Fear Breaga

My mother’s brothers and sisters and her father and mother could barely speak Gaelic, a result I suspect, of poor teaching in the subject. Nor would they have been overlong at school, the economic necessities of the times dictating that they had to put their shoulders to the wheel as soon as they were physically able.

Nonetheless they had a smidgin of Irish, which I suppose had come down to them from the time that gaelic was the vernacular in this part of the country.

Potatoes were “praities”, boys were “gasuns”, girls were “gersas”. The word “in” was added to most names.Thus Tommy became” Toimin “, Joe became “Join”,Paddy became “Paidin”,Mary became “Mainin” and so on. As in “our Mainin has notions”.

Notwithstanding the lack of formal education they were the best
conversationalists I have ever met. Intelligent too and as sharp as razors.

I witnessed them once in hard conversation, where unusually they could make no progress. A stranger to me dominated the conversation. No matter what subject came up he had all the answers, would brook no argument and was the undoubted hero of every situation in his  own mind.

The conversation was short lived.

Afterwards I asked my uncle who the bore was. He told me a name that meant nothing to me. I said that he was not a very pleasant man.”No” said my uncle “Fear Breaga”.

For years I didn’t get it. A “Fear Breaga” was a “scarecrow” as bearla.

Then it clicked. The literal translation is “a false man”.

Since then I have had the best of fun watching political programmes and identifying the “Fir breaga”.

Try it sometime and do your own list. Maybe start a website.