Month: January 2020

Sweet Eileen

A Tale of Tragedy

Sweet Eileen 1Eileen Lennon was a small, lively, four-year old child with an Angel’s face and a smile that could melt the hardest of hearts. Her long, red curly hair flowed down over her shoulders and highlighted her bright, hazel coloured eyes. She was the unspoiled only child who had been gifted to her mother and father by a loving God and they treasured every moment that they could spend with her. Joey, Eileen’s father, was a hard working labouring man who also looked after a few sheep, which were allowed to roam on a small plot of land that he owned in the hills on the outskirts of town. Meanwhile, Sarah, Eileen’s mother, was an industrious housewife who took pride in the way she cared for her daughter, her home and the small flock of sheep, which allowed her husband to work hard, earning cash as a labourer with a local builder.

Mule hoggs with suffolk sired lambs at foot.

As with most farmer’s wives, the Spring was always Sarah’s busiest season of the year. Over those weeks she and joey would work all hours together to ensure that the ewes were safely delivered of their lambs. Spring was also Eileen’s favourite time of the year because she could see the little lambs frolic about the farm and, sometimes, hold them. She particularly loved to prance about the small field behind the house, where her parents would keep the lambs and ewes until they were less dependent on their mother’s milk. Every morning, even before breakfast, Eileen would traipse around after her mother begging to be allowed out into the small field with the lambs. Sarah, being the good mother she was, would not permit the child to leave the house until she had breakfasted and dressed appropriately. There were times, nonetheless, when Sarah’s attention was elsewhere that Eileen would quietly open the kitchen door to the outside and make her way toward the lambs. But, such escapes often did not last long and Eileen more often than not would find herself back at the breakfast table with her mother’s scolding words echoing in her ears.
One bright, sunshine filled Spring morning young Eileen sat at the family breakfast table, silently eating a bowl of ‘Weetabix’ and milk, her favourite cereal. She had been particularly well behaved that morning, but she was very eager to be outdoors and in the lambing field. A new, black lamb had been born a couple of days previously and she so wanted to go to it and snuggle into its soft fleece. That morning, her mother had dressed Eileen in a beautiful powder blue tee-shirt and blue jeans, and on her feet were her oldest pair of sandals. These were, Eileen knew, her ‘rough clothes’ and they would be staying home that day. She was very excited at the prospect of spending the entire morning with her beloved lambs, and especially the new black addition to the flock. “Mammy, I’m all done,” the little girl called out to her mother. “I have put my dishes in the sink, so can I go out now into the fields for a while?”
“Well, if you are finished your breakfast, I can’t see why not? But keep close to the house, Eileen! I am going to do the washing and I will be checking on you,”
“Okay, Mammy,” the child answered with a large beaming smile that lit up her entire face. She jumped down from her seat at the table and wasted no time in hurrying out of the kitchen door. “Don’t be running, for you will hurt yourself!” warned Sarah as Eileen ran out of the door and closed it loudly behind her. “That will keep her occupied for an hour or so and out from under my feet,” Sarah sighed gratefully. “I hate washing day!”
Sweet Eileen 3Sarah began sorting out the clothes from the washing baskets into “Whites” and “Coloureds” before she placed them, in their separate groups, into the washing machine. Once the first load of washing was switched on Sarah began to tidy away all the breakfast dishes into the sink, where they would be washed. There was one thing that anyone could be sure of when it came to Sarah Lennon, and that was her dedication to cleanliness within her home. There were many occasions when Joey had voiced his frustration at being obliged by his wife to remember that there was a place for everything and everything had to be put in its place. Despite the frustration, Joey was aware of the fact that his wife was not the sort of woman to tolerate untidiness in the home.
Earlier that morning Joey had left the house to cycle into town to undertake another day’s work on the building site. Over the previous few years the town of Derryard appeared to be expanding at a great rate, with new homes being built everywhere. The new creamery and cheese factory had encouraged people to move into the area and now the building of a sugar processing unit promised an influx of people seeking work. Quite a number of people had asked Joey, why did he not seek work in one of the factories? But, he would simply tell them that he had worked outdoors all his life and could not even contemplate in a factory environment. “Sure I wouldn’t see the sky, or breathe the sweet fresh air. I would not hear the birds sing, or the bleating of the sheep. It would be like sentencing me to jail to put myself in one of those places,” he would tell people. There was little doubt that Joey did indeed enjoy the outdoor life, and those who knew him said you would have to go a long way to find a man who worked as hard as he did.
As the town expanded and he was fully employed building new houses for the anticipated workforce, it often puzzled Joey as to how people could actually afford to buy these new houses. He saw the billboards advertising some houses for £125,000, others for £140,00, and even some at £175,000. The cottage in which he lived with his family, and the bit of land that came with it, had been inherited through the passing of a spinster aunt who had left it to him in her will. He knew nothing about mortgages or other means of financing property. Joey had been brought up in a family that believed in the idiom, “Never a borrower be.” He had no loans, either owed or owing to him, and his dealings with others were mostly in cash. Sarah, being the recognised sensible person, was the family’s banker and ensured that whatever surplus of money they had was put into the town’s branch of the “Credit Union.”
In the cottage, while Joey was at work, Sarah bused herself in the home. She began to make the beds and finished hoovering the hall before she went back to the kitchen to check if the first load of washing was complete. The washing machine’s cycle had finished and Sarah opened the machine’s door to begin lifting the still damp clothes out on to the kitchen table. When the washing machine was emptied she filled it with a second load of clothes and put it on another cycle. The second cycle would continue while she folded the clothes from the first was in preparation for the drying line in the garden. This was always the routine that she followed, but she had been too busy to notice that the weather was about to change for the worse. The rain had begun to fall outside while she folded her clothes. Sarah had hoped that a full week’s washing of dresses, shirts, blouses and undergarments would be completed and hung out to dry before lunch, but she now heard the sound of rain drops beating heavily against the glass pane of the kitchen window.
Sweet Eileen 4“Ah, good Jesus, no!” she exclaimed loudly as she watched the rain bounce off the glass. “Eileen? Eileen? Where are you?” she called out from the opened Kitchen door. Eileen might only have been four years old, but she knew that when the rain began, playtime outside was over and it was time to come back into the house. There was, however, no reply and the rain began to get heavier.
“Eileen? Come here now!” she shouted at the top of her voice, but again there was no reply. Opening the door wider and putting a coat over head and shoulders, Sarah stepped outside and could see no sign of her daughter. The sheep had moved nearer to the hedgerows to find some shelter and Sarah thought that maybe Eileen had followed their lead. Again she called out loudly and again there was no reply forthcoming. “If she is acting the ‘cod’ with me now, I’ll give her a red bottom with the strap,” Sarah promised herself. But she was more frustrated and worried than angry with her daughter. Pulling her raincoat closer around herself Sarah made for the small gate that led into the field where the sheep and lambs were. As soon as she opened the gate, and despite the rain blowing in her eyes, Sarah caught sight of her daughter lying prostrate on the ground a few yards into the field.
“Eileen?” she screamed, her lungs nearly bursting with the effort and her heart pounding in fear.
Without a moment’s hesitation Sarah ran to the body of her child, which lay motionless in the wet grass as the rain continued to pours down on her. Immediately she noticed a large, bloody gash at the side of the child’s temple, where she had evidently hit her head against a large rock that lay half-buried in the soft ground. Picking Eileen up into her arms, Sarah called for the child to awaken, begging her to open her eyes, as she moved quickly to the shelter of the cottage. There was, however, no movement from the child.
Eileen was laid carefully on the couch and a ‘fleece throw’ was put over her damp, cold body. With her daughter comfortable, Sarah lifted the phone and dialled for an emergency ambulance. “It’s my daughter!” Sarah told the operator excitedly. “She has had an accident and is not moving!”
“Please speak slowly and clearly,” the operator asked. “What has happened?”
“She has fallen and hit her head off a rock, and she is cut at the side of her head,” replied Sarah, hurriedly.
“Is she responsive?”
“No! She’s not moving, please send an ambulance!”
“I am sending it now, Madam,” replied the operator. “Is the child breathing?”
“Yes; No; I don’t know!” Sarah panicked.
“I know it is hard, but please try to keep calm. An ambulance is on its way and I need you to check if she is breathing,” the operator told Sarah calmly.
“I don’t know for sure; I don’t think so; My God help me!”
Sweet Eileen 5The operator continued to talk calmly to Sarah over the phone, giving her instructions on how to administer CPR. But Sarah was in no state of mind to carry out the exercise precisely. She tried to listen to what the operator was saying and tried her best to follow the instructions, but all her efforts appeared to be in vain. The seconds were lost in minutes as Sarah tearfully tried to encourage Eileen to awaken, and the minutes ticked by relentlessly as the child remained unresponsive. She didn’t know how long she had been on the phone, or even when she had contacted the operator, but her heart filled with new hope as the ambulance pulled up outside the cottage with all lights flashing. In moments a para-medic entered the house, closely followed by the ambulance driver, who was carrying oxygen cylinders and a plethora of other equipment.
Sarah, now relieved of her nursing duties, sat back and allowed her emotions to take control. She wept and wept until large tears flowed from her eyes, down her pale cheeks and dripped on to the cushion that lay on her knees. She didn’t want to wipe away the tears, preferring to stretch her hands out to hold the small, pale, cold hands of her daughter. “Will she be okay?” she asked the para-medic as he worked frantically with the unconscious little girl.
“Paddles!” he called out to the driver. “Keep your hands away,” he told Sarah.
The paddles were put on her bare chest and the shock caused her body to jump, and then the CPR continued. Nothing.
He tried again and as the driver tried CPR the para-medic interrupted him and shook his head. He turned to Sarah and asked, “Is there someone we can contact for you?”
“She is going to be alright?” Sarah asked but she noticed the desolation in the man’s eyes and received her answer. All the hope she had for Eileen’s recovery was gone in a moment. “I’m sorry Mrs Lennon, but she has gone,” confirmed the para-medic in a very quiet tone.
Sarah screamed in her grief, kissing her daughters face and crying bitter tears of heartbreak. Quietly the ambulance driver noted the time of death and began to tidy away the equipment, for the police would soon be at the scene.

Satan’s Creation

A Tale of Ireland’s West Coast

Along the west coast of Ireland there are many small fishing villages, and from one of these villages a narrow valley runs back from the sea into the mountains. It is a rugged valley created by two precipices that were torn apart ages ago and, when entering it along the road from the sea-shore, all that can be seen are the cliffs and craggy heights covered in patches of moss. Then, as you move further along the road, the valley narrows and the moss grows more thickly on the overhanging rocks. The trees that grow out of the clefts in the precipices, intermix their leafy branches and shelter the land below them from the strong rays of the midday sun. There a crystal clear brook runs swiftly over its bed of moss covered pebbles, flashing white as it leaps down a short decline, before taking cover once again under large ferns whose branches stretch from bank to bank. Then it reappears into the light, sparkling as it hurries on its way to the sunshine that engulfs a wider valley, and finally pours itself into the sea. Its origin lies in a spring that bursts out of a rock crevice into a a circular well, which had been partly scooped out and partly built up to receive the cool clear water. Above this well rises a sheer cliff-face to a height of fifty feet, where the rock changes shape, eroded by powers of nature into the shape of human face.
West Coast Cliffs 3The forehead of this rock face is shelving and its eyebrows are heavy and menacing. The nose that is so prominent is shaped like the beak of a hawk, while its upper lip is short, and the chin prominent and pointed. There, in the shelter of the crag that forms the nose is a thick growth of ferns that give the impression that the face has a small mustache and goatee. Above the forehead stands a mass of tangled undergrowth and ferns that many have likened to an Eastern turban, and an eye is clearly shown by a bit of lighter-coloured stone that gives the entire face a leer that could easily inspire fear among an ignorant and superstitious people. But on a level with the chin, and to its right is the mouth of a cave that can be reached by a path up the hillside, along which rudely hewn steps have been created to ease the steep ascent. Although the visitor to the cave must stoop to enter, inside they discover a large room seven feet high and twelve feet square. It was, without doubt, this cave was once home to a religious hermit because on each side of the entrance a cross has been carved deeply into the rock, and inside, a block of stone four feet high has been left standing at the far side and opposite the entrance. Above this altar a shrine has been hollowed out of the stone wall and over it another cross has been carved, over which has been written the legend, I.H.S.
The legend of the cave was told to my great-grandfather by a local old woman, considered to be a ‘Wise Woman’ by her neighbours, whose rendition of the tale was allegedly a tedious event. Nevertheless, she was a devout believer in her own story and told it with great earnestness and use of vocal intonations that kept her audience attentive. “It’s the cave of a saint, but I’m not certain of what saint it is. There’s some say it was Saint Patrick himself, but I don’t believe it. Others have said it was Saint Kevin, the one that conned the old King out of his land in the bargain he made for curing his goose, but I don’t believe that either. I tend to agree with those that said it was Saint Tigernach, you know that one who built the big Abbey at Clones in County Monaghan. Sure, didn’t Father Murphy say the same thing and there’s not a one who would know better than he.”
“Do you see that big head on the rock?” she asked. ” Well, that’s the devil’s own face that the saint made him put there, the time that the saint proved to be too smart for him when the evil one tried to cheat the blessed man. Aye, a quare story it is too, and the wealthy ones that come down here have a great laugh about it when it is told, saying they don’t believe a word of it. It’s because they don’t understand, but if men had to understand everything they believed in then they wouldn’t have much to believe in.”
“But, as I was telling you, Saint Tigernach lived in that cave alone, a good man and more cunning than a fox. He made it to suit himself and every day he would say a thousand ‘Our Fathers’, five thousand ‘Hail Marys’, a thousand ‘Credos’, before he would go out among the poor. Thanks be to God there weren’t many poor in Ireland in those days, for times were better, and those that were there looked up to the saint. He fed them and, when he begged for the poor, there wasn’t a man or woman that wouldn’t give something to him because he would stick to them like glue until he would get the offering. All that suffered persecution, or were hungry, or without clothes would go to the saint like a child to its mother and tell him everything that was in their heart.”
The old woman muttered under her breath for a moment before resuming her story. “While that blessed saint lived here, across the hill and beyond the peat-bog lived a ‘hedger and ditcher’ by the name of O’Connor. He was only a poor working man, helped by his wife, while his daughter, Kathleen, took care of the house. Strange to tell, in that house they kept a wooden board in the corner, which acted as a bar and had a jug of poteen sitting on it. From the jug they would sell poteen to all who passed by, because this was the day before the customs men, bad luck to them all, and every man drank as much as he wished without paying a penny to the government. O’Connor, himself, made the poteen while Kathleen would sell it to the turf cutters on the bog, but they didn’t buy large amounts because they rarely had enough money. Kathleen, however, was a fine girl with eye that would melt the heart of the toughest man, young or old. She was always to be seen in a nice dress during the week, and had a special one for wearing on Sundays, and it was said one sight of her would make an old man feel young again. But there wasn’t a mischievous bone in her body, for she was as pleasant as sunshine in winter and as innocent as a new born lamb, going to Mass regularly and doing her ‘duty’. Kathleen, however, had fallen in love with a young fellow who was employed as a ‘ditcher’, and they were to be married when the house he was building was done, and his father gave him a cow. Although he was by no means a rich man, he had the love of this beautiful young woman and he thought he had a fortune.”
West Coast Cliffs 2“Now, in those days, the castle at the foot of the hill was owned by a lord, who was bedridden because of the rheumatism and pains he had in his body. But his son, Lord Robert, was a devil of a man for running after girls and had earned himself a terrible reputation in the entire County. He was the type of man who would chase after a girl and, when he had won her heart, he would break it like he was snapping a twig. There was many a young girl destroyed by his deceptions, for once that devil of a man had his foot on her neck she would never be able to lift her head again. Then, one day, the old Lord’s pains got the better of him and he died. They gave him a great wake and funeral, but while he was standing at his father’s graveside, Lord Robert noticed Kathleen standing among the crowd and he wondered who this beauty was. Inheriting the estate he filled the stables with horses and dogs, which allowed him to continue his hobby of hunting. But Robert was a soldier and he had a great number of troopers at the castle, who were at his call. But not long after his father was buried, Lord Robert went hunting in the hills and came upon O’Connor’s cabin and said to one of his men, ‘I wonder if they would have a wee drop to spare here, for I am dry as a bone.’ So, they went into the cabin, asked, and were served their drinks. But Robert’s wicked eye was fixed on Kathleen and said, ‘Aren’t you the fine girl and fit to be in the house of a prince?'”
The old woman smiled and told her audience, “But she was fit for him and told him, ‘Don’t be trying your fine talk on me, Sir. I know who you are and have never heard a good word said about you!’ Kathleen was a good girl and as firm as stone when she thought someone was up to no good. So, Robert went away that time and came again and again when he was hunting, and he always had a smart, impudent word in his mouth for her. When she told her parents they agreed that his behaviour wasn’t nice, but they did not fear for the girl’s safety and reminded her that he would spend more in one drinking session than they would normally take in a week. Although they did not want to stop Robert in coming to the cabin, their lack of action encouraged his bad behaviour and every time he he came to the cabin he went away more determined to have the girl for himself. Then, when he realised that he would never get her by fair means, he decided that foul means were all that was left to him. Finally, when she rejected his advances again and refused to accept a present he had brought her, Lord Robert told her, ‘I’ll bring you to heel young lady, if you will not accept my presents,’ and he went away. Frightened by the threat, Kathleen told Tim McCarthy about Lord Robert and what he had said to her. An angry Tim swore that he would break every bone in Robert’s body if he so much as touched Kathleen. Then, as he got to thinking about the situation he became anxious about Kathleen’s safety and decided that he should marry her immediately and move to another county. ‘If that blackguard dares to come after her he’ll have his head crushed like an egg shell,’ he said to himself, knowing that many of the next county’s menfolk had little love for the English aristocracy. Without another thought he left his job and went immediately to Kathleen and told her, ‘I’m afraid for you, my darling, and I would rather be dead than see any harm being done to you. I believe, then, that we should get married immediately.'”
“Kathleen agreed, gathering up her best Sunday dress, and they both set out for the saint’s cave in belief that it was the nearest place where they could be married, for being married by him would be the same as being married by a priest. They hurried along the road to the large oak tree, where the footpath leaves the road and takes them along a boreen. Suddenly, from behind them, they caught the sound of a loud noise and they stood closer to the hedge, through which they peeped to see what was following. It was Lord Robert and a dozen of his men, with their weapons and armour shining in the moonlight, and they were riding swiftly toward O’Connor’s house. Tim and Kathleen realised that they had made a narrow escape and as soon as Lord Robert and his men were out of sight they sped along their way. They left the path and went to cross over the hill, which was mistake. If they had kept to the hedge and went around by the footbridge, took the footpath along the other side of the stream that runs in front of the mill they would have kept themselves hidden and safe. But as they crossed over the hill, one of Robert’s men spied them, for Robert had discovered from Kathleen’s father that she and Tim were gone and he had began to search after them. The soldier who had seen the two fugitives blew on his trumpet and the rest of the company rode swiftly after them. Kathleen and Tim now came stumbling down the slope and staggered into the cave just minutes before Lord Robert’s men pulled up there with their horses puffing, and their armour rattling loudly. “
“In a corner of the cave, on a pile of straw, the saint snored peacefully in his sleep after a tiring day’s work and was undisturbed by Tim and Kathleen’s entry into the cave. Meanwhile, Lord Robert and his men left their horses just below the cave and climbed up the short distance to look in. But, they could see nothing because it was so dark and Robert called out, ‘Come on, now, Kathleen! Come out, now that I have found you safe and well.’ Neither Kathleen or Tim answered him, but Robert heard a noise that was the saint turning himself uneasily in his sleep. ‘Come along out of there,’ Robert repeated, ‘and you, Tim McCarthy, if you come out, you can return to your ditch digging, but if we have to drag you out then the crows will be eating your corpse at sunrise. Strike a light you men!'”
“Robert’s men did as they were ordered and almost immediately they saw Tim and Kathleen standing, one on each side of the altar, holding tightly to the cross that was on it. ‘Drag him out of there!’ Robert roared loudly and his men went in to do his bidding. But before they came within distance of their target, Saint Tigernach had stopped snoring because he was disturbed by the light and the noise, and he now stood up before them. ‘Hold on,’ said the saint, ‘What’s the matter here? Why is there all this noise?’ Lord Robert’s men drew back in fear of the saint and what he might do. Lord Robert then came forward and explained that the girl was a servant of his, who had ran away with a ditch digger. The saint, however, immediately saw through Robert’s deception, “Stop it! Don’t try to trick me with your lies! Get away now, with your murdering band or I’ll put a great curse upon you all before you can count to five.’ With these warnings in their ears the men left the cave, followed by Lord Robert, who was still vainly trying to urge them to go back after the girl.”
“‘No Lord,’ they told Robert. ‘We have eaten you food and drank your drink, and we’ll do your Lord’s bidding in all that is right. We are perfectly willing to wait until morning and take the girl, and murder the ditch digger, when they come out of the cave, but the saint must not ind out. That would be too much of a risk, for we all have souls to save!'”
The armed men all mounted their horses and started back to the castle, with Lord Robert following them. But Robert’s evil heart was set upon having Kathleen and he couldn’t bear the thought of someone else getting her. Then, when he reached the turn in the road he halted and swore loudly, ‘ It’s the great eejit, I am. Sure, why didn’t I think of using the witch before?'”
West Coast Cliffs 4“There was in those days a great witch living in a cabin built near a rath that lay in the break between the mountains beyond the mill. She was well known in the county for bringing storms, causing cows to stop producing milk, and many other black deeds. She would have been taken long before and drowned, but the people feared that the devil, himself, was at her elbow when she did these things. So, it was to her cabin that Lord Robert went, and he was allowed to enter after he had rapped on the door. She sat in the middle of a long row of black cats, holding a skillet of serpents that were stewing over the fire, and she knew who he was because she had done many deeds for him before this. Without even greeting her, Robert made the reason for his visit clear to her. The old hag made a charm to call her master to her and, within a minute, he stood by her side sporting a large smile and waiting for her to speak. But it was Robert who spoke and began to make a complicated deal with the devil, with which he hoped to cheat Satan. The devil, however, was no fool at making contracts and he tried to make this one as strong as it could be. There was much talk and dealing between the two and, finally, the Devil agreed to do all that Lord Robert asked of him for twenty years, in exchange for his body and soul. If the Devil failed in any way, however, that would be an end of the bargain. Although pleased, at first, the Devil’s face grew longer when he heard that his first task was to bring Kathleen out of the cave and take her to the castle. Scratching his head in puzzlement, Satan said to himself, ‘It’s not going to be an easy task taking that girl from the power of a saint like him. But we will try.'”
So, Robert, the Witch and Satan mounted the one horse and rode like the wind toward the cave. When they came near the top of the hill they all got off and hid in the bushes standing between the cave and the spring, and the devil explained that every night the saint would go to spring to get a drink of water to ease his thirst after saying his devotions. At the same time the saint would also bring back to the cave with him a bucket of the cool liquid. ‘We’ll stop him by the spring with the witch, ‘ said the Devil. ‘You and I will steal the girl while he’s talking.'”
“So, as the clock struck twelve o’clock, the saint came out with his water bucket and walked down to the spring. When he got there and was taking his drink, the witch approached and began to tell him about a son that she had, who was as lazy as a cart-horse and as useless as a sore thumb. She asked the saint’s advice about what she could do with her son, but she was lying to the saint in order to distract him and allow Satan and Lord Robert to get into the cave unobserved.
The Devil picked up Kathleen in his arms, but he wouldn’t have dared do that if she had been on the other side of the cave and away from the altar. Tim, however, was standing by it, and joined with Kathleen kicking and scratching her attacker. When Tim ran to grip him, Satan simply tossed him back and caused him to fall on the floor. ‘Hold on until I stab him,’ Lord Robert called and pulled out his sword.”
“‘Come on, you buck-eejit,’ Satan replied to Robert. ‘Sure the saint will be on top of us if we don’t hurry,’ and almost as soon as he had spoken those words, the door opened, and Saint Tigernach rushed in with a bucket of water on his arm, for he had an inkling that something was wrong.”
“‘God’s preserve us!’ exclaimed the blessed saint, when he saw the devil before him. Great goose-bumps began to rise on the blessed man’s back and the sweat poured down his face. He had known Satan well enough, and he began to think that ‘Old Nick’ had come for him because of a bit of meat that he had eaten that day, and it being a Friday. But he didn’t eat the meat. He had only tasted it and then spit it out again to settle a quarrel between the butcher and a woman who had bought the meat and said it was bad. Nevertheless, he feared that Satan hadn’t seen him when he spat the meat out again. ‘God preserve us!,’ said the saint, as he speedily crossed himself. In a moment, however, he saw that it wasn’t him, but Kathleen, that was in trouble, and he let go of the water, caught the blessed cross that was hanging on him with his right hand and gripped Satan by the throat with his left. While, in the same movement, he pushed the cross into the Devil’s face. In shock, the devil dropped Kathleen like she was a bag of meal, and she rolled over and over on the floor like a worm until she reached the altar and she took a hold of it as tight as the bark on a tree. And it was a fine scene with the black enemy of our souls just lying there trembling in fear, and with the saint’s foot on his neck.”
“‘Glory be to God,’ declared the saint. ‘Just you lie there while I make an example of you,’ he continued as he turned to look for Lord Robert, because he knew that the two of them would be in this together. That blackguard, however, needed no invitation to be walking away from this, but when he saw what had happened to the devil, he ran away with all the speed his feet could carry him, and the witch with him. While, behind them Tim was chasing and hurling stones from a fistful he was carrying. But Lord Peter and the witch quickly left him behind and got completely away. Tim ceased his pursuit and came back to  where the devil and Kathleen were standing.”
“‘Get up,’ Saint Tigernach ordered the devil, ‘and stand in the corner, for I’m going to marry these two at once, without fee or license, and you shall be the witness to it.’ So the saint married them, while the devil looked on. It’s the truth I’m telling you, but it’s not the only wedding that the devil’s been at, and he’s not often seen at them when he’s in as low spirits as he was at Tim and Kathleen’s. Yet, this was the way that they were married, with Satan for a witness, and there are some who say that the saint transported the young couple all the way to County Kerry. Personally I don’t believe that story, for I think that they walked all the long way to Cork and got a fisherman’s boat to Kerry. Nonetheless, after they had started, the saint turned to Satan and told him, ‘No more of your tricks with them two, my fine fellow, for I mean to give you a job that’ll keep you out of mischief for a while at least.’ The saint was greatly angered with him coming into his cave that way, as if the place belonged to him. ‘Go you to work,now’ he began to say, ‘and put your face on that rock over the spring, so that as long as the mountain stands men can come and see what sort of a dirty looking beast you are.'”
“So Satan went out and looked up at the rock, smiling, as if to say that it was not a hard task, and when the blessed saint saw the grin that was on his face, he told him, ‘None of your enchantments are allowed, at all. It’s honest work you’ll be doing, and in that spirit, here’s my own hammer and chisel that you’ll take.’ That soon wiped the smug smile off the devil’s face, as he began to realise that the cliff was granite.”
“‘Surely you’re joking,’ he complained, ‘you don’t mean it. Sure there’s no harder bit of stone between here and Donegal.’ And wasn’t he the very man to know, since he was familiar with all the land.”
“‘Bad luck to you and your lies,’ said the saint. ‘Now, take your tools and get stuck into it, you old blackguard, for the sooner you begin, the quicker you’ll be finished, and you can be sure that the stone won’t soften any by your wating. Just you remember to keep a civil tongue in your head while you’re doing the job, or it’ll not be the only thing that you will suffer this day,’ says he, looking daggers at him.”
“So, it was with great displeasure that Satan took the hammer and chisel, and he climbed up the cliff face to begin work cutting his own face on the stone. But he soon discovered that it was as hard as iron and, after he had hit it a couple of cracks, he stopped and shook his head and then scratched over his ear with the chisel as he looked around at the saint as if to say something. The blessed saint looked at him again so ferociously that he made no further remark, turning back to the cliff quickly and began to hammer away in earnest until the sweat stood on his heathen face like drops on a water-jug.”
“The next day, Lord Robert thought he’d call with the old enemy, and remind him that, as he’d failed to get Kathleen, their bargain was now off. So he made-up the charm Satan had given him, but he didn’t come for any protest. ‘Bad luck to the Imp,’ said Lord Robert. ‘Sure, maybe he’s mighty busy or else he’s forgotten the  entire thing.’ So lord Robert went out to see the witch, but she wasn’t in. He was not very far away from the saint’s cave and thought, while he was waiting for the witch, he would have a wee peep to see if Tim an’ Kathleen were still there. So he crawled over the top of the hill beyond the cave like the snake in the grass that he was, and when he came down a little, he saw the old Pooka on the cliff, with the hammer in one hand and the chisel in the other, pounding away at the rock and hanging on by his tail to a tree. Lord Robert thought his eyes were deceiving him, for he saw it was the devil, but he couldn’t clearly make out what he was doing. So he crawled down until he had a better view, and when he saw what was happening, he got up and went to a big stone that stood before the cliff, where he sat and slapped his legs with his hands, roaring with laughter and the tears pouring out of his eyes.”
“‘Helloo Nick,’ says he, after he had gotten his breath back again and could speak. ‘Is that you up there?’ He had the quare cheek speaking so impudently at the devil, but the man had a tongue like an adder, and he could use it too.”
“‘Keep away from me,’ said Satan to him angrily, and without turning his head to look at him. ‘Leave me alone! Gobshite, or I’ll wipe the cliff clean with your carcass if ye come any closer!’
“‘A-a-a-h, now. Be easy, you deceiving old blackguard,’ says Lord Robert boldly, for he knew that the devil dare not leave the job to come after him. ‘Will you keep your temper? Sure you haven’t got the manners of a goat, to be speaking to a gentleman like that. I’ve just come to tell you that because you failed the task, our bargain’s off,’ says he.”
“‘Get out of here,’ the devil answered, turning himself half around and holding on to the big shone nose he’d just done with one hand, while shaking the other fist with the chisel in it at Lord Robert. ‘Do you think that I want to be aggravated with the likes of  you, you white-faced wee troublemaker, and losing the whole day, while I’m so busy at this time of the year, and breaking my back on this job, and my fingers sore with working the chisel, and my tail skinned with having to hold on? Damn this stone anyway, for it’s harder than a Scotchman’s head, it is, so it is,'”
 He was just turning back again when he noticed the saint standing at the door of the cave. Without hesitation he began a digging away at the cliff as if his life depended upon it, swearing under his breath, so the saint couldn’t hear him, every time he gave his knuckles an unlucky crack with the hammer. ‘You’re not worth the trouble,’ says Satan to Lord Robert, being filled with a rage that he couldn’t hold in. ‘Sure, It’s a waffling wee boy I was for trifling with when I was sure of you.'”
“‘You’re a liar,’ said Lord Robert, ‘you deceiving black heathen. If you were so sure of me why did you want to make a bargain?'”
“‘You’er another,’ replied Satan. ‘Isn’t a sparrow in your hand better than a goose on a string?'”
“So they were continuing with the insults, when the blessed saint came out again, and stood at the door watching to make sure that old Nick didn’t a mess of the job. He now spoke up, ‘Hold your peace, Satan, and keep working. And, as for you, you mouthy, milk-faced villain, with a heart as black as a crow, walk away and go down on your hardhearted, unbelieving knees, or you’ll come to no good.’ And so he did.”
“Do I believe the story? Well, I don’t know. There were quare things happened in them old days, and there’s the face on the cliff as ugly as the devil could be and the hammer and chisel are in the church. Sure, what better proof could you ask for? You might ask what became of the the lovers, but I know nothing. They probably grew old together, stayed poor and forgot the spring-time of their youth in the winter of their age. But if they lived a hundred years, they would never have forgotten getting married in the saint’s cave, with the black face of the Evil One looking on from the dark corner.”

The Mountain Walk

By and Unknown Irish Poet

From the haunts of busy life, 
Homes of care, and paths of strife, 
Up the breezy mountain way, 
’Mid the upper fields of day, 
Let me wander, far and lonely, 
Without guide, save nature only; 
And still ever as I go, Lose all thought of things below, 
Cast all sorrow to the wind, 
While the low vales sink behind: 
 
Mournes
The Mourne Mountains 

Fetterless and spirit free 

As the merry mountain bee. 
Like a spirit, thought and eye 
Buoyant between earth and sky, 
There to bask in free pure light 
On the joyous mountain height; 
Dallying with the breeze and shower, 
Claiming kin with every flower, 
Catching iris dreams that glance 
On the breath of circumstance. 
 
Changing with the changeful scene—
Solemn, sombre, gay, serene: 
As each change fresh wonders bring, 
Weaving thought from every thing. 
Oft let shadowy hollows fall, 
And grey cliffs’ embattled wall 
Crown the gloom with hoary height, 
Where the raven wheels his flight. 
Or green vale unfolding soft, 
In the lonesome crags aloft 
Shut the far down world from view. 
 
There, long up ether’s darkening blue, 
The eye may gaze for worlds unseen, 
In the skyey void serene, 
And weave visions strange and fair, 
Of the starry empires there—
Spirits changeless, pure, and bright, 
In their glorious vales of light; 
Till some wild note break the spell 
From sequester’d rural dell 
Where the mountain goatherds dwell: 
 
mountain walk 3
Benbulben

So to break the wild fond dream, 

And to man bring down the theme; 
For all earthly things impart 
Thoughts of Man to human heart. 
Then from towery crag on high, 
If far city win the eye, 
Glittering through the misty air, 
’Twere a prospect meet and fair 
For the lone sequestered gaze 
O’er its wide uncertain maze, 
 
Then to muse on wealth and fame, 
And on every specious name 
That gilds the dross of earth below, 
Till, from reflection, wisdom grow. 
Wisdom:—not that sense which cleaveth 
To the world where all deceiveth; 
Not grave prudence, hard, yet hollow—
In the beaten round to follow 
Lengthened aims, in life’s short day, 
While the ages glide away:
 
—But that moral, old and sage, 
Said and sung in every age; 
Old as man—yet ever new, 
Heard by all, and known to few; 
Murmur of Being’s wave, that still, 
Unheeded as the babbling rill, 
In the world’s noise, makes music only 
’Midst the hush of deserts lonely. 
Last, from o’er the seaward steep, 
Let me view the spacious deep, 
 
While the billows break and flow
 In the caverned gloom below. 
There let cloud and sunbeam flee 
O’er the sunned and shadowy sea—
Light and dark in fleeting strife, 
Like the vanities of life; 
So to dream of joy and woe, 
Imaged in the gliding show, 
As they come, and as they fly, 
To the verge of sea and sky; 
 
mountain walk 4
County Kerry by Angela Stack
So our joys and sorrows flee, 
Onward to eternity. 
Then away in spirit wrought 
By the voluntary thought, 
Where the heath is freshly springing, 
Where the sky-borne lark is clinging 
On mid air with lively song, 
Which the echoing cliffs prolong; 
O’er wild steep and dreamy hollow, 
On, still onward let me follow. 
 
While the airy morn is bright, 
While rich noon is at its height, 
Till eve falls with sober grey, 
Freely let me roam away.