“Nothing compares, NOTHING compares to a good Irish stew,” said a local villager as he ambled to Mrs. O’Connor’s house to get a reserved seat by the hearth.
“She used to be such a scrawny thing but now look at her. She has to be at least 15 stone, God love her. She makes the best mutton stew. Last year it was especially delicious but then old Clancey Mulroon had to go and praise the new Pope. Mrs. Sinead O’Connor dumped the whole pot over his head and we went home with empty bellies. Poor old Mulroon. He had to get one of those face transplants. It was god awful.”
The kids in the quaint Irish village of Dunrovensveigh, where Mrs. O’Connor lives with her cats and birds, love the chubby old lady and sometimes she will sit at the front of her garden and sing them a song ‘o the evil Pope and the evil Vatican.
One of the locals, 9-year-old Grody Dundoony. sang a song he learned from the Irish lady down the lane.
Rip up yee the Pope and tend yee the sheep
Else he’ll come to hurt ya, ere long where ya sleep
And the curs’d Virgin Mary was act’lly a whore
A she-devil is she, woe should she knock at your door.
Old lady O’Connor is a good woman who likes to help everyone it seems and the people in her village are not too proud to admit that a good helping of her mutton stew is what gets them through a raw Irish winter. Mrs. O’Connor herself does without; preferring instead to give the stew only to the needy and leaving none to herself. She maintains her health by eating live sheep whole with a sack of potatoes because she needs the time to prepare a rib-sticking dinner for the people who come to her for food. Her selflessness knows no boundries — even if you are Catholic.