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

An Cailleach Bheara

A post on Samhainn will follow shortly, but in the meantime I just wanted to bring a beautiful short film to your attention.

I can't embed the video here, it seems, but follow this link to watch it - it's only eight minutes long and the visuals are quite beautiful. The film references a few traditional stories about An Cailleach Bheara, although it concentrates on one in particular; I found this ages ago and meant to post it, but lost the link and it's only now I've found it - in good time for the season, perhaps!

Anyway, if you haven't seen it already, enjoy.

The Gruagach, the Guaigean and the Geige

 A gruagach is a local land spirit in Scotland, who is said to look after cattle in the summer pastures, to make sure they don't wander off and come to any harm. It seems that to a certain extent the gruagach has come to be conflated with a brownie, which is probably not too much of a stretch considering the fact that they are both helpful to humans (with caveats), and will both take themselves elsewhere if you give them clothes.

In a lot of lore about spirits, you tend to find that offerings are very much encouraged when trying to build a relationship with them, but too much gratitude will backfire spectacularly. The gruagach is helpful so long as they are treated right; it is traditional to leave some milk for them in the hollow of a special stone, with offerings given to them at Bealltainn as well, and in some places the offerings are kept up (though unfortunately the one video I've seen about it has now been taken down). Traditionally, if their offerings are neglected the gruagach might not look after your cattle, or worse - they might deliberately lead them to harm. In many ways, the gruagach bears all the hallmarks of a pre-Christian local deity, even if their name might not be known anymore, but according to some the gruagach may be a ghost of someone local, who haunts the glens and looks kindly on people.

Thomas Pennant and Martin Martin both write about the gruagach in their work dating back to the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and you can find an essay on the gruagach in one of Pennant's volumes. Their name refers to their long hair (a motif that points to their Otherworldly nature), and usually they're female. In some parts of Scotland, like on Skye, they're more likely to be male (and tend to be the default explanation for how a pretty young maid might have got pregnant out of wedlock while she was up on the summer pastures).

So in general, they seem to be the kind of spirits that we want to propitiate, and it all seems quite simple. Looking through the Carmina Gadelica late one night last week, though, I found some interesting notes on the gruagach in Volume II, which have coincidentally good timing for Samhainn:

Gruagach, a supernatural female who presided over cattle and took a kindly interest in all that pertained to them. In return a libation of milk was made to her when the women milked the cows in the evening. If the oblation were neglected, the cattle, notwithstanding all precautions, were found broken loose and in the corn; and if still omitted, the best cow in the fold was found dead in the morning. The offering was poured on 'clach na gruagaich,' the 'gruagach' stone. There is hardly a district in the Highlands which does not possess a 'leac gruagaich'--a 'gruagach,' flag-stone--whereon the milk libation was poured. I have seen such stones in Arran, Kintyre, Gigha, Islay, Mull, Lismore, Kerara, Lorn, Iona, Tiree, Coll, Barra, South Uist, Benbecula, North Uist, Heisgeir, St Kilda, Harris, Lewis, Sutherland, Ross, at Culloden, Cawdor, Lochaber, and in various other places. All these oblation stones are erratic ice-blocks. Some of them have a slight cavity into which the milk was poured; others have none, the libation being simply poured on the stone. In making the oblation the woman intoned a rune--

'A ghruagach, a ghruagach,
Cum suas mo spreidhe,
Cum sios an Guaigean,
Cum uap an Geige.'

Brownie, brownie,
Uphold my herds,
Keep down the 'Guaigean,'
Keep from them the 'Geige.'

There is probably no district in the Highlands where the 'gruagach' could not be fully described. A woman living in the remote island of Heisgeir described her so graphically and picturesquely that her interested listener could almost see moving about in the silvery light of the kindly moon the 'gruagach' with her tall conical hat, her rich golden hair falling about her like a mantle of shimmering gold, while with a slight swish of her wand she gracefully turned on her heel to admonish an unseen cow. At intervals he seemed to hear her mellow voice in snatches of eerie song as she moved about among the grassy ruins of the old nunnery--all silent now of the holy orisons of gentle sisters.

 CGII

The thing that interested me the most was the mention of the 'Guaigean' and the 'Geige' - it's not something I've seen much about in Scottish lore in general. In another note from Carmichael (at the same link, as above), there is a description of the Geigean:

Geigean, Righ Geigean, Geigean, King Geigean. This was the term applied to the man who presided over the death revels. These were held in winter. Lots were cast, and the man upon whom the lot fell was elected king of the revels, over which he reigned from midnight till the old cock crew. A tub of cold water was poured over his head and down his throat, after which his face and neck were smeared with soot. When the man had been made as formidable and hideous as possible, a sword, scythe, or sickle was placed in his hand as an emblem of office...

A rhyme common among boys at play says:--

'Thaine mi o chri-chas,
Thaine mi o chruai-chas,
Thaine mi o Ghigean,
Thaine mi o Ghuaigean,
’S thig mi uat-s’ ma dh’f haodas mi.

I came from small peril,
I came from great peril,
I came from Geigean,
I came from Guaigean,
And I will come from thee if I can.

'Gigean' and 'Guaigean' are probably forms of 'Geigean.'

So the immediate conclusion seems to be that the offerings to the gruagach are in the hopes that the gruagach will then protect people against the Geige (or Géige, as it should be - Carmichael was terrible for not bothering with accents in the first two volumes especially) and the Guaigean. Considering Carmichael's comments on the Righ Geigean we might suspect that the latter perhaps represent spectres of wintry danger or death, effectively. And/or, considering one of the tales in the first link, of the ghostly gruagach who protected against murrain, she works against sickness spreading.

My first thought was to wonder if the rite described might have something to do with Samhainn (since the festival marks the start of winter); Carmichael was notoriously leery of mentioning Samhainn at all, albeit for a brief entry in the notes in volume II and a few other passing mentions, so he's unlikely to spell it out and it wouldn't be any wonder that he was vague on that point. Pulling out my trusty copy of The Gaelic Otherworld, Ronald Black's notes refers to the Righ Geigean ritual as being performed, specifically, at the beginning of winter (see p457), so that seems to confirm it. It's interesting that the taking of lots seems to mirror a similar practice from Bealltainn, where the men would come together and take turns, blindfolded, to pick out piece of bannock from a basket or cloth. In this case, at Bealltainn, whoever got the burnt piece of bannock called the cailleach beal-tine would effectively take on the burden of failure in the coming season; it would be assumed that they would struggle, in order to allow the rest of the community to prosper. It seems a similar idea is intended for the Righ Geigean - they suffer, so others don't have to.

It's not the only instance of Samhainn practices echoing those found at Bealltainn; it seems the practice of making offerings - by throwing pieces of bannock over the shoulder, with a prayer said - to keep away threats from livestock and family was performed at both Bealltainn and Samhainn. Interestingly, according to Dwelly, a guaigean can be defined as either "a thick, little round cake," or else "a short, stout man or boy." A géige, on the other hand, is primarily a branch or sapling, but can also refer to "a young, superfine female, nymph."

I've not found much else on the Géigean, aside from some hints that it may have been related to the urisk (or ùraisg) who often get lumped in with the brownie and gruagach as a kind of helpful spirit. This is a little confusing, because the ùraisg seems to have something of a more mischievous reputation than the others, but is generally harmless and solitary, preferring to hang around waterfalls or streams. If they happen to live near a farm they might also help out around the farmstead if given milk or cream. So not much like the dangers hinted at in Carmichael's prayer. They tended to have a wilder appearance than the gruagach, though, sometimes being described as half-goat, half-man or quite frightening to those who could see them. According to John Gregorson Campbell, at least some of them did have some association with wintry elements:

"A man passing through Srath Dubh-Uisg (near Loch Sloy at the head of Loch Lomond) on a keen frosty night heard an urisk on one side of the glen calling out: Reoth, reoth, reoth. "Frost, frost, frost."

This was answered by another urisk calling from the other side of the glen: Ceige-reoth, ceige-reoth, ceige-reoth. "Kick-frost, kick-frost, kick-frost."

The man, on hearing this, said, "Whether I wait or not for frost, I will never while I live wait for kick-frost." And he ran at his utmost speed till he was out of the glen."

Black, The Gaelic Otherworld, 2005, p106.

Ronald Black's notes on this say that Reoth and Ceige-Reoth more than likely refer to the names of the two urisks in the glen - Frost and Jack Frost, "as it were" (op. cit. p363). Furthermore, Ceige-Reoth here refers to the Géigean, ceige meaning "a mass of matted hair" and - aside from Ceige and Geige being very similar - the word denotes the "wild figure" of the Géigean himself.

All things considered, confusing though it might all be, it offers some food for thought for the coming season.

See also here, if anything, in case you're wondering how to pronounce guaigean!

A new blog

I've had it in my head for a while to start collating old tales and bits of lore and such, and keep it in a place that's easily accessible. The idea has been percolating for a while now (OK, over a year...), and seeing as I have an increasing amount of time on my hands at the moment, I thought now would be as good a time as any.

A while ago, on a whim, I set up a wordpress blog, so I figure I might as well use it and not let it go to waste. So here it is, without further ado:

Tairis Tales

My aim is to collect the tales and lore that can be seen to relate to gods and maybe-gods and (if I can keep on top of the tagging) form a kind of database so all the different permutations of the same tale, and al the different motifs, can be just a click away. Yes. I am sad like that...

Anyway, feel free to join me. There may be a few tweaks to come just yet, but I've already put the tales I've posted here up, with a little bit more from here and there. Everything that appears over there, just like the stuff I paste here, will be from older material that is copyright-free.

The Cailleach and the hunter

From The Emmet, 1823:

The Cailleach...had the most unlimited power over the elements. When a hunter kindled a fire in a sheeling to warm his benumbed limbs, after the fatigues of the chase, this sublime being although in a mountain of Perthshire strode in a moment from hill to hill, and was with the hunter at his blazing fire in a twinkling, though it had been kindled by him in the distant mountains of Ross-shire. She always attempted to destroy him whom she thus so unexpectedly and unwelcomely visited; and the means which she had recourse to for this purpose were various. She was much afraid of a dog and a loaded gun; and as these were companions which every hunter had along with him, she was not so successful in the trade of slaying as she naturally wished. The following song was sung by her one evening to scare a hunter from killing her deer. As the hunter was in the act of levelling his piece at a large stag that grazed in a green meadow between two mountains, she suddenly made her appearance on the frowning brow of a large precipice, and recited or sung as follows, and it almost is unnecessary to mention, that the hunter made the decentest speed possible towards the low grounds, when the last strain came rolling to his ear on the evening breeze...

Tiny hunter cease to roam,

O'er the piny heights where I make my dwelling; 

Tempt the roaring foam, 

Of ocean when high the trouble waves are swelling, 

But here where I hold my sway, 

O'er deep glen and mountain gray, 

Dare not venture night or day -

Tiny mortal roam not here! 

I am monarch of the deer,

Which bound over all these green mountains;

I partake of their cheer, 

The crystal stream so clear, 

And the cresses that fringe the blue fountains: 

Tis I that deform heaven's face with the storm, 

And sublime on the dark clouds career.

I revel 'mid the elemental war, 

At rest within my misty car, 

And send my voice in hollow moans afar, 

Down the dusky glen among the dwellings of men; 

And fill them with terror and fear!

Cease, then, my piny heights to climb,

Pollute not my green knoll of thyme, 

Where I hold my august court,

And with my fairy subjects sport, 

When the moon at her noon, 

Pours her silver stream of light, 

O'er the blue bosom of the silent night!

Tremble mortal, at my power, 

Leave my sacred dominion! 

Ere I cause the heavens lower, 

And whelm thee with a fearful shower, 

For sport to my fairy minions!

Hence away! child of clay, 

Go tempt the roaring foam, 

Of ocean, when high the troubled waves are swelling; 

But ne'er again stray where I hold my sway,

O'er the piny heights that I make my dwelling!

Manannán and the Shepherd

Time for something a wee bit different now, I think. This is a story I found in an article on the lore of Manannán, which I though I'd share (from 1924, so out of copyright).

Here's a bit of preamble that might be useful, too - some epithets and associations:

He is spoken of variously as the Old King, Mananan of the Flames [the least common name], the King of the Wanderers, the Sailor's Friend, and--most intimate and frequent of all the names-Himself. There are stories of his calling people away to his secret Island of Immortality beyond the western sea, or appearing to sailors or fishermen in danger and helping them-sometimes in distant parts of the world. He is the patron (sometimes openly acknowledged but oftener not) of sailors and beggars and poets and all careless wandering people; he has been seen rolling and leaping along the summits of the middle mountains in the form of a wheel of fire; and he is never very far away from the hills of his Island, or from the imaginations of his people when they speak or think of the unseen world.

The following story is called simply "Manannán and the Shepherd", recorded "from the top of Laxey glen, and relates to the same district" on the Isle of Man:

There was a man living up at the Griananes one time, and he had sheep on the Big Mountain [Snaefell]; and one day he was up after them alone on a middling thick evening in the winter. He had them all nearly gathered in a quiet corner ready for counting, and was thinking of making tracks before the dark would come on him, when he seen a big coarse-looking man and him all like in ragged clothing, coming straight for him through the mist.

"Good evening to thee, master," he says; and "Good evening to theeself," says my bold boy.

"It's a fine lot of sheep thou have there."

"Aw, middlin', middlin'. I'm just for counting them before I'll make tracks for home."

"A hard task, that," says the stranger.

"No, not hard at all when ye know the way," says the farmer - but the words weren't hardly out of his mouth till he heard a mighty big laugh and a sound like a little mocking tune. And behold ye, when he looked around him there wasn't a sign of a sheep nor man nor anything at all, only thick, thick mist going swirling around him, and a high wind blowing. And he heard a big voice shouting out in the wind:

"Count thy sheep now, master! Count thy sheep now! Do thou know the way, master?"

Well, he knew then that it was some fairy making gammon of him, but he was wild atchim [Manx: 'terror'] and started trying to find his way out of the mist. But no use at all, for it wasn't minutes till he was in a strange country altogether, and big, high rocks all standing round in the mist fit to frighten you, and all like the noise of water falling down in deep gullies and places, till he didn't know where he was at all. And the dark begun to come on, and then he knew he was fairly took, so he sat down and waited till the thing would lift off him.

But no sooner did he sit down and give in than he found the Big Ragged Fellow standing in front of him and saying:

"Didn't I give thee a fine race now, and wasn't it a hard task to count thy sheep for all? But sit you there now, and I'll make the hard task easy." And then the Big Fellow drove the sheep right past, slow and plain that he could see the mark on every one, and right into the same corner where they were before; and then the man found he was close on the track going down the glen for home.

"What sort of a wandering fairy-man art thou, playing tricks on a poor fellow that never did thee no hurt?" he said. But behold ye, when he looked at the Big Fellow again he was taller than ever, and a sort of shine around him, and like going away up the Big Mountain in the mist. And a soft, easy voice come slipping down the hill - not the same voice at all that was shouting and mocking at him before, only he knew it was coming from the Big Fellow - and it said:

"Who would I be, only the King of the Wanderers, travelling the land and playing pleasant tricks on the like of yourself for my own diversion? But thou'll be none the worse for thy race arounnd the mountain!"

And he wasn't neither, for he had great luck with all his stock from that on, and came to be the richest man in the parish.

'Mananan -The Sea God of Mann' From A Correspondent in the Isle of Man.

Journal of the Folk-Song Society, Vol. 7, No. 28, Manx Collection Part I (1924).

"The Cailleach is milking her goats to-night; don't you hear the milking-lilt?"

The tail end of Hurricane Katia seems to have blown itself out now so this one's probably a little late, but, as a kind of tradition I've just decided to keep up with, it's times like this that sharing stories and lore about her seems like a good way to honour the Storm Hag. She was definitely singing her milking-lilt these past few nights.

This is another story from K.W. Grant's Myth, Tradition and Story from Western Argyll (1925, p10), and this time it's about the Cailleach Bheinn a' Bhric. Enjoy:

“Beinn a' Bhric” - Trout Mountain – is in Lochaber. It's presiding genius was a “Bean-shìdhe” - fairy woman. (Sìdh, the abode of the gods; not sìth, peace as so often rendered.)

The Cailleach tended her herds of deer in Glen Nevis, and often milked them there, especially in the “dead” months of winter. The huntsmen heard her song as she milked her deer; for all Highland milkmaids were wont, in times past, to charm the milk from the cattle by keeping time with their fingers to a ringing lilt. The song of the Cailleach was unlike that of every other milkmaid; it was peculiar to herself, and unique in every respect.

Sometimes the women folk accused her of driving her deer to the shore to feed on dulse, or upon the tender blades of their winter kale. This was no more than women's gossip; the herds of the Cailleach loved not such pasturage.

It was known among the huntsmen that, as certainly as any one of them caught a glimpse of the Cailleach he might stay at home for that day, for he should have no “shooting-luck.”

Once when the tempests of late Autumn marched down the hills, a young hunter of stout heart, on hearing that the Cailleach was abroad, determined to brave her. From dawn till sundown, he hunted in the deer forest of Loch Tréig, the chosen haunt of the Cailleach, but never a trace of deer or roe did he light upon. When twilight came he betook himself for shelter to a hut built for that purpose by the huntsmen. As he gathered wood and leaves wherewith to light a fire on the hearth, he began out of sheer bravado to rhyme a taunt against the Cailleach, imitating her peculiar tune as he hummed the stanzas:-

The grizzled Cailleach, tall and stern,

Tall and stern, tall and stern;

The grizzled Cailleach, tall and stern,

Swift she glides o'er peak and cairn.

Cailleach Bheinn a' Bhric horó!

Bhric horó! Bhric horó!

Cailleach Bheinn a' Bhric horó!

Warder of the mountain well, etc.

The hunter had completed but a few stanzas when the Cailleach, lilting as was her wont, approached and saluted him.

“I am aware,” said she, “that thou hast wandered far to-day in search of game. I have come all the way from “Lagan-nam-féith” - Quagmire Hollow – since the first spark of fire fell on thy tinder, to give thee sure luck in hunting. To-morrow, as I milk my deer, watch thou, and whichever of the deer becomes restive, I will strike with the knob of my fetter. (A fetter was made of plaited horse-hair with a loop at one end and a knob of hard wood at the other for fastening it.) Note it well; take good aim, and thou shalt have good luck.”

The hunter obeyed; and from that day forward he never hunted in vain.

The baobhan sìth - 'fairy furies'

One of my favourite tales from Scottish legend is about the baobhan sìth - a kind of otherworldly vampire I suppose you could say. I've been trying to find the version of the tale that I remember studying at university, but alas it doesn't seem to be amongst my paperwork.

My trawls on the internet have turned up a couple of versions but they're not as good as the one I remember - there was something about it that I found genuinely creepy. But still, it's a good story, and I mentioned werewolves a few posts ago so I figure why not vampires now, eh? Of the following tales, the first one is closest to how I remember the story going.

So without further ado:

A notion was prevalent among the people of Lewis, and of the Highlands and Islands generally, that it was imprudent to wish — or rather to express a wish — for anything at any time of the night without simultaneously invoking the protection of the Deity.

If the invocation were forgotten or neglected they believed that their wish would be granted in some terrible manner. Probably this superstitious belief originated in the following and kindred stories.

Three men were hunting in the hills of Kintail. Having had but little success, and being reluctant to return home empty-handed, they agreed to pass the night in one of the shielings or huts, of which there were many on the moors. ('Shielings,' says my informant, 'much larger than those to be met with in Lewis.') Having lit a fire in the shieling they cooked some venison, of which they made a repast. After their meal they pulled some dry grass and moss and spread it on the floor to serve as a bed. Two of them sat on one side of the fire and the third at the other side began playing the trump (Jew's-harp). One of the two began to talk of their unsuccessful day's toil, but added that they would not grumble at their ill success were they now with their sweethearts. His comrade agreed with him heartily, and at the same time expressed a wish that their three sweethearts should be with them in the shieling.

Immediately three tall, handsome young women made their appearance, two of whom crossed over to the two men, the third remained with the musician. The fire was dimly burning, and the man could not see how things were going with his comrades and their two strange visitors, but he noticed to his consternation a stream of blood flowing towards the fire from the place where they were, and looking at the same time at the woman who sat by him he observed that her feet were not like human feet but like the hoofs of a deer.

His fears were terribly aroused, and he wished heartily to make his escape. He made an excuse to the woman that he must go out for some water to drink, but she ofiered to go herself. He declined and rose to go out. He no sooner made a movement to the door than the woman got up, and endeavoured to lay hold of him before he reached the door, but he escaped and ran with all possible speed towards the nearest human dwelling.

The woman pursued him with a speed equal to his own. At length he reached a glen which was inhabited, and there the woman gave up the chase, and exclaimed several times: 'Dhith sibhs' ur cuthaich fein ach dh'fhag mo chuthaich fein mise.' You ate your own victims (?), but my victim (?) escaped from me.

On the day following the people of the glen went to the shieling, where they found the mangled remains of the two men, their throats cut, their chests laid open, and their hearts torn away. I asked my informant who these women were. He wondered at my ignorance, and replied that they were 'Baobhan Sith' (Fairy Furies). He often related similar stories.

Carmichael, Celtic Review Volume V, 1905, pp163-165.

Reading between the lines we might think there's a clear implication of some hanky panky going on between the two victims and their otherworldly partners before (or during, let's say) their untimely demise. In this version of the tale there's also an implied link between the venison the hunters ate and the deer hoofs the baobhan sìth presented themselves as having - the baobhan sìth emphasises it when she says, "You ate your own victims (?), but my victim (?) escaped from me." In effect, offence has been caused - the men ate her kind (or kine) - deer being commonly associated with the sìth as being their 'cattle' - so she will devour him in return. Their wish for company gave the baobhan sìth the opportunity to carry out their revenge.

This next excerpt gives two other versions. The first version doesn't mention deer at all, and the tale is a more clear-cut case of vampirism and being careful what you wish for (and perhaps especially when you wish for what could be construed as 'loose women' - obviously a big no no in those times). I've tweaked the formatting to add some paragraphs in:

Four men from Strathmore, who were hunting among the hills, sought shelter one night in the shieling at Airigh nan Guthach, between Loch Droma and Braemore. To while away the time, one of them supplied vocal music puirt-a-beul while the others danced. One of the dancers ere long gave utterance to a wish that they had partners. Presently four young women came into the hut. After some introductory conversation, partners were appropriated, one of the women seated herself by the musician, and dancing was resumed, and was now carried on with much more vigour and enjoyment.

After some time spent thus, one of the men observed drops of blood falling from one of his companions. Concealing the alarm that the sight caused him, he told his partner that he wished to go outside for a little. She did her utmost to induce him not to go, and only when he proposed to let her hold an end of his plaid while he was without did she give a reluctant consent. Outside he pinned the free end of his plaid to the turf wall of the hut, and fled for his life. When his flight was discovered, his partner started in pursuit. Her companions spurred her on, calling " Cha bu tu do mhathair air t' aois. A Stiana chaoil, nach beir thu air!" "You are not your mother at your age. Slender Christina, can't you catch him!" Christina wailed back "Chaill mise mo dhubhach, 's dh' ith thusa do dhubhach!" "I have lost my dubhach, and you have eaten your dubhach." Before she could overtake the fugitive, he found refuge in a horse fold at Fasa-grianach. Once he got in alongside of the horses she was powerless to harm him. When daylight came he gave the alarm, and a party of friends and neighbours went to the shieling, and found only the lifeless remains of the other hunters. The creatures with whom they had associated had sucked the blood from their bodies.

The story is told with some or other of the following differences. The number of the men was three. They were on their way home over the Dirrie Mor to Lochbroom. They sought shelter in the hut from a storm. One of the dancers or the musician chanced to lower his glance, and saw that the women had hoofs. The musician stopped the music in his alarm, and his companions thereupon fell lifeless corpses. He started up to flee for his life. The woman at his side laid hold of his plaid to detain him. He threw off the plaid and fled. Her response to the incitement of her companions is "Mise 's mo dhubhach, mise 's mo dhubhach" "I and my dubhach, I and my dubhach!" 

In a "Guide to Ullapool and Lochcarron," published a few years ago, the name of the shieling is given as Airigh mo Dhubhach, and is derived from the wail of the mothers of the dead men "airigh mo dhubhach" 'shieling of my sorrow' but the name, as we have heard it, is Airigh nan Guthach. The word dubhach, so far as could be ascertained, is obsolete, and its meaning unknown. The reference, however, is evidently to the blood sucked from the victims by the hags, and the term is doubtless to be compared with dubhaith, a pudding, and duthatch, great gut, anus, sausage.

Rev. Robertson, 'Folklore from the West of Ross-shire,' in Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness Vol XXVI, 1907, pp268-269.

So there you go. Scottish vampires.

A tale of a different kind

I thought I'd post this tale, which I found in Grant Stewart's Myth, Tradition and Story from Western Argyll, because it has some interesting similarities with MacKenzie's tale The Coming of Angus and Bride, and it's that time of year where it's still relevant. I don't know about where you are, but the Cailleach's putting up a pretty good struggle round here at the moment.

Grant Stewart attributes the story to a Saxon-Hungarian woman named Malvina (whose name, she points out, will be "familiar to readers of Ossianic poems"), who she met in Romania:

There was once a very great witch, who was head over other eight witches. She had a daughter-in-law, to whom she was very unkind. She was so hard upon her that she made her life miserable. One day she handed her son's young wife a fleece of a brown sheep, bidding her go wash it white before bringing it back to her. The daughter-in-law obeyed. She took it to a brook and washed it till she was weary, weeping as she did so because her work was all in vain. Old Winter came that way, and asked her why she wept. She told him of her mother-in-law's command. "Give it to me," said Winter, and taking the brown fleece from her he washed it white. Giving the fleece back with one hand, he held out in the other a bunch of 'vioréle' (blue flowers resembling our wild hyacinth, but without scent. They are the frst to bloom in Transylvania, when the snows begin to melt). "Take this to your mother-in-law," said Winter. "If she asks any question, hold up these flowers and say, 'The flowers are out on the mountain.' "

The young wife returned home, handed the white fleece to her mother-in-law, and held up the buds, saying, "The flowers are out on the mountain." The old witch was enraged. She callled the other eight, and mounted on their goats, they rode off to the mountain. Borrowing three days from February, they began a fierce contest against all growth. Snow and hail, wind and rain were summoned to do battle, but the warm sun shone out, the south wind breathed, and Spring triumphed. The nine witches were turned into stone, and "there they sit," said Malvina, "on their goats, on the top of the mountain of Sílash in Temesvar; and on the anniversary of their defeat the fountains in their heads overflow, and their faces become blurred with weeping. My mother," added Malvina, "took me there to see them when I was a child of twelve."

 Grant Stewart, Myth, Tradition and Story from Western Argyll, 1925.

De Gabāil in t-Sīda in-so Sīs

On one of my last visits to the library I got a photocopy of Vernam Hull's translation of De Gabáil in t-Sída. Seeing as it's now out of copyright, and I haven't seen the translation online anywhere else with the Irish along with it, I thought I might as well copy it up (not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon, at the moment...).

Anyway, the English is first, followed by the Irish, for reference. There are two versions of the tale, of different dates and linguistic styles but basically the same content. Hull's translation is from the older version from the Book of Leinster, which is probably ninth century in composition, and while he gives both of the Irish versions in the article, he only gives one translation so I've only given the relevant one (from the Book of Leinster):



Here follows the Seizure of the Fairy Hill

There was a famous king over the Túatha Dé in Ireland. His name (was) Dagán. Great, then, was his power, even though it belonged to the Mac Míled after the conquest of the country, for the Túatha Dé destroyed the corn and the milk round about the Mac Míled until they made the friendship of the Dagda. Afterwards, he saved their corn and milk.

Now when he was king at first, his might was vast, and it was he who apportioned out the fairy mounds to the men of the Túatha Dé, namely Lug Mac Ethnend in Síd Rodrubán, (and) Ogma in Síd Aircelltraí, but for the Dagda himself Síd Leithet Lachtmaige, Oí Asíd, Cnocc Báine, (and) Brú Ruair. As, however, they say, he had Síd In Broga from the beginning.

Then Mac Oac came to the Dagda in order to petition for land after it had been distributed to each one. He was, moreover, a fosterling to Midir of Brí Léith and to Nindid, the seer.

"I have none for thee," said the Dagda. "I have completed the division."

"Therefore let be granted to me," said the Mac Ooc, "even a day and a night in thy own dwelling."

That then was given to him.

"Go now to thy following." said the Dagda, "since thou hast consumed thy (allotted) time."

"It is clear," said he, "that night and day are (the length of) the whole world, and it is that which has been given to me."

Thereupon the Dagda went out, and the Mac Ooc remained in his Síd.

Wonderful, moreover, (is) that land. Three trees with fruit are there always, and a pig eternally alive, and a roasted swine, and a vessel with marvellous liquor, and never do they all decrease.



De Gabāil in t-Sīda in-so Sīs

Boí rí amra for Tūathaib Dea i n-Hēre. Dagān a ainm. Ba mór, di·diu, a chumachta, ced la Maccu Mīled iar n-gabāil in tíre, ar collset Tūatha Dea ith 7 blicht im Maccu Mīled con·digensat) chairddes in Dagdai. Do·essart saide, īarum, ith 7 blicht dóib.


Ba mór, di·diu, a chumachtasom in tan ba rí i tossucch 7 ba hé fodail inna side do feraib Dea .i. Lug Mac Ethnend i Ssíd Rodrubán; Ogma i Ssíd Airceltrai. Don Dagdu fessin, immurgu, Síth Leithet Lachtmaige, Oí Asíd, Cnocc Báine, Brú Ruair. Síd in Broga, da·no, ba laiss i tossuch, amal as·berat.


Do·lluid, di·diu, in Mac Oac cosin Dagda do chungid feraind o fo·rodail do chách. Ba dalta saide, di·diu, do Midir Breg Léith 7 do Nindid fáith.


"Ní-mthá duit," ol in Dagda, "Tarnaic fodail lemm."


"Etar dam, di·diu," ol in Mac Ooc, "cid laa co n-aidchi it trib féin." Do·breth do-som ōn, īarum.


"Collá dot dāim, trā," ol in Dagda, "ūaire do·romailt do ré."


"Is menand," olse, "is laa 7 adaig in bith uile, 7 iss ed ōn do·ratad dam-sa." Luid, do·no, Dagān ass, īarum, 7 anaid in Mac Óoc ina Síd.


Amra, da·no, a tír hī-sin. A·taat tri chrand co torud and do grés, 7 mucc bithbēo for chossaib, 7 mucc fonaithe, 7 lestar co llind sainemail, 7 ni·erchran and sin uile do grés."


From: Vernam Hull, 'De Gabāil in t-Sīda,' in Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie Volume 19, 1933, pp53-58. See also: Paddy Brown's translation.