Irish folklore is horrible, and I mean that in the best way. Violence, sex and the supernatural entwine in epic tales of ancient history and everyday stories of ghosts, fairies and ordinary folk. Wry humour and dark twists are never far away.
Despite Walt Disney’s best efforts, there’s nothing twee about Ireland’s fairies. There are parts of Ireland where you can barely step outside without tripping over a fairy fort. That’s a risky business, because Irish people know that the fairy folk are unforgiving if you disrespect their places.
The Tuatha de Danaan
There’s nothing little about them, either. Ireland’s fairies are the descendants of the Tuatha dé Danaan, a godlike race who populated Ireland until the Milesians ousted them, thousands of years ago. According to myth, the Milesians are the ancestors of the Gaelic Irish.
The Milesians forced or tricked the Tuatha dé Danaan to live in a mysterious otherworld. It’s entered via ruined hill forts, burial mounds and standing stones, hence their name: Aos Sí, “people of the mounds”. They’re sometimes called Sidhe, which also means the fairy mounds or “the palaces, courts, halls or residences” of the aos-sí.
The aos-sí were my first stop for an Irish horror story: a magical race, tricked into the underground by modern invaders. It’s hard to deny the parallel with Ireland’s modern history of invasion and oppression by an outside force. The aos-sí may never recover their kingdom but they might try, and if they can’t get it back, they can make trouble for the people up top.
Tír na nÓg: the Land of the Young
The aos-sí are generally described as stunningly beautiful, often very tall, though they can also be terrible and hideous. They’re also immortal, and sidhe is synonymous with being immortal or long-lasting. It’s also compared to the Gaelic word sídsat, meaning “they wait or remain”.
The world of the aos-sí is Tír na nÓg, the Land of the Young, ruled by Manannán mac Lir, the over-king of the Tuatha dé Danaan. They may be immortal, but a short visit can be a very long time in our world. Vistors who stay there for any period which is a multiple of three (usually days) extend this time, sometimes into hundreds of years.
It’s usually described as a beautiful place, a forested wilderness or flowery meadow, inhabited by beautiful people (women in particular, because it’s usually horny young heroes doing the visiting). In Tír na nÓg, crops grow and harvest themselves, a single pig provides an everlasting feast, and seven cows and seven sheep provide enough milk and wool for everyone. The feast of Goibniu grants immortality to the Tuatha dé Danaan, when they’re not busy with poetry, music, entertainment.
Banshees and changelings
But Irish folklore is nothing if not contradictory. The beautiful aos-sí women of Tír na nÓg must also be the feared “ban-sí” (the prefix ban means “female”), or woman of the mounds. Ban-sí can be old crones or beautiful women, who wail or keen when death is about to strike Irish families who can trace their roots back to the Milesians.
It is said that Aoibheall was a ban-sí queen who played a magic harp that could cause men to die. There are also tales of ban-sí as the spirits of wronged women, often young peasant women made pregnant by wealthy men and cast aside. These spirits hound their wongdoers into an early grave.
Ireland’s National Folklore Collection was established in 1935. Today it holds two million pages of written lore, more than 10,000 hours of sound recordings and some 70,000 photographs and images. Much of this has now been digitised at Duchas.ie, where I found a rich source of folk beliefs from around Kinnitty in Offaly county, where my new story is based.
As a 21st-century humanist, it’s easy to think that folklore was nothing more than fireside entertainment. There’s plenty of evidence, though, that these were powerful beliefs that lived alongside Christianity well into the 20th century.
The murder of a modern changeling
A gruesome example of contemporary folk beliefs is the murder of Bridget Cleary, a 26-year-old Tipperary woman, in 1895. Changelings are normally thought to be babies swapped for fairy children by the fairy folk. In classic folklore style, it’s unclear why the fairies do this.
Bridget Cleary’s husband, Michael, appeared to believe that his real wife had been exchanged for a changeling. You might see a motive in that she was fairly independent for the time, she was sick, and the couple had no children to show for their eight years together.
One night, with an audience of friends and relatives, Michael and her own father accused Bridget of being a changeling. When she denmied it, they tried to force the fairy to bring her back. They threw urine over her, attempted to force feed her, threw her in front of the fireplace and menaced her with a piece of burning wood. Her clothes caught fire and Michael threw lamp oil on the flames. He kept others back as she burned to death, insisting that he would get his wife back from the fairies. Afterwards, they conspired to hide the body and pretend that Bridget was missing.
Michael Cleary was convicted of manslaughter and spent 15 years in prison in Portlaoise, where I live now. No-one questioned the honesty of Michael’s belief, though this isn’t just because so many people conspired with him. The English and middle-class Irish running the justice system were also happy to accept that rural Catholic Irish people were superstitious idiots.
Building on Irish folklore
It’s easy to treat Irish folklore and myths as canon that must not be altered. Bridget’s story, gruesome as it is, demonstrates the flexibility of myths and folklore. She wasn’t a child, but she could be a changeling, and the same rules applied for getting her back.
My new Nightmare Vacation is a loose follow-up to Blood River. It crosses three thousand years and draws on very real inspirations from a small corner of Ireland: a beheaded ancient princess, a strange carved stone and a mysterious 19th-century pyramid. There should be plenty of room to weave Irish folklore and myths into a new and frightening adventure.
2 replies on “Horrible folk: mining Irish folklore for new horror”
The weather might not agree yet*, but Lá Bealtaine is the beginning of summer in Ireland’s ancient Celtic calendar.
It’s also the beginning of the countdown to launching a new horror story, Blood Point. Sign up to my newsletter for exclusive previews.
Sandwiched between the spring equinox and summer solstice, Bealtaine, or “bright fire”, is one of the four fire festivals. Lughnasadh celebrates the harvest, Samhain the arrival of winter and Imbolc the start of spring.
Feasting begins on May 1st but it can last all through the month, which shares its name with the festival.
(* I’ve just put on an extra layer but it was shorts and sunglasses yesterday. The joys of Irish weather.)
Bealtaine rituals
Householders doused their fires at dawn and relit them from the Bealtaine bonfire at night. People performed rituals to protect cattle, crops and families from those mischievous sprites, the Aos Sí. As with all of the fire festivals, it’s a night when the sí are free to venture above the Earth.
These included running and driving cattle between two fires or torches, tying yellow ribbons to cow’s tails and milk pails, and decorating houses with yellow May flowers. These include primrose, rowan, hawthorn, gorse, hazel, and marsh marigold. Lone rowan and hawthorns are often found in fairy forts and this is one of the few times when it’s acceptable to cut them.
Cattle might be taken to a fairy fort, a small amount of their blood collected and poured an offering. Farmers would lead a procession around the boundaries of their farm to protect their produce and encourage fertility. Three black coals placed under a butter churn will ward off the sí from stealing the butter.
Above all, you don’t give milk, butter or other produce on Bealtaine and the other fire festivals. It might enable your neighbour to steal them for the rest of the year!
Hawthorns are often associated with Ireland’s fairies, the Sí.
Good looks and great whiskers
The water and dew of Bealtaine were thought to be filled with good luck. People vied to collect the first water from the well and collect dew from the grass and flowers.
Maidens would roll in the dew at sunrise and wash their faces in Bealtaine dew to protect their skin. A man who washed in the Bealtaine water would grow long whiskers!
But it was not a day for births — people and livestock — or marriages, all of which were thought to be ill-fated.
The hill of Uisneach in County Westmeath was a site of fire festival celebrations in pagan Ireland. It’s also said to be the place where the Tuatha Dé Danann entered the underworld. There they became the Aos Sí after they lost Ireland to the invading Celts.
Today, it’s the site of Ireland’s largest Bealtaine celebrations.
Encounter the Sí in Blood Point
Blood Point is my new horror story, inspired by Irish folklore and a peculiar landmark in County Offaly: the Kinnitty Pyramid.
I will be publishing extracts from Blood Point in my newsletter over the summer months, beginning in May. To ensure they land in your inbox, subscribe using the form below.
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Image credits:Bonfire silhoutettes by Alex McCarthy on Unsplash.Hawthorn flowers by Belinda Fewings on Unsplash.
Mission accomplished! I have photographed the Kinnitty Stone. It’s an ancient Irish artefact uncovered during the extension of St Finnian’s Church, Kinnitty, in the early 1800s, more than 1,000 years old. It’s also almost impossible to find pictures online and it’s been a challenge to see the real thing.
On Saturday evening, with the help of the Rev James Wallace, I made a date with the stone and finally snapped some pictures of a key artefact in my current Nightmare Vacations project.
The Kinnitty Stone, an ancient, possibly Christian artefact housed in St Finnian’s Church, Kinnitty. Image: Alexander Lane
The Kinnitty Stone, an ancient, possibly Christian artefact housed in St Finnian’s Church, Kinnitty. Image: Alexander Lane
Notes on the Kinnitty Stone, from the Journal of Antiquities in the Royal Irish Academy Image: Alexander Lane
Part of the Kinnitty Stone, an ancient, possibly Christian artefact housed in St Fininan’s Church, Kinnitty, in Co. Offally, Ireland. Image: Alexander Lane
Part of the Kinnitty Stone, an ancient, possibly Christian artefact housed in St Finnian’s Church, Kinnitty, in Co. Offally, Ireland. Image: Alexander Lane
Part of the Kinnitty Stone, an ancient, possibly Christian artefact housed in St Finnian’s Church, Kinnitty. Image: Alexander Lane
Part of the Kinnitty Stone, an ancient, possibly Christian artefact housed in St Finnian’s Church, Kinnitty. Image: Alexander Lane
Part of the Kinnitty Stone, an ancient, possibly Christian artefact housed in St Finnian’s Church, Kinnitty. Image: Alexander Lane
The base of the Kinnitty Stone, an ancient, possibly Christian artefact housed in St Finnian’s Church, Kinnitty. Image: Alexander Lane
St Finnian’s Church, Kinnitty, a 19th-century Church of Ireland church. Image: Alexander Lane
Uncovering the Kinnitty Stone
I don’t know why it’s so hard to see the Kinnitty Stone. Maybe Ireland is so awash with ancient rocks that no-one thinks it’s special. It can’t help that the dwindling congregation for the Church of Ireland1 means that small churches like St Finnian’s are rarely open outside of a weekly service on Saturday nights. As a Brit, I’m used to churches being open all day for anyone to wander into.
After several months, I finally managed to make a trip to Kinnitty coincide with the Saturday evening service and I took a few pictures before it began. St Finnian’s is a pretty little church with lovely stained glass windows, roofed with dark beams. It’s a shame that it’s locked up for so much of the week.
The stone is roughly rectangular, about 150cm tall, 45 cm wide and 18 cm deep (4’10” x 17.5” x 7” in old money). It’s inscribed with a central cross, squiggles that may be serpents or flames, and swirls that might be the ancient Irish Ogham script. Unfortunately, it was buried for centuries, so the marking have lost their definition and there’s a green stain or growth across much of the face that makes the design even harder to see. It sits in the porch of St Finnian’s Church.
The Kinnitty Stone: is it Christian?
The Royal Irish Academy lists it as a Christian artefact, but Christianity has a habit of appropriating Irish history and mythology into its own narrative. A lot of Irish saints are characters from pre-Christian legends, adopted by early missionaries to win over the locals.
It’s no accident that All Saints Day follows the ancient pagan festival of Samhain, now known as All Hallows Eve, or Hallowe’en. Anything with a cross on it is automatically assumed to be Christian, even if it’s a square cross. So the current estimates of age and origin are based on the dates when Christians were active in Kinnitty. The stone could be much older.
It was a clear, dry night as I drove back over the Slieve Blooms, with the Milky Way clearly visible overhead (Irish readers will appreciate the rarity of this circumstance). Unfortunately, I also discovered that I don’t know how to use the night mode on my phone’s camera, so I’ve only got my memories of those stars, Jupiter’s bright gleam and the lights of Portlaoise below. Until the next time.
The CoI is an Anglican Protestant denomination of Christianity, set up by the English during our occupation of Ireland and forced upon the Irish in a ham-fisted act of cultural warfare against Catholicism. Its current unpopularity is hardly surprising. ↩︎