In 1936, a sulphonamide medication, the active agent of Prontosil, cured President Roosevelt’s son FDR Jr. of a potentially lethal streptococcal throat infection, and following extensive press exposure of this cure in November 1936 the sulpha drugs gained rapid and widespread acceptance. The antibiotic era had begun.
How his own experience with Prontosil changed Fingal O’Reilly is part of the Dublin story.
Nor was Fingal’s life in Dublin insulated from events in his wider world. The involvement of Irish men and women on both the Nationalist and Republican sides in the now-being forgotten Spanish Civil War affected him and Kitty O’Hallorhan deeply. My interest in this war was initially sparked by a wonderful work, Winter in Madrid by C. J. Sansom, and my introduction to the Irish Blueshirts came in the pages of the haunting The Secret Scripture by Sebastian Barry.
Interwoven with the Dublin story is the tale of the doings in Ballybucklebo in 1965. This juxtaposition illustrates how radically the practice of medicine had changed in the twenty-nine intervening years and how O’Reilly had matured and was continuing to do so.
By 1965, although his ways were becoming more set, those closest to him, like Kitty O’Reilly née O’Hallorhan, Kinky Kincaid, Doctor Barry Laverty, and Doctor Jenny Bradley, influenced the still-growing man that he was. And so did the practice of medicine, which once more was on the threshold of two massive innovations: electrical cardiac defibrillation leading to the portable defibrillator, and laparoscopy, which was the beginnings of minimal-access surgery and in vitro fertilisation. Both are things we take as routine today.
Purely by chance I was houseman to the remarkable Doctor Frank Pantridge in 1965 when he introduced cardiac defibrillation to the Royal Victoria Hospital and, with Doctor John Geddes and Mister Alfred Mawhinney, was developing a portable defibrillator. I have taken a one-month liberty with the first use of the cardiac flying squad, which used the world’s first portable device in 1966. I trust you will forgive me.
And I have, for reasons of personal conceit, once more played a little with dates when the story involves another, for the time, revolutionary technique. When, in 1965, Jenny Bradley suggests that one of O’Reilly’s patients be sent to Dundonald Hospital, laparoscopy was still a few years away from coming to Northern Ireland. In 1969, I had just qualified as an OB/GYN specialist and my then chief at Dundonald, Mister Matt Neely FRCOG, a most prescient man, arranged for me to be sent to Oldham in England. There I was taught the then revolutionary technique of laparoscopy by a Mister Patrick Steptoe, whose work with Professor Robert Edwards led to the birth of Louise Brown, the world’s first test-tube baby in 1978. In 2010 Professor Edwards won the Nobel Prize and was knighted a year later. The laparoscope is also the foundation stone of all of today’s minimal access surgery.
In a much lesser way, that month in England gave me a lifelong interest in laparoscopy and the treatment of human infertility. My last textbook on the subject, Diagnostic and Operative Gynaecological Laparoscopy, first edition, written in conjunction with Professor Victor Gomel of Vancouver, Canada, was published in 1995 and is now considered more medical history than medical textbook.
And on a further historical note, although doctors like Fingal O’Reilly, Phelim Corrigan, Charlie Greer, and Bob Beresford in 1936 and Fingal’s young colleagues in 1965 are all figments of my imagination, all other figures are real. Those senior doctors alluded to in the Ballybucklebo story were all known personally to me. For example, Doctor Adgey, now Professor Adgey, was a classmate; Mister Jimmy Withers was the first Ulster specialist orthopaedic surgeon; and Mister Cecil Calvert set up the first neurosurgery unit. Sir Samuel Irwin, president of the IRFU when Fingal was trying to achieve the honour of playing for his country, had a son, Sinclair, who followed in his father’s footsteps both in the game of rugby football and as a surgeon. I was his houseman in 1965.
Doctor Jack Sinton was a G.P. in Belfast, and he did go wildfowling with my father, Doctor Jimmy Taylor, and me as I grew old enough.
Doctor Graham Harley, who became Professor Harley, was instrumental in my training as a gynaecologist, and I was privileged to work in my final position in the department of obstetrics and gynaecology in Vancouver, British Columbia, as a colleague of Doctor David Boyes.
It is my hope that this book will amuse, inform, and please you—and finally put to rest many, but not all, of my readers’ questions. I’m afraid I must ask those who want to know about Doctor Fingal Flahertie O’Reilly’s first wife, Deirdre Mawhinney, and his wartime naval service on HMS Warspite to be patient—but tomorrow I promise I’ll be starting to write number nine in the Irish Country series as fast as I can.
PATRICK TAYLOR
Salt Spring Island
British Columbia
Canada
September 2012
GLOSSARY
To each of the seven previous Irish Country books I have appended a glossary. Judging by the letters I receive, they are appreciated. The English spoken in Ireland not only differs from standard English, but the language of regions is equally diverse. So is the Irish Gaeilge, but that is another story. Aspects of the Ulster and Dublin dialects are as far apart as those from Brooklyn, New York, and Bowling Green, Kentucky. Despite these differences many of the expressions in Ireland are shared, so in this glossary by preceding the definition with “Dublin” or “Ulster” I have tried to identify those more likely to be heard in the city on the Liffey and those prone to crop up near where the Lagan flows. Without those modifers the expressions are fairly universal.
I spent October ’07 to May ’10 in Ireland and frequently visited Dubh Linn, the Black Pool, or as it is properly known in Gaelic, Baile Atha Cliath, the town of the ford of the hurdles.
In my early years in the north of Ireland I had never heard expressions like “gameball,” evincing great approval. My northern versions would be “wheeker” or “sticking out a mile.” “Mind your house,” exhorting a sports team to be on the lookout for a tackle from behind, would be translated by us roaring, “Behind, ye.” A scruffy individual in Dublin would be “in rag order.” Up north they would have looked “as if they’d been pulled through a hedge backwards,” or “like something the cat dragged in.”
But, not all is different. North and south we’d both “go for our messages” when running errands, wonder what that “yoke” (thingummybob) was for, and might end up “shitting bricks” (very worried) because our pal had got himself “steamboats” or “elephants” (utterly inebriated).
I have in previous works explained the ubiquitous use of “feck” and its variants in Dublin. Believe me, it is now so hackeneyed by overuse it has ceased to be offensive and I could not render the speech of Dubliners without it.
Usually I try to avoid phoenetics in writing dialogue, but in Roscommon, where I lived from 2008 to 2010, “ye” for “you” is universal and in Dublin the “th” sound does not exist and, for example, “them” becomes “dem,” nor does the letter “g” have any place in “ing.” I hope the apostrophes are not feckin’ irritating.
Here are the words, expressions, and explanations. Please enjoy them.
Aldergrove: Belfast International Airport.
An Gorta Mór: Irish pronounced “an gortash more,” literally “the Great Hunger.” The potato famine of 1845–52.
anyroad: Anyway.
arse: Backside (impolite).
astray in the head: Insane.
at myself, not: Ulster. Unwell.
away off and chase yourself/feel your head: Ulster. Don’t be stupid.
babby: Baby.
banjaxed: Exhausted or broken.
banshee: From the Irish Bean sidhe, literally “woman of the mounds,” whose keening foretells a death.
barging: Trying to force one’s way past. Also (Ulster) a serious telling-off.
barmbrack: Speckled bread. See Kinky’s recipe in An Irish Country Doctor.
barrister/solicitor: Attorney. Barristers represented clients in court, solicitors did not
, but handled legal matters not requiring judicial intervention.
bashtoon: Bastard.
beagle’s gowl: Ulster. The gowl (not howl) of a beagle dog can be heard over a very long distance. Not to come within a beagle’s gowl of something means missing by a very long way.
beat Banagher/Bannagher: Ulster. Far exceed realistic expectations or to one’s great surprise.
bee on a hot brick: Running round distractedly.
beeling: Suppurating. Producing pus.
bejizzis/by Jasus: By Jesus. In Ireland, despite the commandment proscribing taking the name of the Lord in vain, mild blasphemy freqently involves doing just that. Also commonly heard are Jasus, Jasus Murphy, or Jesus Mary and Joseph.
bespoke: Tailored rather than ready-to-wear.
bide: Wait patiently.
bite the back of me bollix: Dublin. Slightly more polite version of “feck off.”
black pudding: Traditional Irish blood sausage.
blether: To talk excessively about trivia or an expression of dismay.
blow out: End a love affair, or a big night out.
bog trotter: Pejorative. Country person (bumpkin implied).
bollix/bollox: Testicles (impolite). May be used as an expression of vehement disagreement or to describe a person of whom you disapprove.
bollixed/bolloxed: Ruined.
boozer: Public house or person who drinks.
bowsey/ie: Dublin. Drunkard.
boxty: Potato pancake.
braces: Men’s suspenders.
’brake: Abbreviation of “shooting brake.” English term for a vehicle that used to be called a woody in North America.
brass monkey weather: In Nelson’s navy, cannonballs were kept ready for use by being stored in small pyramids held in place at the base by a brass triangle called a monkey. In very cold weather the brass would contract and the cannon balls roll off, hence, “It would freeze the balls off a brass monkey.”
brave: Ulster. Large or good.
brave wheen: Ulster. Large number of.
brung: Brought.
buck eejit: Imbecile. See eejit.
bull’s-eyes: Hard, boiled, black-and-white candies.
bye: Boy.
capped/cap: A cap was awarded to athletes selected for important teams. Equivalent to a letter at a U.S. university.
carbuncle: Boil (abscess) with multiple cores.
champ: A dish of boiled potatoes, butter, chives, and milk.
chemist: Pharmacist.
chiseller/chissler: Dublin. Child.
chuckin’ it down: Pouring with rain. See rain.
clatter (a brave): A quantity (large).
clove rock: Boiled, clove-flavoured hard candy.
confinement: Delivery of a preganant woman, or incarceration.
Continent: Europe.
corncrake: Bird also known as a landrail (Crex crex).
cracker: Ulster. Excellent, often used admiringly of a young woman.
craic: Pronounced “crack.” Practically untranslatable, it can mean great conversation and fun (the craic was ninety) or “What has happened since I saw you last?” (What’s the craic?). Often seen outside pubs in Ireland: “Craic agus ceol,” meaning “fun and music.”
crayture: Creature.
crick: Painful strain.
cross: Angry.
cruibín: Irish, pronounced “crewbeen.” Pickled boiled pig’s trotter, usually eaten cold with vinegar.
culchie: See Jack.
currency: In Dublin in 1936 the coins, although bearing different emblems from their British counterparts, were pegged to sterling and had the same names. In 1965, prior to decimalization, sterling was the currency of the United Kingdom, of which Northern Ireland was a part. The unit was the pound (quid), which contained twenty shillings (bob), each made of twelve pennies (pence), thus there were 240 pennies in a pound. Coins and notes of combined or lesser or greater denominations were in circulation often referred to by slang or archaic terms: Farthing (four to the penny), halfpenny (two to the penny), threepenny piece (thruppeny bit), sixpenny piece (tanner), two shillings piece (florin), two shillings and sixpence piece (half a crown), ten-shilling note (ten-bob note), guinea coin worth one pound and one shilling. Five-pound note (fiver). Most will be encountered in these pages. In 1965 one pound bought nearly three U.S. dollars.
dander: Ulster. Leisurely stroll or temper. Literally horse dandruff.
dead (on): Ulster. Very (hit the mark).
deadner: Dublin. A blow to the upper arm muscles, often affectionate, but can be painful.
delivery room: Case room.
desperate: Ulster. Immense or terrible.
digs: Lodgings.
divil: Devil.
divil the bit: None.
doddle: Short walk or easy task.
doh-ray-mi: Dough, as in money.
domiciliary: Visit at home by a specialist. G.P.s made home visits (house calls).
do rightly: Be adequate if not perfect for the task.
dosser: Dublin. Homeless man who slept in tenement halls.
dote/doting: Something (animal) adorable/being crazy about or simply being crazy (in one’s dotage).
dripping: Congealed animal fat often spread on bread.
drop of the pure: A drink—usually poitín (see here).
drouth (raging): Thirst or drunkard (degenerate drunkard).
drumlin: Ulster. From the Irish dromín (little ridge). Small rounded hills caused by the last ice age. There are so many in County Down that the place has been described as looking like a basket of green eggs.
dudeen: Short-stemmed clay pipe.
Duffy’s Circus: A travelling circus that was begun by the Duffy family more than three hundred years ago and is still running. I used to be taken to it in the ’50s.
duncher: Ulster. Cloth cap, usually tweed.
dungarees: One-piece coveralls. Originally from the Hindi describing a coarse Indian calico used in their manufacture.
Dun Laoghaire: Port near Dublin. Pronounced “Dun Leery,” literally, Leary’s Fort.
Dutch: Used to modify certain activities or objects. “Dutch treat,” each party paying half the costs. “Dutch courage,” bravado brought on by liberal quantities of alcohol. “Dutch cap,” contraceptive diaphragm.
eat the tyres off a truck: Dublin. One of a number of expressions like eat the arse off a farmer through a tennis racquet, or eat a baby’s arse through the bars of a cot, all signifying ravenous hunger.
eejit: Idiot.
estate agent: Realtor.
fag: Cigarette, derived from “faggot,” a very thin sausage.
fair play to you: Dublin. To be fair or well done or good luck.
fair stretch of the legs: A long way.
feck, and variations: Dublin corruption of “fuck.” For a full discussion of its usage see the Author’s Note in A Dublin Student Doctor. It is not so much sprinkled into Dublin conversations as shovelled in wholesale, and its scatalogical shock value is now so debased that it is no more offensive than “like” larded into teenagers’ chat. Now available at reputable bookstores is the Feckin’ Book of Irish—a series of ten books by Murphy and O’Dea.
Feile na Marbh: Irish. Pronounced “fayle na marev.” Festival of the dead celebrated on November 1.
ferocious: Extremely bad or very upsetting.
festering: Infected and draining pus.
fey: Posessing second sight.
fierce: Severe.
fire away: Go right ahead.
fist of: Attempt.
florin: Silver two-shilling piece about the size of a silver half-dollar. Worth about forty cents today. In 2010, 120 florins, about twenty-five dollars, would be required to purchase the same amount of goods as a single florin would have in 1930. This must be interpreted in light of today’s wild currency fluctuations.
flounder: Flat edible fish.
fly your kite (go): Have a good time. (Go away and stop annoying me.)
fornenst: Ulster. Near to
.
foundered: Frozen.
gander: Look-see, or male goose.
gansey: From the Irish geansaí. A jumper (sweater). Used in the Anglicised form by Irish and non-Irish speakers.
Garda Síochána: Pronounced “Garda Sheekawna,” State Guards. National police force of the Republic of Ireland. Used to be RUC in the north. The Royal Ulster Constabulary is now PSNI, Police Service of Northern Ireland.
gargle: Dublin. Alcoholic drink. “The gargle’s dimmed me brain,” is an alternate line to “The drink has dimmed my brain” from the song “Dublin City in the Rare Old Times” by Pete St. John.
gas (man): Very amusing/comedian.
gasper: Cigarette (archaic, no longer used).
gee-gees: Horses.
gerruptheyard: Dublin. Literally “get up the yard.” Polite rendition of “feck off.”
gobshite: Dublin. Literally, dried nasal mucus, used pejoratively about a person.
gobstopper: Literally “mouth [gob] filler.” A very large spherical candy made of multicoloured layers. Jawbreaker in North America.
going spare: Totally losing one’s temper.
gombeen man: Irish moneylender.
good man-ma-da: Ulster. Literally “good man my father,” but is actually used as an affectionate term of encouragement or approval.
good skin/head: Dublin/Ulster. Decent person.
go up one side and down the other: Deliver a ferocious verbal chastisement.
go ’way (out of that): Dublin. I don’t believe you, or I know you are trying to fool me.
grand man for the pan: One who really enjoys fried food.
grushie: Dublin. After a wedding it was the custom for the groom to throw out copper coins—the grushie.
gulder: To scream (v.), a scream (n.).
gurn: Moan and groan irritably.
gurrier: Dublin. Street urchin, but often used pejoratively about anyone.
gymkhana: Competitive event where horses demonstrate their paces show jumping.
half-un (hot): Measure of whiskey. (With cloves, lemon juice, sugar, and boiling water added. Very good for the common cold. Trust me—I’m a doctor.)
hang about: Belfast. Wait a minute.
Fingal O'Reilly, Irish Doctor Page 44
