Irish Folk Tales

by Henry Glassie

  THE SWINE OF THE GODS

  SLIGO

  WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS 1902

  A few years ago a friend of mine told me of something that happened to him when he was a young man and out drilling with some Connacht Fenians. They were but a car-full, and drove along a hillside until they came to a quiet place. They left the car and went further up the hill with their rifles, and drilled for a while. As they were coming down again they saw a very thin, long-legged pig of the old Irish sort, and the pig began to follow them. One of them cried out as a joke that it was a fairy pig, and they all began to run to keep up the joke. The pig ran too, and presently, how nobody knew, this mock terror became real terror, and they ran as for their lives. When they got to the car they made the horse gallop as fast as possible, but the pig still followed. Then one of them put up his rifle to fire, but when he looked along the barrel he could see nothing. Presently they turned a corner and came to a village. They told the people of the village what had happened, and the people of the village took pitchforks and spades and the like, and went along the road with them to drive the pig away. When they turned the corner they could not find anything.

  A PIG ON THE ROAD FROM GORT

  MR. STEPHENS GALWAY

  LADY GREGORY 1920

  There was a man coming along the road from Gort to Garryland one night, and he had a drop taken, and before him on the road he saw a pig walking. And having a drop in, he gave a shout and made a kick at it and bid it get out of that.

  And from the time he got home, his arm had swelled from the shoulder to be as big as a bag, and he couldn’t use his hand with the pain in it. And his wife brought him after a few days to a woman that used to do cures at Rahasane.

  And on the road all she could do would hardly keep him from lying down to sleep on the grass. And when they got to the woman, she knew all that happened, and says she: “It’s well for you that your wife didn’t let you fall asleep on the grass, for if you had done that but for an instant, you’d be a gone man.”

  THE CROOKENED BACK

  PEGGY BARRETT CORK

  T. CROFTON CROKER 1825

  It was of all days in the year, the day before May Day, that I went out to the garden to weed the potatoes. I would not have gone out that day, but I was dull in myself, and sorrowful, and wanted to be alone. All the boys and girls were laughing and joking in the house, making goaling-balls and dressing out ribbons for the mummers next day. I couldn’t bear it. ’Twas only at the Easter that was then past (and that’s ten years last Easter—I won’t forget the time) that I buried my poor man. And I thought how gay and joyful I was, many a long year before that, at the May Eve before our wedding, when with Robin by my side I sat cutting and sewing the ribbons for the goaling-ball I was to give the boys on the next day, proud to be preferred above all the other girls of the banks of the Blackwater by the handsomest boy and the best hurler in the village. So I left the house and went to the garden.

  I stayed there all the day, and didn’t come home to dinner. I don’t know how it was, but somehow I continued on, weeding, and thinking sorrowfully enough, and singing over some of the old songs that I sung many and many a time in the days that are gone, and for them that never will come back to me to hear them.

  The truth is, I hated to go and sit silent and mournful among the people in the house, that were merry and young, and had the best of their days before them.

  ’Twas late before I thought of returning home, and I did not leave the garden till some time after sunset. The moon was up. But though there wasn’t a cloud to be seen, and though a star was winking here and there in the sky, the day wasn’t long enough gone to have it clear moonlight; still, it shone enough to make everything on one side of the heavens look pale and silvery-like. And the thin white mist was just beginning to creep along the fields. On the other side, near where the sun was set, there was more of daylight, and the sky looked angry, red, and fiery through the trees, like as if it was lighted up by a great town burning below. Everything was as silent as a churchyard, only now and then one could hear far off a dog barking, or a cow lowing after being milked. There wasn’t a creature to be seen on the road or in the fields. I wondered at this first, but then I remembered it was May Eve, and that many a thing, both good and bad, would be wandering about that night, and that I ought to shun danger as well as others.

  So I walked on as quick as I could, and soon came to the end of the demesne wall, where the trees rise high and thick at each side of the road, and almost meet at the top. My heart misgave me when I got under the shade. There was so much light let down from the opening above, that I could see about a stone throw before me.

  All of a sudden I heard a rustling among the branches, on the right side of the road, and saw something like a small black goat, only with long wide horns turned out instead of being bent backwards, standing upon its hind legs upon the top of the wall, and looking down on me. My breath was stopped, and I couldn’t move for near a minute. I couldn’t help, somehow, keeping my eyes fixed on it. And it never stirred, but kept looking in the same fixed way down at me.

  At last I made a rush, and went on. But I didn’t go ten steps when I saw the very same sight on the wall to the left of me, standing in exactly the same manner, but three or four times as high, and almost as tall as the tallest man. The horns looked frightful: it gazed upon me as before. My legs shook, and my teeth chattered, and I thought I would drop down dead every moment.

  At last I felt as if I was obliged to go on—and on I went, but it was without feeling how I moved, or whether my legs carried me. Just as I passed the spot where this frightful thing was standing, I heard a noise as if something sprung from the wall, and felt like as if a heavy animal plumped down upon me, and held with the forefeet clinging to my shoulder, and the hind ones fixed in my gown, that was folded and pinned up behind me.

  ’Tis the wonder of my life ever since how I bore the shock. But so it was, I neither fell, nor even staggered with the weight, but walked on as if I had the strength of ten men, though I felt as if I couldn’t help moving, and couldn’t stand still if I wished it. Though I gasped with fear, I knew as well as I do now what I was doing. I tried to cry out, but couldn’t. I tried to run, but wasn’t able. I tried to look back, but my head and neck were as if they were screwed in a vise. I could barely roll my eyes on each side, and then I could see, clearly and plainly as if it was the broad light of the blessed sun, a black and cloven foot planted upon each of my shoulders. I heard a low breathing in my ear. I felt, at every stop I took, my leg strike back against the feet of the creature that was on my back. Still I could do nothing but walk straight on.

  At last I came within sight of the house, and a welcome sight it was to me, for I thought I would be released when I reached it. I soon came close to the door, but it was shut. I looked at the little window, but it was shut too, for they were more cautious about May Eve than I was. I saw the light inside, through the chinks of the door. I heard talking and laughing within. I felt myself at three yards distance from them that would die to save me—and may the Lord save me from ever again feeling what I did that night, when I found myself held by what couldn’t be good nor friendly, but without the power to help myself, or to call my friends, or to put out my hand to knock, or even to lift my leg to strike the door, and let them know that I was outside it! ’Twas as if my hands grew to my sides, and my feet were glued to the ground, or had the weight of a rock fixed to them.

  At last I thought of blessing myself; and my right hand, that would do nothing else, did that for me. Still the weight remained on my back, and all was as before. I blessed myself again; ’twas still all the same. I then gave myself up for lost. But I blessed myself a third time, and my hand no sooner finished the sign, than all at once I felt the burthen spring off of my back. The door flew open as if a clap of thunder burst it, and I was pitched forward on my forehead in upon the middle of the floor. When I got up my back was crookened, and I never stood straight from that night to th
is blessed hour.

  MAURICE GRIFFIN THE FAIRY DOCTOR

  JOHN MALONE KERRY

  JEREMIAH CURTIN 1892

  There was a man at Dun Lean named Maurice Griffin. He was in service as a herder minding cows, and one morning while out with the cattle he saw something come down through the air in the form of a white cloud and drop on a hillock. It settled to be a lump of white foam, and a great heat rose out of it then. One of the cows went to the hillock and licked the foam till she swallowed every bit of it.

  When he went in to breakfast Maurice told the man of the house about the cloud, and that it was a wonder to see the cow licking up what had settled on the hillock. “And it was white as any linen,” said he.

  When the man of the house sent the servant girl to milk the cow that evening he told her not to spill any drop of the milk till she had it brought to himself.

  Maurice Griffin went with the girl, caught the cow, and held her. The vessel the girl was milking in did not hold half the milk. She did not like to leave the cow partly milked.

  “Drink some of this,” said she, “and let me finish, for it would spoil the cow to leave part of the milk with her.”

  Maurice Griffin emptied the vessel three times, drank all there was in it. The girl filled it the fourth time and went home with the milk. The master asked, “Was any of the milk spilled or used?” She told him truly, “This is the same vessel that I use always in milking, and that cow never filled it before till tonight. I didn’t like to leave any milk with her, so I gave some to Maurice.”

  “It was his luck gave him all; ’twas promised to him, not to me,” said the master. He was fonder of Maurice Griffin than ever, and Maurice began to foretell right away and cure people. The report went out through the country that all he foretold came to pass, and all he undertook to cure he cured. The priest, hearing this, didn’t want to have the like of him in the parish, and spoke of him from the altar, but Griffin gave no answer. One morning the priest went to where Griffin was, saluted him, and was saluted in turn. “I hear that you are curing and foretelling,” said the priest. “Where did you get the knowledge to foretell and to cure?”

  “I foretell and I cure many persons, I serve people,” said Griffin. “And my business is as good as yours. Some say that you have power, your reverence, but if you have, you are not foretelling or curing.”

  “Well,” said the priest, “I’ll know can you foretell or not. Answer me a question, and if you can I’ll believe you.”

  “I’ll answer you any question you’ll put to me,” said Griffin.

  “What time or minute of the day did the last new moon appear?”

  “I will tell you that,” said Griffin. “Do you remember that when you were passing Travug your horse stooped to drink and his right leg was first in the river? Under your neck you wear a stone which the Pope gave you. This stone always sweats three drops at the new moon. The stone sweated three drops when the horse’s right foot touched the water, and that was the time of the new moon.”

  “Oh,” said the priest, “what is rumored of you is true. Follow your hand, I’ll not meddle with you from this out.”

  Griffin came home then and told the conversation. The master grew very fond of him after that, and having an only daughter he gave her to Maurice, and Griffin lived with his father-in-law till the old man died and left all he had to his son-in-law.

  The people thought a deal of Maurice Griffin when he got the property, and they came for counsel and cure to him.

  Griffin had two sons. In course of time he grew old and at last was very weak, and his first son, Dyeermud, managed the property. In those days everything was carried to Cork on horseback. Griffin called Dyeermud one day to him and said, “I am in dread that I am going to die. I don’t want you to go to Cork to be absent so long.”

  “The company is going, and I’d like to go, too,” said Dyeermud. “My brother is here: he will care for you and attend to everything while I am gone.”

  “I want you here,” said the father, “for it’s to you I will do all the good.”

  Dyeermud had a great wish to visit Cork.

  “Go,” said the father, “but you’ll be the loser, and you’ll remember my words.”

  Dyeermud went to Cork, and during his absence the father became very sick. Once, when the younger son was sitting at his bedside, the old man said, “I am in dread your brother will not be at home.”

  “What you were to leave him, leave me,” said the son.

  “I cannot. I’ll give you the gift of curing, but foretelling I could not give you if I wished.”

  “How can you give the gift of curing?”

  “I’ll give it to you,” said the father. “Go out tonight, kill a sheep and dress it, pick the right shoulder as clean as any bone could be cleaned from flesh, and in the night look over that bone, and the third time you look you’ll see everyone that you knew who is dead. Keep that bone with you always and sleep with it, and what you want to know to cure any disease will come to you from the bone. When a person is to be cured from a fairy stroke, look over the bone and a messenger will come from the fairies, and you will be able to cure those who come to you.”

  “As you will not give me the knowledge of foretelling, I will not take the curing. I will live honestly.”

  “I have no power to give you the knowledge,” said the father, “but since you will not take the curing, I will give it to your mother. The knowledge I can give to no one but your elder brother.”

  Griffin gave the curing to the wife. The knowledge he could give to no one but the elder son, and to him only if present.

  Maurice Griffin died and was buried before Dyeermud came from Cork.

  Dyeermud was astonished when he came and didn’t find the father.

  “You did badly not to stay,” said the younger brother.

  “Didn’t I leave you?”

  “You did, but he could leave the knowledge only to you.”

  “Why didn’t he give you the curing?”

  “He offered it to me, but I thought it too much trouble. I would use it if I had it. I let it go to our mother. She is old; let her have it. As he did not give me the knowledge I didn’t want the curing. Maybe in after years when I have children, it’s on them the diseases I cured would come.”

  It was rumored that the curing was with the mother, and the people were coming to her.

  Once her godson got a fairy stroke in the leg, and she was vexed because his parents did not bring him quickly, for next day she would not be able to cure him at all. At last they came, and she was angry that they were so slow.

  “You might have made bacon of him if you waited till morning,” cried she. She cured him, and he was a very strong boy after that.

  The parish priest had a sick horse left out to die. The clerk was very sorry, the horse was such a fine beast. “Wouldn’t it be better to go to Mrs. Griffin?” asked he.

  “Oh, how could she cure the horse?” asked the priest.

  “I’ll go to her,” said the clerk.

  “If you go to her,” said the priest, “I give you no leave.”

  The clerk went, told Mrs. Griffin that he had come in spite of the priest, and to cure the horse if she could.

  “It was the priest himself that injured the horse,” said Mrs. Griffin. “He gave him water while hot from driving, and because the priest is fond of the horse he patted him and muttered something without saying God bless you. Go now, spit three times into the horse’s ears, and say God bless you.”

  The clerk went and did this. The horse rose up as well and sound as ever, and the clerk brought him to the stable. The priest was astonished, and said, “They have a gift in the family. I’ll not trouble them any turn again.”

  Mrs. Griffin was not able to give her gift to anyone. The bone was buried with her.

  BIDDY EARLY

  MRS. LOCKE GALWAY

  LADY GREGORY 1920

  It was my son was thatching Heniff’s house when he got the touch, and h
e came back with a pain in his back and in his shoulders, and took to the bed.

  And a few nights after that I was asleep, and the little girl came and woke me and said, “There’s none of us can sleep. with all the cars and carriages rattling round the house.” But though I woke and heard her say that, I fell into a sound sleep again and never woke till morning. And one night there came two taps at the window, one after another, and we all heard it and no one there.

  And at last I sent the eldest boy to Biddy Early and he found her in the house. She was then married to her fourth man. And she said he came a day too soon and would do nothing for him. And he had to walk away in the rain. And the next day he went back and she said, “Three days later and you’d have been too late.” And she gave him two bottles, the one he was to bring to a boundary water and to fill it up, and that was to be rubbed to the back, and the other was to drink. And the minute he got them he began to get well, and he left the bed and he could walk, but he was always delicate. When we rubbed his back we saw a black mark, like the bite of a dog, and as to his face, it was as white as a sheet.

  I have the bottle here yet, though it’s thirty years ago I got it. She bid the boy to bring whatever was left of it to a river, and to pour it away with the running water. But when he got well I did nothing with it, and said nothing about it—and here it is now for you to see.

  I never let on to Father Folan that I went to her, but one time the Bishop came, MacInerny. I knew he was a rough man, and I went to him and made my confession, and I said, “Do what you like with me, but I’d walk the world for my son when he was sick.” And all he said was, “It would have been no wonder if the two feet had been cut off from the messenger.” And he said no more and put nothing on me.