In case you are wondering what the sign has to do with the lovely reminiscence of the Fifties in Dingle ;
“On Easter Monday 2005 the Irish Government officially abolished the name Dingle. The 2005 Placenames Order (backed up by the legislation of the 2002 Official Languages Act), decreed that henceforth Dingle shall no longer have any legal force or effect, it must not appear in Acts of the Oireachtas, Statutory Declarations, Ordinance Survey Maps, Land Registry Maps or on any Local Authority road or street signposts. The town is now officially known as “An Daingean”. The effect of the Order was that Dingle, which is the largest Gaeltacht town in the Country, and totally dependent on tourism, was officially abolished and must henceforth be officially referred to, and signposted solely as “An Daingean” Much controversy ensued and eventually in 2011,the Minister for the Environment said “An Daingean” would be dropped and replaced by “Daingean Uí Chúis” in Irish and “Dingle” in English – and this is what Máire refers to :-
Dingle, yera An Daingean,
Cad é an chúis?
Or what have they done to you now?
For its all in the game that they play with your name
Or is it progress washed up in the swell?
No need to shout from hilltop high,
Cnoc an Chairn or Conor Pass,
For you nestle in the jaws of the Bay,
Bothairín na Smaointe for many-a-one,
Country cabógs going up the high road,
Hands in their pockets chewing ciarógs
‘Sing it into the wind’, Hannah would say,
I trying to keep up beside her,
Up by Ashmount and the Hospital,
Calling into visit Peig Sayers maybe.
‘Cé tá agam anois?’ she would croon,
Finding my hand with twisted white fingers and rosary beads,
‘A Mhuire Mháthair, ar le Muirisheen í?’
Staring with unseeing eyes into mine in their tenth year;
White face framed in white lace shawl on white
Linen pillow,
White Sisters of Mercy silently tending,
No multi-resistant organisms then
In their carbolic heaven,
Quick visit,
No talk of Blasket or sentiment,
‘Happy day we left’ … Hannah would mutter
‘Ainish and uaigneas agus éist … Slán a Pheig,
a chroi’
Back the high road, timpeall Baile an Mhuilinn
Round by the quay greetings into Lynches as we passed
The boats might be in
‘Your Uncle Mike was out of his mind for the fish
Breed an Oileáin’,
Catch of the day le titim na hoíche
Oh Paddy the moon jump up, jump up
The plough and the stars why don’t you look up
Is cá bhuil na blianta,
Is cá bhuil na daoine,
Alive forever in my mind’s eye
Julia, Juleen and Katie bó Cat
Paddy Garry, for he made the world
Patrick, Mary Ellen and Mrs. O’Hare
Katie Kelly and Padneen too
Scanlons and Murphys and green half doors
Leading up to the Holy Stone
Garveys and Kennedys and Mary Rose
The smell of loaf bread in McCarthys
Next door there was Beedie and Johnny the post
Porter and shoes and school books piled
Three happy years in Dingle town
Yera An Daingean a bhí I gconaí ann
Was it Goat Street, Upper Main Street or Sráid na nGabhar
Or what do they call it now
The hum of Main Street on fair day
Tá aonach sa Daingean inniú
With pies and peas and men on their knees
The jobbers they lost and they won
The squeals of pig and horses hooves
Huddles and bolted in groups
Joe Curran’s yard they parked their carts
Creels of turf, hens and geese
Bicycle bits from Foxy John’s
Wellingtons paired slung over shoulders
The hay is saved, another year older
Buckets of fish in Green Street doorways
Maggie Begley and Katie Sarah’s for the sweets
Paddy Attie’s for the meat
Don’t run round the Canon’s Corner
Banter and chat in all who did greet
Shoe makers tapping and Singers sewing
Flannerys mending their nets
Islanders in from the Blaskets
Would gather in Beedies for pints
Íosa Críost, Cad é caint agus siosca
Agus Kruger if you don’t mind
In dark crew neck jumpers they gathered
For their numbers were dwindling fast
They talked of their loved ones in Springfield
Knowing they’d never come back
But now they were moved to the mainland
In boxes reluctantly settled
Some of them swore they never would move
They would carry on in the Lack
Row on in naomhógs whilst raven stays black
An tOileáinín sínte
Ag faire amach
No talk of flower or fauna then
The cry of the seal and ocean deep
The mother still weeps for her sons
No more Blasket sound –
Fifty years have come and gone
Is I gcónaí and fear a fás
Back up the street where old ghosts meet
Convent wall was our back wall
Fifty nuns within
Behind closed doors they enriched our souls
Opening up our tomorrows
We heard them pray and sing and laugh
Tending to the orchard
Finding their deep black pockets with apples and pears
Presenting into palms at the close of class
Knowledge in autumn
Armoured Seasoned
For life
Let us not forget them
Resting now in holy ground for they gave us much
Be you Dingle and tá tú An Daingean
The old pipe band still marches on
Tim Haley still beats the drum
Mikey Gerard softly flutes
Whilst Goat Street folk
Over heaven half doors
Watch and wave and salute.
‘
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