Flamboyant
One
OUR nurse, Nannie, told my eldest brother and me stories
and legends. Her stories began: 'Once upon a time, and a
very good time it was,' and ended with 'They put on the
kettle and made tay, and if they were not happy, that you
may.' Tales of the King of Ireland's son, his strange adven-
tures and exploits; fairy tales about the 'good people'; the
story of the heavy-handed, mighty Fionn and his giant
strength; the epic of Cuchulain, the boy hero, the Hound of
Ulster; Cuchulain of the grey sword that broke every gap;
of Ferdia of Connacht whose loss was our loss, for was he
not from Erris in our county Mayo. That was the best of all
her stories.
She sang us songs and ballads of the people and of the
land:
'Tis often I sat on my true love's knee
And many a fond story he told me.
He told me things that ne'er should be,
Go dte/igh tu, a mhu/irni/n,
I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel,
When flax is spun I'll sell my wheel,
To buy my love a sword of steel,
Go dte/igh tu, mhu/ . . .
