Culture Archives | Page 18 of 28

Mummers Rhymes

June 9, 2020December 23, 2004 by John McCullagh

The Mummers were frequently accompanied by a few young men dressed in women’s clothes who gave an exhibition dance towards the end of the performance. This was often the most enjoyable event. Aware of how ludicrous they looked in corsets and petticoats, and much-befrilled and well-starched giant-sized white knickers, they lepped, kicked, danced and besported themselves to riotous music and song.

The Rhymers were popular with all creeds and classes and increased their popularity and topicality with personal and political verses. There were ballads too concerned with love affairs of the district and peculiarities of individuals of the immediate neighbourhood.

There were versions in different neighbourhoods. This is just one.

Master of Cermonies:

Room, room, brave gallant boys

Give us room to rhyme

Till we show a bit of our activity

At this Christmas time.

Active youth and active age

The like was never acted on a stage

If ye don’t believe what I say

Enter in St George, and clear the way.

St George:

Here come I St George, from England have I sprung

And many a noble deed of valour have I done

For years I was in close quarters kept

And out of that into a prison leapt

And out of that into a block of stone

Where I made many a sad and grievous moan

Many a giant did I subdue

And I ran the fiery dragon through and through

I fought them all courageously

Until I earned the victory

Show me the man that dare me stand

And I’ll cut him down with my courageous hand.

Turk:

I’m the man that dare ye challenge

Though your courage be so great

With my sword I make all to shake

Even dukes and earls to quake.

St George:

Who are you but a poor silly lad?

Turk:

I am a Turkish champion

From Turkey land I came

To fight you, the great St George be name

And I say, by George, you are a liar, Sir!

So draw your sword and try, Sir!

St George and the Turkish champion engage in sword play. The Turk falls and his mother enters weeping and wailing..

Turk’s mother:

St George! St George! Oh, what have you done?

You have killed me only son.

See him lying bleeding there

Oh, my heart is sinking in despair.

A doctor, a doctor, ten pounds for a doctor!

Is there ne’er a doctor to be found?

Who can cure me son of his deep and mortal wound?

Enter the Doctor.

Turk’s Mother:

Well, doctor, what is your medicine?

Doctor:

Hens’ pens and Turkish treacle

Bum-bee eggs and midges’ bacon

Stirred up with a great cat’s feather

Mixed in a mouse’s blether

And given thrice a day.

Doctor attends to the Turk. He sits and gives thanks.

Turk:

Once I was dead but now I’m alive

God bless the wee doctor that made me revive.

And if you don’t believe in the words I say

Enter in Sir Oliver Cromwell

And he will clear the way.

More….

Use of a Handkerchief!

June 9, 2020December 22, 2004 by John McCullagh

You may have wondered why there’s just the tumbled remains of a forth in this picture. Well, I’m going to tell you!

A man that lived hereabouts one time went so far as to drill holes in the rock under some bushes, ready to take blasting powder to it.

Then he took a break for he’s dinner and when he come back he found the track of a foot in the loose mould, and a penny, a pipe and a candle lying on the stone.

Well it was, that he knew that these were the symbols of a wake, so he abandoned the work!

This is also one of those fields where manys the time people at night got stuck in it and couldn’t find the pad out! There was only one solution, if you weren’t to wait there till morning!

You had to turn your coat inside out, to tie three knots in your handkerchief and then to sit down for a while.

Then you would see your way clear again!

Mummers, Sheetrim, 1930s

June 9, 2020December 22, 2004 by John McCullagh

‘Heartsore imagining the years without

The Doctor, Darkie and Wee Devil Doubt.’

This couplet from Hewitt’s ‘An old woman remembers.. Christmas 1941’ reminded me of my earlier promise to return to the story of the Mummers. They were also known as the Christmas Rhymers. My mother recalls their visits to her home in Sheetrim, Cullyhanna in the 1930’s and, bless her, still has a few of their rhymes. The characters altered a little (or is it my memory, asks Eileen?) with the latter named then known as Wee Dibbley Doubt, and the Doctor given the surname Brown..

‘Here comes I, Doctor Brown

I’m the best doctor that’s in the town..’

She doesn’t recall any Cromwell, though with the big, false nose, he was a persistent character in most localities. There was however a Jack Straw and a Funny Face. Nor does Mother remember any barbs directed at local characters or political personalities, but she would hardly have understood then being just a young girl.

In addition to being a continuation of long custom and tradition, the Mummers were a much appreciated travelling drama troupe in a country area that had none other. This one had no costume department and the characters were dressed in apparel they made themselves, with much straw ropes in view, coats worn inside out and hats garnered with wisps of hay. The sword fight scene was common to all, the injury requiring the entry of the Doctor. Some had soot-blackened faces which gave us the character of Darkie. I haven’t yet evinced from Mum the name of any of the songs they rendered. Can anyone help?

I am envious of course, the modern re-enactment scarcely making up for the kitchen drama, learning the songs and rhymes, guessing real identities behind the costumes and masks etc. The entry of Johnny Funny sadly presaged the entertainment’s end, there following just the choral rendition of tribute and thanks to the home’s master and mistress.

‘Here comes I, Johnny Funny

I’m the man that lifts the money

All silver, no brass

Bad ha’pence won’t pass

Send the farthings to Belfast’.

All gather round to finish..

‘God bless the master of this house

Likewise the mistress too.

May their barns be filled with wheat and corn

And their hearts be always true.

A Merry Christmas is our wish

Where’er we do appear

To you a well-filled purse

A well-filled dish

And a happy, bright New Year.’

Which is our greeting to all our patrons on Newry Journal!

Run for your life, Granny!

June 9, 2020December 17, 2004 by John McCullagh

There was a gasun hurdin’ in the bog one day and didn’t three gentlemen from the Big House come with two big brindle hounds lookin’ for a hare an’ a chase.

‘Is there no hares at all here?’ says they to the gasun.

Fews Glossary: S 3

June 9, 2020December 15, 2004 by John McCullagh

Dialect ‘S’ 3 of 7

Shorten the road have company while walking: ‘Will ye shorten the road wi’ me?’

Show loan, give, ‘show me your spade an’ I’ll larn ye till dig’

Showing Sunday Sunday after their wedding, the couple attend the church in which they were wed

Shows refuse from flax

Shiggy-shoo see-saw

Shook for a word at a loss; ‘He’s not shook for a word, that boy!’

Sift enquire, ‘he will sift it for you’

Sipple drink, ‘a wee sipple now, just what’ll wet the glass’

Signed branded

Skedaddle vamoose! ‘We skedaddled while we cud’

Skelf a wood splinter

Skelp slap, blow, ‘Clear aff or I’ll give yer backside a skelp!’

Skelly squint, ‘God love her, she’s skelly-eyed’

Skiff small shower of rain

Skinning the field breaking up the lea, ploughing

Skirl scream

Skirted run, ‘They had all skirted before the polis came’

Skite a light blow; to splash or throw

Skite 1. fool: 2. ‘he won’t be long skiting across’, running

Killeavy Placenames

June 9, 2020December 15, 2004 by John McCullagh

Dromintee

fairy bushes

Drinans or Bushes of the Shee

Garriba

Tail of Slieve Gullion

Dhraicklemore

rocky outcrop Armagh/Louth border

great teeth

Monribba townland near Forkhill on Bog Road

Clougharevan Cloch Fhuarain, fountain rock, Bessbrook

Cloughreagh Aghnecloghreagh, place of grey stones, Bessbrook

Cloughinny Cloch Eanaigh, marsh rock

Crankey Baile Mhic Rangain, Rangan’s town

Cross Baile na Crosie, town of the crossing

Cullentragh Cuileanntracht, holly district

Duburren Dubh bhoireann, dark rocky place (Sturgan)

Derrymore Doire Mor, great wood

Derrywilligan Doire Ui Mhaolagain, Mulligan’s Wood

Duvernagh Dubh Bhearnach, the Black Gap

Drumbanagher Druimbeannchair, the peaked ridge

Enagh Ma Eanaigh, the swampy plain

Eshwary Baile an eas’mhoir, the town of the great waterfall

Peter’s Away with the Fairies

June 9, 2020December 14, 2004 by John McCullagh

About a hundred years ago a certain Peter Malone lived at the corner where the Stang Road meets the Castlewellan Road. One Halloween Night he was coming home from Stang Tops at a late hour. It was a bright moonlit night and as Peter hurried along he could hear sweet sounds as of music coming from a field a short distance from the roadside. He paused for a moment to listen and this is the refrain he heard, coming from a chorus of voices:

‘Saddle and Bridle; Saddle and Bridle,

‘Saddle and Bridle; Saddle and Bridle.’

Peter listened for a while, then carried away by the music he chimed in;

‘Saddle and Bridle for me!

‘Saddle and Bridle for me!’

Instantly he was surrounded by a company of fairies on horseback. Then one of the fairies led up a gray mare with a saddle on her back and a bridle on her head and motioned Peter to mount. Up Peter got and off they all went at full gallop over hill and dale and never slackening for a moment till they arrived in the sunny land of Spain.

On and on they galloped over high mountains and through deep valleys until at length they arrived in a large town. Tightening their bridles Peter and the fairies cantered through the main street till by and by they struck up with a funeral procession heading towards a grand church in the centre of the town. The fairies and Peter followed the cortege and dismounting from their steeds walked respectfully into the church behind the coffin. They took their places in the pews and looked on while the priest recited the prayers. Then someone called out, ‘Who will lift the offerings?’ At this the chief mourner pointed to Peter.

So Peter took the plate and collected the offerings. This done he pocketed the money. And just as he was putting the last coin into his pocket he found himself at his own gate in Stang, his coat pocket bulging with money. It was now far into the night and the family were all in bed so Peter crept softly up to the door and knocked.

After a few moments delay the wife unbarred the door and seeing it was Peter began to ‘give out’ about the bad hours he was keeping.

‘Now don’t be going on like that, woman dear,’ says Peter.

‘Wait a moment till I show you the big heap of money I have brought home to you from Spain.’

Then he put his hand in his coat pocket. But no money was there.

Instead of coins, Peter drew out a handful of clabber.

Mummers’ Cast

June 9, 2020December 10, 2004 by John McCullagh

To the child’s eye, the Mummers were characterised by fantastic hats and costumes, flowing beards, long coats – many worn inside out, black and painted and masked faces, oddly behaved and strangely dressed women, underwear worn on the outside, sword fights in tiny kitchens and a vague sense of threat. They were, I suppose, the precursors of our modern amateur drama groups but the general gist of their scripts were ancient and handed-down. There was also ready room for improvisation and adaptation, copied now in the drama of pantomime.

In his notes, the collector T G F Patterson refers to the similarities and differences of Cast and Performance of two groups with which he was familiar between the wars. The Drumcree Players (yes, that Drumcree) had the following cast:

St George red tunic, white trousers, sword, plumed hat

Turk black tunic, white trousers, green beret (turkey feathers) sword

Old Woman red flannel petticoat, shawl, stick

Cromwell red coat, white trousers, sword, huge false nose

S Patrick gilt crozier, robe decorated with gold and silver paper

Beelzebub black coat, white trousers, club in hand, frying pan

Big Belly huge padded trousers and wearing long beard

Divil Doubt red coat, white trousers, blackened face, besom in hand

John Funny all in white, red hat, carrying money-box

Locals note in bygone days the characters wore plaited straw hats with coloured streamers and feathers and had their limbs encased in straw ropes; shirts or coats were worn inside out. This fairly describes the costumes of Sheetrim, Cullyhanna of later (1930s-1940s) times.

Patterson said that the Ballymore-Mullavilly Rhymers (not far removed) were dressed more in that traditional way, long shirts over their ordinary clothes tied at the waist by a twisted straw rope or coloured scarf and all carried swords made from the backs of scythes. Hats were usually made from old-fashioned strong white (7-14 lb) paper flour bags adorned with coloured streamers. Others wore ‘dunce’s-cap’ headgear similarly decorated. The bottom half of bodies were neatly encased in ‘leggings’ of straw ropes or in long women’s stockings. Their characters were similar to those of Drumcree with the addition of Turk’s Father and Big Head with Divily Doubt substituting for his namesake above!

SAINT GEORGE

I’ll beat him up,

I’ll hack him as small as any fly

An’ throw him to the divil

To make a Christmas pie.

TURK

What are you but St Peter’s stable boy

Who fed his horse on oats an’ hay

For seven days, then ran away.

That’s a lie, St George!

Take out your purse to pay, Sir

Take out your sword to try, Sir,

I’ll run my dagger through your heart

Or make you run away, Sir.

They fight. The Turk falls. A doctor is called.

I can cure, the plague within, the plague without

The pip, the pop, the palsy and the gout

Lumbaga, sciatic and dicktolleroo

Moreover I can make an oul’ woman on critches

Burst her britches

Leppin’ over stones hedges and whitethorn ditches.

An’ what medicine do you use, Sir?

DOCTOR

I use the heart and liver of a creepy stool

The brains of an anvil

The giblets of a dish cloth

Put that in a wran’s bladder

Stir carefully with a cat’s feather

Take that fourteen fortnights before day

An’ if that doesn’t cure ye, I’ll ask no pay

Moreover I’ve a little bottle on the end of my cane

Hocus, pocus, Sally Campane

Rise up, dead man, and fight again!

S Armagh Placenames

June 9, 2020December 9, 2004 by John McCullagh

This is the 18 Arches just outside Newry

Goragh (-wood) of the goat

Keggal An Cagall

cockle or tare’s land

Note that the cockle and the tare are both weeds of corn fields

Kilmonaghan Monaghan’s wood

Kilrea coil a’Riogh, wood of the River Rye

Knockduff Cnoc Dubh, the black hill

Lesh Leis, thigh-shaped land

Levalleymore Leath-bhaile Mor, the greater half-townland

Lislea Lios Liath, the grey fort

Lisnagree Lios na groi, fort of the brood/mares

Lissaraw Lios a Rath, Mound of the fort

Meigh Maigh (Dysart), secluded plain

Maytown Maigh d’Tamhain, plain of the herds

Mullaglass mullach glas, the green summit

Serse baile na seisreach, town of the ploughland

(neither comprehensive nor concluded [see Latt, 5.6.04 and previous])