Long ago, before the time of even the earliest ancestors of the Irish, in the time of the Tuatha De Danaan, there was a smith named Lon Mac Liofa, one of the De Danaans himself, and therefore bound to be gifted in some way, as all those good folk were. Lon Mac Liofa was the first man in the whole land of Ireland to make an edged weapon. Perhaps it was as well that he had such skills, for his looks were strange. The smith had only one leg, but what he lacked in the way of feet, he made up for by having three hands: two in their usual places at the end of each arm, and a third that grew out from the centre of his chest. This extra limb proved very handy indeed, and the smith used it for holding the metal on the anvil as he wielded hammers and worked it into spearheads and swords with his two other hands. The single leg proved no handicap either, as the smith travelled around the country by springing with a great bounding leap, and could be seen flying from place to place through the air.
Now, we all know that the De Danaans were too fond of the lovely island of Ireland to leave it when the next crowd of incomers from across the waves challenged them. So when the Milesians landed and wanted to settle here, the De Danaans chose to live underground in the green hills, rather than leave the land they loved. They became the fairy folk. Only Lon Mac Liofa stayed, in his cave on the mountain of Sliabh na Glaise, and continued his work as smith to the new people. Before this, the weapons were bronze or stone, but these new people wanted swords of iron, and of course Lon Mac Liofa knew how to work with the new metal.
As time went on, Lon Mac Liofa longed to do some smithwork for a worthy warrior chief. At last he heard about the mighty warrior Fionn MacCumhall, and wondered if perhaps he could use the services of a talented craftsman. Lon Mac Liofa set off to present himself at Fionn’s court, which at that time was on the Hill of Howth. He sprang across the hills and valleys from west to east on his single leg, which of course took him no time at all. When he reached the gates of Fionn’s camp, the gateman challenged him, as was only to be expected. ‘What is your name, and what is your business here?’
‘I am Lon Mac Liofa of the Tuatha De Danaan. I am a master smith by trade and profession, and I lay a geasa on your master, that his people could not overtake me in a race to my own forge at Mohernagartan on Slievenaglasha.’ Having laid down his challenge, Lon Mac Liofa turned heel and bounded off swiftly in a westward direction. The gateman shook his head in confusion at what he had seen. Had he really seen a strange figure from an earlier time? A one-legged, three-handed figure from the ancient race of magicians and wizards? Scratching his head and rubbing his eyes, he knew he must relate the strange news immediately to Fionn. A geasa, after all, is an obligation and must be fulfilled.
Perhaps he thought no one could overtake him, but one of Fionn’s party, a young man named Caoilté of the slender hard legs, reached the entrance to the forge just as Lon Mac Liofa did himself.
‘That was a close race, Smith! Let us go in together,’ said Caoilte, slapping the smith on the back.
‘You are welcome, Caoilté of the Slender Hard Legs, welcome to my forge! You rose to meet my challenge, and you need fear no magic spells from me. I brought you here so that I can make sturdy iron weapons – sharp swords and spears – for Fionn and his warriors, that will win great fame and fortune for you all with their deeds of valour.’ The Lon sighed, ‘Ah, how I have missed the work all these quiet years!’
Caoilté worked alongside Lon Mac Liofa in his forge for three days, before Fionn and seven other warriors arrived. Fionn admired the workmanship and the balance of the eight swords that were wrought already.
Two of Fionn’s warriors, Conan and Goll, were keen to learn the art of blacksmithing, and each of them made a few swords, but they struck the anvil with the sledge so powerfully that they broke it in two!
The King of Spain used to have a cow that gave so much milk that it could fill the biggest vessel in the world. This marvellous beast was offered as a prize in a competition to find the best athlete in the world. It must have been a bit like the Olympics are today, with athletes coming from every corner to try their luck and test their skill. Lon Mac Liofa bounded his way to Spain and he won the cow. He brought the cow, whose name was the Glas Gaibreac, the grey-green cow, back home. Lon had seven sons and he gave them the job of caring for the cow, one of them each day of the week. They let her roam the fields by day, and shut her in a cow-house for the night. They held the cow by the tail as she grazed, until she reached the rim of the plateau. Then they would turn her around and she would graze her way back to the cow house. All around, the rocks are marked with her hoof prints, and they can be seen to this day.
Now the king of that place had three sons who came to Lon Mac Liofa wanting the finest of iron swords. Lon Mac Liofa asked them to see that the Glas was watered while he was busy in his forge. The king’s sons had their own cattle to see to, but said they would water his cow when they returned. The smith warned them to mind the cow, not to strike her, and to be sure to bring her back safely. The boys drew lots for it, and it was the youngest who had to do the work. He had to pull the Glas by her tail to the seven streams of Taosca before she could get enough water to drink.
On his way back, as he passed by the forge, he could hear his brothers arguing about which was the finest sword. They picked up each one, weighed it in their hands, swung them around, then chose the best swords for themselves, saying, ‘Our youngest brother can have the worst!’ and they laughed. Mad with anger, the youngest, forgetting the smith’s warning, lashed out and struck the cow, and rushed into the smith’s house.
‘Where is my cow?’ Lon Mac Liofa asked. ‘Is she well and watered?’
‘She is outside,’ said the boy, but when the smith went out the cow could not be seen. The Glas had disappeared back to Spain!
The king’s son swore that he would not rest nor sleep until he had got the cow back again, and he set off at once for Spain. The King of Spain set him three tasks to do if he wanted to get back the cow for Lon Mac Liofa.
The first deed was to eat a firkin and 700 firkins of the same cow’s butter with the breadth of his ear of bread. For the second deed he had to tan a hide and 700 hides as smooth as the glove in his hand. The third deed was to get the spancil off the cow.
The boy wondered, ‘How will I ever manage to eat a firkin and 700 firkins of butter on that small piece of bread? How can I tan a hide and 700 hides?’ He thought it was hopeless, but he asked for help from an old witch. The old woman gave him a rusty iron knife and said he should stick it into the firkin. When he did that, the butter all dried up and disappeared.
He went back to the king with the slice of bread in his hand and said, ‘Do you want me to eat dry bread? There was not enough butter to cover it!’
The witch also helped him to tan the hides, and the second task was passed.
Then it was time to get the spancil off the cow. It turned out that the king’s daughter had the spancil off the cow, and she was up in a high tower of the castle. The boy could hear her singing and followed the sound of her voice. When he climbed up the wall and jumped through the window, there she was with her father. The boy asked her for the spancil. She refused to give it to him and instead threw it towards her father, but her throw went crooked and it was the boy that caught it. Her father cursed the woman for her poor throw, and from that day forward all women of that blood line have a crooked throw!
The triumphant boy had succeeded in all three tasks and could claim his prize. So Lon Mac Liofa got his cow back again, the marvellous cow whose milk would fill any vessel.
One day, a jealous woman bet Lon Mac Liofa that she had a vessel that the cow could not fill. ‘Go ahead,’ said the smith, and the cow was brought to the woman’s place. She sat herself down on her stool and began to milk the beast into a milk strainer. The generous cow’s milk flowed freely, spilling through the holes of the strainer and overflowing, running over the ground. The poor cow just kept going, until her heart burst open with grief and she fell down and died of a broken heart. Where the milk of the Glas Gaibreac ran over the ground, it turned to clear water and became a river that is still to be seen there today near Carron, known as the Seven Streams of Taosca. Some people say that the water of the Seven Streams has healing power.
They say the spot where the cow died can still be seen, as not a single blade of grass ever grew there since, while the beds where the cow rested are called ‘Leaba na Glaise’ and are bright green patches in the grey limestone rock.
SFS (1937-38) John Costelloe, Coad told to Maire ni Costelloe; Sean Mac Eoin; Folklore of Clare, T.J. Westropp (Clasp Press; Ennis, 2000)