The summit of Slieve Callan or Mount Callan is the highest point in west Clare. Near to this summit, huge numbers of people gathered each year for the Lughnasadh celebrations in late July or early August. This was the time to celebrate the beginning of the harvest, to give thanks for nature’s abundance, for girls and boys to pick fraughans (blueberries), and to decorate sacred wells with garlands of flowers. There would be games, sports, contests and feasting. Perhaps it was around Lughnasadh time that Fionn Mac Cumhall, the legendary hunter/warrior, was visiting this part of the world.
While Fionn was down in this area with a large party of his Fianna, his band of warriors, he made himself a camp at the foot of Mount Callan. There was great hunting there, and Fionn had all that he could want. The only thing that was missing was a good and reliable personal servant.
One day, a small man dressed all in brown walked into Fionn’s camp and presented himself to the bold warrior chief. This was a strange-looking character, just three feet tall, and wearing a three-cornered hat on his shaggy brown head. The little man strode into the camp, bold as anything, and demanded to be taken to Fionn, saying, ‘I hear that the chief is in need of a personal servant. I wish to present myself for that position,’ and he removed his hat and bowed. Amused, Fionn agreed and took the little man on as his servant.
We all know how the Fianna enjoyed their sport. When there were no battles to be fought they had races and athletics competitions to keep themselves fit and trim and ready for action. One day, while they were decamped at Mount Callan, they held a jumping contest, and all the bold warriors took it in turns to leap across the river at its broadest point. Grainne, Fionn’s unwilling bride, was there too, and she was dressed in her finest to give out the prize to the winner.
The little brown man feared that Conan Moal was going to win the prize. Conan was getting ready, taking his first running steps towards the river’s edge, and had just launched himself into the air when the little brown man threw his hat at him. Well, the distraction certainly put Conan off his leap. He twisted in the air, limbs all askew. The three-cornered hat struck him in the eye and Conan fell with a heavy and rather ungainly splash into the deep river. This was no graceful salmon’s leap, in fact it was more like a large stone sinking. He was knocked unconscious by his fall and had to be carried out on a stretcher before he drowned in the cold water.
The druid doctor brought his smelling salts and rubbed Conan’s feet and hands, and slapped his face till he regained consciousness.
Meanwhile, the little brown man, fearing retribution, ran for his life. He had bit of magic himself, and so he was able to become invisible, but only for a few minutes at a time. If you were watching, you’d see him suddenly appear in front of this tree or that boulder a few steps apart.
Now that he was back among the living, Conan was furious with the little man. He pulled up a bunch of herbs, changed into a hawk and flew up into the air. The hawk soared overhead. He soon caught up with the little man at Dun Sallagh, and brought him back to Fionn’s camp. He was put on trial for seditious behaviour, betrayal of trust and throwing his hat at a competitor in an otherwise fair contest, and he was found guilty as charged. Fionn sentenced him to stand guard on the height of Mount Callan until a small lake that was there should run dry. He will be there still to this day, keeping his watch over the lake, which has never been known to dry up.
If you have a reason to pass by the Hand Cross Roads, you had best beware, for people say that the little brown man meets unwary travellers on the road and sets them astray.
One day, when Fionn Mac Cumhal was out hunting in the Burren hills, he became separated from his companions. Brave warrior that he was, he was not concerned and after a while he found himself by the village of Ballyvaughan. He was just enjoying a game of hurling by the shore when a boat came into the harbour. The men on board ran straight to Fionn, saying that their queen had urgent need of his help. Never one to refuse a lady in distress, Fionn went with them at once. They were several days at sea before they landed near the Queen’s house. She greeted Fionn and explained that a witch was going to take her only child that night.
Fionn agreed to keep watch over the child as it slept that night, but after supper Fionn felt himself grow weary. It was a spell the witch had placed upon him, and he was powerless to fight it. He fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, the child was gone and the men were arming themselves and making ready to pursue the witch.
They could see the faint eerie light of the witch’s boat a long way off. They set sail and followed it. At last, they came to an island where they saw a revolving tower. One of the men spoke some words, commanding the tower to stop turning, and Fionn was able to climb to the top. There he found the witch asleep on the floor and the child in her arms.
Fionn gently lifted the child from the witch’s arms and brought her to the ship and they set off again. But they had not been sailing for long before they saw the eerie light of the witch’s boat behind them. Her boat was steadily drawing nearer, and so Fionn brought out his bow and arrow, took careful aim, and shot the witch through the heart.
Fionn carried the child back to the queen, who was anxiously waiting.
When Fionn was an elderly man, and had been without a wife for several years, he got engaged to Grainne, daughter of the King of Tara. The wedding was all prepared, but just before the feast Grainne chanced to see one of Fionn’s men, a handsome young fellow named Diarmid. Grainne was lost; she fell in love with him instantly and begged him to come away with her. ‘How can you let me marry that old man, when you are my true and only love?’
Diarmid, being a loyal follower of Fionn’s, resisted Grainne’s entreaties – but not for too long. He soon agreed that he loved her too, and the couple planned their elopement. Grainne slipped a sleeping potion into Fionn’s wine and the lovers ran off together into the night.
When Fionn discovered this betrayal, he gathered the Fianna together and swore that they would pursue the couple relentlessly, until Grainne returned to him. He cursed them so that they would find no house in the whole land of Ireland that would give them a night’s shelter or rest. All over the land of Ireland the couple fled, and wherever they went the Fianna followed close on their heels.
When Diarmid and Grainne reached County Clare they rested outside for a few hours here and there, on beds of stone that became known as Leaba Diarmid agus Grianne – Diarmid and Grainne’s Bed. There is a dolmen by the side of the road to Miltown Malbay, just past the Hand Crossroads, that is one of Diarmid and Grainne’s Beds. It is said that when the couple were on the run they had leapt over from Kerry, bringing the huge stones with them; Diarmid carrying the two massive upright stones under his arms and Grainne carrying the roof slab in her apron. Such a desperate obsessive love they must have had, that they still ran on, despite the hardship of never having a good night’s sleep.
The lovers rested for a while in a cave at the foot of a cliff in Lismulbreeda. They must have lived there for some time for they made it as homely as they could. There are rocks there that seem like a table and chairs and another bed, while other stones were their candlesticks. People say there was a subterranean tunnel that leads from the cave to a dolmen at Mount Callan, known as Altar na Grianne.
They were by the western shore when Diarmid had an inspired notion. He remembered that Fionn could always tell where Grainne lay by biting on his magical oracular thumb (how he came by that is a whole other story altogether!). This was how Fionn had been able to follow their movements so closely. Now Diarmid gathered seaweed from the below the tideline and Grainne helped him spread it like a blanket over the stone bed. Diarmid hoped that the images Fionn would see now – Grainne resting beneath seaweed – would surely make him think the pair had drowned and lay beneath the waves. Perhaps it worked, or at least it bought them time, for at last an uneasy truce was called.
In the time of Brian Boru, High King of Ireland, there lived, on a craggy hilltop above the shore of Lough Derg, a woman of the Sidhe by the name of Aiobheall. Long before that time she had been known as Aoibheann the Lovely One, a queen and protective spirit of the land and its sovereignty. Her home was on Slieve Bearnagh, and her name is found on landscape features that carry echoes of her presence even today on the slopes above the lough near Killaloe.
There is a high crag, Carrickeevul, up at the top of Crag Hill, surrounded by forest, where Aoibheall used to sit to keep a watchful eye over the Shannon River and the lands beyond. From here she could command the weather, brewing up storms and high winds when needed to protect her people. She had two spring wells on the lower slopes of Crag Hill. One was her clean well, for washing her hands and face, the other was her dirty well, where she washed her feet. One of these, called Tobereevul, still flows from under a rock on the side of the hill below her seat at Craglea, but I couldn’t tell you whether it is the clean or the dirty well.
As time went on, Aoibheall the lovely, powerful spirit of the land, became somewhat diminished in the people’s imaginations. She became known as the banshee of the Dal gCais clan. In this role, she was a guiding force to Brian Boru, as he rose from local chief to became the first Ard Ri, or high king, uniting the Irish clans against the Vikings.
It was the year 1014, and Murragh, the eldest son of Brian Boru, was at the palace of Kincora in Killaloe, preparing for the long journey to Dublin, to join his father’s army against the Viking forces. Aoibheall came to Murragh just before he set off and delivered this warning, ‘If you should meet a red-haired woman before you cross the Bow River (between Scariff and Mountshannon), then you will die in the battle.’
As Murragh’s men reached the small river that once marked the boundary between Clare and Galway, they did indeed meet a red-haired woman.
Whilst the Battle of Clontarf raged, Brian Boru’s army faced Vikings from Dublin, reinforced by armies from Iceland and the Orkney Isles. It was the night before Good Friday when Aoibheall came to Brian. She appeared to him like a vision, surrounded by glowing light, truly Aiobheall the Lovely One, to warn him: ‘Brian Boru, King of the Irish you may be today, but tomorrow you will lie equal to all the other dead on the field of battle.’
Brian had lived a long and eventful life, and now, aged seventy-three, was ready to face this moment. ‘If victory to the Irish is assured tomorrow, then my own life is a small price to pay for it. So be it.’
Next morning, a page brought news that Brian’s son Murragh had fallen in the battle, and he begged Brian to retreat to his camp. Brian refused to hear of it, insisting, ‘We will not retreat! What need is there, when I know that I myself will meet my death today on the field of battle. Aoibheall, the banshee of Craglea, came to me last night and told me so. I cannot escape her word, so I will fight today, and die in glory. May victory be ours!’
Aoibheall’s warning came to pass. As he knelt in prayer in his tent, Brian Boru was slain on Good Friday 1014.
One time, when Brian Boru was down in west Clare, he went to Scattery Island, then on to Kilrush, up through Cooraclare and there he left his army behind him. He travelled on, on a secret mission, with just one soldier accompanying him to Cahermurphy, where the Danes were camped. He wanted to examine the Danes’ defences and see how they could be breached. When he reached the camp, the fortress gates were locked. Brian saw that the fort could not be taken by force, but only if the gates were opened from the inside with a key
As Brian rode near to a hut, he heard a woman sobbing her heart out. He went closer and saw it was a young woman, and that she cradled a sickly baby in her arms. Both mother and child were gaunt and looked tired and hungry.
Brian asked her, ‘Why are you crying so bitterly, woman?’
She told Brian, ‘My husband is a Dane. He is a good enough man, but we are all hungry these days. I have no food to cook for him, and he said, he said …’ The woman broke into a new fit of crying, ‘He said that he will kill the baby and that I must cook it for his dinner if I have no food for him!’
Brian gave the woman some food from his own store. As her sobbing eased, the woman asked him, ‘Tell me your name. I want to know, who is my benefactor?’
He told her that he was Brian Boru. The grateful woman’s eyes opened wide with surprise. ‘So what brings you to the Danes’ fort at Cahermurphy, Brian Boru?’
Brian told her that his business there was to find a way into the fortress, and that he could see the gates needed to open from within, with a key.
‘My own husband is the gatekeeper! He keeps the key inside his shirt.’ The woman, glad to be able to repay Brian’s kindness, said, ‘I will put herbs in my husband’s food to make him sick, and then I can get the key. I will open the gates and let you into the fort tonight when all the Danes are sleeping.’
That night, the woman did just as she had said. She opened the gates and Brian, with his companion, got into the fort. They killed all the Dane soldiers as they slept.
The only ones they did not kill were the chief of the Danes and his three sons. They saved them because the chief had a secret recipe for making a drink like whiskey out of the heather that grew on the mountain. Brian, as well as everyone else, wanted to know how the Danes made this excellent drink.
He asked the Danes over and over again, but none of them would give the recipe for the heather drink. It was a long interrogation, but at last the sons gave in and said that they would tell. The chief grew angry that his sons were willing to give the secret away. He looked at his sons crossly, and said to Brian, ‘Do not listen to them! My sons don’t know the whole process for making the drink. They have only ever helped me with certain parts of the process. They can’t give you the recipe, for they do not know it all.’
Brian looked from the chief to his sons and considered what he had just heard. The chief continued, ‘My sons have shown themselves unworthy of my name. I disown them. They are no longer my sons! It is best that you kill these cowards now. If you do, I will give you the recipe for the heather drink.’
The crafty chief thought he would be able to make his getaway while Brian and his men were busy killing the sons.
Brian gave the order and the three sons were put to death. Then Brian turned to the chief, who had not got far away, and asked again for the recipe.
‘Hah! Did you really think I would tell you? I would rather lose my own life than give you the secret of making the heather drink. I will take the recipe with me to my grave!’
Brian’s men killed the chief and buried all four brave men under a mound of stones near Cahermurphy South, now called Tullain a Madra.
Fionn Mac Cumhall: SFS (1937-38) John Joe Shannon, Cregan Bui, Corofin, from his father; SFS (1937-38) Miceal de Brucs, Scoil na mBrathar, Ennis, p.210.
Brian Boru: SFS (1937-38) Teresa Galvin from her grandmother; SFS (1937-38) P.J. Montgomery, Doonagan, was told this by John Donlan, reel 180.