The sandhills of Doonbeg, home of Donn, one of the great lords of the Tuatha Dé Danann, are situated in west Clare, facing the ocean. Known locally as Doughmore, the dunes are to the north of the small village of Doonbeg, and although much of the area is now enclosed by a golf club, it is still easy to reach the sandy coastal area via the small roads that run down towards the sea from the main Milltown Malbay–Kilkee Road. The village of Doonbeg is tiny, charmingly situated where the river enters the sea and surrounds the remains of a sixteenth-century castle. Though now a ruin, the castle was inhabited up until 1930. The dunes themselves constitute a large area of sandhills and beach. In the late nineteenth century, there were many tales of strange lights and mysterious white horses being seen on the dunes; local people were afraid to pass through the area after dark. It was said that Donn, Lord of the Dead, had his house here, although, like so many of the Tuatha Dé Danann, he was claimed as the resident of many different districts in Ireland. In addition to Doonbeg, his home was also said to be off the coast of Béara and in Knockfierna in Limerick. The original story in The Book of Invasions states that Donn was one of the people of Míl, who drowned off the southwest coast as his tribe landed in Ireland. Other sources claim that he was one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and he is closely associated with both the Cailleach Bhéarra (Hag of Béara) and Áine, goddess of the sun. He is the god who rides out to call the dead to his shadowy home. Sometimes he rides alone on his great white horse, blazing across the sky in a winter’s sunset; sometimes he rides at the head of a great host, bellowing his return like the waves that beat this coast during storms; sometimes he takes the form of an animal such as a bull; and it is said that Cliodhna, one of the great banshees of Munster, changed him into a stag.
County Clare is perhaps best known for its Burren, the unique landscape of the north of the county. This bizarre area, made up of miles upon miles of karst limestone, the flat grey and white rock broken by equally stony hills, is a complete world in itself. In spring, the landscape is often the haunt of naturalists, wandering its vast surface and peering through the cracks to where bright flowers are coming up. The unique combination of shallow soil and mild wet climate has resulted in the growth of flowers native to very different environments, from the Mediterranean to the Alps. This pale world is a reflective landscape in every sense – reflective almost to the extent of hypnotising the wanderer. As you walk through the Burren, the light shines back off both land and sea, and the trinity of light, stone and water has an effect which is quite literally stunning, bringing on a feeling of dislocation which is very hard to describe unless you have experienced it. The Burren is also where some of the major Megalithic remains of Clare are found, including the Polnabrone Dolmen. In contrast, the charm of the area around Doonbeg and the southern part of west Clare lies in its miles of yellow sands, its feeling of openness to wind and water and its cheerful, bucket-and-spade towns like Kilkee and Kilrush. Inland, there are green hills and fertile valleys.
Cratloe Castle, County Clare, by WF Wakeman.
However, every part of Clare shares a wealth of tales associated with ancient heroes such as Cú Chulainn, the Fianna and the Tuatha Dé Danann. Folk tradition has always been very strong in Clare and it has one of the richest musical traditions in the country. In the early twentieth century, the scholar Thomas Westropp recorded many of Clare’s traditional stories, including one of the banshee, or fairy woman, which has its origins at least as far back as the eleventh century. Near Killaloe is Craglea, a great rock which is home of a great lady of the Sídh, Aoibheall. She appeared to the high king, Brian Ború, the night before the Battle of Clontarf (1014) and in the fourteenth century to the Norman knight, Richard de Clare, as he made his way to the battle of Corcomroe where his soldiers were slaughtered. On the latter occasion, she was seen washing the bloody armour of the troops at a river. Clare retained these traditions of magic into modern times – Biddy Early, the wise woman of Feakle, practised her magic until her death in 1873, and a mermaid was reportedly seen off Miltown Malbay as late as 1910.
One of the most persistent traditions of this part of the country is that of the fugitive island in the ocean to the west. The islands have been sighted from Liscannor Bay to Loop Head. Sometimes the island is the home of the dead. Sometimes it is Hy Brasil, or Manannán’s Many-Coloured Land, the Land of Youth. In Liscannor Bay, the magical island is called Kilstruiteen, a place of gold and silver towers and wooded slopes which sank below the waves thousands of years ago and is seen only once every seven years. It was said that when boats passed over the place where the island was, the passengers could smell the flowers still growing under the water. This mirror-image of a lost land is one of the most powerful in Irish tradition, and, looking out towards the sun setting in the western sea, it is easy to understand why. As the day changes to night, on the deserted sands at Doonbeg, the beach becomes a liminal zone between two states of being, the tide changing the landscape even as one walks upon it. The light transforms the shapes of clouds over the water into towers and forests and valleys, and wakens some deep instinct to believe in that world, where those who are lost are talking and laughing and listening to music – the guests of an otherworld king.
DONN, LORD OF THE RED PALACE
The horns of the moon have risen over the dunes of Doonbeg, and the Lord of the Dark Face watches over the shadowy waves from his red palace, the home of those who have left life and gone to their ancestors. Kings and warriors and old wise men, smiling mothers and proud queens, mourning widows and merry girls – all of them come home to Donn’s house, far to the southwest of Ireland.
The waves are still tonight, and Donn has not yet made his journey to summon those whom he will take to his home. He is the lord of shadow, of storms and shipwrecks and those who die with blood upon them. Unlike the Morrigan, however, he does not glory in slaughter. He is the god of truth as well as death, for death is the inescapable last truth. His sister is the goddess Áine of Knockainey, the goddess with the face of the sun. He knows that even the people of the Sídh, bright and powerful as they are, will finally come to his shadowy house. He watches and waits quietly in the darkness.
And tonight, someone has come to beg a boon of him.
Fionn is known by all as a great hunter, a great warrior, a great womaniser, a great giver of gifts and hospitality, and an even greater boaster about his own past. He is fair-haired and broad-shouldered and, when the two men stand together, it would seem that he should be the one granting the favours. But that is not the case – Fionn has come to plead for a gift for one of his companions. For, in addition to his other attributes, Fionn has great loyalty to his friends. He has made the journey to the House of Donn out of concern for one beloved to him.
‘Lord Donn,’ Fionn says, bowing very low. ‘My musician, Cnú Dearóil, is a sad and lonely man, for he has no wife. Usually, this would not be a problem, for I could easily find one for him from the numerous princesses, fairy-women, messengers and seers that gather around me and the Fianna, like bees around honey. But there is a problem, my lord. Cnú Dearóil is no taller than four of my fists, though he is the greatest musician the world has ever known. Gracious Lord Donn, if you were to hear him play, even you would be impressed. Warriors suffering from the wounds of battle and women in labour fall asleep when Cnú Dearóil plays his lullabies. So I have come to you, great lord of the otherworld, to beg for a wife of a suitable size for my friend.’
The ruins of Doonbeg Castle, County Clare
Lord Donn considers for a moment, and then nods his head graciously. ‘I will see what can be done,’ he promises.
And he is as good as his word, for within his realm he finds the musician a wife as fair as a May blossom. She is called Bláthnuit, meaning ‘Little Blossom’, and she is no bigger than Cnú Dearóil himself. The pair live together for many happy years, travelling on Fionn’s horse on his journeys throughout Ireland, taking refuge from the rain under his cloak. When they die, they too are welcomed into the House of Donn, and Cnú Dearóil plays the music that lets the dead forget their past sorrows.
In his dealings with the great ones, with warriors like Fionn and kings and princesses, Donn was often generous. But Donn was not generous only to the rich and mighty. He has been seen wearing a black silk hat, giving alms to a widow who went outside her house so that her starving children should not see her weep on a hungry Christmas Eve. He saved the cattle of a local herdsman from theft. His horses are often heard at Cnoc an tSodair, the Hill of the Trotting, near the shore at the dunes, and his lights are seen over the same dunes where those he has brought home feast with him, listening to the music made in his dark tower. He gives the best to his guests – the willowy girls and blue-eyed athletes, the grey-haired widows and toothless, tired old men. For the Lord of Death is courteous, and not just in giving the gifts of life. Sometimes, and not rarely, when he calls those who have lived too long or have suffered too much, he is more than courteous – he is kind.
