Tomás Buí Úraid

Tomás Buí Úraid

Transcribed from the tape

Tom Pheaidí Mac Diarmada ag Scéalaíocht

and translated from Irish to English by Peter Griffin

Sa bhfíor-sheanaimsir bhí fear ina chónaí thiar in Úraid a dtugaidís Tomás Buí air, agus níor tugadh aon ainm ariamh ar an bhfear ach Tomás Buí Úraid. Tá sé thiar ansin in aice le Gleann Máma, ó thuaidh den Sraith Salach in áit eicínt, agus chuala chuile dhuine ariamh in iarthar Éireann caint ar Thomás Buí Úraid. Is é an chaoi a raibh an fear bocht ag brionglóidigh, agus chaith sé trí oíche i ndiaidh a chéile ag brionglóidigh dá dtéadh sé ó dheas go dtí Droichead Buí Luimnigh agus lá nó dhá lá nó trí lá a chaitheamh thíos ann nó go bhfuigheadh sé taispeánadh ann, nó go n-inseofaí dhó cén áit a bhfuigheadh sé pota óir, agus...is ag brionglóidigh ar an bpota óir a bhí Tomás Buí Úraid sa mbaile, dhá dtéadh sé go Droichead Buí Luimnigh go bhfuigheadh sé pota óir ar ghiall an droichid, thíos faoin darna chloch choirnéil a bhí ar an áirse a bhí ar an droichead, agus é sin a chuartú, go bhfuigheadh sé pota óir ann. D’inis sé dhá bhean é ar maidin chaon lá de na trí lá, agus dúirt sé go dtraoiáilfeadh sé a ghoil ó dheas go Luimneach, agus d’imigh leis ar maidin lá arna mhárach le éirí gréine, nó go dtéadh sé go Droichead Buí Luimnigh ag tóraíocht an phota óir. Chaith sé trí lá thíos ag siúl soir agus siar thar an droichead, agus an chéad lá thug sé faoi deara an chloch, ach níor mhaith leis a ghoil dá chorraí, ná a thraoiáil. An darna lá rinn sé smaoineamh ní b’fhearr air, agus é ag breathnú ar an tríú chloch, agus ní raibh aon mhaidin de na dá mhaidin nach dtáinig seanfhear aniar thar an droichead agus é ag tiomáilt scata beithígh thar an droichead, agus théadh sé siar tráthnóna agus iad aige dá seoladh abhaile aríst. An tríú lá, ar an gcaoi chéanna, agus níor chuir siad aon araoid ar a chéile ar feadh na trí lá, go dtí an tríú lá, agus dúirt an seanfhear a bhí ag seoladh na mbeithígh, "Muise," adeir sé, "an miste é a fhiafraí dhaot," adeir sé, "cé ab as thú?"

"Ní miste," adeir Tomás Buí. "Tháinig mé aniar," adeir sé, "as Úraid, i gceann thiar Chonamara, áit a raibh mé ag brionglóidigh," adeir sé, "ar feadh trí oíche, dhá dteagainn go dtí Droichead Buí Luimnigh," adeir sé, "go bhfuighinn" - adeir sé - "pota óir ann, agus" - adeir sé - "sin é an rud a thug as baile mé!"

"Ó," adeir, adeir fear Luimnigh, "ó," adeir sé, "níl ansin ach seafóid, agus níl aon mhaith dhuit" - adeir sé - "a bheith ag cuartú thart anseo," adeir sé, "mar" - adeir sé - "bhí mise ag brionglóidigh," adeir sé, "blianta ó shin, dhá dtéinn siar," adeir sé, "go Úraid," adeir sé, "san áit a bhfuil tú ag caint air, dhá dtéinn siar, agus a ghoil ag cartadh," adeir sé, "faoin sceachaín atá ag fás ag beinn an tí ag Tomás Buí Úraid, go bhfuighinn pota óir ann, agus" - adeir sé - "níor chreid mé é, mar bhí mé ag ceapadh" - adeir sé - "hé brí céard sa saol" - adeir sé - "a gheobhainn, nach mbeadh aon seans faoin saol" - adeir sé - "go bhfuighinn pota óir!"

"M’anam go mb’fhéidir" - adeir Tomás Buí Úraid - "agus gur dóiche" - adeir sé - "gur fearr dhomsa a bheith ag bogadh liom agus déanamh ar ais ar an mbaile."

Tháinig sé ar ais agus siar abhaile, agus chuir a bhean fáilte roimhe nuair a tháinig sé abhaile. "Anois," adeir sé leis an mbean, "níl tada" - adeir sé - "faighte agam, ach tá ugach breá" - adeir sé - "faighte agam. Dúirt seanfhear liom" - adeir sé - "i lár an droichid," adeir sé, "thíos i Luimneach, go raibh sé féin ag brionglóidigh ariamh, nó blianta fada roimhe sin, ar feadh trí oíche, go raibh sé ag brionglóidigh chuile oíche acu, dá dtéadh sé siar chomh fada le tigh Thomáis Bhuí Úraid, go bhfuigheadh sé pota óir ag an gcrainnín beag de sceach a bhí ag fás sa gcloidhe ag beinn an tí, tigh Thomáis Bhuí Úraid."

Oíche bhreá ghealaí, agus amach leis an mbeirt acu, agus thug siad piocóid leo agus láí an duine, agus thosaigh siad ag cartadh, agus bhí siad ag cartadh agus ag cartadh ar feadh na hoíche nó go rinn sé lá, agus ní fhaca siad tada, ach d’fhága siad mar sin é. Nuair a tháinig an oíche aríst, thosaigh siad ag cartadh agus ag cartadh agus ag cartadh, agus is gearr gur airigh sé gligear ag tíocht ag gob a láí, agus d’airigh sé an torann mar a bheadh sliogán ann; agus, an darna priocadh, bhí a fhios aige nach ba sliogán a bhí ann, mar bhí an ceol níos binne ag tíocht ón soitheach a bhuail sé, agus bhí a fhios aige go maith gur rud crua a bhí ann, níos cruaichte ná cloch, agus go raibh seans go mb’fhéidir gur phota a bhí ann, agus thosaigh sé ag coinneáil air ag cartadh, é féin agus an bhean, agus nocht siad an pota agus thóg siad aníos é. Bhí clár ar an bpota, agus bhí uimhreacha agus scríbhinn ar chlár an phota, agus thug sé isteach é ar an teallach. Dhoirt...chuir siad brat faoi, agus chaith...dhoirt siad amach na gineocha buí a bhí sa bpota óir, agus bhí a dhóthain go deo aríst ar feadh a shaoil ag Tomás Buí Úraid agus aige n-a bhean an fhaid is a mhair siad. Nuair a bhí sin déanta acu agus a mhair siad go fada ina dhiaidh sin, nó go bhfuaireadar bás agus nach raibh duine ar bith in Úraid ina chónaí amuigh sna sléibhte, ní raibh deoraí ina chónaí thart timpeall orthu, ach bhí an t-ór i gcónaí acu, agus iad go maith sa saol: caoirigh agus beithígh ar chnoc agus ar shliabh, agus rath an tsaoil ag imeacht leo, agus an t-ádh agus an t-amhantar a ritheadh leis an mbeirt acu.

Cailleadh iad. Na céadta bliain ina dhiaidh sin, tháinig scoláire bocht thart sa gceantar, agus bhí sé ag múineadh scoil chois cloidhe, agus nuair a bhí sé...nuair a bhí sé ag tarraingt ar an seanteachaín, ar an seanbhalla, shéid múr sneachta as gaoth aniar aduaidh air, agus chuaigh sé ar fáfall isteach faoin mballa nó gur lig sé thairis an múr báistí; agus nuair...rinn sé iontas den seanbhalla, a leithéide a bheith ann, agus gan aon chónaí ann leis na céadta bliain roimhe sin, agus thosaigh sé ag breathnú ina thimpeall, agus chonaic sé an clár ar an tinteán sa teallach in íochtar an bhalla, sa gclúid, agus rug sé air, agus bhí sé salach, an clár, lán le súiche agus le dúchan agus le chuile shórt, agus chonaic sé na litreacha agus an scríbhinn ar an gclár, agus ní raibh a fhios aige ó Dhia céard a bhí ann, ná níorbh fhéidir é a dhéanamh amach. Thug sé leis abhaile é, an scoláire bocht, agus thosaigh sé dhá ghlanadh, agus thóg sé a trí nó a ceathair de laethanta air an clár a ghlanadh ceart, agus bhí a fhios aige faoi dheireadh na huimhreacha agus na focail Laidne a bhí scríobhta ar chlár an phota, agus séard a bhí scríobhta air i Laidin nach ba sonaí an taobh sin den chrann ná an taobh eile; agus d’imigh sé, agus níor chónaigh sé go ndeachaigh sé go hÚraid aríst, ach thug sé deis leis, agus chuaigh sé ag cartadh ar an taobh eile den chrann, agus bhí sé ag cartadh ar feadh trí oíche agus trí lá, roimh éirí gréine, agus d’éirigh leis an darna pota óir a fháil ar an taobh eile. Nuair a bhí sé sin faighte aige, thug sé leis é, ach shul d’fhág sé leis é chlúdaigh sé an dá pholl. Bhí an chéad pholl fágtha gan clúdú ag Tomás Buí, ach chlúdaigh seisean an dá pholl, agus réitigh sé le íochtar an chrainn; agus tháinig sé abhaile agus an pota óir aige nach mbeadh aige go deo marach go raibh sé in ann Laidin a léamh; agus sin é an chaoi ar críochnaíodh Tomás Buí Úraid. Bhí a dhóthain ag an scoláire bocht an dá lá is a mhair sé aríst, rud nach raibh aige ariamh roimhe sin; agus bhí a dhóthain ag Tomás Buí Úraid as a gcéad phota a fuair sé faoi bhun an chrainn sin na céadta bliain roimhe sin, agus sin é deireadh an scéil.

Long, long ago there was a man called Tomás Buí who lived out west in Oorid, and the man was never known by any other name but Tomás Buí Úraid. It’s out there near the Maam Valley, somewhere north of Recess, and everyone in the west of Ireland has always heard about Tomás Buí Úraid. It happened that the poor man dreamed three nights in a row that if he went down to the Yellow Bridge of Limerick and spent a day or two or three days down there he’d have a revelation there, or he’d be told where he would find a pot of gold, and a pot of gold is what Tomás Buí Úraid was dreaming about at home, that if he went to the Yellow Bridge of Limerick he’d find a pot of gold at the corner of the bridge, down under the second cornerstone in the arch of the bridge, that if he searched he’d find a pot of gold there. He told his wife about it in the morning, on each of those three days, and he said he’d try going south to Limerick, and he left the next morning at sunrise, on his way to the Yellow Bridge of Limerick to look for the pot of gold. He spent three days down there walking back and forth across the bridge, and on the first day he noticed the stone, but he didn’t want to move it, or try it. On the second day he gave it better consideration, as he was looking at the third stone, and each of the two mornings an old man came from the west across the bridge, driving a herd of cows over the bridge, and he went back each evening, herding them home again. On the third day, likewise, and they exchanged not a word of greeting in the course of three days, until the third day, and the old man who was driving the cows said, "Say, do you mind if I ask you where you’re from?"

"No, I don’t mind," said Tomás Buí. "I’ve come from the west, from Oorid, at the western end of Connemara, where I dreamed for three nights that if I came to the Yellow Bridge of Limerick I’d find a pot of gold, and that’s what brought me here!"

"Oh," said the Limerick man, "that’s nothing but nonsense! - and it’s useless for you to search around here, because I dreamed years ago that, if I went west to Oorid, the place you’re talking about, if I went west and did some digging under the little thorn bush that grows at the end of the house of Tomás Buí Úraid, I’d find a pot of gold there; and I didn’t believe it, because I thought that, whatever in the world I might find, there wouldn’t be a chance in the world that I’d find a pot of gold!"

"Well, it just may be," said Tomás Buí Úraid, "and indeed it’s likely, that I’d better be moving along and heading back home."

He went back westward to his home, and his wife welcomed him when he got home. "Now," he said to his wife, "I haven’t found anything yet, but I got some great encouragement. An old man told me, in the middle of the bridge, down in Limerick, that he always, that he himself dreamed many years ago, for three nights, he dreamed each night that, if he went west all the way to the house of Tomás Buí Úraid, he’d find a pot of gold by the thorn bush growing in the yard at the end of the house, at the house of Tomás Buí Úraid."

On a fine moonlit night the two of them went outside, and each of them took a pick and a spade, and they began digging, and they kept digging and digging all night, until dawn, and they didn’t see anything, but they left it like that. When night came again, they began to dig and dig and dig, and soon he heard a clinking sound coming from the end of his spade, and it sounded to him like a shell, and with the next jab he knew it was not a shell, because it was a sweeter, more musical sound that came from the vessel that he struck, and he knew for certain that it was something hard, harder than stone, and that there was a chance that it might be a pot, and he began to dig further, he and his wife, and they uncovered the pot and lifted it up. There was a lid on the pot, and there were numbers and writing on the lid of the pot, and he took it inside and put it on the hearth. They put a cloak under it, and they poured out the yellow guineas that were in the pot of gold, and Tomás Buí Úraid and his wife had plenty for the rest of their lives, as long as they lived. When they had done that and lived long after that, until they died and there was no one left living in Oorid, out in the mountains, there wasn’t a soul living around them, but they still had the gold, and they were well off, with sheep and cows on the hill and on the mountain, living in prosperity, with luck and good fortune accompanying them.

They passed away. Hundreds of years later, a poor scholar came around to their district, and he was teaching at a hedge-school, and when he was approaching the little old house, the old ruin, a snowstorm blew in upon him from the northwest, and he took shelter behind the wall and waited out the downpour, and he wondered about the old ruin, that such a thing was there, where no one had lived in hundreds of years, and he began to look around him, and he saw the lid on the hearth of the fireplace at the bottom of the wall, in the corner, and he picked it up, and it was dirty, the lid, full of soot and black filth and everything, and he saw the letters and the writing on the lid, and he had no idea under heaven what it was, nor could he make it out. He took it home with him, the poor scholar, and he began to clean it, and it took him three or four days to clean the lid thoroughly, and at last he knew what the numbers and the Latin words were that were written on the pot lid, and what was written on it, in Latin, was that that side of the tree was not any luckier than the other side; and he went off, and he didn’t stop anywhere until he got back to Oorid, and he’d brought some tools with him, and he dug for three nights and three days, before sunrise, and he succeeded in finding the second pot of gold on the other side. When he had found that, he took it with him, but before he left with it he filled the two holes. Tomás Buí had left the first hole without filling it in, but this fellow filled both holes, and leveled the ground around the base of the tree; and he returned home with the pot of gold, which he never would have gotten if he hadn’t known how to read Latin; and that’s how Tomás Buí Úraid ended up. The scholar, who had always been poor, had plenty for all the rest of his life, and Tomás Buí Úraid had plenty from the first pot, which he had found under that tree hundreds of years earlier, and that’s the end of the story.

http://www.cic.ie

Indreabhán, Co. na Gaillimhe, Éire / Inverin, Co. Galway, Ireland

< Home

Next >