Irish (A)wake

 

Editors note:

Just in time for Halloween we have a sweet treat for readers. A guest author with a scary story about graveyard shenanigans and Irish ghosts.

By Sara Aldworth

 Come here to me and I’ll tell you the story of Mrs. Margorie McCall.

In 1695, Margorie got a bad dose of it. Sadly she died and was buried in the Shankhill cemetery.

Not long after, a couple of wankers showed up in search of some treasure. They dug up Margorie and discovered a valuable ring on her finger. Unable to slide it off, they decided to remove her finger entirely. As they cut into her, Margorie woke up. Well Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Was it a miraculous resurrection? The hooligans didn’t stick around to find out.

Finding herself awake in a burial plot, Margorie dusted herself off and legged it home.

Soon enough, her family heard a knock on the door. Her husband said, “If your mam wasn’t dead, I could swear that was her knock.” Upon opening the door and finding his newly undead wife, his hair went white with shock.

It was a grand reunion though. Given a second chance at life, Margorie snogged her fella and went on to have another wee one before her final, actual death and burial.

Is the story of Margorie McCall true? Nah, it’s actually twice-buried blarney. 

A search on this story reveals several variations in the retelling. And none have the kind of documentation that would hold up to a historian’s scrutiny. Additionally, would you believe anyone even remotely alive would remain unconscious during an Irish wake? And making another baby with that eejit? Not bloody likely.

Interestingly though, Margorie’s story isn’t all that special. The lady and the ring is an archetype, common in much of European folklore. Furthermore, stories about being buried alive can be found across the centuries and in many cultures. So while Margorie almost certainly only lived and died once, you can be sure the Irish will be slagging ya on this ghost story for donkey’s years.

Krampus Claus is Coming to Town

By Grant Davies

 On this day, December 6th eve, every year,  Krampus Claus is coming to a town near yours. So you better watch out.

Or as the song has it:

"You better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout
I'm telling you why

Krampus Claus is coming to town."

Okay, there is no guy called that. I gave Krampus a last name because I wanted to. I write this nonsense, so I can do as I please.

Anyway, Krampus is a real make believe guy. As real as Santa Claus anyway. And he even has a day (okay, a night) named for him. It's called Krampusnacht.  For those of you who failed German class in high school, that translates to Krampus Night.

That's the night this half-goat, half-demon sneaks into town and beats children to a pulp if he determines they have been bad. Or not good, I guess.  Or if they cry or pout. He also seems to lick their head and clean the wax from their ears with his fingers, according to the picture below. And he does this while in chains, so he's pretty competent.

I'll take the beating, thank you.  But that's just me.

What all this tells us is that if the worst thing that happens to you is that you find coal in your stocking or don't get that new I-Phone you have been wanting, just count yourself lucky.

One other thing, I'm pretty sure that if you don't live in Europe somewhere, this doesn't apply to you.

Happy holidays.


PS

We have a new winner of the coveted "15 Seconds of Fame Award." 

It's Matthew Latourette, who gave me the idea to write this post.  He recently was mentioned in the Chicago Tribune by name as well, so he's on a roll. Congrats!
Okay, your time is up.

Running Out of Beer

By Art Cashin

On this day in 1620, as we all recall from sixth grade, the Pilgrim Fathers...thankful for having safely reached their destination...and to assure no limits on their new-found freedom...gathered aboard the Mayflower to draft and sign - The Mayflower Compact.

And you probably remember your version of Sister Anesthesia telling you that was the beginning of democracy in America.

Well maybe you recall it that way because you were spending too much time trying to figure out why Mary Agnes Doyle was starting to look different than she did in fifth grade. We're sure the good Sister told you the real story. (No....not about Mary Agnes!) Sister certainly related how the Pilgrims in fact were nowhere near their destination. (Records indicate they were destined for "Northern Virginia" which according to sea charts probably was somewhere between present day Perth Amboy, N.J. and Bayonne.

If they had found their original spot....today we might speak of the thrifty reverent Pilgrims of Wall Street. They only pulled in at Massachusetts because they had run low on beer (or as they wrote in the log "beere"....oops....you heard that already).

That brings us back to the "Mayflower Compact." It seems that a significant portion of folks on the Mayflower were "strangers" - not members of the Pilgrim sect but folks who signed on in hope of land and success in the new world. They had all signed agreements to abide by the Pilgrim Fathers in this new colony of the "Virginia Company."

So, when the Pilgrim Fathers suggested putting a party ashore, "the strangers", out of beer and noting a distinct chill in the air remarked that since this place was outside the Virginia Company Grant - once ashore they were free to do as they pleased. (Now lest ye think these "strangers" a rowdy group - Verily - I point out thou mayest have heard of a few - mayhap one Miles Standish or a certain carpenter, John Alden.)

So - to keep these "strangers" from demanding freedom once they went ashore, the Pilgrims devised the Mayflower Compact - which after a quick headcount went for "majority rule." Its purpose clearly was to set a range limit on freedom of choice.

The Pilgrims spent the next 30 days, foraging, shooting crows, scaring Native Americans and their dogs (Canis Americus) and finding no beer. Finally, they landed around Plymouth and might have all died in a few months until they bumped into an Indian, named Squanto, who mysteriously spoke English (with a Portuguese accent no less) but that's a story for another day.

To mark the day, drop anchor at a place called Rocky's and have a "Mull Wine" or "clove laced hot cider." But remember what the Cheshire Cat told Alice - "If you don't know where you want to get to....it doesn't matter which way you go."

Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

The Story of St. Patrick - Cashin's Version

Editor's note:

It seems there at least as many versions of the story of Saint Patrick as there are story tellers. My story can be found here. Art's story appears below. I hope you enjoy both but please don't compare mine to his because I'm sure to lose in that comparison. If you wait to read mine until you have consumed several shots of Jamesons it will have a better chance.
Grant Davies




By Art Cashin

On this day in the year of our Lord 389, there lived a foin broth of a lad who was.... dependin' on the boyographer ye read: a Spanish peasant, a French herdschild, a Celt from Bannavem or a Gael from Dumbarton, Scotland. At any rate, at age 16 this lad was kidnapped by pirates and sold to one of the only 2500 Irish kings that were reigning at the time.

He served this King as a swineherd mucking out stys and such. For six years he labored in slavery, poorly fed; often beaten; surrounded by people in strange dress who spoke a language he couldn't understand. Then he discovered that six years of such treatment was equivalent to a parochial school education. So he became a Catholic and escaped to France to become a monk.

Upon becomin' a bishop he mistakenly perceived the French to be a bunch of snail eatin', grape juice drinkin', truffle huntin' toads. He longed for the emerald green fields of God's own land and the special amber holy water found there. He returned to Ireland, which was still under the influence of a
group of heathen English druids and a few nocturnal banshees. Nonetheless, he set about convertin' and baptizin'.

Unfortunately, Patrick was not an MBA and did not know the law of diminishin' returns. So he managed to baptize over 120,000 people, built over 300 churches, chased the snakes out of Ireland, developed the shamrock and established a factory to make pennants carryin’ the slogan "Go Notre
Dame".

To celebrate the life of this fabulous man, sing ye some sad songs, talk ye merrily of battles and take ye a wee nip of somethin' till ye might be seein' da little people.

A Visit From Clem

By Art Cashin

On this day in 1823, a New York publisher issued a poem by a professor of Oriental and Greek literature.

Now, if that wasn't enough to scare most people off, the guy was also a clergyman. Several people who knew poetry told the publisher it was a terrible waste of paper and ink. Such a little trifle as Clem's poem wouldn't be remembered days later let alone years later.

But this flimsy verse which began "Twas the Night Before Christmas...." tended to hang on. And, after its author, Clement Clark Moore, died it was illustrated with drawings by Thomas Nast. Now it really took off. Not only did we know the legend of Santa, now we knew what he looked like.

To celebrate the birth of a classic, have an eggnog or two. Tell the red-faced guy, with a beard, on the next stool he can make extra Christmas money betting people they don't know the real name of the poem. ("A visit from St. Nicholas".)


Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Everything You Thought You Knew About Chris

By Art Cashin

On this day in 1492, Christopher Columbus landed at the Bahamas, believing that he had landed in the islands off Japan. And so history is indebted to a man with a flawed theory who set out on a venture where he didn't know  where he was going, suffered sharp losses on the way and didn't know
where he was when he got there. And he did it all on borrowed money. But if Columbus had things confused, folklore has really muddled what happened.

Back in August of 1492 Columbus had set sail from the port of "Palos de Frontera" on the west coast of Spain with a squadron of three ships to seek the riches of the East.

Error #1 - Columbus headed for a new land. (Actually, he thought he was sailing to China or Japan.)

Error #2 - he was a mighty sailor. (In two earlier launches some of the ships he selected leaked so badly they had to rush back to port and were replaced.)

Anyway, as we all know, the advisors to Ferdinand and Isabella warned their collective royalness that Columbus would sail off the edge of the earth. That's error #3 - actually, they thought Columbus had underestimated the size of the globe and thus would run out of fresh water before he could reach China. Perversely, today's computers indicate the negative advisors were very accurate while Columbus was off by many thousands of miles. Luckily, the unexpected "New World" and its fresh water stood in the way.

So! You say - "So what! Mr. Smarty Pants!" Even if he was not who he seemed to be, nor was much of a sailor, landed in the wrong place and miscalculated much of the way - the great drama was that he did it - and on borrowed money at that. (Op. Cit. Queen's necklace fable.)

Well, despite what your version of Sister Herman Joseph told you that's error #4 - the Queen never hit the hock shop with the jewels. What had really delayed the trip for nine month's was greed - Columbus'. In his employment contract he demanded: 10% of whatever he found, a Knighthood, an
Admiral's title and a Viceroy's title (both to be hereditary) and 10% of the profits on all naval imports thereafter.

When F and I turned him down, he had tried for the same deal at various palaces around Europe. Finally, an advisor convinced Isabella that actuarially Columbus had a good shot of dying on this or some subsequent voyages, so the Queen signed the deal.

To celebrate make note of some valuable discovery you've recently made. Then drop a hefty employment contract on the boss's desk - but don't insist on an Admiralcy - you'll probably look greedy.

Happy Samhain

Image = Lightgrid

By Art Cashin

On this day in (approx.) 823 B.C., the most inventive, charming and clever people ever to grace God's green earth came up with yet another ingenious idea.

They were, of course, the Irish (at this time A/K/A the Celts). Being bright they did not labor upon the obvious. So they let somebody else invent fire, the wheel, iron, astronomy, writing, calendars, etc. These they figured they could copy - - and boy did they. These clever folks....well.....they tended to save their strength for what was really important.

By this stratagem, even 1000 years earlier, while pagan types were grappling with such mediocrity as pyramids, irrigation and geometry, the Celts had learned to distill grain. This miracle medicinal cure (which would maintain mankind for over 3000 years) they called Usquebah. The amazed and very
indebted rest of the world mistranslated the name as "whiskey".

So for a millennia these wise and whiskey-witty folk enjoyed good health and good fellowship. Then as this particular day approached (circa 823 B.C.), gender problems arose. The women began expecting the men to hang out close to the cave as the evening came earlier each fall. If civilization were to progress, this would never do!

So the Celtic elders came up with the second great invention. They called it "Samhain" or end of summer. They explained to the women that as the season changed, ghosts, goblins and evil spirits came forth to threaten all humans. In order to protect the women and children, the men folk selflessly would have to put on old clothes, take some jugs of the magic Usquebah (possible snake bite you know) and go into the hills and light fires.

For nearly 1500 years the tradition held. Then came the good St. Patrick who was wise enough to keep the Usquebah but drove out the snakes. Conveniently, his Christian teaching did say that November 1st was the Feast of All Saints (or "All Hallows"). So it only seemed logical that if the saints were coming out, the devils would have one last fling. So, snakes or not, we would
still need those reliable old clothes, bonfires and protective booze on the eve of "All Hallows" or Hallow's Evening or Halloween.

To celebrate stop by "The Bog on the Moor" and fortify yourself against snakebite, but quit before ye begin to see the little people. For to go beyond, will surround ye with all kinds of devilment like - banshees and ghoulies and mothers-in-law.


Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Rockefeller Christmas Tree - 1931

image = allposters.com

By Art Cashin

On this day (+3) in 1931, America was spiraling into the depths of the Depression. Thousands of banks had closed and there was a national panic that more closings might be imminent. And large corporations announced huge layoff programs, stunning many who thought they were safe. Those who had a job were grateful just to be employed.

Among those were a group of construction workers in New York City. As they stood amidst the rubble of demolished buildings in midtown Manhattan, they talked of how lucky they were that some rich guy had hired them for a new but risky development. And, since it was near Christmas, they decided to celebrate the fact that they had a job.

They got a Christmas tree from a guy in a lot on the corner who apparently had discovered that folks with apartments suitable for 18 foot trees were not too free with the green pictures of dead presidents in 1931. So the workers stood the big tree up in the rubble and decorated it with tin cans and other items on the lot.

A photographer saw it as a perfect symbol of 1931. It caught on immediately and each Christmas as the project proceeded a new tree was put up. And even after the project (Rockefeller Center) was completed, management put up a new (and much bigger) tree each year.


Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Sinte Klaus is Coming to Town

Image = Abbey-Roads

By Art Cashin

On this day (+1) in about 705 A.D., the Nordic tribes of Europe, recently converted to Christianity, began to adopt a theologically un-definable affection to an Archbishop who had existed three centuries before in an area east of Greece.  Legend says he was as wise as they come.  And certainly he was devout. But was that enough to make him a big hit?

He did have the added benefits of being the designated patron saint of scholars (ain't we all); merchants (a popular Nordic pastime); sailors (the other Viking pastime) and children.  He had gained the latter role through the legend that he had saved three dowry-less young girls by dropping jewels into their home through an open window.

So, over the next thousand years, these Nordic tribes would recall his love of children and his generosity by giving gifts to their children and the poor on Saint Nicholas’s feast day - December 6th.  When the Dutch came to America, they brought their gift giving "Sinte Klaus" with them.  America moved the gift giving day to Christmas and mispronounced his name to Santa Claus.

Of course by this time Nordic and American winters had made open windows rather impractical in December.  So the chimney  became the logical point of entry.  And since cold floors tended to make you reach for your stockings (hung to dry by the fire) they became the logical place to hide the jewels (gifts).

To celebrate the feast of good old St. Nick go to the Rooftop Inn and sip enough well-laced eggnog to make your nose look like Rudolph's.  But don't get out of line or they'll put coal in your stocking.



Many thanks to Mr. Cashin and UBS Financial Services who graciously allow his historical musings to be republished on this site. To enjoy more of Art's posts simply click on "Cashin's Comments" in the label section on the sidebar.

Something New at Cheeky History

We apologize for the lack of new stories here for the last week. A few are in the process of being written and lots of new sources for fresh stories are being researched. But the main reason is that we have been working on a new feature for the site.

It's the new Cheeky Gift Shop! We wanted to roll it out before the holiday season slipped away and you readers lost a chance to get that cool little gift for someone on your list without spending a bunch of your hard earned dough.

We are offering some coffee mugs and other drinking vessels with our fun little Cheeky History picture on them. They are great for stocking stuffers and grab bag gifts. They are easy to order and easy on the gift budget. 

So check them out on the tab above so you or someone on your list can sip some coffee or one of your other favorite beverages while reading our cool little stories every day. 

There's even a beer stein if you do your reading in the evening. That way you can be as dizzy while reading our stuff as we are while writing it.

Sporadic Posting

The editor of this site will be taking a short research sabbatical. Hopefully we can find lots of interesting new stories to share with you on our return to regular publication.




Other topics of research will be:

• The relative differences in various types and brands of beer and ale.
• How many golf balls need to be struck on the practice range in order to produce lower scores.
• How many fish can swim by in absolute safety while a fisherman sitting in the boat just above them  drinks himself seriously stupid.
• What makes a normal restaurant into a "Supper Club" when it does business anywhere north of Madison, Wisconsin. 

In the mean time, please enjoy the usual terrific posts by Art Cashin which unfortunately will only be published as intermittent internet access allows. Or use the archives on the sidebar to catch up on stories you may have missed.

We'll be back soon, so please don't lose interest. If you sign up to receive updates by email or in a reader you'll be sure to know when publication returns to a more regular schedule.

Thanks for supporting Cheeky History!  

Paddy O'Green - The Guy Was a Saint

Image taken from a video at History.com

By Grant Davies

On this day in 461 A.D., the former slave of an obscure king died in the town of Saul, Ireland.

This particular slave was a Roman citizen who was born in Britain. He was snatched up at the age of sixteen from the estate of his wealthy family by people who have been variously described as "Irish marauders," pirates, or raiders, and was carted off to Ireland where he was sold to the above guy I have decided to call "King O'Bscure I."

He was put to work as a swineherd and probably did a fine job at that dirty task until he decided to sneak away six years later. He fled to France, had a dream about converting all the heathens back in Ireland to Christianity, became a Catholic monk, and later returned to his native land to be reunited with his family (not necessarily in that order). Anyway, he followed his dream and ended up back in Ireland as a missionary where he successfully converted the people until he almost ran out of people to convert.

Later, some people said he drove all of the snakes out of the country (for reasons unknown) and did a lot of other fantastical things, and he probably even did some of them. But like the above story, nobody knows for sure how much is true and how much was concocted while having "one too many" in celebration of the stories they were making up.  It seems there are as many stories as there are storytellers. But enough of it is true that this former slave and missionary is beloved by Christians and others to this very day.

His name was Patrick and they made him a saint, named a parade after him, and used him as an excuse to engage in general revelry while pretending to be Irish even if they weren't. I've done it myself; it's tons of fun.

In the early days of the celebration, most Irish people would go to church and pray before returning home to have a feast in his memory. Today, most people just skip the prayer and get right to the corned beef and cabbage.

But I suggest they return to the earlier custom because there is a lady in Massachusetts who is in need of prayer. She's an elementary school principal who, along with her politically correct friends, has decided to rename St. Patrick's Day as "O'Green Day" in order to teach children to avoid any religious connection to this popular holiday. It seems she also wants the celebration to be "inclusive" even though everyone who wants to be included has already included themselves.

You see, she needs a new job even though she doesn't know it. I suggest we pray for her immediate transfer to a job she might handle better, perhaps at Walmart, as a greeter.

Valentines Day

By Grant Davies

On this day in the year 278 A.D. (give or take a few years) the head gang-banger of a rather large street gang called the "Roman Empire" (usually just called the Romans for short) was having a bad day and decided to take it out on one of the other gang members. His street name was "Claudius the Cruel" but the formal name on his chariot licence read- Emperor Claudius II.

It seems that ole Claude was hacked off because he couldn't get enough soldiers to fight the turf wars because they were hangin' with their baby mommas too much and had even decided to (perish the the thought) get married. That didn't bode well for the health of the 'hood so he decided to make a rule that no one could get married  or even "hook up" anymore.

One wise guy though, a certain homie called "Val" (his given name was Valentine), was looking for some street cred and decided to hook people up on his own time, in secret, in his own crib.

So after Claude found out he called one of his lieutenants, a dude named the "Prefect of Rome" and had him order a hit on Val. The Prefect told the other homies to beat Val with clubs and then cut his head off. (Even back then, a lot of the same stuff that happens in Mexico nowadays was fashionable.) Rumor has it that Val asked if he could have the beatin' after the beheading, but no word on whether he got that last wish.

The hit took place, Val's spirit joined up with a heavenly group called the Saints, and that's why we all give each other heart shaped objects and chocolate that are roughly the same shape as the picture of Claudius's head shown above.

1651 years later, a different gangster named Al (street name Scar-face) had a bunch of other homies machine gunned to death to commemorate the occasion. But at least he didn't have their heads cut off because their brains were already splattered on a garage wall on the north side of Chicago.

Have a chocolate.