Irish Folk Tales

by Henry Glassie

  Well, the first question the landlord put was: “What does the moon weigh?” And Tim Daly says: “It weighs four quarters.”

  Then the landlord asked: “How many stars are in the sky?” “Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine,” says Tim. “How do you know that?” says the landlord. “Well,” says Tim, “if you don’t believe me, go out yourself tonight and count them.”

  Then the landlord asked him the third question: “What am I thinking now?”

  “You are thinking it’s to Jack Murphy you’re talking, and it is not, but to Tim Daly.”

  So the landlord gave in then. And Jack had the farm free from that out.

  HALF A BLANKET

  JAMES LOUGHRAN LOUTH

  MICHAEL J. MURPHY 1963

  This son was married and he had a young son himself in the cradle, and the old grandfather, the son’s father, was knocking about, not much good then for anything only eating and smoking. So the son of the old fellow said the old man would have to go; leave—that was the word: take the broad road for it.

  Well, his own son, the child was in the cradle. And the wife was pleading with her husband for to give the old man a chance but he wouldn’t listen. So she pleaded with her husband to give the old fellow a blanket when he was ready to go.

  “Give him a whole blanket,” says she.

  The son was for giving him half a blanket but he says: “All right. I’ll give a whole blanket.”

  “Do no such’n a thing,” says the child in the cradle. “Give him only half a blanket and keep the other half safely by. For I’ll need it when I have to give it to you when it’s my turn to put you out to the world.”

  That was from the child that couldn’t talk. So the old fellow was let stay, he wouldn’t get leave then to go at all, when the son heard what his own child had in store for himself.

  THE SHADOW OF THE GLEN

  PAT DIRANE GALWAY

  JOHN MILLINGTON SYNGE 1898

  One day I was traveling on foot from Galway to Dublin, and the darkness came on me and I ten miles from the town I was wanting to pass the night in. Then a hard rain began to fall and I was tired walking, so when I saw a sort of a house with no roof on it up against the road, I got in the way the walls would give me shelter.

  As I was looking round I saw a light in some trees two perches off, and thinking any sort of a house would be better than where I was, I got over a wall and went up to the house to look in at the window.

  I saw a dead man laid on a table, and candles lighted, and a woman watching him. I was frightened when I saw him, but it was raining hard, and I said to myself, if he was dead he couldn’t hurt me. Then I knocked on the door and the woman came and opened it.

  “Good evening, ma’am,” says I.

  “Good evening kindly, stranger,” says she. “Come in out of the rain.”

  Then she took me in and told me her husband was after dying on her, and she was watching him that night.

  “But it’s thirsty you’ll be, stranger,” says she. “Come into the parlor.”

  Then she took me into the parlor—and it was a fine clean house—and she put a cup, with a saucer under it, on the table before me with fine sugar and bread.

  When I’d had a cup of tea I went back into the kitchen where the dead man was lying, and she gave me a fine new pipe off the table with a drop of spirits.

  “Stranger,” says she, “would you be afeard to be alone with himself?”

  “Not a bit in the world, ma’am,” says I; “he that’s dead can do no hurt.”

  Then she said she wanted to go over and tell the neighbors the way her husband was after dying on her, and she went out and locked the door behind her.

  I smoked one pipe, and I leaned out and took another off the table. I was smoking it with my hand on the back of my chair—the way you are yourself this minute, God bless you—and I looking on the dead man, when he opened his eyes as wide as myself and looked at me.

  “Don’t be afraid, stranger,” said the dead man; “I’m not dead at all in the world. Come here and help me up and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Well, I went up and took the sheet off of him, and I saw that he had a fine clean shirt on his body, and fine flannel drawers.

  He sat up then, and says he—

  “I’ve got a bad wife, stranger, and I let on to be dead the way I’d catch her goings on.”

  Then he got two fine sticks he had to keep down his wife, and he put them at each side of his body, and he laid himself out again as if he was dead.

  In half an hour his wife came back and a young man along with her. Well, she gave him his tea, and she told him he was tired, and he would do right to go and lie down in the bedroom.

  The young man went in and the woman sat down to watch by the dead man. A while after she got up and “Stranger,” says she, “I’m going in to get the candle out of the room; I’m thinking the young man will be asleep by this time.” She went into the bedroom, but the divil a bit of her came back.

  Then the dead man got up, and he took one stick, and he gave the other to myself. We went in and saw them lying together with her head on his arm.

  The dead man hit him a blow with the stick so that the blood out of him leapt up and hit the gallery.

  That is my story.

  A HUNGRY HIRED BOY

  MICHAEL ROONEY CAVAN

  MICHAEL J. MURPHY 1973

  This old man, he was getting very old, and he had a young wife; and she used to say to him every day:

  “John,” she would say, “you should get some man to help you to do a spot of work, because you’re getting old.”

  And they had no family.

  “I might, I might; some day I might go into the village of a fair day and hire a boy if I could get a man.”

  So he went into the fair anyway, and he searched through the whole fair, and he could see nobody suitable in the whole fair. So he was just about on his way home and he went in to this public house for a bottle of Guinness. And he seen a likely-looking young fellow standing about a couple of yards down the bar.

  “Well,” he says, “that’s a fine young fellow.”

  And he moved down and he says:

  “There’d be no chance,” he says, “that you’d be a young man looking for work?”

  “Well,” says he, “I’m in the fair all day and no man asked me would you hire me. I’ll definitely hire with you surely. I’m short of a few quid and I’ll definitely hire with you.”

  They made a bargain there and then.

  “We’ll have another couple of bottles of stout.”

  So, he had a horse and trap. So they filed off and home. And when he came home—aw, sure, the wife was all delighted, all lit up.

  “Well, that’s a great job, John. You brought a young man to do a bit of work, a spot of work for you. You’re getting old, and sure you’re not able to do it yourself. Well, I’m delighted that you have a young man.”

  Well, there was cattle, there was cows to be foddered and cows to be milked. The young fellow and him went out and they foddered the cattle and they done the whole work, out in the farmyard. When they came back in again she had two big blue duck eggs for John and for the young fellow. And she had a big fadge cake in the press and she took it out, sawed it up, and had a great big heap of bread on the table.

  So, John went out to do something else, to give a calf a drink or something.

  “Now,” she says to the young fellow, she says, “we have no family. And only one bed. And if you wouldn’t mind you could share the bed with me and John.”

  “Wouldn’t I sleep in an old chair there at the fire; it’ll do me rightly for the night.”

  “Throt you’ll not sleep at the fire; if you don’t mind you’ll share the bed with me and John.”

  “I don’t mind where I sleep for the night.”

  “All right.”

  John came back in, when he had the calf fed, or whatever he was doing. So when ten o’clock came they all filed into bed. T
he young fellow fellow went in at the wall, and John in the center, and her ladyship out at the stalk. And sometime in the middle of the night a cow give a big loo in the byre.

  “Go down, John, quick,” she says, “for there’s a cow or something—there’s something wrong. There’s a cow going to calve.”

  “Will I bring the young fellow?”

  “Let the poor fellow alone; he might be tired. Leave him where he is. If there’s anything wrong you can come back for him.”

  So John put on his trousers, threw a coat on him, and went down to the byre; there was a cow sick a-calving. And he hadn’t the latch gone off the door when she tipped the young fellow.

  “John is gone down to the byre to see a cow.”

  “Will I go down with him?”

  “Stay where you are. You’re all right, stay where you are.”

  “John … Would John be long away in the byre?”

  “He … he’ll be long enough; the byre’s a good bit from the house.”

  “Would he be ten minutes?”

  “He’ll be long enough.”

  “Do you think … would he be fifteen minutes?”

  “Won’t he be long enough?”

  “God, I’m going to do something …”

  “Ah, well do it quick,” she says, “whatever you’re going to do.”

  “Bejasus I’ll go down to the kitchen for another slice of thon old cake. I’m starving with hunger.”

  THE FIRST MIRROR

  MICHAEL MCCANNY TYRONE

  SÉAMAS Ó CATHÁIN 1976

  Well, before it leaves my head now, I’ll tell you something about a pair that lived up thonder. You know in them days, everybody, every man, especially, was out, well, out, any day he could stay out—and some days he couldn’t—he was out digging. Naturally enough, some people’s hands was harder than others and the harder the hand the worse it was, for it cracked up, you know, hacked, bleeding. So mirrors was never used then, they were hardly known, you know, and you were above the ordinary if you had a mirror in the house.

  But then this Vaseline box came out then to the relief of the country—Vaseline they got for sore hands. So these old pair got a box and Paddy used to put it on when his hands would be sore. So he come in this day and there were one of his hands bleeding and he says: “Where’s that Vaseline?” So Rosie got him the Vaseline and she says: “All’s in it, take it with you, and if your hands be sore, put it on. They’re not much in it now anyway.”

  So Paddy took it with him to the field and after a while he got it and from the first time when he was born, he seen himself in this wee mirror—there was a wee mirror in the lid of the box. I’m sure you seen one of them.

  So, this was his father! After all these years he was dead—and that was him! So every now and again when he was smoking, he admired this, admired himself and he thought it was his father in this little mirror.

  But Rosie called him in to his tea and he was interested in this and she thought she would see what he was looking at. So that night—she forgot all about it then—they were going to bed. Paddy was away to bed anyway, he was tired and she was ready to go to bed. There were very few nightgowns at that time, you know. But she minded about this, and she went to Paddy’s purse and she got the Vaseline box.

  She was like Paddy—she seen herself for the first time ever. So she left it down and she reached for the tongs and she till Paddy in the bed. She says: “If that’s the sort of an old dame you’re interested in, in soul I’m long enough here!”

  So Paddy parleyed with her and said everything would be all right, and he says: “We’ll see in the morning what we’re going to do about it.”

  So she got up in the morning and made breakfast and she produced the Vaseline lid. “I think in God’s name,” she says, “we’ll put it in the fire and be done with it.”

  “Oh,” he says, “that wouldn’t be right at all, that’s my father.”

  “It’s not a bit odds,” she says, “I never seen your father,” says she, “and I suppose I never will. But I’m sure,” she says, “he never had hair and diddies like what I seen on that old dame last night.”

  And, naturally enough, when the glass got the heat, it sparked out. “Now,” she says, “didn’t I tell you! Thanks be to God,” she says, “there it is. I told you it was bad from the start.”

  ROBIN’S ESCAPE

  AN OLD MAN GALWAY

  LADY GREGORY 1902

  There was a man one time went to the market to sell a cow. And he sold her, and he took a drop of drink after. And instead of going home, he went into a sort of a barn where there was straw stored, and he fell asleep there.

  And in the night some men came in, and he heard them talking. And they had a lot of silver plate with them, they were after stealing from some house in the town, and they were hiding it in the straw till they would come and bring it away again.

  And he said nothing, and kept quiet till morning. And then he went out; and the people in the town were talking of nothing else but the great robbery of silver plate in the night. And no one knew who had done it. And the man came forward, and told them where the silver plate was, and who the men were that stole it. And the things were found, and the men convicted. But he did not let on how he had come to know it, or that he had slept in the barn.

  So he got a great name. And when he went home, his landlord heard of it; and he sent for him, and he said: “I am missing things this good while, and the last thing I lost was a diamond ring. Tell me who was it stole that,” he said. “I can’t tell you,” said the man. “Well,” said the landlord, “I will lock you up in a room for three days. And if you can’t tell me by the end of that time who stole the ring, I’ll put you to death.”

  So he was locked up. And in the evening the butler brought him in his supper. And when he saw evening was come, he said: “There’s one of them,” meaning there was one of the three days gone.

  But the butler went downstairs in a great fright; for he was one of the servants that had stolen the ring, and he said to the others: “He knew me, and he said, ‘There’s one of them.’ And I won’t go near him again,” he said, “but let one of you go.”

  So the next evening the cook went up with the supper, and when she came in, he said the same way as before: “There’s two of them,” meaning there was another day gone. And the cook went down like the butler had gone, making sure he knew that she had a share in the robbery.

  The next day the third of the servants—that was the housemaid—brought him his supper. And he gave a great sigh, and said: “There’s the third of them.” So she went down and told the others. And they agreed it was best to make a confession to him. And they went and told him of their robberies. And they brought him the diamond ring; and they asked him to try and screen them some way. So he said he would do his best for them, and he said: “I see a big turkey-gobbler out in the yard, and what you had best do is to open his mouth,” he said, “and to force the ring down it.”

  So they did that. And then the landlord came up and asked could he tell him where the thief was to be found. “Kill that turkey-gobbler in the yard,” he said, “and see what can you find in him.” So they killed the turkey-gobbler, and cut him open, and there they found the diamond ring.

  Then the landlord gave him great rewards, and everyone in the country heard of him.

  And a neighboring gentleman that heard of him said to the landlord: “I’ll make a bet with you that if you bring him to dinner at my house, he won’t be able to tell what is under a cover on the table.” So the landlord brought him; and when he was brought in, they asked him what was in the dish with the cover. And he thought he was done for, and he said: “The fox is caught at last.” And what was under the cover but a fox! So whatever name he had before, he got a three times greater name now.

  But another gentleman made the same bet with the landlord. And when they came in to the dinner, there was a dish with a cover, and the man had no notion what was under it; and he said: “Robin’s
done this time”—his own name being Robin. And what was there under the cover but a robin! So he got great rewards after that, and he settled down and lived happy ever after.

  JONATHAN SWIFT, DEAN OF SAINT PATRICK’S CATHEDRAL

  GALWAY

  LADY GREGORY 1926

  Dean Swift was a great man; very sharp-tongued he was, and fond of women terribly.

  Himself and his man Jack went riding to some place and they went for shelter into a public house. There was a fire on the hearth and there were two men sitting beside it and they made no offer to move aside, where the Dean and Jack wore very simple clothes, knee breeches as the gentlemen used to do.

  So the Dean says to Jack, “Did you put up the horses?”

  “I did,” says Jack.

  “What did you give them for a feed?” says the Dean. “I gave them a feed of oysters,” says Jack.

  So when the two men heard that they went out for to look at the great wonder, the horses to be eating oysters. And when they came in, the Dean and Jack had their two places taken by the fire.

  The Dean was eating his dinner one time and he gave Jack but the bone with very little left on it. “It is the sweetest bit that is next the bone,” says he.

  Well, a while after they were on the road, and he bade Jack to tie up his horse where he’d have a feed of grass. So Jack brought him to a big stone and tied his head to it.

  “Why did you tie him in that place?” says the Dean.

  “Sure you told me yourself,” says Jack, “the sweetest of the grass is next the stone!”

  Some eggs Jack brought him one time, in his hand, just as you might be bringing them to a man out on a bog. “Let you put a plate under everything you will bring from this out,” says the Dean.

  So the next morning when Jack brought up his boots, he had put a plate under them.