Irish Language Blog

(le Róislín)

Liúdar ar stampa Íoslannach

As the final entry in this mionsraith ar chaint fhíortha, we’ll talk briefly about liúdair (coalfish) and their role in a traditional Irish expression.   Of course, we could talk about figurative speech  till the cows come home or till we’re all blue in the face, but there are other topics looming so we’ll wrap the topic up with this blog for now.  But if any of you have been mulling over some interesting samhlacha, meafair, or other tróip chainte, please do write in about them.

Meanwhile, let’s start with beagán meaitseála.  Which product goes with which destination to indicate mí-éifeacht or díomhaointeas or éadairbhe (all words for futility); freagraí thíos, mar is gnách:

So what exactly is this “liúdar” in the Irish expression “ag breith liúdar go Toraigh“? A coalfish, particularly, a large coalfish.  “Small coalfish?”  That’s a topic I’ll have to research later, not being much of an iascaire or an iasceolaí.  They’re also called “coley,” in English, not surprisingly.  Apparently they are fairly abundant around Tory, but one recent fishing blog I looked at didn’t seem to indicate that the piscine population was doing very well.  A iascairí?  “Coalfish” primarily refers to Pollachius virens, a pollack (aka pollock) with a black back, although it can also refer to a sablefish.

There are two other words for “coalfish” in Irish, “glasán” and “mangach,” and it’s not clear to me exactly what the difference is between all these species, if in fact they are different species.  Eolas ag duine ar bith agaibhse?  Just to add to the mix, “glasán” (lit. “green one” or “greenish-grayish one”) can also refer to a plant (sea-lettuce), and a bird (finch).  “Mangach,” sometimes spelled “mongach,” can be “pollack” in general and can also refer to a maned animal.

Although the flesh of the coalfish is dark-colored, apparently it turns orange when salted and smoked, resembling salmon in color.  It is sold in Germany under the name “Seelachs” (lit. sea-salmon) although it is not at all connected to salmon.  “Lachs” is the German for salmon; related words include “lax” (Icelandic, Swedish), “laks” (Danish, Norwegian), and laex (Old English), all of which are also linguistically related to the “Leix” of Leixlip”, in Co. Kildare, Ireland, whose name means “salmon leap (Irish: Léim an Bhradáin).

So taking coalfish to Tory apparently is no more useful than taking coal(s) to Newcastle, owls to Athens, etc.

I suppose that one could make up tons of these expressions, based on famous products or associations, but time seems to sort out the catchiest.  For some reason, we never seem to talk about carrying pónairí bácáilte to Bostún or cáis uachtair to Filideilfia or lachain to Beijing.  Probably no great loss!

Freagraí: 1b. gual, an Caisleán Nua (referring to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, not the various other Newcastles); 2d. ulchabháin, an Aithin (cf. γλαῦκας εἰς Ἀθῆνας κομίζειν, glaukas eis Athēnas komizein; Eulen nach Athen tragen; mostly known in Greek and German, but sometimes also used in English); 3e. samaváir, Tula (cathair sa Rúis, clú uirthi mar áit ina ndéantar (fós?) a lán samavár); 4a. liúdair, Toraigh; 5c. beoir, München (Munich)

P.S. Now if only the folk expression had involved another type of fish found in the Tory waters, called “Tope,” the Galeorhinus galeus or related species, we could have had some fun talking about “tope tropes,” but c’est la vie!  That “tope,” btw, presumably has nothing to do with being a “toper,” otherwise we’d be back to one of our favorite previously discussed topics, póiteanna (hangovers).  And the Irish for “tope” (the fish), while interesting, doesn’t lend itself to this rhyme — it’s “gearrthóir” (lit. cutter)

We’ve recently discussed the place names Albain, Éire, An Bhreatain Bheag, Oileán Mhanann, and An Bhriotáin.  Today we’ll turn to Cornwall.  Below you’ll find some examples of how to use the place name and how to indicate that a person or thing is Cornish.  Cornwall is called “Corn na Breataine” (horn of Britain) or sometimes “An Corn” in Irish. 

Cornach, a Cornishman or person.  Like the terms “Éireannach,” “Albanach,” “Breatnach,” “Manannach,” and “Briotánach,” it can be made feminine, “Cornach mná,” but, as I’ve previously mentioned, this form is rarely used.  The feminine form basically means “a woman Cornishman.” 

an Cornach, the Cornishman.  Cornach is also the adjective form.

 Some phrases with the place name “Corn na Breataine” include:

i gCorn na Breataine: in Cornwall

go Corn na Breataine: to Cornwall

muintir Chorn na Breataine: the residents of Cornwall

 In an interesting twist, the mineral cornwallite is “cornuaillít” in Irish, adapting the “-wall” suffix into Irish spelling. 

In a further interesting twist, the two main plant names that in English are designated as pertaining to Cornwall, Cornish heath and Cornish moneywort, lose the Cornish element in their Irish names, which are, respectively, “fraoch gallda” (lit. foreign heather – remember, the perspective is Irish here) and “pingin Dhuibhneach” (lit. penny from Corca Dhuibhne, a region in Co. Kerry).  I’ll let the Cornaigh and the Duibhnigh hash out the plant’s true origins among themselves – our concern here is terminology!

“Cornish hen,” the term I thought would be a “shoo-in” to exemplify Cornishness in popular culture and the lenition of feminine singular adjectives in Irish grammar, turns out to be a “shoo-out.”  The situation’s not straightforward at all.  One might think we’d simply use “cearc” (hen) plus “Chornach” (the feminine form of the adjective).  Mícheart (incorrect)!  First of all, this cearc goes by at least four other names (Cornish game hen, poussin, Rock Cornish hen, and Rock Cornish), thickening the plot considerably.  Secondly, it may refer to a specially bred chicken, slaughtered young and designed for one serving.  It isn’t a game bird and can be male or female, so isn’t always a “hen.”  Furthermore, the French word “poussin,” sometimes equated with “Cornish hen,” has two meanings in English, being the “Cornish game hen” in U.S. English and referring to an even smaller and younger bird in U.K. English.  So aside, from noting that the “Rock” element refers to Plymouth Rock, highlighting Cornish Rock’s American origin, I will respectfully bail out of this attempt to Gaelicize Cornish hens.  One might think that the Cornish hen was an indigenous breed, small in size to adapt to the rugged terrain in which it lived, like Kerry and Dexter cattle or Shetland ponies, ach ní mar sin atá sé (that’s not how it is).  Fascinating in their own right, those animals will be featured i mblag éigin eile. 

So what’s left to exemplify the adjective “Cornach” in context?  Our last place name feature added the tasty element of crêpes, the Breton specialty.  Although I don’t know of any North American bialanna (restaurants) specializing in Cornwall’s famous culinary creation, the Cornish pasty, we can at least offer the Irish name for it, pastae Cornach.  These pastries were stuffed with meat, potatoes and other vegetables.  They have a folded-over crust and were thus distinguished from pióga feola (meat pies).  Their shape supposedly made it safe for miners to eat their lunch, since they couldn’t always clean the coal dust, which might contain arsenic, off their hands.  According to tradition, the miners discarded the corner of the pastry, which they had touched with their fingers, saying it was for the “knockers.”  

 Yes, those are the same supernatural beings who loosely provided the inspiration for Stephen King’s The Tommyknockers.  They would warn miners of possible disasters, at least, one presumes, if you kept them well fed with pasty crusts.  One of these days, I’ll have to check King’s novel, to see if he feeds them properly!

And if you are in North America and want to sample pastaetha Cornacha (that’s the plural), you can find them at special events such as the Pasty Fest in Calumet, Michigan, and special church suppers in Cornish-settled parts of Pennsylvania, such as Bangor and Pen Argyl. 

 This finishes the series of Celtic place names and identities, at least for the modern period.  One of these days we’ll practice saying, “I am an ancient Gaul,” but for the immediate future, it will probably be more practical to work on phrases such as “Gael-Mheiriceánach” (Irish-American) or Gael-Cheanadach (Irish-Canadian) and to introduce such basics as “American” and “Canadian” in their unlenited forms.  Stay tuned!  – Bhur mblagálaí, Róislín