B. Longer Irish Stories
B1) Janey Mary [by James Plunkett]
Excerpt:
When Janey Mary turned the corner into Nicholas Street that morning, she leaned wearily against a shop-front to rest. Her small head was bowed and the hair which was so nondescript and unclean covered her face. Her small hands gripped one another for warmth across the faded bodice of her frock. Around the corner lay Canning Cottages with their tiny, frost-gleaming gardens, and gates that were noisy and freezing to touch. She had tried each of them in turn. Her timid knock was well known to the people who lived in Canning Cottages. That morning some of them said: " It's that little 'Carthy one, never mind opening. Twice in the last week she's been around - it's too much of a good thing." Those who did answer her had been dour. They poked cross and harassed faces around half-open doors. Tell her mammy, they said, it's at school she should have her, and not out worrying poor people the likes of them. They had the mouths of their own to feed and the bellies of their own to fill, and God knows that took doing.
The school was in Nicholas Street and children with satchels were already passing. Occasionally Janey Mary could see a few paper books peeping from an open flap, and beside them a child's lunch and a bottle of milk. In the schoolroom was a scrawled and incomprehensible blackboard, and rows of staring faces which sniggered when Janey Mary was stupid in her answers.
Sometimes Father Benedict would visit the school. He asked questions in Catechism and gave the children sweets. He was a huge man who had more intuition than intellect, more genuine affection for children than for learning. One day he found Janey Mary sitting by herself in the back desk. She felt him, giant-like above her, bending over her. Some wrapped sweets were put on her desk.
"And what's your name, little girl?"
"Janey Mary 'Carthy, Father."
"I'm Father Benedict of the Augustinians Where do you live?"
Father Benedict had pushed his way and shoved his way until he was sitting in the desk beside her, Quite suddenly Janey Mary had felt safe and warm. She said easily, "I lives In Canning Cottages."
He talked to her while the teacher continued self-consciously with her lesson.
"So, your daddy works in the meat factory?"
"No, Father, my daddy's dead."
Father Benedict nodded and patted her shoulder.
"You and I must be better friends, Janey," he said….
(click on the link below to read the rest of the story)
•••••
For the rest of the story, go to:
http://www.ireland-information.com/JaneyMary.htm
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B2) The Leprehauns
[by Lady Wilde, as found in Ancient Legends of Ireland]
[Leprehaun, or Leith Brogan, means the "Artisan of the Brogue".]
Excerpt:
The Leprehauns are merry, industrious, tricksy little sprites, who do all the shoemaker's work and the tailor's and the cobbler's for the fairy gentry, and are often seen at sunset under the hedge singing and stitching. They know all the secrets of hidden treasure, and if they take a fancy to a person will guide him him to the spot in the fairy rath where the pot of gold lies buried. It is believed that a family now living near Castlerea came by their riches in a strange way, all though the good offices of a friendly Leprehaun. And the legend has been handed down through many generations as an established fact.
There was a poor boy once, one of their forefathers, who used to drive his cart of turf daily back and forward, and make what money he could by the sale; but he was a strange boy, very silent and moody, and the people said he was a fairy changeling, for he joined in no sports and scarcely ever spoke to any one, but spent the nights reading all the old bits of books he picked up in his rambles. The one thing he longed for above all others was to get rich, and to be able to give up the old weary turf cart, and live in peace and quietness all alone, with nothing but books round him, in a beautiful house and garden all by himself.
Now he had read in the old books how the Leprehauns knew all the secret places where gold lay hid, and day by day he watched for a sight of the little cobbler, and listened for the click, click of his hammer, as he sat under the hedge mending the shoes.
At last, one evening just as the sun set, he saw a little fellow under a dock leaf, working away, dressed all in green, with a cocked hat on his head. So the boy jumped down from the cart and seized him by the neck.
"Now, you don't stir from this," he cried, "till you tell me where to find the hidden gold."
"Easy now," said the Leprehaun, "don't hurt me, and I will tell you all about it. But mind you, I could hurt you if I chose, for I have the power; but I won't do it, for we are cousins once removed. So as we are near relations I'll just be good, and show you the place of the secret gold that none can have or keep except those of fairy blood and race. Come along with me, then, to the old fort of Lipenshaw, for there it lies. But make haste, for when the last red glow of the sun vanishes the gold will disappear also, and you will never find it again..."
(click on the link below to read the rest of this story)
•••••
The rest of this story may be found at:
http://www.faerylands.org/faerie/Wilde/leprehaun.html
Other stories by Lady Wilde are at:
http://www.faerylands.org/faerie/Wilde/
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B3) The Doctor and the Fairy Princess
[by Lady Wilde, as found in Ancient Legends of Ireland]
Excerpt:
Late one night, so the story goes, a great doctor, who lived near Lough Neagh, was awoke by the sound of a carriage driving up to his door, followed by a loud ring. Hastily throwing on his clothes, the doctor ran down, when he saw a little sprite of a page standing at the carriage door, and a grand gentleman inside.
"Oh, doctor, make haste and come with me," exclaimed the gentleman. "Lose no time, for a great lady has been taken ill, and she will have no one to attend her but you. So come along with me at once in the carriage."
On this the doctor ran up again to finish his dressing, and to put up all that might be wanted, and was down again in a moment.
"Now quick," said the gentleman, "you are an excellent good fellow. Sit down here beside me, and do not be alarmed at anything you may see."
So they drove like mad--and when they came to the ferry, the doctor thought they would wake up the ferryman and take the boat; but no, in they plunged, carriage and horses, and all, and were at the other side in no time without a drop of water touching them.
Now the doctor began to suspect the company he was in; but he held his peace, and they went on up Shane's Hill, till they stopped at a long, low, black house, which they entered, and passed along a narrow dark passage, groping their way, till, all at once, a bright light lit up the walls, and some attendants having opened a door, the doctor found himself in a gorgeous chamber all hung with silk and gold; and on a silken couch lay a beautiful lady, who exclaimed with the most friendly greeting--
"Oh, doctor, I am so glad to see you. How good of you to come."
"Many thanks, my lady," said the doctor, "I am at your ladyship's service."
And he stayed with her till a male child was born; but when he looked round their was no nurse, so he wrapped it in swaddling clothes and laid it by the mother."
"Now," said the lady, "mind what I tell you. They will try to put a spell on you to keep you here; but take my advice, eat no food and drink no wine, and you will be safe; and mind, also, that you express no surprise at anything you see; and take no more than five golden guineas, though you may be offered fifty or a hundred, as your fee."
"Thank you, madam," said the doctor, "I shall obey you in all things."
With this the gentleman came into the room, grand and noble as a prince, and then he took up the child, looked at it and laid it again on the bed.
Now there was a large fire in the room, and the gentleman took the fire shovel and drew all the burning coal to the front, leaving a great space at the back of the grate; then he took up the child again and laid it in the hollow at the back of the fire and drew the coal over it till it was covered; but, mindful of the lady's advice, the doctor said never a word. Then the room suddenly changed to another still more beautiful, where a grand feast was laid out, of all sorts of meats and fair fruits and bright red wine in cups of sparkling silver.
"Now, doctor," said the gentleman, "sit down with us and take what best pleases you...."
(click on the link below to read the rest of the story)
•••••
The rest of this story by Lady Wilde may be found at:
http://www.faerylands.org/faerie/Wilde/doctor.html
Other stories by Lady Wilde are at:
http://www.faerylands.org/faerie/Wilde/
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B4) Queen Maeve by Lady Wilde, as found in Ancient Legends of Ireland
[A remarkable account is given in the Bardic Legends of a form that appeared to Maeve, queen of Connaught, on the eve of battle.]
Story:
Suddenly there stood before the queen's chariot, a tall and beautiful woman. She wore a green robe clasped with a golden bodkin, a golden fillet on her head, and seven braids for the Dead of bright gold were in her hand. Her skin was white as snow that falls in the night; her teeth were as pearls; her lips red as the berries of the mountain ash; her golden hair fell to the ground; and her voice was sweet as the golden harp-string when touched by a skillful hand.
"Who art thou, O woman?" asked the queen, in astonishment.
"I am Feithlinn, the fairy prophetess of the Rath of Cruachan," she answered.
"'Tis well, O Feithlinn the prophetess," said Maeve; "but what doest thou foresee concerning our hosts?"
"I foresee bloodshed; I foresee power; I foresee defeat!" answered the prophetess.
"My couriers have brought me good tidings!" said the queen; "my army is strong, my warriors are well-prepared. But speak the truth, O prophetess; for my soul knows no fear."
"I foresee bloodshed; I foresee victory!" answered the prophetess the second time.
"But I have nothing to fear from the Ultonians," said the queen, "for my couriers have arrived, and my enemies are under dread. Yet, speak the truth, O prophetess, that our hosts may know it."
"I foresee bloodshed; I foresee conquest; I foresee death!" answered the prophetess, for the third time.
"To me then it belongs not, thy prophecy of evil," replied the queen, in anger.
"Be it thine, and on thy own head."
And even as she spoke the prophet maiden disappeared, and the queen saw her no more.
But it so happened that, some time afterwards, Queen Maeve was cruelly slain by her own kinsman, at Lough Rea by the Shannon, to avenge the assistance she had given in war to the king of Ulster; there is an island in the lake where is shown the spot where the great queen was slain, and which is still known to the people as--the stone of the dead queen.
Maeve, the great queen of Connaught, holds a distinguished place in Bardic Legends. When she went to battle, it is said, she rode in an open car, accompanied by four chariots--one before, another behind, and one on each side--so that the golden assion on her head and her royal robes should not be defiled by the dust of the horses' feet, or the foam of the fiery steeds; for all the sovereigns of Ireland sat crowned with a diadem in battle, as they drove in their war-chariots, as well as in the festal and the public assemblies.
•••••
This story by Lady Wilde may be found at:
http://www.faerylands.org/faerie/Wilde/maeve.htm
Other stories by Lady Wilde are at:
http://www.faerylands.org/faerie/Wilde/
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B5) The Fairy Child
[From Patrick Kennedy's Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts (1866).]
Excerpt:
There was a sailor that lived up in Grange when he was at home; and one time, when he was away seven or eight months, his wife was brought to bed of a fine boy. She expected her husband home soon, and she wished to put off the christening of the child till he'd be on the spot. She and her husband were not natives of the country, and they were not as much afraid of leaving the child unchristened as our people would be.
Well, the child grew and throve, and the neighbors all bothered the woman to take him to Father M.'s to be baptized, and all they said was no use. "Her husband would be home soon, and then they'd have a joyful christening."
There happened to be no one sick up in that neighborhood for some time, so the priest did not come to the place, nor hear of the birth, and none of the people about her could make up their minds to tell upon her, it is such an ugly thing to be informing; and then the child was so healthy, and the father might be on the spot any moment.
So the time crept on, and the lad was a year and a half old, and his mother up to that time never lost five nights' rest by him; when one evening that she came in from binding after the reapers, she heard wonderful whingeing and lamenting from the little bed where he used to sleep. She ran over to him and asked him what ailed him. "Oh, mammy, I'm sick, and I'm hungry, and I'm cold; don't pull down that blanket." Well, the poor woman ran and got some boiled bread and milk as soon as she could, and
asked her other son, that was about seven years old, when he took sick.
"Oh, mother," says he, "he was as happy as a king, playing near the fire about two hours ago, and I was below in the room, when I heard a great rush like as if a whole number of fowls were flying down the chimley. I heard my brother giving a great cry, and then another sound like as if the fowls were flying out again; and when I got into the kitchen there he was, so miserable-looking that I hardly knew him, and he pulling his hair, and his clothes, and his poor face so dirty. Take a look at him, and try do you know him at all."
So when she went to feed him she got such a fright for his poor face was like an old man's, and his body, and legs, and arms, all thin and hairy. But still he resembled the child she left in the morning, and "mammy, mammy" was never out of his mouth. She heard of people being fairy-struck, so she supposed it was that that happened to him, but she never suspected her own child to be gone, and a fairy child left in its place...
(click on the link below to read the rest of the story)
•••••
The rest of this story may be found at Fairy Stories and Anecdotes:
http://www.faerylands.org/faerie/Story/
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B6) Finn Macumhail - an Irish myth
[This type of mythology is not told as much as the folktales.]
Have you heard of the salmon of knowledge? In ancient times when the fairy folk had a battle for the control of Erin, the fairy folk of the sidh had hidden all their knowledge past, present and future in the hazel trees growing along the banks of the river Boyne. When the sidh lost the last battle and retreated underground, the hazel trees were forgotten. And when the hazelnuts ripened and dropped into the Boyne, a wily salmon ate them.
So naturally, legends grew up around the salmon of knowledge and there was a prophesy that he could only be caught by one called Finn. The greatest hero of old Ireland was Fionn Macumhail, the leader of those brave champions of Erin, the Fianna, yet in times of greatest trouble, he could be seen sucking his thumb.
Just as young Finn Macumhail was born, his father was killed by jealous enemies. These enemies wanted to kill his son also. So his mother hid her baby in the forest with two women warriors. He had been named Diemna, but he was so blond, they called him Finn which means fair. Diemne learned from them all he needed to learn to be a respected member of the Fianna warriors, except poetry. To learn this he had to go along the river Boyne and seek the poet Finegas. He finally found the old poet’s camp. “My name is Diemne. I have wish to learn poetry for my warrior’s education. Will you accept me as a pupil?” “I will. Here.” And he thrust a fishing pole in Diemne’s hand and he immediately launched into an ancient poem.
And so Diemne stayed with the poet and spent many hours a day reciting the ancient poetry after Finegas. Finegas spent most of his time fishing. Now what Diemne found odd about that was that the poet did not like fish. One day when the young pupil came back from hunting, Finegas had his arms around a huge salmon. ”Help!” So Diemna held it until it didn’t move. “What kind of fish is it? It can’t be normal.” “Oh, it’s a very old species of salmon, lad.” “What are we going to do with it?” “I am going to eat it.” “But you don’t like fish.” “Well, this fish is special. You clean it and cook it and wake me the second it is ready. And you are not to eat so much as a morsel, do you hear me?” ”Yessir.”
The boy put the fish over the fire and when it was nearly done a big blister raised on the skin so Diemne reached out to press it down with his thumb. OWW! He had to put his thumb in his mouth to cool it. Finegas awakened and in one look he saw the knowledge in Diemne’s eyes. “You know don’t you?” “Know what?” “Everything: past present and future. Diemne, have you any other name?” “Well I am called also called Finn” “Ahhh. I should have known years ago I was not the Finn in the prophesy. You may as well eat the rest of the fish, lad. It’s the salmon of knowledge you’ve just tasted and its no good to me any more. And besides I don’t like fish anyway.”
So it came to be that when the hero Finn Macumhail was in trouble, he sucked his thumb. And he would suddenly know everything, for he had tasted the salmon of knowledge.
•••••
Contributed by
Cathryn Fairlee
Cathryn Tells All
cfair@monitor.net
http://www.monitor.net/~cfair
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B7) The Story of Mac Datho's Pig
[The Scél Mucci Mic Dathó, or "Story of Mac Dathó's Pig," is regarded as one of the best of the Irish sagas. It belongs to the heroic cycle of Ulster, depicting some of the events which lead to the Táin Bó Cúalnge, the Cattle Raid of Cooley. Many, in fact, consider it to be a parody of earlier heroic tales.
The earliest known manuscript version of the tale is from the 12th century, but the time period in which the story takes place seems to be around the beginning of the Christian era. This text and the Index to Proper Names are from N. Kershaw Chadwick, An Early Irish Reader, Cambridge University Press.]
Excerpt:
There was a famous king of Leinster. Mac Dathó was his name. He had a hound; the hound defended the whole of Leinster. The hound's name was Ailbe, and Ireland was full of its fame. Messengers came from Ailill and Medb asking for the hound. Moreover at the same time there came also messengers from Conchobar Mac Nessa to ask for the same hound. They were all made welcome and brought to him in the hall. That is one of the six halls that were in Ireland at that time, the others being the hall of Da Derga in the territory of Cualu, and the hall of Forgall Manach, and the hall of Mac Dareo in Brefne, and the hall of Da Choca in the west of Meath, and the hall of Blai the landowner in Ulster. There were seven doors in that hall, and seven passages through it, and seven hearths in it, and seven cauldrons, and an ox and a salted pig in each cauldron. Every man who came along the passage used to thrust the flesh-fork into a cauldron, and whatever he brought out at the first catch was his portion. If he did not obtain anything at the first attempt he did not have another.
Now the messengers were brought to him in his place that he might learn their requests before the feast. They delivered their message: "We have come from Ailill and from Medb to beg the hound," said the messengers of Connaught; "and there shall be given three score hundred milch cows at once, and a chariot and two horses, the best in Connaught, and their equivalent gifts at the end of a year in addition to this."
"We also have come from Conchobar to ask for it," said the messengers from Ulster; "and Conchobar's value as a friend is no less-and to give you treasure and cattle; and the same amount shall be given you at the end of a year, and close friendship will be the result."
Thereupon our Mac Dathó lapsed into total silence and in this way he was a whole day(?) without drink, without food, without sleep, tossing from side to side. Then his wife said to him: "You are making a long fast. There is food beside you but you don't eat it. What ails you?"
He gave the woman no answer, so the woman said:
"Sleeplessness fell upon Mac Dathó at his home. There was something upon which he was brooding without speaking to anyone.
"He turns away from me and turns to the wall, the warrior of the Fían (?) of fierce valour; it causes concern to his prudent wife that her husband is sleepless."
The Man: "Crimthann Nia Nair said: 'Do not tell your secret to women.' The secret of a woman is not well kept. A treasure is not entrusted to a slave."...
(click below for the rest of the story)
•••••
http://adminstaff.vassar.edu/sttaylor/MacDatho/
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B8) Fergus O’Lorcain, The Irish Lad Who Had No Story as retold by the late Chuck Larkin, Bluegrass Storyteller
Excerpt:
Once upon a time, a long time ago, when the rich earth of Ireland was preparing to snooze under the Fall’s fi rst blanket of snow, Fergus O’Lorcain was returning home to celebrate the beginning of the long, cold winter with his family in the village of Dublin.
Fergus was a peddler. He carried a large wooden pack frame on his back. Attached snugly to the pack frame was an enormous, and spacious bag, almost empty, now that Fergus was returning home. When beginning a trip, Fergus would fi ll the vast knapsack to the brim with thick socks woven from wool, and a couple of thin blankets to use, when he had to camp out in the woods, which, to be truthful, was quite often.
On this trip, Fergus had ranged north along the coast of the Irish Sea visiting the camps of the Fianna warriors, who were preparing for winter. Now, while it was true that the Fianna were ready to buy Fergus’ socks, the Fianna otherwise shunned Fergus with much disdain. Fergus had a problem and this was the way of it.
In that ancient time, there were no motels or restaurants. A traveler would stay in someone’s home. Also in those days, there were no radios, television or newspapers. Any news outside of your village was brought by travelers, and the only entertainment available was provided by travelers.
When one visited in someone’s home, one paid for the room and board by entertaining the family. For example, to become a member of the Fianna warriors, man or woman, in addition to demonstrating extraordinary feats of athletic skills and fearlessness, you had to know twelve books of poetry by heart and be able to recite them. A Fianna warrior was not only brave and fierce in battle, but was also a poetic storyteller.
Fergus O’Lorcain did not know any poetry, did not know how to play a musical instrument, not even an Irish penny whistle! Can you believe that, not even a penny whistle! Fergus didn’t even know any news, except what his family was doing, when he left home last, and that never changed from trip to trip.
The real appalling and shocking truth, was the sad fact that Fergus O’Lorcain did not even know a story. In Ireland, everybody knew at least a story, even the wee children.
When Fergus O’Lorcain walked into a room, the people in the room got up and walked out, because in old Ireland no one would even stay in a room if no one was telling a story.
It did not take long for people all over Ireland to learn that there was a sock peddler, named Fergus O’Lorcain, who did not even know a story. When people saw Fergus on the road, they would run home, lock their doors and hide, and pretend no one was home. If they needed socks, they would meet Fergus on the road away from their homes to buy from him.
Something different happened on this trip. Fergus was walking home, with his hat pulled low over his face, so no one would recognize him. He was so embarrassed when he would meet someone who knew him. When people recognized Fergus, they would turn and run away, or sometimes would fall down and pretend they were dead.
Fergus was cold and tired from walking toward home all day. He had, as usual, slept in the woods the night before and had eaten the last of his food. He couldn’t buy any food from a farm, because he knew everybody would run away, or hide and pretend they were away visiting. He would have to stay hungry until he reached a village. It looked like he would have to sleep in the woods that night and without supper.
This is what Fergus later told us. “It was almost dark with a full moon rising, I decided to fi nd some long grass to pull together for a bed, when I realized I had left the foot path and was lost. I walked up hill to both pass the night and to get my bearings in the morning, when I realized, I, Fergus O’Lorcain, was myself, nowhere else but on Raven Hill.
Oh, the terror of that moment. My teeth started chattering. My limbs started shaking. I would have run, walked or crawled off Raven Hill but wouldn’t you know I was so scared, I was trembling and paralyzed with fear. There be no place in Ireland that has more bad tales about it than Raven Hill. I fell to the ground, I did. I crawled into the underbrush I did and pulled myself under a thick bush.
I pulled together a pile of leaves, put my two thin blankets on the leaves then covered it all with a high mound of more leaves and grass. I crawled in between the blankets in the middle of the pile, out of sight, and said my prayers fervently; made fists with two fingers on both sides of my thumbs to ward off the bad dreams and fend off any other wicked thing that might be about on Raven Hill.
I must have fallen asleep. When I next popped open my eyes, and peeped out between my blankets, it was pitch black night, the moon was not yet up. Something had startled me awake.”
“Fergus! Fergus O’Lorcain! We know you’re here! Where are you, you young rapscallion?”
“Who’s calling me? Where are you?” Fergus pounced to his feet, in the middle of the bush. “What do you want with me? I don’t see no one, where are you?”...
(click below for the rest of the story)
•••••
The rest of this story and many others may be found at Chuck Larkin's website:
http://chucklarkin.com/stories.html
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B9) Bridget
[Collected from Jack Kenny and adapted by Bluegrass Storyteller Chuck Larkin Atlanta, GA, USA Hello to Storytellers I gift thee this and as was in the olden Sencha Bardic days blessed be those who learn the flowing image and tell before adding their own souls to the story.]
Story:
Bridget Kenny was born, I was told, on one of the Islands off the Irish coast towards the close of the last century. Which island I don’t recall. She lived at the time of this story with her mother May Kenny in the home of her Uncle Jim Fitspatrick, a Pastor of the local church.
Bridget as a child was not unlike like any of the other Island children with the exception of her reputation of being fearless. By the time she was in her teens she had withstood so many attempts by the children of her village to frighten her they had given up trying to even startle her. And this is the story of her strange adventure.
Bridget was passing her uncle’s church on the way home when she seen some friends over in the Church’s graveyard opening a new grave and stopped to visit.
“Hay Bridg did you come to give us a hand with the digging?”
“Ah no you seem to have plenty of hands and time to do your work.”
It was a bit after she had stopped and was chatting with her friends when one of the digger’s shovel hit a hard object. Clearing out the dirt Shawn uncovered a huge leg bone and with a grin lifted it up for the others to see.
“Hay Bridg what do you think?”
“Pass it up here Shawn and let me hold it.”
Bridget stood there holding the huge leg bone in both hands.
“Aye this once must have been a huge man.”
“Shawn you need to rebury this’un.”
“We’ll do it Bridg, it must have been one of the old Fianna warriors”
“But I’ll tell you boys one thing, I, Bridget Kenny, would love to kiss a man this big.”
And with that comment and the chuckles from the fellows the leg bone was returned to the grave.
That evening after supper, Pastor Jim said, “Bridget would you do me a favor and run a short errand. I left some papers on the pulpit at the church that I need for the sermon I’m working on. Would you mind fetching them for me?”
“Yes Uncle I’ll be back in a bit.” The night was dark, with a bit of star and moon light, enough to see by as Bridget went up along the path to the church. When she entered the sanctuary she lit a bit of a candle she was carrying and set it in the holder by the door. Going up to the front she found and picked up the papers and turned to leave.
That is when she noticed a man, a huge man, sitting in the last pew, although hardly sitting because by candle light he appeared to be barely able to wedge himself into the pew. As Bridget came down the isle she said,
“Good evening to you sir, and how are you?”
“Well I don’t really know Ms. Bridget. In the light I seem to be covered with a bit of dirt and grime and agh my beard is badly tangled. But it was a kiss you asked for so I have come to oblige you if you wish.”
“Oh my, well thank you sir and why not?”
Bridget leaned over just a tad and kissed him on the lips.
“I thank you for your” - but the man was fading from sight.
“Good night!”
Bridget picked up the candle, snuffed out the flame closed the doors and went home.
“Here are the papers, Uncle.”
“Thank you Bridget and did you have any trouble finding them?”
“Oh no Uncle but I did learn something tonight.”
“And what was that you learned?”
“I learned that sometimes you get your wishes.”
•••••
This story and many others may be found at Chuck Larkin's website:
http://chucklarkin.com/stories.html
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B10) Mary Culhaine
[A few years back a school board religious fuss over this story resulted in a need for a script. I found that both the Folktellers and Carol Birch had a manuscript version available from National Storytelling Association (NSA) on audio cassettes based on a published version from the early ’70s.
One will note that the dialogue between the characters returning to the grave yard in the published version is in an illogical reverse order. Logically the Cadaver asks the questions and Mary answers. I have included the Bible with holy water in order to upgrade to southern USA culture (our Bible thumping kids do not know “Holy Water”). The substitution of dirty water in some variations also is not logical.
Manuscript variants can be found titled “Mary Culhane and the Dead Man” in The Goblins Giggle, by Molly Bang and “The Blood Drawing Ghost” in Robert D. San Souci’s collection “Even More Short and Shivery.” I have also listened to a version told by a storyteller from Belfast, Ireland and this old Irish legend has many variations as the story involved teenagers and was quite different.]
Excerpt:
Jim Culhaine was walking home during the long shadows of the late afternoon. He was swinging his blackthorn walking stick, feeling good. Jim had been drinking with his friends and was a bit late for supper. He decided to take a short cut through the cemetery. Just as he was about to step over the wall to the woods path he noticed a fresh opened grave! “Ah, now that’s a bit strange I wonder why the new grave? No one in Carlisle has died or I would have heard about the wake.” As Jim stood there thinking he heard a strange groaning sound from the open grave. The noise startled him! He gave a jump, dropped his blackthorn walking stick, turned and leaped over the wall. Jim being a bit skittish quickly went through the woods path and the streets to his house.
The family was already seated at the dinner table. As Jim sat down he said, “ah, I dropped my walking stick!” His daughter Mary Culhaine, who was about 18 years old at the time said, “Daddy where did you drop it?” “I remember something startled me as I was crossing the graveyard and I dropped it just inside of the wall by the woods path. I’ll fetch it in the morning.” “Daddy I’ll fetch it for you now.” Before any body could stop her Mary was up and running out the door. She ran down the street through the woods path and hopped over the wall. It was now dusk. In the darkness she could still see the long slender black walking stick in the grass.
As Mary was bending over to pick up the stick when she heard. “Mary, Mary Culhaine, come over here and help me out of this grave.” Mary started to turn and head for the wall but she found she could not move. A force held her and she found herself standing and turning. Slowly, struggling she was being forced to walk toward a gaping hole of an open grave which looked like a deeper blackness on the dark ground. “Mary reach down here and help me up out of this grave.” Mary found herself kneeling down on the side of the grave and then her hand on its own began to reach down into the darkness. Something cold and clammy grabbed hold of her hand and began pulling itself up out of the grave. The creature next climbed onto her back, wrapped its arms around her neck and legs around her waist. “All right Mary stand up and take me into the town.” Mary found herself slowly standing and with the creature holding and ridding her piggy back turned and crossed the graveyard wall.
Mary left the woods path and started walking down the street. As she was passing the fi rst house the creature said, “Mary stop here.” “Sniff, sniff, sniff. Keep going to the next house Mary.” Mary found herself being stopped at each house while the creature sniffed the air. When they reached the corner the creature lifted one arm and pointed. “Mary turn that way.” In the moonlight Mary could see the outstretched arm. She could see where the fl esh had rotted off the bones and parts of the creature’s skeleton were visible, plus it smelt pretty bad! “What is it you are smelling for?” “Mary I am smelling each house looking for a house without any holy water or Bibles in it. Keep moving. Stop here, sniff, sniff, sniff. Now the next house.”
House after house they stopped and the creature, an old dead cadaver sniffed the air. Finely the creature said, “ah Mary here is a house with no holy water or Bibles. We will go in here.” Mary looked up at the house in the moonlight and recognized the Finnagin home. She knew that there were three teenage boys upstairs sleeping in the front bedroom and there parents were sleeping in the upstairs back bedroom. “I don’t want to go in their home, we will wake them up!” “No one wakes up Mary when we go into their homes. Now do it.” Mary tried to resist but the creatures power was too strong and they entered the house.
“Take me into the kitchen Mary.” When they reached the kitchen the cadaver slipped off Mary’s back and sat on a chair by the kitchen table. “Mary fix me two bowls of oatmeal.”...
(click below for the rest of the story)
•••••
The rest of this story and many other Irish tales may be found at Chuck Larkin's website:
http://chucklarkin.com/stories.html
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B11 - The Hunt
[An Irish Celtic Tale about Fianna Warriors adapted by Bluegrass Storyteller Chuck Larkin.]
Excerpt:
Finn was on a hunt with Diarmuid of the LoveSpot, ah poor Diarmuid, just above his right eye, he had a spot that when a woman looked upon it, oh poor lass, she fell in love with Diarmuid. He took to wearing his hat tilted down over his right eye to cover the spot to gain some peace and thus began the tradition of young men over the centuries to our time to also tilt their hats over their right eye. Great Conan also was with Finn and Diarmuid. Conan was a giant of a warrior. If you passed Conan on a path and you carried a frown on your face that was your invitation to be punched on the nose by Conan or if a Lass left her door open while brewing a bark tea that was an invitation for Conan to drop in for a visit.
These great Irish Celtic heroes were Fianna warriors and to be of the Fianna, man or woman you had to pass great feats of athletic skill and courage and also you had to know twelve books of poetry by heart. Finn himself ,he was well known in his day as a poet, aye that he was.
On this day of sport, soon after the rising of the sun, they spied a great white buck deer and began the chase to reach within a spear toss. As hard as they ran in turns none were able to close the gap for a spear toss. By mid day, they had left the wood and were on a wide flat moor. ‘Twas late in the afternoon, it was, it was, when Finn called his companions to a halt. “See there to the west, a storm is brewing and moving this way. We’d best go back to the forest where we can fi nd shelter and wood for a fire.”
They did, they did turn back and after a bit as the shadows grew long, Conan spoke; “ There to the left is that not a light, perhaps a cabin? Though I don’t recall any living here abouts. Should we not turn aside and see for ourselves?” “Aye,” said the others. And sure as it can be, it was a small dwelling they approached. On arrival Finn rapped on the door with the butt end of his long slender hunting spear.
From inside, they heard an old piddling wizened voice. “I hear you, I hear you, and I know who ye be! But ‘fore I let ye in me cabin, I want your word you will act as perfect gentlemen or you will answer to me, aye, you will answer to me.”
Finn with a huge grin on his face and a bit of a chuckle over the threat responded, “Aye you have our word, we will, we will be perfect gentlemen."
The door slowly opened. There in the firelight, stood a little man, heavy with the weight of age, long in gray hair, below his shoulders it was, it was and beard to his waist. “Come in, come in and sit there by the table," and in a squeaky voice, “remember to mind your manners.”
Leaving their hunting spears outside by the door they entered, “Oh, we will, we will,” politely and solemnly said the three. They looked about the cabin, not unusual, one other door and a little billy goat prancing about. The door opened and in came a young woman in glistening green attire and a wild head of red hair. “Well now, welcome to our home, I’ll start a bit of dinner for us.”
As she moved toward the fireplace, didn’t Diarmuid himself stare and startled, sucked in a mighty huff of air. He was frozen motionless and could only follow her with his eyes. Diarmuid after a moment and a shudder reached up and whipped his hat off his head to uncover the lovespot. “Aye, Lass, you are so beautiful, so beautiful, your voice sings deep, deep, deep into my soul. I don’t mean to be so froward but would you wed with me?”...
(click below for the rest of the story)
•••••
The rest of this story and many other Irish tales may be found at Chuck Larkin's website:
http://chucklarkin.com/stories.html
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B12) Connla and the Fairy Maiden
[Source: Celtic Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs.]
Story:
ONNLA of the Fiery Hair was son of Conn of the Hundred Fights. One day as he stood by the side of his father on the height of Usna, he saw a maiden clad in strange attire coming towards him.
"Whence comest thou, maiden?" said Connla.
"I come from the Plains of the Ever Living," she said, "there where there is neither death nor sin. There we keep holiday alway, nor need we help from any in our joy. And in all our pleasure we have no strife. And because we have our homes in the round green hills, men call us the Hill Folk."
The king and all with him wondered much to hear a voice when they saw no one. For save Connla alone, none saw the Fairy Maiden.
"To whom art thou talking, my son?" said Conn the king.
Then the maiden answered, "Connla speaks to a young, fair maid, whom neither death nor old age awaits. I love Connla, and now I call him away to the Plain of Pleasure, Moy Mell, where Boadag is king for aye, nor has there been complaint or sorrow in that land since he has held the kingship. Oh, come with me, Connla of the Fiery Hair, ruddy as the dawn with thy tawny skin. A fairy crown awaits thee to grace thy comely face and royal form. Come, and never shall thy comeliness fade, nor thy youth, till the last awful day of judgment."
The king in fear at what the maiden said, which he heard though he could not see her, called aloud to his Druid, Coran by name.
"Oh, Coran of the many spells," he said, "and of the cunning magic, I call upon thy aid. A task is upon me toogreat for all my skill and wit, greater than any laid upon me since I seized the kingship. A maiden unseen has met us, and by her power would take from me my dear, my comely son. If thou help not, he will be taken from thy king by woman's wiles and witchery."
Then Coran the Druid stood forth and chanted his spells towards the spot where the maiden's voice had been heard. And none heard her voice again, nor could Connla see her longer. Only as she vanished before the Druid's mighty spell, she threw an apple to Connla.
For a whole month from that day Connla would take nothing, either to eat or to drink, save only from thatapple. But as he ate it grew again and always kept whole. And all the while there grew within him a mighty yearning and longingafter the maiden he had seen.
But when the last day of the month of waiting came, Connla stood by the side of the king his father on the Plain of Arcomin, and again he saw the maiden come towards him, and again she spoke to him.
"'Tis a glorious place, forsooth, that Connla holds among shortlived mortals awaiting the day of death. Butnow the folk of life, the ever-living ones, beg and bid thee come to Moy Mell, the Plain of Pleasure, for they have learnt to know thee, seeing thee in thy home among thy dear ones.
When Conn the king heard the maiden's voice he called to his men aloud and said:
"Summon swift my Druid Coran, for I see she has again this day the power of speech."
Then the maiden said: "Oh, mighty Conn, fighter of a hundred fights, the Druid's power is little loved; it has little honour in the mighty land, peopled with so many of the upright. When the Law will come, it will do away with the Druid's magic spells that come from the lips of the false black demon."Then Conn the king observed that since the maiden came Connla his son spoke to none that spake to him. So Conn of the hundred fights said to him, "Is it to thy mind what the woman says, my son?"
" 'Tis hard upon me," then said Connla; "I love my own folk above all things; but yet, but yet a longing seizes me for the maiden."
When the maiden heard this, she answered and said: "The ocean is not so strong as the waves of thy longing. Come with me in my curragh, the gleaming, straight-gliding crystal canoe. Soon we can reach Boadag's realm. I see the bright sun sink, yet far as it is, we can reach it before dark. There is, too, another land worthy of the journey, a land joyous to all that seek it. Only wives and maidens dwell there. If thou wilt, we can seek it and live there alone together in joy."
[4] When the maiden ceased to speak, Connla of the Fiery Hair rushed away from them and sprang into the curragh, the gleaming, straight-gliding crystal canoe. And then they all, king and court, saw it glide away over the bright sea towards the setting sun. Away and away, till eye could see it no longer, and Connla and the Fairy Maiden went their way on the sea, and were no more seen, nor did any know where they came.
•••••
This story and many other Celtic tales may be found at:
The Baldwin Project - Bringing Yesterday's Classics to Today's Children
http://www.mainlesson.com/display.php?author=jacobs&book=celtic&story=_contents
Other stories included:
Guleesh
The Field of Boliauns
The Horned Women
Conall Yellowclaw
Hudden and Dudden and Donald O'Neary
The Shepherd of Myddvai
The Sprightly Tailor
The Story of Deirdre
Munachar and Manachar
Gold-Tree and Silver-Tree
King O'Toole and His Goose
The Wooing of Olwen
Jack and His Comrades
The Shee an Gannon and the Gruagach Gaire
The Story-Teller at Fault
The Sea-Maiden
A Legend of Knockmany
Fair, Brown, and Trembling
Jack and His Master
Beth Gellert
The Tale of Ivan
Andrew Coffey
The Battle of the Birds
Brewery of Eggshells
The Lad with the Goat-Skin
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B13) The Sea-Maiden
[Source: Celtic Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs.]
Excerpt:
HERE was once a poor old fisherman, and one year he was not getting much fish. On a day of days, while he was fishing, there rose a sea-maiden at the side of his boat, and she asked him, "Are you getting much fish?" The old man answered and said, "Not I." "What reward would you give me for sending plenty of fish to you? "Ach!" said the old man, "I have not much to spare." "Will you give me the first son you have?" said she. "I would give ye that, were I to have a son," said he. "Then go home, and remember me when your son is twenty years of age, and you yourself will get plenty of fish after this." Everything happened as the sea-maiden said, and he himself got plenty of fish; but when the end of the twenty years was nearing, the old man was growing more and more sorrowful and heavy hearted, while he counted each day as it came.
He had rest neither day nor night. The son asked his father one day, "Is any one troubling you?" The old [145] man said, "Some one is, but that's nought to do with you nor any one else." The lad said, "I must know what it is." His father told him at last how the matter was with him and the sea-maiden. "Let not that put you in any trouble," said the son; "I will not oppose you." "You shall not; you shall not go, my son, though I never get fish any more." "If you will not let me go with you, go to the smithy, and let the smith make me a great strong sword, and I will go seek my fortune."
His father went to the smithy, and the smith made a doughty sword for him. His father came home with the sword. The lad grasped it and gave it a shake or two, and it flew into a hundred splinters. He asked his father to go to the smithy and get him another sword in which there should be twice as much weight; and so his father did, and so likewise it happened to the next sword—it broke in two halves. Back went the old man to the smithy; and the smith made a great sword, its like he never made before. "There's thy sword for thee," said the smith, "and the fist must be good that plays this blade." The old man gave the sword to his son; he gave it a shake or two. "This will do," said he; "it's high time now to travel on my way."
On the next morning he put a saddle on a black horse that his father had, and he took the world for his pillow. When he went on a bit, he fell in with the carcass of a sheep beside the road. And there were a great black dog, a falcon, and an otter, and they were quarrelling over the spoil. So they asked him to divide it for them. He came down off the horse, and he divided the carcass amongst the three. Three shares to the dog, two shares to the otter, [146] and a share to the falcon. "For this," said the dog, "if swiftness of foot or sharpness of tooth will give thee aid, mind me, and I will be at thy side." Said the otter, "If the swimming of foot on the ground of a pool will loose thee, mind me, and I will be at thy side." Said the falcon, "If hardship comes on thee, where swiftness of wing or crook of a claw will do good, mind me, and I will be at thy side."
On this he went onward till he reached a king's house, and he took service to be a herd, and his wages were to be according to the milk of the cattle. He went away with the cattle, and the grazing was but bare. In the evening when he took them home they had not much milk, the place was so bare, and his meat and drink was but spare that night.
On the next day he went on further with them; and at last he came to a place exceedingly grassy, in a green glen, of which he never saw the like.
But about the time when he should drive the cattle homewards, who should he see coming but a great giant with his sword in his hand? "HI! HO!! HOGARACH!!!" says the giant. "Those cattle are mine; they are on my land, and a dead man art thou." "I say not that," says the herd; "there is no knowing, but that may be easier to say than to do."
He drew the great clean-sweeping sword, and he neared the giant. The herd drew back his sword, and the head was off the giant in a twinkling. He leaped on the black horse, and he went to look for the giant's house....
[click below for the rest of this story]
•••••
This rest of this story and many other Celtic tales may be found at:
The Baldwin Project - Bringing Yesterday's Classics to Today's Children
http://www.mainlesson.com/display.php?author=jacobs&book=celtic&story=_contents
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B14) Mongan's Frenzy
Excerpt:
CHAPTER I
The abbot of the Monastery of Moville sent word to the story-tellers of Ireland that when they were in his neighbourhood they should call at the monastery, for he wished to collect and write down the stories which were in danger of being forgotten.
"These things also must he told," said he.
In particular he wished to gather tales which told of the deeds that had been done before the Gospel came to Ireland.
"For," said he, "there are very good tales among those ones, and it would be a pity if the people who come after us should be ignorant of what happened long ago, and of the deeds of their fathers."
So, whenever a story-teller chanced in that neighbourhood he was directed to the monastery, and there he received a welcome and his fill of all that is good for man.
The abbot's manuscript boxes began to fill up, and he used to regard that growing store with pride and joy. In the evenings, when the days grew short and the light went early, he would call for some one of these manuscripts and have it read to him by candle-light, in order that he might satisfy himself that it was as good as he had judged it to be on the previous hearing.
One day a story-teller came to the monastery, and, like all the others, he was heartily welcomed and given a great deal more than his need.
He said that his name was Cairide', and that he had a story to tell which could not be bettered among the stories of Ireland.
The abbot's eyes glistened when he heard that. He rubbed his hands together and smiled on his guest.
"What is the name of your story?" he asked.
"It is called 'Mongan's Frenzy.'"
"I never heard of it before," cried the abbot joyfully.
"I am the only man that knows it," Cairide' replied.
"But how does that come about?" the abbot inquired.
"Because it belongs to my family," the story-teller answered. "There was a Cairide' of my nation with Mongan when he went into Faery. This Cairide' listened to the story when it was first told. Then he told it to his son, and his son told it to his son, and that son's great-great-grandson's son told it to his son's son, and he told it to my father, and my father told it to me."
"And you shall tell it to me," cried the abbot triumphantly.
"I will indeed," said Cairide'. Vellum was then brought and quills. The copyists sat at their tables. Ale was placed beside the story-teller, and he told this tale to the abbot.....
(click below for the rest of the story)
•••••
This rest of this long story and full text for many more may be found at Rick Walton's website:
http://www.rickwalton.com/folktale/irish10.htm
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B15) Maudie McKenzie - an Irish tale as told by Linda Spitzer © 2003
[This is one of those jokes that is strtched out, but quite funny to tell not with an accent but just inflection.]
Story:
Have you ever wanted three wishes? Listen to what happened to Maudie Mckenzie and her three wishes.
Maudie Mckenzie was not nice, not nice at all. In fact, she was downright nasty to people. No one liked her.She was old, and crotchety, she wasn't very pretty, she was all bent over and she didn't have a friend in the world. Her only companion was her big black tom cat---- she called him Tom. He went everywhere with her so people used to think she was a witch. Maudie really got on everyone's nerves the instant she had contact with them, so she stayed pretty much to herself. And that made everyone in her town happy.
One day Maudie was walking down the street with her big black Tom cat … Tom when whom should she meet? but the devil himself.
“Why Maudie, just the person I wanted to see. You're wastin' your time down here don't ya know.
"I know me life's dull, but that's because nobody likes me."
"Well, Maudie, if you sell your soul to me----I'll give you three wishes, then you can have all the friends you ever wanted. How would you like to have three wishes, anything you want. Maudie----All you have to do is ----sell me your soul.”
"I don't want any friends, I never had any friends And just what would I do with three wishes?"
"Well you could have riches, you could have clothes, a nice house. Maudie, just think of all the other things you could wish for."
"Well, come to think of it, I can think of a few things to wish for. But I'll make a bargain with ya."
"What's that Maudie?What kind of bargain are you wanting to make with the likes of me?"
"If you give me those three wishes-- right today mind you, and let me live my life out on earth ---then when me times up, I'll come and live with you."
The devil thought for only a wee moment---then ….snapped his fingers and said--
"Well then, Maudie…the deal is done. I'll give you any three wishes you want right now and let you live your life out on earth, …..but when your time's up……then you're going to come along with me …….Now Maudie, …….what's your first wish?"
"Well…… I'm not very pretty, and I'm old and misshapen. For my first wish I'd like you to make me young and beautiful, in fact ----make me the most beautiful creature on earth."
The Devil snapped his fingers----and THERE SHE WAS—the most beautiful thing you ever wanted to lay eyes on…..a regular Marilyn Monroe she was.
"Now Maudie, what's your second wish to be?"
"Well…….I always wanted to live in a big house. See up there on yonder hill? I would like you to build me a great big mansion to live in, and I want you to stock it with all the food and clothes I'll ever need the rest of me life. And I want to have all the servants I need to take care of my every need, a maid, a cook, and oh yes, lots of money to take care of myself and decorate the house in a fancy style. But mind you, I don't like shopping. Someone else will have to do that."
This woman could sure pack a lot of things into one wish couldn't she?--. But---the devil snapped his fingers and there up on yon hill was a magnificent mansion with beautiful landscaping and big fancy cars parked outside and a big wall around it so she wouldn' be bothered. Inside was a big screen plasma TV, all the latest appliances and computer games, and a cook and a maid, a laundress and a butler like she asked for.
"Now Maudie, what's your last wish going to be? You don't want to live in that big mansion all alone do ya? Don't you want a husband or a companion to live with you in that fine mansion?"
Maudie had an idea. "Well, come to think. It would get awfully lonesome. I'm not used to be living in such finery. And I would hate to leave my big black tomcat behind.Yes, I think I will ask for a companion. Can you change my Black tomcat into a handsome young lad with curly black hair and big muscles----like a movie star? And nice and pleasant to me as well. I'd like that ver-r-ry much."
The devil listened to Maudie's last request and took one look at that cat and one look at Maudie and he smiled----a wicked smile. He snapped his fingers and said DONE! And the devil disappeared.
There in front of Maudie was the most handsome creature you ever wanted to see----a tall, muscular, strapping young man with black curly hair. He wore tight fitting clothes to show off all his bulging muscles and 6-pack abs.
Maudie gasped, he was so gorgeous. But then, so was she. They danced arm in arm all the way up the road to the mansion. The butler let them in.The cook made them a sumptuous dinner and they drank a little wine… and after dinner they watched a little bit of TV until they were so tired.. Then Maudie yawned and whispered, “Tom …..come upstairs to bed.”
Tom got undressed put on his new silk pajamas and got right under the covers. Maudie got undressed in the bathroom, put on a slinky silk leopard print negligee - a very seductive nightgown and walked over to her dressing table and sat down in front of the mirror. She took the pins out of her long golden blond hair and her hair cascaded in a soft flow down to her bare shoulders. She started brushing her beautiful hair while Tom watched her every move.
Maudie looked at herself in the mirror. She was drop-dead gorgeous and very young. As she combed her hair ---she thought to herself----"I'm just the luckiest lady in the whole world. I have everything I ever wanted to have. I have a handsome young lad and I'm just so gorgeous. I'm the luckiest lady alive." And then Maudie got into bed with her young laddie, she slipped under the sheets and she snuggled up to him.
Maudie reached for her handsome young laddie and started hugging him and kissing him and massaging him in all the right places. But all of a sudden----- Tom pushed her away.
"Tom, what's wrong? I want you to make love to me."
"I can't do that, Maudie."
"Well, Tom, why can't you make love to me? I planned it that way."
"Well Maudie, I have something to tell you…..don't you remember? ----A few years ago you took me to the vetrinarian for that little operation?"
•••••
Contributed by
Linda Spitzer
Storyteller in Lake Worth, Florida
Just for the Tell of it
Floridastorygal@aol.com
http://www.storyqueen.com
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B16) The Fate of the Children of Lir - a well-known Irish myth
Excerpt:
Now at the time when the Tuatha de Danaan chose a king for themselves after the battle of Tailltin, and Lir heard the kingship was given to Bodb Dearg, it did not please him, and he left the gathering without leave and with no word to any one; for he thought it was he himself had a right to be made king. But if he went away himself, Bodb was given the kingship none the less, for not one of the five begrudged it to him but only Lir. And it is what they determined, to follow after Lir, and to burn down his house, and to attack himself with spear and sword, on account of his not giving obedience to the king they had chosen. "We will not do that," said Bodb Dearg, "for that man would defend any place he is in; and besides that," he said, "I am none the less king over the Tuatha de Danaan, although he does not submit to me."
All went on like that for a good while, but at last a great misfortune came on Lir, for his wife died from him after a sickness of three nights. And that came very hard on Lir, and there was heaviness on his mind after her. And there was great talk of the death of that woman in her own time.
And the news of it was told all through Ireland, and it came to the house of Bodb, and the best of the Men of Dea were with him at that time. And Bodb said: "If Lir had a mind for it," he said, "my help and my friendship would be good for him now, since his wife is not living to him. For I have here with me the three young girls of the best shape, and the best appearance, and the best name in all Ireland, Aobh, Aoife, and Ailbhe, the three daughters of Oilell of Aran, my own three nurslings." The Men of Dea said then it was a good thought he had, and that what he said was true.
Messages and messengers were sent then from Bodb Dearg to the place Lir was, to say that if he had a mind to join with the Son of the Dagda and to acknowledge his lordship, he would give him a foster-child of his foster-children. And Lir thought well of the offer, and he set out on the morrow with fifty chariots from Sidhe Fionnachaidh; and he went by every short way till he came to Bodb's dwelling-place at Loch Dearg, and there was a welcome before him there, and all the people were merry and pleasant before him, and he and his people got good attendance that night.
And the three daughters of Oilell of Aran were sitting on the one seat with Bodb Dearg's wife, the queen of the Tuatha de Danaan, that was their foster-mother. And Bodb said: "You may have your choice of the three young girls, Lir." "I cannot say," said Lir, "which one of them is my choice, but whichever of them is the eldest, she is the noblest, and it is best for me to take her." "If that is so," said Bodb, "it is Aobh is the eldest, and she will be given to you, if it is your wish." "It is my wish," he said. And he took Aobh for his wife that night, and he stopped there for a fortnight, and then he brought her away to his own house, till he would make a great wedding-feast.
And in the course of time Aobh brought forth two children, a daughter and a son, Fionnuala and Aodh their names were. And after a while she was brought to bed again, and this time she gave birth to two sons, and they called them Fiachra and Conn. And she herself died at their birth. And that weighed very heavy on Lir, and only for the way his mind was set on his four children he would have gone near to die of grief.
The news came to Bodb Dearg's place, and all the people gave out three loud, high cries, keening their nursling. And after they had keened her it is what Bodb Dearg said: "It is a fret to us our daughter to have died, for her own sake and for the sake of the good man we gave her to, for we are thankful for his friendship and his faithfulness. However," he said, "our friendship with one another will not be broken, for I will give him for a wife her sister Aoife."
When Lir heard that, he came for the girl and married her, and brought her home to his house. And there was honour and affection with Aoife for her sister's children; and indeed no person at all could see those four children without giving them the heart's love.
And Bodb Dearg used often to be going to Lir's house for the sake of those children; and he used to bring them to his own place for a good length of time, and then he would let them go back to their own place again. And the Men of Dea were at that time using the Feast of Age in every hill of the Sidhe in turn; and when they came to Lir's hill those four children were their joy and delight, for the beauty of their appearance; and it is where they used to sleep, in beds in sight of their father Lir. And he used to rise up at the break of every morning, and to lie down among his children.
But it is what came of all this, that a fire of jealousy was kindled in Aoife, and she got to have a dislike and a hatred of her sister's children.
Then she let on to have a sickness, that lasted through nearly the length of a year. And the end of that time she did a deed of jealousy and cruel treachery against the children of Lir.
And one day she got her chariot yoked, and she took the four children in it, and they went forward towards the house of Bodb Dearg; but Fionnuala had no mind to go with her, for she knew by her she had some plan for their death or their destruction, and she had seen in a dream that there was treachery against them in Aoife's mind. But all the same she was not able to escape from what was before her....
(click below for the rest of the story)
•••••
The rest of this story may be found at:
http://www.mc.maricopa.edu/~tomshoemaker/celtic/Lir.html
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B17) Irish Myths and Legends
The Tuatha Dé Danaan
The Second Battle of Mag Tured
The Landing of the Gael
Amairgin's "The Mystery": Ireland's First Poem
The Battle of Tailltin
Bodb Dearg
The Dagda
Angus Og
The Fennian Cycle
Cormac Mac Art in the Land of Sidhe
The Birth of Finn mac Cumhal
The Birth of Oisin
Oisin and Niam
The Fate of the Children of Lir
The Wooing of Etain
The Ulster Cycle
Táin Bó Cúalnge (The Cattle-Raid of Cooley) from the Book of Leinster
The Táin: Quarrel of the Pig-keepers
The Boyhood Deeds of Cu Chulainn
Bricriu's Feast
The Pursuit of Diarmuid and Grainne
Later Traditions
The Voyage of Bran mac Febal
Sixth Century Poem of Brehon Law
Ten Levels of Brehon Marriage
The Statutes of Kilkenny (1367)
Peter Beresford Ellis on the Toscad
Anonymous Poem: "Oisin"
Images of Pre-Christian Ireland
Web Resources
Brehon Law (Part of Social History of Ancient Ireland)
The Brehon Law Project: Law, Literature and Legend
Recommended Reading
Bradshaw, Bendan and Keogh, Daire. Christianity in Ireland: Revisiting the Story (Columba, 2003)
Ellis, Peter Beresford. The Druids (Eerdmans, 1998)
________________. Dictionary of Irish Mythology (ABC-Clio, 1989)
Green, Miranda. Celtic Goddesses: Warriors, Virgins and Mothers (George Braziller, 1996)
Power, Patrick C. Sex and Marriage in Ancient Ireland (Dufour, 1976)
Rogers, Nicholas. Halloween: From Pagan Ritual to Party Night (Oxford, 2002)
These stories are adapted from public domain sources.
•••••
For full-text stories, click on:
http://www.mc.maricopa.edu/~tomshoemaker/celtic/index.html
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B18) Gods and Fighting Men
[The story of the Tuatha De Danaan and of the Fianna of Ireland, by Lady Augusta Gregory [1904]. The first of over 80 stories in this cycle.]
Story:
IT was in a mist the Tuatha de Danaan, the people of the gods of Dana, or as some called them, the Men of Dea, came through the air and the high air to Ireland.
It was from the north they came; and in the place they came from they had four cities, where they fought their battle for learning: great Falias, and shining Gorias, and Finias, and rich Murias that lay to the south. And in those cities they had four wise men to teach their young men skill and knowledge and perfect wisdom: Senias in Murias; and Arias, the fair-haired poet, in Finias; and Urias of the noble nature in Gorias; and Morias in Falias itself. And they brought from those four cities their four treasures: a Stone of Virtue from Falias, that was called the Lia Fail, the Stone of Destiny; and from Gorias they brought a Sword; and from Finias a Spear of Victory; and from Murias the fourth treasure, the Cauldron that no company ever went away from unsatisfied.
It was Nuada was king of the Tuatha de Danaan at that time, but Manannan, son of Lir, was greater again. And of the others that were chief among them were Ogma, brother to the king, that taught them writing, and Diancecht, that understood healing, and Neit, a god of battle, and Credenus the Craftsman, and Goibniu the Smith. And the greatest among their women were Badb, a battle goddess; and Macha, whose mast-feeding was the heads of men killed in battle; and the Morrigu, the Crow of Battle; and Eire and Podia and Banba, daughters of the Dagda, that all three gave their names to Ireland afterwards; and Eadon, the nurse of poets; and Brigit, that was a woman of poetry, and poets worshipped her, for her sway was very great and very noble. And she was a woman of healing along with that, and a woman of smith's work, and it was she first made the whistle for calling one to another through the night. And' the one side of her face was ugly, but the other side was very comely. And the meaning of her name was Breo-saighit, a fiery arrow. And among the other women there were many shadow-forms and great queens; but Dana, that was called the Mother of the Gods, was beyond them all.
And the three things they put above all others were the plough and the sun and the hazel-tree, so that it was said in the time to come that Ireland was divided between those three, Coil the hazel, and Cecht the plough, and Grian the sun.
And they had a well below the sea where the nine hazels of wisdom were growing; that is, the hazels of inspiration and of the knowledge of poetry. And their leaves and their blossoms would break out in the same hour, and would fall on the well in a shower that raised a purple wave. And then the five salmon that were waiting there would eat the nuts, and their colour would come out in the red spots of their skin, and any person that would eat one of those salmon would know all wisdom and all poetry. And there were seven streams of wisdom that sprang from that well and turned back to it again; and the people of many arts have all drank from that well.
It was on the first day of Beltaine, that is called now May Day, the Tuatha de Danaan came, and it was to the north-west of Connacht they landed. But the Firbolgs, the Men of the Bag, that were in Ireland before them, and that had come from the South, saw nothing but a mist, and it lying on the hills.
Eochaid, son of Erc, was king of the Firbolgs at that time, and messengers came to him at Teamhair, and told him there was a new race of people come into Ireland, but whether from the earth or the skies or on the wind was not known, and that they had settled themselves at Magh Rein.
They thought there would be wonder on Eochaid when he heard that news; but there was no wonder on him, for a dream had come to him in the night, and when he asked his Druids the meaning of the dream, it is what they said, that it would not be long till there would be a strong enemy coming against him....
(click below for the rest of the story)
•••••
The rest of this story and all the others in this cycle may be found at:
http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/gafm/index.htm
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B19) Book One: Brigit, the Mary of the Gael - by Lady Augusta Gregory (1906)
Stories:
Brigit in her Young Youth
Now as to Brigit she was born at sunrise on the first day of the spring, of a bondwoman of Connacht. And it was angels that baptized her and that gave her the name of Brigit, that is a Fiery Arrow. She grew up to be a serving girl the same as her mother. And all the food she used was the milk of a white red-eared cow that was set apart for her by a druid. And everything she put her hand to used to increase, and it was she wove the first piece of cloth in Ireland, and she put the white threads in the loom that have a power of healing in them to this day. She bettered the sheep and she satisfied the birds and she fed the poor.
Brigit in her Father's House
And when she grew to be strong and to have good courage she went to her father Dubthach's house in Munster and stopped with him there. And one time there came some high person to the house, and food was made ready for him and for his people; and five pieces of bacon were given to Brigit, to boil them. But there came into the house a very hungry miserable hound, and she gave him out of pity a piece of the bacon. And when the hound was not satisfied with that she gave him another piece. Then Dubthach came and he asked Brigit were the pieces of bacon ready; and she bade him count them and he counted them, and the whole of the five pieces were there, not one of them missing. But the high guest that was there and that Brigit had thought to be asleep had seen all, and he told her father all that happened. And he and the people that were with him did not eat that meat, for they were not worthy of it, but it was given to the poor and to the wretched.
She Minds the Dairy
After that Brigit went to visit her mother that was in bondage to a druid of Connacht. And it is the way she was at that time, at a grass-farm of the mountains having on it twelve cows, and she gathering butter. And there was sickness on her, and Brigit cared her and took charge of the whole place. And the churning she made, she used to divide it first into twelve parts in honour of the twelve apostles of our Lord; and the thirteenth part she would make bigger than the rest, to the honour of Christ, and that part she would give to strangers and to the poor. And the serving boy wondered to see her doing that, but it is what she used to say: "It is in the name of Christ I feed the poor; for Christ is in the body of every poor man."
She Fills the Vessels
One time the serving boy went to the druid's house, and they asked was the girl minding the dairy well. And he said "I am thankful, and the calves are fat;" for he dared not say anything against the girl, and she not there. But the druid got word of what she was doing, and he came to visit the farm, and his wife along with him; and the cows were doing well, and the calves were fat. Then they went into the dairy, having with them a vessel eighteen hands in height. And Brigit bade them welcome and washed their feet, and made ready food for them, and after that they bade her fill up the vessel with butter. And she had but a churning and a half for them, and she went into the kitchen where it was stored and it is what she said:
"O my High Prince who can do all these things, this is not a forbidden asking; bless my kitchen with thy right hand!
"My kitchen, the kitchen of the white Lord; a kitchen that was blessed by my King; a kitchen where there is butter.
"My Friend is coming, the Son of Mary; it is he blessed my kitchen; the Prince of the world comes to this place; that there may be plenty with him!" After she had made that hymn she brought the half of the churning from the place where it was stored; and the druid's wife mocked at her and said "It is good filling for a large vessel this much is!" "Fill your vessel" said Brigit, "and God will add something to it." And she was going back to her kitchen and bringing half a churning every time and saying every time a verse of those verses. And if all the vessels of the men of Munster had been brought to her she would have filled the whole of them.
The Man that had Lost his Wife's Love
Brigit would give herself to no man in marriage but she took the veil and after that she did great wonders. There came to her one time a man making his complaint that his wife would not sleep with him but was leaving him, and he came asking a spell from Brigit that would bring back her love. And Brigit blessed water for him, and it is what she said: "Bring that water into your house, and put it in the food and in the drink and on the bed." And after he had done that, his wife gave him great love, so that she could not be as far as the other side of the house from him, but was always at his lumd. And one day he set out on a journey, leaving the wife in her sleep, and as soon as she awoke from her sleep she rose up and followed after her man till she saw him, and there was a strip of the sea between them. And she called out to him and it is what she said, that if he would not come back to her, she would go into the sea that was between them....
(click below for the rest of the stories about Brigit and for Books Two through Six)
•••••
The rest of the stories in Book One may be found at:
http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/saw/saw01.htm
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C. Miscellaneous Information about Ireland and the Irish
C1) Richard Marsh's website
Irish Myths, Legends, Folk Tales and International Stories
http://www.legendarytours.com
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C2) A Beginner's Guide to Irish Gaelic Pronunciation
http://www.standingstones.com/gaelpron.html
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C3) The Sounds of Irish with links
http://fiosfeasa.com/bearla/language/sounds.htm
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C4) Sound files of common expressions - just the thing to add to St. Patrick's Day stories.
http://www.travelblog.org/World/irish-language.html
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C5) Conrad Bladey's Irish Studies Pages
Including The Ancient Tales, The Monastic Tale, Ancient Lore and Sayings, Other Irish Treasures
http://mysite.verizon.net/cbladey/irish/HomePage.home.html
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C6) CELT: Corpus of Electronic Texts
The online resource for Irish history, literature and politics.
CELT, the Corpus of Electronic Texts, brings the wealth of Irish literary and historical culture to the Internet, for the use and benefit of everyone worldwide. It has a searchable online database consisting of contemporary and historical texts from many areas, including literature and the other arts.
http://www.ucc.ie/celt/index.html
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C7) Internet Sacred Text Archive
This website leads you to on-line texts of sacred myths and sagas and legends of several traditions from out-of-copyright books, including lots of good Irish stuff such as Lady Gregory's 2 books, Gods and Fighting Men and Cuchulain of Muirthemne.
http://www.sacred-texts.com/index.htm
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C8) The Irish Potato Famine Page
One Million died in Ireland alone....On September 9, 1845, the Irish newspapers first reported the potato blight which was to create the famine. The nation of Ireland had become dependent on the potato as the main ingredient in their diet.The uncompromising Irish people and leadership had sucessfully alienated their nearest powerful neighbor. Ancient cultural lifeways hindered cooperation and made certain foods taboo. Of course there was also some Imperial miss-management. When a fungus destroyed the potato crop, a nation starved and one million survivors left the island, many destined for America.
Much more information may be found at:
http://mysite.verizon.net/cbladey/patat/PotatCom.html
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C9) The Mudcat Cafe: Origins: Fields of Athenry
There's an interesting discussion about "Fields of Athenry" on the Mudcat website here. One of the members has done extensive research on the song (in Ireland), and has found absolutely no evidence to indicate that it was ever written or published at any time prior to 1979. Furthermore, the evidence indicates that the specific events described in the song are entirely fictional.....(although the historical context is not). Pete St. John has a website, and I suppose you could write him directly and ask him - but in snippets of interviews with him, he seems to indicate that the song was original with him. It seems that he wrote a song which resonated with so many, and fit so seamlessly into the tradition of Irish folksong, that it entered the folk lexicon, complete with attached mythology, within a vey short time. Parallels can be found in the world of storytelling.
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C10) Omniglot: A Guide to Written Language - excellent links with sound files
http://www.omniglot.com/writing/irish.htm
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C11) Irish Language Information - a very comprehensive site for all things Irish
http://www.solaseireann.com/temp/SolasLang.html#tools
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C12) Irish Myths, Legends and Folktales form the Ireland List — great music!
http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.com/~irelandlist/myth.html
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C13) Irish Language Information and Resources
Daltaí na Gaeilge is a tax exempt, not for profit corporation dedicated to promoting and teaching the Irish language. The English translation of our name is "Students of the Irish Language". Although many of our members are fluent Irish speakers and teachers, most of us are students still working hard to learn the language. ALL of our work is done by volunteers. We hope that our homepage will both encourage and assist you to learn the Irish language, which has the oldest living literature in Western Europe.
http://www.daltai.com/home.htm
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C14) The Trooping Fairies from Fairy and Folk Tales, edited by W.B. Yeats.
The Irish word for fairy is sheehogue [sidheóg], a diminutive of "shee" in banshee. Fairies are deenee shee [daoine sidhe] (fairy people).
Who are they? "Fallen angels who were not good enough to be saved, nor bad enough to be lost," say the peasantry. "The gods of the earth," says the Book of Armagh. "The gods of pagan Ireland," say the Irish antiquarians, "the Tuatha De Danaan, who, when no longer worshipped and fed with offerings, dwindled away in the popular imagination, and now are only a few spans high."
And they will tell you, in proof, that the names of fairy chiefs are the names of old Danaan heroes, and the places where they especially gather together, Danaan burying-places, and that the Tuatha De Danaan used also to be called the slooa-shee [sheagh sidhe] (the fairy host), or Marcra shee (the fairy cavalcade).
On the other hand, there is much evidence to prove them fallen angels. Witness the nature of the creatures, their caprice, their way of being good to the good and evil to the evil, having every charm but conscience--consistency. Beings so quickly offended that you must not speak much about them at all, and never call them anything but the "gentry", or else daoine maithe, which in English means good people, yet so easily pleased, they will do their best to keep misfortune away from you, if you leave a little milk for them on the window-sill over night. On the whole, the popular belief tells us most about them, telling us how they fell, and yet were not lost, because their evil was wholly without malice.
Are they "the gods of the earth"? Perhaps! Many poets, and all mystic and occult writers, in all ages and countries, have declared that behind the visible are chains on chains of conscious beings, who are not of heaven but of the earth, who have no inherent form but change according to their whim, or the mind that sees them. You cannot lift your hand without influencing and being influenced by hoards. The visible world is merely their skin. In dreams we go amongst them, and play with them, and combat with them. They are, perhaps, human souls in the crucible--these creatures of whim.
Do not think the fairies are always little. Everything is capricious about them, even their size. They seem to take what size or shape pleases them. Their chief occupations are feasting, fighting, and making love, and playing the most beautiful music. They have only one industrious person amongst them, the lepra-caun--the shoemaker. Perhaps they wear their shoes out with dancing. Near the village of Ballisodare is a little woman who lived amongst them seven years. When she came home she had no toes--she had danced them off.
They have three great festivals in the year--May Eve, Midsummer Eve, November Eve. On May Eve, every seventh year, they fight all round, but mostly on the "Plain-a-Bawn" (wherever that is), for the harvest, for the best ears of grain belong to them. An old man told me he saw them fight once; they tore the thatch off a house in the midst of it all. Had anyone else been near they would merely have seen a great wind whirling everything into the air as it passed. When the wind makes the straws and leaves whirl as it passes, that is the fairies, and the peasantry take off their hats and say, "God bless them."
On Midsummer Eve, when the bonfires are lighted on every hill in honour of St. John, the fairies are at their gayest, and sometimes steal away beautiful mortals to be their brides.
On November Eve they are at their gloomiest, for according to the old Gaelic reckoning, this is the first night of winter. This night they dance with the ghosts, and the pooka is abroad, and witches make their spells, and girls set a table with food in the name of the devil, that the fetch of their future lover may come through the window and eat of the food. After November Eve the blackberries are no longer wholesome, for the pooka has spoiled them.
When they are angry they paralyse men and cattle with their fairy darts.
When they are gay they sing. Many a poor girl has heard them, and pined away and died, for love of that singing. Plenty of the old beautiful tunes of Ireland are only their music, caught up by eavesdroppers. No wise peasant would hum "The Pretty Girl milking the Cow" near a fairy rath, for they are jealous, and do not like to hear their songs on clumsy mortal lips. Carolan, the last of the Irish bards, slept on a rath, and ever after the fairy tunes ran in his head, and made him the great man he was.
Do they die? Blake saw a fairy's funeral; but in Ireland we say they are immortal.
•••••
http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/yeats/fip/fip03.htm#page_3
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C15) Irish Stories
Most of our web pages and all of our publications contain stories. We believe in stories as part of the folk experience rather than simply presentation or performance. While there is nothing wrong with performances for patrons and this is an ancient tradition, it is our belief that stories must be a part of everyday folk experience. Stories need to be everywhere in our lives working their magic with us always. Hutman productions is dedicated to giving life to folk experience. We have lifted many many stories, sayings, verses, proverbs and ranns from the dusty pages of decaying books in reference libraries making them accessible via the Internet for everyone- for free. We have also written on the Internent concerning the folk experience and we have made proposals for the realm of the Oral Tradition and for festivals configured to convey folk experience and liberate folk resources from the clutches of commercialism. We hope that you will find that our work helpful with your folk experiences.
•••••
http://mysite.verizon.net/cbladey/irish/HomePage.home.html
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C16) The Ireland List - Irish Legends
Legends, Myths, and Folktales -- What are they?
http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.com/%7Eirelandlist/myth.html
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D. Irish Blessings, Sayings, Poems and Expressions
D1) May the road rise to meet you, the wind be...
May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
And the rain fall soft upon your fields
And until we meet again
May God hold you In the palm of His hand.
D2) May those who love us love us...
May those who love us love us.
And for those who don't love us,
May the Good Lord turn their hearts.
And for those who hearts won't turn,
May the Good Lord turn their ankles
So that we may know them by their limping.
D3) Walls for the wind...
Walls for the wind
And a roof for the rain
And drinks beside the fire.
Laughter to cheer you
And those you love near you
And all that your hearts may desire.
D4) And may you be in heaven...
And may you be in heaven an hour before the devil knows you're dead.
D5) May God be with you and bless you...
May God be with you and bless you,
May you see your children's children,
May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings.
May you know nothing but happiness
From this day forward.
D6) May the rain fall softly on you...
May the rain fall softly on you.
May the hand of God uphold you.
Christ before you, Christ behind you.
Christ beneath you, Christ above you.
Christ to shield you, Christ be with you.
Christ be with you now and always.
Christ in every eye that sees you.
Christ in every ear that hears you.
Christ in every heart that knows you.
Christ in every word that speaks of you.
Christ is on your left, Christ is on your right.
Christ when you lie down and rise up.
D7) May the Irish hills caress you...
May the Irish hills caress you.
May her lakes and rivers bless you.
May the luck of the Irish enfold you.
May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.
D8) May your neighbors respect you...
May your neighbors respect you,
Trouble neglect you,
The angels protect you,
And Heaven accept you..
D9) Always remember to forget...
Always remember to forget
The things that made you sad.
But never forget to remember
The things that made you glad.
Always remember to forget
The friends that proved untrue.
But never forget to remember
Those that have stuck by you.
Always remember to forget
The troubles that passed away.
But never forget to remember
The blessings that come each day..
D10) May you always have work for your hands to do...
May you always have work for your hands to do.
May your pockets hold always a coin or two.
May the sun shine bright on your windowpane.
May the rainbow be certain to follow each rain.
May the hand of a friend always be near you.
And may God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.
D11) May you live as long as you want...
May you live as long as you want,
And never want as long as you live.
D12) May you live to be a hundred years...
May you live to be a hundred years,
With one extra year to repent!
D13) May there be a generation of children...
May there be a generation of children
On the children of your children.
D14) May God grant you many years to live...
May God grant you many years to live
For sure He must be knowing
The earth has angels all too few
And heaven is overflowing.
D15) Be they kings, or poets, or farmers...
Be they kings, or poets, or farmers,
They're a people of great worth,
They keep company with the angels,
And bring a bit of heaven here to earth.
D16) The Mouse on the Barroom Floor
(An Irish Poem)
Some Guiness was spilt on the barroom floor
When the pub was shut for the night
Out of his hole crept a wee brown mouse
And stood in the pale moonlight
He lapped up the frothy brew from the floor
Then back on his haunches he sat
And all the night you could hear him roar
"Bring on the goddamn cat!"
•••••
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D17) Irish Expressions
Lose the run of oneself (lose control)
He was so crooked he could hide behind a corkscrew.
He couldn't go straight if he was shot out of a gun.
Happy as Larry - (probably from Lazarus)
Everyone thinks their geese are swans.
Them that rared you was fond of childer. (you are hard to like)
The old dog for the hard road, the pup for the path.
There are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught.
- from Eamonn Kelly's autobiography The Apprentice
I never liked you since I wronged you
- Seumas MacManus, Heavy Hangs the Golden Grain
He's as good as a man short. ... Whoever reared her would drown nothing.
- John Pepper, What A Thing to Say, Blackstaff Press, Belfast, 1977.
A Corkman will go into a revolving door behind you and come out in front of you.
- Cork storyteller Pat Speight
He'd throw a bar of Sunlight Soap to a drowning man and let him washhimself ashore.
- Kate Corkery
Sign outside Standúin's shop near Galway:
An áit a bhuil do chroí is ann a thabhartas do chosa thú.
pronunciation: uhn awt uh will duh khree iss awn uh HOW-artas duh khussa hoo
(kh is like Scottish ch in loch)
Literal translation: The place where your heart is is where your feet will take you.
He's that crooked, if he swallowed a nail he'd shit a corkscrew.
- (a neighbour about Eamonn de Valera, in Niall Toibin, Smile and Be a Villain, Town House and Country House, 1995, 1997, 2000 , p. 79)
Gone are the days when our arse was over our shoulders from tugging our forelocks. Toibin, Smile and Be a Villain, p. 296
The road to hell is well signposted but badly lit at night.
- Padraic O' Farrell, Gems of Irish Wisdom: Irish Proverbs and Sayings, Mercier, n.d.
•••••
Contributed by
Richard Marsh
http://www.legendarytours.com
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E. Irish Proverbs
E1) Women do not drink liquor, but it disappears when they are present.
E2) People live in one another’s shelter.
E3) There is not strength without unity.
E4) There are two sides to every story, and twelve versions of a song.
E5) Age is honorable and youth is noble.
E6) Youth sheds many a skin.
E7) He who comes with a story to you will bring two away from you.
E8) It is not a secret if it is known to three people.
E9) If you hit my dog you hit myself.
E10) A friend’s eye is a good mirror.
E11) Two shorten the road.
E12) Women keep their tongue in their pocket until they marry.
E13) The only cure for love is marriage.
E14) If you want to be criticized, marry.
E15) Work without end is a housewife’s work.
E16) A drink precedes a story.
E17) When the drink is inside, the sense is outside.
E18) Time is a great storyteller.
E19) The hen has ruffled feathers until she rears her brood.
E20) Patience is a poultice for all wounds.
E21) There is no need like the lack of a friend.
E22) A light heart lives long.
E23) “Walk straight, my son” – as the old crab said to the young crab.
•••••
[These are some of my favorites, taken from the book Ireland of the Proverb by Liam Mac Con Iomaire, Town House & Country House Publishers, Dublin, Ireland, c.1988.]
Contributed by
Leanne Johnson, Storyteller
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(Updated 3/12/05; 3/11/09)
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