There was a woman put in her coffin for dead, but a man that was
passing by knew that she wasn't dead, and he brought her away and
married her and lived with her for seven years, and had seven children
by her. And one day he brought her to a fair near the place she came
from, and the people that saw her said: "If that woman that died ever
had a sister, that would be her sister." So he let it out to them then
about her. But his mother always minded her, that she wouldn't wet her
hands. But one day the mother was hurried, and the woman made a cake.
And after making it she washed her hands, and with that they had her
again and she went from the husband and from her children.
_A Herd:_
One time I was tending this farm for Flaherty, and I came in late one
evening after being out with cattle, and I sent my wife for an ounce
of tobacco, and I stopped in the house with the child. And after a
time I heard the rattle of the door, and the wife came in half out of
her mind. She said she was walking the road and she met four men, and
she knew that they were not of this world, and she fell on the road
with the fright she got, but she thought one of them was her brother,
and he put his hand under her head when she fell, so that she got no
hurt. And for a long time after she wasn't in her right mind, and
she'd bring the child out in the field, to see her brother. And at
last I brought her to the priest, and when we were on the way there
she called out that those fields of stones were full of them, and
they all dressed in tall hats and black coats. But the priest read
something over her and she's been free from them since then.
* * * * *
There were three women died within a year, one here, John Harragher's
wife, and two at Inishmaan. And the year after they were all seen
together, riding on white horses at the other side of the island.
* * * * *
There were two young women lived over in that village you see there,
and they were not good friends, for they were in two public houses.
And one of them died in January, after her baby being born. Some said
it was because of her mother or the nurse giving her strong tea, but
it wasn't that, it was because her time had come. And when the other
woman heard it she said to her husband, "Give me the concertina, and
I'll play till you dance for joy that Mrs. Considine is gone." But in
April her own child was born, and though the doctor tried to save her
he couldn't and she died.
And since then they're often seen to appear walking together. People
wonder to see them together, and they not friends while they lived.
But it's bad to give way to temper, and who is nearer to us than a
neighbour?
_A Young Woman:_
I know a girl that lost her mother soon after she was born. And surely
the mother came back to her every night and suckled her, for she'd lie
as quiet as could be, without a bottle or a hap'orth and they'd hear
her sucking. And one night the grandmother felt her daughter that was
gone lying in the clothes, and made a grab at her, but she was gone.
Maybe she'd have kept her if she'd taken her time, for there's charms
to bring such back. But the little girl grew, that she was never the
same in the morning that she was the night before, and there's no finer
girl in the island now. I call to my own mother sometimes when things
go wrong with me, and I think I'm always the better of it. And I often
say those that are gone are troubled with those they leave behind. But
God have mercy on all the mothers of the world!
_Mrs. Maher:_
There was a woman with her husband passing by Esserkelly, and she had
left her child at home. And a man came and called her in, and promised
to leave her on the road where she was before. So she went, and there
was a baby in the place she was brought to, and they asked her to
suckle it. And when she had come out again she said, "One question I'll
ask. What were those two old women sitting by the fire?" And the man
said, "We took the child today, and we'll have the mother tonight and
one of them will be put in her place, and the other in the place of
some other person." And then he left her where she was before.
But there's no harm in them, no harm at all.
_Tom Hislop:_
Scully told me he was by the hedge up there by Ballinamantane one
evening and a blast came, and as it passed he heard something crying,
crying, and he knew by the sound that it was a child that they were
carrying away.
* * * * *
And a woman brought in at Esserkelly heard a baby crying and a woman
singing to it not to fret, for such a woman would die that night or
the next and would come to mind her. And the very next night the
woman she heard the name of died in childbirth.
* * * * *
At Aughanish there were two couples came to the shore to be married,
and one of the new-married women was in the boat with the priest, and
they going back to the island. And a sudden blast of wind came, and
the priest said some blessed Aves that were able to save himself, but
the girl was swept.
_Peter Hanrahan:_
No, I never went to Biddy Early. What would they want with the like
of me? It's the good and the pious they come for.
I remember fourteen years ago how eleven women were taken in
childbirth from this parish. But as to the old, what business would
they have with them? They'd be nothing but a bother to them. There
was a woman living by the road that goes to Scahanagh, and one day a
carriage stopped at her door, and a grand lady came out of it, and
asked would she come and give the breast to her child, and she said
she couldn't leave her own children. But the lady said no harm would
happen her, and brought her away to a big house, but when she got
there she wouldn't stop, but went home again. And in the morning the
woman's cow was dead. And the husband that had a card for carding
flax looked through it; and in the place of the cow, there was
nothing but an old man.
* * * * *
And there was a man and a girl that gave one another a hard promise
he never to marry any other woman, and she never to marry any other
man. But he broke his promise and married another. And the girl died,
and one night he saw a sort of a shadow coming across the grass, and
she spoke to him, and it was the girl he had promised to marry, and
she kept him in talk till midnight. And she came every night after
that, and would stop till midnight, and he began to waste away and
to get thin, and his wife asked him what was on him, and she picked
out of him what it was. And after that the girl asked him to come and
save her, and she would be on the second first horse going through
a gap. And he went, and when he got there his courage failed, and he
did nothing to save her, but after that he never saw her again.
_Mrs. Roche:_
There was a woman used to go away with them, and they'd leave her at
the doorstep in the morning, and she wouldn't be the better for a
long time of all she'd gone through. She got out of it after, and was
a fine woman when I knew her.
* * * * *
My mother told me of a woman that used to go with them, and one night
they were passing by a house, and there was no clean water in it,
and it was readied up. And they said, "We'll have the blood of the
man of the house." And there was a big pot of broth on the fire for
the morning, for the poor people had no tea in those days; and the
woman said, "Won't broth do you?" And they took the broth. And in the
morning early, the woman after she was left back went to the house,
and there was the woman of the house getting ready the broth, for it
looked just like it did before. And she said, "Throw it out before
you lose your husband." For she knew that the first that would taste
it would die, and that it's to the man of the house that the first
share is always given.
* * * * *
My mother was always wanting to call one of her children Pat, the
name of her own father, but my father always made her give them some
different name. But when one of the youngest was born he said, "Give
him what name you like." So they gave him the name of her father;
and he was like the apple of her eye, she was so fond of him. But a
sickness came on him and he wasted away, and she went to a strange
forge and brought forge water away, for she wouldn't take it from our
own forge, and gave him a drink of it. And I saw her and I said to
her, "I'll tell my father you're giving forge water to Paddy." And
she said, "If you do I'll kill you," so I said nothing. And she gave
him a second drink of it and not a third, for he was gone before he
could get it. If it had been her own child, it would have saved him,
but she told me after she knew it was another, his kneecaps were so
big and other parts of his body.
There was another little one she lost. She was sitting one time
nursing it outside the door, and a lady and a gentleman came up the
road, and the lady said, "Who are you nursing the child for?" And
she said, "For no one in the world but God and myself." And then the
lady and the gentleman were gone and no sign of them, though it was a
straight road, you know that long straight road in Galway that goes by
Prospect, and it wasn't many days after that when the child got ill,
and in a few days it was dead. And when it was lying there stretched
out on two chairs, the lady came in again and looked at it and said,
"What a pity!" And then she said, "It's gone to a better place." "I
hope it may be so," said my mother, stiff like that; and she went away.
I was delicate one time myself, and I lost my walk, and one of the
neighbours told my mother it wasn't myself that was there. But my
mother said she'd soon find that out, for she'd tell me that she was
going to get a herb that would cure me, and if it was myself I'd want
it, but if I was another I'd be against it. So she came in and she
said to me, "I'm going to Dangan to look for the _lus-mor_, that will
soon cure you." And from that day I gave her no peace till she'd go
to Dangan and get it; so she knew that I was all right. She told me
all this afterwards.
_M. Cushin:_
It is about the forths they are, not about the churchyards. The
Amadán is the worst of them all.
They say people are brought away by them. I knew a girl one time near
Ballyvaughan was said to be with them for nine months. She never eat
anything all that time, but the food used to go all the same.
There was a man called Hession died at that time and after the
funeral she began to laugh, and they asked her what was she laughing
at, and she said, "You would all be laughing yourselves if you could
open the coffin and see what it is you were carrying in it." The
priest heard of her saying that and he was vexed.
Did they open the coffin? They did not, where would be the use, for
whatever was in it would be in the shape of some person, young or
old. They would see nothing by looking at that.
* * * * *
There was a woman near Feakle, Mrs. Colman, brought away for seven
years; she was the priest's sister. But she came back to her husband
after, and she cured till the day of her death came every kind of
sores, just putting her hand on them and saying, "In the Name of the
Father, of the Son, and the Holy Ghost."
There was a man in Gort was brought for a time to Tir-ran-og, that is
a part of heaven.
_A North Galway Woman:_
There was a woman died near this after her baby being born, and there
was only the father to mind it. And a girl of the neighbours that
came in to watch it one night said that surely she saw the mother
come back to it, and stoop down to the cradle and give it the breast.
And anyway she grew and throve better than any other child around.
And there was a woman died near Monivea, and sometimes in the daytime
they'd see her in the garden combing the children's hair.
* * * * *
There was a Connemara man digging potatoes in that field beyond, and
he told us that back in Connemara there was a woman died, and a few
nights after she came back and the husband saw her. And she said,
"Let you not put a hand on me _yourself_, but I'll come back tomorrow
night and others with me, and let me not cross the threshold when we
are going out, but let your brother be there that has the strength of
six men in him, and let him hold me." And so they did, and she reared
four children after.
* * * * *
There was a woman died two houses from this, and it wasn't many days
after she being buried the woman in the next house, Sibby her name
is, came in here in the morning, and she told me she saw her coming
in here the night before. And the sweat was on Sibby's face and she
said, "God knows I am speaking the truth. Why would I put a lie on
that poor woman?" And why would she indeed?
And she said that in the night when she was in her bed, and two or
three children along with her, the woman that had died came beside
the bed and called her, and then she went out and said, "I'll come
again and I'll bring my company with me."
And so she did, for she came back and her company with her, and they
with umbrellas and hats in their hands, dressed grand, just now like
the servants at Newtown. And she stooped over the bed again, and she
said, "It was through Thomas I was lost." For there was one of her
sons was called Thomas, and coming home one day he got a little turn
of his foot, that the mother was doing what she could for with herbs
and the like for a long time, so that he got well all but a little
limp. So that's why she said that it was through Thomas she was lost.
And she said, "There'll be a station at Athenry on such a day, and
send three of the children"--and she named the three--"to do it for
me." And so they did, and she was seen no more. And I'm sure it was
no lie Sibby was telling. And she told the priest about what she saw
and all he said was, "Well, if you saw that you're happy."
* * * * *
There was a woman died, and every night she'd come back and bring the
baby to the fire, and dress it and suckle it. And the brother got to
speak with her one night, and she said, "Oh why wasn't I put in the
coffin with my own dress on that I was wearing? It's ashamed I was to
go into such a crowd and such a congregation with nothing about me but
a white sheet. And if it wasn't that I saw a boy of the neighbours
among them that I knew before, I would have been very lonely."
* * * * *
There were two boys that were comrades, and if you'd see Dermot
you'd say, "Where is Pat?" And if you'd see Pat you'd say, "Where is
Dermot?" And one of them died, and everybody wondered at the comrade
not being all the day to the corpse-house. And when he came in the
evening he took a pinch of snuff, and he held it to the nose of the
boy that was laid out on the table and he saw it sniff a little. So
he made up the fire and he called another boy, and they laid the body
down behind the fire; and if they did away with it, the boy himself
came walking in at the door.
* * * * *
There was a girl I heard of brought away among _them_--and there was
the finest of eating to be had. But there's always a friend in such
places, and she got warning not to eat a bit of the food without
she'd get salt with it. So when they put her down to eat, she asked
a grain of salt, but not a grain was to be had. So she would eat
nothing. But I believe they did away with her after.
_John Phelan:_
Mike Folan was here the other day telling us newses, and he told the
strangest thing ever I heard--that happened to his own first cousin.
She died and was buried, and a year after, her husband was sitting
by the fire, and she came back and walked in. He gave a start, but
she said, "Have no fear of me, I was never in the coffin and never
buried, but I was kept away for the year." So he took her again and
they reared four children after that. She was Mike Folan's own first
cousin and he saw the four children himself.
_An Old Army Man:_
My family were of the Glynns of Athenry. I had an aunt that married a
man of the name of Roche, and their child was taken. So they brought
it to the Lady Well near Athenry, where there's patterns every
fifteenth of August, to duck it. And such a ducking they gave it that
it walked away on crutches, and it swearing. And their own child they
got back again, but he didn't live long after that.
* * * * *
There was a man I know, that was my comrade often, used to be taken
away for nights, and he'd speak of the journeys he had with them. And
he got severe treatment and didn't want to go, but they'd bring him
by force. He recovered after, and joined the army, and I was never so
surprised as I was the day he walked in when I was in India.
_Mrs. Brown:_
There was a woman in Tuam, Mrs. Shannon knew her well, was said to
be away for seven years. And she was always sitting in the corner
by the fire, not speaking, but a kind of a sound like moaning she'd
make to herself; and they'd always bring her her dinner over in the
corner, and if any one came in to see her--and many came hearing she
was away--she'd draw the shawl over her face. And at the end of the
seventh year she began to get a little life and strength coming in
to her, and within a week she was strong and well, and lived a good
many years after. And it's not long since some one that had a falling
out with her daughters said to them, "It's well known your mother
was away in Cruachmaa." And the poor girls when they heard that said
cried a great deal.
_Mrs. Casey:_
Some people from Lismara I was talking to told me there was a girl
the mother thought to be away, and she'd go out in the evening. And
the mother followed her one time, and after she went a bit into the
fields she saw her with an old woman very strangely dressed, with a
white cap with an edging, and a green shawl and a black apron and a
red petticoat. And the woman was smoking, and she gave the girl a
smoke of the pipe. And the mother went home, and by and by the girl
came in, and she smelling of tobacco. And the mother asked where was
she? And she said, in some neighbour's house; and the mother knew she
wasn't there, but that she was going with the faeries. And two or
three days after that, they had her taken altogether; and the clergy
that attended her said it was some old hag that was put in her place.
_Mrs. Oliver:_
There was Farly Folan's wife going, going, and all the night they
thought that she was at the last puff. But the minute the cock crew,
she sat up straight and strong. "I had a hard fight for it," she
said, "but care me well now ye have me back again." And she lived a
bit, but not long, after that.
That child of the Latteys that is silly, she was walking about today
shaking hands with everyone that would come into the house. And the
reason she's like that is, when she was born the breath had left her
and the mother began to cry and to scream and to roar, and then the
breath came back. She had a right to have let her go and not to have
brought her back.
There's a girl of Fardy Folan's is said to be away. Anyway she's a
fool, and a blow from her would kill you, it is always like that with
a fool. And it was her mother I told you of that was as they thought
gone, and that sat up again and said, "Take care of me now, I had a
hard fight for it." But indeed she didn't live long after that.
_Mrs. Feeney:_
When one is taken, the body is taken as well as the spirit, and some
good-for-nothing thing left in its place. What they take them for
is to work for them, and to do things they can't do themselves. You
might notice it's always the good they take. That's why when we see a
child good for nothing we say, "Ah, you little faery."
* * * * *
There was a man lost his wife and a hag was put in her place, and
she came back and told him to come out at night where she'd be riding
with the rest, and to throw something belonging to her after her--he'd
know her by her being on a white horse. And so he did and got her back
again. And when they were going home he said, "I'll have the life of
that old hag that was put in your place." But when they got to the
house, she was out of it before him, and was never heard of again.
There was a man telling me it was in a house where the woman was
after a youngster, and she died, that is, we'll call it died, but she
was _taken_, that the husband saw her coming back to give the breast
to the child and to wash it. And the second night he got hold of her
and held her until morning, and when the cock crowed she sat down
again and stayed; they had no more power over her.
* * * * *
Surely some go among them for seven years. There was Kitty Hayes
lived at Kilcloud, for seven years she had everything she could want,
and music and dancing could be heard around her house every night,
and all she did prospered; but she ate no food all that time, only
she took a drink of the milk after the butter being churned. But at
the end of the seven years all left her, and she was glad at the last
to get Indian meal.
* * * * *
There was a man driving cattle from Craughwell to Athenry for a fair.
And it was before sunrise and dark, and presently he saw a light by
the side of the road, and he was glad of it, for he had no matches
and he wanted to light his pipe to smoke it. So he turned aside,
and there were some people sitting there, and they brought him in,
through a sort of a door and asked him to sit down. And so he did,
and he saw that they were all strangers, not one he knew among them.
And there was a fire and they put food and drink on the table, and
asked him what would he have. And there opposite him he saw his own
cows that were brought in too, and he knew that he was in a faery
place. But in all these places there's always one well-wisher, so
while he was sitting there, an old woman came to him and whispered in
his ear, "Don't for your life eat a bit or drink a drop of what they
give you, or you'll never go away again." So he would take nothing.
If it hadn't been for the old woman, he might have taken something,
just not to vex them. And at sunrise they let him out, and he was on
the road again and his cattle before him.
Well, when he was coming back from the fair, there were two men with
him, and he pointed them out the place where all this happened, for
when three persons are together, there's no fear of anything and they
can say what they like. And the others told him it was a faery place
and many strange things had happened there. And they told him how
there was a woman had a baby lived close by there, and before it was
a week old her husband had to leave her because of his brother having
died. And no sooner was she left alone than she was _taken_, and they
sent for the priest to say Mass in the house, but she was calling out
every sort of thing they couldn't understand, and within a few days
she was dead.
And after death the corpse began to change, and first it looked like
an old woman, and then like an old man, and they had to bury it the
next day. And before a week was over she began to appear. They always
appear when they leave a child like that. And surely she was taken
to nurse the faery children, just like poor Mrs. Raynor was last year.
* * * * *
There's a well near Kinvara, Tubbermacduagh it's called, and it's all
hung with rags, and piles of seven stones about it, for it's a great
place to bring children to, to get them back when they've been changed
by the faeries. Nine days they should be going to it, and saying
prayers each day. And you'll see the child that's coming back will be
like itself one day and like an old person another day and sometimes
it will feel a picking, picking at it and it in its mother's arms.
McCullagh's daughter that was _taken_ is often to be seen there.
* * * * *
When any one is taken something is put in their place--even when a
cow or the like goes. There was one of the Simons used to be going
about the country skinning cattle and killing them, even for the
country people if they were sick. One day he was skinning a cow that
was after dying by the roadside, and another man with him. And Simon
said, "It's a pity he can't sell this meat to some butcher, he might
get something for it." But the other man made a ring of his fingers
like this, and looked through it and then bade Simon to look, and
what he saw was an old piper; and when he thought he was skinning the
cow, what he was doing was cutting off his leather breeches. So it's
very dangerous to eat beef you buy from any of those sort of common
butchers. You don't know what might have been put in its place.
_A Man at Corcomroe:_
There was Shane Rua that was away every night for seven years. He told
his brother-in-law that told me that in that hill behind the abbey
there is the most splendid town that was ever seen. Often he was in it,
and ought not to have been talking about it, but he said he wouldn't
give them the satisfaction of it, he didn't care what they did to him.
But he fainted that night they took him from the wake, and you know
what a strong man Peter Nestor was, and _he_ couldn't hold him.
Buried he is now beside that wall.
* * * * *