Voices from islanders: Peig Sayers, "An Old Woman's Reflections" -- "The sun is shining brightly on sea and on land. There is a freshness and brightness in everything God created. The sea is polished, and the boys are swimming down at the shore. The little fishes themselves are splashing on top of the water... Poor humans are overcome after the winter because we have a hard life of it on the island...hemmed in like a flock of sheep in a pen, buffeted by storm and gale, without shade or shelter but like a big ship in the middle of a great sea. .. But God does the ordering... He abates the storm and when the summer comes He takes from us the memory and the gloom of winter." (Inishmore) Tomas O'Crohan, "The Islandman" -- "This a crag in the midst of the great sea, and again and again and again the blown surf drives right over it before the violence of the wind, so that you daren't put your head out any more than a rabbit that crouches in his burrow in Inishvickillaun when the rain and the salt spume are flying. Often would we put to sea at the dawn of day when the weather was decent enough, and by the day's end our people on land would be keening us, so much had the weather changed for the worse. It was our business to be out in the night and misery of that sort of fishing is beyond telling." Liam O'Flaherty: Of his native island if Inishmore: I was born on a stormswept rock and hate the soft growth of sun baked lands where there is no frost in men's bones. Swift thought and the swift flight of ravenous birds, and the squeal of terror of hunted animals are to me reality." And in a gentler mood, in his beautiful story, "Spring Sowing" author O'Flaherty wrote: "Life, life, life and the labour of strong hands in Inverara in Spring. From dawn to dark the people hurried, excitedly opening the earth to sow. At dawn they came from their cabins, their noses shining with frost, slapping their lean hands under their armpits, their blue eyes hungry with energy. They ran through the smoking dew for their horses. From dawn to dark their horses trotted, neighing, their steel shoes ringing on the smooth stones...cows gave birth to calves and the crooning of women milking in the evening mingled dreamily with the joyous carolling of the birds..." Maurice O'Sullivan (Blasket Islands) true account - "Twenty Years A-Growing," - "As we walked up towards the house of the dead, whenever I got a chance I dropped behind to take a look at my grandfather, and indeed you would have thought he was a great peer from the city of London with his striped trousers and tailcoat, the white shirt with its hard front and a high collar under his chin. He went in among the old men and I among my comrades...Four men brought out the coffin and rested it on two chairs. The old women gathered round it began to to moan, sweet and soft: "Olagon, olagon!" It was for Kate Joseph's voice I listened, for she was reputed to be like a banshee for keening.. When they had finished their keening I saw them laughing merrily with one another...the four men raised the coffin to their shoulders. All followed them. "Isn't it a strange world if you look into it, Tomas? To think the day will come yet when you and I will be stretched in a coffin ourselves! without thought or feeling." We were at the quay now, the two of us sitting at the top watching the men busy with the curragh and the oars till they had the coffin on board. They moved out through the pool, the sun shining over their heads, a white path of foam in their wake. My grandfather came down the path with many others who were unable to go down. He stopped at the top of the slip looking out at the curraghs. We could still hear the grating of the oars. "It is a wonder you did not go, daddo," said I. "My sharp sorrow, there was a time when I would have gone, but, alas, not today. Ah musha, Kate (Laim)," he cried, looking out over the sea, "Dear God bless your soul, you were a good companion in a market town." The tears were falling down his cheeks. "Look at your grandfather," whispered Tomas. "He is crying. That is the one who is sorrowful and not those fickle women." "Yes, said I, "he mourns her." We got up. "I have to go for a load of turf today," sai! d Tomas. "We have not a sod in the house." "Good day to you," said I, turning home.