The general consensus is that the fairy world is composed of the original fairy people known as the Tuatha Dé Danann, or ‘The People of the Goddess Danu’. According to the Armagh folklorist Michael J. Murphy, these were an early Irish race who were skilled in magic and they were able to escape the physical death of mortal man. They were, however, compelled to dwell in fairy forts or rassans. They entertained themselves by showing off their superiority over ordinary people by playing tricks on them. This tended to take place at certain times of the year such as the 1st of May; probably the best known is the 31st of October, Halloween, when the ethereal wall between the human world and the fairy world is at its thinnest.
On these dates humans were carried off or abducted by the fairies and kept in fairyland permanently; these humans are known as ‘changelings’. To protect themselves from such abductions, Murphy stated that the old people would place iron tongs across a cradle. Apparently, fairy folk cannot perform any magic when confronted with either iron, steel or the Bible.
In fact, all the knowledge we have today about the Sidhe has been passed down by storytellers going back centuries when the written word and literacy was only a pleasure of the privileged classes and stories existed through the oral tradition.
As a storyteller myself, I have had the privilege and a pleasure to work with other storytellers and hear their tales of the Sidhe. It has been particularly fascinating to hear first-hand accounts of experiences that people have had with them. Paula and I have spoken to folklorists, musicians, priests, academics, artists, poets, farmers, fishermen, mountain folk, storytellers and characters from every background imaginable with regards to this book. Our conversations have been both enlightening and enriching and have brought so much to this book.
Our aim was to find the best stories from each county and we hope we have done just that. We feel it is important to preserve these stories and share them with everyone.
We have always felt the good folk brought us together. Since we began writing this book we have got engaged and by the time it is published we will be married.
Steve Lally
July 2018
‘FIRESIDE TALE’
by Steve Lally
In memory of ‘Granny in Galway’, Margaret Power King
Well folks come gather round
And listen to a tale
From a long time ago
I heard it from my Grandmother
It must be forty years or so
Well she sat me on her knee
Beside the fire, burning bright
And when my Granny told a tale
You would listen to her carefully
Deep into the night.
She looked me in the eye
All her wisdom shining through
And I knew…
She was going to tell me
A thing or two
About a thing or two.
‘Now what time do you think it is?’
Her voice all hushed and low
‘Well, tell me now…
Don’t you know?’
Of course, I did not know at all
But the shadows dancing on wall
Told me it was very late
For the only light there was
Came from the fire
Flickering in the grate
‘It’s midnight,’ she said to me
‘It’s the witching hour, oh yes!
And who comes out at this time?
Go on now, take a guess!’
Well I racked my brains
And I thought real hard
And then it came into my head
‘Mam and Dad, they stay out late
And they’d be angry if they knew I was not in bed.’
‘No, they go out, but these come out
Two very different things,
Some have fangs and fly with wings
Others howl and growl and bark
And their eyes, they light up in the dark!’
‘But the worst of all are very small
And play tricks on little boys
When they don’t eat their dinner
Or put away their toys!’
‘Who are they?’ I had to say
My voice was just a choke
‘Oh! They are the Fey
The Sidhe
Better known as…
The Fairy Folk!’
Well I looked at her
And she looked at me
As I sat that night upon her knee
She told me of the the Fairy Tree,
The Pooka Horse,
And the Banshee, of course!
Now as the fire grew dim
As the shadows danced upon the floor
Suddenly! We were startled
A sound! A rustling at the door…
‘Oh no!’ I screamed ‘It’s them I bet!
Coming to see what they can get
We better run we better hide
It’s the Fairy Folk,’ I cried
Then the sitting room door, opened with a creak
My heart was pounding, my knees were weak
The cry of the Banshee rang through my head
That’s it we’re done, we’re dead!
And the howling figure before me said…
‘Ah! Mammy, why is that child not in bed!’
1
THE PROVINCE OF ULSTER
Co. Antrim: From the Irish Aontroim, meaning ‘Lone Ridge’. Antrim is a county renowned for its natural beauty and mythology. One of the world’s most famous landmarks can be found along the coast of Antrim, the Giant’s Causeway, built by the legendary hero and giant Fionn mac Cumhaill. The famous hexagonal stones are known as Clochan na bhFomharach, which means ‘Stones of the Formorians’. The Formorians were an ancient demonic race that were defeated by the Tuatha Dé Danann. Also in Portballintrae in Co. Antrim you will find the Lissanduff Circles, which are originally thought to be fairy forts. Part of an ancient road was found near the upper circles and it is believed that it once went south from Lissanduff all the way to Tara. Ella Young (1867–1956), the poet and Celtic mythologist and member of The Gaelic & Celtic Revival, was born in Fenagh, Co. Anrtim. Ethna Carbery (born Anna Johnston) (1864–1902) was a great folklorist and songwriter born in Kirkinriola, Ballymena, Co. Antrim.
THE FAIRY TREE (CO. ANTRIM)
Co. Antrim is indeed a fine place to find wonderful stories – from the Giant’s Causeway to Deirdre of the Sorrows. Indeed, what better place in this magical county to find stories of the good folk other than the Glens of Antrim. There are nine glens altogether and they all have many stories to tell.
According to Michael Sheane in his book The Glens of Antrim: Their Folklore and History, the nineteenth-century poet Harry Browne collected many stories of the good folk from around the Glens of Antrim for The Ulster Journal of Archeology. We too have collected some of these stories and would like to tell them to you now…
Many years ago, a young man from Glenarm told Browne about his grandfather, who had seen the good folk many times. In fact, on one occasion his grandfather had seen a fight take place between the wee folk. They were certainly aggressive wee craythurs when they got going. The old man told his grandson that he had met a fella from Cushendall with his head facing the wrong way around; ‘Be jeepers, what a sight it was!’ When he asked him what had happened, the poor chap told him that he had cut down a fairy tree. He had thought nothing of it despite all the warnings, and he went to bed as usual that night. But when he woke up he was shocked to find that his face was at the back of his neck!
Another person told of an experience he had whilst he was living in Glendun. He had wanted to cut down a Skeogh or fairy tree that was on his farmland. Well now this fella went like the Hammers a’ Hell at this lone bush with his axe and after a couple of strikes, didn’t the blade bend or turn (as they say in Co. Antrim) and he had to get another one. So when he came back with his nice new sharp axe he let out a big strike at the tree. As soon as
the blade hit the trunk of the tree, blood started pouring from it. Now the poor fella got an awful shock from all this and he decided to give up on the job. He went home and went to bed, and when he woke up the next morning, sure there was not a hair upon his head, and he was as bald as an egg. After that the poor man had to wear a wig and his hair never grew back.
Now you don’t always have to cut down a fairy tree for the wee folk to get upset; in fact, if you try and build or dig near one, this can cause problems too, as you are more than likely on a fairy path. Browne talks about a chap whose son wanted to build a rabbit hutch for his pets. So he started to dig near where there stood a Skeogh, then out of nowhere he could hear a voice calling to him ‘Don’t dig here!’, but he just thought it was the wind and he paid no heed and kept on digging away. Again, the voice cried out, only louder this time, ‘Don’t dig here!’, now this time he figured it was one of his friends trying to play a trick on him, so he stopped and went to find the culprit. But lo and behold there was no one there at all and the young fellow went on about his digging, only this time the voice screamed out ‘Don’t dig here!’ and he felt something fly past him, which sent him head over heels on the grass. When he looked up he saw a strange ghostly figure that looked like a pile of rags blowing in the wind standing over him. It had no face but had eyes of burning red. It pointed a ragged finger at him and screamed once more ‘Don’t dig here!’ Well with that the young chap jumped up from the ground and took to his heels. After that he made sure to build his rabbit hutch in a far safer place away from any fairy trees.
In Emyr Estyn Evans’ classic book Irish Folk Ways he states that, ‘A fairy thorn (fairy tree), as one not planted by man, but which grew on its own, typically on some ancient cairn or rath’. It is true that the fairy tree is not grown by man; in fact it is the birds and the fauna that plants the seeds. When they eat the haws or berries of the hawthorn or whitethorn tree, they then pass the seeds in their droppings all over the countryside and that is why we see so many fairy trees all over the rural and wilder parts of Ireland.
But that is not to say that they are not sacred and possess great power – in fact, it only adds to their mystique and their total freedom from the constraints of man and modern agriculture. The poet Harry Browne states in Michael Sheane’s book that he remembered a fairy tree in Glens of Antrim, growing inside a hedge by the roadside. It stood there for a very long time and no one ever tried to clip it or prune it, for fear of a retaliation from the good folk. But after a while the tree was becoming a problem as it started to hang out over the road and it was declared that it could cause an accident or just block the road completely. So, with that a decision was made to have the tree cut down altogether. The road-man who was asked to take care of it refused point blank and would not have anything to do with such desecration. Well the old road-man eventually died and a younger fella took his place. He had no belief in such superstitious nonsense, so he went ahead and cut down the tree. Not long after this the road-man’s daughter died. It was said that some of the local people took the branches of the tree and put them under the road-man’s haystacks and it was this that had put the piseog (curse) upon him.
The fairy tree is part of a greater family of plants that grow in the wild and are associated with the supernatural. For example, foxgloves are a very common flower in the Glens of Antrim; they are sometimes called fairy thimbles or fairy hats because of their unique conical shape. The ash tree or ash plant is said to have great powers and was used by Druids in the ancient world as part of their rituals. Ash rods are placed in the ground overnight before building a house. If they are moved or damaged at all the house must be built elsewhere, as this is a sign of obstructing a fairy path.
There are many plants and herbs that grow in the wild that were used by wise men and women, or fairy doctors. These people were both feared and revered by the country folk. Two very famous fairy doctors were Moll Anthony, the Wise Woman of Kildare, and Biddy Early, the Wise Woman of Clare. These women were also known as witches or Cailleaghs but eventually they were simply called hags, which seemed to lessen their power and influence on the country folk. The hawthorn or fairy thorn is also known as the hag thorn; its berries are said to be associated with sacrificial drops of blood.
It is believed that the fairy tree is the watchtower to the Tuatha Dé Danann. These were a powerful race of magical people who ruled Ireland long before humans arrived. When the humans did arrive in the form of the Gaels or the Celts they were defeated by these mortal intruders. So they made a pact that the Gaels would live above the ground and they would dwell below. They used the whitethorn tree to look out across the land, to make sure it was clear to go on their nightly excursions and dances.
On the 1st of May, or Lá Bealtaine (this symbolises the beginning of summer and also the day that the fairies came to Ireland), the May bushes are put out in front of people’s houses and decorated. They symbolise the fairy tree and bring good luck to anyone who leaves out a May bush.
The fairy tree is indeed an ancient and powerful thing and not to be treated with disregard or contempt. The well-known Co. Antrim storyteller Liz Weir told me once that she met a very well-to-do Co. Antrim farmer who believed that all this fairy business was a load of nonsense. But when she asked him would he ever cut down a fairy tree on his land he quickly replied, ‘I most certainly would not!’
The following is a poem called ‘The Fairy Tree’ from South Armagh bard Marie McCartan (née Murphy), a good neighbour of Paula’s from Forkhill. Marie is a wonderful character who hails from a family of bright and creative people who offer much to the area. Her mother was Brigid Murphy, a story and song collector. Her stories are kept safe in the Folk Museum in Cultra and the songs she collected are in the archives in Dublin.
Marie has published her own book of poetry, also entitled The Fairy Tree. As well as being a Bard of Armagh finalist, she was the recipient of the 2012 prestigious Gerry Watters Hall of Fame Award at the Bard of Armagh Competition.
The Fairy Tree
By Marie McCartan
He was born along the border
On wet and boggy land
He got started at the smuggling
And bought himself a van
He shifted pigs and cattle
It was profit without pain
He bought himself a lorry
And started moving grain
He was known for sharp dealing
A smart mover, a cute hoor
Money changed how people saw him
You’re no one when you’re poor
But when you’re rich, you’re not a smuggler
You’re an entrepreneur
On a mansion he decided just as big as it could be
He had found the site he wanted
Out near Dromintee
A meadow of five acres
Where the corncrake used to be
But growing in the middle
Was a little fairy tree
He bought the land and paid in cash
And had the plans drawn up
To him it was a hawthorn bush
His plans it wouldn’t stop
He brought his aging mother
His dream site for to see
She stood awhile then sighed and said
You bought a fairy tree
He said he planned to build there
Just where the tree was stuck
She said, you’ll have to leave it
It will only bring bad luck
He said, all that oul talk is piseogs
It’s just a hawthorn bush
There’s no such thing as fairies
It will fall down with a push
She says, I have to warn you
That if you touch the tree
The luck that kept you going till now
Never more will be
You can’t cut it, you can’t push it
You must wait till it falls down
A fairy tree is sacred
For
it grows on fairy ground
Although he didn’t heed her much
He began to have some qualms
The fairy tree would have to go
But he’d have to change his plans
He resolved to dig around it
And hired a JCB
But the roots remained embedded
And the fairy tree stood free
He thought he’d try and burn it out
Sure they’d have to let that pass
The fairies couldn’t blame him
For a fire in the grass
As he sprinkled on the kerosene
And waited for to see
A voice from out of nowhere warned
Don’t burn the fairy tree
He looked around saw no one
Thought, it’s all in my oul head
But, the voice from out of nowhere said
Destroy it and you’re dead
He lit the match and dropped it
Then out of there did flee
The fire burnt everything in sight
Except, the fairy tree
He thought he’d try explosives
He brought experts from afar
You won’t find that kind of expert
In a place like South Armagh
They carefully laid the charges
Blew up stones and lumps of wood
But when the smoke and dust had settled
The fairy tree still stood
He thought he’d try and flood it out
To Hell with the bad luck
He brought the digger in again
Diverted a large shuck
The water poured around it
And flooded the big field
But the fairy tree still stood its ground
It wasn’t going to yield
He built the house around the tree
It was finished safe and sound
What happened is a mystery
One night the house fell down
The field was filled with rubble
Burnt, blew up and then the flood
But right there in the middle
The fairy tree still stood
If he’d listened to his mother
And left the fairy tree