"Is the sea-serpent's rib still over the gateway to Michael Mac Gabhann's house at Cashel near Gortahork in County Donegal?" Everyone who went to the Ulster College there in the summers to polish up their Irish came to see it out - that was a long time ago. And some were privileged to lodge with Mici and his family during their studies. That odd question came instantly to mind on finding another copy of Mici's splendid book, translated into English, with grace by Valentin Iremonger as The Hard Road to Klondike.
His story, originally published and republished was under the title Rotha Mor an tSaoil, and won the annual award of the Irish Book Club in 1958. How it came into being is a story, too. Sean O hEochaidh, working for the Folklore Commission in the area, married Micky's daughter Anna and went to live with the family. Around the fire at night Mickey would go over his life's experiences which covered a lot of ground - working in Scotland, working in America, and above, all taking part with success in the Klondike gold rush.
All this was recorded by Sean for the archives. But then Prionsias O'Conluain took some extracts for a programme on Radio Eireann, later shaped the whole into the book, working with Sean, until Rotha Mor an tSaoil was in being. This can still be bought. It went through edition after edition, out perhaps Valentin Dremonger's translation could be reprinted. It's a wonderfully lively story. Mickey died on November 29th, 1948, never knowing that he was leaving his monument behind him, writes Sean. And he quotes: "The pen's trace remains though the hand that held it dies.
A friend who stayed in the Mac Gabhann house while attending the college, remembers Mickey as a man of great quality, of distinction. He loved the language. He told of Irishmen working in the mills in Pennsylvania, Irish speakers, using English, while the Poles, who were there in good number too, always used their own language among themselves. He bought the place for one thousand pounds in or about 1901 or 1902. The seaserpent was washed up on nearby Magheraroarty strand. People said it was swallowing a boat that killed it. A wonderful tale of realism and endurance with the odd fancy. And an awful lot of hard knocks. The story of a fine man well recorded.
Correction: The Stags of Broadhaven, not the Stages are what you see going westward from the Ceide Centre. They, too, are pyramidal.