Hello again from Ireland where Samhain is nearly upon us. Did you know that Halloween (Samhain) originated in Ireland? We will have a further mailing shortly to explain!
In this month's issue we remember Granuaile (Grace O'Malley), the pirate Queen of Ireland. From the world of Irish mythology we recall the little known Mess Búachalla and how she thwarted attempts to be married off!
'The Legend of Knockfierna' is another story of old Ireland to enjoy by Thomas Crofton Croker, while we continue our new series of hikes and walks in Ireland by exploring Glendalough in County Wicklow. Surely one of the most scenic parts of the entire island.
If you have an article or story you would like to share then please do send it to us.
Until next time,
Michael
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NEWS FROM IRELAND
EDNA O'BRIEN, SUPERB IRISH AUTHOR, DIES AGED 93
The death has occurred of the world-renowned Irish author Edna O'Brien. The celebrated writer whose literary voice profoundly shaped contemporary Irish literature, passed away at the age of 93 in London.
Born on December 15th, 1930, in Tuamgraney, County Clare, O'Brien's early life in rural Ireland profoundly influenced her writing, which often delved into the complexities of the female experience and identity. She described herself as being the youngest child of 'a strict, religious family'.
'Unhappy houses are a very good incubation for stories'
Her debut novel 'The Country Girls', published in 1960, marked the beginning of her illustrious career and immediately caused controversy in what was still a very conservative and Church-dominated Ireland. The book, which candidly explored the lives and struggles of two young women in Ireland, faced immediate censorship for its frank portrayal of sexuality and rebellion against societal norms. It was condemned from the Pulpit by a hostile Clergy. Despite the backlash, the book garnered critical acclaim and established O'Brien as a bold and innovative voice in literature.
'I felt no fame. I was married. I had young children. All I could hear out of Ireland from my mother and anonymous letters was bile and odium and outrage'
Throughout her career, O'Brien authored numerous novels, short stories, and plays, weaving rich narratives that often highlighted the challenges faced by women in a patriarchal society. Her works, including 'The Lonely Girl', 'A Pagan Place', and 'The Little Red Chairs', received widespread recognition and numerous awards, including the Irish PEN Award and the James Tait Black Memorial Prize.
Her short story collection 'Saints and Sinners', won the 2011 Frank O'Connor International Short Story Award, which is the world's richest prize for that particular genre.
In addition to her fiction, O'Brien was an outspoken advocate for women's rights and social justice, using her platform to address issues such as abortion and domestic violence. Her writing not only captured the essence of Irish culture but also resonated with universal themes of love, loss, and resilience.
O'Brien's impact extended beyond literature as she inspired generations of writers, particularly women, to find their voices and share their stories. Her legacy endures through her powerful prose and unwavering commitment to exploring the human condition.
There were few enough Irish people willing to stand up against the Irish State and Church in the 1960's and 70's. To stand for truth and fairness. To expose the rot at the core of the cozy comfortable Irish elite.
Edna O'Brien will be remembered as one.
'We all leave one another. We die, we change - it's mostly change - we outgrow our best friends; but even if I do leave you, I will have passed on to you something of myself; you will be a different person because of knowing me; it's inescapable...' From 'Girl with Green Eyes'
There was once a very worthy King, whose daughter was the greatest beauty that could be seen far or near, but she was as proud as the Devil, and no King or prince would she agree to marry.
Her father was tired out at last, and invited every King, and prince, and duke, and earl that he knew or didn't know to come to his court to give her one trial more. They all came, and next day after breakfast they stood in a row in the lawn, and the Princess walked along in the front of them to make her choice.
One was too large, and says she: 'I won't have you, Beer-barrel!'
One was tall and thin, and to him she said, 'I won't have you, Ramrod!'
To a white-faced man she said, 'I won't have you, Pale Death!' and to a red-cheeked man she said,
'I won't have you, Cockscomb!'
She stopped a little before the last of all, for he was a fine man in face and form. She wanted to find some problem in him, but he had nothing remarkable but a ring of brown curling hair under his chin. She admired him a little, and then carried it off with, 'I won't have you, Whiskers!'
So all went away, and the King was so annoyed, he said to her, 'Now to punish your stubbornness, I'll give you to the first beggar-man or singing waster that calls' and, as sure as you know, a fellow all over wearing rags, with hair that came to his shoulders, and a bushy red beard all over his face, came next morning, and began to sing before the parlor window.
When the song was over, the hall-door was opened, the singer asked in, the priest brought, and the Princess married to Beardy. She roared and she shouted, but her father didn't mind her. 'There,' says he to the bridegroom, 'are five coins for you. Take your wife out of my sight, and never let me lay eyes on you or her again.'
Off he led her, and dismal enough she was. The only thing that gave her relief was the tones of her husband's voice and his genteel manners. 'Whose wood is this?' said she, as they were going through one. 'It belongs to the King you called Whiskers yesterday.' He gave her the same answer about meadows and cornfields, and at last a fine city. 'Ah, what a fool I was!' said she to herself. 'He was a fine man, and I might have had him for a husband.' At last they were coming up to a poor cabin. 'Why are you bringing me here?' says the poor lady. 'This was my house,' said he, 'and now it's yours.' She began to cry, but she was tired and hungry, and she went in with him.
Goodness! There was neither a table laid out, nor a fire burning, and she was obliged to help her husband to light it, and boil their dinner, and clean up the place after; and next day he made her put on a rough gown and a cotton handkerchief. When she had her house readied up, and no business to keep her busy, he brought home willow branches, peeled them, and showed her how to make baskets. But the hard twigs bruised her delicate fingers, and she began to cry. Well, then he asked her to mend their clothes, but the needle drew blood from her fingers, and she cried again. He couldn't bear to see her tears, so he bought a basket of pottery, and sent her to the market to sell them. This was the hardest job of all, but she looked so lovely and sorrowful, and had such a nice air about her, that all her pans, and jugs, and plates, and dishes were gone before noon, and the only mark of her old pride she showed was a slap she gave a fellow across the face when he asked her to go in an' take share of a quart.
Well, her husband was so glad, he sent her with another basket the next day; but, oh dear! her luck was after deserting her. A drunken huntsman came up riding, and his beast got in among her ware, and made mess of every one of them. She went home crying, and her husband wasn't at all pleased. 'I see,' said he, 'you're not fit for business. Come along, I'll get you a kitchen-maid's place in the palace. I know the cook.'
So the poor thing was obliged to stifle her pride once more. She was kept very busy, and the footman and the butler would be very cheeky about looking for a kiss, but she let a screech out of her the first attempt was made, and the cook gave the fellow such a thrashing with the broom that he made no second offer. She went home to her husband every night, and she carried broken food wrapped in papers in her side pockets.
A week after she got service there was great bustle in the kitchen. The King was going to be married, but no one knew who the bride was to be. Well, in the evening the cook filled the Princess's pockets with cold meat and puddings, and, says she, 'Before you go, let us have a look at the great doings in the big parlor.'
So they came near the door to get a peep, and who should come out but the King himself, as handsome as you please, and no other but King Whiskers himself.
'Your handsome helper must pay for her peeping,' said he to the cook, 'and dance a jig with me.' Whether she would or no, he held her hand and brought her into the parlor.
The fiddlers struck up, and away went him with her. But they hadn't danced two steps when the meat and the puddings flew out of her pockets. Every one roared out, and she flew to the door, crying piteously. But she was soon caught by the King, and taken into the back parlor.
'Don't you know me, my darling?' said he. 'I'm both King Whiskers, your husband the ballad-singer, and the drunken huntsman. Your father knew me well enough when he gave you to me, and all was to drive your pride out of you.'
Well, she didn't know how she was, with fright, and shame, and joy.
Love was uppermost, anyhow, for she laid her head on her husband's breast and cried like a child. The maids-of-honor soon had her away and dressed her as fine as hands and pins could do it; and there were her mother and father, too.
While the company were wondering what would be the end of the handsome girl and the King, he and his Queen, who they didn't know in her fine clothes, came in, and such rejoicings and fine doings as there was, none of us will ever see, anyway.
WONDERFUL PERSONALIZED JEWELLERY FROM IRELAND
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GRACE O'MALLEY: GAELIC PIRATE QUEEN OF IRELAND
In the annals of Irish history there are many huge figures that dominate the historical landscape. Stories of revolution and political intrigue are often romantized and survive the passage of time.
Born during the reign of King Henry VIII the exploits of Grace O'Malley have long since become legendary. The Gaelic 'Queen of the Irish Seas' was known by a number of names including Granuaile, Grainne Ni Mhaille and Graney O'Mally but perhaps the most startling aspect of her life is the impact she made as a woman, in what was a very male-dominated world.
Born in Connaught in the west of Ireland in 1530 Grace inherited a large shipping business from her father and land from her mother, becoming very wealthy by sixteenth century standards. She married and had three children before commencing on her famous career on the high seas where she ran three pirate ships and up to 200 men as she opposed the many English attempts to remove her.
Her husband was an O'Flaherty who was executed by Queen Elizabeth's colonists who were trying to completely subjugate the Irish way of life. In 1556 she married again, this time to Iron Richard Burke and had a son named Tibbot. Captured and jailed for two years she returned to her homeland in Connaught to continue her defiance.
Perhaps it was fate that on the throne of England sat another strong woman. In 1558 Grace petitioned Queen Elizabeth I for the release of her two sons and half-brother who had been captured by the English governor of Connaught, Sir Richard Bingham. It was famously rumored that she had a concealed weapon on her person when meeting the Queen and that she refused to bow before her, not recognising English rule over Ireland.
Queen Elizabeth I pardoned her in an attempt to bring peace to the region but this attempt failed as the local English administrators continued to goad the woman who had been a thorn in their side for years. Realizing that the meeting had no real long-term effect Grace O'Malley returned to her campaign of harassing the English and supporting the Irish rebels of the time.
Fighting and defiance were her only means of survival and this she did until the Irish defeat at the Battle of Kinsale in 1601 checked her dominance. She died in 1603 although the exact place of her death is uncertain. It is only in recent decades that her full influence on Irish history has been acknowledged.
It is an indication of her impact though that her name has been used in poetry to represent Ireland - a worthy honour.
ON YOUR HIKE! THE SPINC AT GELNDALOUGH
Glendalough is one of the most scenic places in Ireland. The amazing valley that was carved out of the landscape by a huge glacier is the dream of every Irish Geography teacher! Entering the valley from the Visitor's Centre the views can be spectacular, but can look even better from above!
It is thus that the ridge above the valley known as 'The Spinc' comes into focus. The Spinc (from Gaelic words meaning 'pointed hill'), rises gently from the ruins of the Miner's village at the far end of the valley. A series of wooden boardwalks lead to the steep cliffs overlooking the valley with amazing views at the top.
This is a pretty strenuous walk, taking in approximately 10Km and taking 2.5 to 3 hours (depending on fitness and the pace). It is very do-able once the usual basic preparations are followed (proper hiking books - not runners!, plenty of water, lightweight rain-gear, charged phone, and telling someone in advance where you are going ).
There are two car-parks at Glendalough. The first is at the Visitor Centre where you can amble down to visit St. Kevin's Tower, a sixth century Monastic settlement. Many people complete this walk around the Lower Lake, visit the Tower and then head back the way they came to the Cafe. But the main Spinc hike involves going much further up to the top of the Upper Lake, and then back around the far size, in a loop back to the car-parks. There is a second car-park located at the start of the Upper Lake (ie in between the two lakes), where the actual Spinc hike properly starts from.
So, the question at this stage is whether to begin the loop clockwise or counter-clockwise. The main rocky terrain (ie clambering through boulders and gravel scree) is at the very top of the loop near the Miners Village . If you don't really like walking down on boulders then it would be best to approach them first, climb them, and then proceed along the rest of the loop to bring you home. This is the counter-clockwise route.
Starting at the upper car park you proceed around the lake on the right side as you approach it. This first part is a pleasant flat walk along the lakeside through trees along a very good track. Reaching the boulders mentioned above you ascend carefully before reaching the small bridge that will lead you across the water to begin the ascent up the boardwalks.
Rising to the top of the cliffs there are a number of winding sections which each provide their own viewing points of the spectacular views of the hills surrounding Dublin and Wicklow. The car-park and Visitor Centre will then come into view below and the descent is made by travelling along the trail towards the back of the Spinc ridge, down the winding forest trail, admiring the Poulanass Waterfall on your right as the trail leads you down and back to the car-park.
Many people set off from the car-park and proceed clockwise up past the waterfall (now on your left), up the hill and along the cliff-ridge for a hundred metres before turning around and going back the same way they arrived. A shorter hike for sure, but well worth the effort if stuck for time or with non-committed hikers in tow (ie, most kids).
Getting to Glendalough from Dublin can be tricky. Arriving by car is the obvious way to do it and if driving then park at the upper car park, as described (there is a small fee to park and the usual food and coffee vans in operation). There are also several tour companies that operate services to Glendalough and there is a public transport bus (the 185) , that leaves from St. Stephen's Green in the heart of Dublin city and arrives at the Visitor Centre about 70 minutes later (depending on the time of the day you set off!). Make sure you learn how to use the 'LEAP' card(external video) when using Dublin public transport and you are all set up.
Glendalough is always popular with families who enjoy the picnic areas, the small beach area at the start of the Upper Lake, and of course a visit to the Tower. It makes a great day out but, as always, check the weather first. Try to arrive when it is sunny and dry (in Ireland that can be a challenge), but even if it is dull and overcast, this is still a fantastic way to get out into the Irish countryside.
THE LEGEND OF KNOCKFIERNA by Thomas Crofton Croker
It is a very good thing not to be any way in dread of the fairies, for without doubt they have then less power over a person - but to make too free with them, or to disbelieve in them altogether, is as foolish a thing as man, woman, or child can do.
It has been truly said that 'good manners are no burthen,' and that 'civility costs nothing-' but there are some people foolhardy enough to disregard doing a civil thing, which, whatever they may think, can never harm themselves or any one else, and who at the same time will go out of their way for a bit of mischief, which never can serve them- but sooner or later they will come to know better, as you shall hear of Carroll O'Daly, a strapping young fellow up out of Connaught, whom they used to call, in his own country, 'Devil Daly'.
Carroll O'Daly used to go roving about from one place to another, and the fear of nothing stopped him- he would as soon pass an old churchyard or a regular fairy ground, at any hour of the night, as go from one room into another, without ever making the sign of the cross, or saying, 'Good luck attend you, gentlemen.'
It so happened that he was once journeying in the county of Limerick, towards 'the Balbec of Ireland,' the venerable town of Kilmallock- and just at the foot of Knockfierna he overtook a respectable-looking man jogging along upon a white pony. The night was coming on, and they rode side by side or some time, without much conversation passing between them, further than saluting each other very kindly- at last, Carroll O'Daly asked his companion how far he was going.
'Not far your way,' said the farmer, for such his appearance bespoke him: 'I'm only going to the top of this hill here.'
'And what might take you there,' said O'Daly, 'at this time of the night?'
'Why, then,' replied the farmer, 'if you want to know, 'tis the good people!'
'The fairies, you mean,' said O'Daly. 'Whist! whist!' said his fellow-traveller, or 'you may be sorry for it-' and he turned his pony off the road they were going towards a little path which led up the side of the mountain, wishing Carroll O'Daly good-night and a safe journey.
'That fellow,' thought Carroll, 'is about no good this blessed night, and I would have no fear of swearing wrong if I took my Bible oath that it is something else beside the fairies, or the good people, as he calls them, that is taking him up to the mountain at this hour. '
The fairies!' he repeated- 'is it for a well-shaped man like him to be going after little chaps like the fairies? To be sure, some say there are such things, and some say not- but I know this, that never afraid would I be of a dozen of them, ay, of two dozen, for that matter, if they are no bigger than what I hear tell of.'
Carroll O'Daly, whilst these thoughts were passing in his mind, had fixed his eyes steadfastly on the mountain, behind which the full moon was rising majestically. Upon an elevated point that appeared darkly against the moon's disc, he beheld the figure of a man leading a pony, and he had no doubt it was that of the farmer with whom he had just parted company.
A sudden resolve to follow flashed across the mind of O'Daly with the speed of lightning: both his courage and curiosity had been worked up by his cogitations to a pitch of chivalry- and muttering, 'Here's after you, old boy,' he dismounted from his horse, bound him to an old thorn tree, and then commenced vigorously ascending the mountain.
Following as well as he could the direction taken by the figures of the man and pony, he pursued his way, occasionally guided by their partial appearance: and after toiling nearly three hours over a rugged and sometimes swampy path, came to a green spot on the top of the mountain, where he saw the white pony at full liberty, grazing as quietly as may be. O'Daly looked around for the rider, but he was nowhere to be seen- he however soon discovered close to where the pony stood an opening in the mountain like the mouth of a pit, and he remembered having heard, when a child, many a tale about the 'Poul-duve,' or Black Hole of Knockfierna - how it was the entrance to the fairy castle which was within the mountain- and how a man, whose name was Ahern, a land sur-veyor in that part of the country, had once attempted to fathom it with a line, and had been drawn down into it, and was never again heard of- with many other tales of the like nature.
'But,' thought O'Daly, 'these are old women's stories- and since I've come up so far I'll just knock at the castle door, and see if the fairies are at home.'
No sooner said than done- for seizing a large stone as big, ay, bigger than his two hands, he flung it with all his strength down into the Poul-duve of Knockfierna. He heard it bounding and tumbling about from one rock to another with a terrible noise, and he leant his head over to try and hear if it would reach the bottom—when what should the very stone he had thrown in do but come up again with as much force as it had gone down, and gave him such a blow full in the face that it sent him rolling down the side of Knockfierna head over heels, tumbling from one crag to another, much faster than he came up- and in the morning Carroll O'Daly was found lying beside his horse, the bridge of his nose broken, which disfigured him for life, his head all cut and bruised, and both his eyes closed up, and as black as if Sir Daniel Donnelly had painted them for him.
Carroll O'Daly was never bold again in riding alone near the haunts of the fairies after dusk- but small blame to him for that- and if ever he happened to be benighted in a lonesome place he would make the best of his way to his journey's end, without asking questions or turning to the right or to the left, to seek after the good people, or any who kept company with them.
The winner was: sorcha.obrien@live.ie
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