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Hello again from Ireland where the Winter darkness has really enveloped the country once again and with Samhain behind us our attention will soon turn to all things Christmas! In this month's issue we recall the historical significance of W.T. Cosgrave, the important link in the early Free State between the rebel tradition and the new political reality. Our Irish mythology tale this month brings us the story of the very first inhabitant of Ireland: the magnificent Ceasair. 'Shy Man' is another lyrical tale of old Ireland to enjoy by Pat Watson while we continue our new series of hikes and walks in Ireland by climbing Bray Head in Wicklow.
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Ceasair, Cessair or Cesair - pronounced: 'kess-air' Ceasair was the leader of the earliest inhabitants of Ireland, the people who settled in Ireland before even the time of the Biblical flood. Ceasair was the leader of the earliest inhabitants of Ireland, the people who settled in Ireland before even the time of the Biblical flood. Her exploits are recorded in the ancient manuscript 'Lebor Gabala Erenn', also known as the 'Book of Invasions' as it chronicled the arrival of the earliest peoples who inhabited Ireland. First were the people of Ceasair, then the people of Partholon, the people of Nemed, the mysterious Fir Bolg, the supernatural Tuatha De Danann, and finally the Milesians who are the Gaels from which the modern people of Ireland are descended. Ceasair was the granddaughter of Noah, who was refused entry onto the Ark by her grandfather and so decided to create three Arks of her own. When Ceasair was but ten years old her foster father, a priest in Egypt, told her to gather together a group and set out in order to escape the flood that was to soon follow. She built a fleet of three ships which she populated with as many capable women as she could find, each possessing a different skill. When her own father Bith was refused entry onto the Ark, along with Fintan Mac Bochra and Ladra, Ceasair offered to bring these three men to safety as long as they acknowledged her leadership. They set sail for Inis Fail (the land of destiny, Ireland), reasoning that as Ireland was as yet unpopulated by man that no sin could have ever been committed there, and so would be safe from the flood sent to cleanse the world of evil. The journey was perilous and took seven years but finally the people of Ceasair arrived in Ireland. It was the year 2361 BC according to 'The Annals of the Four Masters', but only one ship had survived the journey, this containing fifty women and three men. They decided to divide the women into three groups, each group to take one of the men to populate the land. They also divided up the sheep they had brought with them (the first sheep to come to Ireland). Ceasair allocated herself to Fintan's group. Banba, a great warrior woman, was the leader of Ladra's group. Now this was a huge responsibility for the three male warriors who remained with these women. And for Bith it was too much and he soon succumbed to illness, having been overwhelmed by the responsibility of impregnating sixteen women. He became the first man to be buried in Ireland. Ceasair and Alba divided his women and brought them into their own groups. Ladra, incapable of surviving the now increased greater demands, also died, which left Fintan as the only man on an island of fifty women! Feeling inadequate in the face of this mammoth task, his reaction was perhaps unsurprising: Fintan fled. He hid out in a mountain cave and when the flood struck he took the form of a salmon fish, and then a hawk, surviving for over five thousand years. Ceasair was broken-hearted at having been abandoned by her great love and died shortly afterwards. As for the remaining women they were all washed away in the flood, all apart from Banba. It is remembered that Banba and Fintan, the only two to survive, later gave existence to the mysterious and supernatural Formorians. Ceasair was the first inhabitant of Ireland, a fantastic leader able to exert her authority and power over all who followed here. She was unwilling to wait patiently while a wrathful God planned her extermination! She is thought to have been the earliest Irish Goddess, displaying power and sexuality, common traits in Irish Goddesses that were to follow her. Read more amazing Stories of Irish Legends and Mythology. |
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Even though he was seven years her senior, Paddy had been admiring Mary from a distance for many years. Not that it did him any good because he lacked the courage to do anything about it. Oh he had plenty of courage on the football field or handling livestock but with girls it was different. He often started out determined to carry through but always chickened out at the last minute. Whenever he practised a few sentences in front of the mirror they sounded great but he could never repeat the words when faced with Mary, her half smile, her feminine gait, her air of serenity, her gentleness just melted his heart and tied his tongue. With a mumbled hello his jellied legs always scuttled him away. Now it was different, his Mother had died six long months ago last spring, the loneliness was unbearable. Mary was always on his mind and he would turn forty before Christmas. He just had to kick himself into action. He thought of a plan. Mary lived with her brother Tom who played cards in the village every Tuesday night. At that time the carbide lamp was the latest status symbol of dashing young men. It was a sophisticated piece of equipment. It had a bottom chamber for white carbide powder, a higher chamber with water that dripped on to the powder, forming a flammable gas, a jet protruding into the light chamber where the gas would be lit by a match and finally a little glass door to protect the flame. There was a screw tap to accurately control the water flow as too little or too much yielded no gas. There was also a built-in pump to keep the gas pressed through the jet at the right speed to create a perfect blue flame. The mirror type reflector then threw the light onto the road ahead when the whole contraption was clipped on to the bicycle. In the event of power failure, it would be necessary to call to the nearest house for a light to reset the whole thing. Now for the plan, he would call to Mary's house on Tuesday night to regulate his carbide lamp. He would call with the lamp in his hand, then even if his voice failed him, she would know what he wanted and she would invite him into the light. Then as he dazzled her with his dexterity, technical wizardry and ultra-modern equipment, speech would surely come. She might even offer him tea. He would look at her, admire her, and just be beside her. She would smile at him - oh that smile! No, no, this was too good to be true. Something would go wrong. Don't be negative, what can go wrong? There will be only the two of us and after a while his courage would come. He knocked at the door. Mary opened it. He held up the lamp. 'Paddy, you want to regulate your lamp? come into the light, Lorna's girls are here visiting. They came to say goodbye, Meg and Peg are for America tomorrow.' The kitchen was full of big redhead girls, four of them, all late teens. They were nieces, her older sister - Lorna had married Big Red Hanrahan from the mountain over twenty years ago. They had wild sons who emigrated but not before they had made a name for themselves fighting at football matches and dances. He hoped the girls would be more agreeable. They weren't. 'Did your little blue light go out?' Loud Laughter. 'Was it ever lit?' More laughter. 'Is your carbide dry?' 'No his pump is faulty' 'I think it's his little jet' Hysterical laughter. They had certainly taken after their father, with a loud brash manner, roaring red hair, big noses and little beady eyes. Mary had disappeared. He ran from the house, clasping his lamp, a broken man, distraught, humiliated, broken-hearted with the salt-tears of anger, frustration and failure burning his eyes, the coarse, squealing, mocking laughter ringing in his ears. Talk about bold, bawdy, brazen lady-dogs, those were they. Nothing could go wrong, like always, nothing went right. He had really blown all his chances with Mary now. He would never live it down. He would have to emigrate. He would have to live his whole life without love or companionship, without Mary. The thought was unbearable. He was definitely a case for the foreign legion, without hope. When he reached his bike, Mary was there. She left her hand on his and smiling said: 'Yes is my answer to your question.' They needed no light after that. Pat Watson 'Shy Man' is one of sixty lyrical yarns from 'Original Irish Stories' by Pat Watson, Creagh, Bealnamulla, Athlone, Ireland. First published in May 2006. Visit: https://goo.gl/59k3Ew or you can email the author here: pjwatson77@gmail.com |
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