From the Great Blasket to America

by Michael Carney

  After Mickey Ó Catháin died in 1930, the island went without a king. I guess the population was going down and those remaining never got around to naming an official successor. If the islanders needed a spokesperson, the oldest male did the job.

  Pádraig ‘Mickey’ Ó Catháin was the designated King or ‘Rí’ of the island.

  The islanders seldom got into an argument amongst themselves. For the most part, they were able to get along with each other. If they had a problem, it did not last very long. They had no court on the island. They did not need one. They resolved their own disputes. If need be, the King would settle differences using common sense. Afterwards, they would shake hands and that was the end of it.

  The King stands second from right, in front of the door. Muiris Ó Catháin, the spokesman when Éamon de Valera visited in 1947, is to his left, with the pipe. This photograph was taken by John Millington Synge in 1905.

  The islanders were certainly not wealthy people, but they did not think of themselves as being poor either. Mostly, they were content until they began to realise that their lives might be a lot better if they lived on the mainland or in America.

  The women on the island tended to defer to the men on major decisions. The women very rarely went over to the mainland, not even to church.

  There was a certain amount of boredom on the island, because we would see and do the same things almost every day. But nobody ever complained, except about the weather.

  Nicknames were a big thing on the island, especially among my father’s generation. My father’s nickname was ‘Tooth’ because he had an ivory tooth right in front. Other nicknames were: ‘Tim’, ‘Ceaist’, ‘Léan’, ‘White’, ‘Faolí’, ‘Faeilí’, ‘Seáisí’, ‘Buffer’ and ‘Cuainí’. Nicknames could be either in Irish or English. It was a fun kind of thing to do, but it also helped identify people, because so many people had the same first or last names.

  There was not a lot of alcohol on the island, but some of the adults took a drink from time to time. There was certainly never an alcoholic on the island. An islander couldn’t handle it. The conditions were such that they had to be alert and wide awake all the time.

  Smoking, on the other hand, was a favourite island pastime. Tobacco was bought in Dingle on shopping trips. Most of the men smoked, and even some of the older women would take a puff or two from a pipe now and again. My uncle Pats Tom smoked a pipe. My father and my uncle Máirtin chewed tobacco. I tried to smoke a pipe, but I couldn’t stand it. It wasn’t for me.

  Islanders were easy-going people. They liked to tell jokes and tease each other. The language used by the men was a bit colourful from time to time. When that happened, the women would just tell them to shut up (‘dún do bhéal’). And they would. For a while.

  But they were also a very shy kind of people, not used to outsiders. And they were always on alert, trying to think of what would happen next, what they were going to do next, and what the weather was going to be and how it would impact things.

  Island life required you to be in good physical condition. You had to be ‘wiry’, as we would say. You had to have manual strength and good bones. For example, you had to be able to help carry a very heavy naomhóg down to the ocean and back up to the storage area along the path up from the pier.

  Despite all the hardships, I always thought that island life was a fairly happy life. This seems contradictory, but the island people tended to accept things the way they were.

  Homes

  Most homes on the island were similar to our own. The walls were very thick and made of stones collected on the island. They were mortared with a mixture of sand and cement to seal the gaps and then whitewashed. A fresh coat of whitewash was added almost every year. The roof was black and made of felt that was brought over from Dingle. It would be tarred to prevent leaks and then tarred again almost every year to maintain it in good condition.

  The old houses all faced south to avoid the north wind and to catch the sun against the front. Since there was no level ground on the island, the west end of the houses were built into the slope of the hill so that the floors would be level. The houses were very small, usually only a couple of rooms – maybe about 20 by 30 feet on the inside. They had a loft up in the rafters that was used for storage and sometimes as a bedroom. There was a fireplace for heat and for cooking.

  Our house had a clay floor that had hardened over time. My mother would sometimes sprinkle fresh white sand from the beach on the dirt floor to give it a cleaner appearance. A few houses had cement floors and some had wooden floors. There was only one door, located in the middle of the front of the house. Some of the doors had two halves so that the top part could stay open to allow sunlight and breezes in. Once in a while, a cow or a donkey would stick their head in the house looking for a handout of some sort. The doors had a latch and bolt to keep them shut during high winds. But there were never any locks. We had no need for locks on the island.

  The interior walls were also made of whitewashed stone. There was not much furniture; just the basics. We had a big kitchen table with benches for sitting. We had a wooden tub that was used for a sink. Our mattresses were made from plucked goose or chicken feathers. They were laid on a wooden frame. We hung our clothes on nails in the walls.

  Next to the house we had a shed for the animals that we also used as an outhouse. There was a pile of manure outside the shed that we used for fertiliser. Yes, there was some smell, but we were used to it. There was also a small plot of land out in back of the house for grazing our animals and for growing vegetables such as potatoes, carrots, turnip, onions and tomatoes, and some oats. And we grew mangolds, a vegetable like a turnip, for the animals. But the soil was rocky and growing anything was difficult.

  The five new houses built by the Congested Districts Board were made of poured concrete with slate roofs. They were white and all faced east towards the mainland. They were built higher up on the hill than the other houses and were very well constructed. They were two storeys tall and had three bedrooms. People had to apply for one of the new houses when they were first built. The Congested Districts Board then chose a family from the island that was in need of housing and transferred ownership to them.

  It was not uncommon for animals to wander in and out of island homes.

  Peig Sayers, the famous island author, lived in one of the new houses with her son Micheál Ó Guithín, the island poet. My uncle Pats Tom actually had two of the new houses. He was living in one, and then his brother-in-law died and left him another one. The other two new houses were occupied by Micheál ‘Buffer’ Ó Catháin and a Seámus Ó Duinnshléibhe; not my godfather, but another man who had the same name.

  Five of the Congested Districts Board houses stand at the top of the village. (Two of the buildings are semi-detached).

  There was an old stone beehive hut (clochán) on the island, just up from the pier by the Dunleavy house. It was a very primitive building originally constructed by monks. It dated way back hundreds of years. But it didn’t get much respect. It was used for chickens and donkeys. At one time, they tried to keep ducks in the hut, but they just paddled their way back to the mainland.

  Wildlife

  There was not a lot of wildlife on the island. The place was just too isolated. There were rabbits, but they were kind of scarce because we used to trap and eat them. My father had a shotgun that he would use to hunt rabbits from time to time. Three other families had shotguns too. Rabbit was very tasty. We would boil it with a piece of pork. It tastes the pretty much the same as lamb or beef.

  There were plenty of birds on the island: lots of seagulls and some puffins and starlings. There were no trees, so the birds would make their nest holes in ditches or in cliffs or in the roofs of the houses. They’d fly around the island all the time.

  There were huge basking sharks in Blasket Sound. They had fins on their backs that stuck right up out of the ocean. And they still live there today. We were under strict orders from our parents to stay awa
y from the sharks; they were big enough to tip a naomhóg. But, on the other hand, you never heard of anybody getting attacked by them.

  There were only a few seals on the island. The constant movement of the people tended to keep them away. Today, there are lots of seals out there because the place is uninhabited.

  Our family had a great yellow dog called ‘Róisín’, meaning ‘little Rose’. A lobster buyer from France, Pierre Trehiou, gave her to us as a little pup. Róisín was very good at catching rabbits. And she was a great family pet. We had another brownish-coloured dog named ‘Kerry’ that we used primarily for herding our sheep.

  Weather

  The islanders had great judgment about the weather. They could forecast conditions by looking at the sky and the movements of the ocean, the waves, the currents, and the foam on the rocks, and the direction of the wind. Sometimes you could see rainstorms approaching from miles away. The older people were especially good at predicting the weather. The biggest weather problem was the high wind. The general direction of the wind was from the northeast, but the southeast wind was tough too. The wind often blew like hell, especially in the winter. It would often change direction quickly. The fisherman used to say, ‘You’ve got to go with the wind’, because it was impossible to fight it, especially on the open ocean.

  The village was tucked in on the island so it was sheltered from the northeast wind by the mainland, and from the west wind by the hill on the back of the island. Even so, the wind was so strong it could even blow the roofs right off the houses. The roofs were actually tied down with ropes attached to big stones on both sides of the house to hold them in place.

  Heavy winds sweep across the island village in 1897 with smoke from chimney fires being blown by the wind. See the naomhóg in the foreground.

  Sometimes there was light fog and mist early in the morning, especially up the hill on the top of the island. But the fog didn’t last very long, because the conditions were so windy.

  As a result of the high winds, the ocean was often very rough. Sometimes you would have waves that were 6 or 8 feet high. I remember being at the top of the pier and watching a naomhóg crossing the Sound from Dunquin in high winds and waves. One minute you could see the naomhóg and the next minute you couldn’t because it was down between the waves. It was treacherous out there.

  We had a lot of rain on the island, especially in the winter. Heavy showers would be blown by the wind right across the face of the island. We would get soaking wet in about two seconds.

  It was never really cold on the island, even in the winter. We seldom had snow and, when we did, it was always very light. We would have hail once in a long while. It would pelt down hard, but then melt right away.

  Winter days were very short, only about eight to ten hours long. It was very grey and gloomy. Because the village was located in a kind of a natural bowl, the sun didn’t shine directly on the houses from the end of October to St Bridget’s Day, 1 February. After that date, there was more sunlight and the weather would slowly improve until the summer arrived around 1 May. In the summer, it didn’t get dark until about ten o’clock at night. The wind was pretty calm too. They used to say, ‘The day was so calm, you could almost walk on the ocean.’ The summer ended in the middle of October or so.

  The weather was always the subject of conversation among the islanders, especially in the winter when it was bad most of the time. We’d talk about it constantly.

  Daily Routine

  We would get up first thing in the morning – bright and early – and look out at the ocean and the sky to judge the weather for the day. Our roosters would serve as our alarm clock. One would crow and then all the others would join in. There was no way you could sleep through that racket.

  We would wash up quickly every morning. But the men would shave only once a week, on Saturday, so that they would be ready for church on Sunday. They used a straight razor and a bucket of hot water. We never took a real bath. We would just go down to the beach or the pier and wash our whole body with salt water. People gave each other haircuts whenever one was needed.

  Most houses had a clock for keeping track of the time. A few people carried a watch. But we also kept track of time by watching the changing position of the sun in the sky.

  We all had our own chores around the house. We had to cut or dig turf in a bog at the top of the island. Turf, or peat, was burned in the fireplace for heat and cooking. We cut turf mostly up at the Fort because it was a shorter round trip than the Crow. It was quite a long walk with a donkey, a good mile and a half up to the top of the hill and then back after gathering your load. We never liked that particular chore; it was too much hard work.

  (L–r) Ó Conchúir and Seán ‘Pats Tom’ Ó Cearna with donkeys and creels carry turf back to the village.

  Turf was cut with a sharp spade and left up there in stacks to dry in the open air for a month or so. Then it was brought home in a basket or ‘creel’, one on each side of the donkey. Turf was stored in a ‘rick’ outside the house until it was used. Towards the end of life on the island, we were actually beginning to run out of turf. The islanders just dug too much of it over the years. The turf burned pretty well in the fireplace, but it wasn’t as hot as a coal fire. It smouldered rather than burned. We used to buy some coal in Dingle and mix it with turf to get a better fire.

  Cousin Siobhán ‘Pats Tom’ Ní Chearna and visitor Robin Flower’s son Patrick sit at the American Well – see the kitten on the well. The ‘Dáil’ is in the background.

  We had to get our drinking water from wells fed by natural freshwater springs. The wells sometimes ran in a kind of a trickle, especially in the summer. So it often took a long time to fill your pail. That, of course, led to lots of conversation while we waited. The main well was at the top of the village. It was called ‘the American Well’ (Tobar an Phuncáin) because the women used to talk about America up there all the time. The other well was at the bottom of the village, down next to the Ó Duinnshléibhe house, just above the pier. It was called the ‘Well of the Cross’ (Tobar na Croise), I suppose because it was near the graveyard. It was located on a cliff and you had to be very careful getting out there. Because of the risk involved, it wasn’t used very much.

  We washed our clothes in the salt water down by the rocks with soap we bought in Dingle. They were rinsed with fresh water from the small stream that ran through the gully.

  We kept our animals around and sometimes even inside the house. We had hens walking in and out of the house all the time. We had a half-door, but we seldom closed it. Once in a while, somebody would throw the hens a piece of bread and they’d squawk like mad. When they’d drop their ‘stuff’ on the floor, the old women would curse them: ‘Mallacht na gcearc ort!’ Inside the shed we had a chicken coop with a rooster or two. We had to keep it stocked with fresh straw for laying eggs.

  We had to feed our cows and donkeys hay and oats grown on the island and then let them out in the morning to graze. And we had to clean up after them, of course. We had a fenced-in plot of land behind the house for grazing our two cows. Since the fence was too low in places, we had to keep an eye on them to make sure they did not wander onto anybody else’s property. We would have to sit there on the wall in the field for an hour or two and let the cows fill themselves with grass. It was like babysitting for cows. This was a regular job for me. I didn’t mind it because it was easy and I would bring books with me and read or study.

  Winter was a lazy time of year. Days were short and pretty dark. The men went fishing for mackerel and herring if the weather was good. Otherwise, people would go from house to house, listening to stories and playing games. Sometimes, just for fun, the young fellows would go out on the ‘Gob’, a point of land jutting out into the Sound. It’s named after a bird’s beak. There were always strong southwest winds out there; they blew like a hurricane. You would almost get blown off the rocks by the wind from all across the whole bay. The lads used to have a regular competition out there on the
Gob. We would see who could pee the furthest against the wind. No lie. Sometimes, if a gale came up, it would come back in your face. We’d get some of our own right back in our faces! It was a harmless pastime.

  Mike Carney’s paternal grandmother, Máirín ‘Mhuiris’ Uí Cheárna, sits at her spinning wheel with Mike’s cousin Pádraig ‘Paddy’ Ó Catháin.

  The people that lived on the mainland thought that the islanders were a different breed altogether; kind of wildish, I suppose. Maybe it was because of the way they talked. They spoke slightly different Irish than on the mainland. It was hard to understand sometimes. And maybe it was because of the way they walked. When islanders went over to the mainland, we always used to walk along the road following one another, rather than side by side. It was like wild geese, walking in single file. I think it was a habit from walking on the narrow paths on the island where there was not enough room to walk side by side. The people from the mainland didn’t understand it. They thought it was peculiar. When the men used to walk to Ballyferriter for a couple of pints of Guinness after church on Sunday at St Gobnet’s, the locals would see them walking in single file along the road and say, ‘Ah, the islanders are headed to Ballyferriter.’ They knew who they were from a distance by the way they walked.

  Every once in a while, the walk to Ballyferriter was not necessary. The parish priest, Father Thomas Moriarty, called ‘Father Tom’ by his parishioners, had the only car in the whole area. Sometimes he would give the islanders a lift to the pub in Ballyferriter after Mass. The ride was a real treat for the islanders. They loved the novelty of it. But Father Tom wasn’t really happy about the situation. He thought that the islanders should be giving their extra money to the Church rather than spending it in a pub.