An Príomhbhailiúchán Lámhscríbhinní

Cuimsíonn an bailiúchán seo gach gné de thraidisiún béil na hÉireann. Breis eolais

Scag na torthaí

Torthaí

3 thoradh
  1. Cures

    CBÉ 0265

    15. warts- juice of Dandelion for 9 mornings
  2. Miscellaneous Items

    CBÉ 0407

    "What o clock is it?" Pluck a fully developed flower of dandelion & blow away the saying at first puff "one o clock": "2 o c" at sec. puff & so on
    Bell ringing in ear means that somebody has just died.
    Ass braying - a tinker dead! Game of soldiers played with Fruit of the chestnut is a "konker"
    "Was it a boy or a child?" Inquiry after birth of baby.
    Twin's only come every second generation. Red hair may re-appear in the seventh generation. Seventh son has a cure, especially if he has large, ugly, outstanding ears. New clay floor made in cabin for dance & the half door reserved for the best solo step dancers.
    At many of the crossroads between Rathvilly & Clongall I noticed large rings attached to stones in the road. These were for ti the bulls to, before & after their bout. Bull-fighting, cock-fighting & wrestling the 3 great pastimes of the 50, 60, 70, 100 years ago. Eagle's used to be see on Eagle Hill, Hacketstown, no so many years ago. The hill is a block of 'flint', so indispensable in the days of flint & steel & tinder boxes.Cabin-hunting is the Carlow word for bothántuíocht. Father Jim Delaney (see page 15) called gthe old "bobbing" & "ducking" women "hypocritical róisheens of craw-thumpers". My mother's aunt (Page of Hugenot descent) had cure for the "falling herb ". The undispensable herb grows in Crochán graveyard, where
  3. The Song of the Corncrake

    CBÉ 0485

    On a cowslip's bank I sit,
    With daisies my board I deck
    Mosses beneath my feet.
    In the buttercups drink I seek:
    Marigolds give me light.
    On cornmint I recline:
    I cook my meat on the marguerite,
    And flavour it with dandelion.
    Crake, Crake, Crake,
    Silent falls the dew,
    Insect, fly and grasses
    Disappear from view.
    The orbed blaze is gone
    Away from my wistful sight,
    And a rising fog shall soon shut off
    The last faint gleam of light.
    II
    The blackbird pipes no more,
    The robin but rarely sings;
    The linnet the whole day long
    Food to her young brood brings.