Tugaigí Domsa É
ó Scéalta Chois Cladaigh le John Henry
Mhoithigh mé m’athair mór ag insint ‘ (go ndéana Dia grásta air).
Fada ó shin bhí fear i gCeathrú na gCloch. ‘Sé an t-ainm a bhí air, Tomás Mór agus ba fhear cinéal aimhleasach é, mar a déarfá. Ní thabharfadh sé isteach i ngnoithe slua sí nó i ngnoithe Dhia nó Mhuire; bhí sé ag obair ar a bhealach féin.
Ach an uair sin, bhíthí ar siúl le gnoithe leathaigh i gCladach na Rinne Ruaidhe ar ndóigh. Ba ann a chaitheadh na créatúir oíche agus lá ag iarraidh bheith ag tiomsú leas fataí agus rudaí…
Ach an lá seo, bhí páist le bású i gCeathrú na gCloch. Ach má bhí féin, d’imigh Tomás Mór tráthnóna leathmhall siar go Cladach an Phoirt ar thóir leathaigh. Agus thiomsaigh sé ar mhodh ar bith. Bhí sé ag tiomsú leis siar i mBearna an Leathaigh go ndeachaigh sé go dtí an Staca Liath go ndearna sé obair lae le leathaigh le haghaidh an asail. Asail a bhí ann an uair sin ag imeacht ag gach uile fhear.
Ach nuair a bhí ‘ sin déanta aige, dúirt sé go siúlfadh sé leis soir go dtéadh sé go dtí Tóin an Chorráin Bhuí go bhfeicfeadh sé an bhfaigheadh sé píosa adhmaid nó rud ar bith eile ar an trá. Ach ní bhfuair, sílim. Ach ag gabháil anoir ag Fáilín an Ghairtéil dó, mhothaigh sé an páiste ag caoineadh. Agus sheas sé agus chuir sé cluas air féin agus mhoithigh sé na mná ag caint.
“Tabhair domsa é,” a d’abraíodh bean acu.
“Ní thabharfaidh,” a d’abraíodh bean eile acu, “ach tabhair domsa é.”
“Ní hea,” arsa Tomás. Labhair sé. “Ach tugaigí domsa é,” a dúirt sé.
Ó bhuel, an uair sin mhoithigh sé an-chlabhasán ach sháraigh air a dtuigbhéil ach gur thuig sé focal amháin. Dúirt bean acu leis na mná eile:
“Rug bean ar an bpáiste seo a raibh lorg an uisce coisreac ar a méara,” a dúirt sí, “agus ní thig linn tada a dhéanamh. Caithfidh muid ‘ a thabhairt don bhfear a labhair.”
Ach thug siad an páiste do Thomás. Thug Tomás an páiste leis idir a dhá láimh agus níor stop ‘ go dtáinig ‘ go Ceathrú na gCloch go dtí an teach ‘ a raibh an páiste tinn ann. Ach ins an am céanna, bhí an páiste os cionn cláir agus é nite acu. ‘Brón mór at mhuinir an tí agus gach aon tsórt.
Ach shiúil Tomás isteach agus an páiste leis idir a dhá láimh agus í, an páiste beo beathamach, ag gártháil agus ag iarraidh ‘bheith ag caint ar ndóigh. Ní raibh sé (an páiste) ach bliain. Ach ar áit na bonn nuair a shiúil Tomás isteach, d’éirigh an páiste a bhí ar an gclár ‘ amach agus d’imigh sé ina cheo agus ní fhaca éinne ag imeacht é.
Bhuel, bhí go maith ansin. Leag Tomás an páiste thuas ins an gclúid acu.
“Anois,” a dúirt Tomás. “Seo é bhúr bpáiste beo slán arís,” a dúirt sé.
“Maith go leor,” a dúirt siad.
Ach chuaigh siad chuig an tsagart. Agus bhí sagart thall ag na hAchadh a dtugadh siad an sagart dubh air. Ach tháinig an sagart dubh anall agus chuaigh sé ag léitheoireacht os cionn an pháiste a thug Tomás Mór beo leis.
“Anois,” a dúirt an sagart, “seo é an páiste ceart. Ní raibh fágtha,” a dúirt sé, “ach píosa de chrompán giúsaigh,” a dúirt sé.
“Agus fhad agus bheas sibh beo,” a dúirt sé, “coinnigh uisce coisreac ar bhúr gcuid páistí agus,” a dúirt an sagart, “nuair a chuirfeas sibh an naíonán a chodladh ins an gcliabhán, cuirgí smearóid siar faoin bpiolúir agus ní féidir le tada a ghabháil ina ghaobhar.”
Ach ó sin amach, táthar ag cur smearóidí ó shin agus i gcónaí. Feicim féin an obair i gcónaí. Nuair a leagtar leanbh beag isteach ins an gcliabhán, cuireadar sméaróid siar faoin bpiolúir. Agus leagadar brat eile os a chionna dtugann siad an Brat Bríde air. Sin brat a chuirtear amach Oíche Fhéile Bríde agus deir’ siad go bhfuil leigheas ann. Agus ó shin amach, ní fheicim éinne ag imeacht go fánach nó go dona.
Give It To ME!
I heard my grandfather telling [this one] (make God grant him grace).
Long ago, there was a man in Ceathrú na gCloch (the stoney quarter). He was called Big Tomás (Tumaws) and he was a bit contrary, you might say. He wouldn’t get involved with the business of the fairy crowd or the God business or Mary: he was working on his own.
Back then they would be taken up with the business of gathering seaweed at Cladach na Rinne Ruaidhe (the shore at Red Point) of course. It was there the poor things would spend night and day trying to gather fertilizer for the spuds and other [crops].
But this particular day there was a child about to die in Stoney Quarter. But even so big Tomás went out in the latter half of the afternoon down to the Cladach an Phoirt (Port Beach) looking for seaweed. And he gathered it somehow or other. He was gathering it down in Bearna an Leathaigh (Seaweed Gap) until he came to Staca Liath (Grey Stack) when he had got a day’s work of seaweed for the donkey [to carry]. Donkeys was what they had with them back then when they went out, every single man.
But when he had that done, he said he’d walk back eastwards until he’s go to Tóin an Chorráin Bhuí (the foot of Yellow Crescent) until he’d see if he could get any bit of wood on the beach. But he didn’t find any, I think. But as he was coming back at Fáilín an Ghairtéil, he heard a child crying. And he stood and listened intently and he heard the women talking.
Give it to me,” one of the women would say.
“I won’t,” another woman would say, “but give it to ME.”
“No,” said Tomás. He spoke. “But give it to ME,” he said.
Oh well, then he heard fierce complaining but it was beyond him to understand their talk except for one thing he understood. One woman said to the other women:
“A woman who had the trace of holy water on her hands held this child,” said she, “and we cannot do anything [about that]. We have to give [it] to the man who spoke.”
But they gave the child to Tomás. Tomás took the child with him in his two hands and didn’t stop until he came to Stony Quarter to the house where the sick child was. But in the same time, the child was laid out and they had washed him. There was great sadness on the people of the house and all that goes with that.
But Tomás walked in and the child in his two hands and it (the living lively child) laughing and trying to talk of course. It (the child) was only a year old. But in the place where the dead one was when Tomás walked in, the child that was laid out on the board rose and went into a mist and no one saw it go.
Well, things were good then. Tomás put the child wrapped up in a blanket for them.
“Now,” said Tomás. “This is your child alive and well again,” he said.
“Fair enough,” they said.
But they went to the priest. And there was a priest over at Aughoose that they called ‘The Black Priest.’ But the black priest came over and he went reading over the head of the child that big Tomás brought [there] alive with him.
“Now,” said the priest, “this is the right child. Nothing was left,” he said , “but a bit of a stump of a fir tree,” he said.
“And as long as you all live,” he said, “keep holy water on your children and,” said the priest, “when you put the infant to sleep in his crib, put a cold ember under the pillow and nothing can go near him.”
But from then on, they’ve been putting embers [there] from then and for all times. I myself always see the work. When a baby is being put in his crib, they’d put a cold ember back under his pillow. And they’d put a cloak over him, that they call Brigid’s cloak. That’s the cloak they put out on the Night of Brigid’s Festival ahus they say there’s a cure in it. And from them on, I see no one going missing or in harm’s way.
