Irish Gothic Fairy Stories

by Steve Lally

  MESSIN’ WITH THE WEE FOLK (CO. OFFALY)

  The following stories are recorded accounts of folk tampering with the fairy raths or forts of the Slieve Bloom Mountains. They were passed on to us by Co. Offaly storyteller Frank Bergin. Steve worked with Frank at the Slieve Bloom Storytelling Festival in 2015. Frank was born and raised in the Slieve Bloom Mountains in the townland of Roscomroe, in the parish of Kinnity. The mighty Slieve Bloom mountain range straddles both Co. Offaly and Co. Laois. They are steeped in folklore and legend – even their name comes from ancient Celtic mythology, for Slieve Bloom means ‘The Mountain of Bladma or Blod’ – Blod was the son of Cú (the Hound).

  The first of these stories involves a family consisting of an old woman and her three sons living in the Slieve Bloom Mountains. One day when the mother was wandering about the mountains looking for nuts and berries, she came across a magnificent group of hazel trees growing on a fairy fort or rath. Now there are fairy raths all over the Slieve Bloom Mountains and it was and still is a well-known fact that one should never interfere with them or the system of fairy paths that link them together. But this woman paid no heed to such piseogs (superstitions). She was delighted, for she was in great need of a big strong basket to put the spuds into and the hazel rods and saplings would provide the perfect materials to create such a basket.

  She rushed back to the homestead and told her eldest son where the fort was and to go and cut as many rods and saplings as he could and bring them back to her at once. The poor fellow knew better than to question his mother and off he went with his sharp knife and axe to find the fairy fort. It was not long before he found the mystical fort and lo and behold there certainly was a wonderful collection of hazel trees growing upon it. He climbed up onto the fort and began to cut and chop his way through the trees. As he did, he got an awful strange feeling, like he was being watched. He then felt something brush past him and it was at this point that he decided to call it a night; it was starting to get dark anyway.

  When he got home he handed over the rods to his mother, who told him to get a bite to eat and then go to bed. She began weaving the rods into a basket with great eagerness. Her son went to bed complaining of a sore back, which he put down to the work with the rods. The next morning when the poor fellow woke up he could hardly move at all. He managed to pull himself out of the bed and when he did, he could not stand up straight at all. His mother shouted over at him, ‘Would ye stand up straight, you’re like a fellow looking for money he dropped!’ The old woman never had much sympathy for her sons, especially after her living through the Great Hunger. This dark time in Ireland’s history left many people hard and even cruel in their ways and dealings with other folk. ‘Well I need more rods to finish this basket!’ she cried out and she called for her second son to go to the fort and cut her a good lump of rods and bring them back to her straight away.

  The poor lad headed off and he was not too happy about it at all. He had heard what his brother had said the night before about being watched and something brushing past him. But he reasoned with himself that his brother was merely spooked as it was getting dark, but it was early in the day now and he had plenty of light. When he got to the fort, he climbed up and began to cut and chop with the axe and knife he had taken with him. But he too got a funny feeling that he was being watched, and as he worked away he was sure that something had hit against him. He worked on, trying to convince himself that it was all in his imagination, until he felt like something had bitten his leg. He let out a shout of both fear and pain. Well that was it, there was no way he was going to spend any more time in this terrible place. He gathered up what he had cut and made his way swiftly back home. When he got back his mother took the rods from him excitedly and began to weave her basket. As she worked she told the son to get something to eat and finish off his chores about the house, for that useless older brother of his could do nothing as he was bent over like a horseshoe. It was not long though before he too felt a terrible pain in his back and took to his bed.

  The old woman ran out of rods and was not too pleased about this as two of her sons were now bent over like auld fellas. She called in her youngest son who was outside (and let the truth be known was avoiding his mother for he was afraid of being sent to the fort). But nevertheless he was called in and his tough auld mother instructed him to go to the fort and get enough rods for her to finish her basket. Only this time she told him to take it easy and look after his back so that he would not end up like his two older brothers. Reluctantly he went to the fort and just like his brothers before him he climbed up and began working away at the rods. Now whatever it was in the fort that had scared away his two older siblings was starting to get very agitated with these strangers coming and stealing their rods. As the young lad worked away he too felt like he was being watched and he even heard voices whispering all around him. They sounded angry and although he could not understand what they were saying, he knew that it was not friendly or well-meaning.

  The voices got louder and the lad felt little hands grabbing at his legs and then he felt something sink its teeth into him. He screamed in terror and agony as he ran back to the house, grasping the bundle of precious hazel rods. When he got back he threw the rods down at his mother’s feet and swore he would never go back to the fort again. The poor boy was beside himself with fear and he showed his mother where he had been bitten on his leg. ‘Tis only a scratch, you probably caught your leg on some thorns,’ she scoffed, with no sign of compassion for her child. She told the boy to get something to eat and go to his bed.

  The old woman worked away at the basket and it was not long before she had it all finished. She was very proud of her handiwork and was keen to try it out and see how strong it was. Now there was a big pile of spuds in the corner of the room and it was for this reason that she wanted a basket, for it was unseemly and no good to have the lovely spuds piled up on the floor. Oh what a lovely sight it was to see the spuds neatly gathered in the fine big basket. She decided that in the morning she would treat herself and her sons to a fine breakfast of boxty (potato bread) and butter, she even felt a wee bit bad for not being nice to her sons and showing them more attention.

  She went to bed herself and the next morning she was up bright and early to make the lovely breakfast. But when she got to the basket she let out a terrible scream, for all the spuds were rotten with blight and the smell would have knocked you over. She called her sons but none of them came as they were all stooped and twisted.

  This was a terrible situation altogether. There was only one thing for it and that was to go to see the wise woman, or fairy doctor, who lived up on the Slieve Bloom Mountains and find out what was going on. As she made her way up the mountain she could see a wee curl of smoke on the horizon that was coming from the wise woman’s hovel.

  When she got to the wee shack she heard the old woman calling her inside by her name, as if she could see her through the walls. She opened the door and went inside, and there was the wise woman sitting by the fire, as if she was waiting for her. She told the fairy doctor all about her three sons and how they were all made cripples after cutting the hazel rods and how when the basket was finished it had rotted all the spuds. The mother was beside herself as she proclaimed that they would all starve with her sons unable to work and not a bite to eat in the house. The fairy doctor remained calm and composed and asked the old woman where they got the rods from. She explained that she had seen them on one of the forts up the mountain. The wise woman laughed when she heard this.

  ‘’Tis no laughin’ matter!’ said the old woman angrily.

  ‘Ye got them from a fairy fort, sure ’tis no wonder at all that ye are havin’ bad luck!’ replied the fairy doctor. She explained to the old woman that these rods belonged to the good folk, who did not take kindly at all to folk stealing their property.

  ‘What am I to do?’ asked the old woman and the fairy doctor explained that she was to take all her three sons back to the fairy fort and return the
basket. If they were to do this then they would make their peace with the fairy folk and all should be well. The old woman thanked the fairy doctor and promised she would pray for her in return for her services.

  As soon as she got back she told her sons to come with her to the fort and for one of them to take the basket with him.

  Oh! ’Twas a sorrowful sight indeed to see the old woman and her three sons stooped over as they made their weary way shuffling up the mountain to the fort. They looked like ancient beasts of burden that had been broken down by years of hard, thankless labour. After a long and arduous journey they finally reached the fort and as soon as they did the three sons threw the basket into the fort, where it landed with a soft crunching of grass.

  As soon as this was done the three sons all stood up straight and the auld mother cried with joy and relief. When they got home all the spuds were piled nicely in the corner and they were as fresh as the day they were picked. After that the old woman never asked her sons to interfere with the good folk, nor were they ever in any rush to do so either.

  Another story that Frank told us about the Slieve Bloom Mountains also involved the hazel tree, although this time it was concerning its fruit, the hazelnut.

  According to the old people, a long time ago the hazelnut was a lot bigger than it is today and it had no hard shell but was made of a soft flesh like a tomato and was simply delicious. Now a group of young lads were going about the Slieve Bloom Mountains looking for their favourite nuts and berries. Their favourite beyond any shadow of a doubt was the hazelnut with its beautiful soft flesh that was so sweet and juicy. They thought that they had struck gold when they found a whole heap of them growing on a fairy fort up the mountain. The boys gathered as many as they could and ate a right amount too. Then they brought the rest of them back to their homes. But that night, to their great dismay, all their teeth started to fall out. Their parents were very concerned and decided the best thing to do was to take them all up to see the fairy doctor and find out what was going on. They all arrived at the wise woman’s hovel and when they did, there she was waiting for them. They explained to her what had happened and she asked them where they found the nuts. The children told her that they had picked them off a fort on the mountain. Well, as you can imagine she found this awful amusing indeed and enlightened them by telling them all that they had stolen from the fairy folk and this was their punishment. But she went on to explain that if they were to return whatever nuts they had left then it should all be resolved. They then left the old woman a few bob and they headed home.

  When everyone got back to their homes they made sure to collect all the hazelnuts and bring them back to the fairy fort. When they did, they threw them all back and as if by magic all their teeth grew back and they were very happy indeed. Now, although some of the nuts were returned, the fairy folk were still very annoyed with random strangers coming along and helping themselves to their precious fruit. So they decided to teach them all a lesson by making the nuts much smaller and giving them a hard shell, so that you could never take a bite out of one unless you wanted to lose a few teeth.

  The final story that Frank told us was based around the fairy paths of the Slieve Bloom Mountains. As we now know, there are many fairy forts in this mountain range and they are all interlinked with a system of hidden pathways known as fairy paths. It is considered to be both foolish and dangerous to build any structure or create any form of obstruction on these paths. It is also strongly advised that if you are going to build something where there are fairy forts or trees in the area, you need to put four ash rods or pegs from an ash tree in the four corners of the foundations. Some folk leave them overnight, others leave them for a couple of days and then they come back to check them. If the pegs or rods are damaged or missing, then it is considered to be solid proof that the foundations are obstructing a fairy path. The builder is then strongly advised to build elsewhere.

  This particular story deals with a certain character who had more money than sense and wanted to build a house for himself on the Slieve Bloom Mountains. He was advised that where he was building was right upon a fairy path, but he paid no heed to such ‘auld nonsense’, as he called it. So off he went and from the very get-go he was having trouble. The scaffolding kept falling down, the mortar would not mix properly for him, when he hit a stone with a hammer it would turn to dust and the whitewash would not dry. This fellow was losing a power of money over all this. He spent enough money on materials and hired help that would have easily paid for another five or six houses. But he was determined that he would not let piseogery (superstitions) get the better of him so he persevered and eventually his house was built and he moved in. Well now that was not the end of it at all for at night he would hear knocking at the front and back doors and the sound of running and voices outside. He never caught anyone or anything but he had no peace. Then he decided to light a fire, that’s when it all got a lot worse, for every time he did so the whole house would fill with thick black smoke. He would have to run outside to avoid suffocation. The poor man tried everything in his power to fix it – he had chimneysweeps galore and he even had the chimney itself widened, but it was no good. No matter what he did the smoke just kept billowing out of the fireplace and destroying the house and all its contents. In the end this man had no choice but to give up. He finally moved out of the house and built a new one far away from anything remotely attached to the good folk.

  That old house on the fairy path was never lived in again and has over the years turned to a ruin, but the ruins are still there, somewhere up on the Slieve Bloom Mountains in Co. Offaly.

  To finish up Frank Bergin told us that although we can’t see these fairy paths, there is a road in Co. Offaly between Rosbeg and Kinnity called Bothar an Phúca, which means the ‘The Pooka’s Road’. I wonder if anyone has dared build their house on this road and, if so, what sort of stories would they have to tell.

  Co. Westmeath: From the Irish Na Hiarmhí, meaning ‘West-Middle’. The county is situated right in the centre of Ireland, which is more commonly known as ‘The Midlands’. It is a very historical county with many ancient castles and forts. Túathal Techtmar, a high king of Ireland, was based in Co. Westmeath; his grandson was Conn Cétchathach, a mighty warrior better known as ‘Conn of the Hundred Battles’. The Hill of Uisneach stands right in the centre of Ireland where, on a clear day, it is said that you can see twenty of the thirty-two counties. This is where ‘Lugh of the Long Arm’, hero and God of the Tuatha Dé Danann, is said to have come and saved his mother’s people from the Formorians. The townland of Nure, near Mullingar, is better known as ‘Lilliput’ after Johnathon Swift (1667–1745) was inspired to write his classic Gulliver’s Travels (1726) after visiting there. The world-renowned tenor Count John McCormack (1884–1945) was born in Athlone, Co. Westmeath. One of his most famous songs was ‘The Fairy Tree of Clogheen’, written by Temple Lane.

  THE SLUAGH SIDHE (CO. WESTMEATH)

  This is a story we found in the Schools Collection in Duchas. Imelda Dunican collected it from Mrs Caffret in Kilbeggan, Co. Westmeath, the date is unknown but thought to be c.1938. Vol. 0732, pp.490–4. We adapted the story and made it our own.

  Long ago, old people had a positive belief in fairies, goblins, elves, leprechauns, banshees and Clurichauns (a mischievous fairy in Irish folklore known for his great love of drinking and a tendency to haunt wine cellars). But mothers above all guarded their babies (and still do in some cases) just in case they were taken away by the fairies. They put a pinch of salt under the pillow in the pram as a means of protection. When people praised babies they often forgot to add the little prayer ‘God Bless it’, so mothers would offer up the little prayer themselves in silent thought – just in case!

  Some years ago, a young mother who already had two little girls was made wonderfully happy by the gift of a beautiful baby boy. There was great rejoicing and the father thought this was the most wonderful baby in the parish. The father was a farmer and to his deli
ght the baby thrived and he was the proudest father for miles. When the boy was almost a year old, it happened that the hay season was not such a fine one as usual, so every fine hour that came the farmer and his wife spent in trying to save it. The mother generally took the children with her to the fields, and while the parents worked the children tumbled in the hay and sure the children loved getting out in the fresh air, and would tumble down the hills and play hide-and-seek. As this family had a wee baby, they usually left it in its little cradle asleep in the shade under a tree.

  It was August, a calm evening, and the parents were at work, trying to make use of the last of the sun for that day. The girls were sitting over by the tree beside the baby in his cradle and were beginning to feel a little tired. It was near six in the evening when suddenly a rustling, whistling sound passed by, causing the hay to rise in swirls all over the field. Both parents made the sign of the cross, for well they knew it was the Sluagh Sidhe (In Irish and Scottish folklore the Sluagh were the spirits of the restless dead. Some believe they were some ill-begotten form of fairy folk. The Sluagh are known to steal the souls of the dying. They usually wait till the sun has gone down and then they strike. Dark shadows and sometimes a flock of ravens and a ferocious wind comes out of nowhere. The Sluagh Sidhe is also referred to as the Under Folk, the Wild Hunt, or the Host of Unforgiven Dead).

  The parents were scared because the mood took a darker turn and they feared for their choldre. Not to cause too much panic, they decided to work on when the wind died down. When they came over to where the two little girls were they found them fast asleep but the wee baby boy was crying in his cradle. The parents thought it unusual because the baby was usually nice and quiet. From that day onwards, the baby wasn’t the same. It didn’t seem to thrive one bit, night and day he cried. The years passed by and the little girls grew up strong and healthy but the wee boy never walked or talked – he just lay in his cradle whining.