The Storyteller Music Play List for 25th August 2013.

 

The Storyteller Music Play List for 25^th August 2013.

Spanish Lady by The Dubliners.

Molly Malone by The Dubliners.

Tog go Bog é by Kila.

The Big Pig Song by HookedOnPhonicsTV youtube.

The Pig Got Up And Slowly Walked Away by Frank Crumit. Use the high quality recording on youtube OnlyVocalHQ

Hey Good Looking (1951) The Original by Hank Williams.

The Pig Got Up and Slowly Walked Away. (Courtesy of YouTube).
To accompany The Gentleman Who Pays The Rent (Part 2).

 

 

 

The Storyteller.

The Storyteller.

There’s turf on the fire

There’s tea in the pot

Sunday’s here again

It’s been a good week

And now is the time

To hear the tale’s again

So pull up a chair and sit awhile

The clock is striking three

Tune in to WRFM

And join the Seanachái.

 

 

Welcome to my blog.

If you have any comments or requests for stories please leave them on here and I'll see what I can do.
I really appreciate any feedback and will try to respond as quickly as possible.

On behalf of myself and WRFM 98-2 I would like to thank you for taking the time to listen to my show and hope you enjoy it.

Join me on Sunday at 3-00pm until 4-00pm, pull up a chair and sit awhile.  You are never too old for a story.

Billy in the Bowl. The Case of the Stoneybatter Strangler.

The first story this week concerns a severely disabled person in 18^th century Dublin. At this time someone who suffered from a disability was restricted in their life choice and usually ended up begging on the streets. Because of this they were in the main ignored by passer-by’s and they just disappeared into the background of the hustle and bustle of the busy streets of the capital. This type of social invisibility was to serve one disabled person well. He was known as Billy in the bowl.

Billy in the bowl.  The Case of the Stoneybatter Strangler.

In and around 1786, Dublin’s first-ever police force was mobilised, and the first case they were confronted with was the  Number 11 Grangegorman Lane Murder, where a sturdy servant girl had been robbed, beaten and strangled. In the months leading up to the murder, a number of young servant girls were lured into ditches and robbed, and the police were inundated with so many complaints that a nightly patrol was placed on the district. Pitied and unsuspected, a handsome, deformed beggar dragged himself across the streets. This was Billy in the Bowl. This was the man they were looking for, the Stoneybatter Strangler.

The handsome, deformed Billy in the bowl evolved a plan to rob those who took pity on him. Then, one night, he made the biggest mistake of his life

DUBLIN in the eighteenth century was noted for two things - the architectural beauty of its public buildings and the large number of beggars who begged for money in its streets and lanes. The name Stoneybatter derives from the Gaelic Bothar-na-gCloch and in the mid eighteenth century that’s all it was; a stony country road outside the city of Dublin but still the main thoroughfare by which people came into the city from the northwest. Around this time travellers on the rocky road might have come across a very unusual character.

This was "Billy in the Bowl"

Billy Davis had been born without any legs, but he didn’t let this, or anything else, slow him down. The strange nickname was derived from the fact that Billy's sole means of transport was a large bowl-shaped cart with wheels fashioned for him by a local blacksmith. With his upper body lodged in this he would propel himself along by his arms. He was also said to have been an unusually handsome man with dark curly hair and, possibly by dint of exercise, particularly powerful arms. Arms he would use to his advantage in more ways than one.

Billy's unusual means of conveyance was vitally necessary, as he had been born without legs. Nature, however, had compensated for this by endowing him with powerful arms and shoulders and, what was most important, an unusually handsome face. This was Billy's greatest asset in his daily routine of separating sympathetic passers-by from their small change.

The cunning young beggar would wait at a convenient spot on one of the many lonely streets or lanes which were a feature of eighteenth century Grangegorman and Stoneybatter, until a servant girl or an old lady would come along. He would then put on his most attractive smile which, together with his black curly hair, never failed to halt the females. The fact that such a handsome young man was so terribly handicapped always evoked pity.

Billy in the bowl, however, wasn't satisfied with becoming the daily owner of a generous number of small coins; what his greed demanded were substantial sums of money. The more he managed to get the more he could indulge in his pet vices - gambling and drinking.

As a result the beggar evolved a plan to rob unsuspecting sympathisers. The first time he put his plan into operation was on a cold March evening as dusk, was falling. The victim was a middle aged woman who was passing through Grangegorman Lane on her way to visit friends in Queen Street - on Dublin's North Quays.

When Billy heard the woman's footsteps, he hid behind some bushes in a ditch which skirted the lane. As his unsuspecting victim drew close, the beggar moaned and shouted, and cried out for help. Trembling with excitement, the woman dashed to the spot where Billy lay concealed. She bent down to help the beggar out of the ditch, when two powerful arms closed around her throat and pulled her into the bushes.

In a few minutes it was all over. The woman lay in a dead faint, and Billy was travelling at a fast rate down the lane in his “bowl ", his victim's purse snug in his coat pocket. An hour after the robbery the woman was found in a distressed condition, but failed to give a description of her assailant. Again and again the beggar carried out his robbery plan, always shifting the place of attack to a different part of Grangegorman or Stoneybatter.  By this time I suspect he must have killed his victims. However, as Billy in the bowl had predicted, nobody suspected a deformed beggar.

On one occasion Billy in the bowl tried his tactics on a sturdy servant girl who put up such a vigorous resistance that he was forced to strangle her. This must have been a particularly awful crime for the incident became known as the Number 11 Grangegorman Lane Murder and caused a great stir.  Hundred’s flocked to the scene of the crime and for a couple of months Billy in the bowl was forced to desert his usual haunts. Around this period (1786) Dublin's first-ever police force was being mobilised, and the first case they were confronted with was the Grangegorman lane murder.

Months passed and Billy in the bowl reverted once again to his old pastime. A number of young servant girls were lured into ditches and robbed, and the police were inundated with so many complaints that a nightly patrol was placed on the district. However, the beggar still rolled along in his bowl pitied and unsuspected. Then came the night that finished Billy's career of crime.

Two sturdy built female cooks, trudging back to their places of employment after a night out in the city, were surprised and not a little shocked to hear shouts for help. Rushing over, they came upon a huddled figure in the ditch. Billy, thinking there was only one woman, grabbed one of the cooks and tried to pull her into the ditch. She proved much too strong for him however and while resisting tore at his face with her sharp finger-nails. Meanwhile, her companion acted with speed and daring. Pulling out her large hatpin she made for the beggar and plunged the pin into his right eye.

The screams and howls of the wounded beggar reverberated throughout the district and brought people dashing to the scene. Among them was a member of the nightly police patrol who promptly arrested the groaning Billy. Most of the valuables were picked up on the ground where the attack had taken place, and some of the party procured a strong hand-barrow, on which Billy was conveyed in triumph to prison.

 Although it was suspected it could not be proved that he murdered his victims but he was convicted of robbery with violence and confined in the jail in Green Street. Although he was severely disabled he was employed in hard labour for the remainder of his days. His notoriety caused him to be viewed as an object of curiosity and because of this certain members of high society visited the prison in order to titillate their senses.

 Although it was never proven that it was he who had committed the murders in the Grangegorman-Stoneybatter district the area once more settled back into some sort of normality. A quiet suburb where old ladies and young girls could walk the streets safely as they went about their business.

The Black Pig/The Dolocher.

The next story is also based in the capital and is a warning to not believe everything you see or hear as some things are not quite what they may first seem. It is called:

The Black Pig. Also known as ‘The Dolocher’.

An interesting tale in connection with the Black Dog Prison in Dublin's Cornmarket was related in the Dublin Penny Journal in November 1832. The paper described how a 'creature', who appeared in the form of a black pig, had apparently engaged in a reign of terror against the women of the city at the end of the 18th Century.

The beast, known as 'The Dolocher', was commonly believed to be the spirit of a former inmate of the Black Dog named Olocher who had been sentenced to death for murder and rape. On the night before he was to be executed at Gallows Hill, Olocher cheated the hangman by committing suicide. This caused uproar in the prison with the authorities questioning the prison officials on how it happened.

Within a few days, the prison staff had another worry on their minds. One of the sentry posts, a little removed from the main prison, had a sentry on duty every night and imagine the shock when he was found lying unconscious on the ground. He had been badly mauled and when he recovered his senses he told his listeners that he had been attacked by a big black pig. At first, no one believed his story but when he was stripped in the prison hospital, his wounds were so horrible that some began to believe him. For many nights afterwards, the black pig was seen by several other sentries.

The prison was now on full alert but they had another shock coming. About a week after the happening to the first sentry, another sentry detailed for duty at the same lonely post was missing when his relief came to replace him. A search was at once organised and the man's clothes were discovered at the rear of the sentry box. His rifle was standing with the butt on the ground and his clothes, uniform, tunic, trousers and shirt were piled beside it. Locals, putting two and two together, decided that the black pig was really the ghost of the unhappy Olocher, or the Dolocher as he came to be known and that he had carried off the unfortunate sentry and murdered him.

 The news of the second strange happening in the prison spread quickly and now a fear of the night spread through the Liberties and well it might for woman after woman who was foolish enough to go out on their own were attacked night after night.  One woman claimed that she had been attacked by the beast in Christ Church Lane, while a pregnant woman was said to have had a miscarriage after an encounter with the beast in the same area.  Due to the fear and terror engendered by the black pig, the lanes and alleyways surrounding Christ Church soon became a no-go area after dark.

The fear that haunted the Liberties soon spread to other parts of the city and it was noticed that it was always young women who were attacked.  Some of the girls who were attacked told that their attacker had the face of a pig. By this time Dublin was deserted city at night time, a city that trembled with fear as the long winter nights shrouded the unlit streets of the Liberties and other parts of Dublin. Eventually, the long nights ended and with the coming of late spring and summer, the attacks ended. As the longs days and short nights began to end with the coming of late autumn, people hoped and prayed the evil monster that had prowled there last winter wouldn’t return. The nights of November saw their hopes dashed as on a foggy night another young woman was attacked and her cries for help were heard and the attacker fled. However, the girl's story was that her attacker was "the black pig".

Vigilante groups were formed in an effort to catch the Dolocher and, on one particular night, the patrons of a pub in Cook Street set out to kill every black pig they could find running loose on the streets of Dublin. The presence of the vigilantes seemed to force the Dolocher to lie low for a while, but he re-emerged to continue his reign of terror a year later with an attack on a woman at Fisher's Alley, beside Wood Quay. The fear that had been over the people the previous year returned and some families barred their doors at night time. A couple of weeks passed and a couple more women were attacked and then the weather took a hand.

It was a late November evening but fine, and a blacksmith from the edge of the Liberties decided to take a walk to his favourite tavern in Thomas Street for a drink and a chat with his friends. Time passed quickly and the blacksmith decided it was time to go home. When he came out of the tavern, he discovered it was raining and as he had brought no coat with him, he returned to the tavern owner for the loan of something to keep the rain off him. The tavern owner gave him a long hooded cloak belonging to his wife.

The blacksmith set off to walk home through the dark streets and alleyways of the Liberties. He had just reached the end of a dark alleyway when a figure sprang at him and attempted to punch him to the ground. In a flash, he realised that his attacker was the black pig, while the black pig realised that this was no frail woman as he had thought because he was wearing a cloak. In a few minutes, the blacksmith had his attacker on the ground and then he pulled off the skin of a black pig's head the man was wearing.

By this time, three or four men had arrived on the scene and thinking that it was another attack on a woman had come as quickly as they could. They were in no way gentle with him as they dragged him to his feet and brought him to a police station. It was there the next morning that the man was identified. The Blacksmith had delivered a fatal blow to his attacker who was identified as the missing sentry.

Before he died he confessed to aiding Olocher in his suicide and orchestrating the slaughter of the pigs. He had spread the rumour of the black pig himself using the resulting atmosphere of fear and superstition for the sole purpose of attacking and robbing the innocent women of the Liberties. In some ways Dublin’s Jack the Ripper.

The History of the Bodhrán.

Now for something a little bit different. There are many variations on how the Bodhrán came to be used as a musical instrument and some may even argue that it shouldn’t even be classed as one at all. I don’t agree with that as I believe that the Bodhrán is the heart beat of Irish Traditional music and when played correctly by people like Ronán O’Snodaigh it touches something deep within you. Here is my take on:

The History of the Bodhrán.

The word Bodhrán is said to mean Deafening or Thunderous Drum.  The history of the Bodhrán is shrouded in mystery and subject to speculation. Is it an ancient Irish instrument or did it originally arrive on our shores from some far off place?  Some historians believe that it has roots in Africa and arrived here from Spain, others believe that it had its origins in Asia and arrived here with the Celts. 

There is evidence of the use of an instrument very similar to a Bodhrán that was used in agriculture and this was called a Wight or Wecht in Ulster and a Dallán in the south west of Ireland. This was used by agricultural workers to separate grain seed from the chaff or shells. Grain was poured into the hollow section of the Bodhrán on a breezy day, the light shells were blown away by the wind and the heavy grain was left behind. Sometimes workers would raise the Bodhrán above their heads and jump up and down to agitate the grain.

It was said that the Bodhrán hung above the fireplace and in winter after the harvest was finished for the year the farm labourers being short of money and unable to buy musical instruments used whatever they had to hand or could make from bits and pieces. The grain winnower was used as a drum during musical seisúns. Another use for the Bodhrán was during harvest festivals and by the Wren boys and Mummers to make noise in order to announce their arrival on the scene.

The Bodhrán is a frame drum made from a circle of wood (ash) upon this we have the stretched skin of an animal. Usually that of a goat but you may also find Bodhrán that use the skin of a horse, pony, sheep, or dog. At first glance it reminds you of a sieve similar to that used to sift sand and it is easy to understand the confusion when someone asks the question “did it evolve from a working instrument into a musical instrument or was it the other way round?”  In fact you will still see it used for both purposes in third world countries today.

The majority of these drums are used purely in religious or cultural festivals, and it is only in countries such as Ireland, the Basque country and Spain, where they are an integral part of musical entertainment. And it is only in Ireland that the frame drum has reached a high degree of sophistication. It was first introduced into modern Irish Traditional Music by Seán Ó Riada. He inserted arrangements for the Bodhrán into the music of his group Ceoltóiri Chualann. They later became known as the Chieftains.

The Bodhrán is very similar to another frame drum from Cornwall which was also used for harvesting grain. It is called a Crowdy Crawn (Croder crawn) and is mentioned as early as 1880.  It’s a wooden hoop covered with sheepskin and is used in Cornish Traditional Music.  The Crowdy Crawn originated as a tool for gathering and measuring grain in the same way that the Bodhrán evolved from the Dallán.

A frame drum is played by either striking it with your bare hand or with a piece of wood called a tipper, beater, or cipín. Originally tippers may have been fashioned from pieces of bone; however, today they are made from ash, holly, or hickory.  The drum is usually played in a seated position, held vertically on the player's thigh and supported by his or her upper body and arm (usually on the left side, for a right-handed player), with the hand placed on the inside of the skin where it is able to control the tension (and therefore the pitch) by applying varying amounts of pressure and also the amount of surface area being played, with the back of the hand against the crossbar, if present.

The drum is struck with the other arm (usually the right) and is played either with the bare hand or with a tipper.  Never play the drum when it is too soft or limp. Keep the drum when not in use in a case in a cool place so that the skin can relax. You can then bring it to playing tension by gentle and expert use of a heat of your choice (I have used gentle heat applied by a small travelling hair dryer).  If the skin is too tight, use a little water on the inside of the skin (not the outside) and give it a few minutes to work. Never use Beer or Guinness - save that for drinking.

These days there are many good quality tuneable Bodhrán on the market so tuning should no longer be a problem. Bodhrán players are generally regarded with derision by other musicians and there may be real reasons for this. The Bodhrán is considered by many as an easy instrument to play, especially those who have aspirations of becoming a ‘musician’ without any of the hard work or practice and they will use it as a passport in order to enter a seisún.

Unfortunately they are usually dreadful and should be removed as quickly as possible. However, when played properly the Bodhrán becomes the heartbeat of the music and when played alongside a flute there can be no more beautiful and haunting sound. The Bodhrán is usually used to follow the sound of other musicians and not to lead but there are a couple of songs that can be accompanied solely by the Bodhrán. One of which is The Bodhrán Song and if you get the chance you might ask for it to be played at the next seisún you attend.

The Gentleman Who Pays The Rent (Part one).

The Pig. The Gentleman Who Pays the Rent.

The pig was always highly prized for its tasty meat and in Irish legend it was the favourite meat of the Gods and heroes at their feasts in the otherworld. It was also greatly respected for its bravery and fierce spirit when defending itself and for this reason was one of the symbols of the warrior.

In Irish Folklore the pig is seen as a lucky animal and they were also able to see the wind and forecast the weather, they were also said to have magical hearing and they could actually hear the grass growing.

Evil or threatening spirits were often said to appear in the form of a black pig and it was believed that this was the worst of all forms for fairy folk to take so people would carry a hazel stick to ward of the evil spirits.  Halloween/Samhain when the barriers between this world and the next are weakest is a favourite time for the Black Pig to be abroad so you would be wise not to travel alone at that time of year.

The pig occurs in Irish folk cures. A cure for a child with mumps was to take it to a pigsty and rub it’s head on the pigs back in the hope that the illness would transfer into the pig. It was also believed that a cure for a toothache was for the sufferer to put their head to the ground where a pig had been scratching its backside while making the sign of the cross with their mouth. If you did this you would never suffer from toothache again. Another disgusting cure for jaundice involved swallowing a dozen live lice from a pig. I think I’d sooner go to the dentist or the doctor.

But what about ‘The Gentleman Who Pays the Rent’?

This is the euphemism that was once used in Ireland to describe what was often a family's most valuable possession - the pig.

Until the advent of the industrial age, most people lived a relatively agricultural life. In Ireland before the potato famine, cottagers who may not have been able to afford a riding horse or beef cattle would at the very least keep a few pigs. They were usually housed close to the main dwelling, and sometimes the pig house was attached to one end of the cottage.

You might be surprised to see this sort of housing arrangement but the pig was a very valuable part of the Irish cottage economy and pigs do best in warm, dry surroundings. So not only did this practice help keep the pigs (and often a milk cow and laying flock) warm and safe from  predators, it was easier feeding kitchen scraps to the pig and collecting manure which was both valuable and very necessary for growing healthy crops. Manure was in fact so valuable you stacked it outside the front of the cottage so you could keep your eye on it.

Pigs were butchered in the autumn, around Samhain. This meant that the animals wouldn’t need scarce fodder over the winter (stocking up enough hay was tedious and land-intensive for a small-holder). It also meant that the cooler weather would slow down spoilage until the salted meat could cure. Cottagers would preserve enough ham, bacon, sausage & lard to see them through the year, and sell the rest to the butcher. However, in poorer households, people did not eat their pig. They sold it to get money to pay the rent on their land. That’s why the family's pig was often called "the gentleman who pays the rent."

 “The “pig in the parlour” stereotype of Ireland came from the system landlords imposed more than three centuries ago of charging people extra rent for pig houses. The poor country people found that as a pig is a clean and intelligent animal, it could share a clay cabin without soiling it if allowed to come and go. Until recent times there was a tradition in rural Ireland of keeping one pig in the yard to eat the scraps and provide an extra source of food. The practice came to be associated with poverty and died out with the coming of supermarkets.”

                   

The Gentleman Who Pays The Rent (Part two).

The Gentleman Who Pays The Rent. Part Two.

The importance of the pig to the tenant class in rural Ireland during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries could not be under estimated. They were fattened up using waste products and on the land and when mature they were sold on to help pay the bills. Oats were used to fatten the pig but from the eighteenth century onwards potato was used. However, during the hard times the pig had to compete with the humans for what little food was available

The landlords realising the value of the pig began to introduce improved breeds into Ireland, particularly from Britain, and this ensured that the rent was paid. Some of the more enlightened landlords gave pigs to their poorer tenants and when the pig was sold the tenant had to pay back both the price of the pig and the rent.

 The importance of the pig gave us the expression “on the pig’s back”, this meant that you were doing well financially.

In prehistoric times the pig that roamed the Irish forests was a descendent of the European wild pig. It was domesticated in the Neolithic period and by the Middle Ages there was very little difference between the wild and the domesticated. They both ate the same food and were lean, long headed, narrow-backed and had bristly hair and were usually dark in colour. No one knows when the wild pig began to die out in Ireland but it has been suggested that it began with the arrival of the Normans when deforestation became an ongoing process as this would contribute to a loss of their natural habitat.

The name ‘Greyhound Pig’ was said to be attributed to a travelling Englishmen, Sir Francis Heads in the 1830s. He gave the following description

“As I followed them this morning, they really appeared to have no hams at all; their bodies were as flat as if they had been squeezed in a vice; and when they turned sideways their long sharp noses and tucked-up bellies gave to their profile the appearance of starved Greyhounds.’’

He was referring to a breed of German pig that he had seen. The Irish Greyhound pig was said to have the same attributes as this German pig. It was also known as the ‘Old Irish pig’, becoming known as the Irish Greyhound pig in the eighteenth century when it became a curiosity to British travellers in Ireland as the old native breeds of pig had by this time been completely eradicated in Britain.

The Irish Greyhound Pig, in shape was very different to the pig we are used to seeing today. It was common right across Ireland but by the middle of the nineteenth century agricultural statistics were reporting that the Irish Greyhound pig was almost entirely confined to County Galway. White in colour, it had floppy almond-shaped ears, long legs, a long curly tail, hedgehog-like bristles and an arched back. The Irish Greyhound pig, like all descendants of the European wild pig before the eighteenth century, was a large animal. It was this feature that was to ensure that it became an ancestor of the oldest surviving breed of domestic pig, the Tamworth (an Irish Greyhound pig was reputedly brought to England by Sir Robert Peel (founder of the Police force) in 1809 and bred on his Tamworth estate). As Sir Robert Peel founded the police force I wonder if this is why some people refer to the police as pigs?

The Irish Pig 'Twas an evening in November, As I very well remember, I was strolling down the street in drunken pride, But my knees were all aflutter, So I landed in the gutter, And a pig came up and lay down by my side. Yes I lay there in the gutter Thinking thoughts I couldn’t utter, When a colleen passing by did softly say, "Ye can tell  someone that boozes By the company they chooses" - So the pig got up and quickly walked away.

Horrible Events at Hungry Hall.

 

 

 

The next story concerns a house that was to be re-named. Is it a true story or just a tale told to get children to go to bed.  I can’t understand the logic of telling a child a story like this before you tucked them in for the night but there’s many strange people out there.

Horrible Events at Hungry Hall

Hungry Hall is an old place name in the townland of Barreen and is situated approximately 150 meters south of Balraheen crossroads and one mile north of Rathcoffey in North Kildare. The name refers to a gateway that leads into a division of land and its origin comes from the very tragic circumstances in the 1800s.

There are a number of versions of the story but the most interesting account was recorded in the schools collection that was conducted between 1937 and 1938 for the Irish Folklore Commission.

The tale began when young boys began to disappear without trace in the general Rathcoffey area. Despite intensive searches and thorough investigations no trace of the missing children were found.

One day a man travelling in the Balraheen area close to Rathcoffey was passing by a house and needed to light his clay pipe. The house was a thatched house with a half door in which an old woman and her son dwelled. One record suggests on this occasion her son was away from the house as he was a soldier in the British army. The traveller was in the habit of getting a light for his pipe from the woman in the house. However, on this occasion the woman was not in the house and having called out her name he got no reply.

As the door was open he decided to enter the house and help himself to light the pipe. There was a big cooking pot over the fire and the traveller bent down to the fire to get a cinder in order to light his pipe. As he bent down he saw the foot of a young boy projecting out from the pot. The unfortunate got such a shock he immediately ran out from the house screaming.

The woman was arrested and eventually brought before the local magistrate Thomas Wogan Browne from Castlebrown now Clongowes Wood. The incident can be dated to the period when Wogan Browne served two terms as a magistrate, firstly, for some years before 1797 and secondly, for a four year period between 1806 and 1810. At her trial she was accused of cannibalism and admitted the charge. Apparently she enticed the children into her house by offering them food. The Judge, Wogan Browne who was a landlord in the area informed her that he had many fine bullocks on his property and wondered why she didn’t she take any of his cattle. To this she replied

‘your lordship, if only you tasted the flesh of young boys” which she described as tastier than veal, “you would never eat another scrap of animal meat”.

This remark horrified the court and not surprisingly she was sentenced to death.

Executions at the period would usually take place at the scene of the crime. Many highway men for instance that were apprehended and convicted of robbery in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries were brought back to a scene and hanged at the spot of their crime.

The execution of this woman took place close to her house at Barreen. There was a large tree beside the house where a gate was hung that led in to the fields at the rear. A rope was placed across a branch of the tree where she was hung. One problem that arose was how to dispose of her remains. As one convicted of eating human flesh she would not be allowed to be interred in consecrated ground. This problem was easily solved at the hanging,  a barrel of tar was placed under her body and the tar set on fire. Her body soon fell into the barrel and was consumed by the flames. She was regarded in the local area as a witch and her execution is the last recorded burning of a witch in the locality.

The house where she lived was never again occupied and soon became a ruin. Due to the incident both the house and the adjoining division of land came to be known as ‘Hungry hall’. In later years a black dog thought to be the Witch in disguise was often seen running from Hungry hall to the roads nearby.

The story of the horrific events at Hungry hall was often told to children in order to get them to bed early and that is one of the reasons why the story survived in folklore to modern times. I must admit it wouldn’t get me off to a goods night sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

Puff the magic dragon. Music to accompany Eru the Dragon.

Music Play List 18th August 2013.

 

Music play list for 18th August 2013.

Fly Away by Gary Stadler and Wendy Rule.

Crossroads by Eric Clapton.

Sarah by Thin Lizzy. 

It’s the same old shillelagh by Bing Crosby.

Puff the magic dragon by The Seekers.

Who let the dogs out by BaHa Men.

The Leannán sidhe.

Last week I spoke about Bram Stoker and the suggestion that he may have been influenced more by his own Irish heritage and folklore than that of European folklore when writing his famous novel Dracula. This week I thought I would add to the story of Abhartach the stories of the Leannán sidhe and the Dearg-due.

 

The Leannán sidhe.

Pronounced as Lan-awn shee.

She is known throughout the Celtic world.  The name Leannán sidhe means Fairy of Inspiration or Love Fairy and legend tells us that the Leannán sidhe lives under the Irish Sea.

She is a fairy mistress of dreadful power for she seeks the love of mortal men.  She is said to be evil and dangerous radiating an incredible beauty, under her spell they become her slaves.  Most men cannot refuse her for life without her will seem dull and lifeless and no other woman will ever replace her.

I refer to the Leannán sidhe as her but only because I’m male because she can appear as a male figure of great beauty to a female. The Leannán sidhe is whatever you wish to see.

It appears to take some joy from playing with the emotions of mortals and once you become one with her she is all that matters.  It is often depicted as a vampiric type of spirit that sucks the life force out of its lovers.  All who love her live only for her and they will desire no other frequently destroying themselves or becoming insane as they strive to please her.

In Irish folklore the Leannán sidhe is a muse, a source of artistic beauty, poetry, or music and it’s said that those who devote themselves to it will live a short but glorious life.  It has been suggested that she will give the gift of creativity in exchange for the artist’s life or some would say soul.  To be fair though, it may be the destructive nature of the artist’s life that causes their death. Musicians, artists, writers, and poets often tend to burn the candle at both ends.  Sometimes they may burn brightly but they will also expire quickly. As they say, “Live fast, burn bright, die young”.  However, you’ll be pleased to know that Storytellers are exempt as we realise what she is.

Some artists fall into deep depression when the Leannán sidhe withdraws her love and this usually results in great heartbreak and sorrow. This is the price that must be paid for her inspiration.  She is an impatient mistress who creates such a desire in her lovers that they will overcome all obstacles to embrace her; even life itself is not too high a price to pay.

The more you desire her, the more she will elude you however, you are chained to her and you will never be free. She will never give herself to you in a mortal land and she will insist that she will only meet you in Tir na nOg, so you must pass through death to be with her.

No one knows what she truly is; the translation of her name may hold a clue. The words refer to a fairy muse; Leannán means the love of my soul or spirit...my inspiration if you like.  Sidhe refers to the mounds; it is often used by some people to describe the people of the mounds or the fairies.  In Irish poetic tradition she was the muse who appeared to the bard as the Aishling or Vision.  In his vision he meets her on a hillside and she inspires him to write music and poetry that has an otherworldly sadness and regret for the glories of Irelands past.  A tradition that is carried on and reflected in many of the songs sung by Irish people the world over.

Whatever you think of the Leannán sidhe, whether you regard it as something to be feared or something to be embraced.  Once captured you live only to please.  Like the members of what’s called ‘The 27 Club’ your own passion will lead you to your eventual destruction, usually before you reach the age of thirty, hence the name ‘The 27 Club’.  You become caught within the arms of a dominatrix.  The more you suffer, the more you crave.  The more you feed the craving the more you will hunger and that hunger will never be satisfied.  You will sacrifice everything and become consumed by your own passion.

Extract from the Song of the Leannán sidhe.

You shall be known by other men

For your great works of voice and pen

Yet inspiration has a cost

For with me know your soul is lost

I’ll take your passion and your skill

I’ll take your young life quicker still

Brenna Gwyn of The Children of Twilight.

The 27 Club.

In the story about the Leannán sidhe I made reference to an urban legend, that of The 27 Club but for those of you who may not know of it or may have never heard of it here is my take on it.  I won’t name all those who may be eligible for membership as the list could be endless.

The 27 Club.

History is full of those talented artists who have died young.  There is an urban legend today that is called The 27 Club. I might even suggest there may be a link with The Leannán sidhe.

Some people consider the first member of this club to have been the great bluesman Robert Johnson of Crossroads fame (I mean the song not the TV soap). Other members of this club are said to include Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobbain, and recently Ami Winehouse.  To that list you could add many other names such as Phil Lynott who died at the young age of 37 and James Dean.

However, there have been many artists from the past who predate the beginnings of this so called club by hundreds of years.  Names from literature that I might propose for membership could include John Keats (25), Percy Shelley (20), Thomas Chatterton (17), Christopher Marlowe (29), George Gordon Byron (37) and Robert Burns (37).

Their deaths may have been caused by tragic accidents, deliberate acts of self-destruction, or even natural causes. They all have certain things in common; they were all brilliant, all young, and all inspirational. Through them we are taught the beauty and power of emotion. It is through emotion that there are those who are able to create works that inspire imagination and magic in others.

So there you have it, The 27 Club is a group of artists that have died young, most before or by the age of 27, a couple were older but nevertheless they were equally inspirational.  Maybe you have your own suggestions. They were some of the most talented minds of their generation and in their short lives each made an enormous impact.  Sadly many led hard partying lifestyles abusing drugs and alcohol but maybe that’s the nature of the beast.

One other name I will add to my personal list is that of another young man that I believe inspired a generation.  He was to die at the young age of 27 and entered the hallowed halls of Irish History and Folklore, becoming a legend to many. His name was Bobby Sands.

The Dearg-due

You’ve heard the old saying “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”   One of the most tragic and frightening cases of a woman scorned became the stuff of legend and is still whispered within the shadows of old graveyards.

Rocks or stones are still placed upon new graves and this has its roots in the fear of the undead. Stories told around the fireside of those who returned from the dead to seek revenge upon those that failed them in this life. Could these stories have been woven into the fabric of vampire myth? Perhaps the stories of Abhartach, The Leannáne sidhe, The Dearg due and others have merged together to form the most legendary vampires of all, those of the great Irish Gothic writers Sheridan Le Fanu who wrote Carmilla in 1872 and Bram Stoker who wrote Dracula in 1897.

Bram Stoker was well aware of the tales of vampiric creatures within Irish folklore and had studied and researched European folklore for many years prior to writing his most famous novel in 1897.  He was raised by his mother on a diet of fairy tales and folklore and she was to tell him of the horrors of cholera, famine, and possibly stories of those thought to be dead and buried alive.

Dearg-due means ‘Red blood sucker’. It wasn’t the name that was given at birth to the subject of my tale but it certainly came to be the name she was to be known by after her death. When she rose to exact her revenge upon those who had wronged her in this life.  What follows is the tragic story of a lost love, greed, vengeance, and death.

 

 

 

 

The Dearg-due

Pronounce dah rag du ah.

Once upon a time long, long ago there lived a fair maiden.

She was truly beautiful with blood red lips and bright yellow hair.  Her name is now lost in the mist of time and has now become overshadowed by what she became and the name she now carries.  Men travelled from far and wide to look upon her beauty and hope to win her hand.  Her outer beauty was said to be but a shadow compared to her inner beauty for she was generous of spirit and had a kind heart. She was also said to be a blessing to all who knew her.

It was said that she fell in love with a local peasant boy whose name has also become lost in time but he matched her in all things. He was as handsome as she was beautiful, generous, kind, good humoured and loved by all who knew him.  Unfortunately he lacked one thing, the one thing her cruel ambitious father prized above all things, even his daughters happiness. Money.

To her father this was the most important thing for he was a cruel and heartless man. Selfish and cruel he believed that money would give him standing in the community. He would have security for his old age and the status that being a man of wealth would give him.  Without money there would be no love match, no marriage, and no future for the two young lovers. The father swore this would never be allowed.

Instead the father gave his daughter to a cruel, old man who was rich and had a title.  His future was now secure, he had a fortune, a name in the community and the status he believed was due to him.  He revelled in his new position and never gave a single thought to his child’s happiness.

She suffered terrible mental and physical abuse at the hands of her new husband.  His particular pleasure was to be found in drawing blood from her and watching as it flowed upon her pure white skin. He kept her locked in a cell in the tower of his castle where only he could see her. Here she waited day after day in vain for her former lover, the kind peasant boy to come to her rescue. It was this hope that kept her alive month after month.  Eventually she realised that there would be no rescue, there would be no hope of escape.

 In utter despair she took the only way out that was left to her. She committed suicide. It was said that she secretly disposed of the meagre scraps of food left for her each day; it would have been a slow, painful death. Others believe she died of a broken heart. She was buried in a small churchyard near Strongbows Tree in County Wexford.

Some people say that the abuse she suffered at the hands of her monstrous husband while locked in the tower for months on end had broken and twisted her spirit and that just before she died she renounced her god and with her last breath she swore vengeance on those who had caused her misery.  It was once believed that the spirit of a person who committed suicide would be doomed to wander the earth for all time, never to gain rest and to be forever in torment.

Long before this sad story, folklore in Ireland dictated that you should pile stones on the graves of the newly dead to prevent them from rising again. Maybe it was out of guilt or sadness but the local people decided not to do this as they wanted to remember her as the kind and beautiful soul she was. They believed that she had suffered enough persecution and had been degraded by those who should have protected her. Or maybe it was because they all knew of her torment and what kind of a monster her father had condemned her to and yet they did nothing to help her. Whatever the reason it was felt that the piling on of rocks could wait a little while longer, they would remember her for what she was and in this way give her a little respect. They may have remembered her for what she was but it wasn’t going to be long until they began to learn of what she had become.

There are various stories concerning what happened next.

One story tells of her undead corpse rising from its grave on the very night she was buried. Driven by a half remembered vision of her own blood flowing upon her pure white skin she thirsted for revenge. That night she rose as the Dearg-due, the blood sucker and a legend was born.

She was said to steal blood from the innocent, especially children. She calls young men with a strange, haunting siren song that invades their sleep. She lures them out into the night tempting them to follow her to the grave. Punishing them as she was punished, keeping them with her as she was kept. Stories are told of those who have gone missing, those who have been taken ill unexpectedly with no apparent reason or those who have died unexpectedly. All are blamed on the Dearg-due all are cursed to wander the earth as minions of the blood sucker.

Another version of the story suggests that she died of a broken heart and that the only one to mourn her passing was her peasant boy. He is said to have visited her simple grave and spoke to her of his love, his desire to see her again and how he was heard praying for her to come back to him. She rose from her grave the following year on the anniversary of her death and burial. She began to visit those she had sworn vengeance upon.

She visited her father’s house, he who had sold her into a life of cruelty in return for his own comfort. She found him sleeping; leaning over him she placed her lips upon his and sucked every breath of life out of him, leaving him as a withered dried out husk. Next she was to visit her husband; he had remarried even before she had been laid in the cold damp earth.  He was drunk and didn’t notice her enter his rooms. She attacked him with such force she not only drew his life force from him but also his blood. This surge of blood coursing through her veins gave her dead body a feeling of new life. She now had a taste for life, she needed more. The blood sucker was born.

So if you are ever in Waterford and happen to walk near Strongbows Tree you may see a grave. Put another stone on top of the grave; don’t forget for you never know she may rise again. Is this a true story, well as any storyteller will tell you, “Never let the truth stand in the way of a good story”?

There is another twist to the story of vampiric spirits. In County Kerry there is a place that guards the pass to MaGillycuddy reeks. That place is called Dun Dreach-Fhoula or the Castle of The Blood Visage.  It is supposed to be a fortress inhabited by blood drinking fairies and although it is mentioned in folklore it’s never been found and even the locals don’t know its location and even if they do they’re not talking. So maybe there is some truth in the old stories and legends of Ireland’s vampire type fairies, I’ll let you decide. Just keep the wooden stake handy and remember to look over your shoulder.