The talking cows of Kilmagrahy. Not Wikipedia

Once upon a time, when I was but a lad; many years before I became a Palmistry Consultant, I went on a holiday to the south west of Ireland. It really was more of a pilgrimage than a holiday. I was but a lad of nineteen, and at about the age when a lot of young people are full of the notion that the would like to find themselves, and all that semi hippy rubbish that in later more sensible years they look back at with a more than slight cringe. Anyway I got the idea that I would like to get back to my roots in the soil, and spend some time in one of the more remote parts of the country communing with nature in an effort to get in touch with my "inner being".
I got on a train to Cork,( a city in the south of the country) and from there I took a bus that wound into the countryside, and up into the rugged mountains that are a feature of the south west corner of the emerald isle. After about three hours travelling the bus came to a village near the top of a particularly gloomy looking mountain. The bus driver announced that he had come to the end of his journey. I was left with the choice of either journeying back to the city or staying the week in the village, as the bus did not return until the following week. Close to where the bus had stopped there was a building with a sign over the door that said "The Kilmagrahy Inn", with a smaller sign to the side of it that said "rooms available" The result being that I decided to stay for the week in the village near the top of the mountain, for I reasoned that if I wanted to commune with nature I could scarcer find a more convenient location to do it in.
So after waving goodbye to the busdriver I brought my suitcase over to the inn and after the usual salutations with the woman who seemed to run the place I deposited it in the clean, but small bedroom and repaired to the bar downstairs for some much needed food and liquid refreshment. The bar was a small room near the back of the inn, with a low ceiling and a few tables at one side where I assumed the food would be served. Sitting on two stools at the counter were two young men, and in a large armchair near a blazing turf fire was one of the strangest looking old women that it has ever been my lot to look upon. She had a long brown dress that reached to her ankles, and a multi coloured shawl round her shoulders. A bonnet that would not have looked out of place in a mid nineteenth century Dickens story adorned her head. She had a large bowl of what I took to be soup on a small table beside her chair, and every now and then a bony hand, in which was a very large spoon, would reach out from beneath the shawl and convey a portion of the soup to her toothless mouth and she would swallow it with a rather disconcerting hissing noise. Not exactly Paris Hilton. This was the scene that I surveyed as I sat silently at one of the tables, waiting for the food to be conveyed by the bustling proprietress, who had taken my order when she booked me in. The food, which consisted of some chicken that had probably died full in years and wisdom, for it was rather tough, with some roast potatoes and some green beans, all smothered with gravy, I washed down with a pint of Guinness, which was the only beer available. When I asked for a Fosters I was told , "we dont have any of that foreign Lagger stuff here". Anyway the Guinness hit the spot quite nicely. One of the young men, as is the way in friendly country places, came and sat at my table, to ask who I was, where I was from, and why I wanted to stay in their neck of the woods anyway. He even brought over, for me, another pint and a very large looking large whisky. So what with the effects of the food and the alchohol it wasnt long until I got into a very convivial conversation with both the young locals. When I told them that the purpose of my visit was to commune with nature, and to find my self, my companions both shouted out almost in unison, "you have to meet the cows". "What cows"I asked, somewhat taken aback by the sudden burst of celtic enthusiasm. "Why the talking cows, of course," the first of my new friends said. "The wise cows of Kilmagrahy are the most famous beasts in the world. Sure people come from as far away as Cork city to get advice from those cows". "Can they really talk"was my next question. The two men looked at me as if I were an idiot. "What point would there be in people coming all the way here to ask their advice if they couldnt answer?" "Are ye saying my lovely cows cant talk" said a crackling voice from under the bonnet by the fire. "Ye can come out to my field in the morning and ye can hear them for Ye're unbelieving heathen self" I considered at that stage that it was best to not doubt either the loquacity or the wisdom of the cows, so after a further few pints of Guinness it was arranged that the two young men would call on me in the morning to convey me for an audience with the bovine oracles. So in the morning after a breakfast of bacon, and eggs that were probably the last production of my previous night's dinner I set out in the company of the two young men to meet the cows. After about a half hours journey on a track that wound round the beetling brow of the mountain we came to a long low cabin with a rather stony field at it's back. Waiting for us at the gate was the old woman from the inn. " Ye Have come then" was all she said to me. "Bridy and Betty are expecting him" she said to my two companions. " They are in the field".
In the field at the back of the cabin I could see two cows lying down and chewing as cows are wont to do. "He must go in alone" the old woman said. My two companions ushered me in the direction of the two cows. I entered the field. I approached the supine beasts They turned upon me eyes that had all the disdain of a queen looking at a dog turd on her shoe . Suddenly one of the cows addressed me. "Now do you believe we can talk" she said. I was too speechless to reply properly, and just stuttered out some garbled form of apology. "Not alone can we talk" she said, "but we can, and we will fortell your future". " You are going to grow up and you are going to travel across the sea to England, to the city of London. There you are going to live, and you are going to become very wealthy by winning a prize in the national lottery". "She's right. She always is", the other cow said. " Now leave us". And they waved their front hooves in a dismissive manner, and proceeded to chew again. Well all I can say is that I staggered down that Mountain a wiser man than I staggered up. When the bus returned the following week I returned to civilisation, and gave up all thought of finding myself, or communing with nature ever again.
In the fullness of time at least some of the prediction came true. I did travel across the sea, and I do now live in London, where I make my living giving Online Palmistry Readings from my Online Palmistry website
http://chrishandreading.com/
I am not wealthy yet, and despite spending a fair amount of my meagre earnings on lottery tickets I have yet to win anything of worth. I guess the cows lied about that, probably to punish me for my lack of fate.
Any way there are other easier ways to get your future forecast. One of the best is to visit my Online Palmistry website
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It beats going to a cow, and I dont lie.
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