Estudios Irlandeses, Issue 13, March 2018-Feb. 2019, pp. 127-142
__________________________________________________________________________________________ AEDEI
“The Vocative Case on People’s Mouths”: The Irish
Folklore Commission and Illiterate Linguistics
Seaghan Mac an tSionnaigh
University of Notre Dame, Indiana, USA
Copyright (c) 2018 by Seaghan Mac an tSionnaigh. This text may be archived and redistributed both
in electronic form and in hard copy, provided that the author and journal are properly cited and no fee
is charged for access.
Abstract. Seán Mac Criomhthain (1875 – 1955) is not to be confused with Seán Ó
Criomhthain, author of Lá Dár Saol and son of Tomás Ó Criomhthain whose famous
chronicle of life on the Great Blasket Island was published under the title An tOileánach. Mac
Criomhthain’s importance stems rather from his mastery of the oral tradition which led
Seosamh Ó Dálaigh to place him on a par with Peig Sayers as two of the best informants he
had encountered. Ó Dálaigh himself was one of the most prolific collectors of the Irish
Folkore Commission whose contribution to what is now the National Folkore Collection must
be considered as one of the great cultural achievements of Irish history. Nonetheless, the
institutional frames influencing the collection process meant that ultimately the IFC lacked
what Ó Giolláin calls an “reflexive ethnology” (141), and this issue therefore merits some
discussion. The present paper is intended to advance the discussion with reference to the
presence, or not, of linguistic essentialism on the part of the Irish state as well of other sectors
of society, taking as central texts Seán Ó Riada’s famous poem “Fill Arís” as well as a
recently completed critical edition of Seán Mac Criomhthain’s folkloric repertoire.
Key Words. Dialectology, Irish Folklore Commission, Cultural Nationalism, Irish Language,
Transcription, Lexicography, Irish-Medium Education.
Resumen. Seán Mac Criomhthain (1875 – 1955) no se debe confundir con Seán Ó
Criomhthain, que fue el autor de Lá Dár Saol e hijo de Tomás Ó Criomhthain, a su vez el
autor de unas famosas crónicas de la vida en la isla de Great Blasket publicadas bajo el título
de An tOileánach. La importancia de Mac Criomhthain reside en su maestría de la tradición
oral, lo que llevó a Seosamh Ó Dálaigh a situarlo al mismo nivel que Peig Sayers al definir a
ambos como los mejores testimonios con los que se había encontrado. Ó Dálaigh era uno de
los más prolíficos recopiladores de información de la Irish Folklore Commission. La
aportación de esta comisión a lo que hoy constituye la National Folklore Collection es sin
duda uno de los más grandes logros culturales en la historia de Irlanda. Sin embargo, el marco
institucional que guió el proceso de recopilación de información en la IFC tuvo como
contrapartida la ausencia de una “reflexión etnológica”, en palabras de Ó Giolláin (141), un
aspecto que merece un análisis detallado. En este artículo se pretende continuar con el debate
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sobre la presencia, o no, de un esencialismo lingüístico por parte del estado irlandés, al igual
que por parte de otros segmentos sociales, y se tomará como texto de referencia el famoso
poema de Seán Ó Riada “Fill Arís”, así como una recopilación del repertorio de Seán Mac
Criomhthain en una edición crítica que ha sido recientemente publicada.
Palabras clave. Dialectología, Irish Folkore Commission, nacionalismo cultural, idioma
irlandés, transcripción, lexicografía, educación en gaélico.
1. Introduction
Seán Mac Criomhthain (1875 – 1955) is not to be confused with Seán Ó Criomhthain, author
of Lá Dár Saol and son of Tomás Ó Criomhthain whose famous chronicle of life on the Great
Blasket Island was published under the title An tOileánach. Mac Criomhthain’s importance
stems rather from his mastery of the oral tradition which led IFC collector Seosamh Ó
Dálaigh to place him on a par with Peig Sayers as one of the two best informants he had
encountered during a career in which he had provided the great bulk of transcriptions
available for both West Kerry storytellers (Tyers 82).
An ethnographical approach of the kind proposed by Henry Glassie in his call to
“begin with the words of the people we study” (4) must be tempered in turn by Thelen’s
reminder that collecting oral history is itself a cultural act involving construction of history
(ix). It can be shown, for example, that the oral culture of Irish speaking regions was
institutionally prioritised by the Irish Free State within a nation of similarly rural yet
monolingually anglophone regions. As Phillip O’Leary has demonstrated in his discussion of
rural life in Gaelic prose, “the idea that the life of such rural parishes in the Gaeltacht was the
most – if not the only – appropriate subject for literature in what was at the time still very
much a rural language had, therefore, strong appeal on both practical and ideological
grounds” (103).
With extensive reference to evidence presented in a recently completed PhD thesis
which involved the creation of a critical edition of Mac Criomhthain’s folkloric repertoire as
well as of his particular Irish dialect (Mac an tSionnaigh 8), the perspective offered in the
present discussion benefits from a hybridity of Irish Studies subdisciplines in its allignment of
literary, folkoric, journalistic, historical, and linguistic sources. Initially discussing forms of
linguistic expectation as explored in Seán Ó Riordáin’s poem “Fill Arís”, this paper turns its
focus thereafter to the paradoxical idea that although Seán Mac Criomhthain and elements of
his repertoire as well as of his particular dialect of Irish represented an ideal of the kind also
sought elsewhere by the Irish Folklore Commission, other elements represented a challenge to
the linguistic essentialism of the state that was archiving his material. In light of such
evidence, this paper will attempt to adjucate to what extent linguistic expectations became
detrimental to the cultivation of the Irish language.
2. Linguistic expectations
Trips to Gaeltacht regions on the part of members of majoritarily anglophone Ireland predate
the foundation of the Irish Free State, stemming back to the foundation in 1893 of the Gaelic
League whose language classes contributed to the development of linguistic tourism in the
west. One such visitor, explains Angela Bourke, was Pádraig Pearse who “would have a huge
influence on what was later called the Gaeltacht”:
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His plan was to found a school in Dublin that would educate boys billingually ... in
1908, he opened St. Enda's school in Cullenswood House, Ranelagh, two miles south
of Dublin city center. The following years saw the completion of a small thatched
house in vernacular style, above the lake in Rosmuc; over the following summers,
Pearse brought several groups of boys from St. Enda's to stay there. A number of the
young men who fought alongside him in 1916 or went on to hold leading positions in
government and administration were his former pupils. (87)
The linguistic expectations of a certain section of Free State citizens visiting official Gaeltacht
regions were nicely summarised in Seán Ó Riordáin’s famous 1964 poem “Fill Arís” from his
collection entitled Brosna. Although Ó Riordáin’s Baile Mhúirne had itself been conferred
official Gaeltacht status, it had by his own estimation become “very patchy” in comparison
with “the living Gaeltacht of Dún Chaoin” with the result that the poet was “not ‘at home’
with Irish” (McCrea 78-80), and eventually chose to undertake his “pilgrimage to the
Gaeltacht to improve his Irish and absorb the spirit of the living language” (McCrea 118):
“Fill Arís”
Fág Gleann na nGealt thoir,
Is a bhfuil d’aois seo ár dTiarna i d’fhuil,
Dún d’intinn ar ar tharla
Ó buaileadh Cath Chionn tSáile,
Is ón uair go bhfuil an t-ualach trom
Is an bóthar fada, bain ded mheabhair
Srathar shibhialtacht an Bhéarla,
Shelley, Keats is Shakespeare:
Fill arís ar do chuid,
Nigh d’intinn is nigh
Do theanga a chuaigh ceangailte i gcomhréiribh
’Bhí bunoscionn le d’éirim:
Dein d’fhaoistin is dein
Síocháin led ghiniúin féinig
Is led thigh-se féin is ná tréig iad,
Ní dual do neach a thigh ná a threabh a thréigean.
Téir faobhar na faille siar tráthnóna gréine go Corca Dhuibhne,
Is chífir thiar ag bun na spéire ag ráthaíocht ann
An Uimhir Dhé, is an Modh Foshuiteach,
Is an tuiseal gairmeach ar bhéalaibh daoine:
Sin é do dhoras,
Dún Chaoin fé sholas an tráthnóna,
Buail is osclófar
D’intinn féin is do chló ceart. (Ó Riodáin 162-163)
Ó Riordáin’s westward journey towards the Gaeltacht peninsula of Corca Dhuibhne allowed
him to more precisely outline in poetry some of the factors that to this day have enticed
visitors such as himself to return again and again with hopes of encountering ideal speakers of
the kind represented by Seán Mac Criomhthain. The anticipation of encountering what Barry
McCrea has translated as “the Dual Number, and the Subjunctive Mood” as well as the
eponymous “vocative case on people’s mouths” seems to be accorded an importance superior
to the region’s much celebrated natural beauty. “Fill Arís”, or “Return Again”, in this sense
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represents a poetic reproduction of the assumptions associated with the state brand of
linguistic essentialism central to the prevailing ideology of the Irish Folklore Society and later
the Irish Folklore Commission. Fitting, then, that Ó Riordáin’s poem would in 2014 receive
the honour of becoming a nominee for the state broadcaster’s “Poem for Ireland” award
which invited the Irish people to choose one of ten “stand-out Irish poems of the past 100
years”.
3. “Our Irish Ways”
The Free State government of the 1920s had embarked in the immediate aftermath of its
inception on an ethnological project whereby the oral traditions of rural citizens were to be
compiled and studied. Such a study was to provide the state with a national corpus of
linguistico-politico-religious data, recovering as much as possible of the “Irish ways ” as
Michael Collins had put it in A Path to Freedom, a text echoing Douglas Hyde’s “Necessity
for De-Anglicising Ireland” and yet whose completion was to be interrupted by the author’s
assasination:
We only succeeded after we had begun to get back our Irish ways; after we had made
a serious effort to speak our own language; after we had striven again to govern
ourselves. We can only keep out the enemy and all other enemies by completing that
task ... The biggest task will be the restoration of the language. How can we express
our most subtle thoughts and finest feelings in a foreign tongue? Irish will scarcely
be our language in this generation, not even perhaps in the next. But until we have it
again on our tongue and in our minds we are not free, and we will produce no
immortal literature. (Collins 120-123)
References to the “enemy” here testify to a context of post-war trauma in this initiative period
of state folklore collection in Ireland, and the desire to “get back” is of course recalled in the
title of Ó Riordáin’s poem “Return Again”. The grammatical elements cited by Ó Ríordáin
would through this postcolonial prism be understood as examples of linguistic factors bearing
witness to the “Irish ways”. The “vocative case” referred to is for example a linguistic
phenomenon whereby addressing a person causes that person’s name to become inflected as
part of a “morphological marking of the vocative” that is unknown in the modern English
language:
The function of the vocative (Irish an tuiseal gairmeach “the vocative case”) is to
address an individual and get his or her attention as in the English example Michael,
we have to leave soon. This function is a matter of discourse which is why the
vocative is located in pragmatics. However, as part of its Indo-European heritage,
Irish has morphological marking of the vocative. The vocative has traditionally been
treated as a grammatical case and appears in case listings in early grammars of
classical languages and later, because of this tradition, in grammars of Irish. (Hickey
31)
The association of the vocative with the exoticism of “early grammars of classical languages”
partially explains why Seán Ó Riordáin was to be wowed by the vigour of the vocative once
encountering it in West Kerry, where it was to be heard “on people’s mouths” as opposed to
the graphocentric medium represented in his poem by “Shelley, Keats and Shakespeare” and
their “civilised halter of English”. The vocative case in the Kerry Gaeltacht had by the time of
Ó Riordáin’s visits in the 1950s continued to exist as a feature of a living, spoken language
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that had endured independently of “grammars of Irish”, but it is interesting to note that by the
arrival of the 21st century, the vocative had become conspicuous by its absence rather than by
its presence. A 2008 article published in Comhar and targeting the kind of Irish to be heard on
Raidió na Gaeltachta1 complained that:
Is teimheal nó breoiteacht don intinn an saghas breilléise a theilgeann craoltóirí
áirithe inár leith. Is léir nach smaoiníonn na craoltóirí seo ar an ábhar a bhíonn idir
lámha acu, ná cén chaoi lena chur ós comhair an phobail. Is i gcúrsaí spóirt is
suntasaí atá an fabht seo le feiceáil: nathanna sleamchúiseacha droch-Ghaeilge á spré
orainn, an teanga á cur ar as a riocht, go fiú an tuiseal gairmeach de “Mícheál”
mícheart... (Roibeáird 32)
That Raidió na Gaeltachta’s sporting commentators should neglect the vocative may be
contextualised by a reminder that almost all languages of Indo-European heritage have long
since done away with it, as American-born professor of Polish literature and folklore
enthusiast, Robert Rothstein, explains by way of reference to the Slavic context:
The vocative case has been in decline in Polish for over a hundred years. All
languages change over time, and one way in which they change is when speakers no
longer find a particular distinction necessary. Polish is not alone among the Slavic
languages in losing the vocative ... Russian has gone even further and has only a few
remnants of the vocative, such as bozhe moi, a much milder oath than its literal
English translation. (47)
The fact that Seán Ó Riordáin should wax lyrical over the vocative as a feature of native
speech in West Kerry, together with Máirtín Roibeaird’s tirade in response to instances of its
absence, quite neatly delimits the apparent reverence for grammar within the Irish speaking
community. The seemingly oxymoronic presence of the phrase “illiterate linguistics” in the
title of this paper, then, stems from a situation in which state-sanctioned notions of
grammatical appropriacy were being formed on the basis of a corpus which was actively
gathering linguistic material from Gaeltacht areas such as West Kerry whose inhabitants in
the words of Barry McCrea were “renowned for their instinctive command of the language
and for their knowledge of the ancient oral repertoire” (112), and whose custodians were not
uncommonly illiterate, as in the case of Seán Mac Criomhthain.
4. The Irish Folklore Commission
The Irish Folklore Society was created in 1927 (Almqvist 8). It was later renamed the Irish
Folkore Commission in 1935 during which year full time civil servant folkorists were first
commissioned to travel, often in state cars (NFC 1045: 428), to rural areas such as Corca
Dhuibhne or indeed Baile Mhúirne where the first IFC collectors made visits during Ó
Riordáin’s boyhood there. Transcribing folktales and lore to the tune of 2,835 “thick
volumes” (Almqvist 10), and recording in many cases the voices of their informants using the
newfangled ediphone (Briody 342).
Seosamh Ó Dálaigh of Dún Chaoin is considered one the most prolific of these
collectors and correspondents, and during the 35 years of the Irish Folklore Commission’s
activity, he contributed over 60,000 pages of transcription and opinion to the National
Folklore Collection (C. Ó Sé viii).2 It is significant then that this authorative figure would cite
Seán Mac Criomhthain, along with “Peig”, as the very best storytellers he had encountered
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during the work he carried out under the auspices of The Irish Folklore Commission (Tyers
82). A reminder of the supremacy in Irish folklore of Peig Sayers, who via Máire Ní
Chéilleachair’s edition (Peig, 1935) of her repertoire became synonymous with the language
itself, provides a counterpoint to criticism that Irish national folkore is absent of women (c.f.
O’Connor 32-34; Ó Giolláin 141).
Linguistically speaking, however, this supremacy has also contributed to an imbalance
regarding the common perception of the Irish of County Kerry which arguably has become
conflated with the local variant once spoken in the now uninhabited Blasket Islands, where
Peig spent most of her life. The one extant comprehensive dialectological study of Kerry Irish
was thus based exclusively on native speakers living in the extreme West of that county (D. Ó
Sé 7), as though tracing “the historical decline of vernacular Irish not just to Dún Chaoin but
all the way to its ultimate conclusion, to the extinction of native speech” (McCrea 118). It is
for such reasons that the late Monsignor Ó Fiannachta had stressed, in one of the last
publications over which he presided as founding director of An Sagart, that the northeastern
part of the Dingle peninsula was overdue an accurate account of the dialect specific to that
area (Ó Fiannachta, “Brolach” 11). This is where the dialect of seanchaí Seán Mac
Criomhthain comes in.
5. Seán Mac Criomhthain and Kerry Irish
17 km from Dún Chaoin pier from whence one may take a boat to the Blasket Islands is Cill
Maoilchéadair to the northeast of the Dingle peninsula, and Seán Mac Criomhthain lived there
from 1875 until 1955. Over a thousand individual items of tradition were catalogued from this
particular seanchaí during the period 1927 until 1951. Mac Criomhthain’s vast folkloric
repertoire has inadvertedly provided an excellent linguistic corpus with which the existence of
two sub-strata of West Kerry Irish have been hypothesised (Mac an tSionnaigh 8-15),
complete with evidence for the ongoing existence of the “the Dual Number, and the
Subjunctive Mood, and the vocative case” (McCrea 283).
The following is an example from Mac Criomhthain’s corpus of the inflected form “a
fheara”, which despite being the traditional vocative case for the plural noun “fir”, literally
meaning “men”, it may in this vocative context be said to have the force of “guys” or
“fellows”. Such issues around translating vocative phrases from Irish to English are revelatory
of the kinds of translation gaps that exist between these two languages in particular.
Bhí Eoghan Rua ag imeacht do fhéin lá, agus do casadh go dtí meitheal a bhí ag baint
phrátaí é. “Tánn sibh ag obair ana-dhian a fheara,” arsa é sin. (NFC 966: 546-551)
Like the vocative case, the dual number is also a feature of nominal inflexion, and was by
Thurneysen explained as a feature of Old Irish’s having preserved “the three numbers of IndoEuropean, singular (sg.) plural (pl.), and dual (du.). The dual form of a noun is always
accompanied by the numeral ‘two’” (154-155). Dual number forms in the Official Standard
for Modern Irish are limited to, as listed by Ó Fiannachta, the nouns “dhá láimh, dhá bhois,
dhá chluais, dhá chois, dhá bhróig” (Sean-Ghaeilge 19). Mac Criomhthain’s use of dual
number forms was more extensive, and is in the following examples responsible for the
declension of “muc” to palatalised “mhuic”, meaning “pig”, and of “adharc” to palatalised
“adhairc”, meaning “horn”:
Tháinig fear mar chliamhain isteach ar an mbaile seo, agus is amhla a fuair sé dhá
mhuic ramhra ó mhuintir a chéile. (NFC 1035: 165-172)
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Do rug sé ar dhá adhairc air, is bhuail sé ar chnámh a dhroma é. (NFC 981: 359361)
Many languages employ the subjunctive as a verbal mood to express wish, order, or doubt,
and the subjunctive form for the verb “téigh” in Irish may be familiar to those having taken an
Aerlingus flight where “go dté sibh slán” has become a common postflight greeting. The use
of the subjunctive by Dublin Bus and Iarnród Éireann in phrases such as “ná gaibh thar an
líne bhán go stada an bus”, “fan go lasa an cnaipe agus brúigh”, or indeed the more
widespread use of “go raibh maith agat”, are also equally worthy of mention. Further
evidence for its more traditional usage can be found in the following citations from Seán Mac
Criomhthain:
Nuair a raghaidh m’athair abhaile, go dté dealg droighean id chois. (NFC 967: 490500)
Go gcuire Dia ar a leas an té a ghoid mo láirín rua. (NFC 967: 7-10)
Such linguistic complexity meant that similar specimens of West Kerry heritage collected
from Peig Sayers for use in the national school system where Irish was being taught as a
compulsory subject. A contrasting viewpoint of the value of West Kerry’s linguistic heritage,
however, is on offer in a short story from Pádraig Ó Cíobháin’s collection De Chion Focal
where the people of Tralee and their cynicism in respect of the language spoken by their
Gaeltacht neighbours region to the South-West is, ironically, characterised by a sentence
whose phonetic composition mimics the accent of that town:
Is ait leis an gcleas aduaidh iad. An teangain dá labhairt age na hiartharaigh is aite
leis na tuairsceartaigh.
“Fait do they vaint to speak that oul’ language for?” ar a mbéalaibh.
Ábhar Gaelainn fachta ar scoil acu. Seanabhlas uirthi dá réir sin. (132)
As part of a composition entitled “The Reckonings of Our Ancestors”3 originally published in
The Irish Press in 1932, Flann O’Brien seems to parody both sides of the linguistic divide in a
satirical letter attributed to a fictional character calling himself “Anti-Humbug”:
Dear Friend,
My son is being obliged to spend most of his time at school learning this
“Compulsory English,” instead of studying poetry or magic. What will he gain from
English when he leaves the country? Not one note is spoken in Scotland other than
Gaelic, and the Kingdom of Saxons is full of nobody but violent, ignorant savages.
(The Short Fiction 40)
The novelist Máirtín Ó Cadhain brought the speech of the Irish oral tradition beyond school
textbooks and into its own as a powerful medium of modernist expression in Cré na Cille
(1949) which in recent English translation became A Dirty Dust (2016) in one edition,
translated by Alan Titley, and The Graveyard Clay (2016) in another, translated by Mac an
Iomaire and Robinson. In a passage reminiscent of Ó Riordáin’s allusion to “Shelley, Keats
and Shakespeare”, Ó Cadhain’s 1969 essay Páipéir Bhána agus Páipéir Bhreaca appears to
address the kinds of protests brought against the Irish language and explored by Ó Cíobháin
and O’Brien above:
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Níor léigh mé comic ariamh ná leabhar ar bith den chineál a d’fheicinn ag mo
chaomhaoiseachaí i mbaile mór na Gaillimhe an tráth sin féin. Ach tá mé cinnte gur
mhó go mór an borra faoi mo shamhlaíocht na rudaí seo ar fad a luaim ná
léitheoireacht mo chomhaoiseachaí cathaireach. Is cuimhneamh liom daoine gan
scoil gan foghlaim ag cur síos, go háirid ar thaibhsí agus ar sprideannaí, ar bhealach
nach sáródh ach na scríbhneoirí is cumasaí, Dante nó Shakespeare. (9)
6. Institutional frames in folklore collection
Although the Irish language did to some extent became a divisive issue in 20th century Ireland
on both parochial and intellectual levels, the National Folklore Commission’s substantial
collection of “items of tradition”, whether in English or Irish, continues to represent very
important primary sources for the historian, the folklorist, the creative writer, and the
dialectologist alike. The institutional frames which defined the manner in which these items
were collected must however be taken into account when making any use of them, as such
frames had a direct impact on which elements exactly were to be collected, and how. Michael
Briody has suggested that there was more than mere “linguistic nationalism” at play:
However, in concentrating initially on what it saw as the richest veins of Irish
tradition, namely traditions in the Irish language, it was not simply motivated by
narrow linguistic nationalism. Scholars like Reid Th. Christiansen and Carl Wilhelm
von Sydow believed, rightly or wrongly, that in the rich body of folklore still extant
in
the Gaeltacht lay a key to understanding much of the lost oral tradition of
medieval Europe. Thus, viewed from an international perspective, rather than a
purely national one, the focus of the Irish Folklore Commission was far less
essentialist. (54)
The legacy of this European cultural continuity is partly expressed by the fact that a version of
folktale type ATU 1792 A collected in 1947 from Seán Mac Criomhthain known as “The
Priest Stealing the Pig” (NFC 966: 296-302) is told in places from South Africa to the Basque
Country (Mac an tSionnaigh 913). A passage from the Handbook of Irish Folklore by Seán Ó
Súilleabháin in 1942 demonstrates quite clearly a conscious desire to establish stronger
relations with Europe contemporarily:
In this material lies mirrored the routine of rural life of our ancestors, a source of
inestimable value to the student of European ethnology ... The exuberant imagination
of the fairy-tales, which enriched the literature of twelfth century Europe, is as fresh
today as a thousand years ago in the tales of the Irish Gaeltacht. (3)
In his comparative study of Ó Ríordáin, Passolini, and Proust as writers who McCrea argues
effectively used a minority language to activitate their strategy of creative modernism, Barry
McCrea essentially argues with great success for an understanding of many instances of the
20th century drive to archive and enshrine the oral culture of Ireland as a part of an expression
of the general modernist condition:
[T]he minor literary tradition of lyric poetry in the waning peasant languages of
Europe, far removed from the cosmpolitan experience of Paris, London, and Vienna,
and at first glance a last remnant of a premodern world that was bound to fade, was
another, later strain of European modernism that deserves a place in our accounts of
twentieth-century European culture. (120)
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Irish stories also accompanied Irish immigrants beyond Europe, across the sea into the New
World, and such a situation may explain how versions of folktale type ATU 1894 B “Payment
with the clink of money” were collected both from Seán Mac Criomhthain (NFC 621: 157159; NFC 967: 224-226) and from the African-American tradition in the United States where
a version was published in a collection called Negro Folktales in Michigan by R. M. Dorson
(60-61), although Seán Ó Súilleabháin in Folktales of Ireland does remind us that versions of
this same story have also been collected in places as varied as in Italy, in Indonesia, and in
Japan (273).
However, during the first decades of Irish independence from Great Britain, the fact
remains that an important influence on the work of the Commission concerned the
institutional desire to distance the Free-State from the United Kingdom and aspects of its
culture. Indeed, the Irish language folklore found in the manuscripts of the Irish Folklore
Commission are still valued as contemporarily as in the most recent publication in West Kerry
folklore on the grounds that they contain little evidence of perceived “anglicisms” (De
Mórdha 222). The kinds of comments made by collectors contemporarily in their private
correspondence with the head office must be understood in this context. Seán Ó Dubhda was
one such collector:
Ó Dubhda (1873 - 1963), originally from the parish of An Baile Dubh, near An
Clochán on the north side of the peninsula, taught at Feothanach National School,
Cill Maoilchéadair from 1902 until his retirement. For much of his teaching career,
he recorded local folklore on an informal, voluntary basis on behalf of the Irish
Folklore Commission, and shortly after his retirement in 1952 was appointed a
'special collector' by the Commission. (Mac Cárthaigh 76)
“Níor thug sé aon phioc dá shaol ar scoil ach amháin cúpla seachtain ar fad geall leis’” (NFC
621: 184) wrote Ó Dubhda in 1936 of Seán Mac Criomhthain who was conquently reported to
be illiterate in the censuses of 1901 and 1911. Neither had his father been to school, and this
was no harm according to Ó Dubhda who insisted again and again (NFC 1352: 328) that Irish
people had been spoiled by foreign learning, having consequently lost their native wit and
character (NFC 621: 138). Such a view lends weight to Ó Giolláin’s remark that “poverty and
isolation were necessary to the specificity of folklore since prosperity and integration of
necessity involved the assimilation of modern values inimical to it” (142). In Mac
Criomhthain’s case, however, this was as sectarian an issue as it was folklore-related, and Ó
Dubhda therefore duly noted that what he termed the foreign protestant school (NFC 1115:
19) was located right beside the Mac Criomhthain household, and that they were to be
commended for not succumbing to it.
Seán Mac Criomhthain may have been a proud Catholic (National Archives Census of
Ireland 1901; National Archives Census of Ireland 1911), with a habit of referring to Irish
Protestants as “Sasanaigh” in a slightly pejorative fashion, but he was no stranger to the
“civilised halter of English” nor to actual Englishmen either as in the case of unilingually
anglophone Máistir Footcroft. Footcroft was a school teacher who had taught in
Kilmalkedar’s protestant school and whose habit of verbally relaying information garnered
from newspapers to Seán is yet another nod to the robustly phonocentric culture of West
Kerry:
Fear ana-dheas ab ea é ar a shon é a bheith ina Shasanach. Is dócha go bhfuil chúig
mbliana is dathad ó bhí sé anso. Bhí sé timpeall lé trí fichid an uair sin. Bhí Éire ar
fad siúltha aige, ag imeacht ag múineadh scoileanna. Bhí sé féin is a bhean ann, agus
beirt leanbh. Scrígh sé chúm tréis an áit seo a dh’fhágaint, agus is é áit go raibh sé ná
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136
thíos i County Down an uair sin. Níl aon scéal a bhíodh ar an bpáipéar ná niseadh sé
dom. (NFC 936: 408-410)
Ní mór an Ghaelainn a bhí aige, ach focail. Bhí Éire siúltha aige, agus dúirt sé liom
gurb é Gaelainn a chuala sé fhéin ar magpie “maraodh an phota”. (NFC 936: 431433)
Mac Criomhthain’s humility in allowing Footcroft to contribute to his own enormous Irish
vocabulary with the addition of the word “maraodh an phota” is quite remarkable. Since
Master Footcroft could not speak Irish, Mac Criomhthain was occasionally required to
assume the role of interpreter during the school teacher’s visits to his similarly monolingual
father, as is clear from the following reference to the rooster which is evocative of folktale
type ATU 960 C:
Triúr againn a bhí istigh, mise is m’athair, is é fhéin. Bhí m’athair ag caint mar gheall
ar an gcoileach ag teacht comh déanach.
“Abair lé t’athair,” arsa é sin, “ná fuil aon díobháil ansan. Ní thagann coileach lé
haon drochscéal”. (NFC 968: 155-156)
A conversation with another visitor, which Seán recalled as part of his response to Seosamh Ó
Dálaigh’s question regarding the correct name for “the ruined church with the roof that was
built out of stone” (Hardie 5) beside his home, features an interesting description of the use of
English as speaking “go galldha” or “foreignly”:
Cill Maoilchéadair. Ní thugann éinne anois air ach “an Chill” mar ar mhaith leo.
“Cillmilcéadair” a deir daoine, agus “Cillmicéadair” a deir a thuilleadh. Tháinig
duine uasal lá Domhnaigh thíos anso age cró na snáthaide. Bhí m’athair amuigh
anso. Bhíos fhéin ag an aifreann. Labhair sé leis go galldha bhuaidh aníos.
“Níl aon ghnó agat díom,” arsa m’athair.
“Tá,” arsa é sin á dh’fhreagairt as Gaelainn, “cé atá ina bhun san?” arsa é sin.
Dá bhfiarthódh sé dhomhsa é ach go háirithe, déarfainn gurb iad na Connors so thíos
a bhí ina bhun. Bhí leabhar aige.
“Maolchéadair,” arsa m’athair. (NFC 979: 64)
Seán Mac Criomhthain engaged on occasion in metalinguistic discourse of the kind
represented by his altruistic musings over the various pronunciations of the name of his own
townland, and this is perhaps more than a little contradictory of the expectations expressed by
Ó Riordáin’s employment in “Fill Arís” of the ichthyological term “shoaling” which for
McCrea is evocative of the understanding that “for native speakers, grammatical forms are
invisible, undifferentiated parts of the natural order of the world ... which their utopian
language language communities seem to be unconsciously part of” (118-119). Mac
Criomhthain, as we have seen, however, was quite conscious of grammatical variation, and
could cite examples of this phenomenon. Further evidence for metalinguistic discourse on the
part of Mac Criomhthain may be consulted in the following reflection over the phrase “I was
going to mass” wherein the varied application of initial mutation is alluded to:
“Bhíos ag dul go dtí an Aifreann,” “bhíos ag dul go dtí an tAifreann” – tá sé le
clos anso ar an dá chuma. (NFC 1178: 567-601)
Standard Irish would require a prostethic “t” before “Aifreann” in this situation as per the
rules of the nominative case, but it appears from Mac Criomhthain’s examples that some
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137
confusion may exist as to whether the dative or the nominative case might be employed.
Although in general quite precise in his deployment of initial mutation throughout the corpus,
there are other occasions where he seems unbound by any rigid system of the kind later
presented by Gráiméar Gaeilge na mBráithre Críostaí (1960) to generations of school
children. A degree of flexibility is evident during Seán’s recension of a version of folktale
type ATU 706 “The Maiden Without Hands”, however. On that particular recording session
in July 1948, Seán is heard to offer four slightly differing formulations of a phrase which
translates directly to English as “seven years” – from “seacht blian” to “seacht bliana” to
“seacht mblian” to “seacht mbliana”:
Chuir sí an leabhar uirthi, gan é sin a dh’insint d’éinne go neosfadh sí do leanbh
seacht blian gan baisteadh ... gan é sin a dh’insint d’éinne go neosfadh sí dho
leanbh seacht bliana gan baisteadh ... ó lá go lá nó gur bhuail an leanbh seacht
mblian ... agus i gcionn seacht mbliana ... dúirt sí liom é a dh’insint do leanbh na
seacht blian gan baisteadh ... agus duitse atáimse á dh’insint a leanbh na seacht
blian gan baisteadh. (NFC, CT0319)
Although a solid rule of usage with regard to the number “seacht” is difficult to discern
according to dialectologist Diarmuid Ó Sé in his at length description of West Kerry Irish, he
does suggest that the most common occurrence regarding voiced consonants is for lenition to
be applied. Lenition in the Irish context involves adding the letter “h” after the initial
consonant of the word being lenited. In none of the above four cases of ‘seacht’ being used in
tandem with voiced consonant “b” does Mac Criomhthain apply lenition. Possibly mitigating
circumstances may however be theorised. The final phrase “a leanbh na seacht blian gan
baisteadh”, for which the official Standard would recommend “a leanbh na seacht mbliana”,
is partly composed of a genitive contruction involving the two nouns “leanbh” and “bliain”.
The inclusion of the phrase “gan baisteadh” with its unlenited “b” may also have influenced
the morphology, and the non-standard treatment of “bliain” may therefore stem in this context
from a hitherto unattested dialectical deviation from standard morphology. At any rate, of
importance for the present purpose is the evidence for flexibility of Mac Criomhthain’s
morphological system as well as the challenge presented by his expressions to existing
accounts of West Kerry Irish.
In keeping with a longstanding tolerance of a diaglossic situation in Gaeltacht areas,
Mac Criomhthain appeared to be without any resentment of the English language, and neither
was he shy of incorporating it into his repertoire. Although Irish predominated in the
Gaeltacht until well into the latter half of the 20th century, the tradition of macaronic song
provides just one example of the use of English in Gaeltacht culture. Transmission of
macaronic song in Irish-speaking regions has long escaped scholarly attention as observed by
Liam Mac Mathúna (11) whose discussion of such material in Béarla sa Ghaeilge constitutes
an excellent antidote to such oversight (183-217). Seán Mac Criomhthain’s corpus also
includes several macaronic items. “Age Teorainn Chluain Meala agus Charraig na Siúire”,
featured by Ó Muirithe in his anthology of macaronic song An tAmhrán Macarónach (41),
represents one such song collected from Seán Mac Criomhthain. Depicting a conversation
between a monolingual Irish-speaking man in pursuit of a monolingually anglophone woman,
the motif is one that was borrowed from the oral tradition by Brian Friel in writing
Translations (1981), in which play Máire from Donegal and Yolland from England find
themselves in a similar linguistic situation. The pair manage to fall in love despite the
language barrier as per Mac Criomhthain’s version of the motif where there is talk of
marriage in the final stanza (NFC 967: 143-144):
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138
Now my dear Johnny, I know what you mean,
you are a brave thrasher, and that's a good trade,
before we get married, we'll travel away,
I hope we'll live happy, the rest of our days. (NFC 967: 144)
Unlike the “brave thrasher” from this song, Seán did speak English as well as his native Irish
which sometimes bore the hallmark of the scorned anglicisms which according to Ó Dubhda
were beginning to pervade the speech of the old Irish speakers (NFC 621: 190).
The anglicisms referred to by Ó Dubhda would include the commonplace habit of
suffixing to English words, for example, “-áil” to verbal forms, “-éir” to nominal forms, and
“-áltha” to past participle forms for harmonious use as words of Irish speech. This practice
gave rise to the presence of hybrid forms such as “wheeláil”, “murderéir” and “fairáltha” in
Seán Mac Criomthain’s speech, and still more words were spoken in plain English.4 The Irish
Folklore Commission’s collectors were required to “record the information in the exact words
of the speaker, if possible” and to “make no ‘corrections’ or ‘changes’” (Ó Súilleabháin, A
Handbook xii), and although Seosamh Ó Dálaigh was a conscientious scribe in this regard, he
also took the time to underline such words of English in his transcriptions. Mac Criomhthain
also in one instance alleged that Ó Dubhda had modified his version of “Agallamh an Dá
Mhada Rua” to the effect of substituting “bithiúnach” for “madarua” (NFC 455: 943). Such
attitudes towards the collection, cataloguing and classification of folklore have led Robert
Hodges to argue as part of his discussion of the folkorist’s haste to force items of tradition
into neat generic groups that “classification is always a strategy of control ... classifications of
people ... and what they should think and mean” (21).
“The revival of the Irish langauge and the preservation of Irish folklore were parallel
undertakings” (129) as pointed out by Diarmuid Ó Giolláin, and if the Commission’s
linguistic essentialism may in part account for the growth of interest in Gaeltacht regions, it
has also informed the way in which the state classified aspects of its culture to its detriment.
The institutional aversion to anglicisms in the domain of Irish folklore was passed on to state
lexicography in the sense that words such as “practiceáil” were not acknowledged in the Irish
dictionaries that were prepared and supplied for the teaching of Irish such as English-Irish
Dictionary (1959), by De Bhaldraithe, and Foclóir Gaeilge-Béarla (1977), by Ó Dónaill,
whose chief editor had as part of a thesis worthy of an Oireachtas prize entitled “Forbairt na
Gaeilge” which condemned certain elements of Gaeltacht speech as being no more than
unadorned anglicism (Ó Dónaill, Forbairt 12). Writing in 1951, he traced this development to
have had its beginnings within the immediately preceding generations during which time the
Irish language had lost its ability both to accomodate foreign words and to come up with its
own:
Nuair a chastaí focal orthu nach raibh glacadh ar chruth Gaeilge aige, bhéarfadh siad
iarraidh focal Gaeilge a chur ina áit. Anois níl acmhainn acu drannadh le fuaim ná le
focal. Bheir siad leo an focal nua fána chruth Béarla, mar a chuala siad é. Ní
thabharfadh siad anaidíní ar anodynes dá mbeadh a mbeatha i ngeall air. Ní
mítheangachas leo bicycle a rá ach diúltaíonn a gcluas do rothar, cionnas nach gcuala
siad ag a muintir é. (Forbairt 16-17)
Whereas “bicycle” and its plural “bicycleí” were natural elements in the active English
language of vocabulary of Seán Mac Criomhthain, he in other areas takes pride in his usage of
native terminology in contrast with the anglicisms of others as for example in NFC 968: 530
where he refers to “síonán” as his own equivalent for English “beehive”, or “skip” as he
reports others in the area to say.
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Once a part of the educational system via its dictionary resources, the institutional
aversion to anglicisms was passed on to second language speakers of Irish. Pádraig Ua
Maoileoin in his novella Na hAird Ó Thuaidh illustrates this situation very nicely by means of
an anecdote in which a second language speaker on his holidays to the Gaeltacht encounters
the word “practiseáil”:
“‘Practiseáil,” arsa an stróinséir, “ach nach focal Béarla é sin agat?”’
“Ar mh’anamsa féin nach ea,” arsa Paid, suas leis an bpus aige, “ach focal breá
Gaelainne atá riamh againn agus age n-ár muintir romhainn.”’
“Ach, ná déarfá gurbh fhearr d’fhocal ‘cleachtadh’ go mór ná é, agus cad ina thaobh
nach é athá agat?” a dúirt an stróinséir thar’n ais. (33)
Although Ó Dónaill had suggested that grammaticians and scholars were at fault for a
situation in which his generation of Gaeltacht citizens were no longer contributing to
terminological development on the grounds that they had traditionally had been afforded no
authority in that matter (17), he and his team neglected to include “practiseáil” as a headword
in their dictionary. Ultimately, prescriptive lexicography in the Irish context came to mean
that undesirable anglicisms from folkloric texts were not to be taught in Irish classes, and this
institutional bias against words derived from English is partly responsible for a situation
which has permitted a “social and spatial distance of official terminology planning from the
circumstances of the Gaeltacht speech” as Helena Ní Ghearáin has suggested in her work on
the relationship between institutionalised Irish terminology development and the Gaeltacht
speech community (318). The dialogue, however, is ongoing. Others would later attempt to
through poetry bridge such distance as Ó hÁinle has reported (776), and a case in point is
Michael Davitt’s poem “Ar an gCeathrú Rua” which in featuring a direct translation into Irish
the English idiom “my heart missed a beat” made albeit tongue-in-cheek use of gaelicised
forms of the English verb “to miss” as well of the noun “beat”, with spectacular poetic results:
Mhiosáil mo chroí bít ar an gCaoran Mór
Éalaíonn Muimhneach ó
ghramadach (39)
Yet another ode to Gaeltacht pilgrimage, “Ar an gCeathrú Rua” differs from the earlier “Fill
Arís” in its celebration of “escape” from grammar as opposed to Ó Riordáin’s “shoaling” to it.
7. Conclusion
It is perhaps contradictory, in the context of a state ideology whose earliest prolocutors lauded
“the rural life of our ancestors” (Ó Súilleabháin, A Handbook 3) as an ideal on which to
model Irish society going forward, that a “social and spatial distance”, in Ní Ghearáin’s
words, could ever have inserted itself between Gaeltacht culture and state linguistic practices
during the 20th century. Snippets of evidence as have been drawn upon in the present article
from Seán Mac Criomhthain’s corpus and from civil servants’ correspondence do however
lend credence to such an interpretation of the fate of the Gaeltacht. This is a “social and
spatial distance” which also contradicts the position of two of the most important Irish
language writers of the 20th century, Seán Ó Riordáin and Máirtín Ó Cadhain, whose literary
cultures not only were founded on but actively championed what is known as caint na
ndaoine.5 One could also suggest, however, that one of the merits of Gaeltacht speech is
precisely its “social and spatial distance” from the institutional realm of self-consciously
linguistic practices as evinced by the presence of An Coiste Téarmaíochta,6 whose voluntary
Estudios Irlandeses, Issue 13, March 2018-Feb. 2019, pp. 127-142. ISSN 1699-311X. S. Mac an tSionnaigh.
140
work on behalf of Irish terminology, for that matter, is of equal albeit dissimilar importance to
the cultivation of the language. Ó Riordáin thus chose to traverse the “spatial distance”
through trips to the Corca Dhuibhne Gaeltacht, allowing him to poeticise having experienced
“shoaling there the Dual Number, and the Subjunctive Mood, and the vocative case”. Indeed,
Barry McCrea has suggested that “it was exactly this distance that Irish offered Ó Ríordáin
[as an Irish language poet]” (283). Furthermore, the evidence in Mac Criomhthain’s corpus
for the co-existence of both Engish and Irish in the Gaeltacht as well as for the allowance for
divergence from grammatical norms taken together suggest that even within the Gaeltacht
were degrees of “social distance”.
The introduction outlined an intention to adjudicate as to whether the treatment of the
Gaeltacht was detrimental to the cultivation of the Irish language. Indeed, the institutional
antipathy of the kind shown by the Irish Folklore Commission to macaronic songs in the
Gaeltacht has been deemed by Ó Laoire and McCann to be counterproductive to both
languages, giving rise to “suspicion and anomalous categories that, in privileging some and
devaluing others, are damaging and limiting to all” (261). In light of the debate sparked and
the wealth of literature inspired by the Gaeltacht phenomenon, however, it is difficult to
suggest that its treament was indeed “detrimental” to the language. Whether the Gaeltacht
regions could have been maintained in such a way as to yield better rates of intergenerational
transmission of the language and its traditions is yet another issue. Regardless, the National
Folklore Collection has enshrined elements of its oral culture, and will always be on hand to
assist future historians, dialectologists, folklorists and visitors of all other description towards
bridging the “temporal distance” by means of offering a unique anachronistic insight into
Irish society.
Notes
1
A national Irish language radio station which is primarily intended to serve the Gaeltacht regions.
See also his Irish language biographical entry “Ó DÁLAIGH, Seosamh (1909–1992)”, available at
https://www.ainm.ie/Bio.aspx?ID=1680.
3
“Mion-Tuairimí ár Sinnsir” originally but given here is Jack Fennell’s translation (O’Brien, The Short Fiction
40).
4
Glossaries may be consulted in Scothsheanchas Sheáin Mhic Criomhthain (Mac an tSionnaigh 195).
5
“The people’s speech”. Ó hÁinle mentions both authors in this respect, recognising Ó Cadhain’s use of caint
na daoine with a reminder that Ó Cadhain also composed his own words and borrowed from literary sources too
(776).
6
“An Coiste Téarmaíochta” is the Irish language terminology committee.
2
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Received: 31 October 2017
Revised version accepted: 26 January 2018
Seaghan Mac an tSionnaigh is the current Irish Fulbright FLTA at the University of Notre
Dame, Indiana, having previously taught at the University of Limerick, and at Concordia
University, Montreal. He began his academic career at Mary Immaculate College where he
graduated with a first-class honours degree in the Liberal Arts in 2009 and later went on to
write his Master’s thesis on Irish lexicography - this was published by Coiscéim under the
title Focail agus Foclóireacht T. O’Neill Lane (2013). In July 2017 he completed a successful
defense of his PhD thesis after having spent three years living in the West Kerry Gaeltacht
region, and a publication based on his doctoral research through An Sagart is forthcoming.
sfox10@nd.edu
Estudios Irlandeses, Issue 13, March 2018-Feb. 2019, pp. 127-142. ISSN 1699-311X. S. Mac an tSionnaigh.