I was born the 6th of June 1923, in the heart of Clouncuneen.
And my mother gave birth to triplets, two boys and a girl.
Me and Pat were born this evening at 4 o'clock
and my other brother was born the following day, at 4 o' clock.
And Dr Hickey that delivered us at the birth said,
“Well Mrs McMahon”, he said, “I'll be down tomorrow
at 4 o' clock and the third child will be born”. And my father
was out in the road, and he see'd the car coming down the heighth.
And my mother says to him, “Well doctor, she says. “A miracle,
she says to him, that I should have triplets, three babies”.
“Well, Mrs McMahon, he said, God's will is no miracle.”
And when we were born, my grandmother was there in the house,
my mother's mother. And there was two or three women
in the kitchen waiting for the good news, that everything was alright.
And she brought me and Pat out in her two hands - and showed us
to the women in the kitchen and she said, “O' thiarna tŕocaire. God keep us”.
And Dr Hickey put the three afterbirths up on the table and they examined them.
And we were very hard to manage, we were so tiny.
We had to be wrapped in baize, each one of us, for three months.
We couldn't be dressed. And we had a cradle. And the three of us was in the one cradle.
And I was in the middle and the two boys were one side of me.
And my mother cut up a sheet, a flannelette sheet, and made squares of it.
And she'd hem 'em and put them under our arses.
There was no powder to be got that time, no baby powder.
She'd put a saucer of flour down on the griddle and brown it.
Keep turning it. And she'd take it up, bring it to a box. Leave it cool.
And my mother had a set of triplets
and she had two sets of twins
and she had seven children in four years and a half
and she had four singles after that.
And my mother gave birth to triplets, two boys and a girl.
Me and Pat were born this evening at 4 o'clock
and my other brother was born the following day, at 4 o' clock.
And Dr Hickey that delivered us at the birth said,
“Well Mrs McMahon”, he said, “I'll be down tomorrow
at 4 o' clock and the third child will be born”. And my father
was out in the road, and he see'd the car coming down the heighth.
And my mother says to him, “Well doctor, she says. “A miracle,
she says to him, that I should have triplets, three babies”.
“Well, Mrs McMahon, he said, God's will is no miracle.”
And when we were born, my grandmother was there in the house,
my mother's mother. And there was two or three women
in the kitchen waiting for the good news, that everything was alright.
And she brought me and Pat out in her two hands - and showed us
to the women in the kitchen and she said, “O' thiarna tŕocaire. God keep us”.
And Dr Hickey put the three afterbirths up on the table and they examined them.
And we were very hard to manage, we were so tiny.
We had to be wrapped in baize, each one of us, for three months.
We couldn't be dressed. And we had a cradle. And the three of us was in the one cradle.
And I was in the middle and the two boys were one side of me.
And my mother cut up a sheet, a flannelette sheet, and made squares of it.
And she'd hem 'em and put them under our arses.
There was no powder to be got that time, no baby powder.
She'd put a saucer of flour down on the griddle and brown it.
Keep turning it. And she'd take it up, bring it to a box. Leave it cool.
And my mother had a set of triplets
and she had two sets of twins
and she had seven children in four years and a half
and she had four singles after that.
So awkward, so mulish were they
they'd fight over their own toe nails. Over
the rinds of clippings and bacon drippings.
Going over and over with the long hold.
Nothing was as good to them as a bad fight.
The hotter and colder the better.
So long as it was long and so long as it
never veered into anything indefinite.
The rules were simple. Opposite
to opposite. Never change position.
Keep going. Keep solid. Never tire.
Going over and over with the long hold.
When they almost forgot and forgot
what it was they started, it was no matter.
When their shoulders froze and their head
set in stone, it was no matter.
When the moths fluttered in their best suit
it was no matter. When the cask was closed
it was no matter. When the ghosts laughed here
after. It was over and over with their long hold.
As told by Mary Reidy.
The story of the grandfather she'd never met.
The story she was told by her own mother.
She was only six weeks when her father died.
Her father died at forty years.
He got a pain one night, she said, and they sent for the priest.
I think it was a neighbouring man that went for the priest.
And he went for the priest anyway, and the priest came.
And as he was passing the Kilballyowen graveyard
he'd see all the men inside in the graveyard hurling ball.
And the man who went for the priest, he could hear them
saying: Kick the ball Martin Loinsigh. Kick the ball.
Kick the ball Martin Loinsigh. Kick the ball.
And when the neighbouring man went home and told her.
Her father was dead.
they'd fight over their own toe nails. Over
the rinds of clippings and bacon drippings.
Going over and over with the long hold.
Nothing was as good to them as a bad fight.
The hotter and colder the better.
So long as it was long and so long as it
never veered into anything indefinite.
The rules were simple. Opposite
to opposite. Never change position.
Keep going. Keep solid. Never tire.
Going over and over with the long hold.
When they almost forgot and forgot
what it was they started, it was no matter.
When their shoulders froze and their head
set in stone, it was no matter.
When the moths fluttered in their best suit
it was no matter. When the cask was closed
it was no matter. When the ghosts laughed here
after. It was over and over with their long hold.
As told by Mary Reidy.
The story of the grandfather she'd never met.
The story she was told by her own mother.
She was only six weeks when her father died.
Her father died at forty years.
He got a pain one night, she said, and they sent for the priest.
I think it was a neighbouring man that went for the priest.
And he went for the priest anyway, and the priest came.
And as he was passing the Kilballyowen graveyard
he'd see all the men inside in the graveyard hurling ball.
And the man who went for the priest, he could hear them
saying: Kick the ball Martin Loinsigh. Kick the ball.
Kick the ball Martin Loinsigh. Kick the ball.
And when the neighbouring man went home and told her.
Her father was dead.
“Infatuation, a faulty adviser, the first link of sorrow.”
Aeschylus: Agamemnon
Infatuation bathed and sprayed with Lynx.
Sprayed in the underpants and underpits in
a haze 'round the house, his aura a non-stop
monologue, raising to the highest altar of the
highest praise, her laughter, hair, her eyes and
everything she says and doesn't say, the music
she plays. Everything. About her everything
amazed. And he waxes his hair and rubs off
a spot and tries himself out at different angles,
brushes and gargles again, puffs his chest and
checks and checks again the watch that has
slowed way past the pace of his heart. Five
minutes. Five more minutes and he can call
for her. And he'll offer her his trinket, warm
in his hands. Not a sliver, his whole heart,
pulsing the chain: the second link.
Aeschylus: Agamemnon
Infatuation bathed and sprayed with Lynx.
Sprayed in the underpants and underpits in
a haze 'round the house, his aura a non-stop
monologue, raising to the highest altar of the
highest praise, her laughter, hair, her eyes and
everything she says and doesn't say, the music
she plays. Everything. About her everything
amazed. And he waxes his hair and rubs off
a spot and tries himself out at different angles,
brushes and gargles again, puffs his chest and
checks and checks again the watch that has
slowed way past the pace of his heart. Five
minutes. Five more minutes and he can call
for her. And he'll offer her his trinket, warm
in his hands. Not a sliver, his whole heart,
pulsing the chain: the second link.