Celtic Lore & Legend (14 page)

Leaving all behind him, the hero sets off into the mystic realm.

The homes of the fairies are commonly in raths, tumuli of the pagan days of Ireland and. On this account, raths are much dreaded and after sundown are avoided by the peasantry. Attempts have been made to move some of these raths but the unwillingness of some of the peasants to engage in the work, no matter what inducements may be offered in compensation, has generally resulted in the abandonment of the undertaking. On one of the islands in the Upper Lake of Killarney there is a rath, the proprietor finding it occupied too much ground, resolved to have it levelled to increase the arable surface of the field. The work was begun, but one morning, in the early dawn, as the laborers were crossing the lake on their way to the island, they saw a procession of about two hundred persons, habited like monks, leave the island and proceed to the mainland, followed, as the workmen thought, by a long line of small, shining figures. The phenomenon was perhaps genuine, for the mirage is by no means an uncommon appearance in some parts of Ireland, but work on the rath was at once indefinitely postponed. Besides raths, old castles, deserted graveyards, ruined churches, secluded glens in the mountains, springs, lakes and caves, all are the homes and resorts of fairies, as is very well known on the west coast.

The better class of fairies are fond of human society and often act as guardians to those they love. In parts of Donegal and Galway they are believed to receive the souls of the dying and escort them to the gates of heaven, not, however being allowed to enter with them. On this account, fairies love graves and graveyards, having often been seen walking to and fro among the grassy mounds. There are indeed, some accounts of faction fights among the fairy bands at or shortly after a funeral, the question in dispute being whether the soul of the departed belonged to one or the other faction.

The amusements of the fairies consist of music, dancing and ball-playing. In music their skill exceeds that of men, while their dancing is perfect, the only drawback being the fact that
it blights the grass, “fairy rings” of dead grass, apparently caused by a peculiar fungous growth, being common in Ireland. Although their musical instruments are few, the fairies use those few with wonderful skill. Near Colooney, in Sligo, there is a “knowledgeable woman”, whose grandmother’s aunt once witnessed a fairy ball, the music for which was furnished by an orchestra which the management had no doubt been at great pains and expense to secure and instruct.

“It was the cutest sight alive. There was a place fro thim to shtand on an’ a wonderful big fiddle av the size ye could slape [
Editor’s Note
: sleep] in it, that was played by a monshtrous frog an’ two little fiddles, that two kittens fiddled on, an’ two big drums baten be cats an’ two trumpets played be fat pigs. All around the fairies were dancing like angels, the fireflies givin’ thim light to see by an’ the moonbames shinin’ on the lake, for it was be the shore it was, an’ if ye don’t believe it, the glen’s still there, that they call the fairy glen to this blessed day.”

The fairies do much singing, seldom, however, save in chorus, and their songs were formerly more frequently heard than at present. Even now as belated peasant, who has been at a wake, or is coming home from a fair, in passing a rath will sometimes hear the soft strain of their voices in the distance and will hurry away lest they discover his presence and be angry at the intrusion on their privacy. When in unusually good spirits, they will sometimes admit a mortal to their revels, but if he speaks, the scene at once vanishes, he becomes insensible and usually finds himself by the roadside the next morning, “wid that degray av pains in his arums an’ legs an’ back, that if sixteen thousand devils were afther him he cudn’t stir a toe to save the sowl av him, that’s phat the fairies do be pinchin’ an’ punchin’ him for comin’ on them an’ shpakin’ out loud”.

Kindly disposed fairies often take great pleasure in assisting those who treat them with proper respect, and as
their favors always take a practical form, there is sometimes a business value in the show of reverence for them. There was Barney Noonan from County Leitrim, for instance: “An’ sorra a better boy was in the country than Barney. He’d work as reg’lar as a pump an’ liked a bit av divarshun as well as anybody when he’d the time for it, that was n’t often to be sure, but small blame to him, for he was n’t rich be no manner o’ manes. He’d a power av ragard av the good people an’ when he wint be the rath beyant his field, he’d pull off his caubeen an’ take the dudheen out av his mouth, as p’lite as a dancin’ masther, an’ say ‘God save ye ladies an’ gintlemen’ that the good people always heard though they never showed themselves to him. He’d a bit o’ a bog that the hay was on, an’ afther cuttin’ it, he left it for to dhry, an’ the sun came out beautiful an’ in a day or so the hay was as dhry as powdher an’ ready to put away.

So Barney was goin’ to put it up, but it bein’ the day av the fair, he thought he’d take the calf an’ sell it, an’ so he did, comin’ up wid the boys, he stayed over his time, bein’ hindhered wid dhrinkin’ an’ dancin’ an’ palaverin’ at the gurls so it was afther dark when he got home an’ the night as black as a crow, the clouds gatherin’ on the tops av the mountains like avil sper’ts an’ crapin’ down into the glens like disthroyin’ angels an’ the wind howlin’ like tin thousand Banshees, but Barney did n’t mind it all wan copper, bein’ glorified wid the dhrink he’d had. So the hay niver enthered the head av him, but he wint an’ tumbled in bed an’ was shnorin’ like a horse in two minnits for he was a bach’ler, God bless him, an’ had no wife to gosther him an’ ax him where he’d been an’ phat he’d been at, an’ make him tell a hundred lies about not getting’ home afore. So it came on to thunder an’ lightnin’ like as all the avil daymons in the univarse were fightin’ wid cannons in the shky, an’ by an’ by there was a clap loud enough to shplit yer skull an’ Barney woke up.

‘Tattheration to me’ says he to himself ‘it’s goin’ for to rain an’ me hay on the ground. Phat’ll I do?’ says he.

So he rowled over on the bed, an’ looked out av a crack for to see if it was ralely rainin’. An’ there was the biggest crowd he iver seen av little men and wimmen. They’d built a row o’ fires from the cow-house to the bog an’ were comin’ in a shtring like cows goin’ home, aitch wan wid his two arums full o’ hay. Some were in the cow-house, recayvin’ the hay, some were in the field, rakin’ the hay together, an’ some were shtandin’ wid their hands in their pockets, beways they were the bosses, tellin’ the rest for to make haste. An’ so they did, for every wan run like he was afther goin’ for the docther, an’ brought a load an’ hurried back for more.

Barney looked through the crack at thim a crossin’ himself ivery minnit wid admiration for the spheed they had. ‘God be good to me’, says he to himself, “t is not ivery gossoon in Leitrim that’s got haymakers like thim’ only he never spake a word out loud, for he knewn very well the good people ‘ud n’t like it. So they brought in all the hay an’ put it in the house an’ thin let the fires go out an’ made another big fire in front o’ the dure, an’ begun to dance round it wid the sweetest music Barney iver heard.

Now be this time he’d got up an’ feelin’ aisey in his mind about the hay, began to be very merry. He looked on through the dure at thim dancin’ an’ by an’ by, they brought out a jug wid little tumblers an’ began to drink summat that they poured out o’ the jug. If Barney had the sense av a herrin’, he’d a kept shtill an’ let thim drink their fill without opening the big mouth av him, bein’ that he was full as a goose himself an’ naded no more; but when he seen the jug an’ the fairies drinkin’ away wid all their mights, he got mad and bellered out like a bull ‘Arrah-a-a-h now, ye little attomies, is it drinkin’ ye are an’ never givin’ a sip to a thirsty mortial that always thrates ye as well as he knows how’ an’ immejitly the fairies an’ the fire
an’ the jug all wint out av his sight an’ he to bed again in a timper. While he was layin’ there he thought he heard talkin’ an’ a cugger-mugger goin’ on but when he peeped out agin, sorra a thing did he see but the black night an’ the rain comin’ down an’ aitch dhrop the full av a wather-noggin. So he wint to slape (sleep), continted that the hay was in, but not plazed that the good people ‘ud be pigs entirely, to be afther dhrinkin’ under his eyes an’ not offer him a taste, no not so much as a shmell at the jug.

In the mornin’ up he gets an’ out for to look at the hay an’ see if the fairies put it in right, for he says, ‘It’s a job they’re not used to’. So, he looked in the cow-house an’ thought the eyes ‘ud lave him when there was n’t a shtraw in the house at all. ‘Holy Moses’, says he, ‘phat have they done wid it?’, an he could n’t consave phat had gone wid the hay. So he looked in the field an’ it was all there; bad luck to the bit av it had the fairies left in the house at all, but when he shouted at thim, they got tarin’ mad an’ took all the hay back agin to the bog, puttin’ every shtraw where Barney laid it an’ it was as wet as a drownded cat. But it was a lesson to him that he niver forgot, an’ I go bail that the next time the fairies help him in wid his hay, he’ll kape shtill an’ let thim dhrink thimselves to death if they plaze without sayin’ a word.”

Although humans and fairies lived alongside each other, it was usually impossible for mortals to actually see their fairy neighbors. For the most part, rural Celtic peoples went about their daily lives oblivious to the thriving but unseen fairy world that existed all around them. It was, nevertheless, possible to see into this world, albeit briefly, but only with the permission of the fairies themselves. Sometimes they granted individuals direct sight of their world simply through personal contact and “bringing them away” with them; they allowed a human to find a four-leafed clover, which allowed the fairy world to be seen; and at other times they granted the sight by means of a magical ointment that could be applied to mortal eyes. This latter method was merely a temporary one, for the ointment’s effects soon wore off and normal sight returned, but with another application, sight of the fairy world was often restored. Wise women and conjurers were always supposed to have this ointment to aid them in their dealings with the fairy folk, and so stories about these potent salves are legion throughout Irish, Scottish, Welsh,
and Cornish folklore. It is thought that such ointments had a detrimental long-term effect on human eyes (because humans were not really supposed to see the fairy world at all). This is perhaps not surprising, because some conjurers were trying to actually make the salve from noxious ingredients and applying it to their own eyes! Any loss of sight was attributed to fairy annoyance. The following interesting and rather unique story, which comes from St. Leven in Cornwall, is taken from Robert Hunt’s “The Drolls, Traditions, and Superstitions of Old Cornwall” (published in 1881).

by Robert Hunt

Joan was housekeeper to Squire Lovell and was celebrated for her beautiful knitting. One Saturday afternoon, Joan wished to go to Penzance to buy a pair of shoes for herself and some things for the Squire. So the weather being particularly fine, away she trudged.

Joan dearly loved a bit of gossip and always sought for company. She knew Betty Trenance was always ready for a jaunt: to be sure everybody said that Betty was a witch; but says Joan “Witch or no witch, she shall go: bad company is better than none.”

Away went Joan to Lemorna, where Betty lived. Arrived at Betty’s cottage, she peeped through the latch-hole (the finger-hole) and saw Betty rubbing some green ointment on the children’s eyes. She watched till Betty Trenance had finished and noticed that she put the salve on the inner end of the chimney stool and covered it over with a rag.

Joan went in and Betty was delighted sure enough to see her and sent the children out of the way. But Betty wouldn’t walk to Penzance, she was suffering with pain and she had
been taking milk and suet and brandy and rum and she must have some more. So away went Betty to the other room for the bottle.

Joan seized the moment and taking a very small bit of the ointment on her finger, she touched her right eye with it. Betty came with the bottle and Joan had a drink; when she looked round she was surprised to see the house swarming with small people. They were playing all sorts of pranks on the key-beams and rafters. Some were swinging on cobwebs, some were riding the mice, and others were chasing them in and out of the holes in the thatch. Joan was surprised at the sight and thought that she must have a four-leafed clover about her.

However, without stopping to take much drink, she started alone for Penzance. She had wasted, as it was that it was nearly dark when she reached the market.

After having made her purchases and as she was about to leave the market, who should she spy but Betty’s husband, Tom Trenance. There he was, stealing about in the shadows, picking from the standings, shoes and stockings from one, hanks of yarn from another, pewter spoons from a third and so on. He stuffed these things into his capacious pockets and yet no-one seemed to notice Tom.

Joan went forth to him.

“Aren’t ye ashamed to be here in the dark carrying such a game?”

“Is that you Dame Joan?” says Tom; “which eye can you see me upon?”

After winking, Joan said she could see Tom plain enough with her right eye. She had no sooner said the word than Tom Trenance pointed his finger to her eye and she lost the sight of it from that hour.

“The work of the world” had Joan to find her way out of Penzance. She couldn’t keep the road, she was always tumbling into the ditch on her blind side. When near the Fawgan,
poor Joan who was so weary that she could scarcely drag one leg after the other, prayed that she might find a quiet old horse on which she might ride home.

Her desire was instantly granted. There by the roadside, stood an old bony white horse, spanned with its halter.

Joan untied the halter from the legs and placed it on the head of the horse; she got on the hedge and seated herself on the horse’s back.