Grá ~ Love

Accessing the most intimate human relationships via the language.

One of the things I think I cite most often as my biggest challenge as an adult Irish language learner in Ireland is finding opportunities to use the language.

I think this is undeniably the case in a country where the English language and Western Anglo-American urban cultural norms prevail; we rarely speak to strangers in any language, and to presume to do so in one other than the common lingua franca can seem like crossing a boundary without invitation.

Of course, there are many ways one could get around this. One of the extremely positive developments all over the country in recent years is the emergence of regular ciorcail chomhrá or Pop-Up Gaeltachts, practically everywhere. And I’ll have to confess a personal failing here that doesn’t help with my challenge, in that I’m utterly anti-social on this level.

To be honest, or in my defence, I say it is that I think I am am introverted, I like to speak to people one on one (or better still, be able to spend time with people one on one without either feeling the need to have to speak at all) and I actually like what most people state is one of their greatest fears, speaking in front of crowds of people, but small social groups of 3 to 5 people upwards, this is the sweetspot of Hell as far as I am concerned; drop me into a speed networking event and I’m breaking out the cyanide capsules.

I’ve done approximately a bazillion online Irish language classes since going back to learn the language, many during Covid when none other were available. To be honest, I loved (and love) the format, even when it isn’t the only show in town, as it makes the whole process so accessible and easy to incorporate into the rest of daily life, particularly when you live in a remote location.

I love the online classes, but the bit that fills me with utter dread: the breakout room. I get this little pop-up asking me to accept having been admitted to breakout room no. 3 and I wonder if I can just stay there in that liminal cyberspace until we can all go back to being anonymous in the virtual classroom rather than have to have awkward proto-conversations with fellow earthlings where no one knows who’s supposed to start or go next, or what on earth anyone is supposed to talk about, and no one’s in charge. No, no; not the breakout room 101.

But reflecting on it a little more recently, even this one-on-one relationship that is my spiritual social home is something I don’t have in the language. I have no close friends or family members who speak the language, nor indeed any regular acquaintances outside of the education system who do so. Now, this is not entirely true, as I do indeed have some family members who are not only speakers of the language but native speakers. But I have grown to know them over many decades as a monoglot English speaker, one who was actively condescending and glib about their language for many years. The problem is we have come to know one another very well as English speakers, and while now I can converse, halting, in Irish, and they will most generously indulge and encourage me, if we want to get into a discussion of anything sensitive or requiring nuance, or particularly banter and humour, we will almost always switch to English, as that’s where the magic can happen between us from a conversatuional point of view - there’s no denying that it’s hard work for both parties for anyone speaking to me as Gaeilge at present.

But aside from friendship - and of course you can always go out and make more friends, and you could start as Gaeilge, and it’s something I must certainly look in to getting around to - the one thing that I am deeply envious of having never experienced and do not think I am every likely to experience in my lifetime, unless at some stage I have grandchildren with whom I can speak exclusively in Irish, is the love of another human being through Irish. And here I do not mean just romantic love, but familial love, parent to child, grandchild to grandparent, the love that can be embodied by hugs and kisses and nourished by the milk of human kindness.

I feel a double regret here, as I had the opportunity. While my paternal Grandad McCarthy was physically closest to me at home, living in Clonakilty, and was and is my greatest hero, the warmest and closest relationship I had growing up, was I think with my Grandad Corkery. He lived slightly further away; going to Granny and Grandad Corkery’s always meant going on holiday, and you got to stay overnight. And Grandad McCarthy was the paterfamilias on the farm in Garralacka, he was always semi-involved in the business of the farm and never quite available to just be around. Grandad Corkery was properly retired, and time spent with him always felt like we were off on these fascinating adventures together. And of course, he loved the language and had come from the outskirts of a Gaeltacht area, and would often take us on drives from his home outside Cork city around the Muskerry Gaeltacht, but nothing about the language ever landed with me from him; we never spoke it together, not for any want of encouragement on his part.

And so it seems, this great fundamental engine of human connection, love, is something that is unavailable to me as Gaeilge, and that feels like a great shame.

But. Here’s the thing:

There’s something that enables us to experience things that we have not experienced ourselves directly, and can be as good as, if not, dare I say it, better than how we might be able to understand and express these things ourselves: it’s called art, and particularly in this context, literature.

We may not be able to rock up to the Gaeltacht and land into someone’s front room and expect them to share with us the most intimate workings of their lives, just because we happen to be our language journey, but we can do better, we can read stories about these intimacies, in the richest and purest native language. And we can go further, in this particular place, we can, at times, hear what is actually going on inside their heads.

And that beats a breakout room, all day, every day in my book!

P.S. This is Day 15 in a 21-Day series on The Irish Language and Its Role in Irish Identity; you can start at Day 1 here or read Day 16 here.