There was a crossroad near Fanny O’Dea’s pub in Lissycasey which was said to be haunted by a spirit. People were wary of reaching that crossroad after dark because they feared meeting the ghost.
There was a young man who had some potatoes to take to the market in Ennis. It was winter time, when the days are short, and because of one thing and another, he did not reach the town until early evening. Walking along the streets of Ennis, he met his neighbours, already on their way home after a day at the market.
The neighbours called to him, ‘It is late enough to be starting out. What will you do when you come to the haunted crossroad? Are you not afraid to pass that spot alone, and in the dark?’
‘I am not concerned,’ said the young man brightly. ‘The moon is full, I will be able to see my way, and I will most likely overtake you on my way home!’
Night came on quickly, sooner than he had expected, and the young man had some trouble to sell his potatoes. It was not until late into the night that he was able to start for home. He set off on his horse and cart on the road out of the town in the dark of night, with the moon for company, whistling as he went.
When he reached the spot where the spirit was known to dwell, there he saw a pale young woman dancing in the moonlight. She moved with grace and seemed to shimmer under the moon’s glow. Not daunted, he leapt from his cart and began to dance opposite her. When she stopped dancing, he asked her, ‘What is it, in the name of God, that troubles you? Why do you haunt this place?’
The dancer answered, ‘In the seven years since the day I died, you are the first man who has dared to speak to me. You are surely the best man to have passed this way in seven years. And, since you have asked me plainly, I am bound to tell you what troubles me, and why I linger here.’
‘Tell me, and if I can help you I will,’ said the young man in reply.
‘A poor woman in the town of Ennis made for me a fine dress. I had the dress, but I had not paid the price of it before I took sick and died, and I was buried wearing the dress. Will you go to my aunt and ask her to pay the price of it on my behalf? If that is done, then I will be free to go, and will be seen no more at this crossroads.’
‘As soon as I get home, I will go to your aunt, and I promise you that if she does not pay it, I will do so myself. Good night to you, spirit, and may your soul find peace and happiness.’
The very next day, the young man made good his promise and saw that the bill was paid. The dressmaker was delighted, and the dancing spirit was never seen again at the crossroads.
A man named Michael Flanagan lived near Barefield, not far from Ennis. He was known in the area as a great hero. He got the name Savoury Flanagan because at one time he saved the life of a young girl who was stolen away and thought to be dead. Michael was a great man for going out on his cuaird: that was going out to visit the neighbours of an evening to play cards, share stories and chat – and maybe have a little drink or two by the fire. That was the entertainment the men had before the television, and how news got carried from house to house.
It was a mild night, still and with a thin silver crescent of moon in the dark sky, when Michael was walking home one night from his cuaird. He was passing along a narrow lane, lined by tall trees whose branches met high overhead like a tunnel, when he met three men about his own height, dressed sombrely and carrying a coffin on their shoulders. They looked a little awkward, so Michael said, ‘You are all off balance there, gentlemen, with only the three of you while the coffin has four corners. Here, let me give you hand with it, and save your backs. It looks like you will be passing my own door anyway.’
Michael set himself to the task and walked along with the other men, sharing the weight of the coffin on their shoulders. He carried it as far as his own door, but said he would go no further unless he could see what was in the coffin. The men agreed, so they set the coffin down on the wall outside while Michael called his mother and warned her not to be alarmed, that they were bringing in a coffin.
His mother cleared the cloth and dishes off the table so they could put the coffin there, and then Michael unscrewed the lid.
Well, Michael and his mother gasped when they saw what was in it. It was a beautiful young girl, lying there, pale and grey but still just breathing, her face contorted in the last agonies of death.
Michael gently lifted the girl from the coffin, wrapped her in warm woollen blankets and laid her down into a chair by the fire. He let her sit there until the morning, keeping watch that the fire did not burn too low, adding another stick to keep it glowing and warm through the night. His mother lit the holy candle and kept it alight through the night with a prayer for the girl’s soul. Just before the cock crowed and the sun began to tint the sky with red, a little colour returned to the girl’s cheeks, and it seemed she would return to life again. Michael’s mother made her weak sweet tea and helped her take small sips. When she was ready, she spoke a few words, ‘I thank you for warming me and bringing me back to the land of the living. My home is in Croom in County Limerick. My own parents think that I am dead. In fact, they expect to bury me this day at one o’clock. If so much as a single shovel of earth is thrown onto my coffin, there will be no saving me. Can you help me?’ she begged Michael, reaching for his hand with her own grey, bony fingers.
Michael placed a broom into the coffin and replaced the lid. He gave the coffin to the three men who had waited outside.
Pulling on his coat, Michael turned back to the girl. ‘I have a fast horse,’ he told her, ‘and if I set off now, I can, I hope, reach the graveyard in time to save you.’
‘Thank you,’ said the girl, as she removed a golden ring from her finger and gave it to Michael. Her initials were engraved upon it. ‘Take this, and give it to my brother. He will know it is mine.’
Michael leapt upon his horse and set off at a roaring gallop. He rode all morning and arrived at the graveyard just as the funeral party approached. The girl’s family were standing, all dressed in black, by the side of the open grave, while the coffin was lying there, ready to be lowered into the earth.
Michael leapt from his sweating and lathered horse. ‘Stop!’ he cried. ‘Do not lower the coffin, I beg you. Your daughter’s life depends on it!’
The parents and the mourners thought Michael was a dangerous lunatic. ‘How dare you disturb us at a time like this!’ cried the girl’s father. ‘Seize the madman!’
Four strong men came to drag Michael away, but he cried, ‘Wait! Which one of you is her brother? She gave me a token for you. Please, listen to me and do as I ask if you would save your sister’s life. Please open the coffin and look inside.’
The brother took the ring and recognised it. ‘It is my sister’s ring! Listen to him, open the coffin and let us see what is within.’
In front of the shocked mourners, they removed the coffin lid. There, inside, they found nothing but an old broom. They knew then that what Michael said was true. He was no madman, but was in fact their daughter’s saviour.
The girl’s brother and her parents were grateful to him, and, being a respectable family, they wanted to reward him. The brother rode to Barefield with Michael to collect his sister. When they reached the house, the girl was sitting rosy-cheeked by the fire, enjoying the soup Michael’s mother had made for her. The brother brought her home with him, and she lived to a great age.
From that day, Michael was known as Savoury Flanagan. The girl had called him her saviour, but the people made that into ‘Savoury’.
There was a young man living around Querrin shore, a fine, strong fellow of independent means. He had his own house and land, so he was beholding to no one, and the people called him the Kern of Querrin.
The Kern was a fine hunter, and he loved to go out shooting wild fowl along the shore of an evening. As darkness fell he would make his way stealthily along the sandy shore to the far strand where the wild geese gathered.
It was November Eve, the night we know as Halloween, when he crouched hidden behind an old ruin, waiting for the geese to gather on the strand. His breath rose into the frosty air like a wraith as he blew on his freezing fingers in the stillness of the night. A sudden loud splash called his attention. Believing it to be the wild geese, he raised his gun, making ready to fire when they would be within his range.
Watching in silence he saw that these were not geese, but some strange company moving along the strand in the dark of night. The skin on the back of his neck crawled and he knew this was no company of fowlers, but something uncanny. As the weird company drew closer, the Kern could discern the figures of four strong men, carrying a bier on their shoulders. Upon the bier was a body draped in a white cloth. When the men laid down their burden to take a rest, the Kern fired his gun into the air. The strange company scattered, running off in all directions, abandoning their mysterious burden on the shore, the night air echoing with their frightened shrieks.
The Kern came out from his hiding place to investigate the body on the bier. Lifting a corner of the embroidered white cloth, he saw the face of a beautiful young woman, pale in the starlight of the cold November Eve. By the gentle movement of her chest, and the faint mist of her breath, he knew that she was not dead, but in a deep trance-like sleep. He stroked her forehead and softly guided her into a sitting position, whispering to her all the time, as if she were a wild creature he were gentling. She opened her eyes and looked wildly around at her unfamiliar surroundings. Finally she caught the gaze of the Kern, and her wildness faded, as if she knew she could trust him to lead her to safety. She allowed the Kern to lift her from the bier. She took the arm he offered her and walked slowly with him along the shore.
They walked in silence through the cold night, until they reached his house. He built up the fire to warm the young woman, and colour returned to her face, but still she spoke not one word. The Kern was full of questions. Who was she? How had she come to be on a bier on his lonely shore? All remained unanswered. He made her a broth of vegetables to build up her strength, but she would not eat it, nor take the tea he offered her.
The mysterious young woman remained in the Kern’s house for twelve months, but in all that time she spoke not one word, and neither ate nor drank. When a year had passed, and November Eve came again, the Kern returned to the far strand, in the hope he might find some answers to his many questions. As he passed the old fort of Lisnafallainge, he heard faint sounds of singing and pipes playing. Stopping to listen behind a ruined wall, he overheard men’s rough voices, talking and laughing.
‘Where shall we go to find a bride tonight?’ said the first.
Another voice answered, ‘Wherever we go, I hope our luck will be better than last year!’
‘Oh, we had a rich prize, brothers. The Lord O’Connor’s daughter, no less! Ah, but we lost her to that fool, the Kern of Querrin, who broke our spell. For this last year he has her in his house, but little pleasure he’s had of her!’
A fourth voice broke in, ‘And so it will remain, for she will not eat nor drink nor speak until he serves her a meal on her own embroidered tablecloth.’
As he listened, the Kern remembered the embroidered white cloth that had covered the girl when she lay on the bier. What had he done with it? It was now the top cover on the young woman’s bed. So was this her own tablecloth, and could it really break the spell?
He raced home and straight away burst into the young woman’s bedroom, where he pulled the white cloth from her bed. ‘Wake up! I know who you are, and how to break the spell! Come with me.’
Wrapping a warm blanket around her shoulders, the girl followed the Kern to the kitchen and watched as he laid the white cloth on the table. The Kern laid meat and drink, bread and cheese on the cloth, and bade her sit, eat, drink. She sat at the table and began to eat, small mouthfuls at first, then washed it down with water, wine. She smiled as the memory of tastes and flavours returned and her appetite was gradually restored. At last, when she had eaten and drank her full, words came to her. ‘Thank you, good Kern of Querrin, for your kindness this past year, and for breaking the spell laid upon me. Now that speech is returned to me, I can tell you my story.’
‘I am ready to hear it, good lady, and glad to have been of service. Now tell me please, what is your name?’
‘My name is Maire, and I am the daughter of Lord O’Connor of Kerry. This day twelve months past, I was to be married to a young man. My father had arranged it all. I did not know the young man, but had heard only good of him, and was happy enough to wed. The date was set, and when the guests were all assembled, a sudden sickness came upon me. I grew faint and fell into a swoon. I knew nothing more until you woke me on Querrin shore. That broke part of the spell upon me. The white embroidered tablecloth was a wedding gift from my father. Now you have served me a meal upon it, all that strange magic is dispelled, and I am free at last!’
The Kern of Querrin made his coach ready and returned Maire to her father’s house. The Lord O’Connor of Kerry was only delighted to have his daughter alive and well. A great feast was held, and speeches made and stories shared. The Lord O’Connor could see the Kern was a fine young man, of good character, wisdom and wit. He invited the Kern to stay a while, all the time wondering what he could do to repay him for his kindness and care of his beloved daughter. At length, he offered his daughter’s hand in marriage, and the Kern, delighted, did not refuse. A wedding was arranged, and when the guests were all assembled, no spells befell the wedding party, unless they were spells of love. As far as I know, the feasting and the dancing went on all night long. They may be dancing yet. The young couple lived happily together and only good followed all the work of their hands from that day on.
The Grateful Dead: SFS (1937-38) Mrs Brew, Tullycrine, Ennis told to Bridie Brew, Tullycrine NS, p.93.
Savoury Flanagan: SFS (1937-38) Thomas MacMahon, Spancilhill told to Ethel MacMahon, Spancilhill, Drumbanniff School, Crusheen, p.9.
The Kern of Querrin and the Stolen Bride: Lady Wilde, Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland (Ward & Downey; London, 1887).