Once there was a little elf living in the estuary. He was afraid to come out of the hole he lived in because he was scared the swans would make fun of his pointy ears. The only time he left his hole was at night to find food. Late one night when the elf was
When I was growing up my grandmother often spoke of fairies and goblins and sprites. She loved the piseogs-supersititons. My favourite tale was the one she told about the water sprites who lived in the river Deel. This is what I recall….. The best itme to spot a fairy is dawn or dusk. At these
Late summer 1979, a cool onshore breeze kisses the rugged coast of Mayo as the pale, apricot sun sets over a small picture postcard pub, little changed in over a century; it sits unobtrusively on the banks of Killary Harbour, one of only three fjords in Ireland I am reliably informed by the genial host
Our ancestors moved in around 1792 and made their way from Dublin to Longford as each lock was built. Sionnach, our family name, and Sionna, his wife, were the first red foxes in the area and by 1817, when the canal was fully operational, they were in every square mile of it. I have my
Conor O’Loughlen Lord of Gleninagh Castle and Prince of the Burren had for all of his life spent as much time as possible on the Rynne Peninsula, walking, reading and watching the wildlife and in summer swimming with the seals. Once while walking at the end of the Rynne he saw cattle grazing, some honey
Fadó, Fadó, sular rugadh an abhainn is faide sa tir seo bhí tobar ann darbh ainm Tobar Connla, áit ina raibh naoi crainn coill ina seasamh timpeall a mbéal. Lig siad titim bhur cnó síos agus bhí na brádain sna tobar ag fanacht leo. Go leor daoine a chuala faoin dtobar, ó chuala siad faoin
To have been brought up on the banks of a river – for me, the meandering Shannon – was a privilege granted to few only, I didn’t realise it as a child. To be sure, I had a vague notion of the river’s probabilities – a place to paddle, swim, fish in, stroll along its
Many years ago a monk named Floinn lived at the foot of Stacks Mountain. There were oak woods and wolves, ringforts and rivers. Down the mountain came the water. Overhead, eagles flew and in the undergrowth the blackbird and the wren sang. Floinn grew old, and blind. A life of prayer gave him patience and
Near to where I grew up in Blessington there was a dark pool of water that fascinated and terrified all of us children. In winter, the pool was from a sullen overflow that turned hypnotically in its dark bowl; on a windy summer’s day it was a dirty palm that rattled loose stones like knucklebones
“Okay Michael, let’s go” said my father picking up an old hessian sack and heading out the back door. I followed. We were heading to the Bunduff rocks, on the edge of the Atlantic ocean, near Mullaghmore in North Sligo. We were heading to do some fishing for Ballan. Conditions were ideal, dull but not
Madlin, sing to me, oh happy trickle. Of watery song and ocean’s ripple. From Johnduffs Wood through Molaise’s haunt to Dinn Righ and Barrow’s jaunt. Just a moment, I require, before your spirits they expire. When I was but as a trickle, I splashed around, bold and fickle. Coming down the Barrack Hill, I pranced
She was feared and fearless. The Queen of Connaught. Meabh rode her black stallion from county to county in the search for property. There were many warlords who were seduced by her beauty. Once she had him in her lover’s lair and his property signed over, she killed him. No one could resist her beauty