The bean an tí rules the Gaeltacht and can change how young people view Irish. Women who take on this formidable role each summer talk to Áine Kerr
In the idyllic Gaeltacht surroundings, where teenagers survive in a blissful parent-free environment, steal their first kiss, assert their freedom and learn some Irish, it is the mastery of a bean an tí that contains them.
The Gaeltacht excursion has transcended the generations, and with it stories of midnight break-outs, fussy eaters, expulsions and sleepless nights have remained the storytelling preserve of the hundreds of mná tí countrywide. After six years of entertaining talk of céilís, multicoloured lip-glosses, best-performing hair straighteners and juvenile boys, Sadie Uí Sioruisce still endures something of a mourning period when her Gaelgóirí return home.
This summer, four girls who attended the first three-week Gaeltacht in Coláiste Uladh, Gort a'Choirce, Co Donegal, said their long goodbyes - only to return on the first weekend of July for a second round of Irish classes and another stay with their beloved bean an tí, Sadie.
In July, Uí Sioruisce, her five children and husband were host to 16 girls, most of whom are from Dublin and Kildare, and none, as she notes with relief, are vegetarians. Gaeltacht food is the stuff of childhood folklore. It is a lottery which will either leave students dreaming of a return to the bright lights of towns and McDonald's or return them home to their mothers with glowing red cheeks. A €1.1 million training scheme initiated by the Minister for the Gaeltacht, Eamon O'Cuiv, this year introduced the ciabatta sandwich, hors d'oeuvres, gourmet sauces and sponge cakes to the cooking accomplishments of the bean an tí. Uí Sioruisce declined the cookery courses.
"People do think I'm mad cooking for so many people. But I really don't see it like that. I used to work in hotels and catering and I'm well used to putting a meal for 16 together in an hour."
With a baby aged 13 months and another aged two-and-a-half, the monies received for Gaeltacht duty cancels out child-minding costs and equates to what Uí Sioruisce would earn on a part-time basis over 12 months.
A daily routine of rising at 7.30am to prepare breakfast, loading all 16 girls onto a bus around 9am, cooking and cleaning for 1pm and cooking and cleaning for 5pm, juxtaposed with changing nappies and preparing milk bottles, is common for the multi-tasked bean an tí.
The late-evening pantomime routine, when a rota governing dishwashing and shower times is strictly implemented and the girls are "flat out putting on the make-up", is the time a bean an tí savours, according to Uí Sioruisce.
Crucially, arguments at this fragile time can be kept to a minimum if the bean an tí mobilises all teenagers into routines. Her neighbour is host to the same quota of 16 students, but these are boys. "I always tell the college I don't want boys," says Uí Sioruisce. "No offence to them, but I just enjoy having the girls more. At least with girls, you have make-up and clothes in common. I've no interest in football."
Others, however, will only play host to the boys. Giollíosa Uí Lorcain, a bean an tí with Coláiste Chiaráin, Carraroe, Co Galway, derides girls' talk of fake tanning and their demands for ironed clothes. "Boys couldn't care less. I took girls the first year and they were nice but boys are just less finicky about eating," she says. "The lads have to clean up, which for some can be a right shock to the system, because they are used to having a housekeeper at home."
When her new 15 recruits arrive for their three-week excursion, she calls a house meeting on the first night for the sake of "their safety and my sanity". After six years in the business, Uí Lorcain is still adjusting house tactics.
"I'm getting smart. For example, I set the table at night now so I can have an extra 15 minutes in bed in the morning. Then I'll get up around quarter past eight and start shouting at the lads from half eight. Often you'll still be trying to drag them out at twenty past nine."
But as a mark of changed times, walking in the rain to and from the college six times every day is no longer characteristic of the Gaeltacht experience. Instead, the long scenic excursions have been replaced by a day-long mini bus service.
Over the course of 25 years, Pádraigín de Brún, a bean an tí in Baile na nGall, near Dingle, Co Kerry, has watched the emergence of the "new-age boys" who are just as vain as their female counterparts and the demise of the standard bacon, cabbage and potato menu.
But having cared for three sets of 16 students every summer for 25 years, de Brún recognises that she too has evolved with the experience and become increasingly open and understanding of young people. As a carer, counsellor and part-time mother to them, she recognises the importance of making sure the Irish enthusiasts enjoy their holiday period in the Gaeltacht. "You need to allow them to laugh, to make noise. You can't expect 16 kids in a house to be as quiet as mice. If you put 16 adults in a house together, you wouldn't expect them to go around in silence. I'd be more worried if they were too quiet." Aside from her awareness of the day-to-day work with teenagers in Coláiste na Muirí, de Brún is acutely aware of the importance of the Irish colleges for the local economy.
"The bean an tí turns a very big wheel for the Dingle peninsula. When parents and visitors of the students come, they have to go seven miles beyond Dingle and end up staying and socialising locally in the likes of Ventry and Ballyferriter. It brings great business and great employment for the youngsters of the area."
Despite the constant changes and added pressures, de Brún reflects the prevailing attitude among the mná tí.
"I've no retirement plans and I don't plan on stopping any time soon. On the day that it becomes too much and I'm not enjoying it, only then will I close my door."
Some 23,000 students go to an Irish college every year, paying around €700 for a three-week stay. And Thomas O'Ruairc of Foras na Gaeilge attributes the survival of Irish as a spoken language to the mná tí who succeed in providing a critically important "immersion experience".
"Students see that it isn't just a language in a text book and is in fact a living language in areas of our own country. The bean an tí is the person who succeeds in transforming their view of the Irish language."