Bailey and Co. in Main Street
I remember once there was a somewhat contrary hatching hen appointed to sit on a clutch of eggs which weren’t her own. She was a Sussex Blue and the eggs were laid by a Rhode Island Red. Maybe this is why she was so reluctant to remain sitting on the eggs. Did hens have a way of knowing one egg from another? I suspect they did.
Certain hens will hatch anything from pheasant to duck eggs but there are no two birds alike as the cock said to the drake. Let us return, however, to our own bird and her reluctance to hatch the eggs of a stranger. There she would settle, trancelike, as only hens can, when suddenly for no apparent reason she would make for the door. She would be recaptured instantly and reminded firmly of her obligations. No sooner would she be reseated than she would desert once more. She exasperated the entire household whose every member took a turn keeping an eye on her.
“There’s only one cure for the hoor,” announced an old woman who happened to call one evening for the loan of a cup of sugar.
“What’s that?” we all asked.
“The bottle,” said she. We waited for an elaboration. None came. We asked again.
“What bottle?” said she,”but the hot stuff.”
Of course we all knew what the hot stuff was. Wasn’t the man of the house and his cronies greatly addicted to it without any great harm!
“It will rest the creature,” said the old woman, “ and it will keep her off her feet.”
Up in “The Room” was a bottle of the very hot stuff in question, as hot, according to himself, as ever was brewed.
“Mix it,” said the old woman, “with a saucer of Indian meal and you’ll end up with a nice paste that she will find palatable.
(Tune in tomorrow to find out how the hen took to the gargle)
This picture is from 1962 and is in included in The National Treasures collection. The person who contributed it was the daughter of the woman whose job it was to lay people out for the wake when wakes were held in people's homes. The linen was hand made especially for the purpose.
Irish Wake Linen
I learned this poem in school. I came upon it recently in an old school book. Aughrim was the bloodiest battle ever on Irish soil. It was fought in 1691. 7,000 lives were lost .
Behind the Garda Barracks
At a guess I'd say it's old stables from the days when when the guards rode horses . If anyone knows what it really is I'd welcome the information.