Irish wit and wisdom

by Sally Jack
I dreamed of going to Ireland from the time I was six years old. In 2019, that dream came true. Much to my delight our plane to Dublin was green, with a shamrock on the tail.
At customs in the Dublin airport, I was intrigued by signs posted everywhere which said, Ghrianghrafadoireacht with the universal red symbol for NO through it.
I thought maybe it was the Gaelic version of supercalifragilistic? Every time I tried to write down the 20-letter word, the line for customs moved, and I’d lose my place in the letters.
I was about to resort to taking a picture of the signs, when a stroke of luck saved my neck. I saw the English version below one of the signs: No Photography. I still have nightmares about being arrested at customs because I didn’t know what Ghrianghrafadoireacht means.
I knew I would be charmed with the Irish people, and I was. What I did not count on was how totally and completely I fell in love with the Irish sky.
The Irish skies are blue beyond imagining, with puffy white clouds always at the ready to rain, keeping Ireland’s 40 known shades of green just that—green!
Coming from a perennially parched corner of Utah, it was a luxury I never could quite believe was mine for a few days.
I loved the Irish rain, which was more like a gentle mist. In the week that we were there, it rained every day except one.
On that particular day, our hostess was pleased as punch that we would have a whole day without rain, a rare gift for her American friends.
“When we have a day without rain,” she told us, “we talk about it for two weeks!”
I said, “When we have a day that it DOES rain, we talk about it for two months.”
Judging from the skeptical look on her face, I don’t think she believed me.
The Irish people are like the ‘Stir-about’ or Irish Oatmeal they eat every morning, even in five star hotels: warm and practical, with just the right amount of thick cream and honey to make them loveable.
Their tongue in cheek wit will keep you smiling. After having spent the day at the awe-inspiring Rock of Cashel where St. Patrick himself taught, our Bed and Breakfast landlady asked how our day was.
Using the popular American phrase to illustrate how much we had enjoyed our outing, I said, “It was the Best day EVER!”
Without skipping a beat, Katherine said, “Even better than your wedding day?”
Then she looked at Derryl and said, “You’d better pull your socks up if you want to keep that girl!” Everyone in the breakfast room laughed.
The Irish have their own subtle way of letting tourists know what the limits are. The edges of the Cliffs of Moher drop off 700 feet above the sea.
Yet there are no fences, barriers, Danger signs, or lawsuits like you see in America.
Instead, a simple sign in both Gaelic and English reads: “In Memory of Those Who Have Lost Their Lives at the Cliffs of Moher.”
Translation: If you get too close to the edge, you won’t live to regret it.
In similar fashion, at the Muckross House in Killarney, there are no red velvet ropes across special chairs, or polite ‘Please Do Not Sit Here’ signs.
If they don’t want you to sit there, you will find one, two, three fresh poison ivy leaves on the seat of the chair.
Translation: “You can sit down if you want to, Honey, but I wouldn’t recommend it if I were you.”
The most classic of these subtle Irish recommendations, though, was in a sky tram to Dursey Island. On a whim we decided to take the tram from the mainland to the island across the sea.
It was supposed to be an eight-minute journey one way. The tram was positively ancient. It could hold up to six people or dogs. No more.
As we slowly eeked our way across the water in this rickety cable car on rusty looking cables, I began to fear for my life. We were swinging precariously an uncomfortable number of feet above the Irish Sea.
If the cable snapped, we were done for. Just as I was about ready to lose my head in panic, I spied a notice on the wall of the car. It said, “For safety and protection in crossing, read Psalms 91.” Enough said.
When we failed to reduce our speed to ‘crawl gear’ quickly enough as we entered one town following a drive in the country, a flashing speed warning popped up.
This was no yellow smiley face. It was a very red frowny face.
“I guess we should slow down,” I laughed. Two months later we received an important looking letter by registered mail from Dublin, Ireland. It was a speeding ticket.
The Irish are known for their Irish blessings, which come in an assortment of styles: gentle, thoughtful, wise, witty, hilarious or even a bit irreverent. Here are some classics:
“As you slide down the banisters of life, may the splinters never point the wrong way.”
“May your troubles be as few and as far apart as my grandmother’s teeth.
“May the good Lord take a liking to you – but not too soon.”
“If you find yourself on a stony path, may you have strong shoes.”
“May you have warm words on a cold evening, A full moon on a dark night, and the road downhill all the way to your door.”
And my all-time favorite: “May those who love us, love us. And those who don’t love us, may the Lord turn their hearts.
“And if he doesn’t turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles, that we may know them by their limping.”
My Irish blessing for you today is: “May your luck be like the capitol of Ireland: ‘Always Dublin.’”