MADGE McQuaid, who lives in Bettyglen, Raheny, has sent me some very interesting words. One of these is whitherate, noun, a torment, nuisance.
The suffix -ate (from the Latin-atus, past participial ending of verbs that end in -are), in the sense of the product of a process, is rare enough even in the literary language. Condensate, a substance formed by condensation, is one example.
Whither is found in England's northern shires and in Scotland and, as far as I know, has not previously been recorded in Ireland.
It takes various forms, quhidder and wuther among them.
Whitherate, noun, is not recorded in the EDD, but it does give the following: "whither etc. A gust of wind, the noise caused by a rushing, violent movement, a violent hurry." It also gives whither, verb, to tremble, shake; of the wind, to bluster, rage. Miss Emily Bronte, in Wuthering Heights, kindly gave the following help: "`Wuthering Heights' is the name of Mr Heathcliff's dwelling, `wuthering' being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station - is exposed in stormy weather." From these to Madge McQuaid's word for torment is a small step.
The verb to feck, to steal, is taking the night's sleep from J. O'Meara from Limerick city.
This verb is more common in Ireland than elsewhere, it seems. Joyce has "They had fecked cash out of the rector's room" in the Portrait, and mentions "fecking matches from counters" in Ulysses. Where this slang word came from is another matter. Oxford says it doesn't know its origin.
May I modestly suggest that the word may be related to the colloquial German fegen, to plunder, from, fegen, to sweep?
Finally, an absolute beauty from a lady who signs herself Ringsend Woman. This good lady has lived in London for 60 years; she left Dublin when she was 20. When my world was young, she writes, you'd hear the old women in Ringsend say about a man seen staggering home from the pub every night while his wife was above in Holles Street having another babby for him, "He's enjoying his gander month". Why gander? I have often wondered about it.'
Probably from the gander's aimless-looking walk, while the goose sits hatching. The expression is very old. Thomas Dekker used it in 1636 in one of his plays: "Is't gander moneth with him?" And it may have been centuries older than the bould Thomas's day. Dear Ringsend Woman, please tell me who you are.