Biddy’s – Tale of the Phooka

There are many strange geological formations in Ireland, the most well-known being the Giant’s Causeway in the County Antrim. The ocean battered cliffs on the west coast of Ireland present a striking spectacle of huge rocks carved by nature into great sculptures. Then, inland, the mountains rise like fabled giants that are marching to the protection of the people. But, here and there, stand geological anomalies that are not as tall as the mountains of the west, but not as small as the Drumlins of Armagh. The ‘Black Hill’ is one of these anomalies and consists of black layers of stone that appear to be harder and denser on the upper surfaces than they are beneath. In the rains and winds that sweep across the land the lower portion of each layer, disintegrates first, forming a clear step is the ground. The main road Derry City stretches through this area and passes by the ‘Black Hill’. Overall, the Hill is shaped like a cone and, on the slopes, the grass-covered terraces composing it are very regular in shape and size from the base to the peak. It gives the observer the impression that there is a road carved out of the sides of the mountain, that winds its way in an easy ascent to the summit of the ‘Black Hill.’.

That is known as the ‘Pooka’s Path’ by all around here.”

What, in the name of God is a Pooka?”

What’s the Pooka, did you ask?” asked the old man. “Well, sure, that’s not easy to tell. For one thing, it’s an evil sort of spirit that does be always creating mischief. But, sure it never does any serious harm to any excepting to those that deserve it, or them that speaks of it disrespectfully. I’ve never seen it, myself, thanks be to God, but there are those who have, and they say that it looks like the finest black horse that ever wore smithy shoed. But it isn’t a horse at all, for no horse did have eyes of fire, or be breathing flames of blue with a smell of sulphur, or a snort like thunder, and no mortal horse would take the leaps and bounds that it does or go as far without getting tired. Sure, it was said that when it gave Tom O’Byrne the ride it gave him, it went from Belfast to Athlone with one jump, and the next took him Galway, and the next was in Dublin, and back again be way of Limerick and Kilkenny, and he never turned a hair. How far is that? Sure, I wouldn’t know, but it’s a brave long distance, and took him right across Ireland and back again. Byrne knew it was the Pooka because it spoke to him like a mortal Christian, only its language isn’t at all agreeable and will never give you a decent word after you’re on its back, and sometimes not even before.”

It must be a monster of a thing?” I replied, eager to move on, but the old man had not finished yet.

“Sure, Danny Burke was coming home one night. Now, I was only a boy at the time, but I mind him telling the story. He said that he had been at a fair in Galbally, where he had been having a few drinks, though some say he had a bellyful. But when he come to a rath, and just beyond it, where the fairies dance, you know, the front of the wall where that policeman was hit on the head by a poacher last winter, he fell in the ditch, completely jiggered and exhausted. Sure, it wasn’t the length as much as the wideness of the road, for he was going from one side to the other and it all proved too much for him. So, he laid still in the ditch for a bit and then tried to get up, but his legs were too weak, and his head was too heavy, and when he attempted to get his feet on the road it was his head that was on it, because his legs couldn’t balance him. Well, Burke lay on and he was entirely done, and while he was studying just how he would get up, he heard the trotting of a horse approaching on the road.

“‘Ah, sure, I’ll get a lift now,’ says he to himself as he lay waiting, and up came the Pooka. When Danny saw him, by Jaysus, he covered his face with his hands and turned away from him, roaring with fright like a mad bull.

“’Ah now, you wee sneaking blackguard,’ said the Pooka, with a mighty snort, ‘Would ever stop your bawling or I’ll kick you to the end of next week.’

“But Danny was scared, and he bellowed louder than he had before, so the Pooka, with his hoof, give him a crack on the back that knocked the wind out of him. ‘Will you be quiet,’ said the Pooka, ‘or will I give you another crack, you buck eejit?’

“Danny stopped the weeping and the Pooka began to calm himself, though his language was no less temperate. ‘Stand up, you pure-bred guzzler,‘ said the Pooka, ‘I’ll give you a ride on my back.’

“’I wish I could, but I can’t’ says Danny, ‘Sure, I’ve not been drinking at all, but smoking too much and eating, and it’s sick I am, and not drunk.’

“’You’re a drunken reprobate,’ says the Pooka, ‘Don’t you be trying to deceive me,’ lifting up his hoof again, and giving his tail a swish that sounded like the crack of a whip. ‘Didn’t I follow you for two miles by your breath,’ says the Pooka, ‘And you smelling like a poteen factory. And the nose on your face as red as a turkey-cock’s. Get up out of that, or I’ll lift you,’ says the Pooka, jumping up and cracking his hind foot like he was dancing a jig.

Danny did his best to get up, and the Pooka helped him with a grip of his teeth on Danny’s collar. “‘Pick up your cap,’ says the Pooka, ‘and climb up. I’ll give you such a ride as you have never even dreamed of.’

“‘Ah, please,’ says Danny, ‘I’d rather walk, for riding makes me dizzy.’

“’Don’t be stupid,’ says the Pooka, ‘will you just get up out of that or will I kick the stuffing out of your cowardly body.’

“The Pooka turned around and he flourished his heels in Danny’s face. Poor Danny tried, but he couldn’t, so the Pooka took him to the wall and give him a lift onto it, and when Dennis was mounted, and had a tight hold on the Pooka’s mane, the first leap he gave was down the rock there, a thousand feet into the field you can see, then up again, and over the mountain, and into the sea, and out again, from the top of the waves to the top of the mountain, and after the poor sot from the ditch was almost dead, the Pooka come back here with him and dropped him in the ditch where he had found him, and he blew in his face to put him to sleep before leaving him. It was morning before they found Danny and carried him home. The man could not walk for a fortnight after, because of the weakness of his bones after the ride he’d been given.

But sure, the Pooka’s a different beast entirely to what he was before King Bryan-Boru tamed him,” said the old man. “Never heard of him? Well, he was the king of Munster and High King of all Ireland, and he tamed the Pooka once and for all on that hill in front of you. You see, in the old days, the entire country was full of evil spirits, and fairies and witches, and devils, and the harm they did was almost unceasing, for they were always coming and going, like the shuttle on a loom, and without so much as a by your leave. The fairies would be dancing on the grass every night by the light of the moon, and stealing away the children, and many were those they took that never come back. The old rath on the hill beyond was full of the dead, and after nightfall they’d come from their graves and walk in a long line one after another to the old church in the valley where they’d go in and stay until cock-crow, then they’d come out again and back to the rath.  There was hardly a parish without a witch, and some nights they’d have a great entertainment on the Hill, and you’d see them, with snakes on their arms and necks and ears, by way of jewels, and the eyes of dead men in their hair, coming for miles and miles, some riding through the air on sticks and bats and owls, and some walking, and more on Pookas and horses with wings that would come up in line to the top of the hill, like the cabs at the door of the theatre, and leave them there and hurry off to bring more.

“Sometimes the Old Enemy, Satan himself, would be there at the entertainment, coming on a monstrous dragon, with green scales and eyes like the lightning in the heavens, and a roaring fiery mouth like a lime-kiln. It was the great day then, for they do say all the witches brought their reports at them times for to show him what they had done. Some would tell how they stopped the water in a spring, and upset the neighbours, more would show how they dried-up the cow’s milk, and made her kick the pail, and they’d all laugh like they were ready to split in two. Some had blighted the corn, while more had brought the rains on the harvest. Some told how their enchantments made the children fall ill, some said how they set the thatch on fire, more told how they stole the eggs, or spoiled the cream in the churn, or bewitched the butter so it wouldn’t come, or led the sheep into the bog. But that wasn’t all.

“One would have the head of a man murdered by her charms, and with it the hand of him that was hung for the murder. One would bring the knife she’d scuttled a boat with and point to the sea to where the corpses laid of the fishermen she’d drowned. One would carry on her breast the child she’d stolen and meant to bring up in evil, and another one would show the little white body of a baby she’d smothered in its sleep. And the corpse-candles would tell how they deceived the traveller, bringing him to the river, and the evil spirits would tell how they drew him in and down to the bottom in his sins and then to the pit with him. And old Beelzebub would listen to all of them, with a reporter, like them that’s taking down the speeches at a meeting, by his side, writing what they said, so as when they come to be paid, it wouldn’t be forgotten.

“Those were the times for the Pookas too. They had power over those that went out after night, except it was on an errand of mercy they were going. But. Not one sinner that hadn’t been to his duty regular would ever see the light of day again after meeting a Pooka, for the beast would either kick him to smithereens where he stood, or lift him on to his back with his teeth and jump into the sea with him, then dive, leaving him to drowned, or spring over a cliff with him and tumble him to the bottom a bleeding corpse. But there were great howls of joy when a Pooka would catch a sinner off-guard and brought him on the ‘Path’ on a night that Satan was there. May God protect us, what a sight it was. They made a ring with the corpse-candles, while the witches tore him limb from limb, and the fiends drunk his blood in red-hot iron cups with shrieks of laughter to smother his screams. The Pookas jumped on his body and trampled it into the ground, and the storm would whistle a tune, and the surrounding mountains would keep time, and the Pookas, and witches, and spirits of evil, and corpse-candles, and bodies of the dead, and devils, would all jig together round the rock where old Beelzebub would sit smiling, as if saying that he could ask no better diversion. God save us, but it makes my skin creep to think of it.

“Well, as I was telling you, in the time of King Bryan, the Pookas did a great deal of harm, but as those that they murdered were drunken beasts that were in the shebeens during the day and in the ditch by night, and wasn’t missed when the Pookas took them, the King paid no attention, and sure he can’t be blamed for that.

But one night, the queen’s baby took ill, and the king told one of his men, ‘Here, Riley, get you up and on the white mare and go for the doctor.’

“’Right then,’ says Riley. But, the king’s country house was in the break of the hills, so Riley would pass by the Rath and the ‘Black Hill’ on the way to get the doctor. ‘Well,’ says he quietly to himself, ‘I don’t want to be doing this job.’

So, he says to the king, ‘Will it not do until the morning?’

“‘It will not,‘ says the king to him. ‘Get up, you lazy beggar, sitting and eating my bread, while the life is leaving my child.’

“So, Riley went with a great slowness in his feet, took the white mare, and off, and that was the last that was seen of him or the mare, for the Pooka took them. For those who said that they had seen him in Cork two days later, trading off the white mare, there were no lies told. They were, in fact, deceived by a trick of the spirits that made them believe it was Riley.

“Nevertheless, the baby got well again. But, because the doctor didn’t get there, the king now began to wonder what had happened to Riley and the white mare, and although he searched wide and low for them he didn’t find them. And then he realised that they were gone, because the Pooka had not left as much as a hair of the mare’s tail.

’What’s this?‘ exclaimed the King, ‘Is it horses that the Pooka will be stealing? Well, bad luck to him and his impudence! This will never do. Sure, he’ll have us ruined entirely.’

“Mind you now, it’s my opinion from what he said, that the king wasn’t concerned too much about Riley, for he knew that he could get more Irishmen when he wanted them, but what he meant to say was that if the Pooka took to horse-stealing, he’d be ruined entirely, for where would he get another white mare? So, it was a very serious question and he retired into a room with a big book that he had, which contained some secrets. The king was very intelligent, well educated, and a mind that was craftier than that of a fox.

“So, the king read and read as fast as he could, and after reading without stopping, except for the occasional food break, for seven days and nights, he came out, and when they asked him if he could beat the Pooka now, he never said a word. He just gave a wink of his eye, as for to say he had him.

“So, that same day he went into the fields and along the hedges and ditches, from sunrise to sunset, collecting the materials for a charm against the Pooka. But, what he got I don’t know, no more does anyone for he never said, but kept the secret to himself and didn’t say it even to the queen. The king was only too aware that secrets run through a woman like water in a ditch. But there was one thing about it that he couldn’t help telling, because he wanted a certain item and couldn’t get it without help, and that was three hairs from the Pooka’s tail, without which the charm wouldn’t work. So he told a manservant he had that he’d give him a great deal of gold if he’d get them for him, but the servant pulled off his cap and scratched his head and said, ‘Dear God, your majesty, I don’t know what good the gold will do me if the Pooka gets a crack at me body with his hind heels.’ Neither would he undertake the task without a reward and the king began to fear that his plan was over before it had begun.

“But it happened on the Friday, this being on a Tuesday, that the Pooka caught a sailor that had only been on land long enough to get blind drunk, and got him on his back, and jumped over the cliff with him leaving him dead. When they came to search the sailor to see what he had in his pockets, they found three long hairs round the third button of his top-coat. So, they took them to the king and told him where they got them. The king was greatly pleased, because now he believed he had the Pooka in his grasp and could end his enchantment.

“But, as the evening came, he a doubt came into his mind and he began to wonder. If the three hairs were out of the Pooka’s tail, the charm would be good enough, but if they were not, and were from his mane instead, or from a horse instead of a Pooka, the charm wouldn’t work and the Pooka would get on top of him with all the feet he had at once and it would be the death of him immediately. So, this doubt struck the king with a great force and for a while he felt uneasy. But, with a little soul searching, he got around it. He went to confession and received absolution so that he’d be ready. He then told one of the servants to come in and tell him, after supper, that there was a poor widow in the laneway beyond the Black Hill that wanted help that night, that it would be an errand of mercy he would be on and, therefore, safe against the Pooka if the charm didn’t work.

“‘Sure, what’ll be the good of that?’ asked the man, ‘It will be a lie, and won’t work.’

“‘Don’t be worrying yourself,’ says the king, ‘just do as you are told and don’t argue, for that’s a point of metaphysics.’ It was indeed a great deal of deep learning that he had, ‘that’s a point of metaphysics and the more you argue on them subjects, the less you know,’ says he, and he’s speaking the truth. ‘Besides, even if it is a lie, it’ll deceive the Pooka, and it’s my belief that the means will justify the end,’ says he, as his thoughts turned to the white mare.

So, after supper, as the king was sitting in front of the fire, and had the charm in his pocket, the servant came in and told him about the widow. ‘By God,‘ said the king, like he was surprised, in his attempt to completely deceive the Pooka. ‘If that’s true, I must go relieve her at once.’ So he got up from his chair and put on his soldier’s boots, with spurs on them a foot across, and he took a long whip in his hand, for fear, he said, that the widow would have dogs, then he went to his chest and took his old stocking and got a sovereign out of it, and went out with his right foot first, and the spurs rattling as he walked.

“He came across the yard, and up the hill beyond and around the corner, but saw nothing. Then up the foot path round the Black Hill and never met a soul but a dog that he threw a stone at. But, he didn’t go out on the road to the widow’s, for he was afraid that if he met the Pooka and he caught him in a lie, not being on the road to where he said he was going, it would be all over with him. So, he walked up and down between the old church below there and the Rath on the hill, and just as the clock was striking twelve, he heard a horse in front of him, as he was walking down, so he turned and went the other way, getting his charm ready, and the Pooka came up after him.

“‘The top of the morning to you, your Honour,’ said the Pooka, politely, for he had noticed by his clothes that the king was not just a commoner but was one of real quality.

“‘And good day to you,‘ says the king to him, boldly, and when the Pooka heard him speak, he became even more polite in his manner, and made a low bow and scrape with his foot. With polite greetings exchanged they walked on together and began to converse.

“”Sure, it’s a black night for traveling,’ said the Pooka.

“‘Indeed it is,’ replied the king, ‘and sure, I would not be out in it, if it wasn’t a case of necessity. I’m on an errand of charity.’

“‘That’s very good of you,’ said the Pooka to him, ‘and if I may ask, what’s the necessity?’

“”It is to relieve a widow-woman,’ said the king.

“‘Oh,’ says the Pooka, throwing back his head laughing with great pleasure and nudging the king with his leg on the arm, by the way that it was a joke because the king said it was to relieve a widow that he was going. ‘Oh,’ says the Pooka, ”It is myself that’s glad to be in the company of an elegant gentleman that’s on so pleasing an errand of mercy.’ ‘And how old is the widow-woman?’ says he, bursting with the horrid laugh he had.

“‘Ah, now,’ says the king, getting red in the face and not liking the joke in the least, for just between us, they do say that before he married the queen, he was the quare-buck with the women, and the queen’s maid told the cook, that told the footman, that said to the gardener, that told the neighbours that many were the nights that  the poor king was as wide awake as a hare from sun to sun with the queen bleating  at him about that topic. Even more amusing, there was a widow in it, that was as sharp as a rat-trap and surrounded him when he was young and hadn’t as much sense as a goose, and was ready to marry him at once in spite of all his relations, just as widows understand how to do. So it’s my considered opinion  that it wasn’t decent for the Pooka to be laughing that way, and shows that evil spirits are dirty blackguards that can’t talk with gentlemen. ‘Ah, now,’ says the king, because the Pooka’s laughing wasn’t an agreeable noise to listen to, ‘I don’t know her, for I never seen her, but I believe that she’s a hundred, and as ugly as Beelzebub, and when her old man was alive, they tell me she had a temper like a gander, and was as easy to manage as an armful of cats. But she’s in want, and I’m after bringing her a sovereign.’

Well, the Pooka ceased his laughing, for he had seen the king was not  very amused, and says to him, ‘And if you don’t mind, where does she live?’

“‘At the end of the lane beyond the Black Hill,’ says the king, very short.

“‘By God, that’s a good bit,’ says the Pooka.

“‘Aye, that’s true,’ says the king, ‘what’s more, it’s uphill every foot of the way, and my back is broke entirely with the steepness of it,’ says he, giving a hint that he would like a ride.

“‘Will yer honour get upon my back,‘ says the Pooka. ‘Sure, I’m going that way, and you don’t mind getting a lift?’ says he, falling like the stupid beast he was, into the trap the king had made for him.

“‘Thanks,’ says the king, ‘I believe not. I’ve no bridle nor saddle. Besides, it’s the spring of the year, and I’m afraid you’re shedding, and your hair will come off and spoil my new britches,’ says he, pretending to make excuse.

“‘Have no fear,’ said the Pooka. ‘Sure, I never drop me hair. It’s no ordinary breed of a horse I am, but a most uncommon beast that’s used to the quality,’ says he.

“‘Yer speech shows that,‘ says the king, the clever man that he was, to be polite in such a way to a Pooka, that’s known to be an out-and-out devil. ‘But ye must excuse me this evening, because the road’s full of stones and is terrible steep, and you look so young that I’m afraid you’ll stumble and cause me to fall,’ says he.

“‘Fair play to you,’ says the Pooka, ‘it’s true, I do look young.’ And he began to prance about on the road giving himself airs like an old widow-man who is wanting a young woman, ‘but me age is older than you suppose. How old would you say I was,’ says he, smiling.

“‘Sure, I wouldn’t know,’ says the king, ‘but if it’s agreeable to you, I’ll look in your mouth and give you an answer.’

So the Pooka come up to him softly and stretched his mouth as if the king was wanting to climb in, and the king put his hand on the jaw as if he was going to see the teeth he had. Then, that moment he slipped the three hairs around the Pooka’s jaw, and when he did that, he drew them tight, and said the charm crossing himself, and the hairs immediately became cords of steel, and held the Pooka tight, as if it was a bridle.

“‘Ah, now, you bloody beast of a murdering devil,’ says the king, pulling out his big whip that he had hidden in his top-coat, and giving the Pooka a crack with it under his stomach, ‘I’ll give you a ride that you won’t forget in a hurry, you black bollix of a four-legged devil and you stealing my white mare,’ and he hit him again.

“‘Oh my,‘ says the Pooka, as he felt the grip of the iron on his jaw and he knew that he was under an enchantment, ‘Oh my, what’s this all about?’ rubbing his breast with his hind heel, where the whip had hit him, and then jumping with his fore feet out to catch the air and trying to break away. ‘Sure I’m ruined, I am, so I am,’ says he.

“‘That’s true,’ says the king, ‘By God it’s the one true thing you ever said,’ says he, jumping on his back, and giving him the whip and the two spurs with all his might.

“Now, I forgot to tell you that when the king made his enchantment, it was good for seven miles round, and the Pooka knew that as well as the king and so he started like a policeman was after him, but the king was afraid to let him go far, thinking he’d do the seven miles in no time, and the enchantment would be broken like a rotten string, so he turned him up the Black Hill.

“‘I’ll give you all the exercise you want,’ says he, ‘in travelling around this hill.’ And round and round they went, the king sticking the big spurs in him every jump and cracking him with the whip until his sides ran blood in streams like a mill race, and his screams of pain were heard all over the world so that the king of France opened his window and asked the policeman why he didn’t stop the fighting in the street. Around and around and about the Black Hill went the king, lashing the Pooka, until his feet made the path that you see on the hill, because he went so often.

And when morning came, the Pooka asked the king what he’d take to let him go, and the king was getting tired and told him that he must never steal another horse, and never kill another man, except for foreign blackguards that weren’t Irish, and when he gave a man a ride, he must bring him back to the spot where he got him and leave him there. So the Pooka consented, Glory be to God, and got off, and that’s the way he was tamed, and explains how it was that Danny Burke was left by the Pooka in the ditch just where he found him.

Moreover, the Pooka’s an altered beast in every way, for now he drops his hair like a common horse, and it’s often found sticking to the hedges where he jumped over, and they do say he doesn’t smell half as strong of sulphur as he used, nor the fire out of his nose isn’t so bright. But all the king did for him would not teach him to be civil in his speech, and when he meets you in the way, he speaks just as much like a blackguard as ever. And it’s out of devilment that he does it, because he can be polite as you know by what I have told you about him saying to the king, and that proves what I said to you that evil spirits can’t learn real good manners, no matter how hard they try.

But the fright he got never left him, and so he keeps out of the highways and travels by the footpaths, and so isn’t often seen. And it’s my belief that he can do no harm at all to them that fears God, and there’s those that say he never shows himself nor meddles with man nor mortal except they’re drunk, and maybe there’s something in that too, for it doesn’t take much drink to make a man see a good deal.”

Biddy’s – 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.

Biddy’s – Cat Sidhe

Demon Cat

Cat Sidhe

There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of types and breeds of Cat which share this world with us. Among all these many natural types and breeds of feline, however, there are those from the world of the supernatural, which have particularly wicked and evil ways. The Cat Sidhe, (Cat Sìth-Scottish Gaelic) is one such has become a part of Celtic mythology, which is said to look like a large black cat with a white spot on its chest, that and mainly haunts rocky high ground. Although the greater number of legends associated with these creatures are to be found within the tales of Scottish folklore, there are a few stories that occur within the folklore archives of Ireland. It is customary within Irish folklore that such creatures as these are considered as demons, or witches’ “familiars”, that adopt the disguise of a cat to gain easy entry into human residences. And, once inside the homes of mortals, they can spy on all that happens and, thereby, bring about a range of terrible events.
The idea of the Cat Sidhe (‘Fairy Cat’) may have been originally inspired by the presence of the European Wildcat in the lands of the Celts. In those days the Wildcat was a much more numerous and widespread animal than it is now. Much like the wolf, it is extinct in Ireland but the memory of the large, all black cat with the white spot prominent on its chest, still lingers. Known as the ‘Demon Feline’ by some it was a creature never to be trusted. It was even thought capable of stealing a person’s soul before it could be claimed by God, and in several areas would hold special wakes to keep the creature away from the corpse before it was buried. At these, the people would play music, and all sorts of games to distract the Cat Sidhe away from the room in which the corpse lay. At the same time, no fires were lit in the room where the body lay for, it was said, the ‘Demon Feline’ was attracted by warmth.
Although never to be trusted when encountered, legend tells that on the feast of ‘Samhain’ the Cat Sidhe would bless any house that left a saucer of milk out or it to drink. But for those houses that did not leave out a saucer of milk, there was only a curse as a reward, such as having the cow’s milk dry-up. Such things, of course, led many to believe that the Cat Sidhe was a witch that could transform at will into a cat and back again nine times. It was said that should a witch choose to go back into their cat form for a ninth time, they would remain a cat for the rest of their days, and hence the tradition of the cat having nine lives.


The ‘Demon Feline’, however, came into its own when ancient rituals for calling up the dead were practiced. From tribe to tribe these rituals varied, but generally involved torture or cruelty to animals and humans and, occasionally, included animal sacrifice. It was not unknown in some of these rituals for the bodies of cats to be roasted alive over the course of several days and nights. All these rituals were carried out to summon legions of spirits or demons in the form of black cats, with the devil at their head, to answer questions concerning the future.
The following tale from Ireland, called ‘The Fisherman’s Wife’, recalls an encounter with one of these ‘Demon Felines’ and the difficulties that she faced before overcoming the demon.
In the West of Ireland, there once lived a woman, whose fisherman husband was an industrious worker who also had good knowledge of the sea and knew where to find the best catches. He worked hard to ensure that his wife was always well supplied with a great variety of fish that she could clean, cure, store, and make ready for sale in the market. But, despite her husband’s good fortune, this woman’s life was not at all a happy one because, when the husband was out fishing, she was being constantly tormented by a huge black cat that would make its way into the house, where it would greedily devour all the best and finest fish that she had prepared for market.
Finally, she decided that if she was to successfully fight off this creature, then she needed to arm herself with a large, thick stick, and with it, in her hands, she would patiently await the cat’s next entrance. Then, one day, unexpectedly, as she was sat in the house gossiping with another woman from the village, the entire house suddenly fell into great darkness and the front door of the house burst open as if blasted by a great wind. Through the open doorway and into the house the huge black monster of a cat strolled, triumphantly marching all the way up to the glowing fire. When he reached the hearth, this demon cat turned toward the two women with a grimace on its face and roared like a lion. “Oh, dear God! Sure, it’s the devil himself!” screamed a young girl who was sorting fish on a bench not far away.
“I’ll teach you to call me names, woman!” snarled the huge, black cat and it leaped at the girl, scratching her arm deeply with its huge claws and caused blood to flow from the wound. A diabolical laugh echoed through the house as the cat sneered, “There, now, woman! You’ll hold a much more civil tongue in your head the next time a gentleman, the likes of myself, calls on you!” Saying those words, which rang loudly in the young girl’s ears, the demon cat jumped at the open door, slamming it closed again to prevent any of his captives from escaping. The cat deemed it vital now that the wounded young girl was crying hysterically from the fright and the pain she had been caused. Now, with this one terrifying leap, the huge black cat had cut-off every possible route of escape for the women.


Just as the monster slammed the front door shut, a man, who was passing by the house, was stopped in his tracks by the series of loud cries and screams that were coming from the building. Being very much concerned by the terrible cries that he heard the man rushed up to the door of the house and, using every ounce of his strength that he could muster, he tried to force it open. But the demon cat dug in its heels and, doggedly standing its ground, it refused to allow the man to enter the house and help the women. The man, however, was carrying a large, thick blackthorn stick in his hands and he began to beat down on the monster with every muscle in his body and gave the demon several great blows that told. But, the monster feline was more than a match for the man and launched itself at him with force, tearing at his face and hands so badly that the man had no choice but to take to his heels and run away as fast as he could.
Now that the potential rescuer of the women had been forced to flee the scene a huge expression of joy came across the face of the demon as he hissed at his captives, “Now, it’s time for me to eat my dinner.” Then with quick and eager steps, the cat moved toward the long bench-table upon which the fish had been spread out as if they had been made ready for him to examine.
“I hope these fish are as good as they look,” the cat sneered as it displayed its sharp, ivory-colored, teeth to the frightened women. “Now, listen to me, don’t even think of making any kind of a fuss, or disturbance while I am helping myself to this feast.” Then, using the great strength it had in its rear legs, the demon cat pounced up on to the bench-table and began to rapidly and hungrily devour all the best fish. With each fish that it gobbled down, the demon continued to stare and growl at the terrified women, who now began to fear that they too might be on his menu.
Suddenly, filled with renewed courage, the fisherman’s wife jumped up from her where she was seated and squealed at the monster, “Get away out of this place you, black devil cat!” As she squealed the woman also gave the demon several mighty blows with a set of large, brass coal-tongs that would have certainly broken the back of any normal cat. In her anger and rage, the woman screamed again at the monster cat, “Get away from here, damn you! You will have no feast of our fish this day!”
Unfazed by the woman’s screams, the huge cat turned slowly to face her and grinned triumphantly as he began to tear at and devour the fish, feeling none the worse for the heavy blows that the fisherman’s wife had struck him. Undaunted by the failure of their efforts to chase the predator away, the two women continued attacking the demon cat with whatever instruments that they could put their hands on, striking huge blows that appeared to be hard enough to kill. Still, the huge cat continued to stare at the women contemptuously, apparently unaffected by their efforts to hurt him, and it then began to spit out fire as he made a deadly leap toward them. The demon’s great claws and sharp teeth tore into the hands and arms of the women until their blood began to run freely from the wounds caused, and the women made their last-ditch effort, screaming in their terror, to rush out of the building to freedom.
Within a very few minutes of leaving the building, the fisherman’s wife sought out a bottle of Holy Water and with this, in her hands, she moved back into the building to confront the great demon. Tentatively, the woman peeked into the house through the open door and saw that the huge cat was still totally engaged in devouring the fish that had been laid out upon the bench-table. So, with great stealth, the fisherman’s wife quietly crept over to the place where her enemy stood and, without making a sound, she opened the bottle of Holy Water and threw the contents all over the unsuspecting demon cat. In an instant a dense black cloud of smoke filled the entire room, covering everything until the only object that could be seen in the darkness was the demon’s glowing red eyes, which burned bright like the coals in a fire. Then, as the thick smoke gradually began to clear away, the fisherman’s wife saw the huge cat as it was burning slowly until it finally became like a shriveled, black cinder and disappeared. It was a gratifying sight but, from that moment onward, the fish catch would remain untouched by the demon and safe from further destruction. The power of the ‘evil one’ was finally broken and the fearsome ‘demon feline’ was never to be seen again.
Now that we have reached the end of this tale, it is time to consider the long-held tradition which warns us about the very vengeful tendencies shown by all cats, and that we should make every effort to ensure that we never do anything to offend these animals. What can happen if we fail to abide by these warnings is demonstrated in the following story, which is alleged to be true –


The story tells us that there was once a fine lady of quality, who had a habit of lifting her cat into her arms and to feed it from the food on her own table during dinner. She would select tasty morsels from the plate and give them to the cat with her own hands. One evening, however, the lady decided that she would give a special dinner party for her friends. On such an occasion the lady did not feel it was appropriate for her pet to be fed from the table around which her friends would be seated. The food was served, and the needs and expectations of the cat were completely ignored, while she was rebuffed on several occasions when she approached her mistress. The cat was greatly angered by the treatment it had received and she moved into a dark corner of the room, where it lay silently sulking and planning how it might get revenge for being treated so abysmally. It awaited its opportunity, which arrived after the lady had gone to her bed for the night. The vengeful cat crept silently out from its hiding place and, making its way to the mistress’ bedroom, sprang at the sleeping woman’s bared throat. The cat bit deep into the flesh and created a wound that was so severe that within a week the poor woman became gravely sick and eventually died from virulent blood poisoning.
There is a long-standing tradition, which says that there is a power that resides within the blood of a black cat which is to be held in the highest esteem by those persons who are proficient in the making the cures of ancient times. It is such as these that know the true power of the black cat’s blood can only be unleashed when it is mixed with magical charms, thereby providing relief to suffering people through ancient potions that cure even the worst of diseases. Those ‘wise people’ who prepare these magical charms and potions will tell you that three drops of blood from a black cat are more than enough to gain the desired effect. The custom among the ‘Fairy Doctors’ and ‘Wise Women’ is that they gather this blood by nipping off a small piece of a cat’s tail. But it is my opinion that untrained persons would be better leaving such tasks to the experts because cats can become evil demons and will seek to take a terrible vengeance upon anyone who offends them.

Biddy’s – 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 the 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.

Biddy’s – How To Treat the Fairies

A Lesson Learned

In Ireland it is customary for the people to treat the fairy folk to many little acts of kindness. One example of this occurs when a cow is milked, and care is taken to let the first couple of draws from the udder are permitted to drop upon the ground for the “wee folk” to enjoy. Meanwhile, the poteen-makers at their illicit distillation sites also pay attention to the same “wee folk”. The very first, and best part, of the liquor which comes from the worm is always thrown to them in salutation. The Poteen-makers use a small tin measuring cup (a tionaiceen) to treat friends who may visit the still-house where illicit distillation is carried on, including the fairy folk.

Toinaceen

My uncles all went shooting game birds in the hills of Tyrone, developing good relations with several small farmers in the area. It was well-known that many of these small farmers used the illicit distillation of Poteen to increase their income. Among these men was ‘Pure Paddy’, so named because of the quality of the liquor that he distilled and sold. At one time I had the distinct pleasure of being with Paddy as he worked at the still, which was well hidden in the nearby turf-bog. It was during this visit that I noticed Paddy throwing a cupful of poteen behind the still to the right, and another to the left. “Why do you do that ? ” I asked the old Poteen-maker.

He had just thrown the first cupful  and he shook his head disappointedly as he threw the next into some bramble bushes that were growing adjacent to the still. “For heaven’s sake, Paddy!” I exclaimed, “Why waste the stuff like that?”

But, sure, I’m not wasting it!” said the old man, looking at me in a very odd manner, “if you only knew it.”

But, you are throwing it away,” I insisted. “Is it not a waste for you to throw it all around yourself in that fashion?”

To tell you the truth, boy,” he replied, “they’re welcome to it and as much more as they want. But, they’re not greedy in any way, you can be guaranteed of that.”

They, they? ” I demanded. ” Who in the name of God are they? “

They’re the wee folk boy, who else? And those poor creatures need it too, for I’m sure that they must be feeling the cold.”

Oh, you mean the fairies, I suppose?” said I.

That’s right, young man.”

And do you really believe in fairies?” I asked him.

Believe in them,” he laughed. “Of course, I do, and why wouldn’t I? “

Oh, surely, you can’t be so foolish,” I scoffed.

Foolish! By all that’s holy! Sure, it’s those people that don’t believe in them that are the true fools, I’m thinking.”

And you imagine that they drink the poteen you throw around you in that way?

Ay, they drink my poteen, and they are glad to get it,” said the old ‘moonshiner’ emphatically.

“Then,” said I, “suppose what you say is true, what would happen if you did not treat your invisible wee friends?”

By Jaysus, son, there would be open blue murder about it, without any doubt at all. Sure, they’d be so angry that they would curse the still with bad luck and, maybe, the whole lot of the poteen would be spilled, or worse, the police would get it.”

Has anything like that ever happened before?” I asked him.

Aye, of course there has! Sure, how else would we know what would happen?”

I must admit that I was convinced in the truthfulness of the old man, but I wanted to hear more about such encounters with the fairy folk. I wanted to know if he had personally met with any “bad luck” himself because he had failed to give a hospitable offering to his exacting and easily angered, though easily appeased, friends, the “little folk.” To get him talking, therefore, I began by remarking that he must have had some personal experience of such things since he spoke so knowledgeably about such things. “Aye, indeed, young man, I’m sorry to say, and I’ll be sorry while there is still breath in me body. I have experience of just how unlucky it is for a man to be miserly with the ‘good people’,” said he.

Tell me all about it,” I asked him anxiously and earnestly.

Now, there’s not much to tell, young man, but I’ll tell you about it anyway.”
One night,” he began, ” I was making my first brewing in this very same place where we are now. But, in those days I was young and foolish, and I would not take the advice of old Micky Whelan when he told me to treat ‘good people’ well. The answer I gave him was that they would go to the devil before I’ll give a drop to them, or anyone living or dead, until I have the money in my hand for it first. When I said that, of course, Old Micky spoke out, and he told me that I would rue those words. Then, blessing himself he got up and left me, a little frightened. There were a couple of the neighbours here, too, and they went away with him. Well, there was not one left here but myself, and I thought to myself that I would take a wee drink to keep up my spirits, for you can see, yourself, it’s a lonely place here for one to be with oneself, without a living soul to speak to. But, by all that’s holy, wasn’t left long without plenty of company, although it was the kind that I would have rather not had. Because, as quick as you could clap your two hands together, I heard the rasp of the bow across the strings of a fiddle, up there in the bushes, and with that the prettiest and the liveliest tune that I ever heard filled the air. The first thought that came into my head was that the lads had fallen in with ‘Blind Dominic’ the fiddler, when they were leaving the still-house, and that they sneaked back with the fiddle into the bushes to try and frighten me. So, I shouted out angrily that it would be better for them to come here and give me a hand, rather than going on with their nonsense, for if they were trying to frighten me they wouldn’t manage to do it. Well, suddenly I heard three or four shouts and the sound of dancing keeping time to the tune, and fine dancing it was. I began to mock it and told them they were very merry and that maybe it was the police they wanted to bring down on me with their nonsense. Well, I can tell you, the words were not right out of my mouth, when up struck another fiddle right beside me, and it wasn’t long until another began, and another, and another, until there were fiddles playing all around me everywhere, and the shouting, and the cheering, and the laughing began in earnest. By Jaysus, I thought to myself, it is the strange creatures about, but I’ll not let on that I’m one bit afraid of them and maybe they would not harm me. So, I jumped up and declared loudly that it was great music and I began to dance on the flagstone beside the fire in a very lively fashion. With one voice the entire company shouted out at me, calling me by name and telling me that I would rue it. Sure, they were now making a great hullabaloo, and right in the middle of it I got two smart blows, first on one cheek then on the other. It was then I began to think that it was time for me to get out, but I decided that I would take the keg with me, no matter what happened. So, putting the keg on my back, I took to my heels as quickly as I could. But, I hadn’t gone more than three steps when I tripped, and fell, and the keg was broken into smithereens with every blessed drop spilled. Let me tell you, that’s when the commotion began in real earnest and ten times greater than before! You could hear the glasses, and the tin cups, and the mugs rattling against one another, and the shouts and the bustle of the wee-folk as they jostled one another trying to see who could get most of the drink that was spilled. Not even a half-penny’s worth did I get, but I heard as much as did me, and away I ran towards home as fast as my legs could carry me and not once did I look around until I reached the house. I can tell you that I never again forgot to give the good people a drink after that. And you can be sure when one does show them some hospitality they don’t forget it neither. It’s many a good turn they did me, but there was one turn in particular, and if you’re not afraid that the police will come on us I’ll tell you something about it.

“I will risk the police, Jimmy,” said I as I sat down on a vacant three-legged stool, which stood beside the blazing turf fire under the still. 

Well, then,” began the old moonshiner, “One night, about the middle of December, I was making a brew for Christmas. It was about seven or eight o’clock in the evening, or thereabouts. My partner, Mickey, that I told you about a while ago, was just after leaving me to get something to eat, for he hadn’t had a bite of food since the morning. There wasn’t one person with me in the still-house but myself. Well, boy, I was sitting here just where I am now this minute, and smoking quite contentedly, while I was watching the Poteen running from the worm into the keg in case there would be any chance of it becoming white. Well, if it did turn white I would throw some water on fire to cool it down a little, and some more on the worm until it cooled, just as you saw me doing a while ago. Well, I wasn’t long sitting that way, when three shots from a gun went just over my head, one after another. Believe me when I tell you that I jumped up quick and sudden onto my feet. At first, I thought it was the police, for that’s what they generally do when they are intent on making a seizure. Well, I took to my feet mighty fast, you can be sure that I never once looked around me until I got to the top of that hill over there. It was only then that I felt brave enough to look around, but the devil a one could I see at all. I had a full view of the still-house, and all around it, but not a person I could I clap my eyes on, only everything just as it was.

Well, back I came to the still-house again, but you can be sure that I kept my eyes sharp about me until Mickey came. When I told him the story, he looked at me, and he said that the faster we are out of this the better we’ll be. I asked Mickey what it could have been, and he simply told me that it is well known to me. He also said that I would see the lads before the morning. So, I told myself, that we should waste no time lifting the keg out of this place even though it was not yet three quarters full. Well, boy, to make a long story short, we cleared away everything and hid them in the bog over there. Then we went home, and we were only just sitting down at the fire when we heard the troop, the tramping of the revenue horses, as we thought it was the revenue police. Well, young man, as I said, we heard the tramp, tramp of the horses’ feet on the road, and the clattering of bayonets and swords, and the creaking of the saddles, and the orders of command, as if there was a whole regiment of horsemen and horses on parade.

Mickey was totally surprised that what I had said had now come to pass, and he went with me to the door to have a look. It was a fine clear moonlight night, just like it is tonight, but as we looked out there wasn’t the devil of a horse or rider to be seen, although we could still hear the thud of the horses’ hoofs, and the clashing of the swords plainly. Were we frightened?  By God, you may be sure that we were in a way, and, in another way, we were not, for you see we knew well enough that this a sign from the ‘good people’ telling us that the revenue men were coming. Sure, they did come a very short time later. But, although they searched every hole and corner in the place, they never discovered the place where we hid the keg and things. So, you see, you will never lose much by being kind to the good people.

Biddy’s – 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 anyone 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,

‘’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.

Biddy’s – The Demon Dog

Paddy M’Dermot was one of the most popular boys in the entire county and such was his popularity that there was hardly a fair or a festival that did not have him in the middle of it. In fact, just like a bad penny, Paddy turned up everywhere and it was exceedingly rare that his poor little farm was sowed in season, and where barley was expected to grow, there grew nothing but weeds. It was through this young man’s complete lack of industry that money became a scarce commodity in Paddy’s pocket. Then, the cow was sold after the pig, and nearly everything that he had followed the same path.
Paddy’s luck changed one night as he lay in a deep, drunken sleep in the Rath of ‘Moneyrack.’ As he slept, he was visited by a beautiful dream that showed him he was lying in a spot that covered a pot of money, which had been buried there in ancient times. But Paddy remembered every detail of his vision despite his high level of intoxication, and he told no other person about what he had seen. The next night he gathered a spade and a pickaxe from the barn, and into his pocket he placed a bottle of holy water. Armed in this way, Paddy made his way to the Rath and, after circling the place for a moment or two he began to dig.
‘Ah now, Paddy McDermot, be easy now,’’ said the greyhound; ‘don’t I know very well what you are looking for?’
‘Well then, if you do know, I may as well tell you at once, especially since you seem to be a civil-looking gentleman, that does not think it is below him to speak with a poor eejit like myself.’ Anyone could immediately detect that Paddy wanted to butter-up the stranger a little.
‘Well then,’ said the greyhound, ‘come out here and sit down on this bank.’
Like a damned fool, Paddy did as he was asked, but had hardly put his foot outside of the circle he had made with the holy water, when the beast of a greyhound set upon him, and drove him out of the Rath. Paddy was frightened, as well he might, at the fire that flamed from the hound’s mouth. Nevertheless, he returned the next night, certain that the money he sought was in that Rath. As he had done before, Paddy made a circle with the holy water and again hit the hidden object with the pickaxe. Once again, the strange greyhound appeared in the same place he had the previous night. ‘Oh ho,’ said Paddy, ‘you are here again, are you? Well, let me tell you that it will be a long day before I allow you to trick me again.’ Then, he lifted his pickaxe and made another stroke at the hidden object.
‘Well, Paddy McDermot,’ said the hound, ‘If it is just the money, you’re after, tell me how much would satisfy your needs?’
Paddy scratched his head while he thought for a few moments. Then, looking the greyhound directly in the eye he asked it, ‘How much will you give me?’ He was still in fear of the greyhound but tried hard not to show it.
‘Just as much as you would consider reasonable, Paddy M’Dermot,’ said the greyhound craftily.
‘What?’ said Paddy to himself, ‘there’s nothing like asking enough. But how much is enough?’ Then, turning to the greyhound he said, ‘Say fifty thousand pounds!’ He could have asked or more, for I am sure the old devil had enough to cover the bill.
Without a moment’s hesitation the greyhound said, ‘You shall have it!’ Then, after walking away a little distance, the hound came back with a crock filled with golden guineas between its paws.
‘Come here and count them for yourself,’ said the spirit dog. But Paddy knew what the old devil was up to him and didn’t move an inch from where he was. The crock was now shoved alongside the holy water circle, and Paddy quickly pulled it into his arms with the greatest of pleasure. He was so excited that his feet never stopped moving until he reached his own home, where he that the golden guineas had been transformed into bits of bones. His old mother, when she saw what her son had brought home, burst into uncontrollable laughter. Paddy now swore that he would get his revenge against the deceitful spirit dog, and he returned to the Rath the next night, where he met the hound again.
‘So, Paddy you are here again?’ the hound asked, somewhat amused.
‘I am, you dirty blackguard,’ said Paddy, ‘and I won’t be leaving this place until I pull out the pot of money that’s buried here!’
‘Is that right?’ asked the hound. ‘Well, Paddy M’Dermot, since you’re so brave and full of adventure I will make up what you are owed if you would walk downstairs with me out of the cold.” Paddy looked around and saw that it had begun to snow quite heavily.
‘May I never see home again if I follow you,’ replied Paddy, ‘All you want me for is to wear me down with old bones, or perhaps break my own, which would be just as bad.’
‘I promise,’ said the hound, ‘I am your friend, Paddy, so don’t just stand there. Come with me and your fortune is made. If you stay here, you’ll die a beggarman.’
So, one word followed another until Paddy finally agreed. In the middle of the Rath a beautiful staircase opened up and they began to walk down it. After winding and turning they came, at last, to a house, which was considerably grander than the houses of many aristocrats, in which all the tables and chairs were made from solid gold. Paddy was delighted and, after sitting down, a fine lady handed him a glass of something to drink. But, he had hardly swallowed a spoonful when all around set up a horrid yell, and those who had appeared beautiful before now looked like what they truly were–enraged ‘fairy-folk’.
Before Paddy could even bless himself, they seized him by his legs and arms, carried him out to a great high hill that stood like a wall over a river, and flung him down. ‘Murder!’ cried out Paddy, but it was already too late. He fell upon a rock and lay there as if he was dead until the next morning, when some people found him in the trench that surrounds the mote of Coolhill, the ‘good people’ having carried him there. From that moment until the hour of his death, Paddy was one of the great wonders. He walked doubled over and had his mouth where his ear should be.

Biddy’s – Good for the Cow

St. John’s Eve Lore

At sunset on June 23rd, another of the ancient fire festivals begins and is known as St. John’s Eve. Not that long ago, it was a wide-spread tradition throughout Ireland that on St. John’s Eve a curious practice prevailed, in some districts, which related to the time-honoured tradition of lighting a bonfire.

Before sunset on St. John’s Eve a small fire was built and lit in a place that was near to the byre because in such a position the milk-cows would pass close to the fire as they returned from the fields. In fact, great care was taken to drive the cows as close as possible to the fire itself. This was done, it was said, to allow the cows to “smell” the fire, which it was believed would have a very beneficial effect on the quantity and the quality of the milk and butter produced. It was also believed to be a safeguard against any evil spirits or witchcraft which might befall the cow herself. Then, coals were taken from the little fire, and one of them is thrown into each field of potatoes that belong to the owner of the cow. Through this ritual, it was thought, a great increase in the cow’s production would be achieved..

It was the custom in some places that when a cow begins to calve the owner would place a “grape” (the ordinary steel fork used in farming operations) near her head until she “cleans” (Rids herself of the afterbirth). The steel or iron from which they form the grape was considered “lucky,” and effective defence against any evil influences spread by the fairy-folk. There may, of course, be other customs resorted to on such occasions as this, but what kind of results they achieve I couldn’t say. There is another custom where a silver coin is placed in the first drink that is given to the cow after it has calved, and the reason behind this curious custom was simply that it was considered “lucky to let the cowlick the silver.”

There are many other peculiar practices, such as tying a red rag to the tail of the milch-cow (Milk Cow), with a few horse-shoe nails, a partially burned coal, and some salt are rolled in the rag. It was quite common at one time to see red rags hanging from the tails of milch -cows at fairs in the west of Ireland, allowing the intending purchasers of milch-cows to easily recognise the milking cow, from the ones due to calve (‘springer’).  

Tradition also advises farmers to take a very necessary precaution when the cow calves. Strangely this is to give the first of the milk, a small glassful is enough, to that very useful domestic animal, the cat. The reason behind this peculiar tradition, I have been told, is that they give the first of the milk to the cat so that the cat can take the bad luck away with her on her paws.

Dining Belle Fey

Guest item written by Sean Carney – March 2018

This is the first guest item I have included in my blog and I present to my readers for its interest value, and in the hope it will encourage others to send in their stories.

Browsing through Donegal Town’s official website recently, I came across some snippets of information from long ago regarding the anecdotes of a local character by the name of Belle Fey. A Faye, being a fairy, or Siog [sheog] a name given to her by her Dromore neighbours as a result of her strange ways. Belle Melly being her real name according to the 1940/41Donegal town electors list, for Dromore.

Poor Belle, I’m sure she’d turn in her grave if she were able to read the comments. Who’s to say she was just an old eccentric, had the author taken leave of his imagination, really! Doesn’t anyone believe in fairies or the little people anymore.? In my opinion Belle’s name ought to be up there in lights amongst Donegal’s countless legendary characters. Perhaps a song or a poem ought to have been composed in her honour. As far as I’m concerned, she was the real thing, a real living Siog. Belle, could, tell fortunes too, and see into the future just like her wee fairy friends who would come and sit at the foot of her bed during the night: she often said, the male Sioga would also visit her bedroom, a fact which greatly annoyed her – herself being a modest female and all.

I ought to know better than most folk about Belle’s, mystic talents because as an Eight-year old I had the doubtful privilege of meeting this wrinkled, steely-grey-haired, plaid-shawled old creature, and, being on the receiving end of a ‘Belle spell’, so to speak.

When we were youngsters my father and mother often brought our family on the gruelling twenty-four-hour journey to Donegal during our summer holidays. My dad emigrated to Yorkshire in the UK and was a coalminer in Yorkshire’s forbidding and dangerous 3,000 ft deep coalmines.

We usually stayed for the two weeks holiday with my dad’s brother and sister–the postman John, and Mae Carney; their house was situated in Dromore, up the lane at the top of the hill off the Donegal road. Their slate roofed cottage stood on the brow of the winding hill with its magnificent panoramic views over Donegal Bay, and the Blue Stack mountains–when it wasn’t raining that is! And was just a stone’s throw across the lane from Belle Fey’s faded whitewashed, thatched cottage. Belle must have had her eye on me, this wee buachailin ban, [ fair haired boy] as I was often up and down the lane with my sister Patricia, with Mae’s old enamel bucket to fetch water from the well, which bubbled up from a wee crystal–clear spring at the side of the lush green overgrown lane. Aunt Mae swore the water was “the best ever for making tae.”

As I recall, it was the day my father Hugh, was visiting his youngest sister Maggie Quinn at her pub, ‘Quinns Bar’, (Lazy Bush) at the top of Mountcharles, where he often went to catch up on the local gossip and discuss the price of cattle and imbibe in a few pints with his old school cronies. That particular occasion was a signal for Belle, to make her move on me, as she invited herself into John and Mae’s, house. Shortly a whispered discussion took place with my mother and aunt Mae, who herself was fond of reading the tea-leaves and such-like, as well as blowing her cigarette smoke up the turf blackened chimney of their huge open fire-place, which puzzled this eight-year old at the time. Many years later it transpired that John hated Mae smoking!

To continue the story; I was ushered into aunt Mae’s, dimly lit front parlour, which contained a dusty dark wood dining table and chairs, with the odd religious picture randomly placed on the whitewashed walls.

Situated on the inside gable of the house was an old fashioned black Victorian cast-iron fireplace, into which Belle, proceeded to set light to a crumpled newspaper in the empty grate. As the paper blazed away brightly, shooting orange blue flames up the chimney, Belle began mumbling as she stooped over the grate, while I stood mystified at the side of her, I didn’t have the faintest idea what she was saying, but I swear it wasn’t English. After a while Belle rose from the hearth in her usual bent posture, declaring authoritatively to my mother and Mae, in her rich Donegal accent. “This wee caddy will remain fair haired for the rest of his life”.

Sixty-five years on, and a bit more, and guess what? Short of having a bit of the thatch missing at the back, I still have a modest head of fair hair, despite a lifetime of trying to alter its colour by dousing it with strong tea, before I hit the town with the lads on a Friday night.

My mother and father, brothers and sisters, were all blessed with fine heads of typically Irish, dense, wavy auburn hair. Ultimately with the passing of time and sadly for them their hair turned grey and then white. Uncle John’s, hair may have been a bit sandy looking which he got from Ding, and Grandma Sweeney’s, side of the family, but with no stretch of the imagination was he blonde. So where in the blazes, excuse the pun, did mine come from? Belle Fey, “just an eccentric old woman? My foot!