A Tribute by Marc Ó Conaill
This is the text of a talk delivered by Marc Ó Conaill at the second Irish language forum in Australia, held on January 27, 2018 at International House, University of Melbourne. The English language translation follows.
Marc Ó Conaill and family
Marc’s grandmother, Kate Drummy on the right, his mother is in the middle
‘The Marsh’, Cork city
Seo scéal an-phearsanta, brónach agus fós greannmhar daoibh faoi mo sheanmháthair – Nana. Seo mo mháthair Máire agus Nana Drummy ar dheis. Bhíomar ag baint taitneamh as sup uisce beatha, thíos i Youghal, Oirthear Contae Chorcaí. B’aoibhinn le Nana Drummy braonín uisce beatha ó am go chéile. Is í seo mo mháthair, Nana Drummy i lár. A máthair ar chlé agus a máthair céile ar dheis. Bhí aithne mhaith agamsa orthu agus mé óg. Bhí mo shin-sheanmháthair ina ‘shawlee’.
Rugadh Kate Drummy, mo sheanmhathair agus máthair mo Mham, ar an 10ú lá de mí Deireadh Fomhair, sa bhliain 1923, in áit i gCathair Chorcaí ar a tugtar ‘The Marsh’, áit an-bhocht ar fad a bhí ann. Dála an scéil, is é ‘Corcaigh’ at t-ainm Gaeilge ar ‘Cork’ agus ciallaíonn sé ‘marsh’ sa Bhéarla.
Ba é Murty Ó Conaill a hathair agus Máire Ní Bhreathnach a máthair. Nach ait an rud é gurb é Ó Conaill mo ainm sloinne fhéin ó mo athair agus an t-ainm chéanna ar thaobh mo sheanmháthair. Agus rud breise, phós mo mhathair agus a deirfiúr beirt dhearthair – mo athair agus a dheartháir.
Bhí ceathrar dheirfiúr agus ceathrar dhearthair ag Nana Drummy. Sna caogadaí d’fhág gach duine acu, ach amháin mo sheanmháthair agus d’imigh siad thall go Sasana, timpeall ar Degenham, Romford, Ilford agus Goodmayes. Bhíos fhéin thall ní nach cúpla seachtain ó sin chun mo sheanuncail, deartháir Nana Drummy, a chur sa talamh. Leis na blianta bhíodh deirfúracha agus dearthaireacha mo sheanmháthair i gcónaí ag smaoineamh ar ‘sis’ agus cuireadh a ‘few pound’ sa phost chuici, go háirithe nuair a fuair a fear chéile bás agus é óg go leor agus seachtar páiste fágtha ina dhiaidh.
Is maith an cuimhne domsa nuair a thagadh na gaolta sin thall ó Sasana agus na cóisir agus amhránaíocht a bhí againn. Ba aoibhinn leis na gaolta fanacht i dteach Nana Drummy, a deartháireacha ach go háirithe. Is minic a feictear iad ag imeacht go luath ar maidin agus iad a tabhairt cuairt ar na sean ‘haunts’ – Corcaigh a n-óige. I gcónaí ag siúl. Ba ise an ceangailt a bhí acu leis an sean-tir, agus is álainn an rud é go raibh sí ann daoibh. Bhí grá mhór acu di.
Leis an cuid is mó don a saol, ní raibh sí sásta labhairt faoi na laethanta bochta. Is cuimhin liom mo mháthair ag insint dom go raibh uncail mo sheanmhathair ina chónaí sa ‘Marsh’ comh maith. Tharla gur bhuail an eitinn a pháistí agus a bhean chéile. Lá ina dhiaidh lae chuir sé páiste i dtalamh. Thagadh sé abhaile ó adhlacadh amháin agus fuair páiste eile bás. Ní nach ionadh nach raibh Nana Drummy sásta caint faoi na hamanta sin.
Ba lách an bhean í. Sár-amhránaí ab í agus tá an bua sin sa dúchas againn fhéin measaim. Bhí trioblóidí go leor ag mo chlann fhein agus sinn óg, mar do bhí m’athair ina alcólach. Thairg Nana Drummy a teach mar cineál ‘tearmann’ dúinne, áit nach mbeadh sé de mhisneach ag m’athair teacht. Ó am go chéile inár saol, chuamar chun cónaí léi, agus fiú d’fhreastalaiomar ar scoil sa cheantar. Is ann a cuireadh muintir na h-áite in aithne orainn. Le déanaí bhíos i dteagmháil le duine ar Facebook ón ceantar. Chuir mé ceist orthu an raibh aithne acu ar mo sheanmháthair, agus ní nach ionadh, do bhí, agus ormsa comh maith mar buachaill an ‘dripping’. Dúirt siad liom comh maith go mbeadh sí ag greas cardála ar an mbealach ábhaile ón Aifreann agus imní ar cuile duine cá raibh sí.
Nuair a fuair Nana Drummy bás d’fhág sí a páistí fhéin, duine is fiche garpháiste agus seachta is fiche fionnó. Bhronn a garpháistí uilig airgead uirthi le himeacht na blainta, ach thug sí do dhaoine eile é. Ach ní raibh airgead de dhíth riamh uirthi. Ní raibh meas dá laghad aici sna bláthanna, agus uaireanta gheobhadh sí iad ó daoine nach raibh aithne mhaith acu uirthi. Rachadh na bláthanan úd chuig an t-séipéal an lá ina dhiaidh.
Nuair a bhí sí ag fail bháis san ospideal, bhí a garpháistí ag canadh di agus bhíodar í gcónaí ann cois leapaidh. Smaoinigh ar sin. Ní raibh sí riamh ina haonar. Bhí sí timpeallaithe le grá. Bhí torramh againn di ina teach féin, áit a síneadh amach í. D’fhan siad go raibh mé tagtha ón éitleán go dtí gur dhún siad an chónra go deo. Bhí clúdach litreach beag agam le nótái ó mo pháistí fhéin, ribín gruaige daoibh agus roinnt rudaí a raibh luachmhar dóibh ag an am nuair a bhí siad óg. D’árdaigh mé an brat uirthi sa chónra chun an litir a chur lei. Ba bheag nár thit mé i laige. Bhí gach aon sort clúdach litreach istigh léi. D’iompar mé í go dtí an séipéal, síos a bóthair, lán de cuimhní laethanta mo óige.
Is mór an onóir domsa bheith ag caint faoi Nana Drummy. Níl lá ann nach mbíonn ag smaoineamh uirthi. Tá mo chlann fhéin ag filleadh ar ais ar Éireann MÍ Aibreán. Siúlfaidh mé amach go dtí deisceart na cathrach, síos Bóthar an Glaisín, agus isteach go Reilig Naoimh Fionnbarra. Tá a páiste féin Elenaor curtha ann. Sa reilig sin, tá sí i chuieachta maith le Terence Mac Sweeney – Toirdhealbhach Mac Suibhne, Tom Barry – Tomás de Barra agus Jack Lynch.
Mar focail scor seo cúpla line ó amhrán ina asna le Nana Drummy – ‘Kiss me my sweet, don’t let us part, and when I grow too old to dream your love will live in my heart’.
Go raibh maith agaibh as éisteacht.
Nana Drummy is on the right.
This is a very personal, sad, and still funny story about my grandmother – Nana Drummy. This is my mother Mary in the centre. Her mother on her left and her mother-in-law on her right. I knew both well when I was young. My great-grandmother was a shawlee (a woman so poor she could not afford a coat).
Kate Drummy, my grandmother and my Mum’s mum, was born 10 October 1923 in a place in Cork call the ‘Marsh’, a very poor place. By the way, Corcaigh is the Irish name for Cork and it means marsh. Murty O’Connell was her father and Mary Walsh her mother. Isn’t it strange that my surname is O’Connell from my father and is the same name as my grandmother’s? And another thing, my own mother and her sister married two brothers – my father and his brother.
My grandmother had four sisters and five brothers. In the ’50s they left, except my grandmother, and went to England, around Dagenham, Romford, Ilford and Goodmayes. I was only over myself a couple of weeks ago to bury my granduncle, Nana Drummy’s brother. Over all the years they would think on ‘sis’ and would send a few pound in the post to her, especially after her husband died young, he leaving seven children behind.
I have good memories of when the relatives would come over from England and the parties and singing we would have. The relatives would love to stay at Nana’s, her brothers especially. Many a time they would be seen leaving early in the morning and visiting their old haunts – Cork of their youth. Always walking. Nana was the connection to the old country and it’s lovely she was there for them. They really loved her dearly. For most of her life she wasn’t happy to talk about those poor days. I remember my own mother telling me about my grandmother’s uncle who also lived at the Marsh. It happened that TB took his children and wife. Day after day he would bury a child. He would come home from a funeral only for another to die. It’s not surprising that Nana wasn’t happy to talk about those times.
She was a kind woman, a great singer, and I think we have that characteristic. My own Mum and Dad had many troubles and we young, because my father was an alcoholic. Nana Drummy offered us the refuge of her home, a place my father would dare not visit. From time to time, we would go to live with her, and even attend school in the local area. It’s there that people of the area got to know us. Lately I was corresponding with one such person on FaceBook. I asked them if knew my grandmother, and they said they did, and me the ‘dripping’ boy. They told me also that she would gossip on the way home from Mass and people worried about where she was.
When Nana Drummy died, she left twenty-one grandchildren and twenty-seven great-grandchildren behind. Her grandchildren would always give her money over the years, but she would always give it away. But she was never short then. She never liked flowers and sometimes she would get them from people who didn’t really know her well. The flowers would end up in the church the following day.
When she was dying in hospital, her grandchildren were singing around her and they were always there next to the bed. Think. She was never alone. She was surrounded by love. We had a wake in her house and she was laid out there. They waited until I had come from Australia before they closed the coffin for good. I had a little letter from my children with ribbons of hair and little things inside it. I lifted the cover of her coffin to put the letter with her. I nearly fainted. There was every kind of letter in there with her. I carried her to the chapel, down her road, full of memories of my youth.
It is a great honour for me to speak about Nana Drummy. There isn’t a day when I don’t think on her. My own family are heading to Ireland in April. I’ll walk over to the southside of the city, down Glasheen Road, and into Saint Finbarr’s Cemetery. Her own child Eleanor is buried there.
As a parting word, I will sing a couple of lines of her favourite song ‘Kiss me my sweet, don’t let us part, and when I grow too old to dream your love will live in my heart’. Thank you for listening
Tinteán 