by Steve Lally
Unlike his peers, he visited only the more respectable houses, but on the rare occasion where lady luck was not smiling on him, he went to men of low estate. His method of breaking new ground was to stop some yards from the door of the abode and chant this piece of his own composition:
Pity kind gentle folk, friends of humanity;
Cold blows the wind and the night’s coming on;
Spare me some food for my mother and charity;
Spare me some food and bid me be gone.
The reference to his mother is either for the sake of rhyme or some class of poetic licence as he always travelled alone.
Lusk speaks of a very old man named Jimmie he knew when he was a young man, who claimed to have heard some of Billy’s stories during his boyhood. One might think that the story was told to rattle a young and innocent minister arriving in a new parish, but Lusk states the old man showed all the signs that he believed every word of it. And the old man told the story with such conviction and zeal that the tale had stayed with Lusk all his days. This is the story about Billy the Beggar-man and the Changeling of Glascar.
Early one cold and windy morning in December, one of the local lads of Glascar was startled to see Billy the Beggar-man running towards him out of the woods, like a man possessed.
‘Oh Jimmie,’ cried Billy, ‘I got the most desperate scare I ever got in my life and if ye listen I’ll tell you, but you must never tell it to another man or mortal.’
Billy had been on his rounds over in the Ballynafern side and had called to a house with ‘decent folk’. They gave him two good handfuls of meal and wee bit of bacon. As he was leaving the master gave him a kind of half wink and told him he could get him something that would warm his heart on this cold night. He knew a man not far from there who was making a drop of the rare auld mountain dew ‘Poteen’ and would give Billy a dram on his account.
The man brought Billy to a wee sod house. Inside a man was working a still. The brewer gave Billy a mug-full of the stuff and said, ‘No clash o’ this in the country, and what’s more you need never show your nose in this side again or you’ll get me in trouble.’
‘Oh you can trust Billy,’ replied the man who brought him in.
Well they had a great time taking a sup of the good stuff and before Billy knew it was coming up on eleven o’clock. Although the company was good and the drink was flowing, Billy had the sense to make his excuses to leave.
He decided to take the higher ground and come around by the west, as there had been a lot of rain and the river down in the glen would have been too difficult and dangerous to cross in the dark.
When he got up to Ballynaskeag Hill it was a grand night. There was a touch of frost and Billy knew this by the throbbin’ and the leppin’ o’ the stars, and the mist that lay like dark loughs in the hollows.
Billy was in no hurry; the sights and sounds were wondrous all around him. As Billy later explained himself, ‘I was feelin’ comfortable and content, indeed sometimes the stars was whirlin’ round me, and I sat down once or twice to look at them.’ But with all Billy’s stargazing he missed his turning for Glascar and it wasn’t long before he found himself lost.
After a time he came to a big hedge and he figured that his right road was on the other side of it. He decided that his best course of action would be to jump over the hedge, rather than lose himself further by following it to its end and going around it. So he proceeded to climb the hedge, which was not an easy task in the dark and under the influence of strong alcohol. When he got to the top he grabbed a branch to steady himself. As he lowered himself over the other side the branch gave way and Billy landed heavily on his back, hitting his head on something hard. The last thing he remembered was rolling down into a deep hollow and then everything went black.
How long he lay there he couldn’t tell, but when he came to he could not move either his hands or his feet, it was as though he was tied down with threads. It also appeared that he must have grown miles and miles in length for it seemed to him that his head was resting up against Glascar Hill like a pillow and his feet were laying a few miles away down in Loughbricland. After a while he felt that he was swelling up, rising upwards towards the stars as though he would eventually fill the whole world.
Whilst he was lying there pondering all of this, the most beautiful music he had ever heard started playing all around him. It sounded like flutes and fiddles with birds singing in between. ‘Oh! It would have wiled the heart out of ye,’ said Billy to Jimmie. ‘I opened my eyes, and there was a light all about me like a lot o’ candles seen through thin paper. I saw then where I was and my heart stood still for a minute, and then it raced like a gallopin’ horse. I was that scared I must have fainted for a bit. Well Jimmie, there I was on top of Derrydrummuck fort, and I swear on my soul, the fairies were out at their diversions. If I had been outside the ring all the chains in Ireland wouldn’t have held me.’
Billy explained to Jimmie that if you are outside a fairy ring when you hear the music, you’re safe enough, but if you’re inside they can do what they like with you. So there he was inside the ring and there was nothing he could do except lie there and look on.
After a while the fear left Billy and he figured that they would not hurt him, sure what would they want with a poor beggar man who never harmed anybody? He lay there gazing around and saw a hole in the far side of the ring that he hadn’t noticed before. As he looked at it, out trooped a whole host of wee men. They came out like bees from a hive. The men were about 2 feet tall, and they wore cocked hats of all colours and green or dark-coloured coats with long tails and pockets and long waistcoats with gold buttons. They had white knee-breeches and blue stockings, and shoes with silver buckles. The lassies were hardly as big as the men; they had beautiful shoes that shone like gold and wide skirts that came down to their ankles and bodices that were laced across with coloured ribbons. Around their shoulders they had shawls of lace that glistened, as they had been laid out in the frost. Their hair was piled up on top of their heads, and when they turned their heads it looked as if a lot of wee stars had got mixed up in their hair.
Last of all came a girl that looked younger than any of them, maybe 5 or 6 years old, but she was of enormous size. She was dressed like the rest, but she had a long rod in her hand with a light at the top of it that shone one minute green, then yellow, then blue and red. She gave it a wave and they all made a ring around her and began to dance. It was a breathtaking sight, all the wee crathurs circling round her, keeping time to the music and dancing as light as feathers. As they danced they sang a song that went like this:
By the sheen of the stars
By the light of the moon
Under these our rights are done.
The still night and muffled streams
Gleaming frost and whitened earth
O! These are for our mirth.
Hence! Ye earth-born mortals, hence!
Come not near our wonted haunts
Taint ye not our ancient homes!
Then Billy saw one of them lifting up his hand and suddenly they all stopped. In a powerful voice for such a small creature the wee man shouted, ‘Our gentle thorn is injured – look! And see what has performed this heinous act.’
They rushed over to where Billy was lying. The fear came back on him like a wave and he began to gasp as if he were drowning. As they gathered around him they let out a terrible screech that turned Billy’s blood to ice.
Billy knew well enough not to open his mouth until he was spoken to, for if you speak to the fairies before they speak to you, you’ll never speak again. The one who stopped the dance stepped up to him and said, ‘Rash mortal, why do you dare disturb us?’
Billy tried to explain how he had got lost and meant them no harm or disturbance.
With that, one of the fairies rushed forward crying, ‘O King! It is he who has broken our gentle thorn.’
The wee man, whom Billy had just learnt was their king, looked at him severely, then raise
d his hand and shouted, ’Punish him!’ With that, the rest of them pointed their fingers at Billy and wherever they pointed an agonising pain surged though his body. Every bone in his body felt like it was being wrenched out of its socket. This seemed to last for an awful long time, and he thought he could take no more, as he said to Jimmie, ‘I gave a groan, thinkin’ I was departin’.’ But just when Billy was about to give up hope of survival the big lass came up near him and cried out, ‘Oh King, I must speak to him!’
‘No, no,’ replied the king.
‘Oh I must,’ the girl implored.
The king relented and told the girl she could have a wee while, but mustn’t be long. With that they all scuttled back into the hole and the girl sat down on the grass beside him. She put out her hand and touched him, and instantly all pain left his body. He looked at her with gratitude – she was just a child, but she spoke as well as an educated adult.
The girl asked him what had brought him there and he explained that he had got lost and did not realise he was so close to the fort, let alone a fairy ring.
‘Did you come here to spy on the fairies?’ asked the child. ‘Tell the truth, it will serve you best.’ Billy swore on the Bible and the ‘Question Book’ that he was no spy. When he mentioned the ‘Question Book’ he saw that the child believed him. She asked Billy if he had any children and he told he her had none, ‘What would a poor beggar-man be doing with children?’ he asked.
The girl seemed saddened by this and said it was a pity as she would have liked to talk about the children. She told Billy that he should not have come to this place, but she was glad that he did.
‘Who are you child?’ asked Billy, bewildered.
‘I am a changeling,’ she explained. ‘You see, when I was a wee baby the fairies saw that I was going to be badly treated all my life and have an awful hard time, so they stole me from my mother and father and left some wicked creature in my place that caused them awful bother and then left when there was nothing left to take. I can see you’re wondering how I know, and think I couldn’t remember such a thing. Babies that stay with humans forget as they grow older, but babies that come to Fairyland remember everything. I remember how they petted me and cared for me, though it’s so very long ago. Babies that come here never grow bigger than I am now. I have had a beautiful time here.
‘I can go where I like and often play with children among you, though they don’t see me and don’t know that I am with them. I make everything go wrong for bad-tempered and peevish and cruel children. They fall and hurt their heads, bite their tongues, and the really bad ones I frighten in their sleep. But the good-natured ones, who try to help others, I make contented and happy, and when they are asleep I bring them to Fairyland and show them the beautiful things I have. I tell the fairies to help the grown-up people who are generous and kind with their work and to watch over their homes and protect them from all harm and evil spirits. But I plague the ungenerous, unthankful and unkind. I open the gaps and make their cattle stray, I make their watchdogs sleep and I send rats and mice into their haystacks and houses. I have such powers to help and hinder the good and bad of this world, but I sometimes miss talking to those who know nothing about Fairyland and tell them all about it, as I am talking to you now.’
The changeling explained to Billy that the fairies didn’t like her talking to other humans in case she decided to leave them. But she said she would never leave, and wouldn’t go back even if she could.
‘What will they do with me?’ asked the poor beggar man as he heard the trooping fairies returning.
‘They hate anyone who spies on them or who digs about a fort, and they will always punish them. But they always keep a changeling like me who understands something about humans; for fear that they should become harsh and cruel and punish mortals too severely. I will speak to the king on your behalf and you must do what I bid you, or something terrible will happen to you. If he says “Be gone”, make a mighty effort, though you may think that you are tied down, and jump to your feet and run for your life. Don’t under any circumstances look behind you and never go near the fort again as long as you live.’
Well Billy took everything in and thanked the changeling profusely for her clemency. Within seconds the fairies were all about him. He could see the changeling speaking to the king, but he could not make out what was being said.
Suddenly the king stepped up towards him and shouted ‘Be gone!’
With all his strength, and although it was agony, Billy leapt to his feet and took to his heels. He didn’t care about the ditches and hedges but just tore over and through them. They were after him like a swarm of bees, prodding him all over with tiny spears. From the corner of his eye Billy could see one wee ruffian driving a spear into his hip joint. He could have easily walloped him across the head but his fear and prudence made him think it wiser to do nothing except run. He only stopped when he came across wee Jimmie, out of breath and out of his mind.
Well some years later Billy the Beggar-Man passed on and many of his stories went with him and are now lost. Some of the old-timers say that his ghost can be seen on a certain night of the year at the fort, sitting on a rock with a ring of little lights dotted around him, telling stories and singing songs, and that there can be heard the sound of a wee child’s laughter. But if you ever witness this for yourself do not get too close; instead make a wish, keep it to yourself and quietly go on about your business.
Co. Fermanagh: from the Irish: Fir Manach or Fear Manach, meaning ‘Men of Manach’. Fermanagh is a county steeped in ancient history and myth. On Boa Island (named after Badb, the Irish Goddess of War), off the coastline of Lower Lough Erne, stand two carved stone statues. One is the Janus Figure, which stands 3 foot tall and has two figures standing back-to-back, the other is the Lustymore Man, who was moved to Boa in 1939. They are believed to have been carved between AD 400–800 and are meant to have been based on ancient Celtic Gods. In the townland of Drumco stands Crom Cruach, a large standing stone that represents the ancient Celtic God Crom Cróich, meaning the Bloody Crooked One’; he was a cruel God more feared than revered and was appeased with human sacrifice. The award-winning folklorist and collector of fairy stories Eddie Anderson (1897–1960) was from Corragun, Kinawley in Co. Fermanagh.
WEE MEG BARNILEG AND THE FAIRIES (CO. FERMANAGH)
This great tale about a mischievous little girl who was taught a lesson by the fairies was given to us by the Co. Down storyteller Doreen McBride. She first heard it in New York City, being told it by her friend Sharon Saluzzo. She was surprised to hear that it was from Co. Fermanagh and that she had never heard it before. The story was originally collected by the great American storyteller Ruth Sawyer (1880–1970) in her book The Way of the Storyteller. According to Saluzzo, Sawyer had a nursemaid called Johanna, who had emigrated from Ireland and brought her stories with her.
Sawyer was a magnificent storyteller and the children’s literature expert Mary Hill Arbuthnot said of her, ‘There is no one else who can relate Irish stories as she does.’ This a fine example of one of those stories written using the authentic local dialect – so here it is, the cautionary tale of Wee Meg Barnileg and the fairy folk.
A long time ago a rich farmer and his wife lived beside Lough Erne in Co. Fermanagh. They were a kindly, good-hearted pair who had one daughter, a wee terror called Meg. She was spoilt rotten. Whatever she wanted, she got. Her parents doted on her and as far as they were concerned she could do no wrong. Wherever they went they took Meg with them, to fairs, weddings, wakes and festivals, and she was guaranteed to behave badly. The neighbours hated to see them coming because she was a destructive child who would smash your best china and it was said she had a tongue fit for clipping hedges. When she went visiting she’d stand in the middle of the floor and look around, then turn to her mother and make comments such as, ‘Do you see they’ve still got them old torn lace curtains at the window. Thon chair still has a broken leg and look at that – the dirt from the floor’s
been brushed into the corner under yon brush! Thon’s a disgrace.’ She was even worse at a wake, passing remarks such as, ‘Listen till auld Aggie coughing her head off. Another clean shirt’ll do her. I’ll bet hers is the next wake we’ll be enjoying. She’s got consumption, so she has.’ And when not encouraging people into the grave she’d say things like, ‘Didn’t Barney Gallagher say before he died that Barney Maguire was the meanest man in the whole of Ireland? I remember father telling mother he’d rather strike a bargain with the auld Devil himself than with him. Do ye remember saying yon Father?’
When Meg wasn’t pestering the neighbours, she was pestering animals. She took delight in pulling the cat’s tail and whiskers, in beating dogs with sticks, pulling feathers out of chickens and the wings off flies. She was a terror who had her poor mother worn to the bone. Her mother was a fussy woman, who took pride in her tidy house and well-dressed family. She spent her days cleaning up after Meg, who trailed mud into the house and went through clothes like a dose of salts. She was a genius for becoming covered in dirt and tearing dresses. Every night her poor mother sat mending and sewing by candlelight. Meg often refused to eat what was set in front of her. ‘I can’t stomach that rubbish!’ she’d shout, before throwing perfectly good food on the floor. Her mother’s soft voice was often heard wheedling, ‘Meg, darling, tell me what you’d like to eat? You’ve got to keep your strength up. Please put that bowl down before you break it and stop annoying the dog. Now come on, be a good girl and your Da will take you to the shop and buy you some sweeties.’