As you may have figured out, based on the one English spelling above, these are all ways to either firmly request or circuitously insinuate that someone should be silent.  We see yet another variation, “whist,” in our Gaelic resource de la semaine, Mary Pat Kelly’s Galway Bay.  In one spelling or another, the word shows up in sources from both Ireland and Scotland, such as:

1) “Whist! your honour, whist!” ejaculated Paddy. “I’m only desaving the beast.” (from “A Knowing Horse,” a 19^th-century humorous Irish anecdote; “your honour” here is a passenger in a chaise, not a judge!)

2) “But you can’t just tell Charlie* to hold his whisht,” P. J. Mara, quoted by Gene Kerrigan in Magill magazine.  Kudos to those who know which Charlie is intended.  Freagra thíos.

3) “Michael put his finger on my lips, so gentle.  “Whist, Honora, a stór.  We’ll manage.” Mary Pat Kelly, Galway Bay

4) “Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht,” Robert Burns, The Vision

 5) “… whisht, hinny; whisht, my bonnie man, and let’s hear what they’re doing. Deil’s in ye, will ye whisht?,” Sir Walter Scott, Guy Mannering.

“Fuist” is more or less equivalent to “whisht,” but “whisht” seems to get translated as “éist” (lit. listen).  The latter typically shows up in the phrase “éist do bhéal.”  Hmm, that’s literally “listen your mouth.”  If that translation seems a bit awkward, one could think of it more as “silence your mouth” or “make your mouth silent,” which would certainly facilitate listening!  And I can think of at least a few gaotairí (windbags) who might profit from the advice.

As to which came first, “Fuist!” in Irish or “Whisht” in English, I think it’s a bit of a “scéal faoin sicín agus faoin ubh,” since “whisht” also existed in Middle English (ca. 14^th century).  “Éist,” of course, is a longstanding Irish word and is widely used in its perfectly straightforward sense, “listen.”  One recurring sample, pluralized to “Éistigí,” is notable as the opening invocation of many a Daltaí na Gaeilge meeting.  Those of you who have attended will never forget the athshondas athfhuaimneach as “ár Liam” interjectionally enjoins the group to silence, as Merriam-Webster would have it, or as we might say with modern bluntness, tells everyone to “shaddup.”

Finally, for those who favor “timchaint” as opposed to “giorraisce,” we have the seanfhocal.  Literally, “Is binn béal ina thost,” means “It’s sweet, a mouth in its silence.” A related but more direct command would be “Bí i do thost” (be in your silence).  Some day we’ll have to give the “squeaky wheels” their due and acknowledge that there can also be some value in speaking up and/or getting greased!  But proverbial wisdom is not necessarily consistent, as the “too many cooks” vs. “two heads” dilemma shows us.  How about one two-headed cook, à la Zaphod Beeblebrox?  Not that he was really a cook, as I recall.  Maybe I’ve just been dwelling on this particular blog beagán rófhada?  Am do bheagán scíthe! 

*Freagra: Cén Séarlas?  Which Charles? 

First hint, a shloinne i nGaeilge: Ó hEochaidh.  Leid a Dó:  His surname means “horseman,” which could be simply an accident of ancestry and naming, but this particular Ó hEochaidh was also known as “Irish bloodstock’s great benefactor.”  Comhtharlú nó sna géinte (genes)?

So, the answer is, as you may have figured out, Charles James Haughey (Cathal Séamas Ó hEochaidh, 1925-2006), former Taoiseach of Ireland.  You might be wondering, “Where’s the [word for horse] capall?” if the name means “horseman.”  It’s not part of this name, which is based on “each” [akh], steed, a more literary word for “horse” and also a cognate of “equus.”  Ó hEochaidh is often spelled Ó hEachaidh. 

Nótaí: athshondas athfhuaimneach [AH-HUN-duss AH-OO-im-nyakh], resounding resonance (sorry for the athluaiteachas (tautology, lit. “re-referring”) but I can’t really find two different enough English words to be neamhathluaiteach (non-tautological) here for the translation.

One could fill a volume on nósanna Oíche Shamhna (Halloween customs), and indeed, it has been done.  But I’ll wrap-up this year’s season with a discussion of some of the ways that ordinary foods can be used for divination.  If it’s been a bit of a tuile (flood) of Halloween lore lately, what can I say but “Nuair a thig cith tig bailc” (It never rains but it pours, lit. when a shower comes, a downpour comes).

Bairín Breac, lit. “speckled loaf,” is made with raisins and/or currants, hence the name.  It can be served at any time of the year.  The “barm” part of the English name is believed to be a contraction of “bairín” (loaf).  Some interpret it as related to “barm” (yeast, and source of the English adjective “barmy”), but it has always seemed to me less likely that you’d call this food “speckled yeast,” with a hybrid half-English, half-Irish name, and more likely that “speckled” would describe the loaf itself.  Unless the “breac” part (speckled) stands for the loaf itself mar shampla de shineicdicé (as an example of synecdoche). 

At this time of year, various items can be baked into the loaf, predicting the future for whoever gets them in their slice.  These could include a pingin, or these days a ceint (i.e. saibhreas [SEV-rus], wealth), fáinne for a bainis (ring, wedding), or a méaracán (thimble), indicating that a man would sew on his own buttons for at least another year.  The symbolism of a thimble for a woman seems less clear.  Status quo, is dócha.

Cál ceannann, lit. white-faced or white-topped kale or cabbage.  It seems this was originally cabbage served with butter, as opposed to without butter.  A family might have been saving their home-made butter to sell at market days, to get actual cash income.  These days, though, potatoes are an equally important ingredient, with chopped up cabbage added.  Or oinniúin or síobhais ([SHEE-uv-ish] chives), srl.  This could also be served at any time of year but for Halloween, coins or other charms would be added.  Maybe today children would expect a euro, not a ceint!

By the way, if you try these, I recommend wrapping the charms in scragall alúmanaim (aluminum or “tin” foil) before cooking.  And maybe a metal thimble, not a plastic one, if you’re baking.  I don’t know how much heat it would take to melt a plastic thimble, but I don’t intend to find out.   

At any rate, it seems that the Celts didn’t need the iconographic liathróid chriostail.  .

Nótaí: fáistineacht [FAWSH-tin-yukht], divination; thig [hig]; liathróid [LEE-uh-hrohdj, silent “t”] ball; chriostail [HRISS-til, silent “c”] of crystal 

When the letter “h” is added to “sineicdicé” for lenition, resulting in “shineicdicé,” remember the initial “s” becomes silent and the first syllable (shin-) is pronounced “hin.”