The rider solemnly thanked the two men and mounted his horse. Then he and his troop of riders disappeared into the night mist.
The two men stood speechless in the bog as the moon’s light shone mockingly through the swirling mist on their faces, but their minds were full of rich and magnificent thoughts. For they knew only too well that it was the mighty Wizard Earl of Kildare they had met in the barren plains of the bog on that lonely Midsummer’s Eve night.
THE LEGEND OF KILKEA CASTLE
The following poem is a poetical rendering of the story of the Wizard Earl and the pleading of his wife to show her his magic powers, having first asked her not to move or speak. But when he changed himself into a bird and a black cat sprang at it, she could not resist trying to stop it, and so broke the spell.
It takes place at Kilkea Castle, which is located just three miles north-west of Castledermot, County Kildare, near the village of Kilkea. It was another medieval stronghold of the Fitzgeralds, Earls of Kildare.
It is seven years since they last awoke
From their death-like sleep in Mullaghmast,
And the ghostly troop, with its snow-white horse,
On the Curragh plain in Kilkea rode past.
For the lord of Kildare goes forth tonight,
And has left his rest in the lonely rath.
Oh, roughen the road for the silver shoes,
That they wear full soon on his homeward path.
So then to his own he may come again,
With a trumpet blast and his warriors bold,
And the spell that was by his lady cast,
Will pass away as a tale once told.
For dearly she loved her noble lord,
And she wished that no secret from her he kept,
So she begged to know why in chamber small
He watched and toiled while the household slept.
But the Wizard Earl would not tell to her
The secret dark of his vaulted cell,
‘For fear,’ he said, ‘in the human frame
Lets loose the power of farthest Hell.’
But she feared for naught save his waning love,
And at length to hear her wish he bent an ear,
So flood, and serpent, and ghost gave place,
For the lady’s heart had shown no fear.
Then her lord to a bird was soon transformed,
That rested its wing on her shoulder fair;
But the lady screamed and swooned away,
When a cat sprang forth from the empty air.
For a woman must fear for the one she loves,
And a woman’s heart will break in twain,
When she knows that her hand had struck the blow,
To the man she had died to save from pain.
And thus the Earl must sleep as dead,
’Till the silver shoes of his steed are worn,
By which, every seven years, they say,
To Kilkea and back to the rath he’s borne.
And swiftly they pass, that phantom band,
With the Earl on his charger gleaming white,
So we think ’tis the shade of a ghost goes by,
With a shifting beam of the moon’s pale light.
3
THE POOKA HORSE
I first came across the story ‘The Kildare Pooka’ in William Butler Yeats’s 1888 publication Folk and Fairy Tales of the Irish Peasantry. In Yeats’s collection the story was retold by Patrick Kennedy (1801-1873) from his own book Legendry Fictions of the Irish Celts (1866). Kennedy was well known for his collections of Leinster folk tales. At the age of twenty-one he enrolled in a teacher-training course at the Kildare Place Society, officially known as The Society for Promoting the Education of the Poor of Ireland. In 1822 he was appointed as a teacher there. He gave up teaching at some point and opened a lending-library and bookshop in Dublin.
What is very strange about Kennedy’s story is that he removed all the names of places, characters and buildings from the text, leaving only the first letter of each word followed by a dash. Growing up in Rathcoffey, I was told by an old-timer that Rathcoffey Castle had its own ghost or ‘Pooka’ residing there and so I suspected that the missing name in Kennedy’s story was Rathcoffey Castle, but I had no proof.
The word ‘Pooka’ simply means ‘ghost’ or ‘phantom’ in the Irish language. The Pooka is a solitary and sinister fairy who has most likely never appeared in human form. His shape is usually that of a horse, bull, goat, eagle or donkey. But most commonly he appears as a horse, and derives great delight from taking unwary riders on his back and transporting them over ditches, rivers and mountains, before shaking them off in the early grey-light of the morning.
I had heard stories about phantom horses in Kildare many times, as Kildare is famous for its horse breeding and lots of people I knew at the time kept horses.
I first heard the name Pooka being used by the other children when I was growing up to describe ‘trick or treating’ at Halloween. ‘Are going on the Pooka?’ they would ask you coming up to Halloween.
Many years later by sheer chance I came across a collection called Irish Fairy Tales by the Irish historian and folklorist Padraic O’Farrell, published by Gill & Macmillan in 1997. And there it was, ‘The Rathcoffey Pooka’, and the missing names were filled in! I was so excited; all I had heard and suspected had been true. And now I would like to share this story in all its glory with you. It is one of my favourites, and like all the stories in this collection I have put my own twist on the tale.
In the province of Leinster lies County Kildare and within that county lies Rathcoffey in the civil parish of Balraheen. Halfway between Maynooth and Clane, and standing on top of Rathcoffey Hill, is Rathcoffey Castle. The castle is now in ruins but it was once a magnificent building, renowned for its feasts and banquets. There are two parts to Rathcoffey Castle: the remains of the twelfth-century Norman castle, built by the Wogan family and the shell of Rathcoffey House, built by Archibald Hamilton Rowan in 1784.
Rowan was a prominent figure in the 1798 Rebellion. In 1790 he was a founding member in Dublin of the Society of United Irishmen, working alongside such famous revolutionaries as William Drennan and Theobald Wolfe Tone. His involvement in these activities left him in a lot of bother. To put it another way, he was what you might call a wanted man. On one occasion he was hiding out at Rathcoffey House when he saw a troop of English soldiers riding towards him over the hill. Archibald did not waste any time, for he knew these boys were not calling around for a cup of tea and a chat. So he went out onto the balcony of his house and whistled out for his horse, which came galloping out from his stable beside the house. Archibald jumped off the balcony, landing square on the horse’s back and away they rode towards Clongowes Wood Castle, which was known at the time as Castlebrowne. His pursuers were hot on his trail, firing their muskets at him. He rode like the devil towards Castlebrowne and when he got there he burst through the front doors and straight up the stairs. He opened the windows of one of the top rooms and threw his hat out. His pursuers were close behind and followed him up to the room and saw the open window and his hat lying on the ground so they figured he had jumped out to escape. They ran back down the stairs and searched everywhere for him, but there was neither sight nor sound of him.
What his tormentors did not know was that there was a secret chamber in one of the top-floor rooms of the castle. Archibald pressed a hidden button in one of the bookcases and this opened a secret door and in he went to join his dear friend Wogan Browne for a glass of fine wine and a game of cards, while enjoying a good laugh at his pursuers’ expense. That secret room is still there to this day, along with the hidden button that opens the door.
However, the most famous story surrounding Archibald concerns his home. Every night, after all the merriment was over and all the crockery and cooking ware was left in the kitchen to be washed, the sound of banging and clattering accompanied by the sound of hysterical laughter and whistling could be heard co
ming from the kitchen. The servants were all scared out of their wits and never dared enter the kitchen to discover the sources of the sound. And every morning, to their amazement, the kitchen was always found spotless and everything clean and in its place. You could have eaten your dinner off the floor it was so well scrubbed.
Now there was a young scullery boy who lived and worked at the castle and he was a very lazy boy. He was so lazy that the only time he would lift his hand to do something was when he wished to scratch his head or pick his nose. He was so lazy that he made his mother cry. Now Rathcoffey Castle was a great place for a boy like this to work in, as he never had to do a stroke. It was heaven altogether, and why should he do anything when whatever it was coming to the kitchen at night was doing such a fine job, far better than he could ever do himself?
Well, one night, out of curiosity and boredom, he decided to see who or what was making all the noise and doing all the cleaning. He waited until all the ware was brought into the kitchen and left piled high to the ceiling with the mice eatin’ away at them. He knew that no one would bother him as they were all to frightened to go into the kitchen after dark so he built himself a nic big fire in he fireplace and lay down on some cushions before the hearth. Ah! It was a grand fire indeed. He could feel the warmth of the flames against his face, smell the aromatic smoke as it curled up the chimney, the flames throwing shadows on the walls like dancing demons and he was eased into a deep sleep by the gentle sound of the crackling wood.
Then, all of a sudden, he was woken by the most terrible howling and shrieking. Then the words ‘I’ve got ya now ya boy ya! I’ve got ya now!’ were bellowed into his face. The boy looked up in terror and standing above him was a great black horse with red eyes like burning coals and steam hissing out of its curled nostrils.
‘Whooo are you?’ stammered the boy, his heart pounding with fear. The horse grinned at him, revealing two rows of ivory white teeth. There was a glint of menace in the creature’s eye that sent a shiver down the boy’s spine.
The horse pulled over a chair and sat down in it and crossed his legs. He then reached in to his big black mane and produced a large clay pipe. He lit the pipe, took a deep drag out of it and exhaled the thick smoke out his nostrils. Then cleared his throat and spat onto the fire, causing it to hiss like an angry serpent. And then the horse began …
‘I am the Pooka horse and I dwell amongst the ruins and the hilltops. I have been driven monstrous by much solitude and they say I am of the race of the nightmare! But I was once a boy like you, a lazy boy just like you!’ The Pooka horse looked ever so pleased with himself as he went on to tell the poor boy his story. ‘I was so lazy, I made my mother cry and the fairies were so angry with me they sent a big black Pooka Horse, who threw me on his back and ran the full length and breadth of Ireland with me holding on for dear life. He ran to the south, where he took me to the top of Mount Carrantuohill in the County Kerry and he howled like a wolf. Then he took me to the west, where my teeth chattered as his hooves clattered across the mighty Burren in the County Clare. Then he took me to the north, where he jumped across Maggie’s Leap in the County Down and finally he brought me to the east, where my heart pounded as he bounded across the plains of the Curragh of Kildare. He came to a sudden halt and I was sent flying into the furze bushes and when I came to I was no longer a boy but the great black Pooka horse that you see before you now.’
The creature went on to explain that there was a curse upon him. ‘I would remain a Pooka horse and travel the land seeking out lazy people and when I found them, I would have to carry out all their chores and labour. The only way to break the spell is that I must find a boy or a girl lazier than I was, and catch them sleeping when they should be working.’ The Pooka grinned menacingly at the boy and took a deep drag from his pipe. He went on, ‘I found you a long time ago boy, dossing about, skiving off your duties and playing truant. All I had to do was to catch you sleeping. I waited and worked here doing all your chores and now I got ya! Ha!’ roared the Pooka horse.
‘Please!’ begged the boy. ‘Please give me one last chance. I promise I will never be lazy again and I will do all that is asked of me and more.’ The Pooka horse leered down at the boy and curled back his lips in a snarl, revealing those terrible teeth. Hissing at the boy he said, ‘We’ll see, we’ll see …’ With that, the Pooka put out his pipe, pushed it back into his mane, stood up, turned and opened the door. The boy heard him galloping across the plain outside, crying ‘We’ll see! We’ll see!’
The poor lad jumped up and began to scrub, mop and wash everything in the kitchen. He did this every day and night for a brave long while. And there was no sign of the Pooka horse. The people of Rathcoffey Castle were very pleased with and proud of their scullery boy, and they rewarded him well and he had a day off every week to do as he pleased. And they were no longer full of fear at night with all that strange commotion going on in the kitchen.
As time went on, the boy began to think that the Pooka horse was a thing of the past. In fact, he started to believe that he imagined the whole experience. He had been working so hard, far harder than anyone else in the castle and he deserved a night off. He was due a holiday the following week, but he could not wait.
So one night, after the festivities were over and all the dirty dishes were brought into the kitchen, he went inside as before and built himself a large fire. Ah! How lovely it was! He needed a rest and this was well-deserved.
It was not long before he drifted off to sleep, snoring away contentedly …
‘Ahhhhhhh! Ha! Ha! I got you now for sure, ya boy ya!’ The boy jumped out of his sleep absolutely terrified, his heart beating in his breast.
Standing above him was the Pooka horse. He grabbed the boy in his arms and roared with laughter in his face, then dropped the boy to the floor. The boy gawked in disbelief as the monster turned back into human form and he watched as his own body began to cover with hair and his hands turn to hooves. Standing before him was a young man looking ever so pleased with himself. Then he turned and ran from the house singing out ‘I’m free! I’m free!’
The scullery boy had become a Pooka horse and was doomed to search the land for a boy or a girl lazier than him to lift the terrible curse. But he could not bring himself to punish a child in such a dreadful way. So instead he went about helping the poor, weak and the sick. He helped wherever he could and never slacked on any job he started. He did all this without anyone knowing who did it or receiving any thanks. Then one day, many years later, the curse was lifted and he was no longer a boy, but a young man. And he then travelled from house to house, school to school telling young people his story, warning them of what might happen if they were lazy. But somewhere out there roams another Pooka horse who is keen to pass the curse on to someone else. So be wary and diligent in your work, for he might come looking for you!
4
THE RACE OF THE BLACK PIG
An ancient trackway across the Curragh was known as the Race of the Black Pig or the Black Ditch. This ancient track, some twenty miles in length, was the source of many traditional folk tales.
There was once a great schoolmaster who lived in Kildare a long time ago. Like the Wizard Earl of Kildare, he had some truly magnificent powers. One of his favourite tricks was to turn his students into pigs. One day they were all playing in the field beside the schoolhouse, in the form of black pigs, having a great time altogether and it just so happened that Thomas Fitzgerald, the Tenth Earl of Kildare – better known as Silken Thomas – was hunting in that area with a pack of hounds and an entourage of other noblemen. Seeing the pigs in the field, he set the pack of hounds on them. The poor pigs all ran in different directions through the countryside, and by doing this they formed the dykes called the Black Pig Dykes which are to be seen throughout the country. Another version of the story is that when the schoolmaster saw his students being terrorised by the hounds he himself turned into a great black boar and chased the dogs, carving up ditches and dykes with his
ferocious tusks.
Another story talks about a king from the north of Ireland who employed a schoolmaster for the education of his two sons. This same king was notorious for his knowledge in sorcery and magic, and he possessed mighty powers. On one occasion, during his absence at a hurling match, the schoolmaster and his two pupils entered the king’s private room, though they had been forbidden to enter it under any circumstances.
On a table lay a great book of magic and this the schoolmaster opened and he began to read aloud from its pages, though he could not understand the meaning of what he had read. After a short time he happened to look up from the book, and was amazed to see that, in place of his two pupils, two great shaggy hounds were sitting there, looking at him. With sheer fright, he ran from the room as fast as he could. When the wizard king returned home that evening, he was met near the castle by two strange hounds that he had never seen before, but they were delighted to see him and wished to be at his side at all times.
In a state of bewilderment the king marched to his room, and on seeing the open book, guessed what had occurred. In a fit rage he sent for the schoolmaster, who was hiding somewhere in the castle. He approached the wizard king sheepishly. Despite his remorse, the king changed him into a big black boar and then drove him from the castle with a great blackthorn stick. He set the two hounds on him and the boar fled for its life. Crossing the River Boyne, it ran through County Meath, then to Maynooth in County Kildare, on through Kildare into the County Carlow, then away through the country lying between the rivers Barrow and the Slaney, until it reached Priestshaggard in the County Wexford, where the two hounds eventually killed the unfortunate boar. The hounds then returned home and were transformed by the king back into their human form. But the race that had taken place had torn up so many ditches and dykes that they too were named after the black pig.
Kildare Folk Tales Page 4