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 Bat (Part two).

And now a few stories for those who are young at heart.

 

The Bat. Part Two.

These are a some stories that I’ve adapted from various traditions.  I tell them to children and they seem to enjoy them and all adults are just grown up children. You know you’re never too old for a story.

Why the Bat has no friends.

Once upon a time long, long ago, there was a big fight between the birds of the air and the animals with teeth that lived on the ground. The bat said to himself:

“I’ve got wings and I can fly so I think I’ll be on the bird’s side”

Early on in the fight the birds were losing so the bat crept away and hid under a log.  He stayed there until the fighting stopped for a while. 

All the creatures wanted to go home for lunch. As the animals of the ground were passing by the bats hiding place he slipped out and joined them.

“Hold on”, Shouted one of the animals looking closely at the bat,

“Aren’t you one of those who fought against us, what are you doing here, you should be with the birds”

“Me” said the bat, “Oh no not me, I’m one of you. I don’t belong to the bird people. Just look in my mouth. Have you ever seen a bird with teeth like mine? No, I’m one of you people, my teeth are like yours”

The animals of the ground looked at each other and nothing more was said and bat stayed with them.

After lunch the animals and the birds went back to fighting again but this time the birds won and the bat sneaked off and hid under his log again. Soon it was dinner time and everyone went home for something to eat. As the birds flew by the bat crawled out from under his log and slipped in among them.

“What are you doing here” said one of the birds, “You are one of the animals of the ground, and we saw you fighting for them”

“Who me” said the bat, “Oh no I’m one of you, I don’t belong to the animals of the ground. Look at me; have you ever seen one of the animals of the ground with wings like mine? No I’m one of you people, I’m like you”

 The birds looked at each other and nothing more was said and bat stayed with them.

This went on day after day and the bat always joined the winning side when the fighting stopped but soon the animals and the birds said,

 “This is silly, we shouldn’t be fighting all the time” so they decided to make friends. But what should they do about the bat?

The King of the animals and the King of the birds had a meeting to decide whether the bat belonged to the birds of the air or the animals of the ground.  They decided that because the bat had teeth he was an animal but he also had wings so he must be a bird. However, because he was naughty always joining the winning side he couldn’t be trusted so they said:

“Bat will fly like the birds but he will do so only at night when the animals are hunting, he will be alone and will never have any friends among those who fly or those who walk, and so it has been ever since.

 

But do you know why the bat fly’s at night?

Once upon a time, long, long ago when the world was first made it was never dark or cold. The sun shone bright and yellow all day and all the animals were lovely and warm and it was always light.

 At night time the moon shone bright and silvery, in fact it was nearly as bright as day time. 

One day Mother Nature asked the bat if he could be trusted to go on a mysterious journey for her. She wanted the bat to carry a basket up to the moon as he had wings to fly and strong teeth to hold onto the handle of the basket. Inside the basket was all the black darkness in the world, but of course the bat didn’t know this.

Bat flew off carrying the basket between his teeth but it soon became too heavy and he thought to himself:

“Oh dear this basket is very heavy and I’m tired and hungry”

So the bat flew down and went to find some food and have a little sleep (lazy thing).  As he hung upside down in a nearby tree two weasels came walking along and saw the basket.

They thought someone had lost it.

“That’s a large basket” said the first weasel, “I wonder if it’s full of nice things to eat?”

“Let’s open it and have a look” said the other weasel.

Just as they were peeking under the lid the bat came back.

“Hey, what are you doing to my basket” shouted the bat

The weasels dropped the basket in shock, bat tried to catch it but it was too late, it hit the ground and the lid fell off. All the darkness escaped.

Ever since that time the bat sleeps during the day and gets plenty of rest so he is ready to fly when the sun goes to bed and the moon comes out. When night time comes and it gets dark you will see him rushing about everywhere. 

Do you know why?

Well, he is trying to catch all the pieces of black darkness to put them back in the basket so he can take them to the moon before Mother Nature finds out.

 

Another story that suggests why the bat only comes out at night.

Once upon a time there was a rat called Michael who had a friend called Brendan the bat. They always ate their meals together but the bat didn’t really like Michael the rat because he thought he was very noisy.

One day it was the bats turn to cook the meal so he decided to make some soup. When they were sat eating Michael the rat said,

“How do you make such lovely soup, it’s always so tasty?”

The bat replied, “I always boil myself in the water and my flesh is so sweet and juicy it always makes the soup taste fantastic”

He then offered to show the rat how it was done. He got a pot of warm water which he told the rat was boiling water, and in he jumped, after a few minutes the bat climbed out. Now the bat had already prepared a bowl of boiling hot soup which he brought to the rat, it tasted fantastic and the rat gobbled it all up.

The rat then said goodbye to his friend the bat and went home. When he got there he told his wife that he was going to make some sweet, tasty soup that would taste just as good as the bats as he had learned his secret. He told her to boil up a big pot of water which she did and when she wasn’t looking he jumped straight into the pot of boiling water and was dead within seconds.

As soon as the rats wife looked into the pot and saw the dead body of her husband she hit the roof. She went straight to the king of all the animals and angrily reported what the bat had done. The King straight away ordered the arrest of the bat and everyone rushed around trying to catch him. However, the bat had a feeling that he might get into trouble for tricking the rat so he went into hiding.  All day the animals and birds looked for the bat but they couldn’t find him. The bat decided that it would be much better for him if he changed his habits so he began to come out to feed only at night when it was dark so no one would see him. So that is why the bat flies at night and that is the story of the bat.

The Bat (Part one).

As we are getting near to Halloween I thought I’d tell you a little about one of the creatures of the night and how it is viewed in folklore.

The Bat. Part One.

Feared as creatures of the night associated with death, sickness and witchcraft. Made famous as the familiars of vampires by the cinema.  Revulsion against them, however, is far from universal, and their quizzical faces have often inspired affection. There were no glass windows in the ancient world, and so people had little choice but to share their homes with bats.

They sleep hanging upside down by their feet. They live in shelters such as caves or hollow trees, but they also take advantage of human structures. Like most small animals that are drawn to human habitations, bats have often been identified in folk belief with the souls of the dead. As a result, in cultures that venerate ancestral spirits, bats are often considered sacred or beloved. When spirits are expected to pass on rather than return, bats appear as demons or, at best, souls unable to find peace. They are often thought of as the embodiment of evil and an indicator that a house is haunted or even worse.
Traditionally bats have been seen as witch familiars so whenever you see a lone bat it might be a witch in disguise. The devil and dragons are often depicted with bat like wings and in some cultures witch doctors wear bat amulets and make potions with parts of bat bodies. In the middle ages, anyone who had bats, known as witches birds living in their house were accused of being a witch and could have been burned at the stake.
In Central America the bat is seen as the god of death and bat motifs decorate burial urns and graves. Some North American tribal folklore suggests that the long eared bat, which has an arrow shaped growth on its nose, eats volcanic rock and spews out fire arrows. In China bats are a symbol of good luck, long life and happiness and at one time Chinese mothers would sew small jade buttons in the shape of a bat on the caps of their babies.  Some Australian Aboriginal tribal folklore regards the bat as a luck totem and in Turkey; some people still carry a bat bone as a love charm.
In Ancient Egypt physicians prescribed parts of the bat in the treatment of asthma, rheumatism, baldness, bad eyesight, toothache, and fever. They also believed that if you hung the body of a bat over the doorway of a home then it would prevent the entry of demons that carried these diseases.
In India, the skin of a large fruit eating bat (known as flying foxes) is still applied to cure lumbago and rheumatism.
Other superstitions about bats include,
If a bat flies into the kitchen and at once hangs on to the ceiling, it’s lucky, but if it circles around twice before settling down, then it’s seen as a sign of bad luck. If it circles around your head three times then get yourself measured for a box because it means death is coming visiting.  
If when trying to drive a bat out of the room, it fly’s against a light or candle and puts it out, then that is a very bad omen.
In Ireland if a bat was seen near the house it was taken as a sign of an impending death for a member of the household. However, we have bats in our roof space (they came in last winter). We are quite happy with them and they cause us no problems whatsoever. When bats are seen acting in a playful manner it is a sign that good weather is about to come, probably because there are more insects around on warm dry evenings so that means more food for the bats.
A common bat seen in and around hedgerows at dusk is the Pipistrelle Bat. Their Irish name is Laltog Fheascrach which means ‘bat of the evening’.

The Kelpie (Part One).

The Kelpie part one.

The kelpie like the Aughisky is a supernatural water horse from Celtic folklore that is believed to haunt the rivers and Loughs of Scotland and Ireland. The horse's appearance is strong, powerful, and breathtaking. Its hide was supposed to be black (though in some stories it was white), and will appear to be a lost pony, but can be identified by its constantly dripping mane. Its skin is like that of a seal, smooth but as cold as death when touched. Water horses are known to transform into beautiful women to lure men into their traps. It is understood that the nostril of the horse is what creates the illusion of grandeur. The water horse creates illusions to keep itself hidden, keeping only its eye above water to scout the surface, much like the illusion of a fish's pupil or a crocodile. It is wise to keep away from them.

As the story of the kelpie differs depending on the region where it is told. Other versions of the story say that the kelpie is "green as glass with a black main and a tail that curves over its back like a wheel" or that, even in human form, they are always dripping wet and/or have water weeds in their hair.

The water horse is a common form of the kelpie, said to lure humans, especially children, into the water to drown and eat them. It performs this act by encouraging children to ride on its back. Once its victims fall into its trap, the kelpie's skin becomes adhesive and it bears them into the river, dragging them to the bottom of the water and devouring them, except the heart or liver. Commonly known as spirits of the dead, they are malevolent creatures. Well its one way to keep children away from the edge of the lough.

An exception is an Irish tale in which, the coming of Christianity began to mark the end of the mystical period of Ireland, a water horse fails to travel to Tír na Nóg with its fellow mystical creatures and instead rises above water, seeking a wife. However, after attempting to court a rather clever girl, who consults a druid about the situation, he is captured and forced to work to be taught compassion. After learning his lesson, he is given the choice of departing to Tír na Nóg or drinking a magic potion that will make him a real man. The water horse, now full of love, decides to drink the potion which erases the memories of his life as a water horse and gives him the chance to live with the clever girl with whom he has fallen in love.

Some say the kelpie is not always male, but may also take the form of a human woman. In this instance, the kelpie is often referred to as a water wraith and is most often seen clothed in a green dress.  She is just as treacherous as a male Kelpie.

There was one way in which a Kelpie could be defeated and tamed;  the Kelpie's power of shape shifting was said to reside in its bridle, and anybody who could possess such a bridle could force the Kelpie to submit to their will.   A Kelpie in subjugation was highly prized, it had the strength of at least 10 horses and the endurance of many more, but the fairy creatures were always dangerous captives especially those as malignant as the Kelpie.

As we have heard the water monsters that were said to inhabit our lakes had the ability to shape shift and so they may appear as Water Hounds, Water Horses or even Humans. Here follows one such story.

The Kelpie’s Wife.

There once was a Kelpie's wife, who lived beneath the Lough with her baby son, whom she loved dearly. The Kelpie's wife loved her husband but she missed the warmth of the sun and her family, for the Kelpie had stolen her away from them without as much as a farewell.

One day, when her husband was out hunting victims, the cold and the darkness became unbearable and she fled to the surface, leaving behind her baby son, for she knew the Kelpie loved his son and would care for him. Once at the surface she basked in the warmth of the sun and soon made her way to her parent’s cottage. Her family were overjoyed to see her, for they thought she had died and so they held a great Celidh.

The Celidh dragged on into the night and the Kelpie's wife soon forgot her husband and child with the joy of being reunited with her family. During the night there came a great storm and suddenly, from outside the cottage, they could hear the champing of a horse's hooves.

Her husband had found his wife gone and was furious, for he loved her so greatly that he viewed her escape as the ultimate crime. Taking the form of a black stallion he banged on the cottage door but he couldn’t enter, for he had not been given permission to enter and cross the threshold. He called for her in rage filled screams. The Kelpie's wife was frightened and also sad for she loved her husband but wished to stay with her family. Eventually, during the night, they heard a great 'thud' as something hit the door. After this, there was silence.

In the morning when the Kelpie had returned to the Lough, they found lying on the ground, the decapitated head of the Kelpie's son. In revenge for his wife's betrayal he had slain his only son. This was the price to pay for breaking a Kelpie's heart. The Kelpie's wife lived contently and was never again bothered by the Kelpie, who had learnt his lesson of love.  To be honest the two of them sound like a heartless pair.

The Kelpie (Part Two).

The Kelpie part two.

Another story concerning The Kelpie comes to us from Donegal.

Once upon a time, not that long ago, there lived a poor fisherman in the village of Buncranna in County Donegal who went by the name of Seamus O’Doherty. His family had fallen on hard times and he was now the sole provider for his seven brothers and sisters. One day when Seamus was down amidst the rocks at low tide hunting for crabs he stopped for a smoke, it was a fine summer day and finding a sheltered spot behind two large boulders he sat on the warm sand and he let the warm sun warm his body. He lay back and fell into a deep sleep.

Seamus woke with a start, the sun was now low in the sky and the tide was almost full in. “Ah Jesus” he thought ” the tide has cut me off , I’m Stuck!” and indeed he was, it was either swim for it or climb the cliffs, neither was an option he felt inclined to take. He slumped down in his little spot between the boulders and lit another cigarette while he considered his options. Just then he heard the sound of voices, he rose and peered over the rock. Seamus wasn’t very popular in the village as he was prone to bouts of extreme drunkenness so he didn’t expect it to be a rescue party. He was amazed by what he saw coming out of the water. There were a group of people, fair of face and lithe of body, these were no mortal folk, these were Kelpies. Seamus knew the old stories and like most villagers half believed them half not, and yet here in front of him was proof.

When the fairy’s were driven from the land by Patrick and his fellow priests most went to Tir na Og, the land of the forever young but some elected to stay, the Banshee stayed to summon the dying, the shining ones stayed to guard the holy places and the Kelpies took the form of grey seals and lived almost their whole lives in the sea only taking on their human forms to mate or die.

The group of kelpies 7 men and 6 women formed a circle on the beach; they were dressed only in shifts of a light material, covered with a thick cloak of fur. Their leader, if such he was, stood in the centre of the circle and started to sing One by one the others joined in. Such music Seamus had never heard the like of before, it drifted over the beach and mingled with the sound of the waves on the pebbles and the breeze swirling up and down in rhythm with the beat of a heart.

Seamus slid down into his hollow again, this was something no mortal man had seen or heard for thousands of years. The singing got quieter and eventually died away, Seamus rose again and peered over the rock. The group was standing silent, their leader raised his arms and said ‘Go now and make us strong again’ He turned and walked into the sea merging with the surf and was gone. The rest of the group quickly paired off and went to find a place where they could be alone, one couple came towards Seamus,

 ‘Oh Mother Mary protect me’ prayed Seamus for he had been told of the fate that befell those caught by the fairy’s.

The couple stopped not far from Seamus’s hiding place and throwing their cloaks and shifts to one side began kissing and canoodling on the sand. Seamus could hear the amorous activity increase in intensity and frantically looked round for a means of escape. He then noticed that the girl had thrown her cloak down carelessly and it was just within reach. Seamus edged himself closer and quietly slipped the cloak into his bag, before creeping back to the shelter of the stones.

 The couples ended their hanky panky and one by one returned to the sea, the girl whose cloak Seamus had lifted searched the beach for her garment but couldn’t find it. Soon she was alone on the beach.

 Seamus rose from his hiding place, ‘Is this what you are looking for?’ he asked taking the cloak from his bag. The girl gasped. “Well have you no tongue in your head?” he asked,

“Seamus O’Doherty” The girl whispered in a strange sing song voice, that seemed to come not from her mouth but from inside Seamus’s Head.

“How in god’s name do you know who I am” asked Seamus,

 “All the creatures of the shore and fish in the sea know who you are Seamus’ the girl said “Now give me my cloak so that I can return to the sea”

“Now what would I be doing that for” replied Seamus. ‘Sure you would just be swimming off and leaving me like the poor soul I am. No I want some treasure, gold or silver before you get this back”

“Ha” the girl shook her long blond hair “and how would I do that, isn’t all our treasure deep down in the sea, and you have my cloak so how can I get it?”

Seamus thought about this, the girl smiled and edged towards him hand outstretched, “Please now Seamus give me my cloak”

Seamus looked deep into the girls deep blue eyes, they swirled and sparkled like the pebbles caught in the waves. Seamus reached the cloak out to the girl, then shook himself and said, “None of your auld fairy tricks now”

“Och Seamus” said the girl “sure you’ll give me my cloak now wont you”,

She was close to Seamus now and he could smell the salt in her hair. She reached out and touched him; he felt a tremor run up his arm. She led him down to the water’s edge and reached up and kissed him full on the lips. Stars exploded in his head, his lips tingled and passion flared in every nerve of his body. He pulled her close and returned the kiss. They fell backwards into the shallow water and embraced. She started to sing in his ear in the strange language of the kelpies, Seamus shivered with delight.

He felt a tugging at his waist and in a flash the girl had her cloak and was gone. Seamus was alone and no longer at the water’s edge, he had been pulled out to sea and not noticed. Seamus like many fisher folk then as now couldn’t swim; he floundered for a full minute before at last his head sank beneath the waves. Water rushed into his lungs and slowly he felt life leave his body, as it did he opened his eyes and saw the kelpies male and female surround him and watch in silence as he died.

In the village that evening the Banshee howled and the villagers wondered who had offended the fairy’s, the next morning they had their answer as Seamus’s body was washed into the harbour.

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.