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.

Shony revisited

One of the traditions that has long piqued my interest is the tradition of offering porridge or ale to Shony and its possible connection to Manannán, and since I was poking around a few old journals and found some stuff that provoked some Thoughts, I figured I'd work them all out here.

The custom has been most famously described by Martin Martin, who wrote about it in his A Description of the Western Islands of Scotland, first published in 1703:

"John Morison of Bragir told me that when he was a boy, and going to the Church of St. Malvay, he observed the natives to kneel and repeat the Paternoster at four miles distance from the church. The inhabitants of this island had an ancient custom to sacrifice to a sea-god called Shony, at Hallow-tide, in the manner following: The inhabitants round the island came to the Church of St. Malvay, having each man his provision along with him; every family furnished a peck of malt, and this was brewed into ale; one of their number was picked out to wade into the sea up to the middle, and carrying a cup of ale in his hand, standing still in that posture, cried out with a loud voice saying, "Shony, I give you this cup of ale, hoping that you'll be so kind as to send us plenty of sea-ware for enriching our ground for the ensuing year"; and so threw the cup of ale into the sea. This was performed in the night time. At his return to land they all went to church, where there was a candle burning upon the altar; and then standing silent for a little time, one of them gave a signal, at which the candle was put out, and immediately all of them went to the fields, where they fell a-drinking their ale, and spent the remainder of the night in dancing and singing, &c.

The next morning they all returned home, being well satisfied that they had punctually observed this solemn anniversary, which they believed to be a powerful means to procure a plentiful crop. Mr. Daniel and Mr. Kenneth Morison, ministers in Lewis, told me they spent several years before they could persuade the vulgar natives to abandon this ridiculous piece of superstition; which is quite abolished for these 32 years past."

Martin Martin, A Description of the Western Islands of Scotland (1703)

Some of the key points that have been debated over the years include who, exactly, Shony is, and what Martin meant by "Hallowtide."

Some academics argue that "Shony" is Gaelic for Johnny (Seónaidh), possibly St John the Baptist, and that it's related (in a very roundabout way) to Manannán:

The porridge, gruel or ale was dedicated to a god or saint called Manannan (Manntan, Bannan) or Shony (Seónaidh)... As it involved immersion and was usually performed on the night of Holy Thursday in Easter Week, it appears that Seónaidh is St John the Baptist, having undergone gradual Christianisation from Manannan mac Lir through St Bannan. Some writers, notably Banks and Hutton, have misunderstood Martin's 'Hallowtide' as meaning that the ceremony took place at Hallowe'en. In one recorded instance in Lewis (MacPhail 1895, p.166) Manannan turned into St Brendan the Navigator (Brianailt, Brianuilt) instead, and the ritual took place on his feast-day, 15 May... 

Black, The Gaelic Otherworld (2005), p590. 

Others favour a Scandinavian influence in the name, suggesting that "Shony" comes from the Old Norse son-, meaning "an atonement, a sacrifice:"

As ö from Norse would become o, an fn became nn, one thinks of Sjöfn, one of the goddesses in the Edda. In any case the word is Norse. Captain Thomas thought the word was són, a sacrifice; sjóni, a nickname in the Landnámabók, and akin, suggested Vigfusson, to són, atonement, sacrifice; German sühne, ver-söhnung. In the Hebrides they gave what they had, which would account for the departure from ancient usage. The ancient Norse sacrifice of atonement was thus performed: “The largest boar that could be found in the kingdom was on Yule-eve laid before the king and his men assembled in hall; the king and houseman then laid their hands on the boar’s bristly mane and made a solemn vow… The animal being sacrificed, divination took place, probably by chips shaken in the boar’s blood…. Són was the name of one of the vessels in which the blood of Kvásir, the mead of wisdom and poetry, was kept” (Cleasby-Vigfusson). But cf. N. sjóli, which occurs in an epithet of Thor: himin-sjóli, heaven-prop, heaven-defender (?), hence perhaps king.

Henderson, The Norse Influence on Celtic Scotland (1910), pp101-102.

Henderson has a tendency to assign Norse origins to a lot of things, rightly or wrongly, and it has to be said that the description of the sacrifice doesn't suggest much in the way of similarities with Shony's offerings. This doesn't rule out any Norse influences, conclusively, but (personally) I'm skeptical. Stiùbhart mentions the possible Norse connection, but also suggests that the word may have originally been something like "Sionn" or "Sionnaidh," giving a cognate with Gaelic words like sionn (something mysterious, uncanny, supernatural), sionnach (a fox), sionnachan (Will-o'-the-wisp), and sionnaich (bright). Clearly something Otherworldly or supernatural, either way, and the people of Lewis long had a tendency to refer to supernatural beings and other kinds of phenomena with euphemisms – the sìth being muinntir Fhionnlaigh, for example, or an Otherworldly whirlwind that has a tendency to spring up on the moors being known as uspag Fhionnlaigh. Stiùbhart further suggests that the "Fhionnlaigh" in question here may well be "a modern 'rationalisation' of the original 'Sionnaidh'." Although on the surface this might seem like a bit of a stretch, both "Shionn" and "Fhionn" would sound quite similar to the ear, since the lenition (the addition of the "h" after the consonant) kills the sound of the consonant before it and you'd end up with a "h" sound instead.

If this is the case, we're probably not looking at an association with Manannán, as far as the offering to Shony goes, but more an offering to the spirits of the place (though presumably originally a deity, before Christianity?). Looking to Dwelly's Dictionary, we find an entry for seonadh that supports this idea:

seonadh -aidh, sm Augury, sorcery. 2 Druidism. Martin says that seonaidh is the name of a water-spirit which the inhabitants of Lewis used to propitiate by a cup of ale in the following manner. They came to the church of St. Mulway, each man carrying his own provisions. Every family gave a pock of malt and the whole was brewed into ale. One of their number was chosen to wade into the sea up to his waist, carrying in his hand a cup filled with ale. When he reached a proper depth, he stood and cried aloud “Seonaidh, I give thee this cup of ale, hoping that thou wilt be so good as to send us plenty of seaware for enriching our ground during the coming year.” He then threw the ale into the sea. This ceremony was performed in the night-time. On his coming to land, they all repaired to church, where there was a candle burning on the altar. There they stood still for a time, when on a signal given, the candle was put out, mid straightway they adjourned to the fields where the night was spent mirthfully over the ale. Next morning they returned to their respective homes, in the belief that they had insured a plentiful crop for the next season.

It seems clear that as far as the issue of timing goes, Black is right and Maundy Thursday (or Holy Thursday) was the traditional date, though he kind of glosses over what Hutton actually says about the matter. Hutton doesn't just state that it was held at Hallowe'en, but argues that:

The ceremony was ended in the 1670s after a determined campaign against it by the two ministers, but it simply migrated to, or resurfaced upon, the midnight before Maundy Thursday at the opening of the sailing season. 

Hutton, The Stations of the Sun: A History of the Ritual Year in Britain (1996), p369.

Quite why it supposedly shifted from one part of the year to another isn't commented upon or explained by Hutton, making the claim seem less than convincing.

Returning to Ronald Black's commentary on the subject, after noting a possible connection with Manannán (above), he goes on to note that R. C. Maclagan records a "development" of the rite, which began involving animal sacrifice:

Dr R. C. Maclagan was told of a development of the custom as practised in Lewis c. 1800. Just as the porridge, gruel or ale had formerly been given to the sea to stimulate a supply of seaweed to fertilise the fields, so was a living creature now given to it to encourage the fish (Tocher 20, p.162): "A sheep or goat was offered as a sacrifice. The oldest man of the sea was expected to take the lead, assisted usually by the one who came second in respect of seniority and experience. The animal was brought down to the edge of the sea, and after a certain order of procedure was observed, the officiating person, who was a kind of priest for the occasion, in the midst of dead silence, and surrounded by the whole company of those interested, who stood looking on, went down on his knees, and proceeded to kill the victim, whose blood was carefully caught in a dish. This over, the officiating man waded out into the sea as far as he could, carrying the vessel in which the blood was, and scattered the blood as widely as he could on the water round about him. Then followed the disposing of the carcase, which was cut up into pieces corresponding to the number of poor persons in the district, and a piece was sent to each such person, to be eaten by them; but none else would touch it."

Black, The Gaelic Otherworld (2005), pp590-591.

However, Domhnall Uilleam Stiùbhart has since published a letter from 1700 that describes animal sacrifice being involved already, a hundred years before Maclagan described this "development"; even more interesting is that the letter was written by John Morison (Iain mac Mhurch' 'c Ailein), the same person who Martin says was his informant in describing the offerings to Shony that he included in his A Description of the Western Islands of Scotland.

The letter that Stiùbhart published and provides commentary on is "Ane Accompt of some heathenish & superstitious rites used in the Isle of Lewis given by a friend to Mr Alan Morisone Minister of Ness 15 April 1700," and in it the author lists a number of "paganish customes," some of which he fears are "not as yet abolyshed." In giving a list of these customs, he includes:

Others contribut a quantity of Corn & make malt of it, & brew it into ale, and drink it in the kerk pouring the first coigfull into the sea, that they may have fish the better that yeir and sea ware for there land, And all the town with joyn in this work but now its abolyshed, they called this kynd of sacrifeceing Shion, but the Etymology of that word I know not. Others killed ane heiffer or bullock and threw the blood of it into the sea wt certaine rites and ceremoines promiseing to themselves therby the more abundance of fysh and sea ware to be brought ashore to them.

Stiùbhart, "Some Heathenish and Superstitious Rites: A Letter from Lewis, 1700," Scottish Studies: the journal of the School of Scottish Studies 34 (2000-2006), pp205-205.

According to Morison, then, the sacrifice of a cow was an alternative method of doing the same thing (perhaps something that was reserved for more desperate times?)

In spite of the author's claims that the rite was already "abolyshed" by his time of writing, references to such efforts continued up into the 1900s, though it's not entirely clear if the descriptions are from contemporary accounts, or are a recycling of Martin Martin's own description. Alexander Carmichael mentions the custom in the Carmina Gadelica, saying:

Maunday Thursday is called in Uist 'Diardaoin a brochain,' Gruel Thursday, and in Iona 'Diardaoin a brochain mhoir,' Great Gruel Thursday. On this day people in maritime districts made offerings of mead, ale, or gruel to the god of the sea. As the day merged from Wednesday to Thursday a man walked to the waist into the sea and poured out whatever offering had been prepared, chanting: 

'A Dhe na mara,
Cuir todhar ’s an tarruinn
Chon tachair an talaimh,
Chon bailcidh dhuinn biaidh.' 

O God of the sea,
Put weed in the drawing wave
To enrich the ground,
To shower on us food.

Those behind the offerer took up the chant and wafted it along the sea-shore on the midnight air, the darkness of night and the rolling of the waves making the scene weird and impressive. In 1860 the writer conversed in Iona with a middle-aged man whose father, when young, had taken part in this ceremony. In Lewis the custom was continued till this century. It shows the tolerant spirit of the Columban Church and the tenacity of popular belief, that such a practice should have been in vogue so recently. 

Carmichael, Carmina Gadelica Volume I (1900), pp162-163.

Although Carmichael doesn't mention Shony explicitly, it's clear that he's describing the same rite as Martin and our letter-writing friend up above. Mark Williams favours the idea that Carmichael was drawing from Martin and argues that "Carmichael was drawing, not on oral tradition, but on a text that was already two centuries old," (p366) and that he "hedged" with referring to "A Dhe na mara" rather than explicitly naming Shony:

Carmichael's version generalized Martin's highly local account... and ignored his testimony that it had long been extinct. He also gave a Gaelic version of Martin Martin's invocation which looked so suspiciously like a verse from one of the Carmina that it may well have been his own back-translation from Martin's English. If this is so, he inserted another significant hedge, replacing the outlandish 'Shony' with the tactful A Dhè na mara, which he translated 'O God of the sea.' The difference between the 'God of the sea' and the 'god of the sea' exactly encapsulates the tension between piety and paganism that Carmichael was negotiating.

Williams, Ireland's Immortals: A History of the Gods of Irish Myth (2016), p368.

If this is the case, Carmichael's prayer is effectively artificial, "back-engineered" from Martin's account. One thing that isn't explained here, however, is Carmichael's reference to having spoken with a man from Iona who's father had taken part in the rite; in spite of the problems with Carmichael's work, he very obviously did speak to a lot of people and collect information from them directly. I think here it seems likely that while Carmichael did draw on Martin's description (consciously or not), he also noticed a similarity between Martin and his informant's description. To what extent he may have embellished or blended things to reflect what he thought was "true" is unclear.

Carmichael also doesn't ignore Martin's reference to the fact that the custom was "long extinct" by his time as Williams writes, but neither does he present the custom as being current to his day. Claims like that – of customs "surviving until recently" – are a common trope amongst folklorists of his day, and if it weren't for the fact that other writers mention the custom as being recently observed it would be tempting to explain Carmichael's portrayal as just that: a common trope. There really does seem to be more to this than authors like Carmichael rehashing Martin and adding their own touches to things, and John Gregorson Campbell might be a good start in helping to explain why and how it survived, in spite of the Church's disapproval and attempts to stamp it out: Campbell mentions the custom a couple of times, first of all commenting that the rite was only observed during stormy weather in the spring after a sparse winter that was lacking in seaweed being brought to shore:

BIG PORRIDGE DAY (LÀ A' BHROCHAIN MHÒIR)
In the Western Islands, in olden times (for the practice does not now exist anywhere), when there was a winter during which little seaware came ashore, and full time for spring work had come without relief, a large dish of porridge, made with butter and other food ingredients, was poured into the sea on every headland where wrack used to come. Next day the harbours were full. 

This device was to be resorted to only late in the spring – the Iona people say the Thursday before Easter – and in stormy weather. The meaning of the ceremony seems to have been that by sending the fruit of the land into the sea, the fruit of the sea would come to land.

Black, The Gaelic Otherworld (2005), p134.

In his commentary on the Gaelic year, Campbell reiterates this point:

SHORE OR MAUNDY THURSDAY
This was the Thursday before Easter, and was known in the Hebrides as là Brochain Mhòir, 'the day of the Big Porridge'. It was now getting late in the spring, and if the winter had failed to cast a sufficient supply of seaweed on the shores, it was time to resort to extraordinary measures to secure the necessary manure for the land. A large pot of porridge was prepared, with butter and other good ingredients, and taken to the headlands near creeks where seaweed rested. A quantity was poured into the sea from each headland, with certain incantations or rhymes, and in consequence, it was believed, the harbours were full of sea-ware. The ceremony should only be performed in stormy weather. Its object no doubt was, by throwing the produce of the land into the sea, to make the sea throw its produce on the land.

Black, The Gaelic Otherworld (2005), pp548-549.

So it seems plausible that it was only done during times of need (or at least ended up that way, after the Church succeeded in stopping it for a time), and this could easily explain why it keeps on popping up over the centuries after having "died out." As Alexander Carmichael points out, seaweed was incredibly important to the local economy in the Western Isles because it was used as manure:

The people of the Western Isles are greatly dependent upon seaweeds for the manuring of their lands. The soil, being for the most part either peaty or sandy, and containing little lime, mineral salts, etc., is poor and infertile unless constantly refreshed by seaweed, which, though rather poor in quality, is available in large quantity. Seaweed is detached by the action of storms and thrown upon the shores by the prevailing westerly winds. The scarcity of seaweed caused by a prolonged calm period is a serious matter; the people watch and hope and pray for the coming of seaweed, and are anxious at the prospect of impending famine. When the seaweed comes they rejoice and sing hymns of praise to the gracious God of the sea Who has heard their prayers.

Carmichael, Carmina Gadelica Volume IV (1941), pp32-33.

This is something that Carmichael had previously written about in his Grazing and Agrestic Customs of the Outer Hebrides (1884), which he produced for the Crofter Royal Commission. It's pretty clear that without the seaweed, things could get pretty dire. Old ways die hard, and tried and tested tradition are easy to fall back on when the stakes are raised. 

Returning to the Carmina Gadelica, Carmichael goes on to give an example of a prayer (or hymn) that celebrates the arrival of the seaweed, and then follows it with an Ortha Feamainn, "Prayer for Seaweed." What's interesting about this prayer – published in Volume IV of the Carmina, which came out posthumously in 1941 and well after John Gregorson Campbell had died as well – is that the first two lines of it echo – almost exactly – the last line of Campbell's about "throwing the produce of the land into the sea, to make the sea throw its produce on the land." The Ortha goes:

Toradh mara gu tìr,
Toradh tìre gu muir;
Neach nach dèan 'na ìr,
Crìon gum bi a chuid. 

Feamain 'ga cur gu tìr,
Builich, a Thì na buil;
Toradh 'ga chur an nì,
A Chrìosda, thoir mo chuid! 

Produce of sea to land,
Produce of land to sea;
He who doeth not in time,
Scant shall be his share. 

Seaweed being cast on shore
Bestow, Thou Being of bestowal;
Produce being brought to wealth, [fruitfulness being caused in kine]
O Christ, grant me my share!

Carmichael, Carmina Gadelica Volume IV (1941), pp34-35.

The similarities here makes me wonder if Campbell was (independently) aware of the prayer himself and was referencing it, consciously or not.

But still, Campbell doesn't mention Shony, and Carmichael uses the term "God of the sea" on more than one occasion, which gives a clear hint that he was well aware of something going on but for whatever reason didn't go into details. So far, though, we only have Black's speculation on Manannán's connection with the custom. Both Carmichael and John Gregorson Campbell make clear references to Manannán in other prayers, so clearly they weren't shy of mentioning him or other figures they may have seen as pagan. The fact that they didn't make a connection with him in relation to the offering to Shony, or mention Shony either, suggests that they weren't aware of anything like that, not that they didn't want to say.

Looking elsewhere, we find a key piece of information that might help to explain what's going on here. Alexander Macbain gives us this tidbit after rehashing Martin's description of the offerings to Shony:

This superstition is but lately dead, though the sacrifice had been repressed, for they proceeded in spring to the end of a long reef and invoked “Briannuil” to send a strong north wind to drive plenty sea-ware ashore. 

Macbain, Celtic Mythology and Religion (1885), p100.

This is presumably corroborated by the source that Black references above (an article I can't access), which links Brendan the Navigator (Brianailt, Brianuilt) with Manannán, and was apparently observed on May 15. Either way, it seems clear that the custom continued, and as it did so, it continued under a slightly different guise. This goes a long way to explaining why it's so difficult to pin down just who we're dealing with here.

So are we looking at Manannán in one form or another here? Or some kind of local spirit? Or what? Following up the references that Black gives in his notes in relation to all this (the ones I can access), I've found an explicit reference to Manannán being connected to the custom from Eoghan Mac a Phi, in his Am Measg nam Bodach (1938), but he doesn't say where this information comes from. The comparatively late date of publication here doesn't help to inspire confidence... Poking around elsewhere, however, brought up an intriguing piece of commentary from Malcolm MacPhail that adds a slightly more convincing link (assuming Black's equation between Manannán and Banann/Manntan is correct):

Lite-cuire (Sowing-porridge), otherwise Lite-Mhanntan (Manntan’s porridge), was porridge made of Ulag-meal, and made once a year only, of what remained over, after sowing, of the grain that had been prepared and set apart for seed-corn. Thick porridge was made of this Ulag-meal. The thicker and richer the porridge the heavier and richer would be the crops in harvest. 

This custom came down almost to our own times embodied in the following rhyme: 

“Là lite Mhanntain,
Lá ‘us fearr air bith;
An coire ‘us an croucan,
’S a’ maide crom air chrith.” 

“The day of Manntan’s porridge,
The best day of all;
Kettle-crook, and crooked-stick,
Shaking like to fall.” 

Ulag was grain expeditiously dried for the quern, either in a pot over the fire or by a red-hot stone that was being kept perpetually rolling among the grain in a tub. The operator preserved his hands from being injured by the hot stone by keeping both his hands full of grain as he rapidly rolled the stone round. Ulag so made is the origin of the Gaelic proverb, which not many understand now: “Clach fo shiol” (stone under grain); or in full: “Tionndadh na claich fo’n t-siol” (turning the stone under the grain); in other words, “A rolling stone gathers no moss.”

MacPhail, "Folklore from the Hebrides IV," Folk-Lore Volume IX (1900), pp440-441.

It doesn't say what happened with the porridge, but presumably at least some of it was given as an offering, if not all of it. What's interesting, though, is that the custom described here is explicitly associated with the fields, not bringing the seaweed to shore. If offerings were made to the sea to bring the seaweed, it would make sense that similar customs would be observed when sowing the seeds in the very fields that are fertilised with that seaweed, too.

The frustrating thing is that all of this doesn't exactly add up to much that's especially conclusive... But it does offer a bit more perspective, I think. Clearly there's something going on here and it's a lot more complex than it might seem on the surface.

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.

Follow up on the statue theft: Where is Manannán?

It's been just over a week since the statue of Manannán was stolen and a cross was left in its place, as I wrote about in my last post. Although the perpetrators haven't yet been found, or the statue recovered, there are a lot of people who are still hoping that some good can come of this. Whether that means the statue is recovered, or a replacement is made, either option seems like as "good" an outcome as possible under the circumstances. As the sculptor himself notes, the statue is more than likely to be in pieces already, but he's issued an appeal to the thieves:

When asked what he would say to the person, or persons, who made off with his statue, Darren made a simple appeal: “Just bring it back. Bring it home and see if we can get it repaired,” he appealed. 

Darren says although he has got over the initial sick feeling he had when he first saw the damage to the sculpture, which took more than six months work to create, he is still crushed about what happened but says the worldwide outpouring of support has provided some comfort and makes him feel proud people held his work in such esteem.

Derry Journal: One week on and mystery of missing Celtic sea god statue goes global

So there's still hope that the statue may be returned. If it isn't, I do hope it will be replaced, and I think it would be incredibly short-sighted of the council not to considering the amount of attention this has all been giving them, and if there are fundraising efforts established locally then Gaol Naofa has pledged to support that. The huge amount of attention the story has been getting is almost as big a story as the theft itself; a Facebook page that was set up shortly after the news broke now has over 6,000 likes within the last week, and people from all over the world have been sharing their own pictures of the statue, articles from the news, as well as sending in messages of support. The person running the page is urging people to keep sharing and spreading the news, in the hopes that the attention will help with the statue's recovery, and many members of the page have been very generous in giving permission for their images to be used in making memes that can be shared. I posted one that Kathryn made in my last post, and with the help of Caoimhín Ó Cadhla translating for us (to whom we're most appreciative) we've now produced an Irish language version to share:

You can find others we've done hosted on the Gaol Naofa website at a new page we've created in our Resources section, and you can also find them on the Gaol Naofa Facebook page -- feel free to share!

In addition to that, The Wild Hunt got in touch with Gaol Naofa for some comments about the statue's theft, which I took point on as sacrificial lamb head of the organisation, and the resulting article gives a really good overview of reactions from the locals of Limavady as well as polytheists (like myself...) and pagans. As I said there, we've been following the story closely on our Facebook page, and have been sharing some resources about Manannán ma Lir (like the video we did for Midsummer last year), including prayers and traditional songs, since this is something people can do wherever they might be in the world.

We decided that maybe a video was in order to help keep the story circulating, so Kathryn took point on writing up a script and creating a prayer to share, and with the kind permission of some of the photographers who shared their photos of the statue with the Bring Back Manannán page, we've put something together and we're ready to share:

So if you want to share the video and join us in singing Manannán back home, then please do so! We have a little introduction to it on the front page of the Gaol Naofa site, and the prayer from this video is available on a meme we've created, which you're also welcome to share:

This is another one of the images we have up on the new page I mentioned above (along with a different-sized version of this one). If you click through to the front page of the Gaol Naofa site then you can find them in the Resources section of the Library. There are plenty more on the Bring Back Manannán FB page, too.

Statue of Manannán stolen

In case you haven't heard the news:

Mystery surrounds the disappearance of a six-foot sculpture of a Celtic sea god from a mountainside. 

Manannán Mac Lir, which is made out of fibre glass and stainless steel, was stolen from Binevenagh Mountain near Limavady in County Londonderry. 

The statue had became a popular tourist attraction in the area since its installation about a year ago.

Fiona Murray, BBC NI

Click on the link there and you'll see what's left of it -- the thieves uprooted the statue of Manannán from its place in the boat, which must've taken a lot of effort and some muscle to shift; according to the sculptor himself it would've take angle grinders and four or five people to move it any distance.

This doesn't appear to be some kind of petty theft or someone attempting to bring home a rather large souvenir; it has all the appearance of being a deliberate and despicable act of desecration. The BBC initially reported an unsubstantiated rumour that a crucifix and piece of scripture had been left in the statue's place, but the article has since been updated to confirm that it was "a wooden cross with the words 'You shall have no other gods before me.'" I can only assume that in their haste they forgot another commandment or two there... Until or unless the thieves are identified and found, however, we can't say for sure whether this was the real purpose for stealing the statue, or if it's just an attempt to throw the police off the trail (or stir up tensions). If it was done for religious purposes then it's safe to say that this is the work of an extreme and sadly fundamentalist minority.

Manannán is still very much a significant figure in the area, and the site of the statue is close to where the Broighter Hoard was discovered in the nineteenth century -- a stash of gold items including a torc, a bowl, and a miniature ship with oars and mast -- which, it was argued (during a courtcase in the late nineteenth century), were deposited as an offering to Manannán:

Offerings are still made to Manannán in the area today, and the statue itself has come to be the focus of some of these. According to local legend and belief, storms and rough seas are said to be the result of his fury and I can only hope the thieves get at least a taste of it... Another article, from the Derry Daily, has a quote from a local farmer who says:

Local people who still believe in the legend behind the god say those who stole the statue would have no luck. 

“It’s a real disgrace that anyone would steal it,” said one local farmer. 

“I can tell you that whoever they are will have no luck with it.” 

Anger as Thieves Steal Manannán mac Lir Statue -- Derry Daily

Kathryn has a post about this over on her blog as well and she's made up a pic to share and help raise awareness, with a photo credit to Neil Meroney:

Here's hoping (and praying) for a swift and safe recovery of the statue so that it can be put back to its rightful place. 

Saying goodbye

One of the first things I think I wrote about at the start of this year was about our old and ailing dog Eddie:

My dog, really, since I've had him since he was a pup. 

Although he'd begun to slow down and seemed to be struggling with hills at the start of the year, a change of food seemed to bring something of a revival. For how long that would last we didn't know, but as long as he was happy we decided to carry on.

This last month or so he'd begun having trouble with his eyes constantly gunking and then crusting up, which he wouldn't let me clean no matter what I did. In spite of a healthy appetite he was losing a lot of weight, as well, and his back legs were becoming a lot weaker. The pads of his feet seemed to have lost any kind of traction on smooth surfaces so unless he was in his bed or on carpet he'd get himself stranded if he lay anywhere else - usually in the kitchen, where the floor is tile or wood, so too slippery for him. A couple of times I had to rescue him at 4am or so and put him back to bed.

We had him checked over at the vet and she gave him antibiotics for his eyes, and noticed that there was a growth or mass of some sort near his back end. It was clearly painful and he wouldn't let her take a close look, but the writing was on the wall. Presumably that had a lot to do with his sudden decline. With the weightloss he was heading towards becoming dangerously underweight, and given his age and condition he wasn't going to survive any kind of surgery, whatever the problem was. I wouldn't want to put him through that, anyway. 

So he came home with antibiotics and strong painkillers, with instructions for us to bring him back the next week. For the first few days he perked up a lot, and seemed to have a lot more energy, but we didn't kid ourselves - it was never going to be for long. The aim was to make him more comfortable, and that was it. It wasn't clear how long he had, but at least we could hope that he wouldn't be suffering.

The antibiotics helped improve his eyes, but it wasn't enough to cure it. The next week the vet decided not to continue with them, because it was only going to end up leading to a resistant infection, which would make the situation a whole lot worse. In spite of our best efforts, he'd lost yet more weight and was now at the point where he was borderline. The vet said we could try giving him some puppy food, but while it would be high in calories, it was also high in protein and that would put a strain on his liver and kidneys. If we wanted to try it, we could, but either way with the infection and the mass... it was time to have the conversation and think about what we wanted to do for him. If he lost any more weight then he'd be dangerously thin. She tried having another look at the mass and said it was likely his prostate, but by this point there could be other things involved. Without further tests it was hard to say.

We brought Eddie home again, with more painkillers for the next couple of weeks before we had to take him back. And I thought about what to do. My main worry was his weight, because at a certain point his body would basically be unable to support itself, and I didn't really have any way of knowing where that point was, I just knew it was close. If the weighloss continued at the rate it had been, he wouldn't last a week. Another worry was the mass, and the obvious discomfort it was starting to give him. Even with the strong painkillers he'd started to randomly yelp out in pain when he moved. It wasn't long, once he was off the antibiotics, that his eyes started to gunk up again, which was making him miserable. I decided I couldn't let him suffer. I couldn't watch him decline even further just for the sake of a few more weeks, if that. As much as he still loved to go out for walks, as much as he still liked to sit out in the rain for hours on end, it was obvious he was tired. So, so tired. 

And so I made the call. I booked him in for a few days later, when Mr Seren happened to be working from home, so he could take us to the vets. And those few days were awful. There were a lot of tears, and a lot of effort put in to try and keep the kids from knowing, because it seemed unfair to put them through that. Sometimes, just for a moment, I'd convince myself we could put it off, because look! He's all happy to go walkies! And then he'd yelp. He'd collapse down in his bed and look fed up as he nuzzled at the fabric of his bed to try and clean his eyes. As soon as I tried to clean them he'd just cry mournfully. 

The day before we took him in, I took him and Mungo for a long and final walk, through the woods and then down to the beach. More than anything, Eddie loved to swim. In his younger days he'd go out and rescue stick after stick, my little selkie dog:

His mass of fluff and fur would slick down and reveal his small frame and his skinny legs with his silly feet, tufts of tan fur that always stuck up between his toes no matter what. 

But rivers, canals, ponds, the sea - you name it, Eddie would swim in it. His first time swimming in the sea was when we were staying with my mum down in Suffolk, and my sister and her family had come down as well. We went for a trip to the beach and my brother-in-law spent hours with him in the sea. Eddie drank a little too much sea-water that day, and as we were going through an amusement arcade the sea-water came right back up with a full English breakfast my brother-in-law had snuck him that morning. Eggs, bacon, sausages, baked beans, mushrooms... Probably a bit of fried bread and tomatoes, too. Eddie must've inhaled it instead of chewing it, and no wonder he was so thirsty. But as the incriminating evidence lay on the floor for all to see Eddie just grinned and wagged his tail as I told my brother-in-law off. Dogs eat dog food for a reason, Jeremy. 

To be fair, though, Eddie never tried drinking the sea again. 

When Eddie wasn't colluding with my brother-in-law or rescuing sticks he would be singing the song of his people:

A proud and happy song of excitement and (probably) sticks that needed rescuing.

So I decided it was time for one more trip before the inevitable. He had a wee bit of a swim, but mostly doddered about while Mungo did Operation Rescue Stick. It's not that it's December now and he had a sudden burst of common sense about freezing his bits off in the water all of a sudden, he just wasn't up to much more than doddering around. Common sense has never been Eddie's forte. 

He sang his song one last time:

And chewed on a stick (the only way to stop him singing his song) before we took one last stroll over the rocks. I stopped for a while and said some prayers for him - to Manannán and Clota of the river and sea, and to Donn - and made some offerings to them before we came home. It was a thankfully quiet day so we weren't disturbed.

The next day, after the kids went to school, we took him in. The vet checked him over and shaved a bit of his foreleg, and then gave the injection while I stroked and fussed him. He went quickly, and peacefully, and a fair bit of my snot got blown into tissues as I said my goodbyes. And that was it. It was a moment I'd been dreading, being there as he died. Seeing his lifeless body. It's not how I wanted to remember him, but at the same time I felt I had to be there, as an honour to him. We'd been through so much together, how could I not? Mr Seren offered to go in with him, or else the vet would have done it without us. But I couldn't not be there. 

The house is strangely empty and quiet now. No more little snuffles and snorts, or incessant sneezing and snuffling as he's being fussed. No more happy noises as you find the tickly spot on his belly. Mungo's been subdued, wanting to be left alone in between reassuring cuddles; I'm not sure if he knows what's happened, really. Part of me wonders if he's sulking because Eddie's obviously having a really long walk, and it's not fair, or maybe he's worried he's going to be next. Grumble (the cat) is sulking because now there's one less dog to torment or steal food from. The kids have taken it well, though. I wasn't expecting Tom to be as upset as he was, but I think it's more because he knew how upset I was than he was feeling sad for himself that Eddie had gone. There were tears, and questions, but they'd known it was coming at some point soon so it wasn't a total surprise. 

He was 15 years old, a good age for a dog. Especially a dog like Eddie, who did his damnedest as a puppy to give himself as short a life as possible and may or may not have given himself mild brain damage after choking on a bead (twice). Before I took him on, I hasten to add. At the time, the vet said not to expect him to live beyond seven or so, given the neurological deficits. I think in the end it turned out he was just not the brightest dog this world has ever seen...

He's been with me longer than Mr Seren has, and he was with me through some particularly tough times. And I wish I could think of something deep to finish off with, but all I can think to say is that I miss him already. But at the same time I'm glad for him, because I know he's not in pain anymore. He's not suffering, or struggling, or wasting away before our eyes. As I said to the kids, it's just the way things go, isn't it? We live, we grow old, and sometimes we get to do the kind thing for our pets. 

I'm still pretty agnostic when it comes to the whole afterlife deal. I'm not keen on the whole eternity thing, really. On the one hand, I can get on board with the whole reincarnation idea, though. On the other, I kind of like the vagueness of just "going west," out across the waves to the House of Donn or wherever else it might be. It's certainly easier to think that Eddie would be out there, frolicking in the waves.

Maybe the next time we're down at the beach we'll hear an echo of his song. I do hope so. My little selkie dog. 

New videos!

Back in March, my colleagues and I at Gaol Naofa worked on producing some videos for our new Youtube channel. Those first two that we did focused on St Patrick's Day, and our intention from the start was to continue on with videos for other festivals in the Gaelic year - ones that are ancient in origin like the quarters days, as well as the more modern ones like Hogmanay and Là na Caillich.

Yesterday, on Tynwald Day - the Isle of Man's national holiday (which is usually on July 5th, but it moves to the following Monday when it falls at the weekend), and we released a bunch of new videos to go with the two St Patrick's videos we've already done. These are (and forgive me for regurgitating the list I already gave on the Gaol Naofa website...):

Lá Fhéile Bríde:

Detailing the lore and traditions associated with the festival that marks the first flourish of Spring.

Là na Caillich:

The Day of the Cailleach in Scotland, which falls on March 25th and marks the beginning of the Cailleach’s rest period, until she reawakens in winter.

Bealtaine:

Focusing on the traditions and customs of the festival of Summer.

Midsummer: Áine and Grian:

Introducing the Midsummer traditions in Ireland, and the issue of solar deities in Gaelic tradition.

Midsummer: Manannán mac Lir:

Taking a look at the Midsummer tradition of “paying the rent to Manannán mac Lir, which originates on the Isle of Man.

What we want to do with these videos is give a short introduction to each of the festivals, and hopefully articulate a sense of some of things that we can't always do with words alone. We're working on some other videos for another bunch of the festivals, which will hopefully be ready for release soon, and then we'll work on finishing the rest of the festival year as and when we can. And I'm sure we'll find plenty of things to talk about after that! 

Before I finish, I'd like to take the opportunity to thank everyone who helped me and Kathryn while we were putting these videos together - helping us source pictures or giving us permission to use their own, helping us find music we could use, offering feedback, and generally being wonderful and supportive. Mòran taing!

Fishing for brambles

It's been quiet round here over the past month or so, but I've not been slacking (honest). Since Lùnastal and the kids going back to school shortly after, I've been concentrating on writing and doing the odd job here and there, and – unfortunately but not surprisingly – dealing with back problems again. It's officially been a year since I had surgery and I had a good run but I was never going to be totally pain or problem free. Ah well.

With the kids back at school, so comes the homework and the projects they'll concentrate on for the term, and it's ended up being a happy coincidence. Much to their delight they're both doing their favourite subject respectively – Rosie is doing "Under the Sea" (she desperately wants to be a mermaid), while Tom is doing "Space." For his birthday just over a week ago he asked for a telescope and a microscope, "Because space is AWESOME and so are small things," he said. So the in-laws obliged with the telescope and we got him the microscope, and an unnecessary amount of Lego Technic, along with a trip to the Glasgow Science Centre, which was equally AWESOME. Unfortunately it's rained pretty solidly ever since his birthday so the telescope hasn't seen much use yet, but it looks like next week might improve.

For Rosie's part, she's loving every minute of her school project and is becoming increasingly worried about the well-being of sea creatures – especially as far as pollution is concerned. So after hearing at length about all the kinds of things fish or birds might get stuck in "and they might die, mum, they might die," I suggested that maybe we should go to the beach and pick up some rubbish if the weather was up to it this weekend.

It so happened that this weekend was also some kind of national beach clean up day, and we could've gone to a local beach and joined a group of volunteers, but that was too far away to walk and Mr Seren is away working. A bit of community spirit would've been nice, but the local beach it was. We took the dogs with us, some carrier bags, and some snacks, and we went "fishing for brambles" along the way and got a good stash. I think this is officially Rosie's most favourite time of year because FREE FRUIT MUM, and every day, when we come home from school, we have to stop and "fish" for blackberries in the bushes along the way. It is the bestest thing ever, when you're six, although it's very important to leave enough for the birds, isn't it mum?

Once we got to the beach and the kids had refuelled, we put our gloves on and set to work. My back wasn't up to much but I managed to fill a bag. Tom was more interested in the rocks, to be honest, but he filled a bag too. Rosie was by far the most enthusiastic in the litter-picking, and she ended up filling two bags. We didn't find anything too untoward on the beach – a bunch of bottles that were mostly still full of juice, empty cans of beer, bottle caps, wrappers, and bits of plastic:

We would've got more had I been up to it, but it's a start.

The seaweed is dying off now and coming to the shore in heaps – helped by a recent storm, I'm sure:

Manannán's having an autumnal clearout.

Before we left we made some equinox offerings to the spirits of the beach, and to Manannán out at sea. We left some of the blackberries for him, along with some bits I'd brought with us from home, and built a wee cairn as we usually do, and set off back home, only stopping to dump our rubbish at the first bin we came to. Rosie insisted she carry some bags "to be helpful" and Tom gallantly took charge of Mungo.

Back at home, I realised I was out of oatmeal to make the kind of bannock I usually do, and so instead of a more seasonally appropriate struthan, I decided to try out a recipe from Skye that was shared by one of the members on the Gaelic Polytheism group; it's pretty similar to the struthan, but sweeter (I didn't put the coating on because I didn't have enough golden syrup, but I don't think it needed it, really). I blessed it as I made it and added some blackberries to the dough, and then bunged it in the oven, and:

It turned out pretty well for a first go! Although I'm not quite sure why some of the berries tried to make a break for it. The berries were a little wet so the dough went a bit slimy and I had to apply more flour, and my oven was a little too hot so the inside very nearly didn't cook properly (although traditional recipes tend to prefer "well-fired" baked goods, so it was probably about right. "Well-fired" translates as "burnt" to you and me – so if you ever burn anything in future, just say it's cooked to a traditional Scottish recipe), so it's a bit browner than I would normally do it, but the blackberries were a very tasty addition. Next time I might add a little mixed spice to compliment the berries, but once it was cooked I tried a bit with butter and then a bit with jam and they were both equally delicious. The kids had them for pudding after dinner and really enjoyed them, so we'll definitely be having them again. We had a quarter each and the final quarter (the one with the berries that tried to escape) went out as an offering.

I hadn't really intended to do much for the festival, and I usually celebrate it on the day of Là Fhèill Mìcheil itself (the 25th), but our trip to the beach kind of meant it made sense to just go with it. And thoughts are turning to Samhainn already, mainly because the shops are already full of festive sweets and the kids are getting all excited. The Hallowe'en buckets are ready. Rosie wants to dress up as a meerkat. Don't ask me why; I have no clue.

Mare stanes, adder stones, frog stones, oh my

Summer is definitely coming to an end, and it feels like the seasons are changing much earlier than usual this year. The leaves on horse chestnuts are already starting to turn reds and yellows, and some other trees around the place are changing too. The seaweed is coming up onto the beach in piles:

And the rainy weather is starting to get a bit of bite and fury to it.

Seeing as it was the first time I've managed to get to the beach since Midsummer, though, it was time to pay my respects to Manannán. As with previous years, Rosie insisted on finding a special stone. Last year she picked up a tiny heart-shaped stone with pink flecks in it; this year, she found a larger heart-shaped stone with white flecks in it. "Like a cow!" she decided. And so it was declared that it was obviously for us, because mummy likes cows.

As usual, the kids made a collection of stones and sea glass they liked, we built sandcastles and had a wee snack, took a turn over the rocks so I could make my offerings, and let the dogs run around mental and rescue sticks from the water (after four years, Mungo finally found the courage to go swimming and rescue a stick himself, even).

And while I was combing the beach, I found this:

Out of habit I tend to call them hag stones because that's what I've always known them as, but I suppose in order to be authentic I should call them mare stanes. They are stones typically found on the beach or river-bed, with a natural hole through them. A mare stane will keep away nightmares or being hag-ridden, if you hang them above your bed or wear one, and they are also a good preventative against disease or witchcraft, and are often found hanging in byres or stables to protect cattle and horses for the same purpose as people might hang them in the home, or wear them. McNeill doesn't have much to say about them, but she does note that stones of rock crystal (quartz) often had holes put through them to be worn about the neck as protection against the Evil Eye and witchcraft.

The Brahan Seer had a stone with a hole in the middle - the stone being described as white (or blue) and smooth - which is said to have been a gift from the daoine sìth. It is said that he could 'see things' if he looked through the hole; he could "see into the future as clearly as he could remember the past, and see men's designs and motives as clearly as their actions." Unfortunately for Coinneach Odhar, the Brahan Seer, things didn't work out so well for him. Apparently his accuracy as a seer meant that when he confirmed a lady's husband was away having an affair, she was so upset that she accused him of witchcraft. Before his execution, the Brahan Seer threw the stone into a loch after one final - and terrible - prophecy.

For some reason Wikipedia conflates them with adder stones, but I really don't think that's right. Every source I have lists them separately, with hag stones or mare stanes being any kind of rock with a natural hole in it from the beach or river, and adder stones (or clachan naithaireach as Black lists it, while John Gregorson Campbell and others give 'clach nathair') being somewhat mysterious in form and origin. Adder stones are usually described as being greenish in hue, and are believed to be some kind of secretion of adders, although Hugh Cheape, the former principal curator at the National Museum Scotland identifies them as simply being spindle-whorls, "lost or discarded and subsequently picked up." There are also such things as adder beads or glass (glaine nathair), and from the description Black gives, I would guess some of the adder beads are probably actual beads made from glass or enamel, that were found in the same way as the old spindle-whorls. Adder stones can offer protection against witchcraft as well, but are generally used for healing purposes. Gregorson Campbell describes them as "Of all the means of which superstition laid hold for the cure of disease in man or beast, the foremost place is to be assigned to the serpent stone (clach nathrach), also known as called the serpent bead or glass ((glaine nathair)." Unlike mare stanes, they don't offer protection from nightmares or being 'hag ridden,' but they are the go-to cure for snake bites in particular (the only potentially deadly snake in Britain being the adder), amongst more general cures.

There are also such things as snail beads (cnaipein silcheig) and frog or toad stones (clach nan gilleadha cràigein). The snail bead is said to be produced by the at least four snails who form them into a mass and somehow "manufacture" the stone between them and is described as being "a hollow Cilinder of blue Glass, composed of four or five Annulets: So that as to Form and Size it resembles a midling Entrochus." It can be used as a cure for sore eyes and breakouts of tetter on the mouth, but also serves to protect against danger. The frog stone, on the other hand, seems to have been a fossilised tooth known as bufonite, although popular belief held that it was formed in a frog or toad's head. Its main value was as a protection or antidote against poison.

I have a few mare stanes now so I might work the smallest of them into a charm I can wear; the one I found yesterday is way too big to wear - it seems to be a mixture of quartz and mica layers - so it's sat on my shelf at the moment. Maybe I'll hang it above the front door at some point, to keep my rowan company. The heart-shaped stones I seem to be collecting now might make good charm stones too; healing stones were often chosen for their shape, being sympathetic to whatever it was they were supposed to cure.


Further Reading:
George F. Black's Scottish Charms and Amulets
F. Marian McNeill's The Silver Bough Volume I: Scottish Folk-Lore and Folk-Belief
Ronald Black's The Gaelic Otherworld
Hugh Cheape's 'From Natural to Supernatural: The Material Culture of Charms and Amulets', in Fantastical Imaginations: The Supernatural in Scottish History and Culture, edited by Lizanne Henderson