Jackie was her name. And in these hilly, hairy parts of Ireland she’s what people affectionately call an awful woman.

“Did you hear what Jackie said to Monsignor Treanor below at the Church?”
Or,
“Dad, ye’ll never guess what Jackie did today during the Science Test.”
And,
“Ye’ll never guess the antics of herself down at the handball alley.”

Then we’d hear a story of misjudged honesty or over zealous enthusiasm followed by the chorus,
“Ah God Jackie, she’s an awful woman.”

Naturally enough she wasn’t always an awful woman. Not at all. She was once an awful child. Awful, as a word to describe Jackie, has really stood the test of time. And by God, Jackie tested time. She tested patience. She tested her mother and her father and she tested the resolve of every responsible adult ever to brush shoulders with her. She tested every buck calf – dog – cat – jack of them.

Like, she’d be running last minute for the yellow bus, climbing up, hairbrush in one hand and books half hanging out of the schoolbag. And ye’d look out the back window as the bus drove off and there’d be the pages of a science project fluttering in the air like leaves in an autumn breeze. Ah now, the same Jackie gave us craic over the years. And sometimes to do one yarn justice ye have a tell it’s comrade, it’s matching pair. Like the one about Jackie’s wedding. And it’s comrade? The great barnbrack debacle of 1991.

Do you remember the homemade halloween barnbrack of the early 1990’s? Half the fun was the chunky metal ring buried in it. The other half of the fun up our country was the whiskey. A decent barnbrack wasn’t only made with splashes of whiskey, it was often swimming in it. This made it virtually imperishable. And because it was chocker block with raisins, sugar, flour and eggs, it was like an elixir of youth, the perfect dietary ration.

“See two slices of barnbrack for your elevenses?” I remember a bachelor uncle saying, “Well ye’ve the dinner in ye at that stage and ye’ve the day to yourself.”
The same uncle went further in his praise on another occasion, “And I could be out of my depth here but I do wonder at sending bags of flour to people starving in them hot countries. For my money, loaves of barnbrack would be the proper job.”

Homemade barnbrack still brings reminds me the Halloween era of power cuts and candles, plastic bag fancy dress and bobbing apples, gasons jumping over raging bonfires and firing eggs at slow moving tractors. Many of the old hazards to child and beast are gone but the barnbrack remains. Less the whiskey and the steel ring buried in it. But back in 1991? All the rings and whiskey ye could shake a burning bullrush at.

And so it was.

One dry dark October evening rooting and chopping and hacking our way through the bogs and hedges, gathering for the bonfire. There was a crowd of us, children and young teenagers, boys and girls: there was equal opportunities for hardship back then. And shoulder deep in the middle of all was Jackie, ripping and tearing. No better girl with a blunt saw. A twisted knot of an old apple tree had fallen in Mrs Woods garden so we took into gouging and beating it into smaller portions. Auld Mrs Woods was delighted to be rid of it and sure enough out she comes wearing the checkered red and white apron and invites us in. She had sugary tae and her homemade barnbrack ready. “Leave yer wellies at the door childer.” So in we go. Through the wee cottage door and down into the kitchen.

I remember there were five chairs at her kitchen table so the wee ones sat on the bigger ones knees. Out comes Mrs Woods and with her shaky hand sprinkles whiskey over the barnbrack. Then with the lights off, she whipped a burning candle against the loaf and whoosh up it went. 9 wee pairs of smiling eyes watching the blue flame dance.

We all wanted to try the whiskey brack for different reasons. Maybe we’d get drunk. Others wanted to find the buried ring as a sign of love to come. Some were hoking with tongues to find the ring but not for love but to make sure someone who wanted love couldn’t get it. And then a few of us were that hungry from pulling lumps of trees out of ditches that we were stuck in the barnbrack just for the eating itself. But now Jackie, to bring the whole thing back to Jackie, she wanted the barnbrack for every reason at once. Jackie wanted the drunkeness, for the ring of love and a chance to gloat at the lonely hearted. And her devouring it and slobbering extra butter on. She was an awful girl for the butter.

So the craic was good and sat nine children up at the table, drunk on giddiness and washing down the bitter taste of whiskey barnbrack with sugary tae. And laughing and giggling in the middle of all was the one and only Jackie. Now she wasn’t a big girl or anything but she was very quickly on to her third slice. And for a split second, what with the hooting and the messing didn’t she forget herself. Bit down hard and awkward into the buried ring, broke front tooth and in the whole drama swallowed brack, ring and tooth. Then to top it off she near choked to death on the sugary tae. And cough and splutter and gargle all she could but out that ring wouldn’t come. At least not the way it went down. That’s when a few others who’d been struggling to stomach the bitter whiskey brack started gagging and wretching lowly. Maura was already running for the door with her hand over her mouth. The bitter hand of fate had turned joy to chaos. “Aw now Jackie,” said auld Mrs Woods nearly crying, “would look at what ye started?”

And that became a new refrain for every Jackie induced debacle that followed. “Ah now Jackie, would ye look at what ye started?” And Jackie to her credit, would often laugh and skip off saying, “Ye’s are just jealous is all that’s wrong withs ye’s.”

So Jackie went around for her formative teenage years missing a chunk of a front tooth and sure that did her reputation wonders. And tooth or no tooth she never changed much. Last time I seen her she was hooshing a squad of wee children into the car after school. Taking them on to hurling practice or to visit a great aunt home from Sheffield. She’s never off the road, still running. But I’m jumping. Before the kids, Jackie’s wedding.

The same Jackie was never going to be early for her own wedding, that’s for sure. In the end she needed a Garda escort to get her there before the Priest threw in the towel. But what happened in the hotel, during the dinner? Talk about timing. Didn’t whatever repair job she got done years ago on the broken front tooth crack? Right there and then on her wedding day. And then she swallowed it. It was like she was twelve years old all over again. A commotion started at the top table and the three flustering bridesmaids were flapping around helplessly. Ah now Jackie, would look at what ye started?

Many’s the bride would’ve cancelled the whole thing. But damn the chances with our Jackie. She had a well fed man from Meath up beside her. She wasn’t giving him any excuse to come off the park. So once Jackie got over the initial shock the show just went on. Turned into one of the best weddings I was ever at.

And a few months later we got a “Thank You” card in the post. A picture of the lovely couple, cutting the cake and there’s Jackie, half a front tooth and the biggest smile ye ever seen. Ah jaysis Jackie. An awful, awful woman.