Danny Kelly – The Fairy Finder

Part III

Dark FairyYou will recall that the doctor was dressed in red, because of the previous night’s dinner appointment. Moreover, Dermot was a little man, and his gold-laced hat and ponderous shoe-buckles completed the ensemble, which Danny immediately assumed to belong to the spirit that he had been hunting for. Danny was certain that, at long last, he had discovered a Leprechaun. He was so amazed by his discovery that he was riveted to the spot, and his pulse was beat so fast, that he could not move or breathe freely for some seconds. When he had recovered his senses, and he began to make his way stealthily to the place where the doctor was sleeping slept. As he moved closer to the doctor he became increasingly certain that what he was seeing was, indeed, his long sought prize. When he came within reach of his goal, Danny made one great jump, landing on the unfortunate little man, fastening his huge hand around his throat while, at the same time, he let out a cheer of triumph, “By God, my Bucko! I have finally got the hold of you!”

Being suddenly and violently aroused from his drunken stupor, the poor little doctor was shocked and bewildered. As he opened his eyes, he met the ferocious glare of  triumphant and delighted Danny Kelly. “What’s happening?” he gurgled because that was all that the iron grip of Danny’s hand upon his throat would allow him to do.

“Gold!” shouted Danny. “Gold! gold! gold!”

“What about gold?” asked a panicking doctor.

“Gold–yellow gold!”

“Is it Paddy Gold you’re talking about? Has he taken ill again?” asked the doctor, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming the whole thing. “Jaysus, man, don’t choke me. I will go immediately,” he said as he tried to get up on his feet.

Danny tightened his hold on the doctor and telling him, “By God, you won’t.”

“For Christ’s sake, will you let me go?” the doctor roared.

“Let you go? Aye, that would be the clever thing to do! I don’t think so”

“Will you let me go, you crazy eejit?”

“Gold! gold! you little vagabond!”

“Well I’m going, if you’ll allow me.”

“The Devil a step you’ll be taking,” Danny told him and his grip tightened so as to almost choke him.

“Oh, murder! Murder, For God’s sake!”

“Weesht, you thief! How dare you speak of God, you devil’s imp!”

The poor little man, upset by the suddenness of his waking and the roughness of the treatment he was receiving, was in a state of complete bewilderment. For the first time he now realised that he was lying on grass and under bushes. Rolling his eyes in his search for help, Dermot began to shout, “Where am l? God help me!”

“Weesht! you crooked little trickster – I swear by all that’s holy, if you say God again, I’ll cut your throat.”

“What are you gripping on to me so tightly?”

“Just in case you might try to vanish! See how well I know you, you blackguard.”

“Then, for God’s sake, if you know me so well, please treat me with proper respect.”

“Respect, indeed? That’s a good thing for you to ask. So, to hell with respect! Damn your impudence, you thieving old rogue.”

“Who taught you to call your betters such names? How dare you use a professional gentleman like me so roughly?”

“Oh, do you hear him! – a professional gentleman, is it? Do you not think I know you, you little old cobbler?”

“Cobbler? Christ’s sake man, what do you mean, you buck eejit? Let me go, now!” scolded the doctor as he struggled violently to rise from the ground.

“Not one inch will you go out of here until give me what I want.”

“What is it you want, then?”

“Gold–gold!”

“So you’re a thief and you want to rob me, do you?”

“What robbery are you talking about?  That won’t work, even though you think yourself to be clever, and you won’t frighten me either. Come on, now, give it to me immediately. You might as well since I’ll never let go of my grip of you until you hand over the gold.”

“‘ I swear to God that I possess no gold or silver. All I have is four shillings in the pockets of my trousers, which you are most welcome to if you let go of my throat.”

“Four-shillings! What makes you think that I’m such a gobshite, that I will be satisfied with a lousy four-shillings. You know, for three straws, I would thrash you within an inch of your life this very minute for your impudence. Come, no more nonsense from you and out with the gold you’re hiding!”

“I have no gold, so don’t choke me. If you murder me, remember there’s law in this land, so you would be better letting me go.”

“Not an inch! Give me the gold, I tell you, you little vagabond!” said Danny as he began shaking him very violently.

“Don’t murder me, for Heaven’s sake!”

“I will murder you if you don’t give me a hatful of gold this minute!”

“A hatful of gold? Who exactly do you take me for?”

“Sure, I know you’re a Leprechaun, you damned deceiver!”

“A Leprechaun?” asked the doctor, in mingled indignation and amazement. “Jaysus, big man. You’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“Do I look stupid? No, of course I’m not! I have you now, and I’ll hold on to you. I’ve been looking for you for such a long time, and I’ve caught you at last. Be sure that I will either have your life or the gold.”

“Dear Jaysus, young man, you are making a mistake! I’m not a Leprechaun! I’m Doctor McFlynn.”

“That’s more lies! You’re trying to trick me, but it will not work. Do you think I don’t know the difference between a doctor and a Leprechaun. Just give me the gold, you old cheat!”

“I tell you, I’m Doctor Dermot McFlynn. Mind what you’re doing, there are laws in this land, and I think I’m beginning to recognise you. You’re that eejit Kelly!”

“Oh, you are a cunning old thief, and a complete old rogue. But, I’m far too clever for you. You just want to frighten me. You are a no-good trickster, and you’ll do anything to get away!”

“Your name is Kelly! I remember you, so take care what you do. Surely you know me? I’m Doctor McFlynn, can’t you see that I am?”

“Well, you have the dirty yellow pinched look of him, sure enough. But I know you are just trying to trick me and, besides, the doctor has dirty old, tattered black clothes on him. He isn’t all dressed in red like you.”

“But, that’s an accident, for God’s sake.”

“Give me the gold this minute, and no more of your old nonsense.”

“I tell you, Kelly–”

“Hold your tongue, and give me the gold.”

“By all that’s–”

“Will you give it to me?”

“How can I?”

“Have it your way, then. You’ll see what the end of it will be,” said Danny, as he rose up, but he still kept his iron grip on the doctor. “Now, for the last time, I ask you, will you give me the gold? or by all that’s holy, I will put you where you’ll never see daylight until you make me a rich man.”

“I swear, I have no gold.”

“Well, then, I’ll keep a hold of you until you find it,” said Danny, who tucked the little man into a headlock with his arm, and he ran home with him as fast as he could.

He kicked at the door of his cottage to gain entry, when he reached home, calling out, “Let me in! let me in! Hurry up, woman, I have him.”

“Who have you?” asked Una, as she opened the door.

“Look at that!” said Danny in triumph. “I caught him at last!”

“It’s a Leprechaun, isn’t it?” said Una.

“A devil of a one,” said Danny, throwing the doctor down upon the bed, while still holding him tightly. “Open the big chest, Una, and we’ll lock him up in it! And we’ll keep him until he gives us the gold.”

“Murder! murder!” screamed the doctor. “You’re going to lock me up in a chest!”

“Give me the gold, then, and I won’t.”

“Dear Jaysus, how many times do I have to tell you that I have no gold to give you.”

“Don’t believe him, Danny darling,” said Una. “Those Leprechauns are the biggest liars in all the world.”

“Sure, I know that!” said Danny, “as well as you do. Oh, all the trouble I’ve had with him, and only because I’m so knowledgeable, he’d have confounded me long ago.”

“Well done to you, Danny dear!”‘

“Mrs. Kelly,” said the doctor.

“Oh, Lord!” said Una, in surprise, “did you ever hear the likes of that? How does he know my name!”

“Of course he does,” said Danny, “and why shouldn’t he? Sure, he’s a fairy, you know.”

“I’m no fairy, Mrs. Kelly. I’m a doctor! Doctor McFlynn.”

Don’t you believe him, darling,” said Danny. “Hurry up now and open the chest.”

“Danny Kelly,” said the doctor, “let me go, and I’ll cure you whenever you want my assistance.”

“Well, I want your assistance now,” said Danny, “for I’m very bad right now with poverty, and if you cure me of that, I’ll let you go.”

“What will become of me?” asked the doctor in despair, as Danny carried him towards the big chest which Una had opened.

“I’ll tell you what’ll become of you,” said Danny, and he took hold of a hatchet that lying within his reach. “By all the saints in heaven, if you don’t agree to fill that big chest full of gold for me before midnight, I’ll chop you into small pieces for the pot.” And with that Danny crammed him into the box.

“Oh, Mrs. Kelly, have mercy on me,” said the doctor, “and whenever you’re sick I’ll attend you.”

“God forbid!” said Una, “it’s not the likes of you that I’ll want when I’m sick. Attend me, indeed! The devil a bit of it, you little imp, maybe you’d run away with my baby, or it’s a Banshee you would turn yourself into, and sing for my death. Shut him up, Danny, for it’s not lucky to be talking with the likes of him.”

“Oh!” roared the doctor, as his cries were stifled by the lid of the chest being closed on him. The key was turned in the lock, and Una sprinkled some holy water over it, from a little bottle that hung in one corner of the cottage, to prevent the fairy from having any power upon it.

Danny and Una now sat down to discuss things, and they began forming their plans as to what they would do with their money. They were certain of the gold, now that the Leprechaun was completely in their power. Now and then Danny would get up from his seat and go over to the chest, much in the same way as one goes to the door of a room where a naughty child has been locked up. They just want to know “if the child is good yet,” and giving a thump on the lid, would call out, “Well, you little thief, will you give me the gold yet?”

A groan and a faint answer of denial was all the reply Danny received.

“Very well, stay there. But remember, if you don’t give in before midnight, I’ll chop you to pieces.” He then got hold of a bill-hook, and began to sharpen it close to the chest, so that the Leprechaun might hear him. When the poor doctor heard these preparations being made, he felt more dead than alive. He could hear the horrid scraping of the iron against the stone, interspersed with the occasional torment from Danny, such as, “Do you hear that, you thief? I’m getting ready for you.” Then away he’d rasp at the grindstone again, and as he paused to feel the edge of the weapon, he would exclaim: “By Jaysus, I’ll have this as sharp as a razor soon.”

In the meantime, the prisoner was very lucky that there were many large chinks in the chest, or else suffocation from his confinement would have brought about the fate that Danny had promised him. Now that things appeared likely to go hard with him, the doctor began to think that he should pretend to be what Danny mistook him for and, perhaps, regain his freedom by underhand methods. To this end, when Darby had finished sharpening his bill-hook, the doctor replied, in answer to one of Danny’s demands for gold,  that he saw it was no point in delaying any to give it to his captor. He admitted that Darby was far too cunning for him, and that he was now ready to make him the richest man in the country.  “I’ll take no less than the full of that chest,” said Danny.

“You shall have ten chests full of’ it, Danny,” promised the doctor, “if you’ll only do what I bid you.”

“Sure, I’ll do anything.”

“Well, you will have to prepare the mysticnitrationserumandsodiumcarbonlite.”

“Holy Christ, what is that and how do I prepare it?”

“Silence, Danny Kelly, and listen to me. This is a magical ointment, which I will show you how to make and, whenever you want gold, all you have to do is to rub a little of the ointment on the point of a pick-axe, or your spade, and dig wherever you please for you will always be sure to find treasure.”

“Oh, just think of that! Be sure that I’ll make plenty of it when you show me how it is made?”

“First of all, you must go into the town, Danny, and get me three things, and fold them three times in three rags that have been torn out of the left side of a petticoat that has not known water for a year.”

“Well, I can do that much, anyhow,” said Una, who immediately began tearing the required pieces out of her under-garment.

“And what three things am I to get you?”

 “First bring me a grain of salt from a house that stands at a cross roads.”

“Cross roads?” asked Danny, who lucked at Una with a puzzled expression.

By my soul, but it’s my dream that’s coming to reality!”

Silence, Danny Kelly,” said the doctor, solemnly. “Mark me, Danny Kelly” he told him and proceeded to repeat a load of gibberish to Danny, which he told him to remember and then to repeat back to him. Danny could not do this and the doctor said he would write it down for him, and tearing a leaf from his pocket-book, he began to write in pencil. Knowing Danny could not read, the doctor wrote down the condition that he was in, and requested help to free him. He then told Danny to deliver the note to the Chemist shop in the town, and they would provide him with a drug that was the key to successfully complete the ointment.

Following Dermot’s instructions, Danny went to the Chemist Shop, and it happened to be dinner-time when he arrived. The Pharmacist had a few friends dining with him, and Danny was detained until they all chose to leave the table and to go in a group to liberate the poor little doctor. He was pulled out of the chest amid the laughter of his liberators and the fury of Danny and Una, both of whom made put up a considerable fight against being robbed of their prize. Finally, the doctor’s friends got him out of the house, and proceeded to the town for some supper. There, the whole party kept getting magnificently drunk, until sleep plunged them into dizzy dream, of Leprechauns and Fairy Finders. For several days after this the doctor swore to have vengeance against Danny, and threatened a prosecution. But, Dermot’s friends recommended that he should let the matter rest, because it would only bring it to public attention and gain him nothing but laughter for damages. As for Danny Kelly there was nothing or no-one who could ever persuade him that it was not a red Leprechaun he had caught. He swore that it was by some dark magic performed by the fairy that caused it to change form itself into the resemblance of the doctor. Danny often said that the great mistake he made at that time was “giving the little thief so much time, for if he had the chance again he would have immediately cut his throat.”

© Jim Woods Nov 2017

Annie’s Wedding

Wedding CoupleMany years ago at Irish country weddings, the priest who celebrated Mass and conducted the marriage ceremony was paid through voluntary contributions made by the wedding guests. The marriage, in those days, was generally celebrated in the evening, and they were followed, especially among the farming community, by a grand feast, to which the priest was always invited. After the supper, when the stomachs of the company are filled with fine meats and vegetables, roast goose, ham, and whisky-punch, the collection box goes around.

Annie Malone was the prettiest girl in the entire parish, and the bridegroom was a lucky boy on his marriage day. On the day of the wedding, it must be said, the lucky young man looked very ill at ease in his stiff, shiny, brand-new, tight-fitting wedding suit. Nevertheless, in addition to her good looks, the bride brought with her a marriage dowry of money, and three fine cows. Their married life would have an excellent start to it.

Annie looked very pretty and modest as she sat beside the priest, the blushing bride wincing often at the priest’s jokes, which were normally not to be heard in the company of women. She looked very handsome in the white frock she was wearing, which was a many-skirted garment, adorned with bows and trimmings made from white satin ribbons. It had belonged to one of the daughters from the big house, and had been sold to Annie as ‘nearly new’. The maid who had sold the dress assured her that it had been created by the grandest French dressmaker in London, and it had only been worn at a couple of country balls. The daughters of the ‘big house’ were very particular about their garments and could not abide a crease, crush or even slight soiling of the cloth. Furthermore, wearing a dress twice at any social function was not to be tolerated among the upper classes.

It is common knowledge that a priest always has his eyes on future dues from his parishioners, and there is nowhere a priest is as good-humoured as he is at a wedding. This priest, Father Murphy, was in the middle of his humorous remarks, while apparently absorbed in paying attention to the pretty bride. Annie’s health had just been drunk in a steaming tumbler of whisky punch, and the priest was keeping his business on the assembly as preparations were being made for sending around them the plate for contributions to pay him. The stir of preparations began at the end of the table where the big and wealthy farmers were thickly gathered. They were a proud set of people, stood in their large, heavy dress-coats, all of which were well tailored. All dressed in beautiful white shirts, well pressed trousers, and shoes that shone bright in the light. At their side stood their beautifully attired wives and daughters in bright coloured silken clothes.

In the middle of this group stood Jim Ryan, who was a sworn friend and follower of Father Murphy. He would have gone through fire and water to serve the priest, and kept a close watch on the parish on his behalf. Ryan was a rather small man in the parish, possessing very little as far as worldly goods were concerned. But, though he had no land or farm, Jim Ryan was a highly popular man who was thought to have a dry sense of humour, which made him very good company. When the collection plate reached Ryan his actions brought great surprise to the eye of the priest, causing him to hesitate in the middle of a pretty compliment he was making to the bride.

Jim Ryan first took hold of the collecting plate, and it appeared as if he had chosen to carry it around the crowd. Then, as if suddenly surprised by some thought or other, he stopped himself, and slammed the plate down on the table with a loud clatter, and a crash that made Mrs Malone wince, for it was a plate from one of her best china sets. The next thing that Jim did was to search all of his pockets. His fingers dived into his waistcoat, his trousers, and his fancy overcoat pockets, searching one after another, but not seeming to find what he wanted.  Finally, after much hunting and shaking, and many facial expressions of disappointment, Jim took hold of the object he had been searching for. From some unseen place he carefully pulled a large and tattered leather wallet. By this time, as was his intention, everyone in the room had fixed their attention upon him. At this point he deliberately opened the wallet, and, after taking a sneaky look to ensure that those assembled were watching him, he took out from it a well folded bank-note. This note, when unfolded, was spread out and ostentatiously smoothed on the table, so that all who looked could see that had ‘’Ten Pounds’ inscribed upon it!

There were gasps of astonishment that spread through the wedding guests, and some expressions of dismay among the more wealthy of them. Fat pocket-books filled with notes,  that a few moments previously were being pompously produced by their owners, were now very stealthily put back into pockets again. A sudden pause was followed by a great whispering and consulting among the farmers. At this point there were anxious and meaningful looks given by the wives of the wealthier men-folk, along with expressive nudges, and digs into their ribs where practicable. There was, therefore, a good deal of rivalry between the wealthy couples as they bid for their position in the local social hierarchy. Mister Hennessy, who drove his family to mass every Sunday in his own pony and trap, would not be seen to give less than Mister Welsh, although he too was a decent man and always got the best price for his butter at local market. And now, the shame of being outdone by Jim Ryan had to be faced! To offer the priest five pounds, when the likes of Ryan was giving ten pounds! Such an eventuality could not be allowed to happen! Therefore, after Jim had put his ten-pound note on the plate with a bit of a flourish, and had gone his rounds with the plate, it turned out to be the largest collection that had ever gladdened the heart, or filled the pockets. of Father Murphy.

As the priest was leaving the house, Jim came up to him and put his arm on the priest’s shoulder. “I certainly did you a good turn this day, your Reverence, didn’t I? Such a collection of notes, silver coins, and coppers I have never laid eyes on before this! I thought the plate would be broken in two halves with the weight of it all. And now you can give my ten pound note back to me?” he whispered, while looking around to ensure no one could hear him.

“Your ten pound note, Jim! What do you mean? Is it that you want me to return to you a part of my dues?”

“Ah, now, my dear Father Murphy, surely you’re  not so innocent a man as to think that note was mine! Where, would the likes of a poor man such as I am get such an amount of money as that? Ten pounds! Sure, didn’t I borrow it, your Reverence, for a scheme I had in mind. And, I tell you that my scheme has turned out to be a mighty good and profitable one. Sure, I knew that the sight of that ten pound note would cause them to bring the money out of all their wallets.  And by God, so it did!”

This was something that the priest could not deny. With a large grin on his face he refunded Jim’s “bait” and added to it a few pounds worth of thanks. Needless to say, both men left the wedding very satisfied by the day’s events.

© Jim Woods November 2017

Danny Kelly – The Fairy Finder

Part II

But, all of that was in the hands of Fate, and he would have to wait on its fulfilment. In the meantime, however, he was sure that he had the castle and the “crock of gold”, and under the good omens given by his dream he had decided to take that affair immediately in hand. To help him in the work of digging, and pulling the thick walls of the castle to pieces, he selected Una.  She was known to be a brave, two-handed worker, who was as great a believer in dreams and omens as Danny himself. Furthermore, Una promised him total secrecy, and she agreed to take a small share of the treasure for her reward in assisting him to find it.

For about two months Danny and Una laboured in vain until, at last, something came of their exertions. In the course of their work, when they got tired, they would both sit down to rest themselves and talk over their past disappointments and future hopes. Now it was during one of these intervals of repose that Danny, as he was resting himself on one of the large, dressed corner-stones of the ruin, suddenly realised that he had fallen in love with Una.  At the same time, Una had begun to think much in the same way about Danny, and when the work was done he and Una were married the first available Sunday.

Any calculating men among you will ask if he found the treasure before be married the girl? But, Danny was an unsophisticated type of boy, and such boys never calculate on these occasions. The story goes that Una Lennon was the only treasure Darby discovered in that old castle. Danny’s acquaintances were over the moon on the occasion of his marriage, and they swore that he had got a great woman. Others felt such comments to be quite humorous, for Una, was a woman who was on the large side of the scale. Some people would, indeed, be unkind enough to say that she was “the full of a door,” and the joyous news spread like wildfire all over the country.

” Hey there, did you hear the news?”

“What news?”

“The news about  Danny Kelly.”

“What about him?”

“Sure, didn’t he find finally find himself a fairy.”

“Get away out of this!”

“It’s the truth I’m tellin’ you. He’s married to Una Lennon.”

“Ha! ha! ha! by all that’s holy, she is some kind of fairy! But, more power to you, Danny, you’ve definitely caught one now!”

But the fairy he had caught did not satisfy Danny enough to persuade him to give up his life-long pursuit of a wealthy future. He still kept constantly on the look-out for a Leprechaun, and one morning as he was going to his work, he was stopped suddenly on the path, which lay through a field of standing corn. Danny’s eyes caught sight of something ahead of him, and his gaze became riveted upon the object as he planned his approach. He crouched and crawled, and was making his way with great caution towards the object of his riveted gaze, when he was, quite unexpectedly, hit on the back of the head with a thump that considerably. Such was the blow that Danny’s eyesight suddenly became fuzzy, he swore he heard the voice of his mother, a vigorous, malicious old hag, in his ear at the same time with a hearty, “Get up out of that, you lazy bollix. What are you sneaking around here for, when you should be minding your work, you blackguard?”

“Weesht! weesht! Ma,” urged Danny as he held his hand to his lips signalling her to be quiet.

“What do you mean, you gobshite?”

“Mother, will you be quiet, for God’s sake! Weesht! I can see it.”

“What do you see?”

“Stoop down here for a moment and look straight ahead of you. Don’t you see it as plain as day?”

“See what?”

“That little red thing, over there,” Danny pointed.

“Well, what of it?”

“See, there its starting to move. Oh, Christ! The bloody thing is going to be gone before I can get my hands on it. Jaysus Ma! Why did you come here at all, making a racket and frightening it away?”

“Frightening what, you big Gobshite?”

“That bloody Leprechaun sitting over there. Weesht! It’s gone quiet again.”

“Ah! To the devil with you! You big, useless clown! Is it that red thing over there you mean?”

“Yes! That’s it! Now keep your voice low, like I tell you.”

“Why, you damned eejit, you fool, it’s nothing but a poppy dancing in the breeze,” the old woman told him with a sneer, she went over to the spot where it grew. Plucking the plant up by the roots, she threw it at Danny, along with a great deal of verbal abuse. “Get up to hell from there and get to your work, instead of being the sneaking, lazy tramp that you are.”

It was some time after this event that Danny Kelly had a meeting with Doctor Dermot McFlynn. It has to be said at this stage that this medical man would become very famous throughout the countryside, because of the great events that occurred from this meeting. But, before we hear about this it is necessary that you learn something of the doctor himself. His father, Paddy McFlynn, had been a popular and very prosperous veterinarian with the local cattle farmers. Such was the regard in which his father was held that his son, Dermot, became determined to qualify as a physician and make human beings, instead of animals, the object of his care. He was assisted in his endeavours by his father, who had scraped some money together to help his son set up his surgery in the neighbouring village. Here Dermot soon earned himself the reputation of being a “great bone-setter”, and mender of cracked skulls, which were the result of fair fighting and whisky over-indulgence. But Dermot’s father eventually passed away and, as he was the only son, Dermot inherited all the old man’s money. The amount of money left to him was considerable, and he decided to better his qualifications. For this purpose, Dermot gave up his small surgery and went abroad.

Doctor CarHe remained abroad for some years before he returned to Ireland, declaring himself to be a Professor of medicine, gained from one of Europe’s most noted universities. Dr. McFlynn became known to his neighbours, one and all, as Dr. McFun, which better described his activities in the community. The little money that he once possessed was now spent in his pursuit of professional honours, and he returned to his home with a full title, but an empty wallet. Unfortunately, McFlynn’s small, rural practice did not provide enough funds to replenish his empty coffers. This state of affairs, eventually effected his efforts to maintain his personal and professional appearance in the community. His clothes became ragged and his mode of transport was of so much a lesser standard than what was expected of a man in his position.

He was glad to accept an invitation to a meal whenever he had the luck to get one, and the offer of an overnight stay was always certain to be accepted, because that assured him of breakfast the next morning. He was, however, often asked to dinner from a mix of motives, such as out of kindness, and for fun.  Although a good dinner was always a welcome novelty to the McFlynn, his efforts to maintain the pretence of his status and the manner in which communicated with others made him a subject of fun to those invited him. He had managed to gain an invite from all of the wealthier farmers and country gentlemen in the district, but he finally was honoured to receive an invitation from the largest landowner in the area. On the appointed day Doctor McFlynn dressed himself in the manner of a faculty member of the university from which he graduated. Dressed in this manner he made his way the few miles to the ‘Lodge’, where he presented himself.

When the doctor appeared in the drawing-room of the large house, dressed as he was, it caused considerable amusement among those gathered there. But, their attention was redirected from him by the announcement that dinner was served. Such an announcement always attracts the immediate attention of a group dinner, because free food always supersedes every other consideration. The ‘Lodge’ was always famed for providing excellent dinners, and the doctor took great advantage of it by ensuring that no opportunity of filling his glass with the choice wines that were provided. In fact he took advantage so many opportunities, that the poor little man was very intoxicated by the time that the guests were about to separate.

At the doctor’s request his vehicle was brought to the front door, just as the last remaining guests were about to make their way home separate. Every one of the guests had left the ‘Lodge’, and still there was no sign of the vehicle being at the door. Finally, a servant made his appearance, and he told Dermot that it was not possible for him to drive home.

“What do you mean by ‘not possible’?” said the owner of the house. “Is the car not in the garage area?”

“Yes, sir,” said the servant, “but the doctor is not capable…” At this point a, sometimes heated, discussion took place. The host asked the doctor if he was certain of his ability to make his way home. The doctor, of course, insisted that he was and immediately began to stagger his way to where his vehicle was parked. The servant and the host made every attempt to dissuade him from taking such action, but all were in vain. Every manoeuvre that they made to prevent the doctor met with a counter, sometimes resorting to on squealing and flinging up his arms, to break through the barrier put up against him.

This was the manner in which the doctor hoped to secure the offer of a bed for a night. He may even have been successful if it was not for an old yardman who had heard the loud discussion outside the ‘Lodge.’ He was doubled over with arthritis, using a walking stick and had a severe shake in his hand.  “Don’t you worry doctor, just let me at the car, and I’ll drive you to your home, where I could stay until morning.”

“Oh, Jaysus,” said the doctor, “Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll be able to drive alright.” He went to the place where his car was parked and got himself into the driver’s seat.

“I don’t think you should be doing this,” said the host.

“There’s no trouble. Sure, it’s only a few miles to home and it won’t take much time,” slurred the doctor, and proceeded to turn the key in the ignition.

With several turns of the steering-wheel, and much crunching of gears, the doctor managed to get the car pointed in the right direction and slowly drove off, in low gears and with a jumping motion. It was not, however, his destiny to sleep at home that night. Dermot was filled with the choicest and most potent of wines, overpowering his senses that he was unable to accurately steer his vehicle homeward. He could not remember seeing the open gate, or even driving through into a meadow, and finally into a shallow ditch. At the side of an upturned car, a hundred yards from the road, spent the rest of the night, unhurt and snoring peacefully. He was awakened the next morning by the golden light of a rising sun and the lowing of the cows as they gathered around the vehicle. At the same time Danny Kelly was walking along the track that ran alongside the ditch where the doctor was beginning to awaken, and on seeing the doctor’s car, Danny went to help.

A Wake

IrishWake

It was a sad day when Tim Scanlan died. All his life he had been a labouring man, working hard in whatever work he could find, and receiving very little in remuneration for the effort he put in. But, Tim was well known and well liked in the district. Everyone agreed that his funeral would be an unusually large gathering and, most likely the biggest to be seen in many a year. Great crowds of people flocked to Tim’s wake, and there was a major effort undertaken to provide sufficient tea, cakes, sandwiches, whisky, beer, and tobacco for all who attended. As is common in these things, Tim’s widow occupied her post of honour at the head of the coffin, and gave an excellent display of grief for her dead husband. She wept bitterly on her own and, joined in loudly when the loud group wailing, or ‘keening’, was led by the older women. The widow was, however, young enough to have been the daughter of the dead husband. She had come to Tim’s house as a very young servant-girl, whom he had conveniently married and ruled over all these years past.

As the night wore on, the amount of whisky that had been drunk was beginning to tell on those wandering outside the room where Tim’s corpse lay. The crowd noise inside the house increased to a level where some began to complain that it was loud enough to wake the dead. Quite unexpectedly, and much to the consternation and amazement of every one present, the corpse gave a deep sigh and several loud groans, opened his eyes and struggled to bring himself up into a sitting posture in the coffin. When the startled company in the house had recovered from their shock, they helped lift poor Tim out of the coffin, and whisky was liberally poured down his throat. They wrapped Tim up well in warm blankets and helped to seat him in the big chair by the fire, where he gradually revived from the trance, or stupor, that had been mistaken for death. When the last of the guests had departed from the cabin, Tim, who was still propped up beside the fire, was left to the tender care of his wife. But, instead of coming near her husband, she chose to creep away quietly to cringe timidly in a dark corner behind his chair. From her hiding place she directed frightened glances at her husband, who had appeared to have been resurrected from death.

“Mary!” Tim called out to her in a stern voice. But, he did not get an answer.

“Are you there?” he asked as he peered around at her, his weak face quivering with anger.

“Yes, Tim, I’m here,” Mary’s voice faltered, but she did not stir an inch.

“’Bring me my stick”’

“Ah! No Tim! No! Sure you’ve never lifted your hand to me yet! And you’ll not do it now, surely, when you’ve come back from the dead in one piece.”

“Bring me my stick.”

The stick was brought to him, and down on her knees beside the big chair Tim’s cowering wife went. “Well you know what you deserve. You know, you young deceiver, that if I was to start this minute and beat you as black as a hearse, it would only serve you right, after the mean, dirty, and shameful thing you’ve done to me!”

“Aye, Tim! It’s true, it would!” sobbed the girl.

“Look at this!” gasped Tim, opening his funereal jacket to show an old and tattered shirt. “Just look at these rags! Look at what you dressed my poor corpse in, shaming me before all my neighbours and friends at the wake! And you knew, as well as I did, about the elegant brand-new shirt I’d bought to be buried in. It’s a special shirt that I wouldn’t have put on my back if I was still alive. No, not if I had to walk about naked! But, you knew that I had it stored in the chest there, and you begrudged it to my unfortunate corpse when I couldn’t speak up for myself!”

“Oh Tim, darling, forgive me!” cried Mary. “Forgive me this once, and on my two knees I promise that I will never, never do the likes of that again! I don’t know what came over me. Sure, may the good Lord save us, I think it was the devil who was guiding me when I went to get out that shirt. He tempted me, by whispering that it was a pity, and a sin, to put good clothing like that into the clay. Oh, how could I do it?”

“Now, listen to me, Mary,” said Tim as he raised the stick and laid it on her shoulder. She knew that he wouldn’t beat her even if he could with his trembling hands, but she pretended to wince and cower away from him. “You mind what I say to you. If you ever do something like this again, and dress me up in those indecent rags, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll haunt you!’

“Oh don’t do that, Tim! Please don’t!” shrieked Mary, her face as pale as ashes. “Kill me now, if that’s what you want, or do anything to me you like, but for the love of the blessed Virgin and all the Saints, keep you to your grave! I’ll put the new shirt on you. My two hands will starch it and make it as white as snow, after it being laid aside so long in the old chest. You’ll be a lovely corpse, never fear about that! And I’ll give you the greatest wake that ever a man had, even if I have to sell the pig, and part with every stick in the cabin to buy the tea and the whisky. I swear to you I will, on this blessed night, my darling man.”

“Well, mind that you do, or it will be all the worse for you. And now give me a drop of water to drink, and put a taste of that whisky through it, for I’m ready to faint with thirst and with weakness.”

Mary kept her promise to her husband. Never in the history of that parish was there such a wake was that given for Tim Scanlan. It all occurred very soon after the events described above. Poor Tim really did depart this life, and manner in which his corpse was laid out, with his “elegant brand-new shirt”, was the admiration of all beholders of all who saw it.

© Jim Woods Nov 2017

Danny Kelly – The Fairy Finder

Part 1

leprechaun mythWherever you travel in Ireland there is a phrase you may often hear, namely – “Finding a fortune”. When a man dreams of wealth he will often say that he is “dreaming of finding a fortune. Likewise, if any poor man eventually becomes a man of wealth, this progress is scarcely ever thought of as being the result of hard work, intelligence, or even perseverance. Generally, the people around him will say that he either “found a fortune”, or fell into one. Some would even suggest that he had become wealthy by secretly digging up “a crock of gold” in the ruins of an old abbey, or by catching hold of a Leprechaun and forcing him to give a crock of gold as his ransom. How, when and where the man came into the wealth is totally immaterial, because most people will be satisfied with the simple suggestion that, “He found a fortune”. Many Irishmen would suggest that going into the particulars would only destroy the romance, and their love of wonder is much more fulfilled by the thought that the change from poverty to wealth was the result of superhuman aid. The very idea that the journey to wealth can be attributed to the merely mortal efforts of hardwork and prudence is so very boring.

There is always some old gossip in every community who has a plentiful supply of stories to make her listeners marvel at the wonderful and extraordinary short cuts that some have used to gain their fortunes. There is an old Irish saying that states, “That there never was a fool who had not a greater fool to admire him.” In the same manner there never was an old woman who told such stories, who did not have plenty of listeners to her.  One listener to such stories was Danny Kelly, and he enjoyed listening to a certain ‘Cailleach’ who had an extensive library of stories for every possible occasion. Danny was a true devotee to the old hag and would often give her small gifts to encourage her to relate her tales. In most cases these gifts were packets of cigarettes, to which she had a particular craving.

Another regular attendant  at the feet of the Cailleach was Una Lennon, who was as much mesmerised by the stories as was Danny Kelly. In fact, the two of them were as idle as each other when it came to work. A day never passed that Danny and Una did not pay a visit to the old woman, because she was always ay home, seated in a huge armchair, because she was too old and decrepit to move far. In fact, the furthest that the old woman could walk was from her armchair to the large seat outside the cottage door. In the warm summer days she could be found seated here enjoying the warming rays of the sun and ready to tell her stories. There she would sit and rock herself to and fro in the sunny days of July and August, dressed in her old creased clothes that appeared not to have been washed in a very long time. With her long, untidy grey hair not brushed the casual observer may have asked if she was made for the dilapidated cottage, or had they simply grown into a likeness of one another. The tattered thatch on the roof resembled the old woman’s straggling hair, and the spots of old age on her face were like the grey lichens that covered the cottage walls. The sallow colour of those walls bore a very strong likeness to the tint of the old woman’s shrivelled skin. At the top of the roof there was a rudely built chimney that out of which flowed clouds of grey-blue smoke. In fact, the chimney and the old woman could be seen smoking away from morning until night, and both were poorly dressed, lonely, and were fast falling into decay.

It was at this cottage that Danny Kelly and Una Lennon were sure to meet every day. Danny would usually saunter up to the cottage and call out, “Good morning, Granny!”

“The same to you, dear boy,” the old woman would mumble in her usual way.

“Here are some cigarettes for you, granny.”

Ah, sure you’re a real wee darling, Danny. Many thanks, but I hadn’t expected to see you today.”

“No, Granny,  you wouldn’t have, for I was only passing this way, while I ran an errand for the Boss and I thought that I might as well step over and find out how you were doing.”

“You’re a good boy, Danny.”

“Thanks, but it’s a hot day, by God, and it’s not going to get any cooler soon. I’m totally out of breath and the sweat is running down the sheugh of my arse, for I’m not fit for all this running. But, this is an important errand, and the Boss man told me to hurry up. That is why I was running, and I took a short cut across the fields and past the old castle. When I was passing by there I suddenly remembered what you told me a wee while ago. You know, about the crock of gold that is hid there for certain, and waiting for anyone that could, to come upon it.”

“Aye, and that’s the truth, Danny, wee darling. I have never heard about any other hidden crock of gold, that I can remember.”

“Well, well! think of that! Then, it will be me that will be the lucky man that finds it.”

“Good luck to you, Danny. But, that will not be until it is laid out for someone to pick it up.”

“Sure, isn’t that what I have often said to myself, and why would it not be my chance to be the man that the treasure was laid out for.”

“Well, there’s no one who  knows that,” mumbled the old woman mysteriously, as she put out the butt of her cigarette and lit a new one from the fresh stock Danny had brought her.

“That’s true enough. Oh, but you have a great deal of knowledge, granny! There is no knowing what the future holds for anyone, but they say there’s great virtue in dreams.”

“Sure, there is no one that can deny that, Danny,” said the Cailleach, “and by the way maybe you would step into the house and bring me out a bit of live turf from the fire to light my cigarette.”

“Of course I will, granny;” and away Danny went to do what he had been asked.

While Danny was raking from amongst the embers on the hearth for  a piece of still live turf, Una made her appearance outside the old woman’s cottage, giving her the usual cordial greeting. Just as she had given her greeting, Danny emerged from the cottage, holding a bit of glowing turf between two sticks that acted as a pair of makeshift tongs. “Surprise, surprise, is that you Danny?” Una asked.

“Sure, who else would it be?” said Danny.

“Well, you told me over an hour ago, down there in the big field, that you were in a hurry and hadn’t got time to talk.”

“True. I am in a hurry, and I wouldn’t be her at all only I just stepped in to say ‘Good day!’ to the old one, and to light a cigarette for her, the poor dear.”

“Well, don’t be standing there and allowing the coal to go black, Danny,” said the old woman; “but let me light my cigarette immediately.”

“Of course, granny,” said Danny, as he applied the lit piece of turf to the end of her cigarette until it began to glow read with inhale.  “And now,  Una, darling, if you’re so sharp when it comes to other peoples’ business, what the devil brings you here, when you should be taking care of  the geese up in the yard. It is there you should be, and not here. I wonder what would the Boss woman would say if she knew?”

“Oh, sure I left them safe, and they should be able to take care of themselves for a wee bit longer, and I wanted to ask granny about a dream I had.’

“But, so do I,” said Darby, “and you know the rule is first come first served.  And so, granny, you have always said that there’s a great amount of truth in dreams.”

She took a long-drawn drag of her cigarette and said nothing at all about dreams. “By Jaysus, but that’s a good bit of tobacco in them cigarettes! Aye, it’s fine and strong, and almost takes the breath from you, it’s so good. Well done to you Danny, darling boy!”

“You’re very kind, granny. But, as I was saying about the dreams–you said that there was a great amount of truth in them.”

“Who says there is not?” said the old woman in an authoritative tone, and gave Danny a dark and disapproving look.

“Sure, it isn’t me you would suspect of saying such a thing? I was only going to tell you that I had a very clear dream last night, and sure, I came here to ask you about what it meant.”

“Well, my dear, tell us your dream,” said the old woman as she took an increasing number of long drags from her cigarette.

“Well, you see,” said Danny,

“That’s very true, my darling boy! Now go on.”

“Well, as I was saying, I came to the cross-roads, and soon after I saw four walls. Now, I think those four walls means the old castle to me.”

“That’s likely enough, dear boy.”

“Oh,” said Una, who was listening with her mouth as wide open as Carlingford Lough, “sure, you know the old castle has only three walls, and how could that be it?”

“That doesn’t matter at all,” said the old woman, “It ought to have four walls, and that’s the same thing!”

“Well, well! I never thought of that,” said Una, as she lifted her hands above her head in wonder. “Sure enough, so it ought!”

“Go on, Danny,” said the old woman .

“Well, I thought the greatest number of crows that I have ever seen flew out of the castle, and I think that must mean that the gold is there!”

“Did you count how many there was?” asked the Cailleach, solemnly.

“No! Sorry, but I never thought of that,” said Danny, deeply vexed by his apparent omission

“Well, could you tell me if there was an odd or even number of them, dear boy?”

No, sure I could not say for certain.”

“Well, that’s it!” said the old woman, shaking her head in disappointment. “How can I tell the meaning of your dream, if you don’t know how it came out exactly?”

“Well, granny, but don’t you think the crows were a sign of gold?”

“Yes–if they flew low down.”

“By God then, now I remember, they did fly low down in the sky, and I said to myself there would be rain soon, because the crows were flying so low.”

“I wish you didn’t dream of rain, Danny.”

“Why not,  granny? What harm is there in it?”

“Oh, nothing, only it comes in an awkward place in your dream.”

“But it doesn’t spoil the dream, I hope?”

“Oh no, not at all. Go on.”

“Well, with that, I thought I was passing by Dolan’s grain store, and he asked me, ‘Will you carry home this sack of meal for me?’ Now, you know, meal is a sign of money. Sure, every fool knows that.”

“You’re right, dear boy.”

“And so I took the sack of meal on my shoulder, and I thought the weight of it was killing me, just as if it was a sack of gold.”

“Go on Danny.”

“And with that I thought I met with a cat, and that, as you know, means an ill-natured woman.”

That’s right, Danny.”

“And says she to me: ‘Danny Kelly,’ says she, ‘you’re mighty yellow about the face. God bless you! Is it the jandies (jaundice) you have?’ says she. Now wasn’t that mighty sharp of her? I think the jandies means gold?”

Yes. If it was the yellow jandies you dreamed about, but not the black jandies.”

“Well, it was the yellow jandies.”

“Very good, dear boy, that’s making a fair job of it.”

“I thought so myself,” said Danny, “even more so when there was a dog in my dream next, and that’s another sign, you know.”

“Right, dear boy.”

“And he had a silver collar on him.”

“Oh, that silver collar is not so good, Danny. What made you dream of silver, anyway?”

“Why, what harm is there in that?”

“Oh, I thought you knew better than to dream of silver. Why, my young friend, sure, silver is a sign of disappointment, everywhere.”

“Oh, damnation!” said Danny, in horror, “and is my dream spoilt by that bloody collar?”

“It is almost spoilt. But, it isn’t yet. It would be spoilt only for the dog. Now, the dog is a good sign, and so it will be only a small disappointment, maybe a falling out with some acquaintance.”

“Oh, what does that matter,” said Danny. “Sure, the dream is still good, isn’t it?”

“Aye, the dream is still good. But, tell me if you also dreamed of three sprigs of spearmint at the end of it?”

“Well, I could not say for certain, because I was just about to awaken at that time, and the dream was not so clear to me.”

“I wish you could be more certain of that.”

“You know, I have it my mind that there was spearmint in it, because I thought there was a garden in part of it, and the spearmint was likely to be there.”

“It is, sure enough, and so you did dream of the three sprigs of spearmint.”

“Indeed, I could almost swear on the good book that I dreamt of it. I’m nearly certain, if not completely sure.”

“Well, that’s reasonable. It’s a good dream, Danny.”

“Is it, really?”

“Indeed it is, Danny. Now wait until the next quarter of the new moon, and dream again then, and you’ll see what’ll come of it.”

“Be sure that I will, granny. Oh, but it’s you have taken the meaning out of it beyond everything, and rest assured that, if I find the crock, it will be yourself who will also profit from it. But, I must be going now, granny. The Boss man told me to hurry with my errand, or else I would stay longer with you. Good morning’ to you, good morning! Una! I’ll see you to-morrow sometime, granny.” And Danny went off with a new spring in his step.

From the foregoing story you can see just how gullible poor Danny was, but it was not in his belief of the “truth in dreams” alone that his weakness lay. He had a very deep belief in fairy folk of all sorts and sizes when discussions came around to them, and he was always on the look-out for a Leprechaun. Now, a Leprechaun is a fairy of peculiar tastes, properties and powers, which it is necessary to acquaint you, the reader, with. His taste as to occupying his time is humbly working at making shoes, and he loves to hide himself away in shady nooks where he can sit alone and pursue his vocation undisturbed. In fact, he is quite a hermit in this respect, for there is no instance of anyone seeing two Leprechauns together.

But, the Leprechaun is quite handsome in his outfit, which usually includes a red square-cut coat, that is richly laced with gold,  a waistcoat and trousers of the same style, a cocked hat, shoes and buckles. He has the habit of deceiving, in a great degree, those who chance to discover him. To date none has ever been known to outplay a Leprechaun in the “keen encounter of wits,” which his meeting with mortals always produces. This is brought about by him possessing the power of bestowing unbounded wealth on whoever can keep him within sight until he is so weary of being observed that he gives in to the ransom demanded. This is the final objective of any mortal who is fortunate to surprise and seize the Leprechaun. He must never look away from him, until the threat of his destruction forces the Leprechaun to produce the hidden treasure. This fairy being is, however, usually much too clever for us clumsy mortals and almost always sure to devise some trick that will make us avert our eyes, which will allow him to vanish from our grasp.

It was this ‘Enchanted Cobbler’ of the meadows that Danny Kelly was always seeking. Although he was constantly on the look-out for a Leprechaun, he had never even gotten within sight of one, and he had been given the name of the ‘Fairy Finder’ as a sign of the derision he was held in by others. There was also many a trick that was played upon him. On some occasions a twig stuck in the long grass, with a red rag hanging from it, has fooled Danny into cautious observance. He would carefully approach the decoy for a closer inspection, and a laugh from behind a bush or hedge would then have shown that he was the tool of some trickster. Yet, although this happened quite often, it did not cure him from his folly. There wasn’t a turkey- cock that had a quicker eye for a bit of red, or flew at it with greater eagerness, than Danny Kelly, and he continued to believe that one day or other he would reap the reward of his watching, by finding a  real Leprechaun.

Cailleach of Ballygran Part IV

 

Maura

Maura Despair

In the local health centre there was a new, young, female doctor attached to the practice that Maura attended. Being young and new to the practice she, not surprisingly, wanted to make a good impression, and so conducted a thorough examination of Maura. Fortunately, on this occasion, Fiona decided to accompany her to the doctor’s surgery and she listened attentively to what the doctor had to say. After the examination was complete, the young doctor told Maura that she would make arrangements for her to attend the hospital for a series of tests. At the same time, the doctor also promised that she would do everything in her power to ensure that the tests would be carried out as soon as possible, and, in the meantime, she would take some blood samples. Maura was, of course, concerned and a little upset when she was told that hospital tests would be required and she asked, nervously, “Is it something very serious, doctor?”

“To be honest, Mrs. Magowan, I will not know anything until the test results are returned to me,” the doctor smiled reassuringly. “Once we know exactly what we are dealing with, then we shall be able to treat it rapidly and efficiently so we can get you back to full health.”

“She’s right, Mammy,” added Fiona comfortingly. “Let us get these tests over and done with so we can treat you before it becomes any worse. Sure, I’ll come with you to the hospital, for you know what Daddy’s like about those places.”

It came as a great surprise when, barely two weeks after seeing the doctor, Maura received a letter from the hospital offering her an appointment ten days time. Fiona was excited for her mother and she urged Maura to call the hospital on the phone and confirm the appointment by telling them that she would be attending. Encouraged by this piece of good news Maura and her two daughters went out shopping for some new clothes that she might need if she was going into the hospital. Then, later that same evening, Maura sat down with Johnny and told him that she would be going into hospital to undergo some tests.

“Sure, Maura, it might not be that bad of a thing,” Johnny tried to assure his wife. “It will, probably, only be that IBS thing that has got so popular, or just an ulcer of one kind or another.”

“I think it might just be a little more serious than that Johnny!” she said, but appreciated his efforts at trying to comfort her.

“You worry too much Maura, as you always do. I’ll bet you that when you get these tests they will say you’re as fit as a fiddle.”

Later that same evening, as was his usual custom, Johnny went to the club, where he met Luig in the snug. They talked in whispers to each other, and Johnny told her about Maura’s impending hospital appointment and how worried she was. But, as they talked quietly, unknown to them, a close work colleague of Maura, called Dympna Murphy, saw the couple getting rather cosy with each other, and she decided that this was more than just an innocent friendship. She had come to the club with one of her friends and asked her, “Who is that with Johnny Magowan?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard the gossip have you?” the friend replied quietly.

“Now, would I be asking you such a question if I knew who she was?”

“Hush, for Jesus’ sake! Not so loud,” Dympna’s friend urged. “That’s Johnny’s fancy piece.”

“His what?” exclaimed Dympna, in shock and disbelief at this sudden revelation. “She’s not that bloody fancy!”

“It’s that girl with the odd name, Luigseach. But, she just calls herself Luig. Luig McGirr and she’s Johnny Magowan’s bit on the side,” explained the friend. “It has been going on for quite a while now. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it until now.”

“What, in the name                                                                                                                                                                           God, does the like of Johnny Magowan see in that witch?” sighed Dympna despairingly.

“Typical man, he’s always looking for his comforts. I would say it’s not what he sees in her, but what she does for him,” laughed Dympna’s friend loudly and gathering attention from around the room.

“The dirty old bitch! How could he prefer the like of that instead of his wife, Maura?”

“I don’t believe that Maura knows anything about the affair, to be honest. I definitely would not like to be the one who tells the poor woman, if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” sighed Dympna. She knew already that Maura was going to attend the hospital for tests. She was of the opinion that any such disclosure should be left until after the results of those tests were known. But, Dympna was equally determined that, as Maura’s friend since childhood, she should let her know the secret.

When the day for attending the hospital finally came, Fiona, as promised, accompanied her to the hospital and Johnny drove them to the appointment. As is usual in all hospitals, Maura was called and brought to an area where she and Fiona were told to await the doctor’s call before they could go into the consulting room. After another lengthy period of waiting both ladies were brought into the room by a nurse.

As Maura walked into the office, the doctor greeted her courteously, “Hello Mrs. Magowan. Sorry for keeping you waiting so long.”

“It’s fine,” she told him politely.

“Well, we have several tests to be done and we may have to keep you in overnight on the ward,” the doctor began. “First I have some questions to ask and then the nurse will take you to the ward and help prepare you for what lies ahead. Now, the first test will not be carried out until this afternoon, and there will be a short wait until the next test. We will make every effort to ensure that you know what we are doing it, and when.”

After thanking the young doctor, Maura and Fiona were shown up to the ward, where she undressed and put on a nightdress and a dressing gown. Almost immediately nurse followed nurse, as question followed question, and they checked this and they checked that. Temperature, blood pressure observations were taken, along with a heart trace carried out on a portable ECG machine. Finally, a nurse inserted a ‘butterfly’ connection to the vein in Maura’s left arm. This was to be used only if further medication had to be delivered intravenously. With such attention from the nursing staff the time appeared to fly past until lunch arrived in the ward. Maura, however, was not interested in eating food, being too nervous even to eat a morsel.

Almost immediately after lunch Maura’s first test was carried out, involving a body scan rather than an X-ray. Once the scan was complete, Maura was taken to another department in the hospital, where she was given an ultra-sound sweep of her abdomen. Because of the waiting times in between scans these procedures took up most of the afternoon. When Maura returned o the ward she was served a light tea, but she could only nibble at a slice of wheaten bread and drink the cup of tea provided. She was tired and bored. So far all that had been done was answer questions and have scans completed. There was not, much to her frustration, one word about what they were actually testing her for. Fiona, however, continued to support her mother and to keep her spirits up by ensuring that any dark thoughts of her mortality did not linger in Maura’s mind.

There were no more tests that evening and Maura suggested that Fiona go home and get some rest. Eight O’clock was the start of visiting time, but Fiona did not stay and an exhausted Maura prepared to get some sleep. For several weeks she had become very concerned about her health, and she had said prayers to every possible saint asking them to protect her from her worst fear, which was contracting cancer. Maura had seen people die as a result of this devastating disease, and she had no wish for her family to witness her waste away in a painful journey toward death. Despite the positive messages from others, the reality of becoming yet another statistic in the fight against cancer played heavily on Maura’s mind.

Maura did not sleep well that night in hospital. Her mind was filled with negative thoughts and she cried quietly to herself as she lay in the hospital bed. When the ward came back to life the next morning, Maura was still wide awake. Yawning widely with exhaustion she watched on as the nursing staff began preparing for the changeover of personnel. She got out of the bed and made her way to the nearby bathroom, where she showered and prepared herself for the day ahead. After breakfast, Maura sat in the bedside chair awaiting her next test, but no person came and the doctors began their patient rounds. Meanwhile, Fiona had been allowed into the ward just after breakfast and together they waited patiently for the doctors to come to them.

There were two doctors who eventually came to the bedside, accompanied by a senior nurse. The taller of the two doctors, also appeared to be the youngest, while the other doctor was a small man, wore glasses and looked to be much older than his colleague. The taller doctor pulled the curtains around the bed to give them a little privacy, while the smaller of the two sat on the bed to talk to Maura. “Is this your daughter. Mrs. Magowan?”

“Yes, Doctor,” replied Maura. “This my eldest girl.” 

“Is it alright to discuss your case in her presence?”

“Yes, of course, she can stay,” Maura assured him,and the doctor began to explain to Maura that they had examined the results of the previous day’s tests. He told her that they had discovered an aberration of sorts in her pancreas that required further investigation. From what he had seen on those tests, he explained, he felt it was important that she should be made aware of it. He also wanted to mention the need for a swift, exploratory procedure to determine what type of growth it was. The plan was to bring her down to the theatre that very afternoon and, until that time, she would just have to fast.

Maura signed all the necessary papers that she needed to allow the procedure to take place. As she was signing her name, Maura felt like she should ask what the doctor’s prognosis was. But, Maura was too nervous to speak and left it to Fiona, who asked, “Doctor, what do you think this growth is?”

“It is hard to give you an answer to such a question without first doing the investigation. There is, it must be said, as much chance of the growth being nothing serious, as there is that it might be cancerous,” the doctor told her.

“But, what are you investigating?”

“Your mother appears to have a mass of tissue in her pancreas. It is not a big lump but neither is it small. We need to go in and see if that lump is benign or not,” replied the doctor.

“Malignant?”

“Well, yes. But, we cannot be sure. If it is not benign, however, we will immediately arrange for its removal,” the doctor assured Fiona.

Maura’s heart pounded heavily in her chest when she heard that dreaded word, “Cancer.” The heartbeat increased its rate, as tears of fear filled her eyes, and Fiona threw her arms around her mother to comfort her at this moment of shock. “Don’t be crying, Mammy,” said Fiona softly. “We will get through this together as a family.” But, Maura said nothing in reply and quietly watched as the two doctors moved away from her bed. It was as if she was numb, because she could feel nothing anymore. She felt that every emotion she had was frozen, or replaced by a numbness of the body

**** —****

Maura’s friend, Dympna Murphy, had called to the house earlier that morning, but it was Johnny who answered the door, much to her surprise. “Good morning, Dympna!” Johnny greeted her, “What’s happening?

“Nothing much, Johnny, I just called up to see how Maura was, and when she might be back at work,” Dympna told him.

“Well, she went into hospital yesterday and was kept in overnight. It’s nothing serious, she is just getting some more tests done today.”

“Are you going over?” Dympna asked.

“No. You know I can’t stand hospitals, and Fiona is with her anyway. She’ll be home late I’m sure and I’ll get her to ring you,” Johnny replied.

“Thanks, Johnny,” she smiled at him and the, turning her head said, “There’s Frances. Sure, I’ll walk into work with her. See you later, Johnny.”

“Aye,” smiled Johnny as he watched Dympna move swiftly away, before closing the front door.

Dympna quickly caught up with Frances Conlon, another work colleague, and greeted her with a bright, “Good Morning!”

“I saw you up at Maura’s house, what’s happening there? Is she any better?” questioned Frances.

“Well, Johnny says she has been taken into the hospital and is being kept in for some sort of tests,” Dympna told her.

“That doesn’t sound too good, does it?” remarked Frances.

“No, Frances, it doesn’t sound good and that useless lump of flesh isn’t even going over to visit her,” said Dympna. “But, he says, she might get out tonight.”

I bet you if that Jezebel, Luig, was in the hospital he would be over there in double quick time,” Frances sneered.

“Do you know about her?”

“Sure half the country knows about him and her, the dirty old sod. And his wife not well. But, sure there is no fool like an old fool and Johnny Magowan is proving the truth of that. The man must be stupid, as well as blind, if he can’t see that Luig is just after his money. Anyway, she’s not exactly Nicole Kidman, and the old boot is not fit to lick Maura’s shoelaces. Have you seen that neck of hers, and the wrinkles in it. She’ll definitely not tear in the plucking!”

“Now Frances, don’t hold back. Say what you mean woman, for there is nothing I dislike more than someone who sits on the fence,” laughed Dympna.

The two women began to walk a little faster so that they would not be late for work. “You know, I was going to tell Maura about this carry on,” Dympna declared.

“Rather you than me,” replied Frances. “But the woman should be told the truth.”

“I’ll tell her the first chance that I get,” Dympna promised.

**** —****

It was lunch time when Fiona reached her parents’ house and entered through the front door. “Are you in, Daddy?” she called out.

“I’m in the bathroom,” came the reply, “I will be down in a minute.”

Fiona moved into the kitchen and switched the electric kettle on so that she could make a pot of tea for the two of them. When Johnny came down the stairs he walked into the kitchen and greeted his oldest daughter. “And how is your mother?” he asked.

“She has all her tests done, but we will not know until later about when she’ll get home, “Fiona told him. “Are you going over to see her this afternoon?” she asked him.

“Ah now, Fiona, you know that I can’t stand hospitals. Sure I will wait here until she comes home,” he told her.

“This is your wife dad! You should go over and see her. She needs you,” Fiona pleaded with a tear in her eye.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked.

“Well, they’re going to check her out this afternoon, but she might just have some form of cancer.”

“Cancer?” he gasped and felt the blood drain from his face. “Oh, my God!”

“Aye, and she will need you by her side if they give her confirmation of that,” Fiona told him sternly.

“I’m no good with sick people, Fiona, and I cannot stand being in hospitals. It would be much better for her if you go, and you can keep in touch with me,” Johnny replied.

“And just what are you going to do? Will you just sit here moping around all day, or maybe it will be over a couple of pints in the club?” she sneered at him.

“Don’t be like that, Fiona, try to understand what I’m going through, especially now that I have heard this terrible news. But she will be alright. She has always had a fear of cancer since her brother died, so she’ll be terrified. Bring her a wee box of chocolates from me and tell her I said everything will be okay,” Johnny told her.

“That will be a great comfort to her,” snapped Fiona. “Just you enjoy your afternoon, for I am away to the hospital to see Mammy!” She jumped up from the seat and moved toward the back door. Taking her car keys, she went around the side of the house, where she had parked her car.

Almost as soon as Fiona had gone out of the back door, Johnny went to the hall where he lifted the telephone off its receiver and began to dial a number. The call was picked up at the other end of the line and Johnny asked, “Luig, is that you?”

“I am just ringing to tell you that I can’t make it this afternoon. Maura is in hospital still, and it could be very serious.”

He listened for a few moments to what Luig said, and then told her, “Well, she might not get out tonight at all. Okay, I will try to be there about five o’clock -.”

“Where at five?” asked Fiona and caused Johnny to jump with surprise. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one!” he replied quickly. Then speaking into the phone he told Luig, ”Thanks for calling. Sure we’ll talk later.”

When he had hung up the phone Johnny found that Fiona was still waiting for an answer. “It was Seamus. He was looking to know if I was up for a drink. I told him no, of course, but you know how persistent he can be. I told him I would maybe there about five o’clock.”

“That’s right Dad, make sure you get your two pints and forget about everything else!”

“But, Fiona -,” he began, but Fiona wasn’t listening anymore and just lifted her purse that she had left behind her before storming out again.

**** —****

When Fiona got back to the ward she discovered that her mother had already been moved down to theatre. The ward manager invited her to wait in the “Relative’s Room”, where she brought a cup of tea for the anxious girl to drink. It was the first time, since the doctor had spoken to her mother, that Fiona had time to consider what had been said. Before this moment she had never considered the possibility that the family might lose their mother, and she might lose the woman who was also her best friend.

Maura was a woman who had never experienced serious illness in her life, but had always taken great care of her family when illness would strike. Fiona could not visualise a time without her mother, and she sat in that waiting room praying in a manner that she had not prayed in many years. Fiona was a mother herself now, and it began to dawn on her the great difficulties that her mother would have when confronted with the possibility of leaving her children motherless. Bitter tears came into Fiona’s eyes and, as was normal with her on such occasions, she had no tissues in her bag.

The door of the room opened slowly, and the head of a young man peeped in. “It’s only me sis,” said the young man, who was actually Fiona’s younger brother, John.

“John!” gasped Fiona, “How did you know where I was?”

John moved into the room and sat down beside his sister. “I rang the house and Dad answered. I was ringing up to find out how Mam’s tests had gone, and he told me that you were both still here. He also told me that it could be more serious than first thought, so I came straight out of work.”

“Thank God you did,” she sighed and gave her brother a comforting hug. They could now wait together for Maura to return to the ward.

**** —****

Meanwhile, in Luig’s house, the telephone rang again and she lifted the receiver to her ear. “I’m glad you rang again Johnny. What is Happening? You sounded so strange the last time you rang.”

She tutted and shook her head as she listened to Johnny explain the likelihood of his wife having cancer. It was not an appropriate topic to be talking to his ‘lover’ about, Luig thought. He, however, was so wrapped in this woman that he was not thinking about propriety. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Luig told him in a false maternal tone, “if she is that ill there is nothing you can do for her. It’s sad, of course, but it is all too common these days, you know. I’m sure it will be a difficult time for you Johnny, but I will always be there to help you through it. Now, I’ve bought two lovely steaks for our tea tonight and maybe you could get down here for five. Well, if they do ring, you can say that you had to go out for a walk to clear your mind. I’ll see you later then, love you!” She hung up the phone with a large, contented smile upon her face, and with a new and lively skip in her step, Luig moved into the kitchen to prepare the steaks she had bought an intimate meal with Johnny.

**** —****

In the hospital the minutes passed slowly into an hour, then two hours. Finally, however, the ward manager came into the waiting room to tell them that their mother was back on the ward, and that she was awake. She also told the two young people that the doctor was on his way up to the ward to speak to their mother. “Can we see her?” John asked.

“Of course you can,” said the ward manager. “She is moved into a side-ward for a bit of privacy.”

When she heard the news Fiona glanced at her brother and she could see that he, too, was concerned at this news.

Holding hands, Fiona and John walked slowly toward the side-ward, where their mother had been placed. They were both eager to see Maura, but neither of them was in a hurry to find out the results of the investigation. Their steps were slow, but they eventually came to the door of the private ward and opened it. Before them, Maura lay on the bed, awake, but obviously exhausted by her experience. Her face was very pale, and her lips a purplish-blue colour. Fiona was frightened and gripped John’s hand. “Well mother, decided to give us all a bit of a fright are you?” smiled John in a jocular way.

Weakly, Maura moved her head to look at her son. “John, what took you here?”

“I came to keep Fiona company, and to see you. So, tell me, what’s happening with you?”

“I don’t know son. I have had some kind of an investigation done, and I’ve been told the doctor is on his way to see me,” Maura told him in a low, weak voice. But, before anything more could be said the ward door opened and the doctor entered.

He was still dressed in his blue theatre clothing as he addressed Maura, “Mrs. Magowan, how are you now?”

“Just a little weak, doctor,” replied Maura, “but anxious to find out what you discovered.”

That is what I wish to discuss with you now,” the doctor explained. “Maybe in private if you prefer?”

“It’s perfectly alright,” she told him, ”this is my son, John, and that’s my eldest daughter, Fiona. I would prefer it if they stayed.”

“That, of course, is your decision, Mrs. Magowan,” replied the doctor, as he pulled up another chair to the bedside. “Now, there is no easy way to speak about these things, so I will keep simply to facts. You, Mrs. Magowan, have an inoperable growth in your pancreas, which appears to be very aggressive. I’m sorry that I have to be the one to tell you –.“

Maura had stopped listening. Her thoughts were already numbed by those terrible words, “inoperable, malignant growth.”

“Unfortunately the cancerous cells are not confined to one organ, but they have spread,“ the doctor continued to explain. “This is terminal, Mrs. Magowan.”

After those words were spoken, you could have heard a pin drop. The silence in that room was so intense. Fiona was already wailing, and had her arms clasped around her mother in the bed. John was frozen to his seat with shock, but he managed to mumble, “What can we expect?”

The doctor shook his head sadly and took a moment or two before he felt able to answer the question that John had posed him. “I know Mrs. Magowan that you are already feeling quite weak and are suffering some pain with your illness. These symptoms will not lessen, but will increase. We will, nonetheless, make every effort to relieve your pain …”

“How long?” asked Maura, almost in a whisper.

“That, I am afraid, is a question that I can’t answer. The growth is quite large and aggressive. All that I can tell you is that it could be months, or weeks, instead of years. We just don’t know, but it might be an idea if you began to settle your affairs.”

There was no reply from Maura, or any of her children. “I have asked for a MacMillan nurse to come and discuss things with you,” the doctor added.

“Thank you, doctor,” Maura spoke with a half-hearted smile. “You have been very good to me.” The doctor nodded his head toward his patient and silently left the room.

O’Hara The Fairy Man Part III

Fairy ManSo,” he said, without any introduction, “you’ve lost your butter.”

“Yes,” I replied, “it is certainly gone.”

Well, if you want me to, I will get it back for you,” he said in a matter of fact way. “My name is O’Hara, and I live at the ‘White Glen’, where I am known to the people as ‘The Fairy Man.’ I am able to find things that have been stolen, for I carry the ‘garvally’.” (This was an implement like a Shepherd’s Crook which was carried by magicians and holy men, and was said to have mystical powers)

“Is that right?” I remarked with a disbelieving tone of voice, “Sure, you must be a very clever man, but can you get my butter?”

“Have no doubt of it,” said O’Hara, “if it is in the country at all, then I will get it back for you.”

Naturally, being a native of the area I had heard about the ‘garvally’ on previous occasions, when it was described to me as “a crooked thing like the handle of an umbrella, covered with green baize.” It was used in bygone years for swearing upon and, it was said to be, “ a terrible thing, for if you swore falsely and it was around your neck, your mouth would turn to the back of your head, or you’d get choked in such a way as you’d never fully recover.” In recent times it had, however, lost much of its virtue and fame, through so many wastrels putting it around their necks and swearing to a deliberate lie, without suffering any visible harm.

As for O’Hara, he made no strange demands. He simply requested that he be given a deep plate, some water and salt, with a little of the cow’s milk. When these were provided, he began by asking my wife and I to come forward a little. He then asked our names, if I was the owner of the cow, how long I had had her, if that woman was my wife, when we had lost our butter, and if we suspected any person who might have taken it. To all these questions I gave the necessary answers, but to the last of these I told him that I did not believe in witchcraft.

“Don’t you believe in fairies?” he asked.

“Not Much,” said I.

“No matter,” said O’Hara, “maybe before I’m done you will begin to believe in them.”

Turning back to the plate he proceeded, in a very solemn manner, to pour some water into the plate on three individual occasions, following this procedure: He would say “In the name of the Father,” and add a drop; then, “in the name of the Son,” and another drop; finally, “in the name of the Holy Ghost,” and the third drop would be poured. He then proceeded to add the milk in the same manner, and finally sprinkled in the salt, using the same formula. O’Hara now stirred the mixture three times with his finger, repeating the words as before, and asked us both to do the same. I hesitated to do this, because I did not want him to think that I had any faith in the process, by taking an active part in it. But, O’Hara convinced me to act against my scruples by asking me if what he was doing is not being done for a very honourable reason. I could do nothing else but agree that, so far, I saw nothing very objectionable in what he was doing. My wife, of course, had no such scruples and eagerly joined with O’Hara to persuade me to do what I had been asked.

His next step was to make the sign of the cross over the plate with his hands, and then, waving them over his head, he made several curious figures in the air while muttering some kind of language that I could not fully understand. From the odd sound and syllable that I could catch, it sounded as if he was talking some kind of vulgar Latin. Gradually, the man became very excited, raving like a demon, stamping with his feet, and shadow-punched with his fists. As he spoke, it was if he was pleading rather than opposing or issuing commands. All the while his eyes appeared to be fixed upon and following the motions of some being he was talking to, but we could not see. Suddenly he gave out an unearthly scream, as if in an agony of terror and pain. At the same time, he held up his hands as if he was warding off some kind of threat, retreating backwards around the room as if being by some kind of implacable enemy. Gradually, he returned to the place that he had left and, turning himself to the four cardinal points, he made the sign of the cross at each turn after dipping his fingers in the mixture. He blessed himself devoutly by anointing his forehead, shoulders, and breast. As he regained his self-possession, O’Hara raised his hands and eyes toward heaven in an attitude of fervent thankfulness, and wiped the perspiration which streamed profusely from his brow with the cuff of his coat. As he gradually recovered his breath, he moved from a state of the greatest possible excitement, and became calm and collected once again.

In my mind, all of this was an act, albeit was done extremely well. I must confess, however, even though I was convinced that it was all false, the entire show made a very powerful impression upon me. In truth I did not feel at all comfortable with this play acting. I did not like the idea of being in the same room with the evil one, who to all appearances was chasing my friend, the magician, around it. I began to feel a sudden and indescribable sensation of dread creeping over me, and there were more than a few drops of perspiration that formed on my brow. My hair, of which I do not have very much, mysteriously began to stiffen and to become wiry. My wife clung closely to my side seeking protection, and the great agitation in her mind could be felt through the heavy pumping of her heart, which in that moment matched the beating of my own.

Having taken a short pause, the magician asked for a ribbon, which he immediately passed over his forehead and around his head. Bringing the ends to the front, he knotted it over his nose before twining it round his fingers in the manner that children call a cat’s cradle. O’Hara knelt down and peered through the ‘cradle’ attentively into the mixture, which I imagined at the moment fermented and sent up a blue vapour.

After gazing a few seconds in this manner he cried out “Aha! She that has your butter is not far off! Bring me a lighted candle.

We hurried to do as he asked and, when it was brought to him, he placed the candle in the plate. “Now,” he said, “both of you kneel down here. Do as I do, and say as I say, and we’ll have her brought here directly.”

“No!” I exclaimed loudly, “we will not.” By this time, I thought we had gone far enough. I was convinced that if what we were engaged in was not an unholy act, it was at least a piece of gross deception, and I did not want to continue with the charade, or give it any authority through my further participation.

“Why?” O’Hara exclaimed in surprise, “do you not want to get your butter back?”

Yes,” I told him, “I would like to have my butter returned, but I don’t want it done through a charm or other black art.”

“What is being done here is undoubtedly a charm,” he said, “but it is done with the best of intentions, and I have done the same for others who are as every bit as good as you ever were.”

“So much the worse for them,” I replied, “that they would allow such profane things to be done, and I am sorry that any person would be so wicked, or so foolish, as to encourage you in your tricks. Allow me to tell you that I neither like you, nor your trickery, and the sooner you get about your own business the better.”

The conjuror jumped to his feet angrily, blew out the candle, grabbed hold of the plate, and attempted to throw the contents into the fireplace. My wife, however, was in no mood to have her hearth wet, and she took the plate from him, putting it in a place of safety. He was very angry and began to shout, accusing me of allowing him to take a great deal of trouble on my account, and he insisted on getting on with his task. But, I was determined not to give in to him, and, being considerably upset and annoyed by what had transpired between us, I insisted that he get off my property, and I left him to what was asked of him.

A few moments after I left O‘Hara I heard the noise of a violent altercation and scuffle, and I was loudly called on for help. Rushing to the scene of altercation, I found my wife holding O’Hara tightly by the neck, and preventing him from leaving.

“What is going on now, for God’s sake?” I shouted.

“Your man, here” said she, “when he leaving us, decided to take a glowing coal out of the grate, and then he told me to take care of my children.”

Of course, O’Hara strongly denied all this, until he was confronted by the young girl, whom my wife employed as a servant. I immediately threatened to call the police and to have him charged as an impostor. But, he began to stammer, and finally acknowledged that he had said those things to my wife. He quickly added that he had meant no harm by it. “And sure,” said O’Hara, “there’s absolutely no harm in advising you to mind them well. For, just as easily as one of your cows could get injured, so maybe your children can be just as easily injured.”

“You’re not treating me well,” he continued; “I came here at the request of a friend to try to do you a good turn, and I asked for nothing in return, yet now you’re putting me out of your house. But, I’ll tell you that you will be happy to see me yet. Just take my advice and never throw out your Sunday’s ashes until Tuesday morning, and always sweep your floor in from the door to the hearth.” And, with those final words, away he went.

My heart now began beating a lot easier, because I thought that we had finally got rid of the ‘Fairy Man’. This, however, was not to be the end, for I was to be mystified even further. When I looked at the plate over which he had performed his incantations, I discovered that the contents were thick, yellow, and slimy, with a sediment that looked like globules of blood at the bottom. This was something extraordinary, because I had watched the man very closely, and I did not see him put anything into the plate but the milk, water, and salt.

The end of the month now drew near, and our bread still had no butter to spread upon it. This was the reason why almost every morsel of bread seemed to stick in my poor dear wife’s throat. She, of course, did not possess the same scruples of conscience as I had, and she was of the opinion that the cow had been bewitched. She would remind me of my faults by complaining, “Here we are day after day, losing our income when all our problems could have been solved but for your squeamishness, in not allowing the ‘Fairy Man’ to finish his task.”

She would harangue me almost every day in this way, and did not hesitate to call me a fool, an eejit, and a complete ass. I must admit that nearly every one of my neighbours were much of the same opinion as she was. One of my neighbours, a respectable farmer’s wife, was particularly tenacious about her opinion. One evening, while visiting, she said, “My Robin was down in Sligo, and he heard that if you got the coulter of a plough (a vertically mounted component of many plows that cuts an edge about 7 inches (18 cm) deep ahead of a plowshare), and made it red-hot in the fire while you were churning, the butter would come back. Or, if you chose to churn on Sunday morning before the lark begins to sing, you will surely get the butter back.”

“Don’t you tempt me anymore, more with your spells, for I will not stand for it,” said I, impatiently. “I will never swop my peace of mind for a pound of butter, if I should never eat another morsel.” But, in all honesty, my peace of mind was already gone. The continual urging and yammering, that I was being subjected to, had made me heartily sick. Inwardly, I had made mind up to sell the cow at the first opportunity I had, and thereby end the matter completely.

In the afternoon of May eve, I had reason to leave home for a very short time, and, when I returned, I was rather surprised to find all the windows in the house closed, as well as the door locked against me. I knocked on the door and called out for someone to let me in, but I received no answer. I could, however, hear the noise of churning going on inside, and the truth of what was happening flashed across my mind. Annoyed by my wife’s belief in such superstitious nonsense, I went to the garden to await the result of her ritual. In a very short period of time she came running out of the house like a demented person, clapping her hands and screaming, “Oh! we’ve got the butter, we’ve got the butter!”

As I went into the house I found a coulter of a plough fizzing and sparkling at a white heat in the fire, an ass’s shoe under the churn, my worthy neighbour standing over it, panting and blowing from the exertions she had made on my behalf, and wiping the dew-drops from her really lovely face. Meanwhile, in the churn, floating like lumps of gold in a sea of silver, as fine a churning of butter as ever we had been blessed with. Well, I will admit that I was gobsmacked by the entire episode, and when I was asked, “Now, is there no witchcraft or magic in a red-hot coulter?” I could scarcely muster up courage to utter “No.

I tried, in vain, to protest that the butter came back to us because “Brownie” had got back to her pasture. It was all, I argued, because of the change in her feeding, from dry fodder to the mellow and genial production of spring grass. The loss, I said, was the result of changing her feed from grass to hay. In the face of what had happened in the house, however, it was futile to argue such a case. Everyone was convinced that it was all due to O’Hare’s incantations, or the magic of the red-hot coulter, the influence of the ass’s shoe, or the tremendous pommelling the milk had been subjected to.

A few days after the event, I had the opportunity to talk to a knowledgeable man who was a herdsman in charge of a large stock farm. He patiently listened to my story and when I had finished he burst into hearty laughter. “Dear God,” said he, “I took you for a sensible man, and never thought for one minute that you would believe in such nonsense.”

“Some time ago I would sooner have believed that black was white,” I told him. “But how can I ignore the chain of circumstantial evidence that I have witnessed? Firstly, ‘The Hawk’ coming to me with her high priced geese, then the gypsies and the piper, and finally losing my butter just at that moment.”

“It is very easy to account for it,” he said. “In the first place, you took your cow from grass and fed her on hay.”

“Yes, we did. But, we made sure that she had plenty of winter cabbages, and we gave her boiled potatoes.”

“Just the thing. Cabbage is good for helping to provide plenty of milk, but not for butter. I bet you that you gave her the potatoes warm.”

“Yes.”

“And she got a scour?”

“Indeed she did, and her hair fell off.”

“So I thought. And afterwards she got in good condition?”

“Yes.”

“Oh! aye, she put her butter on her ribs. Did you kill a pig at Christmas?”

“I did.”

“Where did you put your bacon?”

“Why, under the shelf in the dairy.”

“Now the truth is out! Never as long as you live put meat, either fresh or salted, near your milk-vessels. If you do, you will surely spoil your milk and lose your butter.”

“This may account for my loss, but what have you to say to its coming back?”

“Why, what’s to stop it, when your bacon is in the chimney and your cow at grass?”

“But the red blobs in the plate, and O’Hare fighting the devil for me, what do you say to that?”

It was at this point that the man burst into such a violent fit of laughter that I really thought he would actually snap the waistband of his trousers. “O’Hare! ha! ha!— O’Hare! ha! ha! ha!— sure he’s the greatest villain that ever breathed fresh air. He came to me one time when I had a cow sick, and said she was enchanted by the fairies, and that he would cure her for me. He began with his tricks with the milk and water, just the same as he did with you. But, I watched him very closely, and when I saw the smoke rising out of the plate, I got him by the neck, shook a little bottle of vitriol out of the cuff of his coat, and took a paper of red earthy powder out of his waistcoat pocket.”

I was both shocked and confounded by what he told me. Could I have been made a complete fool of by the ‘Fairy Man’? Even the thought of this made me feel humiliated, and I began to wish that I had remained in complete ignorance. On reflection, however, I had every reason to congratulate myself that it had been only a temporary lapse in my beliefs. I had been right in my original opinion, that, except the witchery of a pair of blue languishers, or the fairy spell of a silver-tongued siren, there is now no evil of the kind to be believed in.