There are a number of books around the Cottage that tell of live on the Sheep’s Head and around West Cork and give some of the history of the place. This is an extract from one of those books Under the Shadow of Suifinn by Ann McCarthy.

My great grandfather had a Mackerel Seine which was made of cotton and was 180 fathoms long, and 18 fathoms deep at the bunt (the widest part). The seine was tapered at the sleeves (the narrow ends). At the bottom there was a row of lead rings, and the trip rope went through these. When it was wet, it took seven men to lift it to a field to be spread out, so it could be repaired. It had to be barked (dyed and treated) in a big pot that holds 120 gallons.

The net was stored in the room that I sleep in now. There used to by a hinged window to take it in and out. It was not uncommon to catch 6,000 fish in the seine at a time. The seine was transported in a seine boat, which was 27 feet long and 7 feet wide. It was rowed by six men, with a captain on the back at the tiller. In the stern was the man who watched for fish, and he also used the “thrash block” which was a rope tied to a stone and was used for directing fish into the seine.

The seine boat was accompanied by the “falter” which was crewed by four men. It was they who took the end of the seine from the seine boat when they saw a shoal of fish, and shot the seine around them. Then they helped to bail the fish which were floating on the surface into both boats. While they were waiting for the shoal to rise, they always said the Rosary. It was not uncommon to spend 12 hours during the night without finding a shoal. As Wellingtons and oilskins were unheard of the men often suffered from the wet. Their lamp was worked on fish oil and cotton wick, which was also used to light their pipes.

As there was no pier, the loaded boats had to be anchored a safe distance from the rocky beach. The crews unloaded the boats wading through three or four feet of water. The baskets of fish were put on large tables and the splitters and gutters cleaned them. Schoolboys took them to the river and washed them, after which they were brought back to the tables and packed in barrels of coarse salt. Approximately 120 big fish filled a barrel. Six months later a ship would come and the small boats would take the barrels out to the ship, which was anchored in the bay. The ship had a canhook (winch) which took three barrels at a time. the ships’ names were “Mary Audrey” and the “Princess Beara”. the fish was taken to North America. in a good season a fisherman would earn £70, the price for a barrel of fish being £1.7.6

A storm in 1940, which wrecked the boats and knocked the storing shed, finished this industry, with the help of the collapse of the American market.

Helen O’Mahony, Lower Letter, 6^th Grade Kilcrohane National School 29-6-88 Under the Shadow of Suifinn

O’Mahony is one of the local names and it is the name of the shop in Kilcrohane.

One of my favourite books is Of A Feather by Colin See-Paynton.  It is an illustrated lexicon of avian collective nouns. For each of the birds described there is a description of the bird and some context behind the noun and there is a woodcut illustration of the birds together. So there is a Covert of Coots and a Parliament of Owls, an Exaltation of Larks and, one of my favourites, a Loomery of Guillemots.

I have had the book out this evening to see if there is a collective noun for Robins. There were four of them this morning in the branches of the apple tree immediately outside the kitchen. They were three to start with and they were then joined by a fourth. The fourth pushed out his chest and flicked his wings. They were only there for a moment and then they were off.

Colin See-Paynton had the answer and the word is an irascibility of Robins. There is a full page picture that could almost be the four that were there this morning with the fellow that I saw puffing his chest at the bottom.

Robins are notoriously aggressive when it comes to protecting their patch of garden and will happily fight off any rival trying to muscle in on their territory. I assume that what I saw was an attempt by some younger birds to to see if they could oust the resident cock Robin or perhaps a brief go at flirtation with my male trying to impress a group of females.

As Colin See-Paynton says “Irascibility, therefore, cannot be regarded as a true collective noun, being derived from and referring to a part of a Robin’s character that is generally overlooked.”

“If I were to say what I should really like to have for dinner,” replied Nicholas, in answer to his wife’s question upon the subject, “it would be fried mackerel,” smacking his lips as he spoke.

“Then that’s just what you won’t have,” said Mrs Dunks, as sharp as a north-east wind.

“Humph!” quoth Nicholas.

“Ay! And humph again !” responded his better half. “I’ve other fish to fry to-day, that I can tell you.”

“Then why did you ask me?” said Nicholas.

“Because I was a fool. I might have known you would be sure to give all the trouble you can on wash-day.”

“Humph!” quoth Nicholas again, as he took his hat off the nail, brushed it with the cuff of his coat, and clapped it on his head with the air of a man determined to have his own way.

“Where are you going now?” said Mrs Dunks.

“To get a fried mackerel for dinner,” replied Nicholas, marching out of the room, erect of body and resolute of soul.

Nicholas was right. A man is no man who cannot have a fried mackerel when he has his heart set upon it; and more especially when he has money in his pocket to pay for it.

NICHOLAS DUNKS; or, .

Rendang Daging.