Every visitor to Ireland is made to remember our tea-drinking capacity, especially in the country districts. At any hour of the day a visit means a cup of tea, and you are lucky if it is not a black brew from a pot long simmering upon the hob or among the ashes. Hygienists dwell upon the evil effect this tannin solution has upon the nerves. It is usual to soothe its harsh flavour with much sugar, and many think that it is to sugared tea that our gap-toothed or false-toothed youth owe that misfortune. Certainly the dental defects are as noticeable as the teapot. Yet it is not so very long since tea was a rarity. Off Carrigaholt a ship was wrecked some sixty odd years ago; and to the shore the waves carried some chests which, being prised open, were found to contain the black, dry leaves. Hannah Ryan , whose reputation ran high in the locality as having been a servant of the "quality," was summoned to the scene. Arriving at the moment when the contents of the chests were to be pitched away, she stopped the sacrilege, pronounced the substance to be "tay," and was induced to make a sample brew. A pot was obtained, the water boiled and applied to the leaves. This done the water was strained off, and the folk of Carrigaholt settled down to a feast of tea leaves, which they solemnly ate, and, in deference to "quality," pronounced rare. In these days, whatever may go second-rate, our country "woman of the house" will have the best blends and pay her five or six shillings, if need be, to get it.
The Irish Times, April 16th, 1929.