Cardiac resuscitation was in its infancy. In 1965, Doctor—later Professor—Frank Pantridge, working at Belfast’s Royal Victoria Hospital, equipped an ambulance with a seventy-kilogram defibrillator so care could be rushed to the victims of heart attacks. He reported that on the cardiac flying squad’s trial run, the mortality rate was two hundred percent. The victim did not survive, and in the rush to reach the patient a pedestrian was knocked down and perished. By 1968, Doctor Pantridge had reduced the device’s weight to three kilograms, making it truly portable. I was fortunate to have been his houseman (intern) from October 1964 to January 1965.
The birth of Louise Brown in 1978 following in vitro fertilization was but a dream for Doctor Patrick Steptoe and Professor Robert Edwards, both of whom I had the privilege of working with in 1969 and later in 1987–1989.
The clinical practices described in the Irish Country series were in daily use during my own training from 1958 to 1964. My memories are buttressed by a stroke of remarkably good luck: I kept every textbook I have ever owned. Details of some drug treatments have been taken from such now antiquated tomes as The Essentials of Materia Medica, Pharmacology, and Therapeutics (1961), and A Short Practice of Surgery (1959).
And as the medicine practiced in the sixties differed from that of today, so does the language spoken daily in Northern Ireland depart from standard English. For those unfamiliar with the Ulster variety as it is spoken by my characters, it will be briefly described here. To define more obscure words and expressions, I have appended a glossary (page 439).
The Ulster dialect is rich and colourful, but can be confusing. I am not referring to the so-called Ulster Scots, defined as “the variety of the Scots language traditionally found in Northern Ireland and parts of Donegal,” and according to one survey spoken by two percent of the population of Northern Ireland. In this book you will find simply the English used by most of the people of Ulster.
All dialects have their verbal punctuation. In Northern Ireland, “like” is popular. “You know” is not so much sprinkled through sentences as ladled in, usually under circumstances when the listener cannot possibly have the information. And although repetition drives the spell-checker crazy, “Come on, on, on in” is perfectly correct in the Wee North. Emphasis is given by tacking “so I will,” “so she did,” or one of its many variants onto the end of a sentence.
There is one construct I have rarely used. Reporting direct speech often takes the form of “She says to me, she says, ‘Great day,’ says she.” But I didn’t think such usage should be inflicted on the reader because it would slow down the story.
Like all patois, Nor’n Irish is not one bit shy about adopting useful phrases from others. For instance, you’ll find examples of Cockney rhyming slang in the book. The Londoners use only the first word of the rhyme—“He made a right cobbler’s of it.” In full, it is “cobbler’s awls” and that rhymes with—balls. ’Nuff said.
The agreement of verbs with their subjects and the strict observance of correct tenses and voices do not trouble many of us from the Six Counties. “I seen him at the races,” or “She come round here yesterday,” or “They was rightly pleased, so they was,” are perfectly acceptable.
Often the opposite will be meant. “Will yiz borrow me a cup of sugar?” means “Will you lend …?”
If you meet these oddities in the text, they are neither typos nor evidence of my inability to use correct English. I do have some familiarity with its grammar and syntax. I should have, you know, for I done a brave wheen of years, like, getting learned it, so I did.
So I hope that’s all the questions answered, but if you have more you can find me at www.patricktaylor.ca, and now if you’ve a mind to try some Irish cooking, some more of Mrs. Kincaid’s recipes follow.
AFTERWORD
by
Mrs. Maureen “Kinky” Kincaid
Hello again. Céad míle fáilte to my old friends and another hundred thousand welcomes to folks visiting Ballybucklebo for the first time. I’ll tell you, I don’t mind being here in my nice warm kitchen. It’s blowing outside to beat Banagher, and if the rain doesn’t stop soon I’ll be expecting a visit from a man looking for gopher wood and collecting up animals two by two, so.
Thank the Lord it did be a good day for the Downpatrick Races yesterday. My handbag was much admired. She is a lamb, that Miss Kitty, for giving it to me. The ten pounds I won sits inside the bag. I think I’ll ask Himself for a half day next week so I can nip up to Belfast and buy myself a nice new pair of low-heeled brogues, and I can window-shop for a new outfit. The third of July will be here soon enough.
And well you might lie beside the range, Arthur Guinness. Your boss is right decent to you, bringing you in out of the rain, even if you do have a waterproof doghouse. Och, but sure isn’t the big man considerate of just about everybody—except that Councillor Bishop? What my friend Flo sees in the man I do not know, but to each his own. It’s none of my business.
What is my business is running Number 1, Main Street. And that includes doing the cooking.
When that fellah Taylor who spins the yarns about this place first wrote An Irish Country Doctor, I did think Doctor O’Reilly had taken leave of his senses, so. Says he to me, “Kinky, so many things Irish are getting lost I want you to write down some of your recipes so folks can try them and see if they like them.”
I thought it was a load of malarkey, but I did as I was asked.
The letters asking for more recipes started after that book and have been coming thick and fast since. So now this book is nearly finished, it’s me for the kitchen table again, pen in fist, making fair copies of some of the dishes I prepare.
When you do try them, I hope you enjoy them.
Irish Recipes
BRAISED LAMB SHANKS
4 lamb shanks
10 cloves of garlic, unpeeled
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 carrots, chopped
2 celery sticks, chopped
1 onion, chopped
150 ml / 1⁄4 pint / 2⁄3 cup red wine
150 ml / 1⁄4 pint / 2⁄3 cup lamb stock or water
sprig of thyme and rosemary
2 bay leaves
salt and pepper to taste
Lamb shanks can be from the shoulder or the hind leg. The shoulder takes longer to cook, so to achieve an even result cook the same types together.
If possible use a heavy-bottomed casserole with a tight-fitting lid.
Brown the seasoned shanks in the olive oil. Remove the lamb, add the vegetables, and sauté for a few minutes. Pour in the red wine, bring to the boil, and simmer for a minute or two. Add the stock and herbs, and place the shanks on top. Bring to the boil, cover, and cook in the oven for 1½ to 2½ hours depending on size and cut. You can also cook on the hob if your pan is very heavy-bottomed, but you will need to check the liquid level from time to time to make sure that it does not boil dry; add extra stock or water if the level looks too low. When the lamb has finished cooking, remove the shanks to a serving dish. Discard the vegetables, and reduce the remaining liquid in the casserole by bringing to the boil for a minute or two. There should only be just enough sauce to coat the lamb.
RED CURRANT JELLY
900 g / 2 lb / 4 cups red currants
900 g / 2 lb / 4 cups sugar, warmed
Place the washed fruit in a preserving pan or stock pot, and bring slowly to the boil. Stir and press the red currants to break down the fruit and release the juice. As soon as the fruit is cooked (about 10 minutes), add the warmed sugar and stir until it is dissolved. Then bring the mixture to a rapid boil, and boil for about 10 minutes. Now you can use either a jelly bag or a sieve lined with gauze placed over a bowl. Pour the jelly mixture into it, and let it drip through. If you don’t mind not having a completely clear jelly, you can press to extract as much juice as possible. Pour the juice into warmed jars and cover. This makes two one-pound jars, but the process is exactly the same for a larger quantity.
TOAD IN THE HOLE
2 eggs
110 g / 4 oz / 1⁄2 cup self-raising flour
a pinch of baking powder
a few thyme leaves
salt and freshly ground pepper
dash of milk
100 g / 4 oz cocktail sausages, cooked
Preheat the oven to 220°C / 425°F / gas mark 7. Beat the eggs into a bowl. Continue to whisk, and add the flour and baking powder gradually, together with enough milk to make a thickish batter the consistency of cream. Add the thyme leaves, salt, and pepper, and pour the batter into a greased casserole dish. Place the sausages on top. Bake in the oven for 10 to 12 minutes until the batter is well risen and golden brown. Serves two.
STICKY TOFFEE PUDDING AND BUTTERSCOTCH SAUCE
225 g / 8 oz / 1 cup dates, chopped
300 ml / 1⁄2 pint / 11⁄3 cups hot tea
oil for greasing
110 g / 4 oz / 1⁄2 cup unsalted butter
175 g / 6 oz / 3⁄4 cup sugar
225 g / 8 oz / 1 cup self-raising flour
3 eggs
1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
1 teaspoon vanilla essence
1 teaspoon coffee powder
Butterscotch Sauce
110 g / 4 oz / 1⁄2 cup butter
225 g / 8 oz / 1 cup brown sugar
225 ml / 8 oz / 1cup cream
225 ml / 8 oz / 1 cup Irish whiskey (I like to use Jameson’s, for that’s what Himself drinks so, but any good Irish one will do)
1 tablespoon vanilla essence
Soak the dates in the tea. Cream together the butter and sugar, and beat in the eggs one at a time. Then fold in the flour. Add the vanilla, coffee powder, and soda to the date and tea mixture, and stir it into the creamed mixture. Pour into six to eight greased individual moulds, and bake in a preheated oven at 180°C / 350°F/ gas mark 4 for about 30 minutes, until the small cakes are firm and starting to come away from the sides. Remove from the oven and cool on a rack.
For the sauce, melt the butter in a pan over a medium heat, and when it is bubbling add the sugar. Then stir until the sugar has dissolved and the mixture is bubbling again. Pour in the cream and then the whiskey, and reduce the heat. Boil for another minute or two, remove from the heat, and allow it to cool slightly before you add the vanilla.
To serve, you place the puddings on plates, and pour the sauce over the top followed by a generous dollop of cream. If you have any leftovers they can be reheated easily in a microwave oven.
So there it is now. I’m going to make myself a nice cup of beef tea. It’s my own ma’s recipe and just the thing for a day like today. I’ll take it up to my own room, put my feet up, and have a good watch at Sunday Night at the London Palladium on the telly. I do enjoy a good variety show—nearly as much as I used to enjoy Punch and Judy when I was a youngster.
May all your cooking turn out right.
Oíche mHaith agus beannacht De ort. Good-night and God bless.
MRS. MAUREEN “KINKY” KINCAID
Housekeeper to
Doctor Fingal Flahertie O’Reilly, M.B., B.Ch., B.A.O.
1, Main Street
Ballybucklebo
County Down
Northern Ireland
GLOSSARY
As promised in the Author’s Note this glossary will, I hope, add to your enjoyment and understanding of some of the dialogue.
acting the goat: Behaving foolishly.
afters: Dessert. The logical last course follow-up of a meal that began with starters.
agricultural: Country bumpkin.
amadán: Irish. Pronounced “omadawn.” Male idiot.
and all, and everything: Frequently tacked to the end of a sentence for emphasis.
An Gorta Mór: Irish. Pronounced “an gortah more.” The Great Hunger. The potato famine of 1845–1849.
anyroad: Anyway.
apples and pears: Cockney rhyming slang for stairs.
argy-bargy: Voluble disagreement.
arse: Backside (impolite).
asked about, asked around: Made enquiries.
at himself/herself, not: Unwell.
aunt Fanny Jane, my: Nonsense.
away off and chase yourself: Go away; I don’t believe you.
away off and feel your head: Don’t be stupid.
away on, away on out of that: I don’t believe you.
back of beyond: The sticks.
bamboozle: Deliberately confuse.
banagher, to beat: Greatly exceed any reasonable expectations.
bangers: Sausages.
banjaxed: Exhausted or broken.
banshee: Irish. Beán (woman), sidhe (fairy). Female spirit whose moaning foretells a death.
bap: Head.
bap, to lose the: To be temporarily out of control.
barmbrack: Speckled bread (see Mrs. Kincaid’s recipes in An Irish Country Doctor, page 340).
bashtoon: Irish. Bastún. Lout, but often used to signify bastard.
batman: Army officer’s servant.
beagle’s gowl: Very long way; the distance over which the cry—the gowl, not growl—of a beagle can be heard.
beasts: Cattle.
bee on a hot brick: Running round in circles.
bee’s knees: The very best.
bee’s knees, he thinks he’s the: He’s conceited.
bejizzis: By Jesus.
Belvoir: Suburb of Belfast. Pronounced “Beaver.”
better than a pantomime: Some activity that is engrossing, usually humorously, often by people making inadvertent fools of themselves.
biddy: Hen.
bigger fish to fry: More important matters to attend to.
bind: Cure diarrhea or cause constipation.
biscuit: Cookie.
bit my head off: Expressed anger by shouting or being very curt.
blether: Talking nonsense.
bletherskite: Nonstop talker.
blew me out: Ended a love affair.
blimey (occasionally, Gor blimey): Expression of surprise. Originally a Cockney corruption of “God blind me.”
bloater: Salted and smoked herring.
blowed, I’m or I’ll be: Expressing the opposite. “I’ll be blowed if I can swim”—that is, “I can’t swim.”
blow you out: Tell a lover to go away for good.
blue: See capped. A university award for athletic excellence akin to a U.S. university letter.
boater: Flat-topped, medium-brimmed straw hat.
bob: One shilling.
bob, a few; a bob or two: A sum of money.
bodhrán: Irish. Pronounced “bowrawn.” A circular handheld drum.
boke: Vomit.
boke your ring up: Vomit very forcibly (literally, so forcibly that the anal sphincter [ring] is brought up).
bollixed: Ruined.
bollocks: Testicles (impolite). May be used as an expression of vehement disagreement or to describe a person of whom you disapprove. For example, “He’s a right bollocks.”
bonnet (of a car): Hood.
boot (of a car): Trunk.
bore, twenty-, twelve-, ten-, eight-: Gauge of a shotgun. Calculated by noting the number of balls fitting exactly into the muzzle that could be cast from one pound of lead.
both legs the same length: Standing about uselessly.
both ways: A bet placed that will pay the odds if a horse wins and one quarter of the odds if the horse places.
boul’: Pronounced “bowl.” Bold.
bound and determined: Determined.
bowsey: Dublin slang. Drunkard.
boys-a-boys, boys-a-dear: Expressions of amazement.
brass neck: Impertinence, chutzpah.
brave: Very large.
bravely: Well.
breeze blocks: Cinderblocks.
brekky: Breakfast.
Brian Boru: Ard Rí. High King of all Ireland who beat the Vikings at the Battle of Clontarf in 1014 and was killed there.
brisket: Cut of beef from the thigh of a foreleg.
&
nbsp; brolly: Umbrella.
brung: Brought.
buck eejit: Imbecile.
bullock: Steer (castrated bull calf).
bunk, done a: Ran away.
bun in the oven: Pregnant (impolite).
Burberry: A popular make of raincoat.
bye: Boy. Often used in County Cork to end a sentence.
cailín: Irish. Pronounced “colleen.” Girl.
call the cows home: Be ready to tackle anything.
capped: A cap was awarded to athletes selected for important teams. Equivalent to a letter at an American university.
carrageen moss: An edible seaweed.
caubeen: Traditional, peakless Irish bonnet.
casualty: Emergency room.
céili: Irish. Pronounced “kaylee.” Party with music and dancing.
champ: A dish of potatoes, buttermilk, butter, and chives.
champ, thick as: Stupid.
chemist: Pharmacist.
chips: French fried potatoes.
chippy: Carpenter.
chiseller: Dublin slang, a small child.
chuntering on: Talking nonstop.
civil to: Pleasant to.
clabber: Glutinous mess of mud, or mud and cow clap.
claret: Blended red wine from Bordeaux. The single-grape varietals like merlot were not introduced to Ireland until the 1980s.
clatter: Quantity.
clatter, a brave: Large quantity.
clonk: Bang together.
colloguing: Chatting about trivia.
conkers: Horse chestnuts. Used to play a children’s game.
comeuppance: Just rewards.
coortin’: Paying court to. See also walk out with.
corker: Something or somebody of great excellence.
cow’s lick: Tuft of hair that sticks up, or hair slicked over to one side.
cracker: Excellent. See also wheeker.
crackers: Crazy.
craic: Pronounced “crack.” Practically untranslatable, it can mean great conversation and fun (“The craic was ninety”) or “What happened to you since I saw you last?” (“What’s the craic?”). Often seen on signs outside pubs in Eire: Craic agus Ceol, or Fun and Music.