Kerry Cowboy: ‘cad a dhéanfaimid feasta gan The Traitors?’

Fliuch, tais, fuar ach go tobann gan a bheith fuar arís. Aimsir shlaghdánach cheart atá linn le cúpla seachtain anuas. Is beag duine nach gcloisim ag dul timpeall ag sraotharnaigh nó ag casachtach, ach an rud is mó atá ag déanamh tinnis dóibh le cúpla seachtain anuas…cad a dhéanfaimid feasta gan The Traitors?

Is fada an lá ó bheir clár teilifíse ar aird mhuintir na hÉireann mar a dhein ‘The Traitors’. Bhraitheas an saol ‘s a mháthair ag caint air na haon seachtain. ‘Cé an chéad duine eile a chaillfear?’, ‘An mbéarfaidh Oyin ar dhuine acu anocht?’ ‘Ó is breá liom Paudie!’

Bhí na héinne idir naoi agus nócha naoi ag faire ‘s ag caint air agus caithfidh mé a rá gur bhaineasa féin ana-thaitneamh as an gclár. Ní bheidh cumha ormsa ina ndiaidh áfach. Ó ní bheidh aon easpa siamsaíochta ag cur as domsa ná é, mar gur aimsigh Daid ionadaithe dúinn age baile agus is dóigh liom go bhfuil i bhfad Éireann níos mó ‘Traitors’ ná ‘Faithfuls’ ina measc.

Maidin Shathairn, do chuireas orm ‘an cóta mór’ don gcéad uair ó mhí an Mhárta. Cóta oibre laithbhuí é seo, breac le smáil íle agus eile. An t-éadach liathbhuí chomh tougháltha le táthfhéileann ach é i ndiaidh a bheith sractha agus cneasaithe agus sractha arís. Laethanta crua feiscthe, ach d’iompar an té a chaith ar a ghuaillí tríd é - nó arbh é a mhalairt a bhí ann? ‘Parka’ is dócha a ghlaofá air ach ‘an cóta mór’ inár dtigse.

Thabharfainn aghaidh ar an Antartach, nós Tom Crean, agus an cóta san orm, n’fhéadfá fuacht a bhraithstint ann

Ní foláir ná go bhfuil an cóta san níos sine ná mé féin, níl aon chuimhne agam ar gan é bheith ann. Tá sé trom, ní bheadh aon ghá agat le giom agus tú ag siúl na ngort leis an gcóta san ort. Ní hamháin go bhfuil meáchan ann féin ach dá raghfá tríd na pócaí gan chomhaireamh, d’aimseófá bóltaí, scriúnna, scian nó dhó, spólaibh de shreang na mburlaí agus cúpla bonn airgid (ach ní mórán). Thabharfainn aghaidh ar an Antartach, nós Tom Crean, agus an cóta san orm, n’fhéadfá fuacht a bhraithstint ann. ‘Sé mo rogha é i gcónaí é don gcúram a bhí romham.

Gach aon bhliain, mar a mbeadh Saintí ann, tagann Daid abhaile le hos cionn 150 bronntanas dúinn: uain shléibhe. Ní bhíonn aon cheiliúradh age baile ar theacht na ndiabhal mbocht ach fiafraí ‘s pléadáil ‘Cheapas go rabhamar ag éirí astu i mbliana?!’ ‘Nárbh leor seachtó acu?’. Dhera, níl aon olcas iontu i ndáiríribh, níl ann ach go bhfuilimid lotaithe ag sibhialtacht na mbó déiríochta. Meabhraítear dom gach aon bhliain an meas atá tuillte ag feirmeoirí caorach.

Ní bhíonn poll sa chlaí nach n-aimseoidís ach iad seasta in aon ghort ach an ceann ceart, ag cogaint círe ‘s ag stánadh ort go magúil ort. ‘Traitors’ amach ‘s amach… Is minic san iarracht ar éalú go mbíonn siad ceangailte sna sceacha. Sin é an uair go lonraíonn mo sheanchóta dílis, am’ chosaint ó dhris ‘s adharc. Níl deireadh leis an láimhseáil a bhíonn leo. Dósáil, instealltaí, footbaths. Ba dheas liom féin footbath uair éigin!

Ach cuma san ar fad, cuma gaoth nó ainnise, istigh sa ghort ceart nó áit na gcomharsan (mo leithscéal roimh ré a chomharsana aoibhne atá ag léamh), pé rud a chaitheann na huain inár dtreo. ‘Sé an cóta mór a behdih ‘faithful’ dom.

Wet, damp, cold but suddenly not cold again. We’ve had real cold and flu weather these past few weeks. There are few around that aren’t sneezing or coughing, but the thing that’s really been troubling them these past few weeks…what will we do now without The Traitors?

It’s a long time since a TV programme has captured the attention of the Irish public the way The Traitors did. I felt like the world and its mother were talking about it every week. ‘Who’ll be next to go?’ ‘Will Oyin catch one of them tonight?’ ‘Oh, I love Paudie!’

Everyone from nine to 90 was watching and talking about it, and I must say I thoroughly enjoyed the show myself. I won’t be pining for it, though. Oh no, there’ll be no shortage of entertainment in my life, because Dad has found substitutes for us at home – mountain lambs. And I think there’s far more Traitors than Faithfuls among them.

So there I was on Saturday morning, I put on ‘the big coat’ for the first time since March. It’s a khaki workcoat, dotted with oil and other stains. The fabric is as tough as táthfhéileann, though it’s been torn and stitched and torn again. It’s seen hard days, but whoever wore it on their shoulders carried it through them – or was it the other way round? A ‘parka’ I suppose you’d call it, but in our house it’s just ‘the big coat’.

I’d take on Antarctica, like Tom Crean, with that coat, you couldn’t feel the cold. It’s always my choice for the job that lay ahead

That coat must be older than me, I’ve no memory of it not being around. It’s heavy, you wouldn’t need a gym walking the fields with that coat on. Not only does it weigh a bit itself, but if you went rooting through the countless pockets you’d find screws, maybe a knife or two, spools of baling twine and a few coins (though not many). I’d take on Antarctica, like Tom Crean, with that coat, you couldn’t feel the cold. It’s always my choice for the job that lay ahead.

Because every year, as if he were Santy himself, Dad comes home with over 150 presents for us – those mountain lambs. There’s no celebration in our house at the arrival of the poor devils, only the pleading: ‘I thought we were giving them up this year?’ ‘Wouldn’t 70 be plenty?’

Yerra, there’s no real badness in them, it’s just that we’re spoilt by the civilised ways of the dairy cow. I’m reminded every year of the respect sheep farmers deserve.

There isn’t a hole in a fence they wouldn’t find, standing proud in any field but the right one, chewing cud and staring at you with mockery. Traitors through and through. Often enough in the escape attempt, they end up tangled in the briars. And that’s when my loyal old coat shines, protecting me from thorns and horns. There’s no end to the handling with them. Dosing, injections, footbaths. I wouldn’t mind a footbath myself!

But whether ‘tis wind and rain, in our own field or in the neighbours’ (my apologies in advance to our lovely neighbours), whatever the lambs throw our way, ‘the big coat’ will forever be faithful to me.