The distinctive, scooped-out edge of Ben Bulben faces out towards the coastline of Sligo and acts as a signature to a county which not only contains a wealth of folklore, archaeology and history but is also rich in stunning natural beauty, encompassing wild sea and high mountain valleys. Beann Gulban means ‘The Mountain Peak of Gulban’ but it is not known who or what Gulban was. This countryside is haunted by the ghosts of William Butler Yeats and his brother, Jack, both of whom were possessed by Sligo – its scenery, its folklore and its people – throughout their lives. Reading any of Yeats’s poetry – particularly the earlier works – gives one a feeling for Sligo in a way that no prose can, as does looking at a Jack Butler Yeats painting such as Memory Harbour.
The ascent of Ben Bulben should be undertaken only by those with good navigational skills, and, as usual in Ireland, mist can come down suddenly, so suitable clothing and footwear should be worn. The top of the mountain is particularly boggy. There are several routes which can be taken to the trig point marking the summit. Unfortunately, one of the most picturesque of these at the Gleniff Horseshoe has some of the routes blocked off by anti-access notices. Those who do make the climb will be rewarded by magnificent views over the surrounding countryside and numerous sightings of what look like caves but which are, in fact, the remains of the workings of the now-defunct Ben Bulben barytes mines, which closed in the late 1970s. The mythical boar of Ben Bulben has had many stories told about it and may be a link to a time when animals were sacrificed as a way of communication with the gods.
An engraving depicting the distinctive outline of Ben Bulben on the horizon.
Those unwilling or unable to do the climb can find consolation in the drive up to and around the Gleniff Horseshoe – particularly lovely when the evening light comes in from the west – or the less arduous trek to the top of Knocknarea, where the gigantic cairn is said to cover the grave of Queen Maeve. Not far away from the cairn is the Carrowmore complex of tombs, which is possibly the oldest in the country. It is estimated that some of the monuments in the huge complex date from as early as 4000BC. Unfortunately, many of the original 60 monuments were destroyed – some, even more unfortunately, by careless early excavation. Despite this, it is a unique experience to walk through a landscape filled with strange humps and lumps, which turn out to be cairns and tombs. Houses and fields mingle in among the relics of ancient days, and the line between ancient past and the present blurs. No wonder Sligo was such a rich ground for stories of the Sídh – the other world literally rises up before you on every side.
Some of the tombs, such as Listoghil, are now part of land owned by Dúchas, and there is a good interpretative centre where you can buy a map of the site. Like Rathcroghan, this is a place where it is well worth while giving yourself plenty of time to wander around. Part of the joy of the experience is that this can be done without being surrounded by crowds of people. The only groups that you are likely to meet are the assemblies of ancient stones, which from a distance can seem like the backs of grey-cloaked men and women, huddled together for a gossip that has lasted thousands of years.
THE STORY OF DIARMAID AND GRÁINNE
Cormac Mac Airt sat in his hall with his head in his hands. Despite his reputation as the wisest king Ireland had ever known, he had no idea what to do. His problem was his youngest daughter, Gráinne – a girl as fair as a lily but as wild as a hare. No scoldings from her mother nor threats from her father could stop her from eyeing up the warriors as they practised on the green at Tara, and he was afraid that she would present him with a grandchild before he could marry her off to a prince, making her another man’s problem. He groaned slightly, and the old warrior Fionn, who was sitting opposite him, asked him if he had had too much wine the previous night.
‘It’s not my head that is my problem,’ said Cormac. ‘It’s that child of mine, Gráinne. I need to get her married off quickly before she disgraces me with some stable-boy.’
Fionn put down his drink and looked speculatively at his high king. ‘Gráinne is the blonde one, isn’t she?’ he asked. ‘She’s a fine girl.’
‘Ah, she’s lovely enough,’ said Cormac. ‘But she has a will like iron. No young man can get the better of her tongue.’
Fionn smiled slightly. ‘Well, if no young man can manage her, why not try for a not-so-young one?’ he suggested. ‘A man with years of experience of dealing with the female sex.’
Now Cormac put down his cup also. ‘And would you be thinking of anyone in particular?’ he asked.
So it was agreed that Gráinne should marry Fionn, and, strangely enough, when her father broke the news to her, she did not scream and roar as she had at any of the other suggestions he had put to her. Maybe, he thought to himself, the pot-bellied old boaster was right, and an older man would suit his headstrong daughter.
Perhaps Gráinne had been misled by the stories of Fionn’s prowess into thinking that he was still a young and handsome warrior. In any case, when she saw the grizzled and hoary man that she was to marry, her face dropped. And what is also certain is that the night before the wedding, Gráinne disappeared with the flower of the Fianna, and one of Fionn’s most beloved warriors, Diarmaid Ua Duibhne, Diarmaid of the Lovespot.
Fionn was furious when he awoke at noon to find his head aching and his bride fled. Like himself, all of the Fianna, with the exception of Oisín and Oscar, had been put into an enchanted sleep by a draught from Gráinne’s hand. It did not help his mood when Oisín told him that Gráinne had originally suggested that he himself become her lover.
‘You are well shot of her, my father,’ he said. ‘She will lead poor Diarmaid a merry dance, for although she is beautiful, he did not want to go with her at all. But she mocked him and then put a geis upon him, so he had no choice. She caught him like a rabbit in the trap of his own honour.’
A wintery view of Ben Bulben.
However, Fionn had been looking forward to bedding Gráinne. Moreover, he hated to be crossed by anyone, so that, even more than lust, anger drove him, and hatred, fuelled by the fear that his powers were failing and that the young lovers had made a fool of him. He began the great hunt for Diarmaid and Gráinne which would lead the Fianna all over Ireland.
When Diarmaid and Gráinne left Tara, they went west of the Shannon, and then southwards towards Slieve Luachra. Always, Fionn pursued them, though his greatest warriors, Oscar, Oisín and Caoilte, held their companion Diarmaid in such affection that they hindered rather than helped Fionn in his angry quest. The lovers could never eat where they cooked nor sleep where they ate. They were pursued through forests and over mountainsides, onto islands and through bogs. They knew the freezing cold of winter and the relentless sun of midsummer. Ireland is marked with hundreds of dolmens called ‘The Bed of Diarmaid and Gráinne’.
All the time they travelled, Diarmaid refused to betray Fionn by making love to Gráinne, though she did not make it easy for him; for while she had thought him handsome when she saw him in the banqueting hall, the trials that they went through together made her truly love him as well as desire him. Every night, Diarmaid would put a fishbone between himself and Gráinne as they slept, so that if one of them rolled over towards the other it would stick into them and keep them apart. Then, one spring day, after Diarmaid had fought his way through an army of the Fianna and they had made their way over a mountain stream, Gráinne stood on the bank and mocked Diarmaid as he pulled back the hawthorn for her to make her way into the safety of the thicket.
‘Look, Diarmaid Ua Duibhne, you who are called the great lover of the Fianna. Look how the water has splashed up onto my thigh. Despite all your courage in battle, that water is braver than you in terms of where it dares to go.’
Then Diarmaid, who had desired Gráinne for many months, pulled her into the thicket and he made love to her; and he let Fionn know by secret signs that he had done so.
So the lovers’ adventures continued for sixteen years, with the pair sleeping in bothies in the green woods and living off the nuts and fruits of the land. Winter followed summer, and always they moved on, unable to rest for fear of Fionn. Sometimes, Gráinne would sleep on rushes, and Diarmaid on sea-sand, so that Fionn’s magic thumb would not be able to tell him whether they were on the mountainside or the seashore. They had friends in their wanderings, especially Aonghus, the god of love, who was foster-father of Diarmaid, and loved him like his own child. It was he who finally made peace between the exiles and Fionn. It was agreed that Diarmaid and Gráinne should live far from Fionn and the Fianna in Sligo; but although Fionn pretended to have forgiven the lovers, he bided his time and waited for revenge. Fionn never gave up the hunt.
One fine summer’s morning, Diarmaid awoke after a restless night and said that he would go hunting on Ben Bulben.
‘Do not go, my love,’ said Gráinne. ‘For I fear for you – you were calling out in your sleep and I am afraid that your dreams mean that something evil will befall you. And besides, I would like you to help me with some work in the house.’
However, over the years, Diarmaid had learned how to ignore Gráinne. He left the house with his spear and his hound. He climbed the great flank of the mountain, and, near the top, he came upon Fionn, sitting on a hillock. His face had become fleshy over the years, his eyes small and mean, but he was smiling. Diarmaid knew that smile of old – it was the one that Fionn always wore just before he put his spear through the heart of a deer after a long day’s hunting.
‘Well, old companion,’ said Fionn. ‘You have picked a good day for the chase, for the wild boar of Ben Bulben has been seen out on the hillside today.’ He sighed. ‘But of course it is not up to you to hunt it, for is there not a geis on you not to kill a pig? And I am sure that your wife would not like it if you took such risks. How is the lovely Gráinne?’
Diarmaid said quietly, ‘Gráinne is as lovely as ever. But do not tell me where or what I can hunt. I have never turned back from the chase yet.’ And he left Fionn and began to search for the boar’s tracks.
He heard it before he saw it, rampaging through the gorse, snorting its fury. It appeared through the brushwood, its hide as thick as iron, its cruel tusks and angry red eyes squinting as it came into the sunshine. Diarmaid ran towards it, sinking his spear into its flank, as his hound tried to dig its teeth into its thick hide. The beast threw off the great hound as if it were no more than a fly, and the dog fell onto its back yards away, whimpering miserably. But Diarmaid’s spear had gored the creature’s skin and now he held it fast.
The great beast ran all over the slopes of the mountain, trying to buck Diarmaid off his back. So it went on, with Diarmaid hanging on for dear life, sometimes wrestling the boar with his arms caught around its neck like a lover, sometimes just barely holding on to the end of his spear as the creature dragged him through gorse and heather and bracken and scrub, up and down the steep mountainside. Finally, the boar gave a massive buck, and Diarmaid fell on the earth. The beast dug one of its tusks into his tormentor’s flesh, goring his belly from hip to shoulder. Diarmaid lay there and, with one last burst of strength, pushed the hilt of his sword deep into the boar’s belly. The beast fell, dead from battle wounds and exhaustion. Nearby, Fionn sat saying nothing. By now, the rest of the Fianna had arrived, and Oisín said angrily to his father: ‘Do something now, for Diarmaid, our dear companion of old, is near death. You know that you can cure anyone, no matter how badly wounded, with a drink from your hands.
Fionn strolled over to where Diarmaid was lying in agony.
‘Not looking so well now, are you, Diarmaid, beloved of women? Of course, I’d love to help, but I’m only an oul’ fella with bad eyesight. I can see no water near here.’
Diarmaid groaned, ‘I have seen a fresh stream no more than a few feet away, Fionn; and for the gods’ sake, help me, for I have always been a faithful friend to you. It was only because Gráinne put a geis on me that I went with her, as you well know. And it was so long ago … I know you have planned this; but have mercy now and save my life.’
‘And what about the kisses you gave to her in front of me and my men when I found you? And your life with her and the children she bore you – are not these a mockery of me?’
Fionn stood staring down at Diarmaid, but Oisín came up and shook his father’s shoulders, shouting, ‘Old man, if you do not go now and get water for Diarmaid, I will kill you with my own hands. You know that we cannot let a companion die like this. Go to him now!’
Fionn shrugged. He went slowly to the pool and filled his cupped hands with water, but when he drew near to Diarmaid, and saw how handsome he still was, and thought of how he and young Gráinne had made a fool and a cuckold of him for so many years, he let the water trickle through his fingers. Twice he went to the well and took water in his hands to bring to Diarmaid, but twice, as he returned to where the hero was lying, his jealous memories got the better of him and he let it pour to the ground.
Oisín was shouting at his father now, telling him to move quickly and help the dying man who was lying in his arms, shaking uncontrollably. So, finally, Fionn took the water all the way to where Diarmaid was lying. But at that moment, the hero died.
Gráinne gave a great cry of pain when she saw the Fianna returning from the mountain with Diarmaid’s hound limping beside them and a body carried on a bier made of green branches. For years, she planned a revenge on Fionn, training her children in the ways of battle. When Fionn heard of this, he came to her, and, in spite of all the slights and insults she piled on him, he stayed with her, calling her his honey tongue, his sweetheart, until one day she looked in the mirror and saw that although Fionn was an old man, she herself was no longer young. And she thought that although she would never love anyone as she had loved Diarmaid, there was a lot to be said for being the wife of a great leader. She knew that even though Fionn was silver-haired and red-faced, he was reputed to be a great lover, so that even the fairy-women came out of the sídh to sleep with him. Finally, she went with him to Almiu.
When the couple arrived at Almiu, the Fianna, whom Fionn had commanded to come out to greet his bride, shouted out their derision. They called to Fionn to mind his wife well this time, so that Gráinne dropped her head in shame. But she held it up again when she saw the rich robes and jewels prepared for her, the servants ready to do her bidding, and the lordly bed with its red silk hangings, so different from the bothy of branches she had slept in when she had run away in her wild youth with sweet-lipped Diarmaid Ua Duibhne.
