Family – Ireland's Lore and Tales

A Strange Burial

A Fairy Encounter

Many years ago, there lived a hard-working farmer named Liam Mooney, who lived on the borderlands between County Armagh and County Louth. Times had been harsh for many seasons and there was little money to be made from poor harvests. Then, one day, the landlord came to Liam and told him, “You owe me three years’ rent now, and unless you can pay it all to me within the week, I’ll throw you, and all of your family out on the road.”

“Ah, sir,” replied Liam, “I will be going to Newry tomorrow with a load of wheat to sell, and when I get it all sold, I will be able pay you all that I owe.”

Next morning, Liam put a load of wheat on the cart, and headed off to market with it. But, after he had travelled only a couple of miles from his house, he met a prosperous looking gentleman, who asked him, “Is that a load of wheat that you’ve got on your cart?”

“It is, indeed,” replied Liam, “and I’m going to sell it at the market so that I can pay my rent.”

”How much is there in that load?” the gentleman asked politely.

“There’s a ton in it,” said Liam with a certain pride.

“I’ll buy it from you,” said the gentleman, “and I’ll give you the best price that’s going in the market. Now, when you reach the cart track that’s on your left, turn down it and continue along the track until you come to a big house in the valley. I’ll be there before you arrive, and I can give you your money.”

Pleased with the deal he had struck, Liam came to the cart track he turned in, continuing on his way, as instructed, until he came as far as the big house described by the gentleman. Liam then began to wonder, when he came as far as the big house, for having been born and raised in this part of the country he had never seen this building before, and he thought he was familiar with every house within five miles of where he lived. When Liam came near to the barn that was close to the big house, a small boy came running out and said, “Good man Liam Mooney, you’re very welcome.” The boy then lifted a sack onto his back and went into the barn with it. Almost immediately another little lad came out and welcomed Liam, put a sack on his back, and went into the barn with it. Very soon various lads were coming out, welcoming Liam, and putting the sacks on their backs to carry them into the barn, until the entire ton of wheat was all gone.

It was then that all the boys came around Liam, who told them plainly, “You boys all know me, and I don’t know one of you!”

One of the boys stepped forward and replied to Liam, saying, ”Go in and eat your dinner, for the master’s waiting for you.”

Liam went into the main house and sat down at the table to eat. But he had not taken a second mouthful when he began to feel a heavy sleep overcame him, and he fell down under the table. Then this mysterious gentleman used his magic powers to fabricate a man in Liam’s image, and then sent him home to William’s wife with the horse and cart. When the false Liam eventually arrived at Liam’s house, he went into the bedroom, where he laid himself down on the bed and died.

Within a few hours the news had spread far and wide that Liam Mooney had died. The wife put some water on the fire to heat and, when it was hot, she washed the body of her ‘husband’ and laid it out to be waked. His friends and neighbours from all over the district came to the house, and they grieved for him deeply. There was also great comfort for Liam’s poor wife, who did not show much grief herself on the passing of her husband, for Liam was an older man and she was quite young.

The next morning saw the poor man’s body buried, and afterwards there was very little thought given to the man. The wife had a young house-boy, and she called him to her and said, “You should marry me, you know, and take Liam’s place.”

“Surely, it’s too early, after himself just dying and his body hardly cold in the ground?” the boy replied. “Wait, at least until Liam has been buried a week.”

Meanwhile, after the real Liam had slept for seven days and seven nights, a little boy came to him and awoke him, saying, “You’ve been asleep for a week, Liam! But we sent your horse and cart home. Now, here’s your money, and you should go.”

Liam, still confused by all that had happened to him, made his way home, and because it was late at night no person saw him. However, on the morning of that same day, Liam’s wife and the young servant lad went to the local priest and asked if he would marry them. “Have you the marriage money?” asked the priest.

“No,” said the wife, “but I have a great beast of a pig at home, and you can have her in place of money.”

The priest accepted, married the couple, and said, “I’ll send for the pig tomorrow.”

When the wife and the servant boy were going to bed that evening, Liam came to the door of his house and struck it a hefty blow. Surprised by the intrusion the newly wedded couple asked, “Who’s there?”

“It’s I,” replied Liam, “Now, open the door for me.”

When they heard the voice, they immediately recognised that it was Liam’s voice. Terrified by this knowledge the wife called out, “I can’t let you in! Sure, it’s a shameful thing for you to be coming back here again, after you have been lying seven days in your grave.”

“Have you gone mad? ” asked Liam.

“No! I’m not a mad woman!” declared the wife. “Sure, doesn’t every person in the entire parish know that you are dead, and that I buried you decently. Now, old man, go back to your grave, and I’ll have a mass read for your poor soul in the morning.”

“Wait until morning comes,” said Liam, “and I’ll give you the weight of a dead man’s boot as the price for all this foolishness!” Angrily he turned from the door and went into the stable, where his horse and the pig were, to stretch himself out on the straw and get some sleep.

Early the next morning, the priest called one of the local lads to him and told him, “Go you to Liam Mooney’s house, and the woman that I married yesterday will give you a pig to bring back to me.”

When the boy came to the door of the house, he began knocking at it with a heavy-stick but the woman of the house was afraid to open it. Instead she called out, “Who’s there ? ”

“It’s me,” said the boy, “the priest has sent me to get a pig-from you.”

“She’s out in the stable,” said the wife, “you can go gather her for yourself, and drive her back with you.”

The lad went into the stable, and he began to drive out the pig, when Liam suddenly rose up and said, “Where are you going with my pig ? ”

When the boy saw Liam he never stopped to look again, but he ran out of there just as hard as he could, and he never stopped running until he came back to the priest. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest with terror that he thought it would burst out of his chest. “What’s the matter with you? ” asked the priest. The lad told him that Liam Rooney was in the stable and wouldn’t let him drive out the pig.

“Hold your tongue, you liar!” scolded the priest. “Liam Rooney’s dead and cold in his grave this week.”

“I don’t care if you say he was in his grave this past seven years, Father, I saw him in the stable two moments ago, and if you don’t believe me, then come yourself, and you’ll see him.”

The priest and the boy then went together to the door of the stable, and the priest told the lad, “Go in and turn me out that pig.”

“What? I wouldn’t go in there for all the money you could get!” said the boy.

The priest went in instead of the boy, and began driving out the pig, when Liam rose up out of the straw and asked, “Where are you going with my pig, Father?”

When the priest saw Liam standing before him, he turned on his heels and ran as if all the devils in hell were after him, crying out, “In the name of God, I order you back to your grave, Liam Rooney.”

Liam began running after the priest, and saying, ”Father, Father, have are you gone mad? Wait and speak to me.”

But the priest would not wait for him and continued to make for home just as fast as his feet could carry him, and when he got into the house, he shut the door behind him. Liam was knocking at the door until he was tired, but the priest would not let him in. Finally, the priest put his head out of an upstairs window of the house, and called to him, “Liam Rooney, go back to your grave.”

” You’re mad. Father! Sure, I’m not dead, and I never was in a grave since I was born,” said Liam.

“I saw you dead,” said the priest; “you died suddenly, and I was present when you were put into the grave. Sure, didn’t I make a fine sermon over you?”

“God preserve us, but, as sure as I’m alive, you’re raging mad !” said Liam.

“Get out of my sight now,” said the priest, “and I’ll read a mass for you, tomorrow.”

Liam went home then, and knocked at his own door, only to fine that his wife would not let him in. Then he said to himself: “I may as well go and pay my rent now.”

On his way to the landlord’s house everyone who saw Liam was running before him, for they thought he was dead. When the landlord heard that Liam Rooney was coming his way, he immediately locked the doors and would not let him in. Liam began knocking frantically at the front-door until the landlord thought he’d break it in, and he went to a window at the top of the house, put out his head, and asked, “What is it that you want? ”

“I’ve come to pay my rent like any honest man,” replied Liam.

“Go back to your grave, and I’ll forgive you your rent,” said the landlord.

“I won’t leave this,” said Liam, “until I get it in writing from you that I’m paid up until next May.”

The lord gave him the written statement he wanted, and he came home again and knocked at his own door. But, once again the wife refused to let him in. She said that Liam Rooney was dead and buried, and that the man at the door was only a deceiver. “I’m no deceiver,” said Liam, “I’m after paying my master three years’ rent, and I’ll have possession of my own house, or else I’ll know the reason why.”

He went to the barn and got a big bar of iron, and it wasn’t long until he broke the door down. The wife and her newly married husband were terrified, for they began to believe that the ‘Last Days’ had come and that the end of the world had arrived. “Why did you think I was dead?” asked Liam.

“Doesn’t everybody in the parish know you’re dead?” said the wife.

“To the devil with you woman,” said Liam, “you’ve been humbugging me long enough now, go and get me something to eat.”

The poor woman was greatly afraid, and she sliced him some meat. Then, when she saw him eating and drinking, she said, “It’s a miracle!”

Then Liam told her his story from first to last, and she told him each thing that happened. Then, and then he said, “I’ll go to the grave to-morrow, to see the body that is buried in my place.”

The next morning Liam brought a lot of men with him to the churchyard, and they dug open the grave. They were raising the coffin, when a huge black dog jumped out of it, and ran off, with Liam and the men chasing after it. They were following it until they saw it going into the house in which Liam had been asleep. Then, suddenly, the ground opened and swallowed the house, and from that moment on nobody ever saw it again, although the big hole that it left is still to be seen unto this day. When Liam and the men went home, they told everything that had happened to the priest of the parish, and he dissolved the marriage between Liam’s wife and the servant boy. Liam lived for years after this, leaving great wealth behind him, and his story is still remembered in that border area.

Beautiful Sally

A Tale of Lough Neagh

gig racing 3 In the pretty lough-side village of Montaigh, which looks out over the waters of Lough Neagh, there lived an old man called Paddy Sullivan, who was a boat-builder of many years’ experience. Around the shores of the lough, Paddy’s reputation for building boats was unrivalled and the village was only renowned for being the place where he built his boats. But, because of the fame he became convinced of his own importance and often declared that if there were any man who could beat him in the design, construction and finishing of a racing dinghy, he would give up his trade. Other than designing and building boats, Paddy’s pride was centred upon the only other thing that he loved, and that was his daughter, Sally. He had every right to be proud of her, for she was a beauty, and many thought her to be the epitome of an ‘Irish Colleen. She was a true ‘Irish Rose’ with a pair of roguish black eyes, blooming cheeks, and rose-coloured lips that did not quite hide her two rows of the prettiest, whitest teeth that ever a man had seen.

In his small boat-building yard, Paddy employed a young apprentice upon whom he placed some of his most important boat building secrets. Paddy was very fond of this young man and planned, at some distant date, to place with him all the knowledge that he had gathered over a lifetime. He was called Danny Cullen, a fine-looking young man who stood just about five-feet and ten-inches tall, quietly spoken and polite to all whom he met. Danny was also an active young man, who enjoyed sports of all kind and had a very athletic body, which was admired by many young ladies in the district, including Paddy’s daughter. Sally Scullion, in fact, thought that he was a very handsome man and confided in her girlfriends that she thought Danny had the brightest pair of eyes she had ever seen, and loveliest head of brown, curly hair that any man had ever possessed. Danny, however, was quite speechless every time he encountered Sally, finding it almost impossible to fully praise all her good qualities, including her calm temperament and her warm, sweet, and merry laugh. Even the most neutral of observers could see that these two young, warm-hearted, and amiable people were very much in love with each other. Old Paddy, however, did not dream that the two most important young people in his life had such deep feelings for each other.

gig racing There can be no doubt that Paddy was very knowledgeable when it came to boats and had great skill in building them. But when it came to affairs of the heart he was as blind and ignorant as most Irishmen of his age. For instance, Paddy could not even imagine that his daughter’s frequent visits to the boat yard were due to anything other than a natural and genetic interest in the art of boat-building. Moreover, Paddy had a habit of not wearing his spectacles in the workshop and, probably, failed to notice the reddening of Sally’s cheeks, or the added sparkle in her dark eyes, when she spoke about Danny’s abilities and artistry in boat building.

It was at the beginning of May that a well-dressed gentleman came to the work-yard and ordered a racing-gig from old Paddy. At least once every week subsequent to the order being placed the buyer sent his agent, who was called Duggan, to report on what progress was being made on the boat. Duggan, however, was no ordinary man from the area, but had a great reputation as the best oarsmen on the Lough that he had earned from many races that the fishermen held during the summer. But anyone who had ever come to have contact with him was immediately struck by his prideful and conceited manner. He wasn’t a tall man, but he had strong arms and features. Furthermore, people recall that his most distasteful features were his peculiarly cunning expression around the eyes, and the strange sneer that was always on his lips.

Duggan had, of course, already heard of Sally Sullivan’s reputation as a famed local beauty and was convinced that he would make a good match for the girl. Undaunted by the age difference between them, Duggan was determined that he would win the girl over to him and, with her, the fortune that old Paddy would undoubtedly bestow on her. In the meantime, Paddy and Danny had laid the moulds down and very soon after the proposed race-gig began to take graceful form in the boat-yard. “How are you, curly?” called a voice from outside the yard, giving warning that Mr. Duggan was approaching.

He had come that day to give his opinion on the work that had been completed, and to give his input into what still needed to be completed. But, as he entered the yard, he immediately noticed Sally, sitting on a chair completely involved in some task or other. The one thing that ‘Curly’ knew for certain, however, was that this beautiful girl was not looking at him. She was fixed upon every move that young Danny Cullen was making as he busied himself on the building of this new and wonderful boat. Sally had, of course, seen ‘Curly’ Duggan enter the yard but did not want to suffer the stare of his wickedly leering eyes and decided to leave. Quietly excusing herself she gathered up her things and retired to her father’s neatly painted cottage. Even as she left, Sally could feel that heat on her back from Duggan’s lustful gaze. As for young Danny Cullen, he looked up from his work with a bitter feeling of jealousy filling his body as he watched the way that ‘Curly’ Duggan was looking at his love. From that moment on, Danny formed a long-lasting dislike for this self-opinionated oarsman.

“By the holy God!” exclaimed Duggan, “Sure, isn’t that the neatest and tidiest looking wee boat ever you saw? Now, my boy, what would your name be? For I see you looking closely at that pretty thing, the old man’s wee girl.”

“Yes, she is,” growled Danny,” and here we call her Miss Sullivan!”

“She’s a natural beauty, sure enough,” Curly sighed. “I suppose she has a heap of men chasing after her, boy?”

“How the hell would I know anything? I’ve enough trouble minding my own business, never mind someone else’s!” replied Danny angrily.

“Ah, now!” said Duggan. “Sure, I only asked a civil question and a civil reply would be nice.”

“Well, that’s the only answer I can give you,” Danny told him.

Curly never replied, but he began walking studiously around the half-built boat making snide remarks that demonstrated his complete contempt for Paddy Sullivan’s design and the way in which the work was progressing. “Would you ever look at that?” he smirked as he pointed toward the boat’s keel, “That’s a bloody disgrace! Sure, a barge could be turned quicker in the water than that.!”

Deeply annoyed by Duggan’s comments about the boat, Danny gritted his teeth and continued to concentrate on his work. After a moment or two he felt calm enough to respond to the man’s disparaging remarks. “Well, this is no barge, that’s for sure. So far as that keel is concerned, it will give her a sure grip of the water and make her hold her line.”

“Aye? And who would be able to judge that among tour lot?” Curly sneered.

“Some of the finest judges in any harbor on the lough!” insisted Danny Cullen. “Joe McGrath, Eddie O’Hagan, and Marty O’Brien, among others. Everyone of them will tell you there are no better men at handling an oar to be found in day’s journey!”

“Get away out of that with you!” scorned Duggan, “Sure I wouldn’t believe a word any of those boys would tell me. Your man McGrath is just a ‘gobshite’! Sure, I know more about deep-sea diving than he does gig-racing. McGrath couldn’t pull a bell rope, never mind an oar.”

“Well, I know little about deep-sea diving or pulling bell ropes, myself,” snapped Danny, “but I’ll tell you one thing for nothing; the four of us will beat your shambles of a boat in the race for the ‘Lough Cup’.”

“You’ve a bit of a mouth on yourself, wee man, but I’ll take the bet and you can’t go back on it,” laughed Duggan confidently, sure that he and his crew would win the prize.

“Don’t you be worrying about that,” Danny told him firmly. “I have never broken my word yet, and I can tell you that I am not about to start now.”

Curly now turned his attention back to the criticism of the boat and he said that he was totally dissatisfied with the project in Sullivan’s yard. His behavior was almost the straw that broke the camel’s back, but rather than cause a customer to walk out of Paddy’s yard he decided to get control of his growing anger. But Duggan had not long left the work-yard when Danny suddenly heard a loud shriek coming from the Sullivan cottage. Without even a second thought, Danny threw down the wood-plane that he was using and rushed to the cottage to see what was causing the disturbance. As he entered the building, he was shocked to see Sally struggling, with all her might, to free herself from Duggan’s arms as he tried vainly to snatch a kiss from the beautiful lips. “You dirty blackguard!” Danny screamed as he hurled himself at Duggan, gripping him by the throat and flinging him head-first to the floor.

Duggan was momentarily stunned, but when he recovered after a moment, or two, he raised himself to his feet again. He looked at both Danny and Sally with a certain menace in his eyes as the ‘red-mist’ of revenge filled him. “Take my word for it, Cullen, I’ll get even with you for this or the devil take me if I don’t! So, boy, make sure you keep your eyes open and your wits about you. As for you Sally Sullivan, I will just say good morning. Oh, by the way, Cullen don’t forget the race unless you are too scared to enter!” With these words Duggan stormed out of the cottage and left the work-yard. Sally, who had been very frightened, broke down into floods of tears. She had been terrified by Duggan’s brutality towards her and, after a while, she allowed herself to be consoled by Danny, who used all he knew about her to calm her down and dry her tears.

gig racing 2 Not unexpectedly, advised by Duggan, the client rejected the new racing-gig and it was left with Old Paddy, who had no prospect of a customer for it. Naturally, Sullivan was upset at what had happened to his daughter. But he also regretted that he had been painfully struck down with gout, which he blamed for preventing himself from supervising the work and making the boat a model of perfection. Danny, stood by his work, and manfully faced all the negative remarks of neighbours. To comfort old Paddy, Danny also prophesied that, two days after the upcoming regatta, the gig would be sold at a large profit. So, when she was finished, launched, and christened ‘The Beautiful Sally’, after Paddy’s daughter, Danny helped the young woman fit a flag to the boat’s bow, which she had made from a remnant of white silk.

Now summer had arrived, and the sun shone in all its glory on the calm waters of the Lough. It was glorious July and the entire lough was busy with fishermen and boating tourists. The local regatta had been a great success so far and this was the last day of the festival. On the water a fleet of fairy-like yachts powered by a light breeze that swept over the lough’s surface forming tiny waves, through which the boats dashed, skimming like gulls over the water and creating a silver surf with their bows. The water’s surface blazed with light and the green hills nearby encircled the small cove, and the cloudless skies promised ideal weather to come. Larger boats rode at anchor with various flags and streamers fluttering from stern to bow. Several sand dredgers were also there and decked with a great number of fluttering flags and banners. Dotted over the lough were hundreds of leisure boats of all sizes and shapes, from the one oared punt to the family-sized whaler, or well-manned race-gig gliding from one place to another, giving great animation to the entire scene.

On the regatta quay by the lakeside there were crowds of people all dressed in the most elegant of clothes. Sailor outfits appeared to be the choice of most females but some of them did nothing to improve the look. Local notables of all sorts were also ambling about the quayside chatting to each other and smiling with those made up smiles that people use when they meet someone they would rather not. There was even a local brass band sat atop of a platform, which kept their playing of fine music and popular airs such that they blended beautifully with the hum of human voices, mixing with the soft murmurs of the Lough’s waters lapping the shore.

A little further back there were tents of every variety erected. In some of these beer and stout were sold along with numerous glasses of whisky. In other tents traditional music played and dancers skipped and clipped to their hearts’ content, competing in the local ‘Feis’ (Irish Dancing Competition). There were tents in which people could play hoops, throw darts, or try to hook various wooden animals to win a prize. Children sat before a ‘Punch and Judy’ show calling out when it was expected and laughing at all the correct moments. There were, of course, your usual mix of tricksters, encouraging the men and boys to part with their cash in a gambling game called ‘Finding the Queen’ or ‘Find the Pea’. But there was a lot of fun and frolic enjoyed by those who were in attendance, especially with it being the last day of the regatta. Everyone waited for the final rounds and the giving of prizes.

A warning shot was fired, and a fleet of small yachts drew up in a line close to the starting buoys. For a moment their mainsails flapped idly in the breeze until another shot was fired. With this second shot the jibs went up with other sails, causing these ‘Queens of the Lough’ to move forward in a cluster of snow-white canvas. In the beginning they seemed to be scarcely moving at all, but as the breeze caught their sails, they began to get underway and the waves on the lough were broken into foam. Meanwhile, Sally was sitting in the well-cushioned stern of her father’s four oared racing-gig, which old Paddy himself was steering.

gig racing4 Sally was wearing her best summer bonnet, sitting next to her broad-shouldered, honest old father. She looked as pretty as a pink summer rose that was blooming in the sunshine. But Sally was also becoming increasingly nervous as the time for Danny’s big race approached. She could see Curly Duggan’s boat and crew already out on the water and, from what she could see of the boat gliding through the waves, and the strong pulling of the crew, Curly’s boat appeared to be a certain winner. ‘White Falcon’ was the name that was boldly and decoratively painted on the outside of the boat’s prow. At her tiller stood one of the best oarsmen on the lough and he was proud of the muscular chests displayed by his oarsmen, and their powerful limbs with which they pulled the oars so swiftly. As the blades of the oars rose and dipped into the water, springing ‘White Falcon’ forward, his heart swelled in his chest as he imagined the great victory that they would all win together. “Sally darling,” said Old Paddy, “would you take the ropes for a minute, and watch what you’re doing, girl.”

Paddy stood up in the boat to see how the preparations for the race were going, but he had hardly done this when the bow of the gig came up against the side of a larger boat and the jolt left the old man sprawled in the bottom of the gig suffering from concussion. Sally began to scream loudly at seeing her father’s condition, although it was her who caused the boats to come together. She had taken the tiller ropes as directed by her father, but her mind was not concentrating on what she was doing. “Back water, old fool! Are you trying to sink us all? Open your damned eyes, eejit!” came cries from the other boat as old Paddy struggled to gain his feet again.

“Get away from this, you pile of gobshites!” Paddy shouted back. “just look out for yourselves, damn you all!” After this one word followed another. Both sides heaped the choicest of insulting words and phrases on each other until the boats pulled away, with both sides believing they had gained a victory.

“Come on now, boys,” Paddy urged his crew. “Heave ahead! Let us see if they are all getting ready for the start of the race.” A few moments later they reached the area where Danny Cullen and his companions were busily preparing the bottom of the new gig.

“Well, Danny, my boy, how’s it going? What do you think of her now? Isn’t she a beauty?”

“Aye, Mister Sullivan, she looks beautiful,” answered Danny, who was admiring Sally.

“Is the paint hardened, Danny?” asked Paddy.

“Paint? Paint her?” exclaimed Danny in disbelief and still looking at Sally.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Danny? I asked is the paint dry?”

“It’s alright, Mister Sullivan. Sure, it’s as hard as a rock.”

“That’s great, boy. Now see that the stretchers are at the regular length and well lashed down.” Although old Paddy received a positive response to this instruction, he was not totally satisfied until he had personally ensured that everything had been attended to by Danny. “Sure, it’s great now, Danny! I hope she’ll do the job!”

“Don’t you worry about that. If we don’t come in first, it won’t be our fault. By the way, did you not hear the good news, Mister Sullivan? A gentleman called into the yard on Friday looking at the boat and he has just come up to me and said if we won the race, he would give you the price you were looking!”

“Jaysus!” exclaimed Paddy. “That would be great news if we stood any sort of chance of winning the race! But we can’t do anything about that now, more’s the pity.”

“Well, Mister Sullivan, we will just have to do our best, won’t we boys?” smiled Danny confidently as he turned to his crew.

“We’ll try, anyhow,” the crew replied in unison as they lifted the racing-gig carefully from its resting place and gently floated her on the water.

“Danny, here’s the flag,” said Sally. “Oh! There’s the gun!”

“It’s the gun, sure enough, Sally. I’ll bring you home the cup! Come on, lads!” urged Danny, “Take your places, men. McGrath, be careful and watch the way you are standing on the ribs!”

“Run down a bit,” said old Paddy, “let me see your trim. Give the long steady stroke, for the breeze is freshening. Now, get underway and, Danny, my boy, make sure you win!”

They pulled away from the shore and, as they moved out quickly, Paddy could not help exclaiming with delight, as he noticed just how evenly the gig went under the stroke, and how regular was the time kept with the oars. But Paddy’s former concerns returned to him and he remarked to himself the problem the boat had when being brought around. Meanwhile, Duggan was dashing about on the lough, attracting every observer’s gaze toward the ‘White Falcon’.

“Clear the course! Course! Clear the course, pull out of the way!” bawled the racing steward, as bit by bit he succeeded in clearing sufficient space for the rival boats to line-up. “Take your places!” he shouted again through the megaphone.

Sally’s heart beat loudly as she saw the racing-gigs line up opposite the quay where the local dignitaries had assembled. She leaned against her father for support, as she observed the crews gently ‘backing water’ to keep on a line until the signal was given. “What side will you take?” asked the coxswain of the ‘White Falcon.’

“They’re all the same, boy! Just stay as you are,” Duggan answered in confident voice.

“Ready!” the starter shouted, and all oars were thrown forward, as the oarsmen bent, ready for that initial dash. “Fire!”

Almost at the same instant a gun shot boomed and the blades of the oars were dipped into the water together. “Pull, boys, pull!” the coxswain of the ‘White Falcon’ roared loudly.

“Heave away, lads, heave! Now for the start!” cried the others eagerly.

gig racing5 After about five strokes the ‘Falcon’ took the lead by a boat’s length from the ‘Sally’. A bitter sneer of triumph broke across Duggan’s lips as he took the lead. But, a few moments later, the powerful and steady pull of ‘Sally’s’ crew gained water until they came alongside their main competitor. For a very short distance the two boats were travelling neck and neck, exchanging stroke for stroke, as they made for a large buoy, around which they had to turn. The coxswains urged their crews to greater efforts as their oars caused waves to foam under their rapid strokes. Duggan’s crew pulled with a desperate vigour in order to gain the turn first, but Danny’s crew continued their same regular, even pull that kept them close.

“Look now, father! Is the white flag in the lead? Is Danny in front, daddy,” asked Sally excitedly.

“No, child. The ‘Falcon’ is leading – Wait now! – no she isn’t – Bravo, Danny! They’re pulling away from the ‘Falcon’!” It was true, for Paddy saw the ‘Sally’ pull almost six lengths ahead of the ‘Falcon’ and she was making more distance with every stroke. It was when they reached the buoy that the real difficulty began.

“Backwater, starboard, pull-pull on the starboard!” roared the coxswain.

“Heave, McGrath! That’s the way, O’Brien,” shouted Danny at the top of his voice, as he backed with all of his might.

“We’re catching them now! Pull, boys, Pull! Hammer into them!” bawled the ‘Falcon’s’ helmsman, his voice hoarse from his exertions.

Before ‘Beautiful Sally’ could get underway correctly after the turn, while the ‘White Falcon’ darted around the buoy and was quickly three lengths in the lead. “Dear God, they’re beat!” sighed Paddy as he sank back on to the cushions in despair.

“Don’t say that, daddy! Take another look!” Sally begged him.

“There!” cried the old man, as he took another look. “She’s clear ahead again! Well done, Danny! Stick to her, my boy! Aye, there she moves, the beauty! I always said there wasn’t your equal except for myself at building a gig! Now boys,” he continued, addressing his own crew. “Pull over a wee bit, boys, and we’ll give them such a cheer! Heave, my lads – that’s it; bend your lazy backs!”

The course itself was about two or three miles in length, from the buoy to the old sand dredger. It was around this dredger that the boats would have to pull before they made for the quay from which they had started, and which was also the winning line. The struggle between the boats was now a sight to behold as, from time to time, the positions varied from boat to boat. The crews, although tired, appeared to gain renewed strength from the cheers that came from the numerous boats which met them on the course. The increased long stroke employed by her crew helped ‘Sally’ to stretch her lead ahead of the ‘Falcon’ once again. She was speeding toward the old dredger when misfortune struck, and the bow-man’s oar snapped. There was now utter confusion. The ‘Falcon’ came on. But, at that moment, Paddy Sullivan arrived, and seeing the trouble that the ‘Sally’ was in he reached down for an oar and threw it within reach of the bow-man. “You have it now, my boys! Now Danny, pull ahead!” Paddy shouted, and the crew cheered him as their oars dipped into the water and charged after the ‘Falcon’.

Within thirty strokes the two boats were neck and neck again. They drove on at speed and the struggle was now to round the dredger first. ‘Sally’ continued with their quick stroke while the ‘Falcon’ continued to keep. The stern of the dredger was neared, with the ‘Sally’ five boat lengths ahead and the ‘Falcon’ pressing on gallantly in her wake. Both captains urged their crews to greater effort and then shouted out the orders to turn the boats.

‘Sally’ did not round the dredger very well and allowed ‘Falcon’ to catch up and, once again, the two boats were neck and neck. It was now time for the capabilities of the two captains and their boats to decide the result, as a breeze had sprung up from the west and was blowing against both. Loud shouts now greeted the gigs as they came to the end of their final leg, and the winning line. Old Paddy had once again caught up with the race and he began to loudly urge on Danny and his crew. Meanwhile, Curly Duggan began to foam at the mouth as he worked his oar in great desperation, because he could hear young Danny loudly shouting encouragement to his crew to pull. The men responded well to Danny’s calls and, despite all of Duggan’s urges, the ‘Falcon’ began to drop back as the ‘Sally’ swept on to the finish. Curly cursed and raved as the ‘Sally’ powered forward, but he knew it was in vain, for the high-pointed bow of his gig had caught the wind and no longer had the same power as his competition.

“Stand-by the final gun!” shouted the race steward. “Here they come with the ‘Sally’ well ahead! Fire!”

There was a loud bang and a flash of light and smoke as the finishing gun fired. In that same instant the crew of the ‘Sally’ tossed their oars high in the air as the boat itself proceeded gracefully ahead. Great shouts, cheers and applause rang out across the lough as the winning crew dropped their blades into the water and they rode the boat into the landing place to receive their trophy. Paddy stood with tears of pride and joy in his eyes, while standing at her father’s side in sheer delight at the victory. The race steward took the large silver cup in his hands and presented it to Danny, who was still breathless and excited from his exertions and eventual triumph.

The gig ‘Beautiful Sally’ was immediately purchased for its asking price, plus ten-percent, and old Paddy received orders to build two more identical boats. Meanwhile, Duggan quietly disappeared in the crowds, never again to race the course or approach Sally Sullivan or make good his threats against Danny. It is said that old Paddy was somewhat taken aback when he heard the true feelings that Danny and Sally held for each other, but he gave his blessing to them both, and they married.

The Ten Pound Note

wedding

Many, many years ago the weddings of the Irish country peasants were conducted by the priest, who was paid by the voluntary contributions of those guests attending the wedding. The ceremony itself was usually celebrated in the evening and was followed, especially among the wealthier farming classes, by a great feast, to which the priest was always invited. After the supper, when the company are still merry with the food and drink, they have consumed, the hat was passed around for contributions.

Kitty Malone was the prettiest girl in the entire parish, the bridegroom was the luckiest of men on his wedding day. was the bridegroom. You wouldn’t have thought that if you had seen the expression on the man’s face as he stood, looking very ill at ease in a stiff, shiny, brand-new, tight-fitting suit of wedding clothes. Yet, he was the fortunate man to have won Kitty’s heart and was about to claim a beautiful bride, who had fifty pounds to her fortune and three fine cows.

Most of the guests, however, were looking at Kitty. She was sitting beside the priest, very pretty and modest, blushing at the clergyman’s broad jokes. But the female guests were admiring the beautiful ‘white frock’ that she was wearing, many of them envious of its ‘bow-knots’ and trimmings of white satin that adorned the many-skirted garment. “It’s as good as new,” the lady’s maid at the big house assured her when she had bought it. “It was made by one of the finest dressmakers in London, and it has only been worn at a couple of balls. Her ladyship is very particular about her clothes and wouldn’t stand for the slightest sign of a crush or soiling on her gown.”

There is no place where a priest is so good-humoured as when at a wedding. There, in the middle of his jokes and his jollity, he keeps his attention focused on the future dues he would get. All the while, to all the guests, he appears to be absorbed in giving his attention to the pretty bride, whose health he had just drunk to in a steaming tumbler of whisky-punch. But, Father Murphy kept his business eye on the preparations that were being made for sending the plate around the room for his benefit.

wedding 2 The stirring began at the end of the table where the farmers were gathered in a large group, and all of them dressed in their finery. Wearing their large heavy greatcoats of fine cloth, their finest trousers, and shiny shoes that reflected the candlelight as they walked. Their lady wives and daughters all dressed in capacious blue, green or scarlet cloth cloaks with a silk-lined hood, which, like the greatcoats of the men, are an indispensable article of clothing in social functions among their class, even on the bad days. And there, as usual, in the middle of that group was Paddy Ryan, who was a sworn friend and supporter of Father Murphy. Paddy was rather small in build and one of the least well-off men in the parish when it came to the possession of worldly goods. But although he had neither a large holding or dairy cattle Paddy was very popular and was considered by most of the men as being good company. Nevertheless, such was his loyalty to the priest, that he would have gone through fire and water to serve his Reverence. As the priest caught sight of his devoted follower, his mind concentrated on Paddy’s actions to the extent that a very nice compliment he was making to the bride was interrupted.

At first, Paddy Ryan took a hold of the collecting plate and appeared to be about to carry it around the guests. Then, as if suddenly remembering something important that he had forgotten, he stopped and threw the plate down on the table with a clatter and a bang, which cause the bride’s mother to wince, for it was one of the plates from her best china set. Paddy, however, now began to try all the pockets in his clothes. He searched his waistcoat, trousers, and the pockets of his greatcoat, one after another, but did not seem to find what he had been looking for. At last, after much hunting and shaking, and many grimaces of disappointment, Paddy seized the object of his search, and from some unknown depths, a large tattered leather pocket-book was withdrawn with great care. By this time, however, because he made that much fuss during his search, now everyone’s attention was fixed upon him. With great deliberation, he opened the pocket-book and peered inside, after which, having first ensured by a covert glance around that the guests were watching him, he took out a folded bank-note. He took great care unfolding the bank-note and, after spreading out on the table, he ostentatiously flattened it out smoothly to ensure that all who saw it might read the ‘Ten Pounds’ that was inscribed upon it!

Not surprisingly there was a sudden rumble of astonishment among the guests, with certain signs of dismay being seen among the richer portion. The thick, money-filled wallets, that only a few moments before were being brandished by their owners, were now quickly and stealthily pushed back into pockets again. For several moments there was a pause among the crowd that was followed by a great amount of whispering as the farmers began to consult one another. While this continued there were many anxious and meaningful looks directed to these farmers by their wives, along with various nudges, and severe digs into their ribs. In such circumstances as these, there was always great rivalry in the giving of offerings. Mister Hanratty, who drove his family to Mass every Sunday in his own jaunting car, would certainly not want to be seen giving less than Mister Wilson, who was also a charitable sort of man and earned plenty of money from his butter in the city market. Now, there was the threat of being outdone by the likes of Paddy Ryan! To contribute five pounds to the priest’s collection, when the likes of Ryan was seen by all to give ten pounds, could not even be considered! So, the result, after Paddy had put his note on the plate with a complacent flourish and had started to go around everyone with the collection plate, was the largest collection that Father Murphy had ever seen, and he was overjoyed as he began to stuff his pockets with notes.
But, as the priest was leaving the Malone home, Paddy came up to him and took hold of the bridle of the priest’s horse. “That was a quare good turn that I have done your Reverence this night, didn’t I? Such a collection of notes and piles of silver and coppers I have never laid eyes on before! Sure, I thought the plate would break in two halves with the weight of it. And now” — he took a quick look around to ensure there was no one listening to them and began to whisper, “you can slip my ten-pound note back to me.’
“Your ten-pound note, Paddy? What do you mean by asking for it back? Is it that you want me to give you back part of my dues?”
‘Ah now! Father Murphy, surely you are not so innocent as to think that note was mine? Sure, where would a poor man like me come upon such an amount of money like that? Ten pounds, Father! Didn’t I borrow it, from yourself Father, for the scam? And what a mighty good and profitable scam it was. Didn’t I tell you that the sight of me putting it on the plate would draw every coin out of all their pockets? By the good Lord, it did!’ This was, of course, a fact that the priest could not deny and, along with some interest, he refunded Paddy’s clever decoy.

The Hag with the Bag

A Traditional Irish Tale

In our town, many years ago, there lived a widow woman and her three daughters. When her husband had passed away, the woman was certain that they would not want for anything, because he had left them a long leather bag that was filled with gold and silver. The husband was not long dead, however, when an old woman came to the house begging. While the mother’s attention was distracted for a moment, the beggar woman stole the long leather bag that contained the gold and silver, and she immediately left for Dublin. Once in the city the beggar woman booked passage on a ship and left the country, and no person knew where she had gone.
From the day that he long leather bag was stolen, the widow woman and her three daughters were forced to live in poverty, It was a hard struggle to live any kind of life without much money, and was made even harder by the responsibility of raising her three daughters. But when they had grown into adulthood, the eldest of the three girls approached her mother and said, “Mother, I’m a young woman now, and I am embarrassed to be living in this house and contributing nothing to our upkeep. Bake me a ring of bread and cut me some cold meat, and I’ll go away from her to seek my own fortune.”
The young girl set out on her adventure and left the country, to finally settle in a strange new land. In her search for a roof over her head and a job of work, she approached house after house. Then, going up to a little house on a tree-lined street, she knocked at the door. It was an old woman who opened the door to her and asked her what business she was about, to which the girl answered that she was seeking work, so she could begin making her fortune.
“Sure, how would you like to stay here with me, for I am in need of a maid?” asked the old woman
“What will I have to do?”
“Not too much,” said the old woman, “You will have to wash me and dress me and sweep the hearth clean. But I warn you that you should never look up the chimney, or it will be the worse for you!”
“That sounds great,” said the young girl and she entered the little house.
The next day, when the old woman arose from her bed, the young girl washed her and dressed her and, and when the old woman left the house, she swept the hearth clean. But, when this was done, she thought it would do no harm to have one quick look up the chimney. As she looked up the chimney her eyes were immediately transfixed by the sight of her mother’s long leather bag that had been filled with gold and silver. She immediately pulled the bag down from the chimney and getting it on her back she started out for home just as fast as she could run.
The girl had not gotten far on her road home when she met a horse grazing in a field. The horse saw the young lady hurrying his way and called out to her, “Rub me! Ah, give me a wee rub! I haven’t been rubbed in seven years or more .” But she was in a hurry and had no time for rubbing down horses, so she took a stick and struck the horse with it, driving him out of her way.
As she hurried onward, she soon met a sheep, who called out to her, “Oh, sweet girl, shear me! Please shear me! For I haven’t had my fleece shorn these seven years.” But just as she had done with the horse, she struck the sheep with her stick and sent it scurrying out of her way as she hurried on.
She had not gone much further, however, when she came across a tethered goat, who called out to her, “O, change my tether! Please change my tether! for it has not been changed in seven years and has become painful to me.” Ignoring him, the girl lifted a stone and flung it at the goat as she pressed on with her journey.
Next, she came to a lime-kiln, which begged her, “Clean me! Please clean me! for I haven’t been cleaned these past seven years.” But she only scowled at the kiln angrily and went on her way.
After another short distance, she met a cow, who pleaded with her, “Milk me! Milk me! for I haven’t been milked these past seven years.” She struck out at the cow and chased it out of her way and went on.
Then she next came to a mill, which asked her, “O, turn me! Turn me! for I haven’t been turned these seven years.” But she ignored all that the mill said and went into the building. It was growing dark and she lay down among some dry straw behind the mill door. Placing the leather bag under her head, the girl settled down for the night and closed her eyes to sleep.
Meanwhile, when the old woman returned home and found that the girl had gone, she immediately ran to the chimney to discover that the girl had carried off the long, leather bag. She immediately flew into a rage and immediately began to run after the girl just as fast as she could. But she had not gone far when she came across the horse and asked, “Horse, horse of mine, did you see my maid of mine, carrying my long leather bag, and all the gold and silver that I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
“Aye,” replied the horse, “the wicked child passed by here not so long ago.”
The old woman continued her pursuit and soon came upon the sheep, “O, sheep! sheep of mine, did you see my maid pass by here, carrying my long leather bag that contains all the gold and silver that I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
“Aye, I did,” said the sheep, “and it’s not long since she went past here.”
Onward the old lady ran, and it was only a short distance until she met the goat, and asked, “Goat, goat of mine, did you see my maid pass by with my long, leather bag, containing all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
“Aye, I did,” replied the goat, “and it’s not that long since she went past here.”
The old woman ran on and soon came upon the lime-kiln. She asked, “Lime-kiln, lime-kiln of mine, did you see my maid carrying my long leather bag, containing all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
“Aye,” the lime-kiln said, “it is only a short time since she went past me with a scowl on her face.”
Going onward it wasn’t long before she met the cow, and asked, “O, Cow, cow of mine, have you seen my maid carrying my long leather bag, containing all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
“Aye,” said the cow, “it is not long since she passed here.”
The old woman ran on and soon came to the mill, and she asked, “Mill, mill of mine, did you see my maid carrying my long leather bag, containing all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
Quietly, the mill told the old woman, “Yes, she is sleeping behind the door.” Without another word the old hag shipped into the mill and struck her with a white rod, turning her into solid stone. She then grabbed the bag of gold and silver, put it on her back, and went back to her home.
A year and a day had now passed since the eldest daughter of the family had left home and had not returned. The second daughter now approached her mother, and said, “My sister must be doing very well for herself and making her fortune. It is shameful for me to be sitting here, at home, doing nothing to help you or to help myself. So, bake me a ring of soda bread and cut me some cold meat, and I will go away to seek my fortune.”
The mother did what she was bid and asked her daughter would she have half the bread with her blessing or the whole ring of bread without. The daughter chose to take the whole ring of bread without, and she set off on her journey with all her bags. Just before she left, she told her mother, “If I am not back here in a year and a day, you may be sure that I am doing well and making my fortune.” Then the girl closed the door behind her and set off on her journey of adventure.
She travelled by road and sea until she came to a strange land. Unknown to her she had landed in the same place as her elder sister, and, like her, she went up to a little house that stood in a tree-lined street and knocked on the door. It was an old woman who opened the door and asked what her business was, to which the girl answered that she was seeking her fortune. “How would you like to stay here with me, for I need a maid?” the old woman asked.
“What will I have to do?” the girl asked.
“You’ll have to wash me and dress me and sweep the hearth clean. But, never look up the chimney, or else it will be bad for you,” the old woman warned.
“That sounds perfect,” the girl replied with a smile.
The next day, when the old woman got up out of her bed, the girl washed and dressed her. Then, when the old woman went out the girl swept the hearth and was tempted to have a quick look up the chimney. Believing she was doing no harm, the girl glanced up and saw her mother’s long leather bag of gold and silver. She grabbed it immediately and took it down. Ensuring that she placed the bag securely on her back she began to run for home as fast as she could.
The girl had not gotten far on her road home when she met a horse grazing in a field. The horse saw the young lady hurrying his way and called out to her, “Rub me! Ah, give me a wee rub! I haven’t been rubbed in seven years or more .” But she was in a hurry and had no time for rubbing down horses, so she took a stick and struck the horse with it, driving him out of her way.
As she hurried onward, she soon met a sheep, who called out to her, “Oh, sweet girl, shear me! Please shear me! For I haven’t had my fleece shorn these seven years.” But just as she had done with the horse, she struck the sheep with her stick and sent it scurrying out of her way as she hurried on.
She had not gone much further, however, when she came across a tethered goat, who called out to her, “O, change my tether! Please change my tether! for it has not been changed in seven years and has become painful to me.” Ignoring him, the girl lifted a stone and flung it at the goat as she pressed on with her journey.
Next, she came to a lime-kiln, which begged her, “Clean me! Please clean me! for I haven’t been cleaned these past seven years.” But she only scowled at the kiln angrily and went on her way.
After another short distance, she met a cow, who pleaded with her, “Milk me! Milk me! for I haven’t been milked these past seven years.” She struck out at the cow and chased it out of her way and went on.
Then she next came to a mill, which asked her, “O, turn me! Turn me! for I haven’t been turned these seven years.” But she ignored all that the mill said and went into the building. It was growing dark and she lay down among some dry straw behind the mill door. Placing the leather bag under her head, the girl settled down for the night and closed her eyes to sleep.
Meanwhile, when the old woman returned home and found that the girl had gone, she immediately ran to the chimney to discover that the girl had carried off the long, leather bag. She immediately flew into a rage and immediately began to run after the girl just as fast as she could. But she had not gone far when she came across the horse and asked, “Horse, horse of mine, did you see my maid of mine, carrying my long leather bag, and all the gold and silver that I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
“Aye,” replied the horse, “the wicked child passed by here not so long ago.”
The old woman continued her pursuit and soon came upon the sheep, “O, sheep! sheep of mine, did you see my maid pass by here, carrying my long leather bag that contains all the gold and silver that I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
“Aye, I did,” said the sheep, “and it’s not long since she went past here.”
Onward the old lady ran, and it was only a short distance until she met the goat, and asked, “Goat, goat of mine, did you see my maid pass by with my long, leather bag, containing all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
“Aye, I did,” replied the goat, “and it’s not that long since she went past here.”
The old woman ran on, and soon came upon the lime-kiln. She asked, “Lime-kiln, lime-kiln of mine, did you see my maid carrying my long leather bag, containing all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
“Aye,” the lime-kiln said, “it is only a short time since she went past me with a scowl on her face.”
Going onward it wasn’t long before she met the cow, and asked, “O, Cow, cow of mine, have you seen my maid carrying my long leather bag, containing all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
“Aye,” said the cow, “it is not long since she passed here.”
The old woman ran on and soon came to the mill, and she asked, “Mill, mill of mine, did you see my maid carrying my long leather bag, containing all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
Quietly, the mill told the old woman, “Yes, she is sleeping behind the door.” Without another word the old hag shipped into the mill and struck her with a white rod, turning her into solid stone. She then grabbed the bag of gold and silver, put it on her back, and went back to her home.
When the second daughter had been gone a year and a day and she hadn’t come back, the youngest daughter said: “Mammy, my two sisters must be doing very well indeed, and making great fortunes when they are not coming back home. But I am ashamed to be just sitting here doing nothing, either to help you, mammy, or myself. Will you bake me some bread and cut me some cold meats, and I will set out and make my fortune.”
The mother baked the bread fresh and asked her if she would have half of the bread or the whole bread without her blessing. The youngest daughter smiled sweetly and said, “I will take half of the bread with your blessing, mammy.”
With her mother’s blessing, the girl travelled far and wide until she came to the same strange country where her sisters had landed. She too found the same little house they had and met the old woman living there. When the old woman asked her what she was looking for, the young girl told her that she was seeking her fortune. The old woman then asked her, “How would you like to stay here with me, for I need a maid?”
“What will I have to do?” asked the girl.
“You’ll have to wash me and dress me and sweep the hearth clean, and on the peril of your life never look up the chimney,” the old women told her.
“That all sounds fine,” said the girl.
The next day when the old woman got up from her bed, the young girl washed her and dressed her, and when the old woman went out she swept the hearth, and she thought it would be no harm to have one wee look up the chimney. There she saw her mother’s long leather bag of gold and silver, which she immediately took it down and, getting it on her back, she began to hurry home as quick as her feet would carry her.
As she ran, she met a horse, who called to her, “Rub me! Rub me! for I haven’t been rubbed these seven years.”
“You poor horse,” replied the young girl, “Sure, I’ll rub you.” And she put down her bag and gave the horse a fine rub. After doing this, the girl hurried on and it wasn’t long before she met the sheep
“Oh, shear me, shear me! for I haven’t been shorn these seven years,” cried the sheep.
“You poor sheep,” she said, “I’ll do that for you.” And she put down her bag and proceeded to shear the sheep. Then, when she had finished, she went until she met the tethered goat.
“O, change my tether! Change my tether! for it hasn’t been changed these seven years,” the goat called out to her.
“O, poor goat, poor goat,” she said, “I can do that for you.” She laid down her bag and changed the goat’s tether before on to meet the lime-kiln.
“O, clean me! clean me! for I haven’t been cleaned these seven years,” begged the lime-kiln.
“O, you poor lime-kiln,” she said, “I will clean you.” And laying down her bag she set about cleaning the lime-kiln. When this was done the girl moved on again until she came across the cow.
The cow asked her, “O, milk me! Milk me! for I haven’t been milked these seven years.”
“You poor cow,” sympathised the young girl. “I can milk you now,” and she laid down her bag, milked the cow, and moved on again quickly.
At last, she had reached the mill, which called to her, “Turn me! turn me! for I haven’t been turned these seven years.”
“Poor mill, you poor mill, I’ll surely do that for you,” said the young girl and she turned the mill. But, as night was coming down quickly, she went into the mill-house, lay down behind the door and fell asleep.
Now, when the old woman came back to her home, she found the girl had gone. She ran to the chimney to see if she had carried off the bag. She became very angry and ran after her as quickly as she could. Very soon she came to the horse and asked, “O, horse! horse of mine! did you see this maid of mine, with my long leather bag, and all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
In reply, the horse told her, “Do you think I have nothing better to do than watch your maids for you? Go and look somewhere else.”
Then the old woman came upon the sheep and asked, “Sheep, sheep of mine, have you seen this maid of mine, with my long leather bag, and all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
The sheep replied, “Do you think I have nothing to do all day except watch your maids for you? I think you should go somewhere else and look for information.”
Angrily she moved further on and came to the tethered goat and asked, “O, goat, goat of mine, have you seen this maid of mine, with my long leather bag, and all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
“Do you think I have nothing better to do with my time than watch over your maids for you? Go somewhere else and ask your questions,” the goat told her.
The old woman went on until she came to the lime-kiln. “O, lime-kiln, lime-kiln of mine, did you see this maid of mine, with my long leather bag, and all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a girl, working as a maid?”
“What is it with you?” replied the lime-kiln. “Do you think that I have nothing better to do with my days than stand watch over your maids? You need to go somewhere else for your answers”
Her anger had grown greatly by the time she met the cow. “Cow! Cow of mine! have you seen this maid of mine, with my long leather bag, and all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a young girl, working as a maid?”
The cow told her, “What makes you think that I have nothing better to do with my time than watch out for your maids? I suggest you go somewhere to get your answers.”
Finally, the old woman reached the mill and weakly asked, “O, mill! mill of mine! Please tell me, have you seen this maid of mine, with my long leather bag, and all the gold and silver I have earned since I was a young girl, working as a maid?”
The mill said, “Sssh! Come nearer to me and whisper.” The old woman went closer to the mill, and the mill dragged her under the wheels and ground her up. The old woman had also dropped her white rod out of her hand, and the mill told the young girl to take it and strike the two stones behind the mill door. The girl did what she was told, and her two sisters stood up. She lifted the long leather bag on her back, and all three of them travelled all the long way home. The mother had been heart-broken since they had left home, but her tears now disappeared quickly as she saw her three daughters return to her healthy, rich and happy.

The Alpluachtra – The Hungry One

“I don’t know what happened to me, but I have the strangest feelings inside of me. Believe me, daughter, I can tell you that I have never felt like this before …

A Tale of Rural Ireland

This story is concerned with the fate of a wealthy farmer, who lived in some comfort on land that lay in the west of Ireland. Through his own efforts he had built a large farm and a fine family, none of whom wanted for anything. Many men would have considered themselves to be particularly blessed if they had found themselves in a position that was comparable to his. But, he did not consider himself to be a lucky man and preferred to say that he was able to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his labour, and for many years the evils of ill-health and sorrow were kept away from the doors of the family home.

The story begins, however, one day in the middle of the harvest as he was supervising a group of workers who were cutting and gathering hay in the large meadow close to the main farmhouse. It was a very hot day in the meadow and the farmer sat himself down among the hay bales and drank a cooling cup of buttermilk. After easing his thirst, the farmer took the opportunity to stretch out on several bales of fresh cut hay and fell asleep under the warm sun in a cloudless sky. The birds flew in the air and tweeted their peaceful songs, serenading the sleeping farmer for the next few hours. But, as the farmer slept, his workers gathered in all the cut hay and made their way home after another satisfying hard day’s work.

The farmer had lain in the full glare of that hot sun for several hours. When he finally awakened, and sat up, the farmer did not realise where he was, at first. When he recovered his senses fully, however, the farmer realised that he was in the field at the rear of the main house. Raising himself up from the hay bales, he stretched his legs and then began walking toward the farmhouse to get some shade, and some food. But, he had not travelled very far when he began to feel a severe pain in his side, which he immediately blamed on his extended sleep among the hay bales. By the time he had arrived at the house he was feeling a chill in his body and he immediately made his way to the ‘range’, sitting in a chair close by and trying to warm himself a little. As he sat there, his daughter came to him and asked him quietly, “Where were you, father?”

“I fell asleep in the sunshine for a while, sweetheart,” he told her. “I laid myself down upon the fresh cut bales of hay that were in the meadow and I simply closed my eyes.”

“But, what has happened to you, Father?” the young girl asked anxiously. “You don’t look at all well.”

“Damn it,” snarled the farmer, “I don’t know what happened to me, but I have the strangest feelings inside of me. Believe me, daughter, I can tell you that I have never felt like this before, but I hope to feel much better after a good sleep.” With these words he got up slowly from his seat and made his way upstairs to his bedroom, where he undressed for bed and went to sleep. It was a deep and sound sleep that lasted until the sun was well up in the sky the following morning.

When the farmer wakened from his sleep the next morning, he found his wife was sitting at the side of his bed. “What was wrong with you that caused you to sleep so deeply, and for such a long time?”

“I don’t know, my darling” he told her in a voice that sounded very tired and downcast. Getting himself dressed, the farmer went down to the kitchen, where his daughter was making a cake of soda-bread for breakfast.

Once again, he sat in the comfortable chair beside the ‘range’ and his daughter quietly asked, “How are you feeling this morning, Daddy? Are you feeling any better than you were last night?”

With a loving expression on his face, he looked up at his daughter and gave her a little smile. “I had a very good sleep,” he told her in a positive tone of voice. “But, in all honesty, I don’t feel one bit better than I did last evening. You know, it is almost like there is something inside me that seems to be constantly on the move, and it is making me ill,” he said.

“But, Daddy, that’s impossible,” she said to him quite sternly. “It is simply a cold that you have caught while lying outside on the new mown hay. But, if you are not better by this evening I am going to get mammy to send for the doctor.”

Alpluachra 3 The Farmer said nothing that would dissuade her from following her course of action. He only knew that he was in almost constant pain, although he didn’t know for certain where the terrible pain originated. One moment he felt the pain coming from one part of his body and then, in the next minute, the source of the pain appeared to have moved elsewhere. So, it continued throughout the day and when evening came the farmer did not feel even the slightest bit of relief in his condition. In response the farmer’s wife sent for the doctor to come as soon as possible and attend to her husband’s illness. However, for some unknown reason the wait for the doctor became quite prolonged, and the farmer became increasingly concerned about what might happen to him. His wife and daughter, in the meantime, were doing everything they could to keep up the man’s spirits.

Finally, the doctor arrived at the house, and asked the farmer how he felt. The farmer replied that it was hard to explain, but it felt as if a creature of some sort was leaping and jumping about inside his stomach, causing him to feel very ill. Taking off all the sick man’s clothes the doctor gave him a thorough examination but could not discover anything untoward. He put his ear to the man’s side and to his back, but he could hear nothing, despite the pleas of, “Now! now! don’t you hear it? Now, aren’t you listening to it jumping?”

The doctor could hear nothing abnormal and began to wonder if his patient was now losing his mind. He was certain that there was nothing wrong with the farmer and he told the farmer’s wife that this was the case. The doctor did tell her that he was worried about the anxieties that her husband was suffering, and that he would send her some medicine the next day that would give him a good, soothing sleep and help settle any fever he may have.

True to his word, the doctor sent the medicine and the poor man took it and he did manage to get another good sleep. But, when he awoke in the morning he was feeling worse than ever, although he could no longer hear the creature jumping about inside him. Once again, the doctor was sent for and, when he came, he was unable to do anything for the patient. The poor man gained no relief from all the medicines that the doctor left with him. At the end of the week the doctor returned to check-up on his patient, but again found him in a worse condition than he was in before. Again, he was unable to do anything for the man, and he was at a complete loss as he tried to diagnose the illness that the man had contracted. “I will not be taking any more of your money from you,” he told the farmer’s wife, “because I can do nothing for your husband, and because I don’t know what is wrong with him, I will not pretend that I do. I will continue to come to see him from time to time, but I will not take any money from you.”

The Farmer’s wife flew into a rage and scarcely had the doctor left the house until she called everyone around her to hear what she had to say. “That Doctor Braddock is not worth a sixpenny bit,” she told them. “Do you know that he told me that he wouldn’t take any money from me again, and he himself told me that he knew nothing about anything. So, to hell with him, he’ll not cross over my door again, and we will get another doctor. I don’t care how far we have to travel, but we must get him.” Everybody in the house agreed with what she had said, and they sent for another doctor. But, when he came he was no better a physician than the other. The new doctor, however, had no qualms whatsoever about taking their money. He came often to see the sick man, and every time he came he would have some new and longer name to give this sickness. The doctor did not know the meaning of these names himself and nobody else knew what they meant, because he had created them just to frighten the ignorant. They remained that way for two months, without once knowing what ailed the poor farmer. When they decided, finally, that this doctor was doing him no good they got another doctor, and another doctor, until there was not a doctor in the entire county who had not been consulted.

The farm lost a lot of money over the employment of these doctors. A great number of cattle had to be sold to get the cash to pay their fees. For over six months they had kept doctors attending him and giving him various medicines. In the meantime, the farmer that was once stoutly built and well-fed grew bare and thin until, at last, there was hardly an ounce of flesh upon him, just skin and bones only. He grew so ill that he became scarcely able to walk. His appetite was gone, and he had great trouble swallowing a piece of soft bread or drinking a small cup of milk. Everyone who had witnessed his health failing said that it would be a blessing if he was to die rather than continue to suffer, for he was now only a feint shadow of his former self.

One day the poor farmer was sitting on a chair in the doorway of the house, sunning himself in the heat of the day, and everyone else in the house had gone out, leaving him alone. Up toward the door a poor old beggar man who used to travel from place to place seeking whatever charity he could obtain. He thought that he recognised the man sitting in the chair, but he had changed so much in his appearance that the beggar man was unsure. “I’m here again, asking or whatever you might find it in your heart to give me,” said the beggar man. “But, what in the name of God ever happened to you, because you are not the same man that I saw here six months ago, may God help you !”

” Ah, now, Seamus,” said the sick man, “I don’t know what has happened to me, but I know that I won’t be in this world much longer.”

“Sure, it is terribly sorry I am to see you how you are,” said the beggar man. “Tell me how this all began, and what do the doctors say.”

“Doctors?” snapped the sick man, “My curse upon them all, though I should not be cursing, and me so near the grave.”

“Perhaps,” said the beggar man, ”I can find a way to help you, if you were to tell me how it all began. I am a knowledgeable man when it comes to diseases and the herbs to cure them.”

The sick man smiled and said wearily, “There isn’t a medicine man in the county that I haven’t had in this house looking at me, and haven’t I sold half of my cattle to pay them. Not one of them could give me a moment’s relief with all their medicines and concoctions. But I’ll tell you how this all began.” He then proceeded to give the beggar man an account of everything he felt, and about everything the doctors had prescribed.

The beggar man listened intently to the sick man and, when he had finished his story, he asked, “What sort of field was it that you fell asleep in?”

“It was a meadow at the time, but it was just after being cut.”

“Was it wet?” questioned the beggar man.

“It was not,” said the sick farmer.

“Was there a little stream or a brook of water running through it?” asked the beggar man.

“There was,” says he.

“Can I see the field ?”

” You can, to be sure, and I’ll show it to you,” said the sickly farmer and, as bad as he was, he rose off his chair and pulled himself along until he came to the place where he had lay down to sleep that fateful summer’s evening. The beggar man spent a long time examining the place and then he stooped down over the grass, going backwards and forwards with his body bent, and his head down, groping among the herbs and weeds that were growing thickly in it.

The beggar man rose at last saying, “It is as I thought.” At this he stooped down again to search some more. When he raised his head a second-time he held in his hand a small green herb and asked, “Do you see this? Any place in Ireland where this herb grows you can be sure that there’s an Alpluachtra nearby, and you, my friend, have swallowed an Alpluachtra.”

“How do you know that” asked the sickly farmer. ” If that was so, sure the doctors would have told me before now!”

“The doctors!” laughed the beggar man scornfully. “Would you ever have a bit of sense. Sure, each of those boys is nothing more than a clown. I tell you again, and believe me, that it’s an Alpluachtra you have swallowed. Sure, didn’t you say yourself that you felt something leaping in your stomach the first day after you being sick? That was the Alpluachtra, and because he was in a strange place, he was a little uneasy. He was moving here and there for those first couple of days until he could settle himself in comfortable place. That creature is the reason why you remain so thin, for every bit of food you eat, the Alpluachtra is getting the good out of it, not you. You said yourself that one side of you was swollen, well that’s the place where the nasty thing is living.”

The sickly farmer would not believe him at first, but the beggar man kept on talking and trying to prove that it was the truth he was speaking. When the farmer’s wife and daughter came back to the house the Beggar man told them the same thing and they were ready enough to believe him. The sick man put no faith in the diagnosis, but they all prevailed on him to call in three doctors together and tell them this new story. They all came together to listen to what the beggar man was saying, but they all laughed at him, the farmer’s wife, and the farmer’s daughter, calling them fools. They said it was something else that was causing the farmer’s illness and gave that illness names that were twice or three times as long as ever before. They left the sick man a bottle or two of medicine to drink and they left, still laughing at the idea that these people believed the patient had swallowed an Alpluachtra.

When the doctors left the beggar man spoke again, “I doesn’t surprise me that you are not getting any better, if it’s fools like them that have been left to take care of you. There is not a doctor or a man of medicine in all of Ireland that can help you now. There is only one man, O’Donnell, who is known as the Prince of Killough and who lives on the shore of Lough Ree, that is the best doctor in all the provinces of Ireland.”

“Where is Lough Ree?” asked the poor man.

“It’s in the West,” the beggar man told him. “It’s a big lake and he lives on its shores. Take my advice and go there immediately for he is your last hope you have, and you Ma’am should make him go, if you wish your man to live.”

” By God! ” the woman told him, “I’ll do anything that will cure him.”

“If so, send him to the Prince of Killough,” he insisted.

“I’d do anything that will cure me,” said in a weak voice, “for I know I haven’t got long to be in this world if I don’t get some relief, or without something being done for me.”

“Then go to the Prince of Killough,” urged the beggar man. “Anything that you think would do yourself good, you ought to do it father,” the daughter advised.

“There’s nothing will do him any good but to go to the Prince of Killough,” said the beggar man.

The beggar man stayed in the house that night and, the next morning, he began to argue again that the farmer should go to the ‘Prince’. With the support of the wife and the daughter the beggar man managed to prevail upon the farmer to go. The daughter said that she would go with him to take care of him, and the beggar man said that he would accompany them to show them the road. “And I will be at my wit’s end worrying about you, until you come back to me cured,” said the farmer’s wife.

After harnessing the horse, the sick man was placed on the cart along with food for the journey, and they set out their journey. They could not go far the first day, for the sick man was so weak that he could not bear the shaking he was suffering in the cart. He was better the second day, and they all passed the night in a farmer’s house at the side of the road, leaving again the next morning. On the evening of the third day, they came to the house of the ‘Prince’.

It was a nice house, sitting on the edge of the lake, among a thicket of trees, and covered with a straw roof. They left the horse and cart in a nearby village, and they all walked together, until they came to the house. They went into the kitchen and asked if they could see the ‘Prince’. The servant they asked informed them that he was eating a meal, but he might come when he was ready. At that moment, the ‘Prince’ entered and asked his visitors what it was they wanted. The sickly farmer rose up and told him that he was in dire need of the ‘Prince’s’ help, and he began to tell him his whole story. “And now I ask if you can help me?” he asked when he came to the end of his story.

“I hope I can,” said the ‘Prince’, “anyhow, I’ll do my best for you, as you came so far to see me. It wouldn’t be right for me not to do my best. Come up into the parlour with me. The thing that old man told you is the truth. You swallowed an Alpluachtra, or something else. Come up to the parlour with me.”

He brought the sickly farmer up to the parlour with him, and it happened that the meal he had that day was a big piece of salted beef. He cut a large slice off it, and put it on a plate, and gave it to the poor man to eat. “Hold on! What are you doing?” asked the farmer, “I haven’t eaten so much as a crumb of meat in the last three months, because I can’t eat anything.”

“Would you be quiet for a moment?” replied the ‘Prince’, “Just you eat what I tell you!” The poor farmer ate as much as he was able, but when he set the knife and fork down the ‘Prince’ made him take them up again and begin anew. He kept the poor man there eating until he was ready to burst and, at last, he was not able to swallow another bit, even if he were to get a hundred pounds for doing so. When the ‘Prince’ saw that the farmer would not be able to swallow any more, he brought him out of the house. He told the farmer’s daughter and the old beggar man to follow them, and he took them all out to a fine green meadow, which had a little stream of water running through it.

He brought the sick man to the edge of the stream, and told him to lie down on his stomach over the stream, and to hold his face over the water, to open his mouth as wide as he could, and to keep it nearly touching the water. “Wait there quiet and easy,” said the ‘Prince’. “For the sake of your life do not move until you see what will happen to you.”

The poor man promised that he would be quiet, and he stretched his body on the grass and held his mouth open, over the stream of water. Meanwhile, the ‘Prince’ went to fetch the daughter and the old man with him, and the last word to the sick farmer were, “Be certain, and don’t make a move, whatever happens to you.”

The sick man was not lying like that for more than a quarter of an hour, when something began moving inside of him, and he felt something coming up in his throat, and going back again. It came up and went back three or four times after other. At last it came to the mouth, stood on the tip of his tongue, but was frightened, and ran back again. However, after a few moments, it rose up a second time, and stood on his tongue, and at last jumped down into the water. The ‘Prince’ was watching him closely, and just as the man was going to rise, he called out to him, “Don’t move yet.”

The poor man had to open his mouth again, and he waited the same way as before. He was not there a minute until the second one came up the same way as the last and went back and came up two or three times, as if it got frightened. But at last, it also, like the first one, came up to the mouth, stood on the tongue, and when it felt the smell of the water below it, leaped down into the little stream.

The ‘Prince’ whispered, “Now the thirst’s coming on them; the salt that was in the beef is working them now and they’ll come out.” And before the words had left his mouth, the third one fell, with a plop, into the water; and a moment after that, another one jumped down, and then another, until he counted five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.

“There’s a dozen of them now,” said the ‘Prince’, “that’s the clutch, but the old mother didn’t come out yet.” The sick man was getting up again, but the ‘Prince’ called to him, “Stay as you are. The mother didn’t come up.”

Alpluachra He remained as he was, but no other one came out, though he stayed there for more than a quarter of an hour. The ‘Prince’ himself was becoming uneasy for fear the old Alpluachtra might not come out at all. The poor farmer was so tired and so weak that he wished to get up and, despite all the ‘Prince’ told him, he was trying to stand on his feet. The ‘Prince’ caught him by one leg, and the beggar man by the other, and they held him down against his will. They remained there for another quarter of an hour without speaking a word, or making a sound, and at the end of that time the poor man felt something stirring again in his side, but it felt seven times worse than before. He hardly keep himself from screaming out. The creature kept moving for a good while, and he thought the side was being torn out of his body. Then, it began coming up, and it reached the mouth, and went back again. At last, it came up so far that the poor man put two fingers into his mouth to try and catch hold of it. But if he put in his fingers quick, the old Alpluachtra went back quicker.

“Oh, you buck eejit!” cried the ‘Prince’, “What made you do that? Didn’t I tell you not to make a move? Now, remain quiet if she comes up again.” They had to remain there for half an hour, because the old mother of the Alpluachtras was scared, and she was afraid to come out. But she came up at last, perhaps, because she was too thirsty to withstand the temptation of the water, or perhaps she missed the company of her children. Whatever the reason, she came up to his mouth, and stood there for almost a minute, and when she felt safe, she jumped down into the water. The ‘plop’ of her into the water was seven times heavier than those of her children.

The ‘Prince’ and the other two had been watching everything and scarcely dared to breathe, but as soon as she entered the water, they pulled the man back, and had him standing again on his own two feet. It was three hours before he could speak a word, and the first thing he said was, “I’m a new man.” The ‘Prince’ kept him in his own house for a fortnight and giving him good care and feeding. Then, he allowed the farmer to return home with his daughter and the beggar man, and he refused even to take as much as a penny from them.

“I’m more pleased than anything that I was able to cure you, and I don’t want even a penny from you,” said the ‘Prince’, “You lost plenty on so-called doctors already.”

They all returned home safely, and he became healthy and fat. He was so thankful to the poor beggar man that he kept him in his own house until his death. For as long as he was alive, he never lay down on green grass again. Moreover, if he ever felt any sickness or ill-health again, he never once called a doctor to him. Is it any wonder?

The Confessional Seal

A Priestly Predicament

There have been volumes upon volumes written about the terrible events that blighted and tore apart Northern Ireland in the thirty years, from 1965 until the ‘Good Friday Agreement’. There is hardly a family in the Province that did not suffer in some way from the terrors, pain, heartache and devastation of the ‘The Troubles’. But, despite all the words that have been written there are none that can truly describe the horrors of those days, except those that have been expressed by people who lived through those dark days. The ‘peace’ that has now existed for the past twenty years is tenuous, to say the least, and has done little, if anything, to remove the bitterness and hatred caused by those years of strife. Among the many stories of those days is a sad tale, which involved a man of faith who was forced to come face-to-face with his own devils.

There was nothing special about the Murphy family. They were simply a group of average individuals living a quiet life in a medium-sized mid-Ulster town. The parents had always been determined to have their children well educated, and all four sons had very much focused their attention on this. Two of the eldest sons had attended university and qualified as Chartered Accountants prior to moving to Australia to make their fortunes. The second youngest son, Martin, had chosen to join the priesthood and, after his ordination, he was assigned a Parish close to home, much to the joy of his pious mother and father. Frank, however, was the youngest son and, although as academically gifted as any of his brothers, but he wanted to enjoy his youth for a while after finishing college, rather than throwing himself into a career immediately.

After the death of their father, the two youngest brothers had spent more of their time with their mother, Annie. She missed her husband dearly but, like a typical Irish mother, she had her sons around her to keep herself active and busy taking care of them. She was a pious and loving woman, adored by all her sons and, in return, she spoiled them terribly. But, the youngest son had always been her favourite, for he was her last child and she would always look upon him as her baby boy. Although she had always shown a little more affection toward him, Annie had never allowed him to become a spoiled, weak and capricious boy. At the same time, however, she did not give her other sons any reason to feel left out, because she made a point of sharing her deep store of maternal love equally between all four boys. Naturally, with the two oldest boys being so far from home, it was Martin and Frank who benefitted most from their Annie’s care and attention.

Martin had been aware, all of his life, that his mother had a special place in her heart for Frank, but he never had any feelings of jealousy toward him. Frank, after all, was the only son who still lived in the home-place with Annie, and Martin was happy that his youngest brother got all that extra attention and love that he undoubtedly obtained from her.

Frank was a gentle, quiet-natured young man who had a great mind and a wonderful imagination. He was greatly admired by his brother, the priest and his mother called him her ‘Little Lamb’. They both expected that Frank would, eventually, achieve a degree of greatness in whatever he chose to do with his life. Annie was not overly concerned about the amount of time that Frank spent with his friends because they knew that he was the type of person who would always maintain the highest standard of personal behaviour when in public. Although Frank had always enjoyed a drink, he was never known to drink to excess. Furthermore, like his many friends, Frank liked to party but always made a point of coming home no later than midnight and completely sober.

The lives of the Murphy family, however, changed abruptly one night in the Spring of 1967. That night, Annie watched the hands on the large mantlepiece clock turn very slowly as the ‘tick, tock’ of the second hand sounded loudly in the quietness of the living-room. The clock struck one o’clock, and the anxiety that had been building up inside Annie that evening had brought a sense of panic to the mother. Frank, in all the time he had gone out with his friends, had never returned later than one o’clock, and he had never brought any trouble to the door.

It was now past one o’clock and, yet, there was no sign of Frank, and no word of excuse received from him. Fortunately, Martin was in the house that night, sitting with his mother. Rather than return the Parochial House after supper Martin decided that he would stay with Annie. He was now well settled on a comfortable armchair, which stood beside the glowing coal-fire to await Frank’s return home. But, as the minutes continued to tick by slowly, he watched his mother’s already well-frayed nerves begin to come apart. With tears forming in her eyes she quietly muttered, “I just wish Frank would come home.”

“He’ll be alright, Ma! He’ll soon be coming through that front door as if there’s nothing wrong, kiss you on the cheek, as he always does, and go on to his bed,” Martin told her in a soft, comforting tone of voice.

But, Annie was not comforted by Martin’s soft words. “I don’t know, Martin,” she told him. “He has never been this late and I am really worried that something might have happened to him.”

“Please stop fretting, Ma,” Martin urged her as tenderly as he could. “He has just been delayed, ma, and he might not be home for an hour or so yet.”

But, Annie just could not relax, because her worries over Frank’s whereabouts filled every corner of her mind. She fidgeted nervously in her chair, then she made tea for her and Martin, and then she would go to the front door to see if there was any sign that Frank was nearing home. The hours, however, continued to pass slowly and still there was no sign of her youngest son. Then, as darkness gave way to the light of early morning, Annie’s concerns had grown to a point where she began to cry silently to herself, afraid that she might not see her son again. Martin could only sit and watch silently as those bitter tears fell from his mother’s eyes. He was becoming increasingly angry with his brother’s tardiness, and he promised himself that when his younger brother did arrive he would get a piece of his mind regarding his irresponsibility. At that present moment, he could not show any sign of his anger to his already upset mother. He believed it would be more beneficial to maintain his efforts to keep the old woman calm about his brother’s absence.

Martin managed to settle his mother in the chair beside the fire and began telling her humorous anecdotes about some of his parishioners, in the hope that they would keep her mind occupied with lighter thoughts. Quite suddenly, Annie’s body went rigid and her head turned quickly toward the living room window. “It’s him! It’s Frank!” she cried out. “I can hear his footsteps on the path.” She rose from her seat quickly and, loudly sighing “Thank God!”, she went to open the front door to him.

But, Martin heard the voice of a man, which he knew was not the voice of his brother, Frank. He then heard his mother give a loud and painful groan, and this caused Martin to rush to her assistance. Annie had fainted in the hallway and Martin noticed that it was a uniformed policeman that was giving her assistance.

“What in God’s name has happened?” asked Martin anxiously.

The policeman rose up from his knees and helped to bring Annie into the living room, laying her comfortably on the sofa, with a cushion at her head. “I am sorry to be the one that brought such terrible news to you,” said the constable.

“What news?”

“We have found your brother’s abandoned motorbike this morning, lying in a hedge.”

“Is he badly hurt, or …?”

“We have not located your brother yet, Father. But, we did find traces of blood on the seat and are concerned for his welfare,” said the policeman, interrupting Martin.

You can imagine the great shock and fear that Martin felt when he received this grave news. Calling a neighbour over to stay with Annie, he asked the policeman to take him to the scene of this apparent accident. He was driven, in a police car, to a narrow lane that turned off the main road and led through a bog, and he eventually came to the scene, which was marked by another police car and several uniformed officers. Some of the police officers were diligently searching the hedgerows on each side of the narrow, bog lane and Martin quickly joined in with their efforts. Even as Martin searched, there was a definite feeling of unease that began to fill his entire body, and he knew in his mind that this lane held some terrible secret for him. Martin had been up all night and was very tired, and yet he knew that this was not the reason behind his feelings of unease. There was a smell of death in the air about him, but Martin continued to search every possible nook and cranny on each side of the lane, thoroughly, for almost a mile.

Confession 2 They could find nothing in their searches. There was not a trace of Frank anywhere. All that was left to be found was the motorbike and its bloodstained seat. As he took a final look around the area where the motorbike was found, Martin was suddenly brought to an abrupt standstill and he called out to the others to join him quickly. The grass in that place was very much trampled down, and Martin could not be sure if this was a sign that a struggle had taken place, or if the police had trampled the grass during their search. When the police searchers came up to Martin’s position, he was able to discover from them that they had not trampled the grass in that area. They insisted that they had found the area in that condition. Martin now got down on his knees and began to take a closer look at the grass around him and, after a little time, discovered a quantity of fresh blood. Beside this patch of blood, Martin found a thin leather wallet that he knew belonged to his brother, and he picked it up to show the policemen. It all seemed to confirm his worst fears, that his brother Frank was indeed dead. Confirmation of this belief appeared to be supplied by the condition in which the motorbike had been found. From the way it lay in the hedgerow, it was apparent to Martin that this had not been caused by any road accident and indicated, instead, that Frank may have been murdered.

It is almost impossible to describe the pain and agony that tore through Martin’s body at this terrible moment of realisation that his brother was probably dead. There was a terrible rage that filled his heart, which was matched only by the deep sorrow that he felt for the loss. He didn’t want to believe that this tragedy had happened and that there was still hope that Frank would suddenly appear in front of Martin, alive and well. With renewed vigour and his head filled with contradictory thoughts, Martin continued in his frantic search for a body that would give the family closure on what had happened to Frank. Although the search lasted for many hours, stretching well into the evening, Martin had to return home without success. But, Martin found it was a much different home from the one that he had left earlier that day. In those long hours, the stress had aged greatly Annie and Martin now found her in a state of stupor, which had taken hold of her after a wild frenzy of screaming and crying, all brought about by the news she had been given concerning the fate of her youngest son. It was almost as if the light of life had gone out of her, and her heart had been smashed to pieces, rather than broken. Martin was at a complete loss as to what he should do and watched over his mother as she lingered for a few weeks, steadily going downhill and calling out for her dead child.

Sadly, Annie finally passed away one evening as she slept in her bed. As Martin stared down upon her small, pale face he noticed that there was a peaceful expression upon it. There was no longer any trace of the torture and agony she had been feeling since she had first gotten the news of Frank. Although there had not, even yet, been any definite confirmation from the police about Frank’s fate, Martin now felt certain that his youngest brother was dead. He could not, however, comprehend who would have wanted to kill Frank, or why? If it was an accident then why was there no body found? Surely, he thought to himself, no one could hold a grievance, but Martin could not understand who would have had a grievance against such a friendly, harmless man like Frank Murphy.

With so much sectarian hatred prevalent in Northern Ireland at this time, Martin’s first suspicions fell upon ‘loyalist’ paramilitaries. He believed that these dark, evil men murdered young Frank, believing it would be seen as a great victory to kill the innocent brother of a Roman Catholic priest. Yet, he had no proof. Despite the widespread horror that was felt at young Frank’s disappearance and probable murder, there was not a single clue as to who might have perpetrated such a crime. Using every possible contact that he had, both Catholic and Protestant, Martin tried to discover what had happened and who may have done the evil deed. But, all his efforts were in vain, and as the months passed public interest in the event seemed to fade.

The first anniversary of Frank’s disappearance had passed, and the anniversary of his mother’s death was quickly approaching. Since their deaths the young priest had chosen to throw himself completely into his Parish duties as a means of helping him to come to terms with the tragedies that had so changed his life. One Saturday evening, as was usual, he sat in the confessional box in the chapel and made himself available to those who wished to confess their sins and show penance for the wrongs they had done. One of the penitents was known to Martin but appeared to be completely unaware of the form of the religious ritual. He was not a regular church-goer and Martin was, to say the least, very surprised to see this young man enter his confessional. He knelt and began to confess the many misdeeds of his ill-spent life. It appeared that this young man simply wanted to unburden his entire conscience in one go, and he spoke of sins that were filled with unbounded selfishness, oppression, revenge and unlimited passions. There was no sin that this young man had not committed in his short life, everything from theft to betrayal, and from mild sexual thoughts to wild encounters actions were included. Martin had heard many of these same sins during his short tenure as a curate, but the confession of this young man thoroughly shocked him.

Martin would later admit that he was both nauseated and disgusted by this young man and the sins he had confessed. Even the young man himself began to falter as he revealed to the priest each immoral action and thought he had committed. At one point it seemed to Martin that the young man was equally sickened by his faults and had never realised just how extensive and appalling they were. Martin saw both surprise and confusion on the man’s face as he laid out his sins. Then, as Martin began the rite of absolution the young man called on him to stop. “Please Father,” he spoke nervously, “I am not yet finished my confession.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin replied, “please continue.”

But he could hear the penitent moving uneasily as he knelt in the confessional. Martin felt as if the penitent was fighting with his conscience about whether, or not, he should admit some particularly grievous sin. The man had already confessed to so many unsavoury sins already, and the priest could not quite understand why he was so reluctant now. “You have done so well this far. If there is more that you wish to confess you should continue. Free yourself of your sins and you will feel so much better. God already knows your sins and by you confessing them you are showing that you are aware of how hurtful they have been to him. Return to his love. He wants to forgive you all your sins and break those chains which bind your soul to evil. So, speak freely,” Martin urged the penitent in a gentle voice.

The priest listened to the man sobbing for a minute or two, stopping only to dry his tears and blow his nose. Then, very quietly and hesitantly at first, the young man began to mutter, nervously, that he had killed someone in cold-blood. Martin shuddered at the revelation and, from what he had heard the man say so far, he found it difficult to believe. Clearing his voice, he asked in the calmest tone that he could muster, “Please tell me, how and where did you commit an act of cruel murder? And whatever possessed you to take the life of another human being?”

Confession 1 The young man had kept his head bowed during his confession, but he raised his head until he could see the face of the priest behind the confessional screen that separated them. It was also the first time that Martin had seen the penitent. Despite the veil between them, the priest could see clearly the young man’s tear-soaked and reddened eyes. He noticed that they were glazed over and appeared to be ready to pop out from their sockets with terror. The blood seemed to almost drain from the man’s complexion and there was a tremor in his body. Martin now watched in total surprise as the young man slowly raised his clasped hands toward him. It was as if the penitent was praying to him, begging him to that would ease the pain in his entire being. Was this young man seeking mercy from him Martin wondered, as the penitent moved closer? With quivering lips and in a low sobbing voice the man declared, “I am the man who killed your brother, Father Martin!”

Martin’s body suddenly went numb. Then, as if hit by a Taser gun, his entire body shook violently, and he was wracked with terrible pain. The priest’s entire mind went into a ‘brain-melt’ as his thoughts were scrambled together and began to spin around in his head, and his heart began to pound so fast that he became sure that it would burst. Maybe it was God, or maybe it was his own instinct for survival that caused Martin to breathe normally once again, and he began to slowly feel his blood run begin to run normally once more through the many tingling vessels in his body. The young priest’s hands were clasped to his breast, but just as his body returned to something like normality, he slumped back in his seat and began to laugh hysterically. It was not the reaction that the penitent had expected and fearing for the priest he went to assist him. Several minutes passed before Martin began to recover his equilibrium and his face was soaked in a cold sweat, and his eyes were filled with bitter, bitter tears. As Martin became aware of his surroundings again he saw the penitent holding him close, his face wracked with the terrible thought that he had caused the priest to suffer some sort of emotional breakdown. Holding Martin close to him the priest he was pleading for his mercy and not to hand him over to the law. Martin could hardly believe that it was him that was telling the young man, “Don’t be afraid. You don’t have to worry about me or the police. Your sins have been shared under the seal of confession, and because of that, I cannot reveal one item to another living soul. You are safe, but I beg you to get away from me now. Just get out of my sight and stay away from me until I feel able to see you and speak to you again.” With he heard these words the young man released his hold on Martin, moved away from the confessional, and exited the church building.

Martin told me that, after this encounter, he knelt alone in the church and prayed to God for the strength to get him through this. He had, more by accident than by design, met the man who had murdered his youngest brother and, through this crime, had caused the subsequent death of his mother. Although an ordained priest, Martin also considered that he was nothing more than a simple man, would find forgiveness a difficult proposition to grant under such circumstances. Moreover, that he was a priest meant he needed God’s help to hold fast to that sacred calling to which he had dedicated his life. He prayed intensely for God’s blessing to give him the strength to fulfil the words of the Gospel as he professed them – “Love and Forgiveness.” But, God appeared to hold back his blessing for a time and it was only after much prayer and meditation that he felt able to meet the young man again. On this occasion Martin had decided to deal with him with him in the same manner as any other priest, and give him absolution for his sins, setting him a penance that he had to complete.

You often hear people repeat the adage that tells us, “Time can heal all hurts.” But, Martin found that this was not so true when it came to the hurt that filled his heart. Although years had passed by and the pain began to hurt less, it was never totally healed. The ‘Killer’ had confessed his crime to him unbidden, and he had appeared to have changed his previous lifestyle dramatically. He had begun to attend Church services and the holy sacraments almost daily. There were none other than Martin who knew of his crime, and many remarked about just how much he had quietened down since he had begun to attend the Church regularly.

There were some, however, who did not trust that young man, and Father Martin admitted that he was far from being a reformed man. The only difference between the old and the new, Martin said, was that he had become better at hiding his transgressions from public view. In fact, Martin was becoming increasingly suspicious about the young man’s true motives for apparently changing his lifestyle, and for spending so much time in his company. He was sure that all of this was simply to avoid suspicion of being directed at him and, by telling the priest his terrible secret under the seal of the confession, he ensured that his admission of guilt would not reach the ears of the law. By using the Confessional with the priestly brother of his victim he had ensured that Martin would not try to avenge his brother’s death murder.

After confessing his darkest secret to Martin, he had also made the priest aware of why he had committed such a terrible act. that the motive behind the terrible act had been jealousy. He said that Frank, being a handsome and easy-going young fellow had attracted the attention of a certain young lady from a good family. Unfortunately, Frank didn’t know that he had placed himself in competition with this young man, whose attention had been spurned by the same young lady. It was Frank who won through and was walking out with the young lady, and he had even been seen exchanging kisses with her. All these things helped stoke this young man’s jealousy and he sought vengeance. The ‘last straw’ that convinced him to get rid of Frank once and for all was when he personally witnessed them kissing.

He admitted to Martin that he armed himself with a long, sharp knife and hid in the hedgerow along the bog road, which he knew Frank would use to motorcycle home after meeting the young lady. He lay in wait until he heard Frank’s approach and saw the light from the motorbike as it shone on the road. Just as Frank was passing the hiding place his assassin sprang out from his lair, totally surprising Frank and forcing him to stop suddenly. Then, before Frank could recover his composure the assassin drove his knife into Frank’s back, killing him almost instantly. But, the young killer did not tell Martin what he had done with the body, and yet Martin was confident that he would say where he had disposed of the remains and give him the final closure he needed.

One evening, in the middle of Lent, Martin was walking along the very same road where his brother’s life had been so savagely taken. As he walked in the growing darkness, Martin heard the approach of a car behind him and he stopped so that he could allow the car to pass safely by. But, the car did not pass him and chose to stop on the road adjacent to where Martin was standing. The car’s window was wound down and the smiling face of the guilty man appeared, much to the priest’s loathing. Martin did not know why the man was on the same road as he, or why he had stopped to talk. “Good evening, Father,” he said with that sickening smile that Martin hated so much.

“Good evening,” replied Martin in a dry and unwelcoming tone.

The young man got out of the car and pointed to a lone tree, standing not far into the nearby bog. “Do you see that tree?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Martin.

“It is close to that tree that your brother is buried,” he said with absolutely no emotion in his voice.

Totally astonished by this sudden revelation, Martin’s mind was not quite thinking straight, and he replied, “What brother?”

“Your brother Frank, of course,” said the villain. “It was there that I buried the poor man after I had killed him.”

“Sweet Jesus! Merciful God!” screamed the priest. Then raising his eyes to heaven, he angrily added, “Thy will be done!”

Rushing at the villain Martin seized him by the lapels of his jacket and growled into his face, “You damned wretch of a man! You have admitted to shedding the blood of an innocent man who has been crying out to heaven for justice these last ten years or more. I am turning you into the police, now!”

He turned ashy pale as he faltered out a few words to say that, as a priest, Martin had promised not to betray him. ” That was under the seal of confession and under that seal, I can never speak of that deadly secret you admitted to. But, God is good, and you now admit your crime in the open, where the seal of confession does not hold me back. At last, I, the brother of your victim, will be able to avenge the innocent blood that you shed.”

The blood drained from the assassin’s face as Martin tightened his grip and pushed him into the car’s passenger seat. Martin climbed into the driver’s seat and re-started the engine. Totally overcome by events the captive killer did not try to resist while he was driven into the police station, where he was charged with murder and committed for trial.

Reports of Martin’s capture of his brother’s murderer spread far and wide. The Bishop of the Diocese summoned the young priest into his presence and arranged for a dispensation to be given to Martin with regard to the man’s confession. But, Martin did not need to use his dispensation.

Frank’s body was found in the place indicated by his murderer, and forensic science did the rest. The proof provided by the investigators was such that the jury was able to quickly find the killer guilty. The judge complimented Martin on his brave action and heroically observing the obligation of secrecy that bound him. Speaking to the press, the judge declared, “You have witnessed just how the Church of Rome believes that Confession is a sacred trust that cannot be broken. Even when the cause is the avenging of a brother’s murder, it is still an insufficient excuse for breaking that trust.”

Our Dead Friends

“Our dead Friends are right,” an old man told me after hearing that it was my custom to sit up late at night to read. “No, sir, that isn’t right at all,” he sighed and shook his head disapprovingly.

I was curious as to his reasoning and I asked him, “Why is that? ”

“Well,” the old man began, “sure, don’t you know that your dead relatives, if it’s God’s will that they should be wandering about the place, always like to spend their nights in the old home. They come at ten o’clock, and if the house is not quiet they go away again. Then, they return at eleven o’clock, and if there is still any noise from inside, or any one sitting up, they do the same. But, at twelve o’clock they come for the last time, and if they are obliged to leave again, they must spend the night wandering about in the cold! But if they get into the house at any time between ten o’clock and twelve o’clock, they will sit around the hearth until the cock crows to herald the new day.”

The old man’s eyes showed the knowledge of his years and the easy way in which he explained things assured me that he was a man well versed in folklore. His explanation of the dead relatives visiting the home at night gave some light on customs that I had seen when visiting relations with my father in the days of my youth. One such custom that I had observed was that of the woman of the house carefully sweeping around the hearth and arranging the kitchen chairs in a semicircle in front of the “raked” fire before the last person awake finally makes their way to bed.

The old man listened intently as I told him about the custom I watched, many years before, and he told me that such preparations were often made in the homes of country folk. “Sure, what would the relatives think,” he said with a smile, “if the place was not tidied up before their arrival ? It is little respect we had for them, they’d say.”

I loved to walk along the country highways and byways of the county, especially in the summer. One day, I was walking along a road in the south of county and was accompanied by a good friend of my father’s, called Peter. We passed a poorly clothed and wretched-looking woman, who acted most oddly as we approached. Much to my amazement, as we came closer to her, the woman turned her back to us and stood with her head bent towards the ground until we had passed by. “What in the name of God is wrong with her, is she away in the head? ” I asked Peter.

“Aye,” answered my friend, “the poor woman is a little astray in the mind, and that is what she always does when she sees a stranger.”

Peter then began to explain to me that he recalled seeing the same woman, when she was young lady and he was only a boy. At that time, she was growing up into a very attractive and sensible young girl, who was admired by all the young men in the entire neighbourhood. “Then, she saw something,” Peter told me in a mysterious tone of voice, “and the poor woman was never the same again.”

“What, in the name of God, did she see? ” I asked.

“Sure, I wouldn’t know,” he replied, “but, it might have been something similar to what her brother saw before he died.”

“What was that? ”

“Well, her brother was playing cards in a local village one night, and was returning home after twelve o’clock, when his eyes caught sight of a great number of strangely dressed, little men coming towards him. It struck him that every one of these little men were of the same size, and that they were marching to the sound of grand music. In the front of the parade there was one little man, who held a big drum and was heartily beating away at it, accompanied by two or three more little men with smaller drums, and the rest of the company had flutes. The poor woman’s brother was almost frightened to death by what he saw, and he stood rooted to the spot unable to move even an inch. The little man beating the big drum came up to him and asked him why he had dared to come along their way at that late hour of the night. The poor woman’s brother was completely mesmerised by the scene and could not utter a word in reply. Then, the little drummer ordered the rest of the parade to take hold of him and carry him along with them. ‘No!’ said one of the little men, ‘you won’t touch him this time. He is my own brother. Don’t you know me, Hughey?‘ he said as he turned toward the terror-stricken young man. In fact, he was his brother, who had died about a year earlier. ‘Go you home now, Hughey dear,’ the little man told him, in as mournful a voice as ever was heard, ‘ apparition 2 ‘ So, you see,” concluded Peter, “it is not advisable to be out late at night, particularly after twelve o’clock. And it is generally believed it was something similar that the poor sister had seen, which left her in her current condition.”

Naturally, I made no effort to question the supposition because I knew only too well, from past experiences, that any such efforts would prove to be fruitless. You, when you hear stories such as these, might choose to ridicule them and regard them as being complete nonsense. But, let me warn you that such ridicule and attempts to disprove such stories would only be a waste of your energy and your words. Those who have been brought up believing in the power of the Spirits, the ‘Good People’ and the Sidhe (Shee) are as convinced of their power and existence, as they are convinced of their own existence. In response to your efforts to dissuade them they will simply tell you that they know what they know.

A Fairy Encounter

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A Tale of Lough Neagh

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A Traditional Irish Tale

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A Tale of Rural Ireland

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A Priestly Predicament

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