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March 2026
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Hello again from Ireland where Saint Patrick's Day is nearly upon us. Preparations are under way in the big cities and small towns of Ireland to celebrate the life of the world's most famous Saint in the most fitting manner possible: by having a Parade! Among this month's special issue we have another 'lyrical yarn' from Pat Watson, and also remember the legendary T.K. Whitaker.
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With our sheepdog Bruno, we chased rabbits every day. The war was on and there was money in rabbits. Of course we never caught any. After all I was only six years old and my brother Frank, just eight.
The same thing happened every day. All three of us arrived in the field where the rabbits were. Bruno charged after them, barking loudly, followed by the two of us, shouting skulla-hulla. The rabbits scampered off and disappeared down their burrow at the far end of the field. Bruno tore at the mouth of the burrow, then snorted down it as if to say: that will teach you a lesson. We went home empty handed, hoping for better luck next time. One day Frank had a brain-wave. He ordered me to wait a quarter of an hour, while he took a circuitous route and entered the field from the far end, where he snuck in and sat in the mouth of the burrow. When I arrived with the dog the rabbits ran for cover as usual but when they reached the burrow they ran every way in confusion. Bruno grabbed and killed one. We were shocked, elated and ecstatic all at once. Rabbits were worth a half a crown each, we were rich. We dressed up and headed for town, three miles away. Frank carried the rabbit and I walked alongside. 'You walk the other side,' he ordered. 'It's my rabbit and I don't want anybody to think that you had anything to do with catching him.' I hesitated. 'If you don't go round the other side you can go home,' he said. It was better to walk the other side of a lad with a rabbit than not walk at all, so I obeyed, reluctantly, well, not so much obeyed as agreed. After a while he changed the rabbit to the other hand and I had to change sides again. The farther we went the oftener this happened. 'Do you want me to take one leg?' I asked. 'Well just for a while,' he said, 'But if we meet anyone, you must let go immediately' I agreed, it was better to carry a rabbit a bit than not carry him at all and someone might come round a corner before he got a chance to reclaim both legs. Then, wouldn't I be a big fellow? Just then a man put his head over a wall and said: 'Good gossens! Are ye off to town with yer rabbit?' 'It's my rabbit, I'm only letting him hold one leg for a bit.' 'And take a bit of the weight,' he smiled. I felt very grown up and important. The man could see that I was carrying half the rabbit and indeed he probably thought I was part owner. After all seeing is believing. Shortly after I realised why I was allowed to help. We were small boys and the rabbit was big and long. While holding his paws, we had to keep our arms bent in order to keep his head off the ground. We tried to overcome this problem by catching him above the knees but this was harder on little fingers as the legs were fat and slanty. Having covered over a mile, we reached the Spring Well road. It was a quiet, mile long road running beside the railway and there was a grass verge on both sides. Out of necessity, we were now working as a team, swapping sides as arms tired. To conserve energy we decided to walk on the verge and let the head drag on the grass. This worked well enough but by the end of the mile the head was looking the worse for the wear. We got a drink at the spring well and sat a little while. Now for the last half-mile through the town to the butcher's shop, we had to keep the head off the road and it was very difficult, only the vision of the half crown kept us going. The butcher was standing at the door with a knife in his hand and saw us coming. He took the rabbit, slit him with the knife, threw the entrails to a passing dog, who wolfed them down, then turned to us. 'Did ye see that? That's how you gut a rabbit and ye should have gutted him hot. Because ye didn't he is only worth eighteen pence.' He handed Frank one and six and disappeared with the rabbit. There were thirty pence in a half-a-crown. We turned away devastated, the tears overflowing in spite of manly efforts. It was a long way home. We only got just over half the money after all our struggles. What could two small boys do? Then luck struck. Big Peter happened to be passing. 'Why are ye crying?' He asked. We told him our story. The butcher heard the commotion and reappeared explaining the gutting problem. Big Peter said nothing, just caught him by the lapels and began to hop him up and down. He turned very pale, his explanation died away and he handed me the missing shilling. Frank said I could keep it. All is well that ends well. Pat Watson
'The Rabbit' is one of sixty lyrical yarns from 'Original Irish Stories' by Pat Watson. Visit: https://goo.gl/FDp48v or you can email the author here: pjwatson77@gmail.com |
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THE LIFE OF SAINT PATRICK
Learn all about the world's most famous Saint.
He was British, we know. Enough already. Go Here SAINT PATIRCK'S DAY TRADITIONS How do people actually celebrate Saint Patrick? Go Here KIDS GAMES: LEARN ABOUT SAINT PATRICK AND IRELAND Simple coloring sheets and easy quizzes for kids. Go Here VIEW YOUR IRISH FAMILY CREST 1000 Images and Name Histories Go Here |
View the Archive of Irish Phrases here: http://www.ireland-information.com/irishphrases.htm |
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I hope that you have enjoyed this issue!
by Michael Green, Editor, The Information about Ireland Site. https://www.ireland-information.com Contact us (C) Copyright - The Information about Ireland Site, 2025. 17 Páirc Ghrainbhil, Carraig Dubh, Contae Baile Átha Cliath, Ireland Tel: 353 1 2893860 |
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