Monaghan Folk Tales

by Lally, Steve;

  Motherway was an avid reader and set up a book club with Ted McGeough’s son Gerard.

  He had never been further north of Dublin than Finglas.

  The verse was intended as a comical skit on Ted and his Donaghmoyne/Co. Monaghan associates, many of whom also patronised the bar.

  So get comfortable and sit back and enjoy … A trip through Donaghmoyne …

  A Trip through Donaghmoyne

  ‘From Donaghmoyne to Crossmaglen

  There are no rogues but honest men.’

  So goes an ancient Irish song

  But I can prove those words are wrong.

  Last year I passed through Donaghmoyne;

  ’Twas there I lost a penny coin.

  Now I’m not sure, but I’ll surely bet

  The sods up there are searching yet;

  From day to day, for hours and hours,

  They seek among the weeds and flowers

  That tiny little 1p coin, the miserable gets of Donaghmoyne.

  And so it shows, I swear to heaven

  All hungry hooers don’t come from Cavan.

  From North to South one emigrated,

  Viewed the scene and contemplated

  How to make a bob or two.

  ‘I’ll sell them drink, that’s what I’ll do.’

  So he bought a couple of pubs

  To squeeze the gold from hard-pressed Dubs.

  Daily he pursues his quest

  In Bohemian House and Travellers Rest

  Selling Brandy, Whiskey, Stout,

  The cash rolls in, the lads roll out

  And he, who should the good Lord thank,

  Laughs loudly going to the Bank

  While I must watch my penny grow

  For that Donaghmoyne man Ted McGeough.

  Kevin Motherway

  11

  THE DEVIL AND DAVY

  HUTCHINSON

  No collection of Irish folk stories would be complete without a tale involving ‘auld Nick’, better known as ‘The Devil’. I came across this lovely little story in the 1997 Tydavnet Annual. It did not state who had collected it and it was very short, but it had great potential as a yarn so I took it upon myself to give it a lift and deliver to you now, with great excitement, the story of the poitín-maker Davy Hutchinson and his dealings with the Devil.

  Davy Hutchinson was born in Mullindava, in the parish of Clones, Co. Monaghan, in 1848. By trade, he was a lime burner, making quicklime, but his real profession was not of a particularly noble nature, for he was a poitín-maker. That’s right: he brewed the rare auld mountain dew and he was very well known for his expertise and the high quality of his produce.

  He spent much of his time making the poitín and would spend around seven weeks working solidly and producing around a hundred gallons of the stuff. He called each of these marathon brewing sessions a ‘go’.

  Now, Davy told the people around him that he had a great friend in the Devil himself. He described him as being a little old man with a wizened face, wee eyes, with a pointy nose and ears to boot, but he was always very well dressed.

  He said that he was very helpful and whenever Drumloo Lough was frozen over, the Devil would go into it and bring back ‘the worm’, which Davy had hidden there.

  Now, for anyone who does not know what ‘the worm’ is, it’s a long piece of copper pipe that has been formed into the shape of a coil. It is a very important part of the poitín still and is known as a ‘worm’ because it looks a bit like a coiled worm. Davy would dismantle his still, when he was not brewing the mountain dew, and hide its various components about the place, for the authorities were always keeping a close eye on him.

  In return for such kind gestures, all the Devil would ever ask of Davy was a ‘cupán’, or simply a cup of the first run of ‘holy water’, another fond name for poitín, which the Devil got great satisfaction from using.

  There was one particular story that Davy used to tell about his old friend the Devil that always made him smile.

  It all began when Davy was asked to make a ‘go’ by one of his neighbours. He was happy enough to do it, but there was a bit of a problem, for poor Davy was being constantly watched by the police and it was getting harder to evade them all the time.

  So one particular night, he set off to find a good concealed place where he would not be found or disturbed whilst carrying out his work. Well, he searched about the place, looking for somewhere well hidden, with enough room to set up his still, when who comes out of the shadows but his old friend – yes, that’s right, ‘auld Nick’, the Devil.

  ‘Well, Davy, what are your troubles tonight?’ says the Devil.

  ‘Oh! There isn’t much use in me telling you me troubles, Nick.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked the Devil.

  Davy looked at the little old man with the sharp, wizened features and said with a great sigh, ‘I fear that not even you can be of any help to me this night.’

  ‘Ah now, Davy, let me hear them,’ says the Devil.

  So Davy explained to Auld Nick that he could not find a decent hiding place to make his poitín and that the police were onto him constantly and he feared that he would never be able to make his mountain dew again.

  ‘Oh! That would be a terrible shame indeed. Imagine the world without the holy water!’ said the Devil, with an evil smile on his face. ‘Don’t you worry now. I will sort this out for ya – that I will do surely!’

  So the Devil wasted no time at all and went about making what looked like a small boat from hazel rods.

  Now, when the boat was ready, the Devil told Davy to gather up all his utensils and get inside, which he did, and then Auld Nick hopped in beside him. As soon as they were aboard, Nick lifted a magic rod, tapped the prow of the boat three times with the rod and all of a sudden the vessel started to rise up into the air, right up into the clouds, where it sailed with the wind through the night sky.

  As they sailed along, Davy could see the land below them and he saw Drumloo Lough and all that surrounded it. It was magnificent indeed. The boat rose higher and higher into the clouds so that Davy could no longer see anything below him but the clouds.

  Well, after a while, the vessel started gradually to descend from the sky. When they landed, Davy found himself outside a magnificent castle with strange and wonderful plants growing all around it. Among these plants, there was a clearing and the Devil told Davy to carry out his work there, in peace, and that he would return for him in three days. Before he went, he left a hundred gallon bottles for Davy to fill with the precious liquid.

  With that, the Devil disappeared and Davy set about his work, relaxed and free of the worry that the authorities would catch him. Now, as Davy worked away on the ‘go’, he was very curious to know who or what lived in the big castle above him. He figured that he had his poitín still in order and that he could leave it for a while and go see what was above in the palace. So off he went and when he got to the doors of the big castle, he gave them a good bang and there was no answer. He called out but there was still no answer. He gave the door a push and, lo and behold, didn’t it swing open for him.

  He went inside and he could see that the castle was fabulous, and in the centre of it he found a grand table full of every type of food and drink that you could think of and as he was very hungry he helped himself.

  After he was finished, he walked through the building, taking it all in. He had never seen anything like it. In one of the rooms, he found piles of gold, silver and jewels of all descriptions. He helped himself to a few of the gold coins and a couple of large diamonds and then he thought it would be best that he get back to his still before some other type of authority was onto him.

  So he went back to his still and found it all in working order. After the three days, he produced one hundred gallons of the stuff and bottled them all up, ready for the journey back.

  Sure enough, after the three days, Auld Nick returned in a giant boat of hazel rods and helped Davy to load the poitín. When they wer
e done, Davy told him that he had been to the castle and had a bite to eat and that he had found a room of magnificent treasure. He put his hand in his pocket and took out what he thought was the treasure he had taken, but when he held out his hand there was nothing but ‘múnlach’ or horse manure.

  ‘Well, that will teach you to steal fairy gold,’ said the Devil, laughing. Then he looked at Davy and said, ‘I think we should get out of here now, for they are all away at the moment, but they are due back very soon and they would not appreciate the likes of us about the place.’

  So, with that, Davy and the Devil headed back to Davy’s house and, as always, in return all the Devil requested for his help was the first cup of poitín from the ‘go’ – until the next time and for all eternity …

  12

  CHILD OF THE FAIRY

  MOUNDS

  Whilst collecting folklore and fairy stories in Co. Monaghan I ventured up Slieve Beagh, a mountainous area bordering Co. Monaghan, Tyrone and Fermanagh. Moved by the stories I had been already told and the mysterious yet melancholic beauty of the landscape I was inspired to write this story.

  A while ago, but not too long ago, there lived a man from Slieve Beagh, Co. Monaghan, who had a great sadness in his heart, the sort of sadness that comes only from broken dreams.

  Every day he would go for long walks in the surrounding hills and woods. He walked for hours as if hoping someday he would outrun his loneliness and fine peace in a place that he knew in his heart he would never find.

  But then one day, as he marched through the high and wide majestic hills, a mist came down around him and he heard a sound, a sound that was like no other he had ever heard. It was beautiful, mournful and seductive. He found himself following it and it was not long before he found its source.

  Sitting huddled in the undergrowth was a beautiful young woman. She looked up at him with big doe eyes that made his heart melt and all of a sudden he forgot his own sadness and was transfixed by the spell that this creature had bestowed upon him.

  He fell to his knees and found himself weeping uncontrollably. The woman reached out and touched his shoulder.

  ‘Please don’t cry,’ she whispered ever so gently. ‘I have not much time left and you are my only salvation.’ The man did not understand at all, but the woman explained that she had come from the fairy mounds. She had seen the man on his many walks around the hills and she had fallen in love with him and wanted to be with him.

  So the Fairy King granted her this wish, but the price was losing her immortality to go and live in the world of men.

  So she did this and went to find him, but her fairy form was to weak and fragile to stand up against the cold and harsh weather conditions and it was not long before she had caught a fatal fever and she was surely going to die. The man wrapped her in his coat and took her back to his house where he did his best to nurse her back to health again, but his efforts were in vain.

  He realised that this creature was what he had been searching for all his life and now she was to go and be gone from him forever.

  She told him that to keep the soul of a ‘Siog’ or Fairy alive was to share their story with as many people as possible.

  So she told him her story and it was as beautiful and sorrowful as her gentle face. When she finished her eyes closed and she laid still and cold in his arms.

  He took her body to the wild and mighty hills where he laid her to rest and from that day forth he went from house to house and land to land telling her story.

  The people were so enchanted and transfixed by it, they would spread the word and the man was welcomed into every home to sit by the fire and tell his story in return for food and shelter.

  And as he walked through those wild majestic hills he could hear his true love’s voice singing ever so sweetly carried upon the wind.

  He felt her warmth against his skin and her lips upon his. He was never lonely again and told her story till his own death where he would at last be united with his true love for all eternity.

  And if you listen carefully to the whistling winds around Slieve Beagh, you just might hear the story of the fairy maiden whispered gently over the gorse and wild heather.

  13

  JOHN MARTHA AND

  THE LANDLORD’S

  GOLD

  This great story was presented to me by my friend and fellow storyteller, Monaghan man Francis McCarron.

  A while back in Ireland, there was a man called John Martha. John was a bit simple. As his neighbours would say, ‘There was a wee want in him.’ But simpleness wasn’t in the breed of his people. He had a sister Kate and if you burned her for a fool, you’d have wise ashes. So where John lacked brains, Kate more than made up for him.

  John and Kate were poor. They had no land, but they had a cow. Each day John would herd the cow along the long acre. For anyone who doesn’t know where the long acre is, it is the free grass along the side of the road.

  One day, when John was by the roadside with his cow, a pony and trap passed. Sitting on top was the landlord’s agent, who had been collecting rent from the peasants of the locality. Now, it happened that when the trap had passed up the road a bit, it hit a rut in the road and bounced in the air and everything on it bounced as well. When it hit the ground again, a bag fell off the back and the driver didn’t notice. He carried on his way.

  But John noticed. The hungry eye sees far. He went to the spot and picked up the bag. What he found inside caused him to race home straight away. He burst through the door of the house, yelling, ‘Kate, Kate, look what I found!’

  ‘Good Lord, John, do you want to put the heart crossways in me. What has you in such a fluster?’

  ‘The landlord’s agent passed me on his cart and this bag fell off the back and it’s filled with gold coins. Can we keep them, Kate? We’ll be rich!’

  Kate knew that what was lost would soon be looked for so her sharp mind went to work at once to see how they might keep the money. She knew John could never tell a lie, nor would he be able to keep the story to himself, so she set John a task straight away.

  ‘We’ll keep the money, for sure,’ she said, ‘and we’ll divide it between us. You count it out and see how much there is.’

  John began to count the coins.

  ‘One … Oonnee … What comes after one, Kate?’

  ‘Two, John, two. Everyone knows that two comes after one.’

  ‘Oh, right so. One, two, seven, nine.’

  ‘Och, John, John, sure, seven doesn’t come after two. Three comes after two. Start again.’

  ‘Oh? One, two, three, seven.’

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, John! Do you not know that four comes after three? And then five and six? Can you not count?’

  ‘Sure, you know well I can’t count, Kate. Sure, I never went to school.’

  ‘Well,’ replied Kate, ‘that will have to change. You’ll have to go to school tomorrow and learn your sums.’

  The next day John set off to Knocknagrave school. All the scholars were in the same room and John sat with the infants. He certainly stood out amongst his classmates, which was unsurprising as he was 32 years old. The younger children teased him and made fun of him. The older ones stuck their compass points in his bum and caused him to roar out. The master slapped him for being noisy. At lunchtime, he went home to Kate.

  ‘Kate, I don’t care if I never learn to count – I’m not going back to school again.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, John, you just go back to herding your cow.’

  So that’s what he did. And not many days passed before he noticed a cart travelling slowly along the road and a number of men walking alongside it. They seemed to be searching the hedges and the roadway as they came along.

  When they drew up to John, he recognised the landlord’s agent.

  ‘Did you lose something?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Yes, my good man,’ the agent replied. ‘I recently lost a bag of gold coins along the road.’

  ‘Oh, I found them,�
� said John proudly.

  The agent’s eyes lit up with delight. ‘Did you, indeed, my good man? And what did you do with them?’

  ‘I took them home to my sister Kate.’

  ‘Well, jump up on the cart and you and I and the members of the constabulary here shall pay her a visit.’

  ‘Good day to you, ma’am,’ said the agent, stepping into the kitchen with John and the policemen in tow. ‘This young gentleman found a bag of gold coins and I am here to collect them.’

  ‘Oh, goodness me, your honour, would you look at the state of the kitchen? Sure, if I had known you were coming … Will you have a drop of tae?’

  ‘Not at all, ma’am, just the money and we’ll be on our way.’

  ‘What money?’ asked Kate.

  ‘The money the gentleman here found on the roadside. It’s mine.’

  ‘Och, sure, don’t mind him,’ said Kate. ‘He’s a bit simple. Sure, he comes out with all sorts of rubbish.’

  The agent was taken aback and, turning to John, said, ‘Well, my good man, did you or did you not find a bag of money?’

  ‘Of course, I did,’ said John. ‘Kate, do you not remember?

  ‘Remember what, John? You brought no bag of money home here.’

  ‘I did,’ protested John loudly. ‘I did, I did, I did.’

  ‘When did you bring them home?’ asked Kate.

  ‘You’re bound to remember, Kate. It was the day before I went to school!’

  The agent looked at John, then at the policemen and finally turned to Kate and said, ‘Apologies for troubling you, ma’am. We’ll be on our way.’ And they left.

  As for John and Kate, they lived as good a life as ever you’ll live if you’re smart and shrewd and honest – well, almost!

  14

  JOHN O’NEILL AND THE

  THREE DOGS

  This is a fantastic tale from Monaghan collected from the 2005 Tydavnet Journal. It is truly a spellbinding tale.