’Twas then he noticed his horse was gone.
“Lord God,” says he, “I’m robbed! Where’s my horse?”
He jumped up, but if he did, his trousers very near fell down around his knees.
“What’s this?” says he, and he put his hands in his pockets. What came out? Only fists o’ gold!
He went home to his wife, anyway, and she was surprised to see him back so early.
“Did you sell?” says she.
“I don’t know whether or which,” says he. “All I know is this,” and he emptied the money up on the table.
“Now,” says he, “tell me am I dreaming, or what?”
He told her the whole story, from start to finish. And d’you know what that woman said? She said, “The best thing we could do now is go into the bank in Ennis and change it.”
“Why?” says he. “Is it ’cause you think I got it wrong?”
“No, but I’d feel better about it, if the story you told me is true.”
“Well, you can believe me. ’Tis true.”
“We’ll go to town, so, this very day,” says she, “and change it.”
And that’s the very thing they did—into the main bank in the town of Ennis. I can tell you, ’tis very few times they were in a bank before that. And when they went in the door, they were stopped by one o’ these lads with the uniforms.
“Who’re you looking for?”
“Oh . . . the manager, sir,” says Brian. He didn’t know at all that he was only talking to the doorman. The man looked ’em up and down, just like he was God Almighty.
“And what’s your business with the manager? Have you an appointment?”
“No, sir, but—”
“Well, then, he can’t see you. He’s an important man.”
That’s the time Brian’s wife took out some o’ the gold.
“That’s a pity,” says she. “We wanted to ask him about this. But, sure, we can always go somewhere else.”
Wasn’t she the brave woman!
But the old manager was watching all this from his office, behind a small window—oh, they’re clever lads—and as soon as he saw the gold, he was out the door like a hare, full of old soft talk, like they were his nearest relations. “Oh, how are you?” and “You’re welcome” and “Is there anything I can do for you?” and all that. They’re terrible old hypocrites, them bank managers, you know.
So, he brought ’em into his office—no such thing as queuing up when he saw the money—and he sat ’em down.
“Now,” says he, “you’re here on business, are you?”
“We are, sir,” says Brian’s wife. ’Twas she did all the talking. And just as well, too.
“What’ll you give us for that?” says she.
She took out the purse where she had the gold and counted it up on the table in front of him. “One, two . . . nine, ten . . . eighteen, nineteen . . . twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine. There you are.”
And Brian, the fool, he was just going to ask her what she did with the last one when she gave him a kick in the shin under the table and a dirty look. And d’you think the manager noticed that? Indeed he didn’t! All he was interested in was the gold.
“Well?” says she. “What’ll you give us for it?”
He weighed it and it nearly broke the scales, ’twas so heavy.
“Oh, ’tis worth . . . ’tis worth fifty pounds.” That was a fortune o’ money in them days.
She only laughed at him.
“Weren’t we offered twice that across the street in the other bank!”
’Twas a pure lie for her, o’ course, but he didn’t know that.
“We’ll go back there now, Brian,” says she. “Come on.”
“Hold on. Wait,” says the manager. “Maybe I weighed it wrong.”
Well he knew, the thief, that he was getting a great bargain even at twice what he was offering.
They settled for a hundred pounds, anyway. Sure, ’twas an unheard-of sum for poor people.
And when they came out on the street Brian says to her, “Why did you keep the last one?”
She only shook her head at him. “Your mother didn’t teach you much, did she? Or maybe you weren’t listening to her when she was talking. Don’t everyone know that if the Good People pay you for something you should never give it all away. D’you want to insult ’em? Maybe you don’t know that much. But I do.”
’Twas true for her. Because after that, everything they put their hand to, it seemed to go right for ’em. As long as they had that piece o’ fairy gold they were fine.
They built up into one o’ the best-off families in the whole parish for a finish. Some of ’em are there yet, and decenter people you wouldn’t meet in a long day’s traveling.
In the most familiar of places the Good People can accost us, proving in the process that the reality we take for granted may not be as fixed as we think. Brian O’Rourke, a man bowed down by the brute facts of survival, little realizes that a simple journey to sell his horse, on a road that he has traveled all his life, will turn into an otherworldly nightmare. But so it happens.
He emerges safely from a sinister fairy netherworld only because of a relative of his who has previously been abducted by the Good People and can warn him not to make her mistakes. (An intriguing question must be: What fate befalls her for helping him thus?)
It could well be said about this story that though the main actor is male, it can really be seen as about women, their courage, self-sacrifice, and plain common sense.
And as regards the fate of fairy gold, it ends not in the usual way, but as having somewhat the best of both worlds: keeping it and spending it!
“There was a story, too, about women that used be up all night spinning an’ a certain woman knocking at the door an’ coming in—she was a fairy woman. Ah, she spun mad all night. She came to help ’em. I don’t know why.”
MILTOWN, JUNE 27, 1999
The Fairies Repay a Favor
I ALWAYS HEARD it said by the old people that ’tis bad to be bad. It’ll only come back on yourself in the end. But to do the good act is no load to anyone. And there’s plenty proof o’ that.
There was a man living in the parish o’ Ruan one time, a married man; his people are out there yet. He had a reputation o’ being generous, and his father and grandfather before him were the same. Decent people, got on with everyone, and great neighbors. If you were in any kind o’ bother you knew where to go for help. And if they could give it, you’d get it. No more about it.
There was this fort near the house, just outside the yard. Never interfered with, o’ course. And this morning, early, his wife was gone on out before him to start the milking. He was washing something inside and he’d be out after her.
So he did, went out with his bucket. But as he was crossing the yard he heard a child crying, a young child. The first thing he thought was, “ ’Tis some tinker woman.” There was a lot o’ beggars and traveling people on the roads in them days, you know, so that’d be nothing strange.
He left down the bucket and went back, but there was no one there, or around the house at all.
He didn’t know what was wrong, if he was imagining it or not. But when he was going back to where he left the bucket, he heard it again, the same crying. So he stood and listened. And ’twas there, all right—coming out o’ the fort!
Begod, another man’d leave it, but he . . . he wanted to find out what was the crying. Didn’t he steal over and look in between the bushes. And there was a woman inside, sitting down, feeding a small child. The child was crying, whatever was wrong. Maybe she had no milk for him.
He took one look, and ran to the cowshed.
“Have you any drop milked yet?” says he to his wife.
She had—maybe a jug full. He took whatever she had—quick! quick!—and back to the fort with him. He left it in ever so quiet between the bushes—never even spoke to that woman, or let her see him, I think. Then he went off and milked the cows.
/> But later on, when the breakfast was over—and I s’pose he had her told what was going on—they went out, and there was the jug, empty. And no sign o’ the woman or the child.
If you had no belief at all in the fairies or any o’ them things, you could say ’twas all a thing that happened naturally, except for one thing.
A while after, a dose o’TB came around there. Oh, ’twas desperate. I remember men nearly being broke with it. There was none o’ the cures that’s there today for it at that time, no antibiotics or nothing. If your cattle got it, you were in trouble. Many a man went to the wall because of it. ’Twas fierce around these parts for a while at that time.
But, wasn’t it a strange thing, though? That man I’m telling you about, not a one of his cows died, or even got sick. And he was the only man for miles around that didn’t lose some animal. That was well noticed.
Would you think had it something to do with the woman in the fort? If she was there, at all!
Wasn’t it queer, all the same.
If a majority of accounts of encounters with the fairies seem to emphasize outcomes that are unpleasant for the humans involved, this story shows that this is by no means inevitably or necessarily the case. Which goes to prove that they also appreciate generosity, a helping hand in adversity, and repay a favor done, especially to the more helpless among them.
“This man was at the fair o’Tubber an’ when he came home he went off to do his herding. . . . He sat on a stone, anyway, counting his money. An’ he left some of it on the stone, by his side, an’ whatever else he was doing, when he reached out his hand for the money, ’twas gone. ’Twas years before he got it back. He used always go to the stone an’ sit on it, an’ this day, after a long time, he went to the stone an’ the money was there for him. They left it back again.”
BALLINRUAN, AUGUST 17, 1999
Fairy Races Horse to Repay a Favor
FAIRIES AND MILK, yes. There was a lot between them, all right. I heard stories about fairy women milking cows. I’ll tell you one of ’em.
This man was a big farmer, but he had a terrible shine for racing. Between gambling and racing, ’tis a risky business and he got into trouble. He was breeding great horses. They were as fine as you could look at, but they were missing the turn o’ speed.
He was going down, down, down, anyway. He had only nine or ten cows in the finish, and they used to keep forty cows there at one time. But one morning his wife told him that there was a certain cow milked, milked dry. And she was a good cow. He made nothing of it, but the next morning she was milked again. After about a week, ’twas getting serious, and he brought out the shotgun one morning before daylight. He thought ’twas some live person, now, milking this cow.
This cow was missing from the rest o’ the cows and she was inside a fort near the house with a woman sitting down milking her.
He confronted her, anyway.
“Well,” she said, “we’re in trouble. I’m a fairy and my husband was killed. The fairies had a battle. My husband got killed. And d’you see that little boy there?” He was sitting down on the ground; he was about three or four or five years old at the time. “I’m milking your cow—”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” says he. “Milk her away.” He got frightened.
“That little boy’ll do you a turn yet,” she said.
That was all right. Years went by, but, sure, ’tis hard to come back when you’re broke. And even though they had a very big farm, farmers had to pay rent and rates at that time. ’Tisn’t like now. But he had this three-year-old horse. She was out of a very good racing mare, but anything she bred up to then was missing the turn o’ speed. But ’twas only an ordinary horse that he gave to her; someone like himself had an old broken-down thorough-bred that he brought her to. And he was thinking o’ flapping the horse. You know, flapper races23 were in every town at the time, small stakes, nine or ten pound. He’d make a few pound that way.
This was years after—maybe ten or twelve years after.
He was out one morning, early, to gallop the horse. The course he had for galloping him was around the fort. And this young fellow, about sixteen or seventeen years, came up to him and stopped him. He put up his hand and stopped the horse.
“You’re going flapping that horse,” he said to him.
“I am,” says the man. “I must make a few pounds some way or another.”
“Don’t,” he said. “There’s a big race above in the Curragh o’ Kildare, a hundred sovereigns and a gold cup. I’ll ride that horse for you,” he said. “Train him as good as you can now, but I’ll be there. You won’t see me now, till before the race starts. But I’ll be there on the Curragh o’ Kildare.”
The man trained the horse. He had no money to send him, so he had to walk him from Clare to Kildare. He started off, and he knew these racing people along the road here and there that gave him a night’s lodging and put up the horse. He landed at the Curragh o’ Kildare, anyway, and ’twas all English landlords and big people there. He had the horse entered beforehand for this big race, but, by God, there was no trace o’ the jockey coming up. The bell was ringing for the race and there was no trace of him.
But all of a sudden he saw this young fellow dressed in grand colors—the jockey—walking across the course, a riding whip in his hand.
He gave a slap to the horse behind the saddle, and the horse went wild. Only for he was a right good man he wouldn’t be able to hold him.
He spoke then and said, “Things aren’t as rosy as I thought. There’s a Freemason24 jockey from Wales riding in this race and it’ll be touch and go between the two of us.”
“Well,” says the owner o’ the horse, “racing is always like that. ’Tis always dicey like that. That’s what makes it good,” says he. “ ’Tis known as the sport o’ kings, but I’m in no humor for that now. I’m too broken. Do your best anyway.”
“But have you money?” the fairy jockey said to the poor man.
“I have nothing,” says he, “but a fiver.”
“Well, that horse, he’s a rank outsider. He’s forty to one. If you get a bookie to take you on, do. But I must go a furlong first,” he said. “I’ll have the Freemason’s measure taken then, and I’ll take a red handkerchief out o’ my pocket and wave it back three times. If I don’t do that, don’t put on the fiver.”
The race started, anyway. This fairy mounted the horse and when the signal gave that they were off, the man was watching.
When the fairy jockey passed the furlong mark he put back the handkerchief. The man went to a bookie. He was well known, but they seldom take a bet after the start. But this bookie took the fiver from him; he was forty to one.
They rode on, anyway, and ’twas hell for leather, but the Freemason jockey didn’t put his horse to the front for a long time. There was fifteen great horses in this race. And every time the fairy jockey’d make a move, the Freemason jockey’d make it after him.
They went on and on, anyway, and they was fifth; then they was fourth. This was a long race; ’twas a three-mile race, with no jumps.
But in the finish, the Freemason and the fairy, they were riding very close.
The Freemason said, “You’re a fairy.”
“Well, if I am,” he said, “you’re a limb from the Devil. We’ll have it out now.”
They went on, anyway, and they were second, and for a finish they were first, the two of ’em. They were locked in each other. They could get no more to make the horses faster. They had everything tried, the spur and whip and everything. But the fairy jockey thought of a plan. ’Tis a big tape they’d have across the course at that time. There was none o’ these photo finishes, no electricity, o’ course. And the fairy took his leg out o’ the stirrup and he kicked the horse under the jaw. He hit the tape first, and he beat the Freemason jockey.
That story was told a thousand times. ’Tis way longer than that, but that’s the main part of it.
And the money? Well, that’s the best of it, entirely. The
man drew his money from the bookie. He got two hundred pounds and he got the gold cup. But the next thing, the newsmen surrounded him to know who was riding the horse and know all about him.
The fairy jockey went another way, but he whispered to the man before he went, “Sell that horse. He’ll never again win a race.”
The man, being a man o’ horses, he wouldn’t sell the horse for anything. He brought the horse home, and the horse died when he came into his own land. But he was a rich man ever after.
He discouraged his sons from racing. One of ’em went at it, though. I s’pose ’twas in the blood.
But that was a fairy, the woman who was milking the cow for to rear her son.
They have their own troubles, you know.
Here we see once more the fairies not as inhabiting an ideal world, distant from ours, but very near us, sometimes even dependent on our good offices in their time of misfortune. And for those humans who respond kindly, their response is no less benign.
In this story are paralleled two worlds, ours and that of the Good People, mediated by familiar animals—in this case cows, horses. But there are other details also which increase the sense of drama—the introduction of Freemasonry (for most older Irish people, synonymous with sinister deeds), the competition between the Freemason and fairy jockey, and the manner in which the fairy scorns the Freemason as a “limb of the Devil.” They, too, have their priorities, obviously.
But the mystery continues: Despite the fairy jockey’s warning to its owner to sell the winning horse, he refuses and pays for his sentimentality. The horse dies as soon as it returns home to the man’s own land. But why there? We are not told.
“There was a man above here across, he had a horse that used be sweating in the stable in the morning an’ the print o’ the saddle on him. In the wintertime, now! Found in the morning sweating different times. He used be gone with the fairies.”
MILTOWN, JUNE 27, 1999
Mare Taken for Fairy Battle
AN ANCESTOR O’ MINE, he lived between here and Ballinruan, up the hills. He was in bed this night and he got a call. He thought he knew the voice. And they asked him if they could get his mare. Now, his mare was a fíor-lár, a fairy horse, and in the night, if she was coming home from Tulla, she’d nearly throw him out o’ the saddle at any haunted spot—like Tyredagh Gate.
Meeting the Other Crowd Page 19