Donegal Fairy Tales

by Seumas Macmanus

  Donegal Fairy Tales

  Seumas Macmanus

  There are no fairy tales in the world like the Irish. For humor and exaggeration and excitement they can’t be beaten. On of the best teller of Irish tales is Seumas MacManus. In this book you have the perfect combination of good tales and perfect story teller. You’ll laugh as you haven’t laughed for many a day at “Conal and Donal and Taig”, “Manus the Miller,” and other stories found here.

  Seumas MacManus

  Donegal Fairy Tales

  Our tales

  Tales as old as the curlew’s call are today listened to around the hearths of Donegal with the same keen and credulous eagerness with which they were hearkened to hundreds of years ago. Of a people whose only wealth is mental and spiritual, the thousand such tales are not the least significant heritage. Of those tales, the ten following are but the lightest.

  The man who brings his shaggy pony to the forge “reharses a rale oul’ tale” for the boys, whilst he lazily works the bellows for Dan.

  As she spins in the glow of the fir-blaze on the long winter nights, the old white-capped woman, with hair like a streak of lint, holds the fireside circle spellbound with such tales as these.

  When at Taig, the tailor’s, on a Saturday night, an exasperated man clamors angrily for the long-promised coat, Taig says, “Arrah, Conal, man, have sense, and be quate, and sit down till ye hear a wondherful story of anshint happenin’s.” And the magic of the tale restores Conal to a Christian frame of mind, and sends him home forgetful of a great procrastinator’s deceit.

  When the beggarman, coming in at dayli’gone, drops his staff and sheds his bags in token that he deigns to honor the good people with his presence for that night, among young and old there is anticipative joy for the grand stories with which he will certainly enchant them till (too soon) an bhean-an-tighe shakes her beads and says it is rosary-time.

  The professional shanachy recites them to a charmed audience in the wake-house, in the potato field, on the green hillside on summer Sundays, and at the cross-roads in blissful autumn gloamings, whilst the green marge rests his hearers’ aching limbs.

  Like generations of his people, one particular barefoot boy, being himself enchanted with them, longed to transmit their charm to others, and spent many, many delightful hours acquiring fresh ones, and recounting old ones to groups the most sceptical of whom more than half believed, like himself, in their literal truth. To a wider world and more cultured, he would fain tell them now. He would wish that this world might hear of the wonderful happenings with our ears, and see them with our eyes, and consent to experience for a few hours the charmed delight with which our simple, kindly people, at the feet of their own shanachies, hearken to them. He would wish that this world might, for a few hours, give him their credence on trust, consent to forget temporarily that life is hard and joyless, be foolish, simple children once more, and bring to the entertainment the fresh and fun- loving hearts they possessed ere the world’s wisdom came to them.

  And if they return to the world’s wise ways with a lurking delight in their hearts, the shanachy will again feel rejoiced and proud for the triumph of our grand old tales.

  SEUMAS MACMANUS.

  Donegal, Old Lammas Day, 1900.

  The Plaisham

  Nancy and Shamus were man and wife, and they lived all alone together for forty years; but at length a good-for-nothing streel of a fellow named Rory, who lived close by, thought what a fine thing it would be if Shamus would die, and he could marry Nancy, and get the house, farm, and all the stock. So he up and said to Nancy:

  “What a pity it is for such a fine-looking woman as you to be bothered with that ould, complainin’, good-for-nothing crony of a man that’s as full of pains and aches as an egg’s full of meat. If you were free of him the morrow, the finest and handsomest young man in the parish would be proud to have you for a wife.”

  At first Nancy used to laugh at this; but at last, when he kept on at it, it began to prey on Nancy’s mind, and she said to young Rory one day: “I don’t believe a word, of what you say. Who would take me if Shamus was buried the morra?”

  “Why,” says Rory, “you’d have the pick of the parish. I’d take you myself.”

  “Is that true?” says Nancy.

  “I pledge you my word,” says Rory, “I would.”

  “Oh, well, even if you would yourself,” says Nancy, “Shamus won’t be buried to-morrow, or maybe, God help me, for ten years to come yet.”

  “You’ve all that in your own hands,” says Rory.

  “How’s that?” says Nancy.

  “Why, you can kill him off,” says Rory.

  “I wouldn’t have the ould crature’s blood on my head,” says Nancy.

  “Neither you need,” says Rory.

  And then he sat down and began to tell Nancy how she could do away with Shamus and still not have his blood on her head.

  Now there was a prince called Connal, who lived in a wee sod house close by Nancy and Shamus, but whose fathers before him, ere their money was wasted, used to live in a grand castle. So, next day, over Nancy goes to this prince, and to him says: “Why, Prince Connal, isn’t it a shame to see the likes of you livin’ in the likes of that house?”

  “I know it is,” said he, “but I cannot do any better.”

  “Botheration,” says Nancy, “you easily can.”

  “I wish you would tell me how,” says Prince Connal.

  “Why,” says Nancy, “there’s my Shamus has little or nothing to do, an’ why don’t you make him build you a castle?”

  “Ah,” says the prince, laughing, “sure, Shamus couldn’t build me a castle.”

  Says Nancy: “You don’t know Shamus, for there’s not a thing in the wide world he couldn’t do if he likes to; but he’s that lazy, that if you don’t break every bone in his body to make him do it, he won’t do it.”

  “Is that so?” says Prince Connal.

  “That’s so,” says Nancy. “So if you order Shamus to build you a castle an’ have it up in three weeks, or that you’ll take his life if he doesn’t, you’ll soon have a grand castle to live in,” says she.

  “Well, if that’s so,” says Prince Connal, “I’ll not be long wanting a castle.”

  So on the very next morning, over he steps to Shamus’s, calls Shamus out, and takes him with him to the place he had marked out for the site of his castle, and shows it to Shamus, and tells him he wants him to have a grand castle built and finished on that spot in three weeks’ time.

  “But,” says Shamus, says he, “I never built a castle in my life. I know nothing about it, an’ I couldn’t have you a castle there in thirty- three years, let alone three weeks.”

  “O!” says the prince, says he, “I’m toul’ there’s no man in Ireland can build a castle better nor faster than you, if you only like to; and if you haven’t that castle built on that ground in three weeks,” says he, “I’ll have your life. So now choose for yourself.” And he walked away, and left Shamus standing there.

  When Shamus heard this, he was a down-hearted man, for he knew that Prince Connal was a man of his word and would not stop at taking any man’s life any more than he would from putting the breath out of a beetle. So down he sits and begins to cry; and while Shamus was crying there, up to him comes a Wee Red Man, and says to Shamus: “What are you crying about?”

  “Ah, my poor man,” says Shamus, says he, “don’t be asking me, for there’s no use in telling you, you could do nothing to help me.”

  “You don’t know that,” says the Wee Red Man, says he. “It’s no harm to tell me anyhow.”

  So Shamus, to relieve his mind, ups and tells the Wee Red Man what Prince Connal had threatened to do to him if he had not a
grand castle finished on that spot in three weeks.

  Says the little man, says he: “Go to the Fairies’ Glen at moonrise the night, and under the rockin’ stone at the head of the glen you’ll find a white rod. Take that rod with you, and mark out the plan of the castle on this ground with it; then go back and leave the rod where you got it, and by the time you get back again your castle will be finished.”

  At moonrise that night Shamus, as you may be well assured, was at the rockin’ stone at the head of the Glen of the Fairies, and from under it he got a little white rod. He went to the hill where the Prince’s castle was to be built, and with the point of the rod he marked out the plan of the castle, and then he went back and left the rod where he got it.

  The next morning, when Prince Connal got up out of bed and went out of his little sod hut to take the air, his eyes were opened, I tell you, to see the magnificent castle that was standing finished and with the coping-stones on it on the hill above. He lost no time till he went over to thank Shamus for building him such a beautiful castle; and when Nancy heard that the castle was finished, it was she that was the angry woman.

  She went out and looked at the castle, and she wondered and wondered, too, but she said nothing. She had a long chat with Rory that day again, and from Rory she went off to Prince Connal, and says she: “Now, didn’t I tell you right well what Shamus could do?”

  “I see you did,” says Prince Connal, “and it is very thankful to you I am. I’m contented now for life,” says he, “and I’ll never forget yourself and Shamus.”

  “Contented!” says she; “why, that place isn’t half finished yet.”

  “How’s that?” says Prince Connal.

  “Why,” says she, “you need a beautiful river flowing past that castle, with lovely trees, and birds singing in the branches, and you should have the ocean roaring up beside it.”

  “But still,” says Prince Connal, says he, “one can’t have everything. This is a hundred miles from a river and a hundred miles from an ocean, and no trees ever grew on this hill, nor ever could grow on it, and no bird ever sang on it for the last three hundred years.”

  “Then all the more reason,” says she, “why you should have all them things.”

  “But I can’t have them,” says Prince Connal.

  “Can’t you ? ”says she. “Yes, you can. If you promise to have Shamus’s life unless he has you all those things by your castle in three days, you’ll soon have all you want,” says Nancy.

  “Well, well, that’s wonderful,” says Prince Connal, says he, “and I’ll do it.”

  So he sets out, and goes to Shamus’s house, and calls Shamus out to him to tell him that his castle was very bare-looking without something about it. Says he: “Shamus, I want you to put a beautiful river flowing past it, with plenty of trees and bushes along the banks, and also birds singing in them; and I want you to have the ocean roaring up by it also.”

  “But, Prince Connal,” says Shamus, says he, “you know very well that I couldn’t get you them things.”

  “Right well I know you can,” says Prince Connal, “and I’ll give you three days to have all them things done; and if you haven’t them done at the end of three days, then I’ll have your life.” And away goes Prince Connal.

  Poor Shamus, he sat down and began to cry at this, because he knew that he could not do one of these things. And as he was crying and crying he heard a voice in his ear, and looking up he saw the Wee Red Man.

  “Shamus, Shamus,” says he, “what’s the matter with you?”

  “O,” says Shamus, says he, “there’s no use in telling you what’s the matter with me this time. Although you helped me before, there’s not a man in all the world could do what I’ve got to do now.”

  “Well, anyhow,” says the Wee Red Man, “if I can’t do you any good, I’ll do you no harm.”

  So Shamus, to relieve his mind, ups and tells the Wee Red Man what’s the matter with him.

  “Shamus,” says the Wee Red Man, says he, “I’ll tell you what you’ll do. When the moon’s rising to-night, be at the head of the Glen of the Fairies, and at the spring well there you’ll find a cup and a leaf and a feather. Take the leaf and the feather with you, and a cup of water, and go back to the castle. Throw the water from you as far as you can throw it, and then blow the leaf off your right hand, and the feather off your left hand, and see what you’ll see.”

  Shamus promised to do this. And when the moon rose that night, Shamus was at the spring well of the Glen of the Fairies, and he found there a cup, a leaf, and a feather. He lifted a cup of water and took it with him, and the leaf and the feather, and started for the castle. When he came there, he pitched the cup of water from him as far as he could pitch it, and at once the ocean, that was a hundred miles away, came roaring up beside the castle, and a beautiful river that had been flowing a hundred miles on the other side of the castle came flowing down past it into the ocean. Then he blew the leaf off his right hand, and all sorts of lovely trees and bushes sprang up along the river banks. Then he blew the feather off his left hand, and the trees and the bushes were filled with all sorts and varieties of lovely singing birds, that made the most beautiful music he ever had heard.

  And maybe that was not a surprise to Prince Connal when he got up in the morning and went out. Off he tramped to Shamus’s to thank Shamus and Nancy, and when Nancy heard this she was the angry woman.

  That day she had another long confab with Rory, and from him she went off again to Prince Connal, and asked him how he liked his castle and all its surroundings.

  He said he was a pleased and proud man, that he was thankful to her and her man, Shamus, and that he would never forget it to them the longest day of his life.

  “O, but,” says she, “you’re not content. This night you’ll have a great gathering of princes and lords and gentlemen feasting in your castle, and you’ll surely want something to amuse them with. You must get a plaisham.”

  “What’s a plaisham? ”said Prince Connal.

  “O,” says Nancy, “it’s the most wonderful and most amusing thing in the world; it will keep your guests in good humor for nine days and nine nights after they have seen it.”

  “Well,” says Prince Connal, “that must be a fine thing entirely, and I’m sure I would be mighty anxious to have it. But,” says he, “where would I get it or how would I get it?”

  “Well,” says Nancy, “that’s easy. If you order Shamus to bring a plaisham to your castle by supper time this night, and promise to have his life if he hasn’t it there, he’ll soon get it for you.”

  “Well, if that’s so,” says Prince Connal, “I’ll not be long wanting a plaisham.”

  So home went Nancy rejoicing this time, for she said to herself that poor old Shamus would not be long living now, because there was no such thing known in the whole wide world as a plaisham; and though Shamus might build castles, and bring oceans and rivers and trees and birds to them, all in one night, he could not get a thing that did not exist and was only invented by Rory.

  Well, off to Shamus went Prince Connal without much loss of time, and called Shamus out of his little cabin. He told him he was heartily well pleased with all he had done for him. “But there’s one thing more I want you to do, Shamus, and then I’ll be content,” says he. “This night I give a grand supper to the lords, ladies, and gentry of the country, and I want something to amuse them with; so at supper time you must bring me a plaisham.”

  “A plaisham! What’s that?” says Shamus.

  “I don’t know,” says Prince Connal.

  “No more do I,” says Shamus, “an’ how do you expect me to fetch it to you then?”

  “Well,” says Prince Connal, says he, “this is all there is to be said about it -- if you haven’t a plaisham at my castle door at supper time the night, you’ll be a dead man.”

  “O, O,” says Shamus, says he, and sat down on the ditch and began to cry, while Prince Connal went off home.

  “Shamus, Shamus,�
�� says a voice in his ears, “what are you cryin’ about now?”

  Poor Shamus lifted his head and looked around, and there beside him stood the Wee Red Man.

  “O!” says Shamus, says he, “don’t mind asking me,” he says, “for it’s no use in telling you what’s the matter with me now. You may build a castle for me,” says he, “and you may bring oceans and rivers to it, and trees and birds; but you couldn’t do anything to help me now.”

  “How do you know that?” said the Wee Red Man.

  “O, I know it well,” says Shamus, says he, “you couldn’t give me the thing that never was an’ never will be!”

  “Well,” says the Wee Red Man, says he, “tell me what it is anyhow. If I can’t do you any good, sure I can’t do you any harm.”

  So, to relieve his mind, Shamus ups and tells him that Prince Connal had ordered him, within twenty-four hours, to have at his castle door a plaisham. “But,” says Shamus, says he, “there never was such a thing as that.”

  “Sure enough,” says the Wee Red Man, “there never was. But still, if Prince Connal wants it, we must try to get it for him. This night, Shamus,” says the Wee Red Man, says he, “go to the head of the Glen of the Fairies, to the sciog bush [Fairy thorn], where you’ll find a bone ring hanging on a branch of the thorn. Take it with you back home. When you get home, young Rory will be chatting with your wife in the kitchen. Don’t you go in there, but go into the byre [cowshed], and put the ring in the cow’s nose; then lie quiet, and you’ll soon have a plaisham to drive to Prince Connal’s castle door.”

  Shamus thanked the Wee Red Man, and that night he went to the head of the Glen of the Fairies, and sure enough, he found the ring hanging from one of the branches of the sciog bush. He took it with him, and started for home. When he looked in through the kitchen window, there he saw Nancy and Rory sitting over the fire, chatting and confabbing about how they would get rid of him; but he said nothing, only went into the byre. He put the ring into the brannet cow’s nose, and as soon as the ring went into it, the cow began to kick and rear and create a great tendherary of a noise entirely. Then Shamus got in under some hay in the corner.