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CATY BARTHOLMEW
Nell spoke as Gaeilge the Galway Gael at that with a growl in her voice she made her point she wore men’s boots tied up with twine laces they are covered in turf as she sits at her spinning wheel mysteriously producing fine yarn
in a strange way I regarded the crickets as my friends they made a welcome noise in the stillness of the night as I sometimes lay awake with a heavy heart longing for home
I hear her still with her seagull’s voice I see her still with her stick in the air which she used to nudge me into submission by the time I had learned the cupla focal she lay silent in the darkness of a shady grave behind letterfrack post office
she came by each week from the nearby isle to chat with her sister in whose house I lay at night listening to the crickets who in the darkness came out to play
Nell was brown eggs, flouncing black skirts and never was seen without her Galway shawl Nell spoke as Gaeilge very loud and very fast she did her best to pass on this gift to me getting angry and threatening when her questions went unanswered
I feel her still and I hear her still when the winds pour wetly and the cupla focal come over the air waves with so many questions unanswered – Marie Sheridan (2009)
FEBRUARY / MARCH 2010 IRISH AMERICA 51