Word: poteen
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...land losing its fertility and the fish forsaking the shore," the islanders went on potting lobsters, growing vegetables and grazing cattle. They were safe in the knowledge that their economy rested on another custom, the origin of which was also lost in the mists of antiquity: the manufacture of poteen illicit whisky...
...19th Century observer reported Inishmurray poteen flowing "extensively over the whole seaboard from Sligo to Bundoran and even to a considerable distance inland." In 1893, a detachment of Royal Irish constabulary was quartered there for revenue duty, but in later years, news of police visits usually reached King Michael in time for the great stone jugs of poteen to be hidden in the island's shallow lake. Once sentenced to pay a ?50 fine or spend six months in jail for poteen-making, King Michael said: "I would have paid ?10, but they would not make...
When barley and potato prices rose during and after World War II, the poteen industry languished. In 1948, Waters and some 60 remaining inhabitants of Inishmurray petitioned the Irish government for new land, were moved to Sligo. There King Michael, a huge figure in homespun tweeds, with a sweeping mustache, continued to hold court among those of his subjects who revisited the island every summer, ostensibly to graze cattle, but actually, it was said, to engage in their traditional industry. In Sligo last week, at the age of 80, Michael Waters died. His eldest son Michael, known to the islanders...
Unless a new dynasty of mighty poteen-makers is established, no more kings will rule on Inishmurray...
...which the tubers were simply laid on the ground, covered with earth and left to grow by themselves. Many Irishmen were happy enough to restrict their diet to these easily grown roots and to spend their free time lying on hillsides thinking dark thoughts on the British and nipping poteen, which, as any schoolboy knows, is made from a potato mash. By the end of the 19th Century, said Dr. Salaman, the average Irishman was eating 14 Ibs. of spuds a day, his wife...