Irish Gothic Fairy Stories

by Steve Lally

  Pat explained that he has had many experiences and encounters with the fairies from as far back as his early childhood. They are as normal and common to him as the sky above us; he also believes that the fairies will revive Ireland. By this he means that the fairies are unhappy with the way that the land is being destroyed with modern development and excessive and unnecessary farming.

  In this book you will read stories about people who built houses on fairy paths, cut down fairy trees and farmed over fairy forts. There is always one common denominator to these stories and that is that none of them have a happy ending. When the land is abused, the fairy folk will retaliate and the consequences can be quite severe indeed.

  Pat and his family will always make sure to leave out gifts for the fairy folk – apples, wheat, bread, honey, whiskey and even a footing of turf will be left in the bog for them. Depending on what the season is, the produce for that period will be left for the fairies as gifts. He believes that this keeps the balance, as they are guardians of the land and will work with you if you show them due respect.

  Pat has a 17-acre fairy field on his land and he once got lost in it, as many do. Luckily he was eventually able to get out of this field. He was asked if he used the old trick of turning his coat inside out and putting it on again in order to escape (apparently the fairies fear madness and if they saw someone doing this they would leave them well alone) but Pat claimed he did not try anything as he was very confused and could not get his bearings.

  In this same field there is a fairy fort, a 3,500-year-old cairn (Celtic grave) and a banshee stone – this is a stone where the banshee sits and combs her hair.

  Pat said that he himself has seen the banshee, but she was not the old silver-haired hag that popular fiction would have us believe; in fact she was young, around twenty years of age, with straight golden hair and quite beautiful. But Pat did not attempt to converse with her, as he had heard many cautionary tales about this wailing woman and what might happen if you attempt any kind of communication with her. This was a wise decision as Pat is still here in one piece to tell the story.

  And one could say that Pat is a ‘wise man’ in the traditional sense of the word, for like the wise men and women of long ago he is a healer and has his own cure, which he calls fairy water. Now this is not to be confused with poteen, which has many names, such as ‘Rare Old Mountain Dew’ and holy water. This is made from real water, very similar to the holy water that a priest would use. But Pat has words given to him from the fairies and he uses these words to create the fairy water inside a special stone with a round hole carved into it. Pat uses this fairy water to help cure various ailments and as a land cleanser. Even in the modern age of science and medicine, the old cures can still be the best.

  After hearing about Pat beeing given secret information from the fairies, we asked him what the fairies looked like and how would you go about spotting one? He explained that they look just like you and I, only there is something in their eyes that tells you they are not quite the same. He also explained that they are able to emulate us, so if you are tall, short, big or small they shall be the same too. They have an earthiness to them too, like people of long ago who lived off the land and were self-sufficient, not dependent on any of our modern appliances or amenities. They are the guardians of the land and are particularly fond of the colour green – it is frowned upon to have a green shed as it is the chosen colour of the good folk.

  It is also very bad luck to build on a fairy path, ley line, or ley-land as Pat calls it, for they will make it known that they are not happy with you. Pat is a water-diviner and he will check the land beforehand to see if there are any fairy paths; if there are then he will suggest you build elsewhere. This was very common practice before the 1970s. As a result, houses were saved from flooding and sinking and worse… but modern houses do not get the same care and attention to detail; the land is checked by academics who would have no interest in such things and more than often the houses are damaged in some way from the land that they are built on.

  Michael Fortune, the folklorist from Wexford, said the same thing about building his house. They put four hazel rods in the ground and left them overnight before they started building. The next morning if any of the rods were dislodged or damaged in any way then they would not build.

  We asked Pat if he had any experiences with the fairies and he said that he had many encounters with them; in fact, they were as normal to him as the road. Pat stated that he would often meet the fairies. He said that the 1st of May was the biggest day for the fairy folk and he and his family would leave out a May bush (a small tree or branch, typically hawthorn, rowan or sycamore, decorated with seasonal flowers, ribbons, painted eggshells and thickets) in the front lawn for the good folk. Another time of the year that is very traditional with the good folk is Halloween, the 31st of October.

  So, on he went with his story of how he met the good folk… It was that time when the world is lying between the dusk of the evening and the dawn of the morning and Pat was out lambing ewes in the fairy field. He met the fairy folk and they were very friendly and courteous towards him. Now Pat had been warned by many people never to accept anything in the line of food or drink from the fairies, as you may never return to your own world if you do. But Pat is not the type to be told what to do and he heartily accepted a drink of whiskey from them. Now as he said himself, he both lived and returned to tell the tale.

  He explained that he had a wonderful time and he drank, sang and danced with them in a celebration before they all went away hunting on horseback; in fact, Pat said there were mornings when all the horses were exhausted after running all night on a fairy hunt. In his father’s time when the horses were used for most of the heavy work around the farm, his father would have to take the horses out of the fairy field for they would be all exhausted by the fairies the night before. They love the fox-hunting and they were blowing horns and playing music in a great festival celebrating the hunt. He explained that they had a great bonfire going and they sang and told stories about themselves and their adventures.

  The main stories they told were about how their world under the ground is being torn apart by modern agricultural growth and they were losing their grip on the land as their fairy paths, forts and trees are being dug up and destroyed. They are very concerned that the land is being destroyed by modern chemicals and pesticides. We should let the rain water the land and the sun warm the soil and the earth keep us safe and let the wind carry us, for if we lose sight of this then we will lose the very essence of existence as humans on this magnificent earth.

  They asked Pat if he could help them by telling more people about this and what it is doing to the land, and maybe some of them will listen.

  We asked Pat what sort of clothes they wore and he told us that they wear good woollen clothes in the colours of the land, green and brown. He told us that there was a distinct smell from them too, a smell of freshly cut hay and the turned soil from a plough, an invigorating and natural sweet smell of the land. They were very friendly and kind to him, and they were more than happy to let him go back home as he had agreed to tell the world about their plight and the plight of the land through modern farming techniques. His night with them seemed to last a short enough time, but it turned out that Pat had been away for up to fourteen hours.

  Now this being said, although Pat could return to his home and family, he made sure never to ask any favours or make any requests of the good folk, for the price may well be too high. They have great power and they can do many things with this power, but they will always look for something in return. And it has been known that people have been taken by the good folk and this is far too high a risk to take for any personal gain. So, although Pat had a great love of the good folk, he is also very respectful and aware that they have been here a very long time and will be here long after he is gone.

  Pat said that since then he has seen the fairy folk many times, at the dusk of the evening and the dawn of the m
orning. He lets them get on with what they are at and he does the same, as they share and work the land together.

  He also told us to keep writing the stories of the fairies of Ireland as they wish for their tales to be told so that people may have more respect for the land and the environment around them.

  Since we started writing this book and collecting these stories we have found ourselves become more aware of the land and the beauty of nature around us, and how precious it is and the wonderful secrets that dwell within it. We allow the wild foxgloves to grow in the garden for they remind us of the presence of the good folk.

  Co. Leitrim: From the Irish Liatroma, meaning ‘The Grey Ridge’. Co. Leitrim is home to the Book of Fenagh, the finest medieval manuscript of its time. Sí Beag or Sheebeg in Co. Leitrim means ‘The Little Fairy Mound’, and when you stand on top of this grassy mound, Sí Mór, which means ‘The Big Fairy Mound’, is visible away to the south. This is meant to be the grave mound of Diarmuid and Gráinne. The mound was excavated and two skeletons were found lying side by side. The poet William Butler Yeats loved Leitrim and spent much time by Lough Allen. Glencar Waterfall in Co. Leitrim inspired him to write his magical poem about a child taken by the fairies entitled ‘The Stolen Child’ (1886). Glencar Waterfall has a verse dedicated to it in the poem.

  Excerpt from W.B. Yeats’ ‘The Stolen Child’

  Where the wandering water gushes

  From the hills above Glen-Car,

  In pools among the rushes

  That scarce could bathe a star.

  FAIRY MONEY (CO. LEITRIM)

  This story was inspired by a lovely little Co. Leitrim tale that we found in the UCD Schools’ Collection, Vol. 0191, pp.264–6. It was recorded at Ros Inbhir National School, Rossinver, Co. Leitrim by Michael G. Hughes. He was given the story by Anthony V. Farrell from Gubanummera, Buckode Kinlough, Co. Sligo. It is a nice example of what to do if you are ever tricked by the fairies.

  Have you ever heard of a cash cow? It is a metaphor for a dairy cow that produces milk over the course of its life and requires little maintenance. About seventy years ago a man living near the shores of Lough Melvin had a cow that could produce the same amount of milk as four cows.

  Now this was the case for a very long time and the man and his wife were very content and doing well from the profits they made from selling the milk and the butter.

  But then a day came that the yield of her milk was very poor, and the farmer and his wife could not make any more profit. They were running very short on cash and they could not maintain the standard of living to which they had become accustomed.

  They may well have managed, and hopefully the cow would produce more milk in the near future, but the farmer and his wife didn’t have the patience to wait. They felt that there was only one thing to do. For as much as it pained the old couple, they both agreed to sell the cow, as butter was their only source of steady income in those days. Although the cow had had a bad yield of milk, she showed the appearance of a fine milch cow (dairy cow) and was very healthy in appearance, so they felt she would sell at a good price.

  So the old farmer headed off to a fair at Kinlough, a village in Co. Leitrim that borders both Co. Donegal and Co. Fermanagh.

  When he got there, almost as soon as he arrived he found a ready buyer who offered him a very good price for the cow. The farmer told the buyer that although the cow was a great milker, she had had a bad yield that year. But the buyer did not seem to mind at all and said that it would not matter as he supplied a large institution in Co. Tyrone with milk, and added that the farmer was too honest. The farmer was embarrassed by this and explained that the cow was with them for years and he had not been at a fair or market in a long time and was not used to such dealings, and if the truth be known it was hard for the farmer to part with the cow, for she brought much joy to their lives.

  But the buyer was pleased and admired the farmer’s honesty, and when the farmer had finished his business he set out on the road home. As he was leaving, the buyer called to the farmer: ‘Watch out for the wee folk, for this cow was one of their own – they may well want their money!’

  The farmer laughed at this statement and thought it was just a bit of tomfoolery from the buyer.

  As he walked home, night had fallen, but the farmer was in good enough spirits with plenty of silver coins in his pocket. He had not gone far on the road when his money flew out of his pocket and was flung against the road before him.

  He looked in vain for his money; he was on his hands and knees going about the place trying to find it, but he had no joy. At last he gave it up saying, ‘Can’t be helped.’ About a mile further on he placed his hand in his pocket and found the last penny of his money safe there.

  After going on a bit further, his last penny was hurled against the road again. He looked for it everywhere, but there was no sign of it at all. After looking around for the money, he said to himself, ‘Many a man has met with a worse loss.’ But he thought it odd that this should happen a second time.

  Then, as he went a short way, he put his hands in his pockets and found his money – there it was! Most peculiar indeed, he thought.

  Then he realised that the buyer’s warning must have been true and it was the fairy folk up to their old tricks, trying to get their money back for the cow.

  As a child he had heard the tales that old folk used to tell about tricks and mischief played on them by the good folk. He held onto the money in his hand as he walked on, knowing in his heart of hearts that this was not the end of the trickery and mischief from the wee folk. Sure enough, about 3 miles from his home his money was snatched from his hand and thrown against the road for the third time.

  There was no doubt in his mind now that the fairies were working their magic.

  He took the only precaution that he knew when dealing with the fairies – he took off his coat and put it on inside out, he then put his left shoe on his right foot and he turned around three times, shouting out loud, ‘Ah let all my bad luck be with you!’

  With that, the farmer found his money safe again in his pocket. ‘Funny money!’ he thought to himself and he smiled as he reached home with his money all safe and sound. He was glad too that he had listened to the old folk and their stories, for you never know when you may well have an encounter with the Good People and it is very wise indeed to be prepared. And the next time he got a cow that would yield the milk of four more, he would look after it well and not sell it on for any price. For a cash cow is something that you hold on tight to and never give up for any amount of money!

  Co. Mayo: From the Irish Mhaigh Eo, meaning ‘Plain of the Yew Trees’. Mayo has a long history going back to around 4500 BC with its ancient tombs and forts. It is home to one of the greatest Irish fairy folk tales, ‘Guleesh’, the story of a young boy who goes on an adventure with the fairies to capture the Princess of France.

  Carrowcrum Wedge Cairn outside Ballina is known as ‘Diarmuid and Gráinne’s Bed’. It is a mysterious structure of ancient stone that stands below a hanging fairy tree.

  Co. Mayo has many terrifying tales about the Great Famine (1845–1849), one of them being the Fear Gorta (The Hungry Man), a phantom who roamed the famine villages of West Mayo looking for food and alms. William Butler Yeats talks of him in his book Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry (1888).

  THE BLACK-HANDLED KNIFE (CO. MAYO)

  This is a lovely story from Co. Mayo. It is a sorrowful tale and it explores the fairy world beneath the ocean, where the sea fairies dwell. It is inspired by a story we found in the Dúchas archive that was recommended to us by Dr Críostóir Mac Cárthaigh, Director of the National Folklore Collection at University College Dublin. It was collected by Mary McHale, a student from Scoil Beann-Chorr, Banagher, Co. Mayo. The tale was told to her by a John McHale of Carrowtrasna, Co. Mayo. (The Schools’ Collection, Vol. 0141, pp.215–16.)

  Long ago off Lacken Strand in the harbour of Kilcummin in Killala Bay, Co. Mayo, there lived a fis
herman. He was a brave and fearless seafarer. Nothing would ever rattle him when he was out at sea and he was always ready for action, armed with a large black-handled knife, which he took with him all the time. He used this knife for every purpose thinkable in the work of a fisherman, from cutting lines to gutting fish.

  One day he and his comrades were out fishing off Lacken Strand, when a terrible storm brewed up. The wind howled and the sea was in total chaos. The men were afraid, apart from the man with the black-handled knife. He stood firm and did not panic like his fellow fishermen. But then they saw something coming towards them that made them all stare with their mouths open and one of the men screamed, ‘Sí Tonn ag teacht!’ (‘A fairy wave is coming!’). They had never seen the likes of it, they had only heard of these fairy waves in old stories by the fire at night. The wave was as high as a mountain and inside the wave they could see the form of a woman with her arms outstretched. The wave was coming right at them and it was obvious that if they were hit by it they would all be doomed. The man with the black-handled knife drew his weapon and fired it at the wave, for he knew from his grandmother that the fairies cannot work their powers if iron or steel is about them at all.

  As soon as the knife hit the wave there was the sound of a terrible scream and the wave subsided immediately and the storm went calm all of a sudden. It was as if it had never happened. The other fishermen thanked their comrade and said that they would get him a new knife, even better than the one he had lost to the sea.

  As they rowed back to shore, the man looked overboard to see if he might catch a glimpse of his precious knife. There was no sign of it, but he was sure he could make out the form of a man on horseback riding along the seabed, then the sea went black and he saw no more.