Ní haon rud beag é céad bliain d’aois a bhaint amach agus cé gur bhailigh Coimisiún Béaloideasa Éireann cuid mhór ó lucht na seanaoise, is mór an rud é fós aois an chéid a fheiceáil i measc aois na bhfaisnéiseoirí. Sin a bhí i gceist le Síle Bean Uí Shíothcháin ó Ghleann Cotáin, Co. Chiarraí, ar bhailigh Tadhg Ó Murchú ábhar uaithi in 1940. Níl a haois an-soiléir, déanann Ó Murchú 94 bliana a mharcáil di ar an méid a bhailigh sé uaithi in 1940, ach deirtear leis na híomhánna a ghlac Tomás Ó Muircheartaigh bliain ina dhiaidh sin gur 100 bliain a bhí aici. Seo mar a dhéanann Ó Murchú cur síos uirthi:

‘Bean Uí Shíothcháin is ea í agus tá sí ag tarrac ar chéad bliain anois. Bhíos ina teannta cheana an taice seo anuraidh ach bhí sí sa leabaidh an uair sin le taom slaghdáin. Bhíos ag cur a tuairisce ó shin agus dúrthas liom go raibh sí a mairiúint go lán láidir i gcónaí – gur bhain sí formhór na bprátaí i mbliaina í fhéin! … Níl ribe liath ’na ceann fós, ach í go sleamhain fionna rua, fé mara bheadh folt mná óige. Bhí sí éadaithe ar an sean-nós — gúna fada plainín agus seaicéad agus hainciarsúr straidhpeach ar a ceann.’

CBÉ 854: 181-182

 ‘Go maire tú an céad’ is an expression of goodwill in Irish, meaning literally ‘may you live to be a hundred’. It is no small thing to reach the age of a hundred and although the Irish Folklore Commission collected much material from older members of the community, it still stands out to see the number 100 amongst the ages of the informants. This is the case with Síle Bean Uí Shíothcháin, from Gleann Cotáin, Co. Kerry. The full-time collector Tadhg Ó Murchú collected from her in 1940. Her age is uncertain – Ó Murchú marks her as 94 in 1940 – but images taken a year later by Tomás Ó Muircheartaigh give her age as one hundred years:

‘She is Bean Uí Shíothcháin and she is nearly 100 years old now. I was in her company this time last year, but she was in bed with a cold. I have been asking after her ever since, and I am told that she is as strong as ever, and that she harvested most of the potatoes this year by herself! … ‘She has not a single grey hair, but her hair is a glossy light red, like that of a young woman. She was dressed in the old fashion  —  a long flannel dress and jacket, and a striped handkerchief on her head.’

CBÉ 854: 181-182

San ábhar a bailíodh uaithi, déanann Bean Uí Shíothcháin cur síos ar a cúlra, an chaoi a rugadh í in aimsir an Ghorta Mhóir agus an chaoi nach ndeachaigh sí riamh ar scoil ach gur chaith sí a cuid ama ag obair ar thalamh a hathar, ós rud é nach raibh ach triúr clainne fágtha aige. Cé go ndeir sí nach bhfuil aon scéalta aici nach mbaineann leis an leanbh Íosa, insíonn sí cúpla eachtra gearr eile, chomh maith le cuntas ar an olann agus an líon sa cheantar.

‘Mise Síle Connor. ’Sé an áit a rugadh mise ar Srón an Rí Mhóir, mar a bhfuil an Ínse Rua – an teampall – timpeall an drochshaoil, bliain roimis nó bliain ina dhiaidh, mar do bhí an drochshaol ann agus an Board O’ Work ann is dócha ar feadh cúpla bliain nó trí, agus do tháinig stuif timpeall chun na ndaoine bochta ná raibh aon ní acu le n-ithe. Do mheath na prátaí ortha, agus ní raibh an mhuintir a chuir iad, níorbh fhiú leo iad a bhaint, agus na daoine bochta, do bhídís ag rómhar na n-ithreach le gátar.’

CBÉ 716: 474-475

In the material collected from her, Bean Uí Shíothcháin describes how she was born around the time of the Famine, and how she did not attend school, but worked on her father’s land with two other siblings, as they were the only children left to their father. Though she states that the only stories she knows are about the baby Jesus and the Holy Family, she does also tell three other short anecdotes, as well as local information about wool and flax. 

‘I’m Síle Connor. I was born in Srón an Rí Mhóir, where the Ínse Rua church is, around the time of the Famine, a year before or a year after, because the Famine and the Board of Work was probably around for two or three years and stuff came around to the poor people who didn’t have anything to eat. The potatoes blighted, it wasn’t worthwhile for those who planted them to harvest them, they were digging the ground in distress.’

CBÉ 716: 474-475

Déanann Tadhg Ó Murchú cur síos ar lá ar bhuail sé iseach chuici, agus ar an bhfáilte mhór a fuair sé uaithi:

Bhí braon biotáille im’ phóca ’gam agus do thugas di é. D’imigh sí chun an driosúr’ agus do thug sí léi gloine bheag agus do líon amach taoscán as a’ mbuidéilín. Cheapas gur chuichi féin a bh sí ’á líonadh ach más ea bhí dearmad orm – níorbh’ ea in ao’ chor ach chugam fhéin. Chaithfinnse an chéad scíobas ’ól, a deir sí – gurbh shin é dlí bhéasa — ‘urraim don fhireannach’. Bhíos ’á heiteach ar mo dhícheall ach níorbh aon chabhair dom é – chaithfinn é ’ól nó ní bhlaisfeadh sí féin diúir de. Sea!’

CBÉ 854: 183-186

Tadhg Ó Murchú describes calling in to her one day and the welcome he received:

I had a drop of spirits in my pocket and gave it to her. She went to the dresser and took out a small glass and poured a good drop from the bottle. I thought it was for herself, that she filled the glass and that she had forgotten me, but I was mistaken as it wasn’t for herself at all but for me. I had to drink the first sip, she said, that that was the polite way – ‘respect for the male guest’. I did my utmost to refuse but it was no use – I had to drink or she would not have a drop!’

CBÉ 854: 183-186

Is mó scéalta atá ag bailitheoirí an Choimisiúin ar fháilte den chineál seo a fháil agus iad ag taisteal agus bailiú béaloidis, agus is cinnte gur de bharr dhea-thoil na bhfaisnéiseoirí gur éirigh chomh maith sin le hobair an Choimisiúin. Mar a scríobh Tadhg Ó Murchú san iris Béaloideas i 1948 agus é ag tagairt ar na cuairteanna a thug sé ar fhaisnéiseoirí thar na blianta agus é ag obair don Choimisiún, ‘Is dócha, ’á bhféadfaí a bhfuil de thae ólta agam i dtithibh na sean-daoine ó thosnuigheas ar an obair seo, ’á bhféadfaí í bhailiú n-aon chlais amháin agus loch a dhéanamh di, go snámhfadh long chogaidh uirthi gan aon spleádhchas!’

Many of the stories told by collectors reflect a similarly generous welcome while they travelled around collecting folklore. As Tadhg Ó Murchú wrote in Béaloideas in 1948, referencing the visits he made to informants while working for the Commission, ‘I suppose, if all the tea I have drank in the houses of the old people could be collected into one channel and made into a lake, a warship could float on it independently!’

Bhí sé mar aidhm ag Coimisiún Béaloideasa Éireann grianghraif a ghlacadh dá bhfaisnéiseoirí le go bhféadfaí aghaidh a chur leis an ábhar scríofa agus taifeadta a bailíodh uathu. Tá breis is 3,500 grianghraf d’fhaisnéiseoirí ó gach cearn den tír agus thar lear anois i gcartlann Chnuasach Bhéaloideas Éireann. Tá níos mó ná 250 grianghraf nua anois ar fáil ar dúchas.ie agus pictiúir d’fhaisnéiseoirí ar fud na tíre is mó atá iontu. Gan foighne, flaithiúlacht agus dea-thoil na bhfaisnéiseoirí seo, is cinnte nach n-éireodh chomh maith céanna leis an gCoimisiún béaloideas na hÉireann a bhailiú agus a chaomhnú do na glúinte a lean.

It was the intention of the Irish Folklore Commission that photographs of informants be taken so that their image would be captured alongside the written and recorded material collected from them. There are upwards of 3,500 photographs of informants from all around the country and abroad now held in the archives of the National Folklore Collection, UCD. More than 250 new photographs are now available on dúchas.ie, mostly featuring informants from around the country. Without the patience, generosity and goodwill of these informants, it is certain that the Commission would not have been so successful in collecting and preserving the folklore of Ireland for future generations.

This post was researched and written by Ailbe van der Heide, Cúntóir Leabharlainne | Library Assistant, Cnuasach Bhéaloideas Éireann | National Folklore Collection.

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