but the old man answered first, stating, "Bhí an Ghailige go blasta aice siúd, agus is in nGaeilge a bheidís ag caint in gcónaí." (She speaks fluent Irish, and it's in Irish they always speak) I just look at him and shrug,"Is fearr Gaeilge bhriste, ná Béarla cliste." (Broken Irish is better than clever English.)

[CactusJack]

What a great story, Thank you so much for sharing.

[Arlen]

Very nice. That last one reminds me of this family story, which my entire mother's side of the family swears blind is true.

My mother's parents were fairly poor and while her Dad was off on disibility he had very little money.
The women of the family were doing the monthly wash and my grandmother was lamenting her lack of money for food.
Her mother, being a staunch Catholic, started praying loudly to Jesus, Mary and God to help her daughter find some money for food.
At that point my Gran takes a pot off of the wall and puts it in the basin to scrub.
Low and behold banknote upon banknote starts bubbling out of the water.
My Gran starts wailing with joy, her mother runs to the priest down the street to hve him confirm the miracle.

A few minutes later my grandfather comes home and is told the whole story.

'There's not miracle.' He says. 'I won some money on the horses and was hiding it in that pot so your mother wouldn't know I'd been gambling!'

[David Dalglish]

Very funny stories