How to talk like an Irish person, lesson two

May 1, 2:53 PMDC Ireland & UK Travel ExaminerLaura Harrison McBride

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Irish Tri-Color at Dunguaire Castle (S.P. Tiley)

This second lesson in how to speak like an Irish person will concentrate on things tossed off in conversation, words you’d hardly notice if you were really Irish. (Lesson one did the same thing, but at least these are different terms. One is the same, but different. See Sod, below.)

What to call people…or not

Amadon: A male oaf.
Onchuck: A female oaf-ette.
Tinker: Literally, a person who used to travel the nation mending pots and such. Now, a sort of shiftless, worthless blighter….ah, person.
Himself/Herself: Unlike the first three, this is a term of respect, like Don among the Mafia crowd (Don Corleone). “Ah, sure, ‘twas Herself bid him go to University, and him afther t’inkin’ he was a fookin’ genius when he's just an amadon.”

Himself/Herself is not the ultimate term of respect, however; that is “The” as in “The McBride.” As it happens, I am The McBride in my family. “The” with the surname was historically used to denote the chief of a tribe or senior male member of a clan. However, in a spirit of equality, it may now also be used when the senior member of the clan is a female and has kept the clan name even if married to a member of a different clan. A woman, thus, might be Mrs. Smith, but The O’Donohue. (OK. Maybe this is more like Don Corleone; maybe the Himself and Herself are the consiglieres.)

More food terms

Crayture. Booze, Irish whiskey. Spirits. As in “He’d had a drap o’ the crayture, and was feelin’ no pain.”
Tipsy cake. A sort of trifle made with lots of sherry, good for getting someone tipsy.
Porter cake. A cake made moist with a good bit of dark, dark beer.
Bubble and squeak. A dish made with potatoes and cabbage.
Bangers. Sausages.
Chips. French fries.
Crisps. Chips.
Gateau. Cake
Madeira cake. A small, individual-size yellow cake with fluted edges and sultanas in it.
Sultanas. A type of raisin found in Madeira cakes and Christmas pud...ah, pudding.
Irish Coffee. An alcoholic drink invented by a bartender at Foynes, the Irish airport that preceded Shannon, to warm up transAtlantic fliers. It SHOULD NOT have crème de menthe anywhere near it. It is, classically, brown sugar, hot coffee, a jigger of Irish whiskey and a dollop of whipped cream on top. The addition of a green slash of crème de menthe on top is an abomination. However, if one wants to squeeze a bit of fresh orange juice into the bottom of the Irish Coffee mug instead of the spoonful of sugar, that’s fine. Then it becomes a good bit o’ breakfast as well. Very nutritious, I’d say.

How to say things

• Don’t call a person a sod. It’s very rude. Very rude indeed. And don’t tell him to “sod off,” unless you’d like a knuckle sandwich. But you can use the term for the land, as in auld sod.
• Never say a person was drunk; say “he’d a bit of the drink taken.”
• Never say a person is fat; say “You wouldn’t go wrong giving up the sofa to him.”
• Never say a person is flaky; say, “She’s a penny shy of a punt.”
• Remember that “at all” means totally, entirely, for sure. “I hadn’t a drap o’ the crayture this night at all.” If I wanted to be sure the Gard (cop) who pulled me over for driving erratically knew I’d no drink taken, I’d say, “I hadn’t a drap o’ the crayture this night at all, at all.” Never go on to three “at alls.” That’d be a sure sign of a liar.

Driving erratically
If you’re in Ireland, you’ll probably drive erratically, drink taken or no. The roads are tiny, you’ll be getting used to driving on the ‘wrong’ side, there are rarely sufficient margins, sheep tend to wander out and lie upon the roads, and sometimes you’ll pass an old lady running along home on them because the bus was more than two hours late. Or a humongous lorry (truck) will be barrelling at you over a one-lane bridge and you’ll have to slam your tiny motor (and the rest of the machine with it) into a convenient hedgerow to save your life. (I know this from experience. Fortunately, it wasn’t one of the stone-backed hedgerows, but a sort of freestanding hawthorn hedge at the edge of a swift brook, so I only scratched the paint but didn’t dent the car or myself.)

Actually, if you’re pulled over by a Gard, forget the Irish you’ve picked up here or anywhere. You’ll be better off if they think you’re a stupid Yank. Drinking and driving in Ireland, with all the other vehicular entertainment, really would be overkill, so I’d avoid it. Do your drinking in a walkable city (Dublin, Galway, Cork) or at your hotel and then sleep it off.

Slainte! (Cheers!)