A Poitín Still and an Unexpected Friendship

I have always had a deep affection for Galway and its people. There is just something about the Galway countryside, coast and its inhabitants that seems to go deep into my nature. For the last seventeen years I have been visiting Galway City, but mainly Moycullen with my son Johnny. What started this connection? A poitín still no less.

A heritage project: Building a poitín still

You see, before Covid, my father Owen and I decided to try and build ourselves the prototype of a poitín still that we could show visitors who came to the cottage. Twas a heritage project. The history of poitín has always fascinated us.

My late Uncle Dan used to make it and added caraway seeds which I had never seen or tasted in poitín before. Dad fashioned a beautiful copper funnel out of an old boiler. Twas a little masterpiece.

Meeting James Connolly: A friendship begins

Then one day we got stuck on some finer details of construction. “I know a man that would know about that,” he said. “He used to work with me in the forestry in Galway in the sixties.” Twas that shy man that directed me to James Connolly, a strong, big, Irish-speaking Connemara man.

That first meeting would mark the start of a long friendship and a deep connection with the people of Moycullen, who welcomed myself and my son Johnny, then a curly-headed four-year-old, unconditionally into their lives. James had an easy way about him, a droll sense of humour and an ear for stories. “I made a poitín still alright,” he says, “I had it on display at the 1916 Commemoration in Athenry. But people were much more interested in this item here,” he said, pointing to a pyramid of twigs in his shed. 

“That first meeting would mark the start of a long friendship and a deep connection with the people of Moycullen.”

Discovering the cradle bird: A treasured gift

What is that? said I. “Some people call them cradle birds, others call them cribs. They are made of hazel rods. It was used for trapping birds, like thrushes and blackbirds, during the famine.” I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

“When I had it displayed at the Athenry Fair, a man in his eighties from Wexford approached me. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “Faith, tis a long time, since I saw one of those,” he said. “If you like, I can make you one Biddy?” said James. And he did. That handmade cradle bird is one of my most precious possessions in the cottage because it is synonymous with our rural past. 

A symbol of survival

In 1847, when Irish people were starving, living off a diet of corn-weeds, charlock (a type of wild mustard) and grass, I imagine the idea of a little birdin to feed your family would dominate your thoughts.

This was a desperate type of foraging, not a leisurely pursuit. There was nothing trendy about it. A bit of grain or a bright red berry was placed inside the cradle to attract the birdins. When the birdin saw the food, he perched on the bow and then the cradle fell down and he was caught. The cradle bird now sits above my yellow dresser in the cottage, a poignant reminder of how we once lived and how much I love Galway.