"The most common Irish words for such a person [druid] were drui, draoi, drua, and drai, pronounced (certainly) 'dree', and possibly 'dry' as well ...
... they are the wisest and most learned people of their time, with multiple roles and overall a broad responsibility for understanding and interpreting the cosmos, and act as advisers to local political leaders." from Blood and Mistletoe by Ronald Hutton |
Except the Draperstown branch of the North West Farming Society, there are no societies for the encouragement of useful arts or inventions.
spirit sellers 6 blacksmith and spirit sellers 2 labourers 4 grocers 4 shoemakers 3 wheelwright 1 carpenter 1... etc |
Gather up the pots and the old tin cans
The mash, the corn, the barley and the bran. Run like the devil from the excise man Keep the smoke from rising, Barney. Lookin for a dram in Ballinascreen? Up there in Corick they make the poteen And well stocked shelves in the oul shebeen In the hills round Great Moyola |
Poteen
by Michael Longley Enough running water To cool the copper worm, The veins at the wrist, Vitriol to scorch the throat - And the brimming hogshead, Reduced by one noggin-full Sprinkled on the ground, Becomes an affair of Remembered souterrains, Sunk workshops, out-backs, The back of the mind - The whole bog an outhouse Where, alongside cudgels, Guns, the informer's ear We have buried it - Blood-money, treasure trove. |
STILL HUNTING IN SPERRIN MOUNTAINS -
ANOTHER SEIZURE OF POTEEN The poteen making fraternity, whose habitat is on the Sperrin Mountains near Draperstown, have fallen on evil days, and are gradually realizing the way of the transgressor is hard. Another revenue seizure has been made the other night, the seizing party upon this occasion being Seargent Stokes and Constable Cummins, Brown and McLein. The party arrived at the house of a man named Joseph McBride in the townland of Tullybrick, where a number of genial souls appeared to making merry. Someone shouted, “There’s the police!” but the warning came too late to secure the safety of the necessary tipple as there were the police with a vengeance, who at once seized upon 7 large bottles, each of which contained more or less poteen. This is the fourth seizure in the district within a short period of time |
"Have the teachers of the parish nothing better to do but sell bicycles, lamp oil, wire, be insurance agents, solicitors’ clerks, agents for wool etc.? Conway of Draperstown school and McBride of Bancran school are in cahoots in most of these things ... The day you called at Bancran school, McBride was at a bicycle race in Belfast and left the school in charge of a monitor who is his own nephew. ... They can make their own whiskey too - they will soon start pawn shops ..."
|
Paul Johnnie
by Johnny Paul Kelly There’s a gentleman lives in this place, We know him very well, Paul Johnnie is this hero’s name We are not ashamed to tell. He quarrelled with his people, O’er the fortunes of a will, And he went to live with decent folk, Beside the Sixtowns mill. For five long years of honest toil, He served this gentleman, Who gave him house and keeping, Of the best in any land. One lovely harvest evening, Just as the sun went down, He heard his master had been killed, In a field beyond the town. He washed his face and combed his hair, And trimmed his shoe and sock, And on starting for the village, Took his wee alarm clock. To get her put in order, Just to know the time of night, For he knew a handy fellow there, Could easy put her right. Vexation came upon him as, He plodded o’er the stiles’ And to help a man in trouble, He went in a while to Myles. Says Myles, “This is a fearful case” Says Paul, “I do agree, And I hope he is shining happy, He was always good to me. “I brought my little timepiece, I can hold her by my side, If I get the length of Draperstown, I will leave her with McBride. Two days and nights to heavy grief, He mourned him up and down, He drunk a share and spent a share, And toured around the town. Until at length unhappy, He resolved to turn home, And see the little cabin, And the cat he left at home. And to bring his little timepiece, He being in a sour frame, He found that she was scuttled, Where no one could name her name. back to top ^ |
To search the public houses,
Of the village one and all, He started down at Thomas Quinn’s, To give him the first call. “Did you see my little ticker?” “Well I will look and grope, But you would not know between her, And a pound of Hudson’s soap.” He came back to Mickey Kelly’s, And says they, “Get out of here, If you rise a row among us, You will get one solid year.” Patrick Rodgers had his eye out, And he knew his step was long, “Yes,” said he, “I see him coming, There is something terror wrong.” “Did you see my little timepiece?” “Well,” said he, “she is not here.” But he spoke him very kindly, “Give a call at McAleers’.” He was standing in the doorway, With his face a little thin, There was flour on his waistcoat, And gravy on his chin. “Did you see my little timepiece?” “You have better take a walk, Or I’ll leave where they toe mark, Around the ring of chalk.” He came back to Charlie Harry’s, And his gait was rather curt, Said he, “I’m not so badly’ When they didn’t take my shirt.” “Go round to Paddy Hegarty, He is honest, he is good, He will tell you all about it, If you get him in that mood.” He went up to Mark McKenna’s And he told his story there, Said he, “You need a woman, Paul, To keep you in repair. He went out upon the High Street, And he cursed the village well, He prayed it might be keeping time, For someone down in hell. This is but one adventure, Of the many changing ways, Through a happy roving lifetime, That he spent for all his days. If his history all was written, As it properly should be, It might lie beside O’Connell’s In the National Libaree. |
Thirties Time Traveller
That mysterious poem by Johnny Paul Kelly is the only verse, until now, that we know of that name-drops many of the pubs in the Draperstown of his day, in the 1920’s or 30’s when Kelly was was in his poetic prime. The hero/narrator, in mourning over his dead master, had presumably been ‘waking’ and drowning his sorrows in the town over two days and nights and lost his wee alarm clock (broken) in the process so he had to revisit all the pubs that he might have been in to try and find it. Was Paul in an intoxicated timewarp like Cuchullain on his crawl through The Screen. Had time stopped? Why were some of the publicans so unhelpful and even rough on him? What shenanigans had he been up to? Why did McKenna say he needed a woman to keep him “in repair”? Is this a below-the-belt double entendre crack about his “little timepiece” being in need of repair? Quinn’s, Mickey Kelly’s, Patrick Rogers, McAleers’, Charlie Harry’s, Paddy Hegarty, Mark McKenna’s and Myles’s ("1" in Straw or "2" in Draperstown?) are all mentioned. McBride did not refer to a pub but to a handy man with clocks. By the way, Johnny Paul Kelly, the poet, was not a drinker and did not frequent pubs. Maybe Paul Johnnie is his bibulous alter-ego, with a poetic licence. Only one of these publicans' names survives in the pub-owning fraternity of today; McKenna of The Railway Bar and that is at the moment closed, so in the 70 or 80 years since it was written, all but one have changed families or are no longer pubs. Thomas Quinn’s is now The Burnside Bar (Fullen’s), Mickey Kelly’s - now the Bank of Ireland, Patrick Rogers - owned a pub in the building which is now David O’Kane’s newsagent’s shop. McAleers’ - now the Apparo Restaurant (still licensed), Charlie Harry’s - ?, Paddy Hegarty - ? Myles’s was demolished in the late 1950’s and the site redeveloped a number of times. This poem "inspired" the whole enterprise of documenting the bars of Ballinascreen. |