When a newly-married couple told their Dublin wedding guests they were touring Ireland for their honeymoon, it meant they were going to an auntie down the country for a week, or, less, depending on funds and the auntie.
Income levels were not so high, at the time, so couples couldn’t fly off to the southern hemisphere on their first married holiday together.
The first week was often the biggest trial for a new couple.
If they survived seven days of one another’s unremitting company they were over the first hurdle.
For if they did not go away on a honeymoon they were supposed to stay indoors for a week.
Perhaps in the hope that people would think they were away somewhere if they were not seen in their usual haunts.
Custom dictated that a sharp knife was not to be used in preparation of food for that week.
This might result in near starvation and a severe trying of matrimonial bonds if the two people did not meet one another half way.
Storymap, the online collection of Dublin stories told in situ has assembled Dubline a ramble of stories along selected routes.
My telling of The Dollacher story is included in the Christchurch section.
We started our scary storytelling in Marino yesterday where we marvelled at how a cat can turn from a pet to a mankiller at the drop of a few words; how the spectre of a drowned woman could appear at a window three storeys up to cry revenge for a wrongful death; how a houseful of card players were evicted to make room for returning spirits on Hallowe’en and how a man began to terrorise his neighbourhood after he made a false ghost flee in frustration. It was daylight; but still some listeners shivered on their way out into the coming twilight. Enough.