Monaghan Folk Tales
Page 12
Where lay thy bridal Eva’s bier,’
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.
He pressed her lips as the words were spoken,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!
And his banshee’s wail—now far and broken—
Murmured ‘Death,’ as he gave the token,
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy;
‘Adieu! Adieu!’ said this lady bright,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!
And she slowly passed like a thing of light,
Or a morning cloud, from Sir Turlough’s sight,
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.
Now Sir Turlough has death in every vein,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!
And there’s fear and grief o’er his wide domain,
And gold for those who will calm his brain,
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.
The leech has failed, and the hoary priest,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!
With pious shrift his soul released,
And the smoke is high of his funeral feast,
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.
The shanachies now are assembled all,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!
And the songs of praise, in Sir Turlough’s hall,
To the sorrowing harp’s dark music fall,
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.
And there is trophy, banner, and plume,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!
And the pomp of death, with its darkest gloom,
O’ershadows the Irish chieftain’s tomb,
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.
The month is closed, and Green Truagha’s pride,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!
Is married to death—and, side by side,
He slumbers now with his churchyard bride,
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.
24
SUPERSTITIONS AND
TALES FROM THE
NATIONAL FOLKLORE
COLLECTION
These stories and pieces about superstition are recorded in the National Folklore Collection, held at the Newman Building at UCD. The collection consists of folklore material collected by 11–14-year-old primary school students during 1937–38, and is separated in volumes by school, parish, townland and county, so that specific areas may be explored. They are all retold by children and have all the innocence and enthusiasm of a child’s imagination combined with the oral tradition that was still very much alive at the time.
In 1937, in collaboration with the Department of Education and the Irish National Teachers Organisation, this wonderful scheme was initiated to encourage schoolchildren to collect folklore and local history from their areas. Over a period of eighteen months some 100,000 children in over 5,000 National Schools in twenty-six counties in the Republic of Ireland took part. They were asked to look at all different areas, including folklore. So there were myths, legends, songs, poems, riddles, cures, games, crafts and a whole plethora of many other traditions and pastimes.
Most of the work was gathered by the children from their parents and grandparents, other family members and older neighbours. It is a truly remarkable collection of magnificent original material and a real treasure trove for anyone interested in folklore and folk traditions. These are stories collected by children in Co. Monghan during the 1930s. The text is exactly as written or transcribed.
FIRST DAY OF MAY
There was a lot of superstitions in Ireland long ago and there are many that have survived until the present day. The first day of May is one day that had a lot of superstitions associated with it. It was thought that witches went about on that day, generally in the shape of a hare that would take the milk from a cow at every house the witches visited.
On 1 May, country people would not borrow or lend anything. Anybody with a spring well on their own land would try to be the first at it on that morning.
A man was on his way to the Monaghan market once when he met two men on the road. He said to himself that these men were unlucky and that it would be better to turn back home. So this is what he did.
A lot of these old saying are bad.
Bragan (p. 135)
‘COMPOSITION OLD ROADS’ (19 OCTOBER 1938)
I hear the oldest road in our district is the one through Drumfurrer. It was an old bog pass at one time and it went straight from Glenmore to Augher and Clogher. It was older than the broad road which is used now instead of the Drumfurrer one on the Glen road as we call it. There is a bridge on it which was built sixty years ago across a little river running from Killabern Lough. A good many people are afraid to go past it at a late hour of the night as the people say there is a ghost at it. From the time of the famine in 1847, old people say there was a hungry man coming along the road and the only thing he could get was beans and he ate too much and died at this bridge before it was built.
Since then people call it ‘Planksty’. As the same man that died was of that name. It must be a very old road because William Carleton the famous writer mentioned it in his story writing.
He used to travel this road going from Clogher where he was born, to friends of his in Deragola, called McCarrons. He mentioned in some part of a story about the ‘Moonlight Walk’ on Drumfurrer road. Carleton’s Country.
Mary B. Hackett
Tavnacrinn
Co. Tyrone
Bragan (p. 134)
LOCH DIARMADA
Norah Cooney, Corcreagh NS, collected this story from Bridie Lynch, Lisnadara, Parish of Aughnamullan, Co. Monaghan.
This is about a lake on Bridie Lynch’s farm. Loch Diarmada was once an enchanted lake. Long ago there was an old man living in a little cave in the spelic (a large stone near the lake). This cave is still to be seen. The man was a shoemaker and after his death the lake appeared.
Every seven years there used to come wild horses out of the lake and feed on the grass and then go back again. Once her grandfather let two horses out to drink at a pond near the lake. In about half-an-hour, he went to take them home, but when he was approaching them, he heard something like the sound of neighing in the lake and then he saw the two horses running towards it. He ran after them but they jumped into the lake and were gone.
He came back again feeling that his horses were gone, but when he came back to the pond his two horses were feeding alongside of it. He went up to them and brought them home. It was the wild horses he was following.
School: Cor Críochach
Location: Corcreeghagh, Co.
Monaghan
Teacher: Ss Ó Muireadhaigh
Bragan (p. 276)
THE WATER BULL OF DRUM LOCH
My father says that there is a water bull in Drum Loch in the townland of Cortober. This bull was about the size of a yearling calf. It lived in the part of the lake below Dr Moor’s house. It used to destroy and scatter his hay at night. Every morning he used to get up to find out what was destroying his hay. One morning he got up very early and went out to see. When he went out he saw a bull running away into the lake. Next morning he got up earlier and brought a gun with him. He fired a shot at it but missed it. The bull was never seen out of the lake again.
Collected by May Molloy
School: Killyfargy
Location: Killyfargy, Co. Monaghan
Teacher: B. Ó Mórdha
(p. 32)
THE WATER-HORSES
Once upon a time there was a man coming home from his ceilidh and he had to pass by Drumcor Lough which lies a couple of miles from Redhills between Cavan and Monaghan. As he was passing by he saw two water-horses drinking out of the Lough. He went over to them but they went back into the Lough and began to swim. Then they looked like two big eels.
Collected by Brigid Brides
School: Killyfargy
Location: Killyfargy, Co. Monaghan
Teacher: B. Ó Mórdha
(p. 33)
THE WORM DITCH
The W
orm Ditch runs through this parish of Currin Co. Monaghan. The remains of it can still be seen in the townland of Cornapast or Laurelhill. Much of it was formerly dug away here. Trace of it can be seen in Annaghan[?] and in Knocks. It is best preserved in Crussin and Aghareagh. Here it runs through a gap in the hills and then up the side of Aghareagh hills in direction of Murdock’s cross near Drum. The names of some of the townlands derive from it (eg Cornaposte (cor-na-péiste) Mullanample, etc.) In Crussin and Aghareagh it is a huge double dyke about twenty feet across and twelve feet deep. There are little or no stories connected with it. The people simply say that it divided Ireland in two. I haven’t come across any stories so far about the ‘peist’ from which it took its name or even about the black pig which is sometimes associated with it. It was in some townlands looked on with a kind of superstitious dread; this helped its preservation. In other parts of the parish it has been levelled. Old people say that good luck didn’t follow the levellers. This ‘Worm Ditch’ is the greatest historical landmark in the parish; indeed one of the greatest in Ulster.
Collected by Séamus P. Ó Mórdha
Location: Killyfargy, Co. Monaghan
Teacher: B. Ó Mórdha
(p. 33–4)
A BANSHEE STORY
Nearly forty years ago, my grandmother, then a young woman, lived in Armagh. Her parents lived in Cookstown, County Tyrone. One evening at dusk, about seven o’clock, she heard a strange cry in the back-yard. On going to the back-door she saw a little woman crossing the yard, crying as she vanished. On the following morning, she got a telegram that her mother was dead. It was said then that the Banshee followed her family.
Collected by: Miss Dympna Magee
School: Tulach Chromán
Location: Tullycroman, Co. Monaghan
Teacher: Mrs. Brennan
THE THING ON THE BRIDGE
This following story was collected by a student from the same school that Patrick Kavanagh attended as a child.
One night as Michael __ was coming from his ceilidh across Ednamo Bridge, near Inniskeen with a pack of cards in his pocket. He was stopped by something which he could not recognise as a man or a beast. He soon took off his coat to give fight but then ‘the thing’ disappeared. But when Michael looked again it re-appeared. It moved with him over and back and Michael got weak, finding beads of perspiration standing out all over him and every hair seemed to stand like fibre on his head.
He got strength to put his hand into his pocket where he had the cards. And as soon as he threw them out, he got away without any trouble.
Collected by A. Nic Aonguis
School: Céad na Mínseach
Location: Kednaminsha, Inniskeen, Co. Monaghan
Teacher: M. Nic Aodha
(p. 121)
25
MONAGHAN FOLK
SONGS
Here is a collection of old Monaghan folk songs, which capture the essence of the county and also the mystery of its landscape and people.
In 1607, Patrick McKenna was given 250 acres of the Barony of Truagh in north County Monaghan by the Lord Chief Deputy of Ireland. It was from here that Major John McKenna ‘rode at noon’ to join Owen Roe O’Neill. At the Battle of Drumbanagher, he was killed in battle and became the first casualty of the Williamite Wars.
The Shady Woods of Truagh
From out the shady woods of Truagh, MacKenna rides at noon.
The sun shines brightly, not a cloud darkens the skys of June;
No eye has he for nature’s charms, they don’t distract his brain
As through the flowery vales he takes his way and never draws the reins.
Until before him loom the towers of Glaslough Castle’s Hold,
Which holds a treasure in its walls more dear to him than gold,
For in it dwells his own true love, the dark-eyed young Maureen
Whom he hopes that God will bless his home in the woods of Truagh so green.
‘I have come to look upon you, love, for it’s soon that I must go
With my brave Truagh men to Benburb, there to defend Owen Roe.
I have come to look upon you, Love, and hear your answer sweet
For I might in the battle fall and we might never meet.’
‘Go forth, my love, my blessings go and smite the Saxon horde
And when you return I’ll be your bride without another word.’
Within fond embrace, they bid adieu as the evening sun went down
Behind yon western wooded hill that overlooks Glaslough town.
MacKenna lightly mounts his steed at the twilight of the eve
And he heads her over Dasa Hill and Truagh’s green shady lee.
That night he leads his gallant men o’er the dark hills of Tyrone
To meet the army of the North at Benburb on their own.
Right well O’Neill was glad to see those gallant mountaineers
Who kept the Saxon wolves at bay round ancient Truagh for years.
Full well they fought on Benburb’s plains as England’s flag went down
And few that night escaped them toward Carrickfergus town.
The autumn’s winds being in the air and berries ripe and red,
MacKenna and his lovely bride in Glaslough church were wed
And never in her father’s thoughts a fairer bride was seen
Than McMahon’s only daughter, the dark-eyed young Maureen.
The Green Woods of Truagh
In the green woods of Truagh we met without fear,
Your kiss on my lips, and your voice in my ear,
Your tender arms about me, and your eyes glad and clear –
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh the days go on wings,
On every brown branch a gladsome bird sings
And the fragrant amber blossom of the honey-suckle swings –
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh the bracken stands high,
And wells of spring-water in deep hollows lie,
And the red deer is browsing in the cool shadows nigh –
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh no sorrow dared stay,
The lark called me early at dawn o’ the day,
And o’er my sleep at night pleasant dreams used to play –
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh you wait till I come;
I left home and you for the stranger’s far home,
To bring a hoard of yellow gold across the grey foam –
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh, if God hears my prayer,
I shall reach you, O true love, my empty hands there,
For little of the yellow gold has fallen to my share –
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh, your heart on my own,
And your bright hair in ringlets across my cheek blown;
Now where in all the wide, wide world, could greater bliss be known?
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
Written by Ethna Carbery (Mrs Seumus MacManus, Anna Johnston, 1866–1902)
The Road to Ballybay
‘Is this the road to Ballybay?’
Says I to Miss Magee;
‘You’re leaving it behind you,’
Says Mary Anne to me.
So I turned and walked beside her
And ’tis only fair to say
It was very pleasant walking
On the road to Ballybay.
Ballybay, Ballybay,
’twas a dark and wintery day
But the sun was surely shining
On the road to Ballybay.
‘Is this the road to fame and wealth?’
Says I to Miss Magee;
‘You’ve got the brains, you’ve got the health,’
Says Mary Anne to me.
‘But still I want a comra
de
To praise me and to blame
And keep me from the traps that’s laid
Upon the road to fame.’
Ballybay, Ballybay,
No man could go astray
With a guide like her beside him
On the road to Ballybay.
‘Is this the road to paradise?’
Says I to Miss Magee;
‘I’m thinking that it might be,’
Says Mary Anne to me.
I saw the love light leaping
In a pair of roguish eyes
And I knew we two were stepping
On the road to paradise.
Ballybay, Ballybay,
The birds are far away
But our hearts they sang together
On the road to Ballybay.
Percy French (1 May 1854–24 January 1920)
Paddy at the Theatre
From the county of Monaghan lately I came.
I’m a tinker by trade, Laeey Dooly’s my name.
My cousin Tim Murphy, I met yesterday;
Says he, Mr Dooly, you’ll come to a play?
Derry down down down, Derry down.
Is it the play that you mean? Are you sure that you’re right?
They’re treating the town to Pizzaro tonight,
But the treat as he called it, and the one that I mean
Bad luck to his treat, it cost me all my tin.
Derry down down down, Derry down.
The green curtain drew up and a lady I spied
When a man came to kiss her, she scornfully cried,
Get out you big blackguard, I’ll bother your jig,
When in comes Pizzaro with a grunt like a pig
Derry down down down, Derry down.
In the days of ould Goury, a long time ago,
The Spaniards claimed war ’gainst Peru, you know,
They claimed its cash, its jewels and keys
When a boy they called Rowler says: No, if you please.
Derry down down down, Derry down.