The Grianán of Aileach

Further adventures on holiday...

After being generously indulged with all things archaeological on our last holiday to Ireland, back in 2014, this time around the only thing I really really wanted to do, besides visiting the statue of Manannán, was a trip to the Grianán of Aileach (the 'Sunny Place' of Aileach), which is situated just across the Irish border in Co. Donegal:

Credit to Mark McGaughey via Wikimedia Commons

As you can see from this overhead shot (most definitely not taken by me) it's an impressive stone hillfort with really thick walls – they're about 4.5m thick, or nearly 15ft for you imperialists.

Historically speaking, the site is thought to have been occupied as a hill-fort of some sort or another from as early as the Bronze or Iron Age, although evidence of activity may go back as far as the Neolithic. It's situated at the top of a hill that commands an impressive view. To one side there's a view of Lough Swilly, while to another there's a view of Lough Foyle, which heads off towards the Atlantic.

The walls as they stand today are thought to have originally been built some time in the sixth or seventh century, and the place was occupied for several centuries until it was destroyed in 1101 by Muirchertach Ua Briain, the king of Munster (and self-proclaimed king of Ireland at the time). By the nineteenth century it was in a state of disrepair, and restoration work was undertaken in 1874-1875. After the walls partially collapsed in the early 2000s, further restoration was undertaken, which proved rather controversial.

Given how exposed its situation is, the walls do a good job of protecting the interior of the fort from the elements.

There's only one entrance, so it's pretty good for defence, too.

The hillfort served as a royal capital for the Cenél nEógain ('the Kindred of Eógain,' or 'Owen' as the name is Anglicised), a branch of the Uí Néill ('Descendants of Niall'), but it's the mythology that's attached to the site that interests me. There are several Dindshenchas ('Placename Lore') stories that explain the origins of the site and how it got its name, and even within these stories there are several explanations that may be given.   

The main version of the story tells of how a son of the Dagda, Áed, had an affair with a married woman. The name of the woman is apparently irrelevant because we're never told it, but her husband, Corrcend, is not a particularly happy bunny upon discovery of the news. He murders Áed in cold blood and then decides to leg it right quick in order to avoid the consequences. The Dagda, however, being king at the time, marshals his resources and sends out a search party or two. Corrcend is eventually found and brought before the grieving king.

The Dagda decides to punish Corrcend for his crime and orders him to build a suitable grave for his son. Corrcend is forced to trudge down to one of the local loughs where he must then carry rocks back up to the top of the hill in order to build a grave-mound for Áed. As the grave is very near its completion, Corrcend carries an especially large rock up the hill. By this point Corrcend is exhausted and using every last ounce of strength in his reserves, but soon he finds he can't take it any more. As he reaches the top, he cries out from his exertions. First he shouts "Ail!" which pretty much means "the rock!" and then he shouts "Ach!" which pretty much means "ach!" And Corrcend's heart gives out and he dies on the spot.

The Dagda, evidently having a sense of humour even in the midst of a personal tragedy, declares that Corrcend has given the place a fitting name, and announces that Ailech shall be the name of his son's grave from that point onwards. Ailech, as it happens, can either refer to a pile of rocks, or else it can refer to a type of satire or an invective. By coincidence, the word aílech may refer to dung or manure.

So Corrcend's famous last words could effectively be interpreted as a rather stilted exclamation of "Shit!"

The Dagda then employs a couple of stonemasons to build a hillfort on top of the grave. When the hillfort is finished, the Dagda gives it to Néit and his wife Nemain.

A while later, after what we can only presume is a glorious reign because we know pretty much nothing about Néit's life, Néit is killed by Nemtuir the Red, a Fomorian. This is during the reign of Mac Cuill, Mac Cécht and Mac Gréine, the three sons of Cermait Milbél, another of the Dagda's sons, and their reign was long after the Tuatha Dé Danann defeated the Fomorians at the second battle of Mag Tuired. The fact that a member of the Fomorians is causing trouble – breaking the peace treaty that was agreed upon after the Tuatha Dé Danann won the battle – is a bad sign.

Upon hearing the news of Néit's death, the three kings make haste to the Grianán of Aileach, having heard rumours of a crap ton of treasure being up for grabs. There's no indication that the kings made any effort to retaliate or seek justice for Néit's death, their only concern is treasure and this is another bad sign – a king's job is to demonstrate good judgement and ensure justice is done (amongst other things, of course), but to all intents and purposes neither Mac Cuill, Mac Cécht, nor Mac Gréine have shown any concern in this. As traditional narratives go, this is a pretty big sign of impending doom...

While they're at the Grianán of Ailech, a member of the Milesians, Íth son of Breogán, arrives from Spain. Íth is the first of the Milesians to arrive in Ireland, having spotted land in the far distance while looking out to sea from the top of a great tower his father had built, and he decides then and there to sail over to this new land and see what it might have to offer. Having made his way to the Grianán, Íth finds the three kings of the Tuatha Dé Danann still bickering about the treasure, although they stop for a moment to welcome their new guest. During his stay, Íth acts as a peace broker, settling the matter once and for all.

Íth also comments on how rich and wonderful Ireland is, how pleasant the climate is, and how the country has everything one could want a home to offer. Mac Cuill, Mac Cécht, and Mac Gréine hatch a plan to kill Íth, seeing him as a threat. He hasn't made any threats outright, but his comments clearly imply an interest in muscling in on everything Ireland has to offer, and naturally Mac Cuill, Mac Cécht, and Mac Gréine aren't interested in sharing. Íth is killed on his way back to his ship, the site of his death then taking his name, Mag Ítha, or 'the Plain of Íth.'

The mysterious disappearance of their beloved relative prompts the sons of Míl, Eber, Donn, and Éremón to sail over from Spain in order to see what's going on. This ultimately ends up in a battle between the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Milesians over Ireland's sovereignty, which is fought at Tailltiu. In spite of the Tuatha Dé Danann's best efforts to fend off the invaders, the Milesians win, and the three sons of Cermait Milbél are killed. The impending doom that's foreshadowed by the three kings' bad behaviour is fulfilled. In the resulting peace agreement, the Tuatha Dé Danann take to the hills and the otherworldly síde, and Ireland is handed over to the realm of human mortals.

As it happens, the fort does appear to have been built on top of a Neolithic grave mound, which might have influenced the story of Corrcend. That's assuming the site's identification with Ailech is correct, however; since Ailech was originally destroyed in 1101, the place remained a symbol of political power in the area, and poets linked named various different places as being the 'real' Ailech, which has confused matters somewhat. In recent decades, a number of other sites have now been suggested as the possibly 'original' Ailech, but – as yet – these proposals have yet to gain much traction.

Whatever the case may be, it's a beautiful and unique place and well worth the visit. If you ever get the chance, go!

Tales:
Ailech I in the Metrical Dindshenchas
Ailech II in the Metrical Dindshenchas
Ailech III in the Metrical Dindshenchas
Ailech in the Prose Tales of the Rennes Dindshenchas
Inishowen
Lebor Gabála Érenn Part V

Visiting Manannán mac Lir

It's been a while...

Back in January 2015, if you recall, news broke that a statue of Manannán mac Lir, which had been erected at Gortmore Viewing Point on Binevenagh Mountain, near Limavady, just one year previously, had been stolen. After removing the statue (apparently using an angle grinder), the thieves left a large wooden cross in its place, which read 'You shall have no other gods before me.'

The theft, which appears to have been religiously motivated, received a huge amount of attention, both locally and internationally, and even prompted a (rather tongue in cheek) missing person's appeal by police to help raise awareness. Although the people responsible for the theft and vandalism of the site have never been caught, the statue was eventually found by a group of ramblers – exactly one month after its disappearance – just 300m from its original position. Aside from having been cut from its platform right at the feet, the thieves had tried to remove the head. It was decided the statue was beyond repair, and after some debate (with some vocal opposition railing against restoring the 'paganistic monument'), local councillors agreed to commission a replacement from the original sculptor, Darren Sutton. Just over a year after the original statue's theft, the new statue (which was made with additional reinforcements to make any future attempts at a repeat more difficult) was put in its rightful place. 

Back in 2014, Mr Seren and I took the kids on holiday to Ireland, basing ourselves in Dublin and taking in the Newgrange complex, Kildare, and Tara, amongst other things. In July this year, we decided to take a trip back over the water, and this time we based ourselves in Portrush, right in the far north near the Giant's Causeway and not too far a trek from Binevenagh Mountain itself. It's an amazingly beautiful area and we somehow managed to pick one of the hottest – and sunniest – weeks of the year to do it all, which was incredibly lucky. Being so close, the chance of visiting the statue was too much to resist, so one evening (on our 16th wedding anniversary) we took a drive up, an hour or two before sunset.

Close up it somehow seemed smaller than what I was expecting, just from having seen photos of it. The details and craftsmanship of the statue itself is absolutely breathtaking, though, from every angle.

Unfortunately, as you can see in the picture below, there's some minor damage to the statue, including what appears to be a gouge mark on the right leg.

I couldn't say if this is the result of deliberate, malicious attempts to damage it (again), or if it's accidental, though.

The statue was erected at the site because of Manannán's reputed connections to the local area; storms and rough seas are said to be the result of his fury. From the viewing point where the statue stands, you can see Lough Foyle as it meets the Atlantic Ocean.

 Looking out to sea it's absolutely stunning, and turning further inland isn't bad, either. 

The statue of Manannán himself stands on a ship, or part of it, at least. At the back of the ship, the sculptor has detailed some of the most iconic items that were found with the Broighter Hoard, which was discovered in a field near Limavady in the late nineteenth century:

You can see here the torcs and chains, collar, bowl (possibly representing a cauldron), and the miniature boat (replete with tiny oars, benches, and mast), which were all made out of gold.

When they were originally discovered, the items were squashed and badly damaged by the plough that had brought them up to the surface, and the finders – two men working the field, James Morrow and Thomas Nicholl – sold the hoard to the landowner (and their employer), Joseph Gibson, for just £5. At the time, items like this were often sold for scrap; their great age and significance wasn't really understood or appreciated so it wasn't unusual for old gold like this to end up being melted down and turned into something shiny and new, the original form of the items lost for good. Who knows what's been lost because of this, but luckily in this instance the hoard was saved from this sort of fate. It was sold to a private collector, Robert Day, who then had the items restored by an experienced goldsmith. It was only at this point that the form and intricacy of the boat was uncovered (for one), and Day then sold the whole lot to the British Museum for £600.

The Royal Irish Academy, who had become increasingly invested in rescuing items of this nature by this point in time, had tried to secure the hoard for themselves, but it had already been sold before a full inquest had been carried out to establish whether or not it qualified as treasure trove. The RIA believed it did, and were less than pleased that the British Museum had snapped the gold up for themselves. The dispute eventually ended up in court where it was argued the British Museum had bought the hoard unlawfully, because as treasure trove the hoard would belong to the Crown, not Robert Day himself.

The key point in the case was in deciding whether or not the person (or people) who had left the hoard in the field ever intended to recover the items. If the judge ruled that there had been the intention to recover the hoard (say if they'd been buried temporarily, for safekeeping), then they would qualify as treasure trove and the hoard would belong to the Crown. The British Museum would have to give up the gold, and that would pretty much suck for them. If they managed to argue that the items were never intended to have been recovered by the original owner(s) (or a rightful heir), however, the hoard would not be treasure trove and the British Museum would be able to keep them and do with them as they wished.

The British Museum set out to argue that the hoard had been deposited as a votive offering to an Irish sea god, and they brought in an expert to confirm to the judge that there was indeed such a deity – a 'mythical Irish Neptune,' as the judge later referred to him in his ruling – in the form of Manannán, who (crucially) was well-known in local legend. The British Museum also brought in experts who testified that the field in which the items had been found would have been under sea at the time of their deposition, some time in the first century B.C.E., and they further suggested that in order to deposit the items in that particular spot, they would have had to have done so from a boat. As an offering, then, there was no way anyone ever intended to recover them at a later date and that meant the hoard couldn't be considered to be treasure trove.

Hedging their bets a little, the British Museum then also argued that if the court accepted their argument that the hoard was a votive offering, then it couldn't be viewed as having been abandoned because clearly it did have an owner now – Manannán himself! This would mean the hoard couldn't be viewed as treasure trove on two accounts.

The judge, however, had little time or patience for any of this. He dismissed the whole idea as 'fanciful,' and instead accepted the ‘commonplace but natural inference that these articles were… hidden for safety in a land disturbed by frequent raids.’ The hoard was subsequently ruled to be treasure trove and the British Museum were instructed to turn the hoard over to the National Museum of Ireland in Dublin. Except for the occasional tour or loan, the hoard is still on display there today.

Since the court case in 1903, however, the controversy over the true nature of the hoard has continued. Rumours emerged that the hoard was not an ancient deposit at all – votive or otherwise – but had, in fact, been discovered wrapped up in a very modern umbrella, possibly having been hastily stashed after a robbery. Claims were also made that the bulk of the hoard was not Irish in origin (except, perhaps, the ornate collar), but had been imported from India. At around the same time as these claims were gaining traction, another gold hoard at the museum that had ultimately been revealed to be a fake was melted down. As doubts grew about the Broighter hoard, it could have easily suffered the same fate.

In more recent decades, studies have concluded that the hoard really is genuine. The gold itself is not local, and some of the items may be Roman in origin, but none of it is Indian in origin. The craftsmanship of the torcs and the gold collar are clearly Irish, and were probably made in the same area they were ultimately deposited in, around the first century B.C.E. The bowl and boat are so unique there is nothing really to compare them to, but the boat in particular appears to represent a large currach. The rings on the bowl suggest it was meant to have been suspended, just like a cauldron, although its shape doesn't appear to reflect any local examples of that period. Analysis of the local landscape has shown that while the place in which the hoard was deposited wasn't permanently underwater, it would most certainly have been intermittently flooded, and otherwise marshy.

Based on comparisons with other depositions from similar sorts of sites around Ireland, it now seems clear that the Broighter Hoard really was a votive deposit. Whether they were actually intended for Manannán himself is not something we can ever really know, but I think it's rather striking that these repeated controversies (and attitudes of religious intolerance, or dismissiveness towards anything pagan) have worked in favour of raising Manannán's profile so effectively on more than one occasion. Had the statue never been stolen by bigots, I don't think so many people would have heard about the statue in the first place – I certainly didn't know about it until the news broke, for sure. Clearly, Manannán wants to be seen.

Book Review: In Search of the Irish Dreamtime: Archaeology and Early Irish Literature

In Search of the Irish Dreamtime: Archaeology and Early Irish Literature
J.P. Mallory

I've previously reviewed another book by the same author – The Origins of the Irish – and I really really liked it (for its witty and engaging tone as much as the content in general). So in some respects it's hard not to compare the two, perhaps especially so when this particular book has been written as something of a companion piece to the first one.

Back in the 1960s Kenneth Jackson came out with the idea that early Irish literature provided us with a "window on the Iron Age," since (he argued) the tales preserved pre-Christian beliefs and concepts that had been passed on by an oral tradition that valued consistency and integrity of the content it conveyed. While Christian elements had been added, strip them away and you could get something close to the pre-Christian original...

It's an idea that's been much-debated in academia since, and Mallory himself has weighed in on the subject previously, in an article in Ulidia ("Windows on the Iron Age: 1964–1994"), as well as his Aspects of The Táin (as the editor and a contributor), for example. Dreamtime, then, is essentially an expansion of his previous work, taking a critical look at what the literature tells us about material culture (and to a lesser extent, beliefs), and whether or not the archaeology supports what the tales tell us. For example, tales that take place at well-known sites such as Emain Macha or Tara give the impression that these places were occupied as (essentially) royal centres in the Iron Age. They also mention things like weaponry that we might assume are indeed Iron Age in origin, if we can actually assume that the tales were composed in that time frame and were never changed to any significant degree.

I'll try not to give too many spoilers here, but the results that Mallory outlines may or may not shock you, depending on what your opinions are on the matter... Regardless, it's pretty thorough and convincing.

For the non-expert, the book does a good job of giving an introduction to the major elements that you need to know in order to form your own opinions (if that's your thing) and keep up with what's going on – the history of the manuscript tradition itself, an overview of the stories, and the context in which they were written. Then we focus on the major areas where archaeology and mythology collide, so we can explore how the two may or may not match up. This includes material culture in general (clothing, dyes, jewellery, games, etc.), warfare and weaponry, transport, the landscape and environment, and matters surrounding death and burial, based on what we see as archaeologists, and what the literature tells us.

It's an interesting idea for a book and over all it does a good job of proving its point. The first few chapters, with the introductory material, really runs the risk of being overdone and boring but Mallory's wit and engaging style really helps to put a fresh spin on things. Like his The Origins of the Irish, we're introduced to a character who helps take the reader on the book's journey. In Origins, it was Niall of the Nine Hostages, our quintessential Irishman, while here we have various incarnations of Katu-butos, Cattubuttas, or (ultimately) Cathbad – a theoretical fili, or professional poet and tradition-bearer, who would have been responsible for telling the stories we're dealing with. The different names relate to the different linguistic periods we're dealing with – Proto-Irish through to medieval Irish, based on the evidence we have to hand (linguistic, literary, archaeological, though primarily the latter two), and thus the audiences the storyteller is targeting specifically.

Over all, I found some parts of the book more interesting to read than others. It got off to a great start, and it takes an unusual approach in looking at the Lebor Gabála (for example) and emphasising its supposed historical context for each of the invasions the story outlines, based on the Irish annals. Creating an explicit timeline for that is pretty interesting when you compare it to what was actually happening at the time as far as we know from the archaeological record, and it helps set the tone for what we find in later chapters. It's all very thorough, but in doing so I felt that some of the later chapters got bogged down in details I wasn't particularly interested in, and it began to drag a little. To an extent that may be because the subject matter was something I wasn't overly keen on, but then again the writing did sometimes veer into simply listing facts, rather than commenting much on them. Even so, that didn't last for long, and even where I felt things got bogged down I can definitely see that if anyone's interested in the finer points of life in the Iron Age or early medieval period, this is absolutely invaluable – or if you're a fiction author looking to write an authentic period novel, or a re-enactor of some sort, say, then it has almost everything you need to know about where people lived, what they wore, and what they ate, and so forth. And of course, it appeals to the geeks and nerds like me.

Considering the scope of the book, it more than fulfils its stated aims, and it really does offer a lot to the reader. It's also rather unique in its focus and the information it gives, and I can certainly appreciate that. Books like this – presenting reliable, factual information that's easily accessible and (mostly) engaging to the non-expert as much as the expert – are few and far between.

Whereas Origins offers a far broader scope, Dreamtime narrows in on a more specific area and offers a lot more detail. The title of this particular volume, as you might gather, takes inspiration from the Australian aboriginal peoples, "who recognized a sacred time in which both the natural world and human culture and traditions originated and that these beginnings still resonate in the spiritual life of people today." Mallory sees a similarity between these aboriginal stories (their purpose and aims) and this concept, and the myths of the Irish that survive into modern times. I see his point even though I wonder about the value in bothering to use the term in the first place. He recognises that appropriating (or mis-appropriating) the term may not be the best way to frame the Irish traditions we're dealing with here, and he apologises for that, but nonetheless ultimately can't resist the concept. I do wonder why he bothered, given the fact that he acknowledges the potentially problematic nature of it, but I'm not Australian or Aboriginal and I don't really feel qualified to condone or condemn on that front. Still, I can't help but feel that choosing such a title both detracts and distracts from the contents of the book as whole.

Nonetheless, I did enjoy it, and I think it will be one of those books that I'll come back to time and time again. It's not always easy for an archaeologist to really delve into literature and give a decent, critical overview of it, as well as the issues surrounding it (Miranda Green...) so Mallory deserves recognition for that. But more than that, it's just a good read.

Manannán set to return to Binevenagh mountain

As you may recall, a statue of Manannán mac Lir, which had been erected at the Gortmore Viewing Point on Binevenagh mountain in 2013, was stolen in January of this year. In its place, the thieves left a cross with the message "You shall have no other gods before me." A month later, after an extensive search, the statue was found by ramblers just 100m from its original position.

It's still not known whether or not the statue had been there all along, or if the thieves had dumped it at a later date (it was found exactly one month after the theft, suggesting the latter), but after a thorough examination it was decided that the sculpture was too badly damaged to repair – the back of the head had been hacked off and attempts had been made to remove the limbs. It was eventually resolved – after much deliberation and tense waiting, and a huge public outcry – that a new statue would be commissioned to replace the original, with the costs to be covered by the local council.

Yesterday, the sculptor Darren Sutton uploaded five photos of the new statue, announcing that it's almost ready to take its rightful place, which is great news! The BBC have since reported that – as yet – it hasn't been decided when this will happen. The Derry Journal, meanwhile, have spoken with Darren Sutton, who's given his thoughts on the culprits:

Mr Sutton said they had a job on their hands when removing it, and he doesn’t believe the culprits did it as a prank. 

“It took too much effort because you can see where they tried to saw it off at the beard, the neck and the arms,” said Mr. Sutton. “They obviously went to some effort, but they shot themselves in the foot. I don’t think they realised there would be such a backlash. Everybody was talking about it. They obviously didn’t think it through.”

Derry Journal

Which makes sense. The cross that was left behind could easily have been some kind of attempt at throwing people off the scent of the actual vandals, but the effort involved in both removing and then trying to destroy the statue suggests that this was no mere prank. This was serious business.

Considering this fact, when the local council commissioned the new statue it was announced that the replica would have some extra reinforcements built into it to help strengthen it and prevent a repeat of the theft. Given the reaction by even some of the councillors – a minority of whom were vehemently against replacing the statue at all because it was too "paganistic" and for their tastes – we can only hope these measures will be enough to protect it against the religious extremists who stole the first statue, once it takes its rightful place on the mountain. At the moment there don't seem to be any other preventative measures planned beyond hoping in common decency:

SDLP councillor Gerry Mullan said: "I'm very excited at the prospect of Manannán Mac Lir returning home. 

"People from all over the world came to get photographs with it. Lets hope that happens again. 

"I urge people to take care of him and we hope a similar act doesn't happen again. 

"Santa may even stop by to see him."

BBC

Ho ho ho. But yes, let's hope it doesn't happen again. Let's hope that the reaction and support the statue received from all over the world will help deter those thieves or anyone else from trying again.

And personally, I'm still praying for justice to be done. There are still questions that need answering here.

Decision made on Manannán statue

After the final meeting of Limavady Borough Council this week, a decision has finally been made to commission a replacement for the Manannán statue.

After the statue was found in February, exactly one month to the day since it had been stolen, the sculptor was contacted by the council to see if it could be repaired. Aside from the damage to the base, where it had been hacked away from the rest of the sculpture, the back of the head had been completely detached and there were dents and marks all over it. It was eventually decided that the statue was beyond repair and the best option would be to replace it. The new sculpture, which will be an exact replica (with some extra reinforcements to help strengthen it) will take at least five or six months to complete. It seems the council have decided to meet the cost of replacement themselves, rather than opting to set up an online fundraiser as had been mooted at the last meeting.

The statue was initially discovered by a group of ramblers, only 300 metres from its original position at the Gortmore Viewing Point. Given the search efforts that were made shortly after the theft, which included a helicopter sweep of the area, it's assumed that the statue had only been moved to that position recently, perhaps even the night before it was discovered. The ramblers who spotted the statue alerted some soldiers who were on a training exercise nearby (something that caused a little controversy), and the police were called. One of the soldiers involved in the recovery said that it took three men to move the statue up onto the roadside, so clearly there were a number of people involved in the theft, as has already been speculated.

During the council meeting, it was suggested that the original sculpture could be put on display in a local arts and cultural centre:

“I think the damaged statue itself presents a double whammy, and a golden opportunity to make it an actual tourist attraction within the town centre, which would be of great interest to schools and visitors to learn about the background to the Broighter Gold legend.”

-- Councillor Mullan, Damaged statue represents a 'golden opportunity'

Which sounds like a great idea -- I'd love to be able to see the original statue as well as the new replacement if I'm ever able to go and visit the place (I certainly plan to the next time I'm over in Ireland). Perhaps predictably, however, the suggestion prompted something of an outcry, with a TUV councillor raising concerns that making a tourist attraction out of it "...would promote paganism and false gods":

...Mr Mullan said he was taken aback by the reaction his suggestion ignited from his fellow councillors. Among those who vented their disapproval was the TUV's Boyd Douglas who said he was unhappy the statute had been erected at all. 

"I don't believe in these false gods. Councillor Mullan's suggestion to link a paganistic monument with the Broighter Gold is ridiculous." 

Belfast Telegraph: Celtic statue row: TUV man blasts 'false gods and pagans'

Which totally ignores the fact that there's a good reason that Manannán mac Lir is associated with the Broighter Gold in the first place! And really. Sorry, Mr Douglas. The cat's pretty much out of the bag on this one, with or without a statue...

The councillor might not have much truck with it, but the fact of the matter is, the theft has garnered a huge amount of interest worldwide and more people are interested in going to see the statue -- new or old -- than ever before, regardless of their own personal beliefs or lack thereof. To argue against responding to this interest and refusing to put the damaged statue on display is a disservice to those in the area who could benefit from the increased tourism, a point that Councillor Mullan himself made when he withdrew the proposal.

It's a shame, but at least there hasn't been any serious opposition to replacing the statue up on Binevenagh Mountain itself. Manannán will return.

Manannán statue found!

News has just broken in the last couple of hours that the statue of Manannán has been found.

Reports at the moment are slightly conflicting as far as the circumstances of its discovery go but I'm sure the details will be firmed up as the story unfolds. According to the Derry Journal a rambler (or group of ramblers) discovered the statue and alerted a local regiment to its location, who then helped police recover it. According to a statement from the MOD, reported by the BBC:

In a statement, the Ministry of Defence said: "Soldiers from 2nd Batallion Royal Irish Regiment were deployed by helicopter to the north Antrim Coast last night for a weekend exercise. 

"Whilst trekking through Binevenagh forest near Magilligan strand they discovered the missing statue and immediately alerted the PSNI. 

"The Ministry of Defence is delighted this unique statue has been found."

BBC: Manannán Mac Lir: Games of Thrones sculptor's statue found

So it doesn't seem to have been taken too far from its original situation at the top of Binevenagh Mountain. There appears to have been some damage to the statue, especially to the head, but whether or not it can be repaired is yet to be determined. Here's hoping!

This is a surprising and wonderful development in a sorry tale of intolerance and fundamentalism. The story's not over yet but I hope the statue can be reinstalled and some measures can be taken to make sure that it doesn't get stolen or vandalised again. And there's still the question of bringing those who are responsible for this to justice. Hopefully some clues were discovered at the recovery site to help with that, or at least somebody might come forward now and do the right thing.

Decision to be made on Manannán statue

It's been three weeks since the statue's theft and so far there's been no progress in recovering it or finding the culprits responsible -- not a huge surprise but disappointing nonetheless. After a huge response from all over the world, the local news were making some rather positive reports that the statue would more than likely be replaced in the last week or so, and it seemed that it was more a question of whether an exact replica should be commissioned or something bigger and better -- "two or three times the size."

The news was met pretty enthusiastically in most places, although local councillor Gerry Mullan took a more cautious view:

“I think it’s going to cost extra money to have a larger statue and I would fear it may be interpreted as an antagonistic gesture which may encourage further vandalism,” said Colr. Mullan. “Personally, I would be happy to see Mannanán back and replaced in his original form.”

Derry Journal: Manannán Mac Lir statue could be replaced

I think this is a very valid concern and certainly something that needs to be considered. A larger statue could very well be seen as antagonistic, although given the extremes that the thieves went to in removing the statue in the first place, any kind of replacement could be interpreted as antagonistic.

For now it seems that any decision for moving forward is less than certain at the moment, but the prospect of a replacement are not completely hopeless. The proposals to replace the current remains of the statue with something bigger have been voted down, as has a proposal to reinstate an almost exact replica but this time with a full-sized boat. Instead:

In the end, it was agreed, in principle, Council would like to see the sculpture replaced as close to its original form as possible, hopefully costing no more than the original £10,000; that it would be funded by the public as much as possible and it would be reinforced as much as possible. It was agreed that Council officers investigate what is involved in setting up a public fund and bring the costs, and any other information after having spoken with sculptor Darren John Sutton, back to members at the final Limavady Council meeting in March.

Derry Journal: Public may have to fund new Manannán Mac Lir sculpture

A report from the BBC has suggested that the decision to replace the statue is more definitive than the Derry Journal has reported, but according to the Bring Back Manannán mac Lir the Sea God Facebook page, this isn't correct. So as it stands at the moment, councillors will be looking into the potential costs of replacing the statue -- as close to the original as possible -- and will be investigating the logistics of setting up some kind of fundraiser. Any decision based on the outcome of either of these considerations isn't likely to happen until the next council meeting on March 10th, however, and there are no guarantees that any enquiries will follow through into being actioned.

After the news began reporting that there were proposals for a larger statue, there came some rather concerning reports from local papers, just before the meeting took place, where some of the councillors seemed to be less than enthused about replacing the statue:

TUV Colr. Boyd Douglas isn’t enthusiastic about replacing the statue in any shape or form. 

“I felt the original statue was paganistic and I felt it should never have been erected under those terms. We were told at the time the statue wasn’t costing Council much money,” said Colr. Douglas, who said if replaced using steel it may well become a target of metal thieves. “I can’t see any point in putting a statue on top of a mountain where there is no one around and where it is vulnerable from the start. To replace it would cost Council money and I wouldn’t be in favour of spending ratepayers’ money on this, so I’m not enthusiastic about replacing it.”

Derry Journal: Councillors to decide if Mannanán Mac Lir statue will be replaced 

(At the meeting, Councillor Douglas suggested siting some sort of statue at the find spot of the Broighter Hoard as an alternative to replacing the statue at Gortmore Viewing Point, incidentally). But in the end it seems only one councillor voted against replacing it at all -- not the councillor quoted above -- and even then the objection came down to the fact that the statue may well be vulnerable to further theft in future, given its remote position, and as such it would be a waste of money.

So all in all, there seems to be good cause for tentative optimism here. I do think it's important that the statue should be replaced, even if it ends up costing a little more than the original in an effort to make sure it's harder to remove this time. Not replacing the statue gives the opinions and illegal actions of an extreme minority more weight than those who've spoken out in shock and support for the community of Limavady, and it would legitimate this theft and vandalism, and send a very wrong message to not just the people of Limavady, but to the many thousands of people around the world who've been following this story and have overwhelmingly expressed a desire to see the statue replaced.

Ultimately, however, replacing the statue is not a decision that any of us outside Limavady can make: It's up to the councillors and the people in the area who've lost a local landmark and beautiful piece of art. There's certainly the willingness to contribute financially to the replacement, from the good majority of people who've been commenting in the Facebook group, and some have already tried setting up pages on fundraising sites in anticipation of some kind of official word that that all hopes of finding the statue are dashed (to my knowledge, none of these have actually taken any money, though, and have since been removed). But as Mari Ward, who set the group up, has said, this is something that has to be decided by the council first, and I think it's something that should ideally be managed by them as well. They are, after all, best placed to put the funds to proper use and make sure the job gets done.

Getting the job done is going to take some time, though, and until the next meeting in March there's probably not going to much going on that's worthy of note -- not unless the statue is recovered or the thieves are caught. So the risk is that this is a story that will end up out of sight, out of mind. So far, it's been noted that the council have taken on board the outpouring of support from all over the world, and hopefully that will continue on both sides.

In the meantime, there's also growing concern that proposals for a wind farm nearby are going to have a hugely detrimental environmental and visual impact on the area, which is officially designated an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. While personally I'm all for renewable energy, I think it should be appropriately located and a wind farm seems incongruous with an area that's supposed to have protections in place to preserve the natural beauty of the area. You can find out more about the campaign here.

Hill of Tara

Our original plan was to visit the Hill of Tara on our first day, along with Newgrange, but the whole Newgrange thing took up pretty much the whole afternoon. Seeing as we'd been up since 4am, it seemed prudent to reschedule Tara to another day, so we had to abandon our original Friday plans for Loughcrew and/or Uisneach so we could fit Tara in. Seeing as we'd already done Newgrange, another tomb complex like Loughcrew could wait.

We had to make our way back up to Belfast for the ferry for around dinner time, so we had plenty of time to play with and took a leisurely tour through Navan and stopped in at Kells for lunch and a wander round, and later on we stopped in the city centre of Belfast for dinner and a chance for the kids to spend their pocket money that their grandparents had given them. We took a stroll around Tara, but unlike Newgrange and Knowth, the kids were thoroughly underwhelmed. This place is truly an enthralling series of lumps and small walls, as Mr Seren would put it (though less on the walls, more on the lumps). So while I was enthusing and trying to describe what the place was for, and what it would look like, the kids were kind of, "Is it time to go home yet?" 

I have to admit, even as an archaeologist and all round geek for this kind of thing, the site itself is pretty underwhelming, especially when you consider its importance. This is the legendary place where the high kings are said to have been inaugurated, and like many sacred sites it has a long and complex history (and pre-history) of usage. They could do a lot more with it than have a couple of boards you need to read before actually getting to the site itself, so you read stuff without being able to see it or put a physical context to it, and when you get there the various lumps and bumps are simply signposted. There's a pretty abandoned, almost neglected feel to the place (though it's not). You can get a tour guide to take you round, and there's a heritage centre too, but there could be so much more here. That, of course, takes money and investment, and until it gets a fancy international status like Newgrange has, that's not really likely to happen. 

Anyway. Before I go into things, how about an overview of the site? This is an antiquarian sketch, thanks to Wikipedia, that gives you a bird's eye view of what you're about to see:

Each name comes from the work of the nineteenth century antiquarian, George Petrie, who took a great interest in the place and studied the Dindshenchas (placename lore) that details the various sites at Tara as they were known in the medieval period. Based on the descriptions in the Dindshenchas, he worked out the names of each mound or rath, and the scheme has stuck ever since. Really, though, the whole thing has little basis in fact. 

One thing to remember is that although the site's pretty large and complex, these aren't places that were all in use at the same time. The earliest features here are Neolithic, then bits were added in the Bronze Age and beyond as other bits fell out of use or were altered, and so on. The site was abandoned in the early medieval period, so all in all what we see today is a view of several thousand years of usage.

Once you arrive at the place there's a short walk up to it from the road, past the information boards, along a path, and past this guy:

Dear old St Patrick, with his shamrock. There's a church (now the visitor centre) nearby, too, which is walled off, and all of this is an obvious attempt at recontextualising the place, from pagan to Christian. The church isn't ancient - references to it can be found from about the twelfth century on - but it indicates how important the site was even after it fell out of use.

We went along the wall, up a path through a field and along a row of massive hawthorns, and arrived at this view:

Lumpy bits! (Actual archaeologist's jargon, that is, honest).

This is the bit marked Rath-na-Seanadh, otherwise known as the Rath of the Synods, on the overview by Wakeman, above. It gets its name from the fact that Saints Patrick, Rúadán, and Adamnán are said to have held synods here, but it was probably originally a burial mound which was then turned into a ring fort, possibly surrounded by three concentric banks and ditches with internal timber enclosures as well. Of all the so called raths at the site, this one is the only one that was probably inhabited on a permanent basis for any length of time. Over all, the Hill of Tara seems to have been primarily ceremonial in nature; people didn't live here all year round, but there were probably places to stay on a temporary basis when the site was being used ceremonially. 

The graveyard attached to the nearby church has encroached on part of it, and it's also been disturbed by a group of "British Israelites" who tried digging bits of it in a search for the Ark of the Covenant between 1899 and 1902. No, really! The reason they dug here isn't as random as it might seem; their reasoning is that the daughters of Zedekiah hid the Ark of the Covenant, and one of the daughters was called Tea. Tara - in Irish, Teamhair - is named after a woman called Tea, according to the Dindshenchas. Obviously they decided that this Tea was the same as the daughter of Zedekiah.

Looking at it all close too, it doesn't make much sense these days, it's really just a jumble of lumps and bumps.  As you stand facing it, though, you can make out a linear earthwork, or what was once thought to have been Teach-Miodhchuarta, if you turn your head to your right:

One bank is right near the hay bales on the left, the other is along by that big bush to the right, and it runs down the hill. 

Teach-Miodhchuarta is said to have been the feasting hall, where the high king would have entertained the lesser kings and their retinues from all over Ireland. Medieval literature goes to great lengths to describe the layout and seating plan of the building, along with the different cuts of meat that each person was entitled to, all of which depended on each individual's status and profession, where they came from, and so on. The seating arrangements might also depend on who was high king - which túath they came from.

The basic idea might actually have some basis in historical fact, but the place at the Hill of Tara that bears its name was never a feasting hall. It's more likely to have been a cursus, or ceremonial, processional avenue, indicating that it was probably the main way people approached the Hill of Tara complex. Getting all theoretical, this is a way of controlling the way people approach and interact with the space around them. The banks at either side of the cursus blocks your view to either side as you approach, and keeps you looking ahead to where you're going. As you walk along your horizons are closed in, but once you come out, your view expands to take in the site itself, and the area surrounding it (which is expansive - very typical for this kind of site), so it gives the place more of an impact. Entering the site is as much of a revelation as the ritual you're experiencing is, then, so in a way it helps to focus and emphasise that aspect.

The cursus is oriented north-south, and you come from the north, heading south to the hill. It also forces you to approach the site and then enter it so you'd be most likely to process around the place in a sunwise direction. All of this is very much in keeping with the broader points of what we can glean of Iron Age ritual practice, so it's useful to look at all this and how it relates to us today - what we're doing as Gaelic Polytheists.

The raths that are marked on the overview near the cursus are actually ring barrows, not forts, and they're not very obvious from where we were stood as we entered:

They've pretty much been ploughed flat now, anyway. This picture would probably have a breathtaking view if the weather had been better, but I think the mist and gloom offers its own moody atmosphere, in its own way.

Turning left, from the Rath of the Synods, you head towards the main area of the site. You go over a bank and ditch, which is called Raith na Ríogh, or the Rath of the Kings (or just the Royal Enclosure), and this is the bank that goes around the Mound of Hostages and a couple of raths, one of which is home to the Lia Fáil:

That's the view along the bank just as you've entered the enclosure. Originally it would have been a bit higher, and the silted-up ditch situated right before it was dug right down to the bedrock, three metres down. Way more impressive than it looks now. 

If you turn left to face into the enclosure, you're confronted with a good view of Dumha na nGiall, the Mound of Hostages, which is actually a Neolithic burial mound:

Most people headed past it to the right, straight over to the Lia Fáil, but if you go round to the left you come to the entrance, which has been recently restored. Looking through the bars you can see a small chamber inside:

The megalithic art gives the feeling that it's maybe describing the surrounding landscape? Or a landscape. Whatever it is, it seems very similar to the megalithic art right inside the chamber at Loughcrew...

The Mound of Hostages was used to inter the cremated remains of various individuals for well over a thousand years, up until about 1700 B.C.E., and the entrance is apparently oriented to the sunrise around Samhain and Imbolc. Into the Bronze Age, it seems the small chamber began to get too crowded to continue using it, so the remains were buried into the mound itself. Around 40 Bronze Age burial urns, containing cremated remains, have been recovered from the mound, along with one skeletal burial from the same period.

In the Dindshenchas, the mound gets its name from the idea that King Cormac's hostages were buried there. These aren't the kind of hostages in the prisoners of war sense, but more like high status people from other túatha who were sent to live with the high king as a kind of political insurance between the two nations - behave, or the hostage gets it, mmm'kay? The age of the mound dates well before Cormac, so the story's pretty spurious, but the point about their being high status does hold some weight.  Going by the bits of jewellery and other objects, these people do seem to have been high status individuals, and some of the beads that have been recovered from the site can only come from a few places. The most likely location is Wessex, in the south-east of England, around the Stonehenge area, but whether it was just the beads, or the person wearing them too, that came that far, we don't know. They were certainly unusual items, and that generally means the jewellery indicates prestige and status.

Moving past the Mound of Hostages you come to the Forradh and Teach Cormaic, the two raths within the enclosure. Teach Cormaic is named after one of the most famous high kings of Ireland, Cormac mac Airt (the same Cormac who allegedly buried hostages in the mound), who's thought to have reigned sometime between the 2nd to 4th centuries C.E. He appears in tales like Cath Maige Mucrama, but again, his association with the place doesn't hold much weight in factual terms. His reputation as a good king means he's more likely to be associated with a site that symbolises the very concept than a bad king.

Both of the raths inside the enclosure are surrounded by two banks and ditches each, which meet each other. The Forradh (Royal Seat) is the one that's currently home to the Lia Fáil, the Stone of Destiny, which is supposed to have been involved in the inauguration rites of the high kings, and which isn't phallic at all, honest. It's said that when the rightful high king of Ireland puts his right foot on the stone, it should roar or scream its approval, which would be heard throughout the whole country:

Evidently neither Tom nor Rosie are the rightful rulers. We checked. Whether that has something to do with the fact that the stone's not in its original position, I couldn't say... Either way, it's thought to have originally been situated on top of the Mound of Hostages, before it was moved to the Forradh in "the modern period" (according to Barry Raftery, though he doesn't specify exactly when).

The current state of stone is one of the things that just goes to show how much investment in this place is needed:

You can still see traces of the red and green paint that was thrown all over it back in May, and the dents where vandals attempted to chip pieces off two years ago. As far as I know there haven't been any prosecutions over either cases.

Heading back to the car, Mr Seren took a walk through the graveyard and with the kids, as I hung back to wait for a group to get out of the way so I could take some photos of the Mound of Hostages. As he walked through, he stumbled across this:

Which he said seems to have been deliberately placed there. The grave it was on was relatively recent, so whether it had some kind of significance to the person buried there, or whether it was just moved "out of the way" or something, I'm not sure. I'm pretty sure it's a dead rook, so if the choice of deposition is deliberate, whoever's buried there probably wasn't so popular in life... Even Mr Seren was weirded out by it, and that takes a fair bit of doing.

But so endeth our trip! I hope you've enjoyed these posts (as much as I enjoyed going to all these places and taking the photos). I might have some more thoughts to chew on at some point, but for now that's it.

Kildare

Ever since our celebrations for Là Fhèill Brìghde, Rosie's been desperate to visit Brigid's Well at Kildare, so while a few of our plans had to get put aside, Kildare was going to happen come hell or high water.

So on Wednesday (I'm skipping the museum for now because there's so much to get through...) we set off to Kildare. We headed to the town centre first and stopped to stretch our legs and have a spot of lunch. There's quite a lot to see in the centre, though given the kids we didn't do everything. I nipped in to the heritage centre and picked up a map of all the sites, and then we let the kids have a run around in a play park for a while. Our first stop after that was to the round tower, which is in the cathedral grounds:

It's originally sixth century, but was majorly rebuilt in the twelfth and I think the detail above the doorway there is a flame. The tower itself is the second-highest in Ireland, and the tallest one that you can still climb up (it was closed when we got there, though).

Also in the cathedral grounds is the remains of Brigid's Fire Temple, which is still used to light a fire on Lá Fhéile Bríde. When it's not home to a giant fire, it seems it acts as a shrine:

The kids decided they needed to add some offerings of their own, so they went to pick some flowers - buttercups and dandelions:

And I made some, too. Mr Seren wandered off around the graveyard, quietly being an atheist.

The cathedral itself pretty small, and full of Brigid's crosses up on the window ledges and hanging off the pews:

You can buy them from there for a good price, but at that point I didn't have any cash on me. I didn't feel comfortable taking too many photos because my camera beeps and the cathedral began to fill up with people as we were looking around, so it seemed a little intrusive. Back outside, near the entrance to the cathedral building, there's something called "Brigid's Kitchen," which was actually some sort of tomb. Built in the 14th century, it's empty now and you can go down and take a look. There's also some amazing gargoyles on the cathedral, although they don't beat the xenomorph at Paisley Abbey. Still, you can't bitch about gargoyles with cows:

There's a castle lurking in the town, and a fair few abbeys about the place, but we didn't venture that far. After lunch we went to the well (and thanks to my excellent map-reading skills from the leaflet I got from the heritage centre, we got a little lost along the way...). But we got there in the end, and the trip is so worth it. From what I understand, it's not the original well - that's on the roadside, but because the road is pretty narrow and there's no parking, it was eventually moved to the current site to prevent accidents and road blockages (the newer well gets its water from the same spring as the original, though). The guy at the heritage centre marked down the vague location of the original well on the map I took, but it's not very obvious and we didn't spot it - not that we really made much effort to find it.

But the current site is beautiful - it's set away from the road and it's all fenced off and lined with trees, so it's like going into a quiet garden. Once you've parked up you go alongside a shallow stream and then walk through an archway into the site itself, and there's a notice telling you what to do (if you're Catholic, I suppose...) just before you go through the arch:

The corn's very nearly ready in that field there...

After you've passed through the arch there's a small shrine to the left, with a polite notice asking for donations to help with the upkeep:

Further along and over to the right is the statue and larger shrine, which is separated off from the rest of the place by a shallow stream that you have to step or jump over to get across to the statue:

Off to one side there's a little archway where water from the well itself trickles along to join the stream, and then behind the archway there are several stations that lead up to the well, which is right at the end of the site:

In the left-hand corner, right at the back, there's a wishing tree that's covered in rags, socks, gloves, crosses, pieces of jewellery, and all other kinds of offerings:

We didn't leave anything at the tree ourselves, and I have to say it was looking a little worse for wear - if you're going to tie a clootie, leave some room for it to grow, mm'kay? And make sure it's easily biodegradable - some of these look like they're tied on a little too tightly, at that's not going to be good for the tree. There's a large cluster of baby socks on a couple of the branches, though, and you just know why they're there. It's heartbreaking to see, but at the same time it's almost comforting as well, because it's a way for people to express their grief, and maybe to hope and to heal. Just before we left a man and his son (I'd say about nine years old) came in, and they went straight to the tree. They obviously had some business to attend to.

When we arrived at the well there were a couple of families already there, and there were five or six kids running around splashing in the water. Tom and Rosie joined in and I went up to the well to make my prayers and offerings to Brigid. Just as I did at Newgrange, I made prayers for some people who asked me to, and I prayed for myself and my family, as well as Gaol Naofa. I gave my thanks and collected some of the water to take home with me, too, and just before I did I caught sight of a tiny wee fish darting about. It disappeared not long after that, but I took it as a good sign.

The kids were having a whale of a time and eventually, after doing my own thing, I wandered about taking photos and joined in. The kids came to have a look at the well and wanted to make offerings there, so I helped them do that. They went a little shy and tongue-tied, so I made a little prayer of thanks for them. Rosie in particular liked the well, and spent a fair amount of time contemplating life, the universe, and pretty much everything. Also probably trying to spot the wee fish:

Eventually the other families left - they seemed nice and the kids got on well with them, but I was glad when they went because it was nice to have a chance to just be there by ourselves. But even with the kids running riot the place still has that inherently peaceful and sacred feel to it. The kids splashing around seemed to be welcomed, rather than disrespectful; they were enjoying the place and it just seemed right and as it should be.

Rosie was mesmerised by the statue, and once the other folks had left she made some offerings there as well, then poured out a libation, and poured some more at the wishing tree and a hawthorn tree right by the stream inlet. She was determined not to leave anyone out, and then she set about righting some of the smaller statues that had been left, which had fallen over. She and Tom eventually began to get restless, so we made our farewells and went back to the car. We decided to take a little detour before heading back to the hotel, and ended up taking a drive through Glendalough, which is a beautiful place but it's difficult to stop and take photos when you're sandwiched between a logging lorry and a tiny car hellbent on tailgating you all the way along. Right at the top we found somewhere to park up safely, so we could take in some of the scenery:

This is an old pilgrimage route, apparently.

Then we headed into Dublin to get some dinner, and after we parked up I spotted a mural of the Táin:

Which is really long and I couldn't fit the whole thing in one go, unfortunately. But over dinner I ended up telling the kids about the Táin, and all about the scenes that are depicted in the mural, much to Tom's amusement and horror when it got to the part about Ferdiad's demise.

The next day we took the kids to a water park as a surprise, but before that Rosie begged to go back to the well. I promised her we'd definitely go back one day...