by Steve Lally
There was an old man who lived nearby, and he was a genius on the bagpipes. When he visited the house he would play a tune for the family, which they loved. It was quickly noticed that the wee boy in the cradle would stay quiet whenever the old man played the tune. It seemed to be the only thing that would keep him happy. One evening the man came and as it turned out it lashed from the heavens and the old man couldn’t carry his bagpipes home so he decided to leave them behind. The next day the farmer and his wife went to a fair and left the two girls to housekeep and look after the boy. Something during the day attracted their attention outside and the girls left the house. The younger girl returned and, to her surprise, she saw that the wee boy was up on the rafters and playing the bagpipes. She ran out to tell her sister and when they both returned the wee boy was fast asleep in his cradle. When their parents came home the girls ran to the door and told them what had happened and they wouldn’t believe them. They said the girl must have been dreaming. Yet they kept a close eye on the boy after that.
The incident was soon forgotten and one day a travelling woman happened to call and was made very welcome indeed. During the conversation, the mother confided in the woman and told her the story about her son, how the wind came in the field that calm August evening. She felt so comfortable with the woman that she even told her about the day her and her husband where at the fair and her daughter saw her wee brother up on the rafters playing the bagpipes.
The woman was in shock, her mouth was open and her eyes wide listening to the story. The travelling woman advised her to get thirteen eggs and boil them.
‘What good would that do?’ the mother asked but the woman just said, ‘When they are boiled take them out of the pot one by one. Put a special mark on the last egg, but keep the shell of the marked egg. When it is empty fill it with water and put it on a live coal to boil. Have the wee lad on your knee and see how he reacts.’
When the travelling woman left the mother got to work boiling the eggs. When all was ready she took the wee boy on her knee. When he saw the water boiling in the eggshell he let out a roar of laughter and said, ‘Be Gad, I’m as old as the hills around but it’s the first time I ever saw water boiled in an eggshell!’
Up jumped the wee fella and ran out the door and when the mother turned around again there standing beside the fire was a beautiful looking youth the living image of his father. The mother often wondered if the changing wind on that August evening all those years ago had something to do with it? Was her baby taken and replaced with something else? She tried not to think too much about it and held her son in her arms and offered up a little prayer to herself in silent thought.
Co. Wexford: In Irish it is known as Loch Garman, meaning ‘Garman’s Lake’, but the English translation comes from the Old Norse Waesfjord, meaning ‘Fjord of the Mud Flats’. This is a county with no shortage of folklore and fairy stories. A language known as ‘Yola’ was spoken in Co. Wexford until it became extinct in the mid-nineteenth century. During the Viking period (800–1169), Co. Wexford was one of the most important harbours and settlements in Ireland. One of Ireland’s most celebrated and important folklorists, Patrick Kennedy (1801–1873), was born in Kilmyshall, Bunclody, Co. Wexford; he collected many fairy stories from his home county. The poet and folklorist Jane Francesca Agnes, Lady Wilde (Speranza) (1821–1896), mother of the great writer and playwright Oscar Wilde (1854–1900), was born in Co. Wexford.
JEMMY DOYLE AND THE FAIRY FEAST (CO. WEXFORD)
We found this story in Patrick Kennedy’s Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts, published in 1866. It was originally called ‘Jemmy Doyle in the Fairy Palace’, p.116. This is our twist on the same tale.
One late evening Jemmy Doyle was coming down Scollagh Gap – a hollow between the Blackstairs Mountains, between Ballymurphy and Kiltealy. It was starting to get dark and it was that strange sliver of time between the last of the daylight and the beginning of the night time, when the thin veil between the living world and what lies beyond seems to evaporate for just a little while.
It was a long and lonely road that Jemmy walked upon that night in late summer. He knew the road well and was not afraid of the shadows coming from the half-light, nor the strange sounds that seemed to emerge from those same shadows.
It was more than likely that he had had a few wee half-ones in a local tavern along the way, for Jemmy loved the craic and the ceoil. He was always the heart and soul of every get-together and he loved to sing and listen to music, and if there was a bottle of poteen, sure all the better! So, he was more than likely in good spirits and a few shadows and hoots from the dark were not going to scare him, and he swore when he told the story in later years that on that particular night he was sober as a judge.
But the strangest thing happened when he walked around a bend in the road – he saw a magnificent house a bit away from the road surrounded by trees. In all his days Jemmy had never seen this house before and he had walked this road many times. He was dumbfounded and could not understand why he had never noticed such a fine building before. It was the sort of house that would have belonged to a rich landlord, the sort of house that the likes of Jemmy Doyle would never be welcomed into. He noticed that the front doors of the manor were flung open and light was streaming out into the darkness like an explosion of radiance and illumination. Not only that, but the sound of wonderful music and joyous laughter poured from the house too. Oh! The tunes were all so sweet, just like the ones Jemmy had remembered as a boy. He loved music and he recognised many of the jigs and reels and he found himself dancing on the road, humming to the tunes that flooded from the house.
His curiosity could take it no more, he had to look and see what was going on inside. So over he went to the open doors and he looked in. He could not believe his eyes for he saw a large grand hall with people dressed like royalty. They were all eating and drinking and when they were not doing that they were all laughing and dancing. The hall was lined with tables full of every type of food and drink that you could think of and from the walls hung exquisite tapestries depicting scenes the likes of he had never seen or thought of in all his days.
At the far end of the hall was an orchestra composed of every type of musical instrument that you can think of, and a few fellas were even playing the bones.
The tunes they were playing were just out of this world, and come to think of it that is exactly what they were. The hall was lit up with chandeliers, Tilley lamps and candles; the room was filled with a warm glowing light and the atmosphere was electric. Then, all of a sudden, Jemmy was spotted by a well-dressed man sitting at the top of one of the tables. He stood up and approached Jemmy.
‘Ah, Mr Doyle! So very good of you to join us, we were expecting you and you are not a moment too late. Please take a seat and help yourself to all the food and drink that your heart desires.’
The man was ever so polite and courteous to Jemmy, who was being treated like a lord himself. This was not what Jemmy was used to but by God he could get used to it all right!
All the ladies were looking at him like he was some handsome prince and they made cow eyes at him as they rustled their fans and giggled like schoolgirls.
Jemmy did not know what to think but he was happy and apprehensive at the same time, and even felt himself blush. It all seemed far too good to be true.
The well-dressed man kept ushering him to a seat and when he was eventually sat down his host offered him a plate of delicious-looking food and a glass of poteen. Jemmy politely refused and said that he was full after a big meal but he was more than happy to sit and enjoy the lovely music. Now Jemmy remembered how the old people would talk of the good folk or the fairy folk and he knew fine rightly that this was no mortal affair but a gathering of the Sidhe – the fairies themselves.
The man asked Jemmy if he was impressed with what he saw and Jemmy was quick to reply that he had never seen the likes of it in all his days. He then offered him a glass of wine, thinking that he might prefer something lig
hter, but Jemmy refused as polite as you like and told his host that he was fine for refreshments as the atmosphere was quite enough to lift his spirits.
Well as the night went on Jemmy could see that everyone was having a lovely time and there seemed like there was no malice or trickery about the place and let the truth be known he was more than ready for a sup of liquor or a bite to eat. When his host eventually approached him again with a glass of poteen, he took it gratefully and he saw that his host’s face beamed with delight. Just as he was about to drink from the glass he looked up along the table; he had not taken much notice of those sitting next to him as he was so transfixed by all the revelry. He now saw that sitting beside him was his neighbour, who had died over twenty years previous. Poor Jemmy got the shock of his life and then the dead man raised a hand and pointed at Jemmy in a manner that was nothing short of a warning and he said to him, ‘For your life, don’t touch a bite nor sup, for if you do you shall remain here forever and they will have absolute power over you to do to you as they wish, that is the way of the good folk.’ Then the dead neighbour looked back down at his plate as if nothing had been said. Jemmy was very disturbed by this and he noticed that when he looked about him, the fine-looking folk were actually quite ghastly-looking creatures, like ugly monsters.
The corpse spoke with such a low voice that Jemmy could barely hear him and just as well, for his fairy host was in earshot and stood up from the table and raised his glass, then he spoke.
‘I wish to propose a toast to Jemmy Doyle, that he may spend a good time with us here and we welcome him with open arms as our eternal guest!’
With that Jemmy stood up and raised his glass to the congregation. ‘Your Lordship,’ he began, ‘I am a poor man with very little in this world and very little to show for my time upon it.’ His fairy host looked at him hungrily, almost willing him to drink from the glass, but then Jemmy spoke again. ‘Yes, ’tis very little that I have in this world, but by God himself I will not be tricked into losing the one thing that I do possess, my very own soul! Damn the lot of yez! I will not be fooled by yer trickery!’
His fairy host and the entire congregation gasped at this unexpected declaration of defiance. Then Jemmy lifted the glass above his head and threw it to the ground, where it exploded in a hail of sparks and smoke. There was absolute chaos about the place, with the fairy folk screaming and shouting, and the look of pure rage in the fairy host’s eyes would turn your blood to ice.
Then a Si Gaoithe (a fairy wind) blew through the place and whisked Jemmy off his feet. He spun around in the air like a leaf caught in a storm, then everything went into darkness.
When he came to he found himself back on the side of the road. He was lying beneath a fairy tree but there was no sign of the grand house that he had spent the night in amongst the fairy folk. It was very early in the morning for he heard the sound of a cock crowing and he was wet with the morning dew. His whole body ached and throbbed, as though he had fallen from a great height.
Jemmy used all his strength to pick himself up off the ground; his feet nearly went from under him but he managed to compose himself. When he got to his feet he did his best to get home, he was full of fear and anxiety for there was a faint taste of poteen in the back of his throat and he thought that the fairies may well have taken his soul.
On his way back, he called in to the local priest and begged him to absolve him of his sins and he made a full confession of his dealings with the good folk. The priest was well aware of the good folk and did not take such matters lightly. After Jemmy’s confession he splashed him with holy water and said a few prayers that Jemmy had never heard before, it was serious stuff alright!
The priest scolded Jemmy for his loose ways and fondness of the drink, and said that he knew it would only be a matter of time before he landed himself in some class of trouble and by the holy book he had indeed this time.
Jemmy thanked the priest and even swore off the drink with the man of the cloth as his witness. He stayed sober and clean for a long time afterwards but as the years went by he fell back into auld habits, but he never walked a road alone at night nor accepted a drink from a stranger again.
Co. Wicklow: In Irish it is known as Chill Mhantáin, meaning ‘Church of the Mantan’, but the English translation comes from the Old Norse Víkingaló, meaning ‘Vikings’ Meadow’. It is a beautiful county, commonly known as ‘The Garden of Ireland’. One could easily imagine the Sidhe frequenting such places as Glendalough and the Wicklow Mountains. Due to its magical scenery, Co. Wicklow was one of the prime locations for John Boorman’s 1981 film Excalibur, based on the story of King Arthur. At the magnificent Blessington Lakes there is a place called Poulaphouca, from the Irish Poll an Phúca, which means ‘the Pooka’s Hole’. Here a small village was submerged for a hydroelectric plant; the remains of roads can still be seen leading down into the lake. In Wicklow town there is a death messenger known as ‘The White Lady of High Street’. She appears on that particular street to any person about to die.
WE HAD ONE IN THE HOUSE FOR A WHILE (CO. WICKLOW)
This story was collected from a Mr and Mrs Kelleher in 1920 by Lady Gregory. Together with William Butler Yeats and Edward Martyn, Lady Gregory co-founded the Irish Literary Theatre and the Abbey Theatre, and wrote several short works for both companies. Lady Gregory produced many books of retellings of stories taken from Irish mythology.
This is a conversation about the fairies between an old married couple. We can almost imagine them both sitting beside the open fire in the cottage, the dog stretched out at their feet, as they converse and try to remember the actual event that happened in their youth. Their memories are a little hazy because they are much older, but they still manage to tell their tale well and with great zeal. It is apparent that they are still very much in love. Then, like older minds often do, they wander off somewhere else and the next thing we know they have taken us to a place called Peacock Well, where there is a big grey bird with a head like a man. I can almost see Lady Gregory sitting near them taking notes, her ears pricked up, leaning in, making sure to catch every word.
Mr Kelleher: I often saw them when I had my eyesight. One time they came about me, shouting and laughing and there were spouts of water all around me. And I thought that I was coming home, but I was not on the right path and couldn’t find it and went wandering about, but at last one of them said ‘Good evening Kelleher,’ and then they went away, and then in a moment I saw where I was by the stile. They were very small, like little boys and girls, and had red caps.
I always saw them like that, but they were bigger at the butt of the river; they go along the course of the rivers. Another time they came about me playing music and I didn’t know where I was going, and at last one of them said the same way, ‘Good evening, Mr Kelleher,’ and I knew that I was at the gate of the college; it is the sweetest music and the best that can be heard, like melodeons and fifes and whistles and every sort.
Mrs Kelleher: I often heard that music too, I heard them playing drums.
Mr Kelleher: We had one of them in the house for a while, it was when I was living up at Ticknok, and it was just after I married that woman there that was a nice slip of a girl at the time. It was in the winter and there was snow on the ground, and I saw one of them outside, and I brought him in and I put him on the dresser, and he stopped in the house for a while, for about a week.
Mrs Kelleher: It was more than that, it was two or three weeks.
Mr Kelleher: Ah! Maybe it was – I’m not sure. He was about fifteen inches high. He was very friendly. It is likely he slept on the dresser at night. When the boys at the public house were full of porter, they used to come to the house to look at him, and they would laugh to see him, but I wouldn’t ever let them hurt him. They said I would be made up, that he would bring me some riches, but I never got them. We had a cage here, I wish I had put him in it, I might have kept him till I was made up.
Mrs Kelleher: It was a cage we had for a thrush. We
thought of putting him into it, but he would not have been able to stand in it.
Mr Kelleher: I’m sorry I didn’t keep him – I thought sometimes to bring him to Dublin to sell him.
Mrs Kelleher: You wouldn’t have got him there.
Mr Kelleher: One day I saw another of the kind not far from the house, but more like a girl, and the clothes greyer than his clothes, that were red. And that evening when I was sitting beside the fire with the missus I told her about it, and the little lad that was sitting on the dresser called out, ‘That’s Geoffrey-a-wee that’s coming for me,’ and he jumped down and went out the door and I never saw him again. I thought it was a girl I saw but Geoffrey wouldn’t be the name of a girl, would it? He had never spoken before that time. Somehow I think he liked me better than the Missus. I used to feed him with bread and milk.
Mrs Kelleher: I was afraid of him, I was afraid to go near him, I thought he might scratch my eyes out – I used to leave bread and milk for him but I would go away while he was eating it.
Mr Kelleher: I used to feed him with a spoon, I would put the spoon to his mouth.
Mrs Kelleher: He was fresh-looking at first, but after a while he got an old look, a sort of wrinkled look.
Mr Kelleher: He was fresh-looking enough, he had a hardy look.
Mrs Kelleher: He was wearing a red cap and a little red cloth skirt.
Mr Kelleher: Just for the world like a highlander.
Mrs Kelleher: He had a little short coat above that; it was checked and trousers under the skirt and long stockings all red. And as for his shoes, they were tanned, and you could hardly see the soles of them, the sole of his foot was like a baby’s.