keenjocks

[Middle of the Road]

My granny used to tell me stories about the "keenjocks" (if thats the correct spelling) can anyone tell me if these wee things are still around ?

[petewick]

My granny used to tell me stories about the "keenjocks" (if thats the correct spelling) can anyone tell me if these wee things are still around ?

I heard that they were a kind of spirit that had the body of a cat and the face of a woman, whether they are still around, I don't know.

Petewick

[Bochan Mor]

My granny used to tell me stories about the "keenjocks" (if thats the correct spelling) can anyone tell me if these wee things are still around ?

I heard that they were a kind of spirit that had the body of a cat and the face of a woman, whether they are still around, I don't know.

Petewick

I'm quite sure that bubbly will know of someone that looks like that!

[ChrisA]

Try here. They'll know

http://www.forteantimes.com/

[bubbly jock]

I'm quite sure that bubbly will know of someone that looks like that!

Bochan mor

Kanejachs are small creatures with wizened faces who live on Davaar Island. They are greedy and like to hog all the heat round the fire. They are also present when a death is imminent.

I could name a few who could sit at their fireside and not look out of place but I'm afraid davie would go ballistic and I would be forced to flee the land. Mind you I suppose the running would get me fit for the marathon that beep beep and the gang are proposing.

bubbly

[The Heidless Horseman]

Allow the Bochan!

Denying his own bloodline without as much as a blink.

Just for the record, some of us may not have heids but we still have memories going way back, and it was no secret then that one of Bochan Mor's grandmothers was a kanejach from Davaar. In fact, the very kanejach who was caterwauling outside my window for about a week before my unfortunate decapitation. Kept the whole neighbourhood awake for days. I was affronted and couldn't go out in the daylight after that. That's how I ended up falling into the snare, set no doubt by one of Sanyanya's ancestors to catch the giant rabbits that once roamed Kintyre so freely. The kanejachs were usually pretty good with their predictions, and mercifully, normally saved the wailing until the night before tragic events. The Bochan's granny on the other hand had the knack of prediction but her sense of timing was appalling. Not long after this incident she was returned to Davaar and taken off active duties for ever, but not before she struck up a special friendship with the Bochan's maternal grandfather.

I'll say no more, except that for all his bluster, he is not the pure Bochan that he tries to make out. Putting it bluntly, Bochan Mor is a fraud. In the olden days, his status in the Bochan nation would have been court jester at best. Sadly, their stock has sunk so low that he is now hailed as some kind of alternative hero.

On a still night in Campbeltown, if you hear a high and lonesome wailing coming across the loch, that will be the keening of the last kanejach lamenting the demise of a once proud nation.

[Bochan Mor]

My granny used to tell me stories about the "keenjocks" (if thats the correct spelling) can anyone tell me if these wee things are still around ?

Middle of the road, your granny was only kidding you on, just like bubbly and that clown heidless.

The only Keenjock that came to my granny's door was Cushy Mohammed, well, him and a few other less scrupulous traders.

You see, the word was actually 'Ceannaiche' and the literal translation from the mother tongue is 'Merchant'.

Now its quite possible that your granny would have referred to traders who were less welcome than the well loved, polite and much respected Cushy....'Ladies drawers, gentlemen's handkerchiefs...Thank you Mother!'....... as Ceannaiches. Mr Mohammed was welcome at every door, and must have had a fearfully strong bladder with all the cups of tea that he consumed as he plied his way around Kintyre.

If there was ever to be a statue to a Ceannaiche, I would be the first to nominate Cushy as Kintyre's number one entrepreneur. What about outside the ferry terminal.

Lucky white heather?

[bubbly jock]

Bochan mor

I knew if I waited long enough I would hear some sense from you.

My foks were one of cushy's best customers and like everyone else couldn't wait 'till he unrolled that large brown leather bundle from the front of the bike. We were one of the main suppliers of his sunday lunch. The poor wee chicken was picked and strangled by himself and then the prayer was said over the wee departed feather critter.

The word "gentleman" was created just for him and I would gladly make a donation just to see an image of him at the ferry terminal.

bubbly

[The Heidless Horseman]

[quote="Bochan Mor"][
You see, the word was actually 'Ceannaiche' and the literal translation from the mother tongue is 'Merchant'. quote]

What did I tell you.
Once again Bochan speak with forked tongue.
His seemingly heartfelt tribute to the great Cushy was calculated to take the heat off his own situation.

In the mother tongue, the word is of course Caionteach, which originally meant a Banshee, a supernatural female who wailed at the death of somebody important. Unfortunately, the original Caointeachs lost the plot when they discovered the demon deoch, moved to Davaar and started cosorting with ne'er do wells. Which brings us full circle once more to Bochan Mor and his screechy wee gene pool.

One thing I would agree with is that a statue of Cushy is overdue.
His bike is now of course on display in Campbeltown Heritage Centre and continues to receive admiring glances from those in the know.

[Bochan Mor]

Aye bubbly, Cushy would brighten up the livingroom even on a dark rainy day, with his bicycle clips and impeccable manners.

Despite the obvious discomfort in his legs, he continued to carry his load from one village to another, without complaint. A statue to Linda MacCartney was maybe well deserved, but how could the Peninsula so readily forget a true ‘Local Hero’?

I was always intrigued by the inner layer of Cushy’s pack. Although the outer layer was battered & weather-beaten, the topside of the inner layer looked as bright and clean as the day it was manufactured. Amazingly he could, effortlessly, neatly fold and replace all the items back into the pack in such a manner that it occupied no more volume than before it was un-packed, and re-tie the courelene rope securely, to move no further than the house next door. He was a humble, patient, and thoroughly courteous gentleman, who deserves to be recorded in the folk history of Kintyre.

When did you last have a pair of socks that was as durable as those with the woollen soles and polyester tops? I bet your fathers or uncles still have them to this day!