The Legend of Carrickaphouka Castle.

The Legend of Carrickaphouka Castle.

Cormac Tadgh McCarthy.

After the battle of Kinsale In 1601, Cormac Tadgh McCarthy, Lord of Muskery, was made High Sheriff of Cork County.  The new ruling English were having problems with the defeated Irish Lords who refused to obey their new masters and McCarthy was given the

 

job of rounding up troublemakers.  Carrickaphouka Castle had a sinister reputation; its name means’ Rock of the pooka’, which is one of the most feared creatures of the fairie realm.  The Pooka was a shape shifter and could take many different forms; sometimes a horse, a goat with large horns, or a black dog.  McCarthy’s Castle stood upon this rock and the Pooka was said to inhabit the castle and its evil spread through the veins of Cormac Tadgh McCarthy.

One of the most troublesome rebel Lords was James Fitzgerald who was extremely popular and had a large following among the displaced nobility.  McCarthy invited Fitzgerald to Carrickaphouka Castle under the pretence of broaching a peace agreement between the Irish rebels and the English.  The meal that was served to Fitzgerald was poisoned but McCarthy wasn’t satisfied with just killing Fitzgerald, he wanted to impress the English Lords who were present. 

McCarthy ordered that the body be drained of blood and then cooked. He then started to eat the flesh and wash it down with goblets of Fitzgerald’s blood, the English were horrified.  When news of the night’s proceedings was spread throughout the countryside all of Ireland was horrified and outraged by his behaviour. In order to remove themselves from association with these gruesome deeds McCarthy’s clansmen tried to say that he was possessed by the evil spirit of the pooka but to no avail. Cormac McCarthy had to flee to France where he disappeared into obscurity.

However, after his death, Cormac McCarthy’s spirit was drawn back to the castle. It has been suggested that due to his depravity and cannibalistic tendency’s he has returned as a vampire like demon. Today, the Castle lies in ruins, locals will tell you that the sounds of wailing and painful screams can be heard at night coming from the ruins.  Anyone unlucky enough to have to walk past the castle at night will be attacked by unseen claws that rip the skin badly enough to draw blood, which is then lapped up by some invisible tongue.  There have even been reports of fresh blood seen on the castle gates.

Séan na Sagart.

Here is a story that has a connection to County Mayo. It’s about one of the vilest men County Mayo ever produced and his name was:

 

Séan na Sagart.

Who was Séan na Sagart?

He was born in 1690 in Derrew, near Ballyheane, County Mayo and his real name was John Mullowney.  Mullowney was a notorious horse thief and drunkard, a violent man who had absolutely no morals whatsoever, a truly despicable character.  He was arrested for horse stealing and sentenced to death by the Grand Jury in Castlebar. The case came to the attention of Bingham, another man of low character and high station, the High Sheriff of County Mayo and realising just how low this man would stoop he saw in him the potential to offer him a deal. If Mullowney agreed to join the ranks of the priest hunters then he would be spared the hangman’s noose. There was one condition; he would have his freedom provided he paid a certain rent each year-a priest’s head”. Mullowney agreed and before long he had gained a new name, that of Séan na Sagart or John of the priests.

The Penal Act of 1709 demanded that Catholic priests take an Oath of Abjuration recognising the right of the protestant crown of England and today it would be the same as swearing allegiance to the crown. In effect it denied the rights of James II and the Stuarts or other Catholic claimants to the crown of England. All clergy had to recognise the Protestant Queen Anne as Supreme Head of the Church of England and Ireland, any cleric that refused was sentenced to death or transportation for life by the Protestant controlled judicial system.  Out of an estimated two thousand Catholic priests in Ireland only thirty three took the oath. The law hoped to eradicate Catholicism in Ireland within two generations and bishops and clergy were banished and no new priests were permitted to enter the country, in this way the protestant ruling class believed they would gain complete control over the political, economic and social systems of Ireland

Mullowney was to prove to be extremely efficient in his new role and received £100 for the capture of an Archbishop or Bishop, £20 for a priest and £10 for a monk, a Jesuit, or a hedge school teacher an extraordinary amount of money at that time and money that Mullowney used to fund his habits of drinking, womanising, and newly found expensive tastes.  In common with today, wealth was the key that opened the doors to society and it wasn’t long before he became a welcome visitor to the homes of certain members of the Protestant gentry.  In fact he was a regular visitor to Newbrook House near Hollymount, Claremorriss then the residence of the Lord Clanmorriss of the Bingham family, a close relative and neighbour of another Bingham, Lord Lucan. The Bingham’s hated the Catholics and the peasant class who they regarded as one in the same and supported the actions of Mullowney and his like.  It has been suggested that Bingham was Mullowney’s paymaster and that the heads of his priest victims were kept in the cellar of Newbrook House.  It has also been suggested that some of the heads were thrown into a little lake in the parish of Ballintubber; it now bears the name Lake of the heads.

There is an interesting story concerning Mrs Bingham, she is said to have employed a priest as a butler and footman. One day the Bingham’s had urgent business in Castlebar but when they got into their carriage one of the horses refused to move. Mrs Bingham must have been feeling a certain amount of guilt because she insisted it was because of the murders carried out by Séan na Sagart that the horse wouldn’t move. She made her husband promise that Mullowney would not be allowed to murder any more priest. As soon Bingham promised the curse was lifted and the horse is reported as happily trotting all the way to Castlebar. However, I don’t think the promise of the Bingham’s amounted to much as Mullowney carried on his wicked trade.

He truly was an evil man and he even used this as a way of catching those unfortunate priests who felt that there is a little good in everyone. One technique was to pretend to be sick, bedridden and close to death, Mullowney would call for a priest to confess his terrible sins and when the priest arrived Mullowney would grab a hidden knife from under the blankets and attempt to stab and kill the priest.  This technique was to eventually lead to his demise.

 Mullowney wanted to catch a particular priest in Ballintubber, It is said that he convinced his sister Nancy Loughnan who was a widow and a devout Catholic that he was gravely ill and desperately needed to confess his sins before he went to face his maker. The priest, Father Kilger was quickly sent for and he arrived dressed in disguise. As he knelt by the bed of Séan na Sagart in order to hear his confession the priest hunter jumped up and stabbed the priest in the neck killing him. 

Everyone in County Mayo hear of this and there was widespread anger and revulsion and everyone knew that Father Kilger’s nephew Friar Bourke would be at the funeral, exactly what Séan na Sagart wanted. The friar turned up as expected and took his place as a pallbearer; he wasn’t stupid though because he had brought two bodyguards with him for protection, John McCann and Fergus McCormick.  As the funeral procession arrived at Ballintubber a bunch of Redcoats blocked their way and from out of the bushes jumped Séan na Sagart.  He grabbed the friar roaring “My rent is paid” probably referring to the money he would collect for the friar’s head. The friar broke free and ran off towards the Partry Mountains hotly pursued by the priest hunter. 

It was said that the chase lasted most of that day and eventually came to an end in a wood near Partry.  The friar who was exhausted at this stage fought with Séan na Sagart and in the struggle the friar stabbed Séan with his own knife. McCann who by now had reached the pair grabbed the knife and finished the job so ending the career of Séan na Sagart, priest hunter. The year was 1726.

Mullowney was hated with a vengeance by the people of County Mayo, it is said that his body was tossed into Lough Carra. However, the parish priest ordered the body to be retrieved and it was buried in un-consecrated ground near Ballintubber Abbey. The locals had the last word though because they buried the corpse facing north where the sun never rises.

Fly Agaric

Fly Agaric.

The sacred mushroom was the red and white amanita muscaria mushroom, also known as "fly agaric." These mushrooms are now commonly seen in books of fairy tales, and are usually associated with magic and fairies. This is because they contain potent hallucinogenic compounds, and were used by ancient peoples for insight and transcendental experiences.

Most of the major elements of the modern Christmas celebration, such as Santa Claus, Christmas trees, magical reindeer and the giving of gifts, are originally based upon the traditions surrounding the harvest and consumption of these most sacred mushrooms.

The active ingredients of the amanita mushrooms are not metabolized by the body, and so they remain active in the urine. In fact, it is safer to drink the urine of one who has consumed the mushrooms than to eat the mushrooms directly, as many of the toxic compounds are processed and eliminated on the first pass through the body.

It was common practice among the shaman of ancient people such as the Sami of Finland, and the people of Siberia, to recycle the potent effects of the mushroom by drinking each other's urine. The amanita's ingredients can remain potent even after six passes through the human body. Some scholars argue that this is the origin of the phrase "to get pissed," as this urine-drinking activity preceded alcohol by thousands of years.

Reindeer were the sacred animals of these semi-nomadic people, as the reindeer provided food, shelter, clothing and other necessities. Reindeer are also fond of eating the amanita mushrooms; they will seek them out, and then prance about while under their influence. Often the urine of tripped-out reindeer would be consumed for its psychedelic effects.

This effect goes the other way too, as reindeer also enjoy the urine of a human, especially one who has consumed the mushrooms. In fact, reindeer will seek out human urine to drink, and some tribesmen carry sealskin containers of their own collected urine, which they use to attract stray reindeer back into the herd.

The effects of the amanita mushroom usually include sensations of size distortion and flying. The feeling of flying could account for the legends of flying reindeer.
Santa Claus, super shaman.

Although the modern image of Santa Claus was created at least in part by the advertising department of Coca-Cola, in truth his appearance, clothing, mannerisms and companions all mark him as the reincarnation of these ancient mushroom-gathering shamans.

Originally Santa Claus was not red and white, but was first depicted like this due to a seasonal link to native spiritual traditions involving hallucinogenic red and white mushrooms known as fly agaric. When it was time to go out and harvest the magical mushrooms, the ancient shamans would dress much like Santa, wearing red and white fur-trimmed coats and long black boots.

Later the Coca Cola Company would patent these colours and popularise the now universally accepted colours of Santa’s costume. One of the side effects of eating amanita mushrooms is that the skin and facial features take on a flushed, ruddy glow. This is why Santa is always shown with glowing red cheeks and nose. Even Santa's jolly "Ho, ho, ho!" is the euphoric laugh of one who has indulged in the magic fungus.

Sami Ceremony and Entheogenic Mushrooms.

The red and white fly agaric mushrooms also played a part in the aboriginal origins of the flying reindeer image that is now popularly associated with Christmas. These mushrooms, or plant teachers, have always been used in rituals involving the sacred reindeer by the shamans of the Sami tribal peoples, who are still practicing traditional lifestyles as nomadic reindeer herders in Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia today.

The Koryak shamans of Siberian tribes gained notoriety in the grand western narrative of discovery when their winter solstice rituals involving the fly agaric were observed and recorded by anthropologists/adventurers, giving rise to several modern Christmas myths.

At this ceremonial time, the Koryak tribe’s people would work ritually with the mushrooms in their family tents. Their shamans would also work with the mushrooms to reach a non-ordinary state of reality that allowed them to do spirit-walking.
Spirit Walkers Bringing Gifts.

Koryak spirit walkers would visit the tents of their fellow tribesmen on their flying reindeer, the reindeer being a sacred totemic being for Sami tribal peoples. Once there, they would enter the tent through the smoke hole in the roof and distribute more mushrooms as gifts. Then they would exit through the chimney hole and fly away on their reindeer beings once again.

It has been suggested that the egg-nog Christmas tradition was even grounded in these rituals, based on the practice of tribesmen drinking the agaric-spiked urine of the shamans who had ingested the mushrooms, perhaps mixed with egg and spices to disguise the taste. (Makes you think twice about mulled wine, for that matter!).

Clearly, the origins of many western Christmas traditions such as Santa’s elves, Santa coming down the chimney, gift-giving, Santa’s colours, Santa’s home base in the Arctic North, and mistletoe can all be linked to time-honoured indigenous tribal ceremonies and customary practices.

Aboriginal Christmas Reflections.

Christmas is as good a time as any to acknowledge the contributions of indigenous peoples around the planet to the formation of global knowledge, culture and innovations since the “age of discovery”. So much of the technology, food, textiles, traditions and even mathematics that formed the basis for modern western civilisation was ‘borrowed’, or synthesised, or developed in conjunction with native peoples.

So spare a thought for the planet’s fourth-world (indigenous) peoples at Christmas time, most of who are excluded from the bounty of first-world colonies built on stolen native lands, resources and knowledge. So many Aboriginal people are even excluded from basic rights like education.

Spare a thought as well that in the ‘first world civilised countries’ (I use that term loosely) every year people spend more money on Christmas presents for their pets than it would cost to educate every third-world and fourth-world person on earth who is currently denied schooling and medical aid. Think about that over your Xmas turkey.

Ho, ho, ho.


The fly agarics’ religious connections are far reaching. It is widely thought to be the “Soma” talked about in Hindu scriptures, and some also believe it to be the “Amrita” mentioned in Buddhist scriptures. Closer to home, there is a popular myth that Nordic Viking warriors used to consume fly agaric to send them into their berserker rages, although compelling evidence for this theory is hard to find.

Another theory, again difficult to substantiate, suggests that Zulu warriors consumed fly agaric before battle during the Zulu war, and that, in part, this helped them leave the field victorious during the famous “charge of the light brigade”.

In ‘civilised’ Europe its use has given rise to the ‘little people’ such as faeries and leprechauns.

Lewis Carroll was familiar with the affects of Fly agaric, in Alice in Wonderland there is a scene where a caterpillar is sitting on a mushroom (Fly agaric) smoking a pipe. Alice is in front of him at mushroom height and she nibbles on the mushroom to make herself bigger and smaller.

After Alice in Wonderland was published images of the Fly agaric appeared in much of the Victorian literature and it was also painted on children’s toys and cradles. It continues to serve as a classical symbol of enchanted forests and magical groves-the kind of places where fairies, gnomes and all sorts of strange, wonderful and sometimes frightening creatures dwell. Familiar, mysterious and magical.

WARNING:

Fly Agaric is a powerful fungus, whose effects can be extremely variable and dangerous in the hands of those who do not know what they are doing (In Irish we call them Amadán).

Self-experimentation is not recommended. In particular all amanita species with a white or greenish cap should be avoided, as these are definitely very deadly.

The information provided in this article is intended for educational purposes only and should not be used as medical advice. I do not take or share in any responsibility for any events that may occur as a result of self-experimentation.

Have a great Yule, Winter Solstice and Christmas.

Don't forget those who may not be as fortunate as you, especially in this cold weather, be them human or animal we are all part of the wheel.

Travellers or Pavee.

 

Travellers or Pavee.

Travellers used to travel in horse drawn wagons that were called barrel top or vardo wagons and before that with donkeys and tents. Now most Travellers have trailers ( caravans) and motor vehicles if they are still on the road. Traditionally Travellers burned the wagon that the person died in. In modern times many may not wish to continue to live in the trailer, the home that some nomadic families now live in, if a person dies there.

The name "Travellers" refers to a roaming Irish ethnic group. Irish Travellers are a group of people with a separate identity, culture and history, although they are as fully Irish as the rest of us. They have their own language known as ‘cant’ or ‘gammon’ and academics sometimes refer to it as ‘shelta’ and travellers will sometimes use this language to speak to each other. Irish travellers are native to Ireland and have been part of Irish society for hundreds of years and while their history is largely unrecorded they are recorded before the 12^th century.

Occupations within the travellers traditionally include tinsmithing, seasonal farm work, selling door-to-door and scrap metal recycling. Some of these jobs are becoming rarer within the community such as tinsmithing and many travellers today have diversified into other areas such as market trading and antique dealing. Some travellers have their own business such as shops and garages and others are employed in community enterprises, voluntary organisations and training centres. However, just as in the settled community there are some travellers who are unskilled and dependent on social welfare in order to survive.

As stated earlier, there is not a great deal of historical research on the Traveller way of life although there are references to various nomadic groups dating back to the 12^th and even the 5^th century. Travellers were craftsmen, entertainers, message carriers, horse traders, and provided a variety of skills. They were involved in specific economic activity throughout history that can be associated with a nomadic way of life.

As industrialisation brought new methods of communication and cheap plastic, Travellers as with other groups in Ireland began to experience a change in their role in Irish society and had to adapt their lifestyle to accommodate these changes. Under many pressures to adopt a sedentary or settled lifestyle Travellers have resisted and have proved their ability to survive and maintain their cultural identity. This identity has a number of common features, history and experiences; it has an oral tradition, and value system that sets it apart from the settled community. Travellers also have a history of having to protect that identity from the attempts made to assimilate them into the majority population.

Travellers have been largely ignored in the literature of the “Great Tradition”. Not all families originated at the same time or in the same way. Some Traveller families date back centuries while others have adopted a travelling lifestyle in relatively recent times. “Tinker” and “Tynkere” first appear as trade surnames during the 12^th century. This word comes from the word “Tinceard” which means tincraft and it suggests that at this time there was clearly a group of Travelling crafts people who made and mended pots and pans and who played an important role in Irish history. The itinerant tinsmith or “white-smith” as well as tanners, musicians, bards and artisans travelled throughout Ireland fashioning jewellery, weapons and horse trappings out of bronze, silver and gold in exchange for food and lodging. Today, Travellers are characterized by a growing solidarity and Political activism based on their own increased sense of ethnic or group identification as Travelling People.

In order to preserve their unique identity, Travellers operate within a type of social separation.  Interaction between Travellers and other Irish people is typically limited to economic exchanges and brief instrumental encounters with bureaucrats or institutional representatives such as the police, welfare, and hospital personnel. Practices of some Travellers (e.g., keeping unsightly campsites, drinking in public, aggressive selling tactics),  reinforce social distance between members of the two groups. However, prejudice and discrimination have played a larger role in segregating the two communities.

Government proposals to build official campsites for Travellers are invariably rejected by the local Community. Most people avoid any interaction with Travellers; very few would consider marrying a Traveller. Since the mid-1960s, the Irish government has attempted to solve what it labeled "the itinerant problem," that is, the existence of Traveller families living on the roadside in tents and wagons without basic amenities such as running water, toilets, and electric lights. The solution was believed to lie in settlement, in placing families on serviced government campsites and in houses from which they could send their children to school, get wage-labour jobs, and learn to live a settled life. Assimilation was the goal.

Since then, however, Travellers have become more vocal and politically aware. Political action groups have been organized in some cities. Travellers now consider themselves to be an ethnic group with the rights to maintain their own identity and life-style while enjoying the privileges of other citizens.

Many Travellers now live on sites, both council and private, some have moved into houses and many still have nowhere to camp and live on unauthorised sites constantly being moved on. Travellers have a common ancestry and one is born a Traveller. Their contribution to music and story-telling has been of great importance to these traditions. Travellers were the link between isolated communities in a rural society. They carried the music, stories and news from village to village. They also kept these traditions alive during the oppression of the British, who tried to destroy Irish Culture. Travellers were more difficult to restrict as they were moving from place to place and contributed in no small way to the fight for Irish independence.

 Travellers also served with great courage during the war (Great Emergency) and two traveller men were awarded the Victoria Cross the highest medal for bravery. Many traveller women acted as medics, air raid wardens and were members of the auxiliary services. T

hey have been subject to oppression and discrimination and have often hidden their identity to avoid discrimination, especially if they have moved into housing. Travellers have the same rights as the majority population and now have protection under the Race Relations Act in Ireland as a recognised ethnic minority community.

Tir na nóg. The Land of Eternal Youth.

This is a story that has been told to generations of children down through the years and today I will tell it to you, hope you enjoy it.

Tir na nóg. The Land of Eternal Youth.

Once upon a time long, long ago in the west of Ireland there lived a young man called Oisin.  One autumn morning he was out exploring the wild hills with the Fianna, they were the ancient warrior hunters of Ireland. It was a bright but cold misty morning. Suddenly from out of the mists they saw a white horse appear and upon its back sat the most beautiful woman that Oisin had ever seen. The sun glistened off her hair and she seemed to be surrounded by a magical glow. The horse and rider came to a stop and the young woman spoke to Oisin and the Fianna. Stepping forward Oisin introduced himself and as their eyes met they fell instantly in love.

“I am Niamh of the golden hair, daughter of the King of Tir Na Nog” she said in a voice that sounded like the most enchanting music that Oisin had ever heard. 

“Come with me to my father’s land and there you will never grow old nor feel sorrow. My father has heard wonderful things about the great warrior named Oisin and I have come to take you back with me to the Land of Eternal Youth”

Oisin hesitated for a moment, he thought of his friends and family and how he would be sad to leave them but his hesitation lasted only a moment for he had fallen under a fairy spell and he cared no more for any earthly thing only for the love of Niamh of the golden hair.  He quickly climbed up onto the white horse. Oisin promised to return shortly, and they waved goodbye and rode off into the mist. Oisin was never to see his family or his friends ever again.

When they reached the sea the white horse ran lightly over the waves and soon they left the green fields and woodlands of Ireland behind.  The sun shone and the riders passed into a golden light that caused Oisin to lose all knowledge of where he was he didn’t know whether they were still crossing water or if they were on dry land. Strange sights appeared and disappeared and Oisin saw many strange creatures, some wondrous, some terrifying. He tried to ask Niamh what these visions meant and were they real or imagined but Niamh told him to say nothing until they arrived at Tir Na Nog.

Eventually they arrived at the Land of Eternal Youth and it was just as Niamh had promised. It was a land where nobody knew sadness, nobody ever aged, and everyone lived forever.  Together they spent many happy times but there was always a piece of Oisin’s heart that seemed empty, he began to feel lonely and missed his home in Ireland. He wanted to see his friends and family once again. He begged Niamh to let him return to Ireland but she seemed to be very reluctant to let him go. She finally agreed and gave him the white horse that had brought him to Tir Na Nog but she warned him that when he reached the land of Erin he must not step down from the horse nor touch the soil of the earthly world for if he did then he could never return to the Land of Eternal Youth.

Oisin set off and once more crossed the mystic ocean. Although Oisin thought that only a few years had passed it had in fact been three hundred years. You see time slows down in Tir Na Nog and when he arrived back to his homeland he saw that things had changed. The Fianna no longer hunted the green hills and the grand castle where his family and friends lived was no longer there all that stood were crumbling ruins covered in ivy. With a feeling of horror Oisin thought that he had fallen under some fairy spell that was mocking him with false visions, he threw his arms in the air and shouted the names of his family and his friends but there was no reply, he tried once more but all he heard in reply was the sighing of the wind and the faint rustle of the leaves in the trees. With tears in his eyes he turned and rode away hoping that he would find those he looked for and that the fairy spell would be broken.

Oisin rode for days but found no sign of his people. He rode east and there he saw a group of men in a field, he rode towards them hoping to find some answers, maybe they knew where the Fianna had gone. As he approached he saw that the men were trying to move a large rock from the field, as he came near they all stopped work and gazed at him because to them he looked liked a messenger of the Fairy folk or an angel from heaven. He was far taller than normal men, he carried a beautiful sword and wore bright and shining armour and the horse he rode seemed to float above the ground casting a golden light around both itself and its rider.  Oisin looked at them and thought how puny these men looked, the size of the rock would have meant nothing to the Fianna and he began to feel great pity for them. He bent down from his horse, put one hand on the rock and with a mighty heave he lifted it from the ground and flung it away from the field. The men started shouting in wonder and applause, but their shouting changed into cries of terror and dismay when they realised what they had witnessed. They began to run away knocking each other over in the process.

Unfortunately for Oisin the girth of his saddle had snapped as he heaved the stone away and he fell to the ground. In that second his horse vanished into a mist that suddenly appeared and Oisin rose from the ground dressed in rags. Feeble and staggering, he was no longer the youthful warrior he was but a man stricken with old age, white bearded and withered, crippled with arthritis he let out a cry of horror. Oisin now knew why he could find no trace of his people, he had been in Tir Na Nog for a few weeks but here in the earthly realm three hundred years had passed and now he had each of those years repaid.

The men who had run away looked back across the field and seeing what had befallen Oisin they returned. They found him lying on the ground with his face hidden in his arms; they lifted him up and asked who he was and what had happened to him.

With tears in his eyes Oisin said,

“I was Oisin son of Finn, can you tell me where he lives for I cannot find him”

The men looked at each other and then at Oisin, one of them said,

“”Of what Finn do you speak off, for there is many of that name”

“Finn MacCool, captain of the Fianna of Erin” replied Oisin.

The man said “You’re a daft old man and you made us daft thinking you were a young man before. But we now have our wits about us and we can tell you that Finn MacCool and all his generation have been dead for three hundred years. They live now only in songs and stories told. We now follow another, his name is Patrick and he teaches a different way to live”

Oisin was left to wander Ireland a lonely old man. He met Patrick and told him of his family and the Fianna who had disappeared from Ireland hundreds of years ago, the magical land of Tir na Nog and his love for Niamh and as he ended his story a great weariness swept over him and he closed his eyes and went to his eternal rest.

Today we still tell the story of Oisin, Niamh and Tir Na Nog and on a misty autumn morning if you see a shimmering white horse dancing in the waves maybe its Niamh riding her steed as she searches for her long lost love. Or maybe it’s just the crest of a wave, I’ll let you decide.

The Leannán sidhe and The 27 Club.

 

The Leannán sidhe.

Pronounced as Lan-awn shee.

She is known throughout the Celtic world.  The name Leannán sidhe means Fairy of Inspiration or Love Fairy and legend tells us that the Leannán sidhe lives under the Irish Sea.

She is a fairy mistress of dreadful power for she seeks the love of mortal men.  She is said to be evil and dangerous radiating an incredible beauty, under her spell they become her slaves.  Most men cannot refuse her for life without her will seem dull and lifeless and no other woman will ever replace her.

I refer to the Leannán sidhe as her but only because I’m male because she can appear as a male figure of great beauty to a female. The Leannán sidhe is whatever you wish to see.

It appears to take some joy from playing with the emotions of mortals and once you become one with her she is all that matters.  It is often depicted as a vampiric type of spirit that sucks the life force out of its lovers.  All who love her live only for her and they will desire no other frequently destroying themselves or becoming insane as they strive to please her.

In Irish folklore the Leannán sidhe is a muse, a source of artistic beauty, poetry, or music and it’s said that those who devote themselves to it will live a short but glorious life.  It has been suggested that she will give the gift of creativity in exchange for the artist’s life or some would say soul.  To be fair though, it may be the destructive nature of the artist’s life that causes their death. Musicians, artists, writers, and poets often tend to burn the candle at both ends.  Sometimes they may burn brightly but they will also expire quickly. As they say, “Live fast, burn bright, die young”.  However, you’ll be pleased to know that Storytellers are exempt as we realise what she is.

Some artists fall into deep depression when the Leannán sidhe withdraws her love and this usually results in great heartbreak and sorrow. This is the price that must be paid for her inspiration.  She is an impatient mistress who creates such a desire in her lovers that they will overcome all obstacles to embrace her; even life itself is not too high a price to pay.

The more you desire her, the more she will elude you however, you are chained to her and you will never be free. She will never give herself to you in a mortal land and she will insist that she will only meet you in Tir na nOg, so you must pass through death to be with her.

No one knows what she truly is; the translation of her name may hold a clue. The words refer to a fairy muse; Leannán means the love of my soul or spirit...my inspiration if you like.  Sidhe refers to the mounds; it is often used by some people to describe the people of the mounds or the fairies.  In Irish poetic tradition she was the muse who appeared to the bard as the Aishling or Vision.  In his vision he meets her on a hillside and she inspires him to write music and poetry that has an otherworldly sadness and regret for the glories of Irelands past.  A tradition that is carried on and reflected in many of the songs sung by Irish people the world over.

Whatever you think of the Leannán sidhe, whether you regard it as something to be feared or something to be embraced.  Once captured you live only to please.  Like the members of what’s called ‘The 27 Club’ your own passion will lead you to your eventual destruction, usually before you reach the age of thirty, hence the name ‘The 27 Club’.  You become caught within the arms of a dominatrix.  The more you suffer, the more you crave.  The more you feed the craving the more you will hunger and that hunger will never be satisfied.  You will sacrifice everything and become consumed by your own passion.

Extract from the Song of the Leannán sidhe.

You shall be known by other men

For your great works of voice and pen

Yet inspiration has a cost

For with me know your soul is lost

I’ll take your passion and your skill

I’ll take your young life quicker still

Brenna Gwyn of The Children of Twilight.

 

 

 

In the story about the Leannán sidhe I made reference to an urban legend, that of The 27 Club but for those of you who may not know of it or may have never heard of it here is my take on it.  I won’t name all those who may be eligible for membership as the list could be endless.

The 27 Club.

History is full of those talented artists who have died young.  There is an urban legend today that is called The 27 Club. I might even suggest there may be a link with The Leannán sidhe.

Some people consider the first member of this club to have been the great bluesman Robert Johnson of Crossroads fame (I mean the song not the TV soap). Other members of this club are said to include Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobbain, and recently Ami Winehouse.  To that list you could add many other names such as Phil Lynott who died at the young age of 37 and James Dean.

However, there have been many artists from the past who predate the beginnings of this so called club by hundreds of years.  Names from literature that I might propose for membership could include John Keats (25), Percy Shelley (20), Thomas Chatterton (17), Christopher Marlowe (29), George Gordon Byron (37) and Robert Burns (37).

Their deaths may have been caused by tragic accidents, deliberate acts of self-destruction, or even natural causes. They all have certain things in common; they were all brilliant, all young, and all inspirational. Through them we are taught the beauty and power of emotion. It is through emotion that there are those who are able to create works that inspire imagination and magic in others.

So there you have it, The 27 Club is a group of artists that have died young, most before or by the age of 27, a couple were older but nevertheless they were equally inspirational.  Maybe you have your own suggestions. They were some of the most talented minds of their generation and in their short lives each made an enormous impact.  Sadly many led hard partying lifestyles abusing drugs and alcohol but maybe that’s the nature of the beast.

One other name I will add to my personal list is that of another young man that I believe inspired a generation.  He was to die at the young age of 27 and entered the hallowed halls of Irish History and Folklore, becoming a legend to many. His name was Bobby Sands.

 

 

Crossroads in Irish folklore.

Crossroads in Irish folklore.

The crossroads is a land that belongs to no one. It’s an area that seems to invite ghosts, spirits and creatures of the night, those that don’t belong in the natural world. Malevolent faeries are believed to haunt the crossroads looking for lost souls to lure into the half-lit world of the Unseelie. For this reason it was believed that the crossroads would confound or confuse restless spirits, stopping them from returning to haunt the living.

Crossroads have played a very important role in the folklore of many cultures. They were often used as burial places for unbaptised children, murderers, executed criminals, and suicides.  It was because this ground was unconsecrated and was seen as separate from the everyday world. Such outcasts were not intended for the forgiveness of heaven and so they were buried in a place that would condemn their spirits to wander for eternity.

It was suggested that this was because the crossroads form a Christian cross but this does not hold true as the belief in the power of crossroads predates Christianity and you will find similar superstitions regarding crossroads in many cultures which are not Christian.  Folklore tells us that suicide victims or self murderers as they used to be called were sometimes buried at the crossroads so their spirits would not return to search for those who had wronged them in life.

May be it was for this reason that crossroads have become associated with ghostly legends, magic, and paranormal activities.  They have long been of interest to those who gather information on the paranormal as events of this nature are said to occur on ancient highways and byways especially where they cross.  Whether or not these events are real or imagined does not matter as there are stories in every culture concerning devils, demons and deals done with the devil so I would suggest that, as in every legend, there may just be a grain of truth in their origins. 

Certain routes were used for funerals and called ‘the path of the corpse ’. There was also a tradition of putting wooden crosses on bushes by the roadside where the roads met at a crossroads and if a funeral procession passed by then the pall bearers would place the coffin down for a few minutes. 

Crowing hens, regarded as unlucky, were abandoned at the crossroads. If you had warts these could be cured by rubbing them with a stone and leaving it at the crossroads, if someone picked up the stone then they took over your warts. 

There are stories concerning deals done with the devil, in modern times Robert Johnson the famous blues musician claimed to have met the devil at the crossroads and signed over his soul to play the blues and gain mastery over the guitar. He died at the age of 27 and became one of those poor unfortunates that have become known as members of the 27 club. I will talk about the 27 club in a future show.

In Ireland the sweeping of crossroads was carried out, this was a practice associated with witches who would meet at crossroads to carry out certain rituals.  Traditionally the crossroads was looked upon as a no-man’s land belonging to no one. A place that was thought of as being neither here nor there, a place beyond the real world where normal rules did not apply.  It was here that people could make contact with the spirit world and shrines, crosses and standing stones are a common feature of crossroads throughout Europe. 

At Samhain spirits were thought to gather and walk in procession to visit the homes of their relatives and that if you were to stand at the crossroads at midnight you would see them passing.  Some legends even suggest that if you were to listen carefully you would hear the names of those about to die on the wind as it blew across the feet of the corpses on the way to the house of the one whose name was heard.

Gibbets were often placed at crossroads. A gibbet is an instrument of public execution; it is in this instance, a gallows-type structure from which the dead or dying bodies of executed criminals were hung on public display in order to deter others from following their way of life.  At one time live gibbeting took place; the condemned were placed in a cage like structure that hung from the arm of the gibbet. They were left to die of thirst.  This type of execution seemed to be reserved for those convicted of treason, murder, highwaymen, pirates and sheep stealers. 

It may be of interest to know that Oliver Cromwell was gibbeted after his death, when monarchists disinterred his body during the restoration of the British monarchy. 

The practice of burying suicides and criminals at crossroads was repealed by an Act of Parliament in 1823.  It has been suggested that this was at the request of George IV who had been delayed by a crowd gathered for a burial at the crossroads of Hobart Place and Grosvenor Place. The spectators were watching the burial of a suicide called Abel Griffiths, by this time suicide was regarded with greater sympathy and although frowned upon by the church the populace now didn’t consider it to be self-murder. However, following abolition suicides could only be buried in graveyards between 9-00pm and midnight and no ceremonies were allowed.

There is a sad story concerning a crossroads on the Icknield Way near the Cambridgeshire and Suffolk border in England I mention this only because Ireland was under British rule and so their laws were imposed upon us and this story is now part of the folklore of crossroads.  There is a neatly tended patch of ground where flowers are planted and looked after.  It is known locally as The Boy’s Grave.  The story goes that a young shepherd boy believed he had lost one of his master’s sheep, afraid of being accused of its theft and hanged or transported and the shame that may bring to his family he hanged himself. When the sheep were counted it was found that none were missing. Having taken his own life he was buried at the crossroads, people tend to his grave to this day.  His name is not known nor is his death mentioned in local records.  However, through archaeology and historical research the burial of criminals and suicides at rural crossroads illustrates the practice and there is now a great deal of evidence to support the theory. 

A more pleasant feature of Irish country life was the custom of holding dances at the crossroads. People dance on specially erected timber platforms and enjoy the open air, scenery, meeting friends and making new ones and enjoying the music provided. It was during the 16^th and 17^th centuries that crossroads dancing became popular. However, the clergy condemned it so the Gaelic League introduced the first Ceilli in 1697 and this let dancers dance indoors under supervision.  Interestingly the Ceilli was not held in Ireland but in London. 

Traditional Irish culture continued in secret until the 1700s. It was a time in Irish history when dancing was prohibited by the English so the Irish would meet on country roads, particularly where they crossed.  They would bring food, drink, and musical instruments and keeping an eye out for approaching soldiers they danced their country dances. It was around 1750 that attitudes began to become less strict and this allowed Irish dance to flourish. 

There used to be a tradition where dance was taught by the Dance Master, a Dance Master would travel around the country staying in villages in order to teach dance steps. To have a Dance Master staying in your village was a cause of immense pride and boasting by the community. 

However, we cannot blame the British for the Public Dance Hall Act of 1935.  This little piece of legislation enacted by the Irish Dáil had a severe and detrimental effect on the traditional music, dance, and storytelling of rural Ireland.  Before this legislation Irish culture was an important part of rural Ireland and centred on house dancing and dancing at the crossroads.  It was here that our art flourished, but along came the pressure to regulate.  This came from a number of different sources, most notable among them was the Catholic Church.

They had been campaigning for years claiming that house dancing led to sin and corruption, here now was a chance for the government to bring in legislation and tax the profits of regulated dance halls.  It now meant that all dance halls had to be licensed for public dances, however, house dances could not be regulated and so they were exempt.

The view of the Gardaí and the clergy was that such dances should be illegal this led to a great number of local people being prosecuted and the dancing in houses and at crossroads began to die out, and with them went our traditional way of life.  Even farmers stopped holding harvest dances as a way of thanking their farmhands for all their hard work gathering in the crops.

The house dances and crossroads dances were not the target of the legislation.  Nevertheless, the clergy and Gardaí continued to apply the act as if it did outlaw these activities, and although they were not the only factors in the demise of the country dances, they were at any rate the only agents of change who consciously and deliberately set out to do away with our traditions.  The Act was not to blame, but its agents, encouraged and assisted by the clergy, certainly were.

It is good to see that today the house dances and dancing at the crossroads are being revived. We no longer look for approaching soldiers, only motor cars.

Incidentally the phrase “Comely maidens dancing at the crossroads” was never in fact uttered by DeVelera as some would have you believe. 

Here I will leave you at the crossroads with the words of that great blues singer Robert Johnson.

I went down to the crossroad

Fell down on my knees

I went to the crossroad

Fell down on my knees

Asked the Lord above, “Have mercy now,

Save poor Bob, if you please”.

Crossroad Blues by Robert Johnson (1911-1938)

The Ballybogs or Peat Faeries.

The Ballybogs or Peat Faeries.

Although at one time you might have found Ballybogs living in Wales, Scotland England, and Ireland. However, there were greater numbers of them here in Ireland. As one of their names (Peat Faeries) suggests, the Ballybogs are fond of peat, something we are lucky enough to still have.

These small creatures have very strange looking bodies. Their heads seem to sit directly on the top of a little fat body without any neck at all. They have spindly legs that don’t even look as though they could stand on their own, let alone hold up such a round shape. Its gaping mouth is full of blunt, needle-like teeth and its nose hangs down over its top lip, matched by pair of dog-like ears that sit up on their own.

For the most part, the body and head resemble that of a toad with mismatched ears and nose. Their arms mirror the legs in appearance, turning the Ballybog into a frightful looking thing. To top it all off, these little wrinkled creatures appear to have been dipped in mud so they look a bit like a chocolate covered cherry; only in this case, it’s a mud-covered Ballybog.

Ugly in both appearance and sound, the Ballybogs are creatures that prefer to keep to themselves. Obviously, as guardians of the bogs, they live in the bog and prefer the mud holes that are so numerous in that type of location.

Whether due to their solitary existence or some quirk of nature, the Ballybogs cannot speak and only grunt in place of verbal language. This adds to the common belief that the Ballybog is one of the dumbest faeries. Some might say their grunting and slobbering behaviour is reason enough to consider them somewhat less intelligent than humans and closer to the animal kingdom but be careful of what you say. Many people have lived to regret insulting the gentry.

Since their main purpose in life is to protect the bogs, they cause relatively little mischief or damage, certainly less than man as far as the bogs are concerned. However, whether they have a mischievous streak or simply get bored, the Ballybogs have been known to prey upon unsuspecting human travellers and lead them astray from the path. No real harm is ever done to these unwitting travellers other than a few hours of lost time and a bit of unexpected aggravation.

They have been known by many interesting names down through the ages, each with a clever little twist on their origin. They’ve been called Peat Faeries, Mudbogs, Bogles, Boggans, Bog-a-boos, and Boggies, However, don’t confuse them with the Boggie man, he’s a different kettle of fish altogether.

No matter what name they are called by, the Ballybogs have been the guardians of the bogs since the bogs were formed.

They are most typically encountered in Ireland, where people still use peat or turf as we call it as a source of fuel because Ireland lacks natural coal and oil deposits.

While the ballybog was merely unpleasant, it was said to possess a nasty temper. It focuses the majority of its ill will upon those who are lazy, incontinent, or guilty of crimes. Like many of the fairie folk it was widely believed that at one time, they were they guardian spirits of bogs. Some have suggested that the preserved human remains found in the peat bogs of northern Europe are evidence of ritual human sacrifices made to placate the fairies who dwelled within the bogs.

The Giants Causeway.

The Giants Causeway.

In County Antrim there is a place that is steeped in the mythology and folklore of Ireland. That place is known as The Giants Causeway.

Its ‘discovery’ was announced in 1693 by Sir Richard Bulkeley, a fellow of Trinity College, Dublin, when presenting a paper to the Royal Society. However, the ‘discoverer’ who should have received credit for it was the Bishop of Derry who had visited the site a year earlier.

There was a great deal of argument concerning the creation of the Causeway.  Some said it had been created by men with picks and chisels, some said it was the result of nature, and some said it was the work of a giant.

The issue was finally settled in 1771 when a Frenchman by the name of Demarest, announced the true origin of the Causeway was the result of volcanic action.

In 1740, a Dublin spinster’s realistic sketches brought the Causeway to the attention of the public and ever since it has attracted visitors from all over the world.

What of its folklore?

One of the legends that surround The Giants Causeway concerns two giants, Finn McCool and Benandonner

Finn MacCool, the handsome giant of Ireland, lived on the wild northern coast, and occasionally he sat at the edge of the sea, sucking on his thumb. Whenever he had a question, any puzzle at all, he sucked that thumb and the answer came.

Finn fell in love with a giantess named Oonagh who lived on a rocky isle across the Irish Sea. Trouble was Finn could not swim, so how would he reach his beloved? He thought a while, and then he tore up some trees, and he built himself a boat, but when he stepped inside, that boat sank under his weight. After all, Finn was a giant.

So Finn sucked on his thumb, and next thing he was gathering columns of rock, six-sided each, flat-topped and weighing 10 tons. He stood on the shore and tossed those columns, one after another, into the sea. In this way he formed a path all the way to Oonagh’s Island.

Oonagh was very impressed (what woman wouldn’t be?), and it was not long before they were married and shortly after she had a son (fast workers, these giants?). They called their son Ossian and he grew up and left home to live with the faeries (I’m saying nothing?) but let’s just say they were sad when he left.

However, they were not sad for long and they commenced singing. Everyone could hear them and as their singing was better than Jedward’s it didn’t upset them. Everyone that is except Benandonner, he was another giant that lived a lonely miserable life on the Isle of Straffa and he was very happy being miserable and did not wish to hear happy singing coming from his neighbours.

Benandonner decided he had to silence yer man Finn and while he was at it he might as well take his wife home with him so with this in mind he challenged Finn for Oonagh’s hand.  Now Benandonner was a big ugly smelly yoke and as he dressed in old rat skins and had three eyes, one in the middle of his forehead, he had no chance of Oonagh but Finn Invited him to come over shouting,

“Come on over if yer think yer hard enough”.

The following day Benandonner arrived at the house and knocked on the door.  Oonagh answered the knock and said to Benandonner,

“Finn’s out at the minute come back tomorrow”

 “O.K” said Benandonner and as this made him very miserable altogether... he was quite happy.

When Finn arrived back he saw Benandonner’s footprints outside his door. “Holy mother of god would ye look at the size of them” he began having second thoughts. 

“Oonagh, that fellagh must be massive”, said Finn. 

Oonagh said “Don’t you be worrying; I have an idea that’ll put manners on him”

The next morning there was a knock on the door.  This time Finn was home but he was hiding in the baby cradle that had once been Ossian’s.  He was covered with blankets so only his eyes could be seen.

“Is this yer baby” Benandonner asked,

“Yes he is, and his father will be home soon”, replied Oonagh.

She had baked some cakes and invited Benandonner to sit down and have some while he waited. What he didn’t know was that she had baked a cake with pieces of metal in it and it was this that she gave him.  When he took a bite he let out a scream,

 “I’ve bust me tooth” he wailed, “What have you put in them”.

 “Only a bit of butter and cream, a few eggs and some flour, sure the baby loves them” said Oonagh, and she gave one to Finn (without any metal in it).

“That child must have teeth of iron” said Benandonner and he bent over and for some unknown reason he stuck his finger in the baby’s mouth (he wasn’t a bright giant).

Surprise, surprise, Crunch! Finn bit down so hard he bit the finger clean off.

Benandonner let out another scream, “What kind of child is this, he’s strong enough to bite off a giant’s finger?”

“Aragh, he’s only a wee thing” said Oonagh, “He’s not that strong but his daddy is trying to teach him how to get better”

Benandonner laughed nervously. "What kind of things is he teaching him?" he asked.

Oonagh smiled “Oh just things” she said.

Benandonner began to tremble, and then he said,

"I'll be going now," and he backed out of the house and ran across the causeway. Halfway across a thought struck him, and he stopped. Working feverishly with all his great strength, he carried away the middle section of those rocks, one by one, for he had no wish for a visit from the monstrous Finn.

So that is the reason why only the beginning and the end remain of the Giant's Causeway, one on Straffa Island, home of Benandonner, and another on the Antrim coast, just near the place where Finn lived.

Volcanic action or a giant’s fear, you decide.