Do chloisinn na seandaoine á rá do raibh fear inár n-áit, istigh ’nár bparóiste, do b’ainm dó Fheidhlm ’ic Eoghain ón bhFaill Mhór – ón bhFaill Móir – agus bhíodh sé ag marú róinte ’gcónaí agus mallet mór iarainn aige chun iad a bhualadh sa cheann. Chuaigh sé isteach go cuas atá leathmhíle fé thalamh, agus nuair a chuaigh sé isteach sa chuas, do bhí rón roimis agus bhí sí ’na dtinneas ar oisín óg.
“Á, fan go fóill,” arsa sí, “ a Fheidhlm ’ic Eoghain, agus ná marbh do fóill mé do gcuirfidh mé cúram an oisín óig seo díom.”
“Ní mharódh ná go deo!” a deir sé, á fágaint ansan agus ag imeacht air amach agus ag imeacht abhaile agus níor tháinig sé riamh ó shin chuici, agus tá an cuas ann [fós] agus beidh go deo. Cuas a’ Róin a ghlaonn siad air.
I used to hear the old people say that there was a man in our area, in our parish, called Feidhlm ’ic Eoghain from Foilmore, and he was always killing seals. He always had a big iron mallet with him to hit them over the head. He went into a cove that is about half a mile underground, and when he went into the cove there was a seal in front of him giving birth to a seal pup.
“Oh, wait a while,” she said, “Feidhlm ’ic Eoghain, and don’t kill me until I’m done with this young seal!”
“I will not kill you now or ever again!” he said, leaving her there and going out and going home and he didn’t ever come back to her and the cove is still there, as it will be forever. They call it Seal Cove.