Dublin Folk Tales for Children

by Órla Mc Govern

  Out on the waves he would point over to Killiney Hill. He would tell the visitors about the ‘Druid’s Chair’. Now the Druids were a high-ranking bunch of people years ago. They were teachers, poets, priests and even judges. Many people looked to the Druids for wisdom and advice, and some people even thought them to be quite magical. The chair is made from slabs of very big stone and is in the middle of a wood.

  ‘Now,’ said Danny, with his serious face on, ‘if you wanted a judgement on something, or a dispute settled, you would go before the Druid sitting in the chair, and hope you were not going to get into trouble.’

  If the tourists looked very serious during this story, Danny would crack a smile or wink at them. But if they weren’t taking his story seriously enough, he would get even more serious-looking himself!

  You can still see that Druid’s Chair up in Killiney today. It’s sometimes called ‘The Judgment Seat’.

  When he had tourists from Holland visiting, Danny was quick to point out, ‘Sure we had our own windmills too! We had one right up there in the quarry.’

  Indeed it was true, there had been a windmill there, but what he didn’t tell the tourists is that it didn’t work very well and only lasted about fifteen years.

  If the tourists were lucky, Danny would dock his boat at Dalkey Island and give them a ‘tour’. What a great spot.

  He would tell you about St Begnet, the ‘Patron Saint’ of Dalkey; there’s a church named after her on the island.

  ‘She was an Irish princess, so she was. Many say she came from down the road.’ Danny would point over his shoulder and down the coast. ‘She always wore a bracelet, and people say it was given to her by an angel!’

  He would point out the wildlife: the seals, the black rabbits, the herd of wild goats, the terns and all the other birds that love to visit there too.

  ‘Sure they all love to visit here,’ Danny would laugh. ‘Birds, saints, and even the Vikings!’

  While Dalkey Island is only five minutes from the harbour in the boat, Danny could make it the trip of a lifetime. He could talk for hours and still have his audience at the edge of their boat benches listening!

  But wait a minute. Did I never tell you why Danny wore a flower in hat? Sure that was what started me off in the first place!

  Well, of course, it all comes back to Danny’s favourite subject. Do you remember? Yes. The weather.

  Danny would tell you the time of when he was a young lad himself, and his grandfather would teach him how to read the wind with grass and flowers. He would show Danny how you could throw a bunch of petals or the stems of grass in the air, and watch how they blew away – that would tell you both the direction and the strength of the wind.

  ‘Daisy petals are best!’ Danny would say. ‘Better than any weathervane or machine! Now you won’t find many daisies growing out there on the waves. That’s why I always like to keep one tucked inside my hat, for good measure! I have my machines and the smell of the air to guide me, but still, there’s nothing like throwing up a good bunch of daisy petals, just like when I was a lad!’

  And that’s the story of why Dalkey Danny used to wear a flower in his hat.

  So, you see, if things seem a little strange or unusual in the world, there’s often a very good and interesting explanation behind them, if you just take the time to ask and listen!

  8

  Filou Filou

  Did you know that over the years, many different groups of people from around the world have come and made Dublin their home? These people have always been drawn to our shores for at least a thousand different reasons. With so many different experiences, there must be so many different stories.

  Some people came who were warriors, and wanted to raid the land. Others came as explorers, and landed here, sometimes by accident. Some people came to be reunited with family. There were also people who came to escape hard times in their own countries, and make a brand new start in Dublin. One such group of people was called the Huguenots.

  The Huguenots originally came from France, but in their home country at the time, many people disagreed with the their religion and politics. Because of this, most of the Huguenots left their home to find somewhere to live that was safer. A large number of them came to Ireland, and many settled in the capital city of Dublin.

  Jack was a young Huguenot man who had come over to Ireland on a ship when he was small. His uncle had travelled with him, but had settled in a different part of the country and Jack was left to fend for himself. Jack was a bright young man with a big heart, and was happy to learn a trade and work hard, so soon he took the job of tailor’s apprentice in Dublin. His boss, Mr Millet the tailor, was a very different type of man altogether – and not a very nice one! He was very selfish.

  As an apprentice to Mr Millet the tailor, Jack worked long hours, slept in the corner of a cold workshop, and was given very little to eat. Mr Millet knew that Jack was unlikely to complain, as he was all alone in a new city and this work was better than no work at all. Jack did most of the hard work, yet Mr Millet took all the credit!

  However, despite this hard life, Jack learned to sew quickly, and, as the months went by, it was clear that he had a great talent for sewing. In fact, he was on his way to becoming a much better craftsman than his own boss Mr Millet!

  Jack was particularly good at the kind of sewing that needed fine detail, like embroidering flowers, making lace, or the fine stitching of a delicate shirt. Mr Millet of course let Jack do all this fine work, but claimed credit for it himself whenever a compliment was passed by a customer.

  Jack often found himself sitting in the cold workshop, working long into the night, sewing all the delicate pieces that his boss had left for him to finish.

  One night, having worked for ages, and having had very little food, Jack began to fall asleep at the work table. His eyes were just about to close, when he heard a noise. At first he thought it must have been a mouse, as it was a kind of scratching sound, coming from underneath the work table.

  But when Jack bent down to investigate, it not a mouse that he found. There, underneath the table, was a tiny man. In fact it was a fairy man! He was dressed all in green, and was wearing a cap with a feather in it. His little leg had become trapped in the crack between the floorboards, and he was trying, in vain, to escape.

  Under the little man’s arm was tucked a tiny morsel of bread. It was just a crumb to us humans, but for the fairy man it was the size of a good big loaf.

  Jack reached in to help the little man, but the fairy’s eyes flashed like flame, and he hissed back.

  ‘It’s all right, little man, I won’t hurt you,’ said Jack.

  The little man stopped hissing, but gave a scowl.

  Jack reached in, and just managed to free the little man’s leg. No sooner had he done so, than quick as a flash, didn’t the little man shoot off into the darkness. Jack looked down and saw the little man’s coat, caught on a splinter. He had slipped out of it to escape. Beside the coat was the little crumb-loaf of bread. The little man must have dropped that too while escaping.

  Jack picked up the little coat. It was one of the most beautiful pieces of clothing that he had ever seen! It was the colour of moss in the middle of a forest. The sewing work was so fine, and it was made with a type of silk like none Jack had ever seen. So soft! However, when it caught on the splinter it had also torn. Jack decided to try to repair it.

  He took the coat over to his mending table, and picked out the tiniest needle he could find. He looked for a spool of silk to match the colour. There was no thread slender enough to fit his needle, so he carefully unwound a small piece of silk, and divided it into strands, until there was one thin enough to fit through the eye of the needle.

  Very carefully, with a squinty eye, he threaded the needle and began to sew. It was very slow work, as he had to be so careful with each stitch in the delicate fairy fabric.

  Finally, once he had mended the tear in the little man’s jacket, he carefully laid it ou
t on the floor, just beside where he had first encountered him. Then Jack remembered the crumb-loaf, and the fact that the little man seemed hungry. Jack placed the crumb-loaf beside the coat, and beside that he also added a little crumb of cheese. Jack had little food himself, but a tiny crumb of cheese would be a feast to a little fairy man.

  Jack knew he still had his regular work to do, and went into the other room to fetch more mending. When he returned, just a few minutes later, he found that the jacket and the bread and the cheese were already gone! In their place was a large spool of the finest silken thread he had ever seen. He picked it up to examine it.

  It was not a single colour, but seemed to be made from the skin of a rainbow. When Jack held it to a blue cloth, it became the colour of the sky; when he held it to a green cloth, it became the colour of the forest, and so on and so on. It was a match to everything. What a fine gift the fairy man had given him! He would save it for a very special garment.

  Jack sat down to do his work, and yet again his eyelids began to droop from tiredness. He could hear a song in the distance, yet there was no one in the workshop with him. In fact the song seemed to be coming from inside his own head:

  ‘Filou filou fil-ay-ree-oh, a fairy-oh, now off you go. Filou filou fil-ay-ree-oh, with silk I sew, fil-ay-ree-oh.’

  Now this song was very beautiful. It also seemed strangely familiar to Jack. He recognised two words as being from his old language – French. ‘Filou’ meant ‘trickster’ and ‘fil’ meant ‘thread’. Hmmm. What did this mean?

  The more he heard the song, the sleepier he became, and it wasn’t long before he drifted off, with his head on his arms there at the work table.

  SMACK! Jack awoke suddenly when he felt a hand whack him on the back of his head.

  ‘I don’t pay you to sleep, boy!’ roared Mr Millet. ‘And what’s this?’ he said, picking up the spool of fairy thread.

  ‘It’s ... it’s ...’ Jack couldn’t find the words to answer his employer, and he probably wouldn’t have believed his story of the fairy man anyway.

  ‘It’s mine! That’s what it is,’ laughed Mr Millet cruelly. ‘You work for me, so it’s mine now.’

  Mr Millet took Jack’s fairy thread over to his own work table, and started to do the regular mending with it. ‘It’s mine now,’ he muttered to himself.

  That evening it was Jack’s job to deliver the day’s mending. On top of his job as an apprentice, he was also a delivery boy, a cleaner, and whatever other job Mr Millet made him do.

  In the delivery pile was a pair of grey trousers to go to a rich businessman, a red dress to deliver to a posh lady; and there was a brand new white shirt to take to the lord mayor’s house.

  ‘Be careful with those clothes, boy,’ said Mr Millet, ‘particularly with the mayor’s shirt.’

  Now, Jack himself had made the mayor’s shirt, he had spent hours on it. Of course he would be careful. He delivered all the mending and clothes and came home to a cold workshop again, exhausted and hungry.

  The next day, some strange things started to happen around the city of Dublin. The businessman had just turned a corner. He kicked a cup from the hands of a couple of beggars on the side of the road. He laughed and continued walking down the road, near St Stephen’s Green, when didn’t he hear someone singing a little song:

  ‘Filou filou fil-ay-ree-oh, a fairy-oh so off they go. Filou filou fil-ay-ree-oh, with silk I sew, fil-ay-ree-oh.’

  There was no one singing that he could see. Well, next thing didn’t his grey trousers fall off! They literally came apart at the seams and fell to the ground. The businessman was standing there with the breeze blowing around his bottom!

  Now the businessman wasn’t too far from his house, but still he had to run half naked down the road to get there. He passed the beggars who he had been mean to earlier. They had a good laugh and pointed at him.

  ‘The state of yer man! Could you not afford trousers, sir? Will we loan ya a few bob, sir?’

  Now if you’d been there, and you’d looked very closely, you might just have glimpsed a tiny man watching all this from behind a railing. He was wearing a green jacket, had a twinkle in his eye, and was holding a length of fairy thread in his hand.

  ‘Filou filou fil-ay-ree-oh, a fairy-oh so off they go!’

  The businessman was very angry when he got home. He would have words with the tailor in the morning.

  Over on the other side of town, the posh lady was holding a tea party for her friends. She had just scolded her poor maid for being a ‘slow servant’ and had made the girl cry. The posh lady was just reaching for a sandwich, when she thought she heard a little voice singing:

  ‘Filou filou fil-ay-ree-oh, a fairy-oh so off they go. Filou filou fil-ay-ree-oh, with silk I sew, fil-ay-ree-oh.’

  Of course she couldn’t see anyone at all, and had no idea where the voice was coming from. But wait ’til I tell ya – next thing wasn’t the lady standing there in her undergarments!

  Her red dress had fallen off and was lying there on the ground. Her lady companions tried not to giggle, but couldn’t help themselves, and it cheered the poor maid up no end. Now if you’d been there, and you’d looked very closely, you might just have glimpsed a tiny man watching all this from behind a curtain. He was wearing a green jacket, had a twinkle in his eye, and was holding a length of fairy thread in his hand.

  ‘Filou filou fil-ay-ree-oh, a fairy-oh so off they go ...’

  The posh lady had never been so embarrassed in all her life. She would march over to that tailor first thing in the morning.

  In fact, all over Dublin other people who had gone to this particular tailor were losing their clothes. Garments were falling to the ground without explanation. It was as if a thief had stolen the thread right from the seams of their clothes! And each time it happened, a strange little song was heard, yet nobody was to be seen.

  The funny thing about it was that it didn’t happen to everyone – the losing of clothes – only to those who added a mean streak to their day.

  In one house in particular, things were different. In one house, no clothes fell off at all. This one house was the house of the lord mayor of Dublin.

  The lord mayor was a powerful man, but he was also known for his warmth and kindness. That evening he was getting dressed for an official dinner. He was putting on his shirt when he noticed a detail on the collar. It was a tiny flower, sewed perfectly by Jack. It reminded him of when he was a boy growing up in the countryside, and of his family that he loved. He smiled, and walked out to his dinner, happy and confident. As he descended the stairs, he heard a faint song trailing on the landing behind him. He looked behind him but there was no one there.

  ‘Filou filou fil-ay-ree-oh, a fairy-oh now off you go ...’

  Now, if you’d been there, and you looked very closely, you might just have glimpsed a tiny man watching him from the bannisters, with a green jacket and a twinkle in his eye. This time there was no length of fairy thread in his hand. Instead he just stood there smiling.

  The next day when the tailor opened his shop to the public, there was a queue of angry people waiting outside. All their clothes had fallen off the day before. They were demanding their money back, and threatening the tailor that they would never come back to his shop again.

  The tailor was very confused. He had mended their clothes himself, and he had done it quite well. He had to think quickly, to save his own skin.

  ‘My dear customers,’ he said. ‘I am so very sorry. I must apologise on behalf of my apprentice Jack. I am a generous man, and I believed him ready for the task of sewing your clothes, but sadly I was wrong. He has been lazy in his work with your garments. I assure you he will be punished for this!’

  The customers grumbled, but were a little less angry when they believed their clothing mishaps to be the fault of a young lazy boy.

  When the last of the customers had left, Mr Millet turned to Jack.

  ‘No food for you tonight, boy! For I did promise my custom
ers I would punish you,’ he said, laughing at his own lie.

  ‘But Mr Millet, I –’ Jack was just about to protest his punishment, when the door swung open.

  It was the lord mayor of Dublin himself. He was holding a white shirt in his hands, and had a serious look on his face.

  ‘Oh no,’ thought Mr Millet.

  For it was one thing for the gentry of Dublin to be annoyed with Mr Millet and his shop, but a whole other thing for the lord mayor of Dublin to be upset with him.

  ‘His clothes must have fallen off him, too,’ thought Mr Millet. ‘I must do something!’

  ‘Your worship! You are most welcome to my humble shop. And before you say another word let me tell you that it was this lad!’ said Mr Millet, pointing at Jack. ‘This lad that sewed your shirt and caused you injury. I know, I know, common punishment is not good enough for him! I shall throw him out on to the street this very night for offending you.’

  The lord mayor turned to Jack, a little confused. ‘Boy,’ he said. ‘Did you sew this shirt?’

  Jack looked at the collar. It was indeed his work this time.

  ‘Yes, your worship,’ said Jack, bowing his head. ‘I was the one who sewed your shirt.’

  The lord mayor gave a big smile. ‘Well, what wonderful work it is,’ said the mayor. ‘You are a talented young man. I came here to reward your employer for his talent, but I see now that I was mistaken. You lad, you are the talent.’

  Mr Millet’s face dropped! He was sure the mayor was there to give out, not give praise!

  ‘Emmm, I believe I was mistaken, your honour. It was I who sewed your shirt. The boy merely fetched me the thread.’

  The lord mayor’s face grew angry. ‘Sir. There is nothing I like less than liars in my city. It is obvious to me now that you are both a cruel man AND a liar. In light of the fact you are about to throw the boy out on to the street, let me now offer him employment.’