In Aranmor many of the younger men have adopted the usual
fisherman's jersey, but I have only seen one on this island.
As flannel is cheap - the women spin the yarn from the wool of their
own sheep, and it is then woven by a weaver in Kilronan for
fourpence a yard - the men seem to wear an indefinite number of
waistcoats and woollen drawers one over the other. They are usually
surprised at the lightness of my own dress, and one old man I spoke
to for a minute on the pier, when I came ashore, asked me if I was
not cold with 'my little clothes.'
As I sat in the kitchen to dry the spray from my coat, several men
who had seen me walking up came in to me to talk to me, usually
murmuring on the threshold, 'The blessing of God on this place,' or
some similar words.
The courtesy of the old woman of the house is singularly attractive,
and though I could not understand much of what she said - she has no
English - I could see with how much grace she motioned each visitor
to a chair, or stool, according to his age, and said a few words to
him till he drifted into our English conversation.
For the moment my own arrival is the chief subject of interest, and
the men who come in are eager to talk to me.
