The Ring

The Ring
by Bryan MacMahon

I should like you to have known my grandmother. She was my mother’s mother, and as I remember her she was a widow with a warm farm in the Kickham country in Tipperary. Her land was on the southern slope of a hill, and there it drank in the sun which, to me, seemed always to be balanced on the teeth of the Galtees. Each year I spent the greater part of my summer holidays at my grandmother’s place. It was a great change for me to leave our home in a bitter sea-coast village in Kerry and visit my grandmother’s. Why, man, the grass gone to waste on a hundred yards of the roadside in Tipperary was as much as you’d find in a dozen of our sea-poisoned fields. I always thought it a pity to see all that fine grass go to waste by the verge of the road. I think so still.

Although my Uncle Con was married, my grandmother held the whip hand in the farm. At the particular time I am trying to recall, the first child was in the cradle. (Ah, how time has galloped away! That child is now a nun in a convent on the Seychelles Islands.) My Uncle Con’s wife, my Aunt Annie, was a gentle, delicate girl who was only charmed in herself to have somebody to assume the responsibility of the place. Which was just as well indeed, considering the nature of woman my grandmother was. Since that time when her husband’s horse had walked into the farmyard unguided, with my grandfather, Martin Dermody, dead in the body of the car, her heart had turned to stone in her breast. Small wonder to that turning, since she was left with six young children—five girls and one boy, my Uncle Con. But she faced the world bravely and did well by them all. Ah! but she was hard, main hard.

Once at a race-meeting I picked up a jockey’s crop. When I balanced it on my palm it reminded me of my grandmother. Once I had a twenty-two-pound salmon laced to sixteen feet of CastleConnell greenheart; the rod reminded me of my grandmother. True, like crop and rod, she had an element of flexibility, but like them there was no trace of fragility. Now after all these years I cannot recall her person clearly; to me she is but something tall and dark and austere. But lately I see her character with a greater clarity. Now I understand things that puzzled me when I was a boy. Towards me she displayed a certain black affection. Oh, but I made her laugh warmly once. That was when I told her of the man who had stopped me on the road beyond the limekiln and asked me if I were a grandson of Martin Dermody. Inflating with a shy pride, I had told him that I was. He then gave me a shilling and said, “Maybe you’re called Martin after your grandfather?”“No,” I said,“I’m called Con after my Uncle Con.” It was then my grandmother had laughed a little warmly. But my Uncle Con caught me under the armpits, tousled my hair and said I was a clever Kerry rascal.

The solitary occasion on which I remember her to have shown emotion was remarkable. Maybe remarkable isn’t the proper word; obscene would be closer to the mark. Obscene I would have thought of it then, had I known the meaning of the word. Today I think it merely pathetic.

How was it that it all started? Yes, there was I with my bare legs trailing from the heel of a loaded hayfloat. I was watching the broad silver parallels we were leaving in the clean after-grass. My Uncle Con was standing in the front of the float guiding the mare. Drawing in the hay to the hayshed we were. Already we had a pillar and a half of the hayshed filled. My grandmother was up on the hay, forking the lighter trusses. The servant-boy was handling the heavier forkfuls. A neighbour was throwing it up to them.

When the float stopped at the hayshed I noticed that something was amiss. For one thing the man on the hay was idle, as indeed was the man on the ground. My grandmother was on the ground, looking at the hay with cold calculating eyes. She turned to my Uncle Con.

“Draw in no more hay, Con,” she said. “I’ve lost my wedding ring.”

“Where? In the hay?” he queried.

“Yes, in the hay.”

“But I thought you had a keeper?”

“I’ve lost the keeper, too. My hands are getting thin.”

“The story could be worse,” he commented.

My grandmother did not reply for a little while. She was eyeing the stack with enmity.

“’Tis in that half-pillar,” she said at last.

“I must look for it.”

“You’ve a job before you, mother,” said Uncle Con.

She spoke to the servant-boy and the neighbour. “Go down and shake out those couple of pikes at the end of the Bog Meadow,” she ordered. “They’re heating in the centre.”

“Can’t we be drawing in to the idle pillar, mother?” my Uncle Con asked gently.

“No, Con,” she answered. “I’ll be putting the hay from the middle pillar there.”

The drawing-in was over for the day. That was about four o’clock in the afternoon. Before she tackled the half-pillar, my grandmother went down on her hands and knees and started to search the loose hay in the idle pillar. She searched wisp by wisp, even sop by sop. My Uncle Con beckoned to me to come away. Anyway, we knew she’d stop at six o’clock. “Six to six” was her motto for working hours. She never broke that rule.

That was a Monday evening. On Tuesday we offered to help—my Uncle Con and I. She was down on her knees when we asked her. “No, no,” she said abruptly. Then, by way of explanation, when she saw that we were crestfallen: “You see, if we didn’t find it I’d be worried that ye didn’t search as carefully as ye should, and I’d have no peace of mind until I had searched it all over again.” So she worked hard all day, breaking off only for her meals and stopping sharp at six o’clock.

By Wednesday evening she had made a fair gap in the hay but had found no ring. Now and again during the day we used to go down to see if she had had any success. She was very wan in the face when she stopped in the evening.

On Thursday morning her face was still more strained and drawn. She seemed reluctant to leave the rick even to take her meals. What little she ate seemed like so much dust in her mouth. We took down tea to her several times during the day.

By Friday the house was on edge. My Uncle Con spoke guardedly to her at dinner-time. “This will set us back a graydle, mother,” he said. “I know, son; I know, son; I know,” was all she said in reply.

Saturday came and the strain was unendurable. About three o’clock in the afternoon she found the keeper. We had been watching her in turns from the kitchen window. I remember my uncle’s face lighting up and his saying, “Glory, she’s found it!”

But he drew a long breath when again she started burrowing feverishly in the hay. Then we knew it was only the keeper. We didn’t run out at all. We waited till she came in at six o’clock. There were times between three and six when our three heads were together at the small window watching her. I was thinking she was like a mouse nibbling at a giant’s loaf.

At six she came in and said, “I found the keeper.” After her tea she couldn’t stay still. She fidgeted around the kitchen for an hour or so. Then, “Laws were made to be broken,” said my grandmother with a brittle bravery, and she stalked out to the hayshed. Again, we watched her.

Coming on for dusk she returned and lighted a stable lantern and went back to resume her search. Nobody crossed her. We didn’t say yes, are or no to her. After a time, my Uncle Con took her heavy coat off the rack and went down and threw it across her shoulders. I was with him. “There’s a touch of frost there tonight, mother,” said my Uncle Con.

We loitered for a while in the darkness outside the ring of her lantern’s light. But she resented our pitying eyes so we went in. We sat around the big fire waiting—Uncle Con, Aunt Annie and I. That was the lonely waiting—without speaking—just as if we were waiting for an old person to die or for a child to come into the world. Near twelve we heard her step on the cobbles. ’Twas typical of my grandmother that she placed the lantern on the ledge of the dresser and quenched the candle in it before she spoke to us.

“I found it,” she said. The words dropped out of her drawn face. “Get hot milk for my mother, Annie,” said Uncle Con briskly.

My grandmother sat by the fire, a little to one side. Her face was as cold as death. I kept watching her like a hawk but her eyes didn’t even flicker. The wedding ring was inside its keeper, and my grandmother kept twirling it round and round with the fingers of her right hand.

Suddenly, as if ashamed of her finger’s betrayal, she hid her hands under her check apron. Then, unpredictably, the fists under the apron came up to meet her face, and her face bent down to meet the fists in the apron. “Oh, Martin, Martin,” she sobbed, and then she cried like the rain.

Notes:

• ’Tis: shortened form of ‘it is’.
• The teeth of the Galtees: Reference to the heights of the Galtee mountain range in Munster, Ireland.
• Kickham country in Tipperary: A location in County Tipperary, Ireland.
• Kerry: County Kerry, Ireland.
• Jockey’s crop: A firm rod used by jockeys during horse racing.
• Seychelles Islands: An archipelago in the Indian Ocean.
• CastleConnell greenheart: A fishing rod made from a firm willow.
• Limekiln: A kiln for lime processing.
• The ring’s keeper: An outer ring covering the actual wedding ring.

Detailed Summary of “The Ring” by Bryan MacMahon

1. Introduction to the Grandmother and Setting
The story is narrated by a man reminiscing about his strong-willed grandmother, who lived on a prosperous farm in Tipperary, Ireland. The narrator contrasts her lush farmland with his own harsh coastal village in Kerry, emphasizing the abundance of her world. His grandmother, a widow, had raised six children alone after her husband, Martin Dermody, died tragically when his horse brought his lifeless body back to the farmyard. This event hardened her emotionally, making her stern and unyielding—yet deeply respected in the household.

2. The Grandmother’s Character
The narrator describes his grandmother as a formidable woman—unyielding like a jockey’s crop or a fishing rod, flexible but unbreakable. She ruled the farm with strict discipline, even though her son, Uncle Con, was married and lived with her. Her daily routine followed the motto “six to six,” reflecting her rigid work ethic. Despite her toughness, she showed rare moments of warmth, such as when she laughed at the narrator’s childhood remark about being named after Uncle Con rather than his grandfather.

3. The Loss of the Wedding Ring
The central conflict arises when the grandmother loses her wedding ring (and its “keeper,” an outer protective band) while helping stack hay in the hayshed. The moment she realizes it’s missing, she halts all work, coldly calculating where it might be—likely buried in a half-filled hay pillar. Her obsession with finding it disrupts the farm’s routine, as she refuses help, fearing others might not search thoroughly enough.

4. The Relentless Search
For days, she kneels in the hay, meticulously sifting through it strand by strand. The family watches helplessly as she grows increasingly gaunt, skipping meals and working past her usual hours—breaking her own “six to six” rule for the first time. By Friday, the household is tense; Uncle Con gently hints at the financial strain caused by the delay, but she dismisses him. On Saturday, she finds the keeper but not the ring, fueling her desperation. That night, in an uncharacteristic act, she takes a lantern and searches past midnight, defying all norms.

5. The Emotional Climax
At midnight, she returns, announcing tersely, “I found it.” The ring is safely inside its keeper. As she sits by the fire, her face remains stoic, but her fingers betray her—twirling the ring compulsively. Suddenly, she hides her hands under her apron, then breaks down in heaving sobs, crying, “Oh, Martin, Martin,” as if speaking to her long-dead husband. This raw outburst shocks the narrator, who had never seen her show vulnerability.

6. Themes and Symbolism

• Hidden Vulnerability: The ring symbolizes her buried grief and love for Martin. Her obsessive search mirrors her inability to let go of the past.
• Discipline vs. Emotion: Her rigid exterior cracks only when confronted with this tangible link to her husband, revealing the cost of her stoicism.
• Family Dynamics: The household tiptoes around her, respecting her authority but powerless to ease her pain. Their silent vigil underscores the unspoken bonds of care.
• Irish Rural Life: The story paints a vivid picture of farm labor, tradition (the keeper ring), and the intersection of hardship and tenderness in rural Ireland.

7. Conclusion
The story closes with the grandmother’s moment of catharsis—a rare surrender to emotion that redefines the narrator’s understanding of her strength. What he once saw as “obscene” (in his childhood confusion) he now recognizes as profoundly human: a testament to love enduring beyond death, and the fragility beneath even the hardest exteriors.

1-Mark Questions

Who is the narrator of the story?
The narrator is the grandson of the grandmother, recalling his childhood memories.

Where did the grandmother live?
She lived on a warm farm in the Kickham country in Tipperary, Ireland.

What did the grandmother lose in the hay?
She lost her wedding ring and its keeper.

What was the grandmother’s motto for working hours?
“Six to six” (from 6 AM to 6 PM).

How did the grandmother react after finding the ring?
She sobbed and cried, calling out her late husband’s name, “Oh, Martin, Martin.

What was the name of the narrator’s grandfather?
Martin Dermody.

How many children did the grandmother raise after her husband’s death?
Six (five girls and one boy, Uncle Con).

What did the man near the limekiln give the narrator?
A shilling.

What did the grandmother do after finding the keeper but not the ring?
She continued searching feverishly in the hay.

What did Uncle Con bring the grandmother when she searched at night?
Her heavy coat to protect her from the cold.

2-Mark Questions

Describe the grandmother’s personality in two traits.
She was stern, disciplined, and hardworking, yet emotionally attached to her wedding ring. Her heart had “turned to stone” after her husband’s death.

Why did the grandmother refuse help in searching for the ring?
She feared others might not search carefully, leaving her with no peace of mind until she checked everything herself.

What comparison does the narrator make between his grandmother and objects?
He compares her to a jockey’s crop and a fishing rod—flexible yet unbreakable, showing her strength and resilience.

How did the family react while the grandmother searched for the ring?
They watched anxiously but did not interfere, respecting her determination while feeling helpless.

What was unusual about the grandmother breaking her routine?
She worked past her strict “six to six” rule, even searching at night with a lantern, showing her desperation.

Why did the grandmother’s heart “turn to stone”?
After her husband died, she was left alone to raise six children, forcing her to become emotionally hardened to survive.

What does the narrator’s comparison of his grandmother to a mouse nibbling at a giant’s loaf suggest?
It highlights her small, determined effort against an overwhelming task, emphasizing her persistence.

How did the grandmother react when the narrator said he was named after Uncle Con and not Martin?
She laughed warmly, showing rare affection, while Uncle Con playfully called him a “clever Kerry rascal.”

What does the phrase “the whip hand in the farm” reveal about the grandmother?
It shows her dominant control over the household and farm, despite Uncle Con being married.

Why was the family’s waiting compared to waiting for “an old person to die or a child to be born”?

It reflects the tense, silent anticipation, as if they were witnessing a deeply emotional, life-changing moment.

1. Explain the significance of the wedding ring in the story.

The wedding ring in Bryan MacMahon’s *The Ring* serves as a profound symbol of love, loss, and the fragile boundary between emotional repression and vulnerability. For the grandmother, the ring is the last tangible connection to her late husband, Martin Dermody, whose tragic death hardened her into a stoic, unyielding figure. Though she rules her farm with iron discipline, the ring’s disappearance cracks her facade, revealing the grief she has buried for years. Her obsessive, days-long search through the haystack—defying her own rigid “six to six” work ethic—mirrors her inability to let go of the past. When she finally finds the ring, her carefully constructed composure shatters: she hides her trembling hands under her apron, then collapses into sobs, crying her husband’s name. This moment underscores the ring’s dual role as both a symbol of enduring love and a catalyst for emotional release, exposing the depth of her sorrow beneath her hardened exterior. The ring, small and seemingly insignificant, becomes the key to unlocking the grandmother’s humanity, illustrating how even the strongest facades can be undone by the weight of memory and loss. 1. Explain the significance of the wedding ring in the story.

The ring’s **”keeper”**—an outer band meant to protect it—adds another layer of meaning. Just as the keeper is useless without the ring, the grandmother’s tough exterior (her “keeper”) cannot shield her from the pain of her past. The story ultimately suggests that true strength lies not in rigid control, but in the courage to confront one’s emotions, even when they surface unexp

2. How does the narrator’s description of his grandmother change from his childhood to adulthood?

The narrator’s perception of his grandmother evolves significantly from his childhood to adulthood, reflecting a deeper understanding of her complexity. As a child, he views her through a lens of awe and intimidation, describing her as “tall, dark, and austere,” comparing her to unyielding objects like a jockey’s crop or a fishing rod—tools that are strong, inflexible, and devoid of fragility. Her stern demeanor and ironclad control over the farm dominate his childhood memories, leaving little room for emotional warmth. However, as an adult, the narrator gains insight into the trauma that shaped her hardness: the sudden loss of her husband and the burden of raising six children alone. This revelation softens his perspective, allowing him to recognize her “black affection”—a love expressed through severity rather than tenderness. The pivotal moment of her breakdown after finding the wedding ring becomes a turning point in his understanding; her raw, unrestrained grief unveils the vulnerability she had concealed for decades. The narrator’s mature reflection transforms her from a figure of rigid authority into a profoundly human character, revealing how time and experience can unravel the mysteries of those we think we know best.

3. Discuss the role of discipline in the grandmother’s life and how the ring incident challenges it.

Discipline is the cornerstone of the grandmother’s existence, a rigid framework that governs both her farm and her emotions. Her life operates on the unwavering principle of “six to six” work hours, a self-imposed rule that reflects her need for control after the trauma of her husband’s sudden death. This discipline becomes her armor, allowing her to raise six children alone and maintain authority over the household with unyielding efficiency. Yet the loss of her wedding ring shatters this carefully constructed order. For the first time, she abandons her routines—skipping meals, working past dusk, and even laboring through the night with a lantern—transgressing every boundary she once held sacred. The ring incident exposes the fragility beneath her stoic exterior, revealing that her discipline was not just a strength but a shield against grief. In her desperate search, she prioritizes emotional reckoning over practicality, dismantling the very structure she built to survive. The moment she finally clutches the ring and weeps for Martin, her lifelong discipline collapses into catharsis, proving that even the most fortified self-control cannot suppress the human need to mourn and remember. The incident ultimately redefines discipline not as a denial of feeling, but as the courage to confront what lies beneath.

4. Analyze the family’s reaction to the grandmother’s search. What does it reveal about their relationship?
The family’s reaction to the grandmother’s obsessive search for the wedding ring reveals a dynamic of quiet reverence, unspoken empathy, and restrained helplessness. They watch her from a distance—Uncle Con, Aunt Annie, and the narrator hovering at the kitchen window or lingering outside the lantern’s glow—but never intervene, respecting her fierce independence even as it borders on self-destruction. Their silence is not indifference but a form of deference to her authority and an acknowledgment of her unexpressed grief. Uncle Con’s small acts of care, like draping her coat over her shoulders or gently questioning the farm’s halted work, underscore a tenderness that dares not disrupt her process. The household’s collective tension mirrors a vigil, as if they understand this search is not just for a lost object but for a buried part of her past. Their restraint speaks volumes: it is a family that communicates through actions rather than words, bound by shared history and unvoiced understanding. When the grandmother finally breaks down, their swift response—Uncle Con’s order for hot milk, their silent presence by the fire—reveals a love that knows when to step back and when to step close, a relationship built on patience, respect, and the quiet acceptance of each other’s hidden wounds.

5. Why does the narrator call the grandmother’s emotional outburst “pathetic” rather than “remarkable”?
The narrator describes his grandmother’s emotional outburst as “pathetic” rather than “remarkable” to underscore the profound shift in his understanding of her character over time. As a child, he might have viewed her sudden display of grief as shocking or even “obscene”—a breach of the unyielding strength she had always embodied. However, with the wisdom of adulthood, he recognizes her breakdown not as a spectacle, but as a heartbreaking revelation of long-suppressed vulnerability. The word “pathetic” (from the Greek *pathos*, meaning suffering) conveys his matured perspective: what once seemed jarring or out of place now strikes him as deeply human and tragically inevitable. Her tears lay bare the cost of her lifelong stoicism, reducing her to a figure of sorrow rather than awe. By calling it “pathetic,” the narrator acknowledges the futility of her emotional repression—how her hardened exterior, forged by necessity, ultimately crumbles under the weight of a love she could never fully bury. The term reflects not judgment, but a bittersweet empathy for the fragility she had spent decades disguising.

6. How does the setting (Tipperary farm vs. Kerry coast) influence the narrator’s perspective?
The contrasting settings of the lush Tipperary farm and the harsh Kerry coast profoundly shape the narrator’s perspective, framing his understanding of identity, belonging, and emotional resilience. The grandmother’s farm in Tipperary, with its sun-drenched slopes and “fine grass gone to waste” by the roadside, represents abundance, warmth, and a connection to tradition—qualities starkly absent in his own “bitter sea-poisoned” home in Kerry. Where Kerry’s coastal landscape is marked by scarcity and struggle, Tipperary’s fertile land becomes a symbol of stability and emotional nourishment for the narrator. This dichotomy mirrors his perception of his grandmother herself: just as Tipperary’s richness contrasts with Kerry’s austerity, her disciplined strength contrasts with the emotional barrenness he associates with his immediate surroundings. The farm becomes a sanctuary where he witnesses both her unyielding exterior and, ultimately, her hidden vulnerability—revealing that even in this place of apparent abundance, there are depths of unspoken pain. Through these settings, the narrator internalizes a tension between survival and tenderness, recognizing that landscapes, like people, can harbor contradictions beneath their surfaces.

7. Discuss the symbolism of the “keeper” in the story.

The “keeper” in *The Ring* serves as a poignant symbol of protection, emotional armor, and the futility of guarding against inevitable vulnerability. Functionally, the keeper is an outer band designed to shield the delicate wedding ring, much like the grandmother’s hardened exterior protects her fragile grief. When she loses both the ring and its keeper, the parallel is clear: her emotional defenses—forged through years of disciplined stoicism—have begun to thin, leaving her exposed. The keeper’s discovery before the ring itself underscores this irony; finding the protector first is meaningless without what it was meant to safeguard, mirroring how the grandmother’s rigid control over the farm and family cannot preserve the love at her core. Ultimately, the keeper’s absence becomes a metaphor for the impossibility of true emotional insulation. Just as the ring cannot endure without its keeper, the grandmother cannot sustain her toughness indefinitely—her breakdown reveals that some wounds, no matter how deeply buried, demand to be felt. The keeper thus embodies the paradox of human resilience: the very things we design to protect us often become reminders of what we stand to lose.

8. How does the grandmother’s breakdown challenge stereotypes of Irish rural women?

The grandmother’s emotional breakdown in *The Ring* subverts the stereotype of the stoic, emotionally repressed Irish rural woman by revealing the complexity beneath her hardened exterior. Traditionally, such women were expected to embody unyielding resilience—bearing hardship silently, managing households with iron discipline, and suppressing vulnerability as a matter of survival. The grandmother initially fits this mold, ruling her farm with unwavering authority and masking her grief after her husband’s death with practicality. Yet her obsessive search for the wedding ring and subsequent collapse into sobs dismantle this one-dimensional portrayal. Her raw, public display of grief for Martin exposes the depth of her love and loneliness, challenging the notion that rural women are defined solely by endurance. In a single moment, she transcends the archetype of the “strong matriarch” to reveal the universal human need to mourn—proving that even the most disciplined hearts can break. By granting her this vulnerability, the story rejects sentimentalized ideals of rural strength, offering instead a portrait of a woman whose toughness coexists with tenderness, and whose silence finally gives way to the catharsis she has long denied herself.

9. Analyze the significance of the lantern scene in the hayshed.

The lantern scene in the hayshed is a powerful moment of visual and emotional symbolism, illuminating the grandmother’s isolation and the fragile boundary between her disciplined exterior and inner turmoil. As she searches alone in the darkness, the small circle of lantern light becomes a metaphor for her singular focus—cut off from the family watching silently from the periphery, just as she has spent years insulating herself from their full understanding. The flickering light against the vast haystack underscores the futility yet necessity of her quest: like the lantern’s feeble glow against the night, her stubborn determination seems both precarious and profound. When Uncle Con drapes her coat over her shoulders, the gesture—lit by that same lantern—bridges the distance between her solitude and their unspoken care, revealing how love persists even when words fail. The scene’s quiet tension culminates in her midnight breakdown, where the lantern, now placed on the dresser, bears witness to her shattered restraint. Its light, once a tool of her defiance, becomes a silent observer to her vulnerability, marking the moment her emotional walls finally collapse. In this way, the lantern transcends its practical role to mirror the grandmother’s journey—its glow a testament to both her resilience and the inevitability of her grief breaking through.

10. Why does the narrator use fishing and racing imagery to describe his grandmother?

The narrator employs fishing and racing imagery—comparing his grandmother to a **jockey’s crop** and a **CastleConnell greenheart fishing rod**—to capture the paradoxical nature of her strength: unyielding yet flexible, austere yet enduring. The **jockey’s crop**, a tool of precision and control, mirrors her disciplined governance of the farm, where she “held the whip hand” with unwavering authority. Yet like the crop, which bends without breaking, her rigidity conceals a latent adaptability—seen later in her emotional collapse. Similarly, the **fishing rod**, crafted from resilient greenheart willow, reflects her ability to withstand immense pressure without snapping, much like how she bore the weight of widowhood and single parenthood. Yet both objects, though sturdy, serve a purpose beyond brute force: the crop guides, the rod yields and rebounds. This duality mirrors the grandmother’s hidden depths—her toughness is not cold indifference but a form of resilience that, when strained to its limit (as with the lost ring), reveals the suppressed tenderness beneath. The narrator’s choice of imagery thus foreshadows her eventual breakdown, suggesting that her strength was never about hardness alone, but about enduring while still, inevitably, bending.