Celtic Survivals

Katell Gollet [Kat-elle- Goll-ay]

Mad Kate! Wild Kate! Dancing Kate! She was sixteen, proud and headstrong, and longed to be free.

Katell – or Kate – lived with her uncle, the lord of a fine castle in Brittany. He hated her wild ways, and planned to marry her to the first man who would take her. Naturally, Kate did not want this, so she made a plan. She declared she would marry the first man who could dance with her for twelve hours without stopping.

Many young men tried, but Kate danced so fast that they all collapsed – sick, dizzy, and exhausted. Kate’s uncle said they were ‘Feeble!’ or ‘Worthless!’, and had them killed. But so many good men died this way that Kate’s uncle decided to stop her dancing. He locked Kate in his castle tower. There she could do no harm!

But Kate could not be stopped by doors or locks and keys. She somehow escaped and found a new partner. Together, they danced day and night, night and day, crazy with love and joy and freedom. Eventually the musicians grew tired and went home, so Kate called up spirits from the Otherworld to make music for her!

Kate and her partner danced and danced to their magic tunes, all the way to the doors of the Otherworld. They danced and danced inside – and disappeared for ever!

 

Maug Moulach (Hairy Maggie)

In daylight, you can’t see her, but you know Maug Moulach [Meg Moll-ack] is there. She keeps the house quite wonderfully clean, and cooks delicious meals that float through the air to the table!

If you spy her after dark, you’ll notice that Maug is small and very hairy. Like other Brownies, she has no fingers or nose; her clothes are old and ragged. Some people even say her hairy hands come loose and work by themselves. A scary thought!

Maug likes to work for humans, as long as they don’t try to pay her. Money or clothes would be an insult to her kindness, and to her magic. Many other Brownies have left houses where people have tried to pay them. Maug had a husband: strong, hardworking, but stupid. He liked to question everyone he met. He asked a young lady for her name.

‘I’m just Me Myself!’, she answered. ‘Now shoo! Run away! Can’t you see this pot? I’m very busy cooking!’

But Maug’s silly husband would not go away, so the woman threw her pot of boiling water over him. He limped home to Maug, wet through, scalded – and dying.

‘Who did this dreadful deed?’ Maug asked in alarm. ‘Me Myself! Me Myself!’ he replied, sadly. ‘Oh silly man! You should have been more careful!’ sighed Maug. ‘But it seems you’ve only yourself to blame!’ she continued, as he panted his last breath.

Later, Maug overheard the young woman and some of her friends. They were all laughing and joking. The woman told them how she’d chased Maug’s silly husband away. They all thought that was very funny!

Whizz! Bang! Crash! Maug’s three-legged kitchen stool shot through the air as fast as a bullet! Maug’s aim was excellent – she never missed. After all, she’d had plenty of practice at mealtimes. Her target lay on the floor, dead.

The woman’s friends could not see Maug, but they all heard her, quite clearly.

‘You’ll not kill any more men!’ Maug shouted. ‘You’ll not kill any more husbands!’

And, after the funeral, they all agreed: it’s never wise to upset a Brownie!

 

The Old Woman who Drowned a Valley

This myth explains how Loch Awe, a deep lake in the Highlands of Scotland, was created – accidentally!

Samhain! [Sav-ahn] It’s a magic night – thrilling and terrible! The gates to the Otherworld open wide. Things stranger than our dreams rush through, to taunt us, tease us, tempt us. Samhain is also the time when the Summer Sun dies, and is buried. The cold, pale Winter Sun shines instead, and his chilly daughter, the giant Cailleach Bheur [Call-ee Vaar – meaning old woman, earth-goddess, hag], wakes from her sleep to greet him. Grim, gaunt and blue-faced, she strides through the land, shrivelling plants with her icy breath and scattering soft, freezing snow.

In her huge hand, the Cailleach Bheur holds a green holly-tree – always the sign of witches. She herds wild red deer – shy, sly, fickle, fairy cattle – and shelters under sharp, thorny gorse that brings death into houses. She carries great boulders in her grey, tattered skirts, and drops them anywhere to make mountains. She hunts alongside hungry forest wolves, and swims with fish in icy waters. She makes wild winds whip, howl and whirl, and waterfalls roar and tumble. Like winter itself, the Cailleach Bheur can be merciless and destructive.

Once, a sparkling stream flowed from the high Ben Cruachan [Croo-can] mountain into a valley far below. Butthe Cailleach Bheur dammed the stream every night, and its waters stopped flowing. Each dawn, she took the dam away; the stream bubbled up, bright and fresh. In the valley, farmers offered her treasures to persuade her to send the water they depended on to live.

But then, one miserable winter night, Ben Cruachan started shaking and rumbling. After a long day leaping with the goats over crags, the Cailleach Bheur was snoring! Exhausted, she’d fallen fast asleep, and forgotten to dam the stream. It flowed on and on, fast and free.

By daybreak, shining waters covered the land for miles around. There was nothing else to be seen. The farmers and their families were all drowned. The Cailleach Bheur had flooded the valley!

 

The Green Children

Who were they? Where did they come from? The Green Children had everybody puzzled!

The two children – a boy and a girl - were like normal people, but green. They appeared quite suddenly, long ago, close to a hole in a hillside. They seemed very hungry but refused all food until a farmer brought them beans – fresh and green, of course.

For weeks, they lived on beans until the green boy sickened and died. After that, the green girl started to eat white milk, brown bread and red meat, and slowly lost her green colour. She learned to speak, and began to talk about the land where she once lived. Everyone there was green, she said, and it was dim and dark, like twilight.

She recalled how she and her brother had been herding sheep one day and wandered into a cave. From deep inside, they’d heard a sound – church bells – far, far away. They’d followed the bells, until they saw a bright light glowing. They had nervously tiptoed closer and closer to the light. Finally, they stumbled into this sunlit world, lost, dazzled and astonished.

 

The Glashtin

This story comes from the Isle of Man, an island in the stormy seas between north-west England and Ireland.

He’s handsome, he’s charming – and he’ll eat you alive! Beware, girls, oh beware!

You may see the Glashtin as a wild horse in the waves, with his long mane streaming behind him. You may spot him trotting across bottomless bogs, or lurking in deep, dark ditches. But, most likely, you’ll meet him as a fine young man, with a smile to melt your heart and the promise of love in his warm, caring eyes.

Fisherman Quayle [Kwayl] had just one child, a daughter named Kirree. He hated to leave her alone but he had fish to sell, and so, one day, he set off for market. He shut their cottage door and warned her not to open it to anyone except him.

Kirree was happy, but after dark a savage storm sprang up and scared her. Hail hammered on the roof above her head, and roaring winds rattled the shutters.

Where was her father on this wet, wild night? Safe, she hoped, and sheltering. She fed the chickens, put more wood on the fire, and sat down to wait for him.

At last, at midnight, Kirree heard footsteps outside, and a strong hand at the door, knocking. ‘Father!’ she cried. ‘is that you home, safe and sound?’ She thought she heard a man’s voice answering, but the wind blew the words away.

‘Come in!’ Kirree said, quickly opening the door. ‘Come and get warm and dry!’

But a dripping stranger, not her father, stepped into the cottage. He was young, handsome, smiling.

‘Sun and Moon save me!’ thought Kirree. ‘But he doesn’t look dangerous.’ Speaking foreign words, the stranger thanked Kirree – then lay by the fire and was soon asleep.

‘I’m tired, too!’ Kirree thought. ‘But I must stay awake! So let me look at this stranger! What long arms and legs he has! What a broad chest and strong back! And what thick, black, curly hair!’

Then Kirree’s eyes went dark and she gasped for breath. The room swirled dizzily all around her.

‘NO!’ she gasped. ‘It isn’t! It can’t be!’ She’d seen pointed horse’s ears among those curls – the sleeping stranger was a Glashtin!

Kirree was far too scared to think. She sat stone-still, frozen with horror. She knew the Glashtin had come to drag her out to sea. Then, in the waves, he would eat her.

At last, Kirree began to breathe again – though her heart was still pounding wildly. She tried to remember something about the Glashtin’s powers. That’s right – they faded at daybreak! If she could keep the stranger sleeping until dawn, she might just be able to escape him.

Kirree sat as quiet as she could for hours and hours. But the blazing and crackling of the fire in the storm woke the stranger up. He sat up, stood – and began to walk towards Kirree!

What could Kirree do to save her life? All she could manage was a scream: ‘Aaaaarrrggghhhheeeeeeeee!’ The noise woke all her chickens. They saw it was daybreak, and started to crow. The Glashtin’s evil powers began to weaken!

The storm he’d sent stopped, and fisherman Quayle staggered in, shivering, soaking, exhausted.

With a whoosh and a swish, like a furious horse twitching its tail, the Glashtin disappeared…until the next time.

 

The Chariot of Death

What’s that noise? Can you hear it? A horrid, grating sound, like rusty iron wheels on a chariot. There’s a thud and thump, as well, like a heavy load of stones rumbling along the road.

There, now! Don’t you worry! Those old stories might not be true! That rusty chariot might not belong to Ankou [An-koo], the Death-Snatcher. And those rumbling stones may not be the hearts of the newly dead that he’s carrying – but they might.

Many people swear that Ankou’s always around. Tall, gaunt, ghostly, just a skeleton with long hair, he’s wrapped in a bloody shroud and has eyes like burning candles. He carries arrows to shoot his victims, and a scythe – sharpened on human bones – to cut them down.

They say that hearing Ankou’s chariot means that death will come to the family. No-one can escape him. Seeing or speaking to Ankou is another sure sign of doom.

You’ve heard about blacksmith Fanch Floc’H [Fankh Flockh], who worked until after midnight? Driving out of the dark in his chariot, Ankou asked Fanch to mend his broken scythe.

Fanch agreed – and died at dawn.