Go On To Dingle, Ta Fuck!

So my sister and her older boy were in Dingle, County Kerry, one evening recently, in what passes for summer in this whimsical wee country of ours. 

They’re ambling along the main drag, and this young guy comes staggering out the door of a pub and stops momentarily on the path to get his balance and his bearings, right in front of my sister and her fine lanky son. Eyeing them up in his happy stupor, he mutters a merry ‘Hello, Americans!’ salutation, his accent purest Kerry.

Now my sister’s lad has grown his hair long, and probably doing that constant sweeping the luscious locks back off the face thing, maybe in an American frat boy kind of way — who knows? — but being a native of Kerry himself, he isn’t letting this insult pass, however benignly delivered.

“We’re not bloody Americans’, he shoots back at yer man, half-indignant, half-amused. Indeed, my sister and I are from County Tipperary, but her children and husband are Kerry born and raised.

Now yer man is in no state or mind to develop the point, and so turning away to wobble off up the town, he tosses a final observation back over his shoulder:

‘Ah, ye are, ta fuck!”

This conviction in the face of overwhelming evidence that he was wrong reminds me a bit of Trump supporters. Like my old dad used say, ‘You can tell yourself anything!’

As for the use of the bad F word, as Father Ted’s housekeeper Mrs Doyle would day — it’s not as bad as you non-Irish might think.

It’s all to do with the nuances of Irish swearology, and the way we might say it. 

In other words, when we think it’s okay, it’s okay.

“Ta fuck” is a mainly used by us as a condiment to give flavour or dramatic emphasis to any given observation or sentiment. 

Just one example, you might be hesitating over accepting that no-going-back-now pint being offered to you in the pub. You dither and stall, for effect, and so the guy offering will insist, ‘Go on, ta fuck … you will …”  

Now, you could harden your resolve and cut and run, but too often, you will throw caution and your better judgement to the wind and respond, mock gruffly “Go on, so, I will, ta fuck!”

“Ta fuck” with the consequences, you really mean.

“The last one, mind,” you might add, convincing no-one, least of all yourself.

Anyway, myself and my wife have been laughing about this anecdote since, and acting it out between us, alternating the parts. 

Anne: ‘Hello, Americans!’ (Spoken in thickest Kerry)

Enda: ‘We’re not Americans!’ (In more refined Kerry)

Anne: ‘Ah ye are, ta fuck!’ 

And change …

It’s something to do with the way it captures for us the dry and wacky tonalities of Kerry and even Irish humour, and the charm of Dingle itself, or indeed the whole Dingle peninsula. in southwest County Kerry, the self-proclaimed Kingdom.

It’s a great tourist destination for Americans, mainland Europeans, and us Irish too.

We are just back ourselves, Anne and I, from there. Ah, it really is a great old spot and we’ve been going there for years. Always somewhere else to eat, or that little shebeen of a pub to explore. Some beauty spot to take in or shimmering strand to walk along.

My sister had joined us for the afternoon and told us this yarn as we were pottering amiably around the colourfully painted pubs, cafes and knick-knack shops in the town. 

Dingle really has something for everyone.

Like this time, we went from wolfing down cheese and crumbling crackers and lashings of wine in my sister-in law’s mobile home in Ventry one night after a few pints in the local pub, to savouring (me anyway!) a steak pavé to die for in the Michelin mentioned Land To Sea restaurant up the town. On the table beside us, a glamorous and charming older woman we spoke to was Instagramming photos of her intriguing tasting menu back to her daughter in Calgary, Canada. 

We washed our food down afterwards with a pint of Moretti (me) and a G and T in shabbily unchic Bob’s, where a good-natured but fairly intense darts game was going on. An older Kerry man and his team were on their way to losing to their opponents, who included a low-sized but sturdy, top-knotted blond fisherman with an unusual accent, who his opponent dismissed as an ‘Icelandic whale-muncher’.

Another night, we had the best tapas we had ever tasted, in a place called Solas, just off the quay. Spanish fare true to its origins but with a local twist incorporating the best of local ingredients from the surrounding fields and nearby waters.

Yes, that’s our Dingle … eat, drink relax, maybe go for a drive and a stop off to take in another glorious slice of cliff and cushioned seagrass promontory pie dripping in a foam and surging navy blue sea coulis. Yes, already thinking about my next dinner, followed by more pints and a naughty little cocktail or two.

The Dingle experience can indeed be anything you want it to be. You can use it as a base to go and jump off cliffs, adventure swim for miles and run up mountains, if that’s what you want. Or you might be into fine wining and dining … or, like us, just wandering along and running into all sorts in pubs and places, after setting ourselves up for the day with a wonderful belly-bulging full Irish breakfast (me) or something less decadent but tasty (Anne).

The locals in the shops, eateries, ice cream shops and the rest can charm the tourists without losing their soul, and equally have the craic with the natives or blow-ins like us from around Ireland, a twinkle in those Kerry eyes and that irresistible lilt as natural as it is simultaneously breezily exotic and salt of the earth.

These same Kerry heads don’t think they’re great, they just kind of accept it about themselves, and sure every second Kerry man you meet seems to have an All-Ireland football winner’s medal in their possession. Or they know someone who does …

Dingle town is also home to the wonderful Other Voices music programme on TV, recorded originally in the cutest little church you’ve ever seen, at the top of the town. And home too of Fungi the wonder dolphin for years and years. 

Okay, okay, Fungi the wonder dolphin didn’t live in the town itself, but in the sea nearby … yiz are awful funny …

The whole Dingle peninsula is a magical place, and I won’t even begin to try and convey the transcendant beauty of the foam-flecked seascapes and the surrounding patchwork green hills that a kid would paint, so I’ll just fire in a few holiday snaps and ye can see for yerselves.

Go on, enjoy them, ta fuck!

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