Eschewing the little people, one archaeologist dismissed folklore about Newgrange, folklore that later proved true

The earliest antiquarians who visited, documented, sketched and spoke about Newgrange sometimes get a hard time from the modern academic establishment. The writings of Lhwyd and Molyneux and Pownall and Vallancey are all criticised for one reason or another (poor Charles Vallancey is largely ridiculed, perhaps because he referred to Newgrange as a Mithraic temple). All of the early antiquarian accounts of the monument are valuable for one reason or another. Some of them have captured aspects of the monument that have disappeared since they wrote. Without the tools and techniques of modern archaeology, all of them were poking around in the dark, so to speak. They couldn't have known the true age of Newgrange,  nor could they have appreciated the skills of the artists and builders who created it, those whom they all too often referred to as barbarous.

Newgrange in its pre-excavation days.

The New Grange book.

However, Dr. Glyn Daniel, lecturer in archaeology at Cambridge University and editor of the academic journal Antiquity, perhaps should have known better. In 1964, Daniel's book 'New Grange and the Bend of the Boyne' was published by Thames & Hudson. It had been a collaborative effort with University College Cork professor of archaeology, Sean P. Ó Ríordáin. Sadly, Ó Ríordáin had passed away in 1957 in his early fifties, when the pair were only half way through completion of the book. Daniel was the General Editor of the 'Ancient Peoples and Places' series of books, under which the New Grange title was published. It was to become the largest single study of the Newgrange monument since George Coffey's 1912 book, and would be the last before Professor Michael J. O'Kelly's excavations at Newgrange revealed so many of its secrets.

One of the shortcomings of the Daniel/Ó Ríordáin book is that it fails to deal in any substantial terms with the mythical history of the Newgrange monument or indeed its counterparts in the Bend of the Boyne. Except for one passage in which he relates that New Grange might be an English corruption of An Uamh Greine (the cave of Grainne), Daniel does not discuss the ancient names of Newgrange, or its import in the early texts, as O'Kelly later did in his own work on Newgrange. Failing to acknowledge the earlier Irish names of Newgrange, and its mythology and associated stories, Daniel falls into a trap – he assumes the folklore about the site to be utter fantasy, and dismisses it as such:

"It is natural that impressive monuments like New Grange and Stonehenge should be visited a great deal by the general public and should themselves have attracted a folklore based on imagination, half-forgotten history, unappreciated archaeology and the sort of nonsense that luxuriates in the lunatic fringes of serious archaeology."(1)

And in that foregoing paragraph, Daniel was just setting himself up for a fall.

"The visitor to New Grange and Dowth will not be surprised to be told that these monuments were built by and were the homes of 'the little people' or to be asked their connection with the Druids."

One should always be careful about dismissing the fairy folk – even if one is a leading archaeologist and "expert" of the times!

But the following is perhaps indicative of the perhaps excessively arrogant attitude of Daniel in dealing with a monument such as Newgrange and in his rush to dismiss the folklore, he dismissed also notions about the site that would later transpire to be based in truth:

The entrance kerb stone at Newgrange (K1).

"A coloured calendar current in Ireland in 1960 had in it a good photograph of the decorated stone at the entrance to New Grange; this was accompanied by an account which needs quoting almost in toto as an example of the jumble of nonsense and wishful thinking indulged in by those who prefer the pleasures of the irrational and the joys of unreason to the hard thinking that archaeology demands.'The entrance in the east was originally triangular,' says this description, 'but is now changed for easy entrance, formerly it was necessary to crawl in and progress was retarded by interference, stones compelling the neophyte to stoop and stumble. The rays of the rising sun at certain times of the year penetrate the opening and rest on a remarkable triple spiral carving in the central chamber. Like the Great Pyramid of Gizeh in Egypt the New Grange Temple was originally covered with a layer of white quartz and was a brilliant object of Light for a considerable distance. Nuda, first king of Tuatha de Danann in Ireland, and his Master Magician, are said to have officiated here in the very, very old days. Artemidoros the Ephesian stated: "To Sacred Ierne of the Hibernians men go to learn more of the Mysteries of Samothrace."'

Two very important statements in this 1960 calendar demonstrate that there were enduring traditions about Newgrange that were fascinating and even compelling (and certainly worthy of at least some investigation) – one that the sun shone into the chamber during the year and the other that it was once covered with white quartz. Understandably, Daniel could not have known about the existence of quartz, given that the O'Kelly excavations at Newgrange had just begun when the Daniel/Ó Ríordáin book was published, but there was at least one possible reference to this feature in mythology – the "white-topped brugh" was said to have been "brilliant to approach".(2) If he had been a bit more familiar with some of the mythology of Newgrange, he might not have been so quick to shrug it off.

But Daniel certainly should not have been so dismissive in relation to the solar alignment – especially as it had been previously suggested by the likes of Solar Physics Observatory director Sir Norman Lockyer in 1909, and W.Y. Evans-Wentz in The Fairy-Faith in Celtic Countries in 1911.(3)

Within three years or so of the publication of the Daniel/Ó Ríordáin book, Professor Michael O'Kelly would stand in the chamber of Newgrange and become the first person in the modern era (and perhaps since the Bronze Age) to witness the winter solstice sunlight streaming into its inner chamber, illuminating (by reflected light) the triskele or triple spiral in the chamber. During his excavations at the famous monument, O'Kelly would uncover a significant layer of quartz beneath the cairn spill material – quartz that he would later demonstrate through repeated experiment that actually fronted the monument. In other words, at the very least Newgrange had a white quartz facade, and it is not such a huge leap of imagination to envision the possibility that the cairn was once covered with this bright stone.

The Newgrange triple spiral (triskele) in the chamber

One wonders what Daniel made of O'Kelly's revelations, and how it might have altered his thinking in relation to folklore. Folk memory is a very powerful thing. This might have been demonstrated in the case of the story in the locality of Newgrange suggesting that the Morning Star (Venus) shone into the chamber of the monument once every eight years, as recorded by Joseph Campbell in his 1959 book 'The Masks of God: Primitive Mythology"(4) Then there was the folklore collected in 1938 that suggested the Tuatha Dé Danann had built Newgrange using stones brought from the Mourne Mountains, another apparently wild and imaginative claim that had some basis in reality.

Even in the claim that "Nuda" officiated at Newgrange, the calendar was not too far off the mark. In the early texts, Newgrange is associated in particular with Elcmar, Dagda and Oengus. Dagda was chief of the gods, a kind of Tuatha Dé king, so to speak, and Elcmar was described as a "magician" and "original master of Brug na Bóinne".(5)

Unfortunately, I can only challenge Mr. Daniel posthumously, and as he is not here to defend himself, I must not take undue licence in criticising him for these shortcomings. I am glad that this diminution of folklore is not ubiquitous among modern archaeologists. As mentioned above, Michael O'Kelly outlined the mythical importance of Newgrange, and seemed to hold great reverence for the possibility that it was "a house of the dead and as an abode of spirits" which, he said, was a concept not contradicted by the findings of the excavation. O'Kelly felt that a connection between the archaeological evidence and the early literature was to be found in the older and "more genuine tradition".(6)

Daniel allowed only one statement in the 1960 calendar to stand: "It is at least true in this strange wild-cat account we have just quoted, that New Grange might well be described as belonging to 'the very, very old days'."

"It is our object in this book," he continued, "not only to describe the great tombs in the Bend of the Boyne but to set them in what appears to us their true prehistoric context, as far as the limitations of archaeology allow, eschewing the little people and Artemidoros".

One eschews the daoine sídhe at one's peril! Never dismiss the folklore...

References:
(1) Ó Ríordáin, Sean P., and Daniel, Glyn (1964), New Grange and the Bend of the Boyne, Thames and Hudson, p.19.
(2) Murphy, Anthony (2012), Newgrange – Monument to Immortality, Liffey Press, p.114.
(3) Ibid, p.170.
(4) Campbell (1991) [1959], pp.430-1.
(5) MacKillop, James (1998), Oxford Dictionary of Celtic Mythology, Oxford University Press, p.177.
(6) O'Kelly, Michael J. (1998) [1982], Newgrange: Archaeology, Art & Legend, Thames and Hudson, p.47.

Saint Patrick was married - his wife's name was Sheelah and St. Sheelah's Day was celebrated on March 18th

The revelation in today's Irish Times that Saint Patrick had a wife whose name was Sheelah is tremendously exciting for a number of reasons. Shane Lehane, a folklorist from University College Cork (UCC) has discovered pre-Famine references to a widespread belief that Saint Patrick had a wife and that St. Sheelah's Day was celebrated the day after St. Patrick's Day, on March 18th.

Lehane is quoted in the Irish Times as saying "Pre-Famine, if you go back to the newspapers in Ireland they talk not just about Patrick's Day but also Sheelah's Day. I came across numerous references that Sheelah was thought to be Patrick's wife. The fact that we have Patrick and Sheelah should be no surprise. Because that duality, that union of male and female together, is one of the strongest images that we have in our mythology."

A Sheela-na-Gig, female deity with exposed/exaggerated genitalia, carved into a standing stone at Hill of Tara.

Although the devastating effects of the Great Famine on Irish culture can never be truly quantified, we have a significant example here of a folk belief that seems to have died out in Ireland with the famine. References to Sheelah's Day were found in the Freeman's Journal of 1785, 1811 and 1841, but the feast day has been "largely forgotten about in Ireland" according to Lehane.

Some time ago, I wrote about the story of the "twining branches" (Deirdre and the Children of Uisneach) and how memories of this creation myth were brought by Irish emigrants to Nova Scotia. The story of Sheelah seems to follow a similar fate. Before the Famine, which happened in the late 1840s, the celebration of St. Patrick's Day continued into March 18th for his wife's special day, St. Sheelah's Day (and of course in typical Irish fashion copious amounts of alcohol were consumed.) However, after the Famine the tradition seems to have died out here, but Irish migrants who ended up in such places as Newfoundland, Canada and Australia brought the tradition with them.

Lehane says perhaps the most enduring legacy of Sheelah is the so-called “Sheelah’s Brush.” This is the name given by Newfoundlanders and Atlantic Canadians to a winter snowstorm that falls after St Patrick’s Day.

Sometimes referred to as “Sheelah’s Broom” - or if the snowstorm is mild with only a bare covering of snow, “Sheila’s Blush” - it is still referred to respectfully by meteorologists and fisherman in that part of the world.

Undoubtedly some media commentators will pick up on the obvious relevance of Patrick's wife to the whole discourse about Catholic celibacy - and the perceived connection between that peculiar diktat of the traditional church here and the many sex and paedophile scandals that have decimated the Catholic faith here in Ireland.

A somewhat obscure and tenuous but perhaps very important connection is made by Lehane between Saint Sheelah and the "hugely interesting archaeological manifestation that also bears her name" - the Sheelah-na-Gig.

"Sheela-na-Gig is a basic medieval carving of a woman exposing her genitalia. These images are often considered to be quite grotesque. They are quite shocking when you see them first.  Now we look at them very much as examples of old women showing young women how to give birth. They are vernacular folk deities associated with pregnancy and birth." (Source)

And Lehane believes that the tradition of Sheelah could and should be revived and embraced in Ireland.

""Sheelah represented, for women in particular, a go-to person because she represented the female. The Sheela-na-Gig is a really important part of medieval folk tradition. She is an important folk deity. The figure of Sheelah was perhaps much bigger than suggested by the scant mentions we find in the old newspaper accounts. She would have been massively important. She represents a folk personification, allied to, what can be termed, the female cosmic agency, and being such, would have played a major role in people’s everyday lives. It is a pity that the day has died out. But maybe we will revive it."

A revival and reactivation of Sheelah

My own view is that the revival of the tradition of a female deity equal in status to Patrick might very well be important to the spiritual well-being of a country which has been very heavily influenced by patriarchal religious zeal for centuries, an influence that is seen by some as a contributory factor in many of Ireland's ills. The symbolic importance of Patrick (who was, ironically, a Romano-British immigrant to these shores) cannot be understated in the milieu of a nation defined for so long by its trenchant support for the male-dominated Roman church.

A statue of Saint Patrick looks out across Gabhra Valley from Hill of Tara.

Now we have the chance to reconcile the tradition of an almost-forgotten woman into the complex folk fabric of a fractured cultural history - a history that, it must be borne in mind, was vibrantly aware of the necessity for accessibility to the feminine deity in most of its past eras. The patriarchal influence of Rome did not decimate the ancient divine feminine - rather it forced upon us some sort of collective obeisance to the supremacy of the omniscient and jealous male god of the old testament, forcing the old indigenous female deities such as the Cailleach and Sheelah into the shadows.

The female wasn't altogether banished, but rather was revealed in a guise that was somewhat familiar, with reflections of the ancient goddesses of old but very much dressed in the raiment of a woman whose power was contingent upon the emanations of the Catholic patriarchy. Thus, Brigid the prehistoric goddess survived as the saint who became known to us as Muire na nGael, the Mary of the Irish, and indeed the Catholic Church had allowed Mary to become a co-redemptrix with Jesus. The presence of this ancient goddess, albeit in diluted form, in the church of Rome was probably one of the factors that had helped the church to become established in the first place.

Further to the possible revival of the tradition of Sheelah here is the possibility that incorporating her into our national celebrations could become a hugely significant act. We have here the very vivid and exciting possibility of activating or reactivating a feminine energy that is, as CG Jung might have suggested, of supreme importance for the ultimate rehabilitation of the modern human soul through the reconciliation of the masculine and feminine elements in life.

Can one yet countenance the notion of a Saint Patrick's Day AND a Saint Sheelah's Day? A national holiday for Ireland, spanning two days, recognising the male and the female, and allowing both to hold equal court in the hearts and minds of Irish people and their descendants and friends all around the world?

One of the ironies of the story about the disappearance of Sheelah from popular folk memory is that she hasn't vanished at all. The Sheelah tradition simply moved abroad with the forced migrations resulting from mass starvation. Many of those who stayed behind perished. Sheelah's story might have perished with the Famine also (even if Patrick's story only became more ubiquitous) except for the fact that her flame was kept burning abroad, in distant lands, by those who left these shores. The supreme irony is that Patrick - who was married - brought the tradition of Jesus to these shores, from a distant land, and that even though that tradition espoused celibacy for its all-male clergy,  Patrick himself had a wife.

It could only happen in Ireland.

The contemporary relevance of our most ancient myths

For a long time, I have been studying, writing about and talking about Irish mythology. During that time, I have tried to relate the importance of mythology as something beyond mere story telling. It appears to me that our myths, no matter how ancient, seem to have a relevance to us even in the present day. In previous works (including my books and blog posts), I have attempted to bring that relevance to bear upon modern life. It can be a difficult thing to do. There's always a danger that people think you're engaging in some sort of new-age mystical "woo", so I tend to be very careful about how I approach the whole area. I have a great enthusiasm for the subject matter.

The Book of the Cailleach.

Recently, on the recommendation of a Facebook friend, I purchased a copy of a book called 'The Book of the Cailleach - Stories of the Wise-Woman healer' by Gearóid Ó Crualaoich. Having seen a number of posts I had written featuring words and pictures about the Loughcrew cairns and the story of the Cailleach who is said to have created them, this follower thought that I would be interested in Ó Crualaoich's book. And they weren't mistaken. So far, I have found it absolutely gripping. It is a comprehensive analysis and discussion of the stories from Ireland's oral traditions about the 'wise woman', the 'hag', the Cailleach, or the 'Red Woman'. These stories have their roots in pre-Christian Ireland.

The book's blurb says that, "In the hands of Gearóid Ó Crualaoich these figures are subtly explored to reveal how they offered a complex understanding of the world, of human psychology and its predicaments. The thematic structure of the book brings to the fore universal themes such as death, marriage, childbirth or healing, and invites the reader to see the contemporary relevance of the stories for themselves."

But it was a review of The Book of the Cailleach - contained on its back cover - that drew my attention. It voices, in ways that I struggle to do, the relevance of these stories to the Ireland - and the world - of today:

"The unearthing of a priceless spirit from forgotten, buried, misunderstood storytelling is like discovering Knowth or Newgrange and opening the doors to those otherworlds. Gearóid Ó Crualaoich's work on the wise-woman healer, the cailleach, is of immense importance, for we need access to the secrets of healing and orientation in life known well in the past but now neglected. Without that secret knowledge we are left with mere rationalism and secularism, which are inadequate for dealing with the challenges of a complex world. This book is highly professional, comprehensive, carefully interpretive, and respectful. It opens up many avenues towards the healing of our own personal lives and our world. It is of special importance to Ireland, but it also addresses the needs of people around the world, who can now look to Ireland for the rediscovery of a special kind of spiritual knowledge connected to the natural world, to place, and to history. This book is so rich in detail and implication that it can be taken by the reader as a personal map to the otherworld and to the forgotten powers of nature and humanity now accessible to him. To women especially it offers an image of strength, wisdom, and healing power. We need this kind of excellent work, visionary as well as academic, all over the world to pull us out of the literalistic and materialistic vision that is limiting us and perhaps even killing us."

That review was by Thomas Moore, author of Care of the Soul and The Soul's Religion.

Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill also sees the relevance of the work to current times. She describes it as a "breathtaking book" and one which resonates quite personally with her:

"It returns to Irish folk material the emotional depth and imaginative meaning which it always contained in its natural context but of which it has often been stripped by the more utilitarian and commonplace interpretations long in fashion. It reminds me once again why I am charmed and enchanted by this material, and more than that, why I regularly find in it answers to the deep-seated obsessions of my own. A real gem of a book, containing an exemplary methodology showing how the Irish folk tradition can be interrogated to find answers which are vitally important to our age and times."

I've spent quite a bit of time at Loughcrew, exploring the monuments and landscape of the Cailleach.

Bringing to bear the meaning of myth has become one of the most appealing aspects of my work. But this wasn't always the case. The reason I began to study the monuments of Brú na Bóinne almost 20 years ago (in reality, I had been studying them since I was a child, when my father brought home George's Eogan's newly published book on Knowth in 1986) was more to do with a belief that astronomy had a greater role in the design and interpretation of these great monuments than was being expounded by the experts. However, having begun serious research with Richard Moore in 1999, I decided just over a year later, on the 16th of March in the year 2000, to establish a website which would discuss aspects of our researches. When it came to choosing a title for this website, I quickly (and without giving it too much thought to be honest) decided to call it Mythical Ireland. Why? I wasn't entirely sure then. Perhaps I acted out of some instinct.

Whatever the reason, over time, myth has become the most important aspect of my work. And that's because, for me, personally, the retelling of our myths has led to revelation. Ní Dhomhnaill is right. The interrogation of our folk and mythic traditions leads to answers which "are vitally important to our age and times".

The Milky Way in Irish mythology and folklore

The Milky Way has been known by several names and phrases in Irish mythology and folklore. Principal among its names seems to have been Bealach na Bó Finne, which means the Way of the White Cow. In this respect, it seems to have been regarded as a heavenly reflection of the River Boyne. A variant of this is Bóthar na Bó Finne, the Road of the White Cow. The goddess Bóinn's name is from Bó and Find, meaning White Cow. In the Dindshenchas, we are told that the Boyne river was formed when she approached Nechtain's Well and it overflowed, washing her along the river, mutilating her, and finally carrying her out to sea where she was drowned. There, we are told, her lapdog Dabilla was turned into the Rockabill Islands. This is undoubtedly a creation myth.

The Milky Way (Bealach na Bó Finne) over the River Boyne (Abhainn Bó Finne).

There are other names and phrases for the Milky Way. These include:

Ceann Síne - Síne is "chain", and ceann is "head" or "chief", perhaps even an "end point". (An end point would be interesting with regards to the movement of the sun, moon and planets along the ecliptic, which intersects the Milky Way at two points in the sky. Perhaps one of these points was considered the place where the heavenly cycles began and ended?)

Síog na Spéire - the streak or stripe of the sky.

Earball na Lárach Báine - the tail of the white mare. In folklore, Láir Bhán is also a phrase for the moon. The Láir Bhán is considered by some to be an ancient sovereignty goddess. One old Samhain custom in Ireland involved the procession of the Láir Bhán (White Mare) from house to house. People would blow on cows' horns and the party was headed by a person dressed in a white robe or sheet who was known as the "White Mare".(1)

Mór-Chuing Argait - A name given for the Boyne in the Dinshenchas meaning "Great Silver Yoke", which might also have been a description of the Milky Way.

Smir Find Fedlimthi - the White Marrow of Fedlimid, also from the Dindshenchas poem Boand I.

Claí Mór na Réaltaí - the Great Fence/Ditch of the Stars.

Sgríob Chlann Uisnich - Track of the children of Uisneach.

This last one is contained in a beautiful folk memory, recalled in Scotland and in Nova Scotia but relating to an Irish myth (Deidre and the Sons of Uisneach) which appears to be the recounting of an ancient creation myth about the Milky Way. In this story, the Milky Way is known as Sgríob Chlann Uisnich. 

From Deirdre and the Lay of the Children of Uisne.(2)

It is not surprising to see the Milky Way described in conjunction with the swan. The constellation we know today as Cygnus may have been important to Stone Age astronomers and it appears to fly along the heavenly river.

In the Nova Scotia version of Deirdre and the Sons of Uisneach, the origin of the Milky Way galaxy is depicted as emerging from two trees as separated by a loch, as if to complete an arch between them.This episode is placed in the well-known Ulster tale if Deirdre, whose lover, Noíse, is one of the Children of Uisneach.

... the sons of Uisneach are killed in a great, unnamed battle, after which Deidire falls into the grave with the men. The bodies of the two lovers are exhumed and reburied on either side of the burial mound. Soon a tree grows from each grave and rises until the two join. This arouses a great deal of vengeful malice in an unnamed king, who orders that the trees be cut down. Soon another pair of trees grows and joins until the king has them cut down as well. This sequence of events recurs repeatedly until the king decides to have the bodies placed on either side of a loch, a distance too great for the trees to span. Between the trees a cluster of stars gathers in a light trail, Sgríob Chlann Uisnich [track of the Children of Uisneach].(3)

Sgríób Chlann Uisnich - the track of the Children of Uisneach - over the Dowth megalithc mound.

References:
(1) Paice MacLeod, Sharon (1960), Celtic Myth & Religion, p.175.
(2) Carmichael, Alexander (1914), Deirdre and the Lay of the Children of Uisne, Hodges, Figgis & Co., p.152.
(3) MacKillop, James (2006), Myths and Legends of the Celts, Penguin Books, p.292.

Do the myths about Newgrange and the Boyne Valley mounds offer an insight into their function?

"Myths are just stories," a historian once told me. As far as he was concerned, they were stories that were made up for sheer entertainment. In that mindset, myths are not metaphors for anything, and they certainly don't contain detail about real history, or any information such as astronomical data.

The winter solstice illumination of Newgrange by the sun. Composite © Anthony Murphy.

However, students of mythology know the truth is much more complex than that. Many myths are metaphorical. Some do refer to actual events. And there are stories that appear, in certain interpretations, to contain astronomical information.

My own view is that myths should never be dismissed as mere stories. However, the truth is that in most cases we can only travel so far along the road of hypothesis and speculation, no matter how well grounded it is, because often we are unable to discern the true age of a myth, or how it might have been altered by the voices of time.

In the case of Newgrange, Dowth and Knowth (the former two in particular), there are myths and folk tales that appear to offer a tantalising possibility - that they contain information about these sites and the function of these monuments that might go all the way back into deep prehistory. And so I will discuss some of these myths and folk beliefs in the context of possibility only - without drawing any definitive conclusions, except to acknowledge at the outset that I am excited about the possibilities, which may tinge my investigation with a hint of subjectivity.

Newgrange, Knowth and Dowth. Images by the author.

Joseph Campbell

I've written in several publications about the Venus connection at Newgrange. Joseph Campbell, writing in The Masks of God: Primitive Mythology, referred to a local story that suggested that at sunrise on one day in eight years, the morning star rises and casts its beam into the chamber. This story was recounted, it would appear, before the excavation and restoration of Newgrange in the 1960s, work which resulted in the leading archaeologist Michael O'Kelly witnessing, in 1967, the light from the winter solstice sun entering the chamber. Prior to the restoration, neither sun nor Venus (nor any heavenly body) could be seen from the chamber because of the subsidence of the passage cap stones during the five millennia since Newgrange was constructed.

Of particular intrigue is the fact that archaeologists maintain Newgrange was "sealed up" within a few centuries of being built after cairn material slipped off the top and covered the kerb and entrance, and that its passage and chamber lay concealed for about four millennia until local landowner Charles Campbell rediscovered the entrance in 1699AD.

Another folk belief in the 1930s, recounted recently in this blog, told how the Tuatha Dé Danann brought stones from the Mourne Mountains for the building of the mounds. During the excavations in the 1960s, it was indeed discovered that there were water-rolled granite cobbles at Newgrange (which had been hidden beneath the cairn slip). These, it has been revealed, came from the Cooley Peninsula, but have their origin in the Mournes.

In his 1990 paper, Time, Memory, and the Boyne Necropolis, John Carey examined aspects of two stories - one about Newgrange and one about Dowth. The Newgrange story, from Tochmarc Étaíne, The Wooing of Étaíne, tells of how the Dagda sent Elcmar away so that he might have illicit relations with Elcmar's wife, Bóinn. The Dagda worked a magic spell, so that Elcmar would seem that he is away for a single day, when in fact he had been away for nine months. Dagda lay with Bóinn and the child Oengus Óg was conceived and born. The Dowth story, from the Dindshenchas, told how the king, Bresal, had brought the men of Ireland to build him a tower to reach heaven. The king's sister cast a spell on the sun to make it stand still, so there would be endless day to allow the tower be built.

The myths of the Boyne monument appear to indicate control of time.

Carey makes a very interesting observation: "I am aware of no Irish legends associating the control or construction of sacred sites with the manipulation of time other than those which concern the tumuli of the Boyne valley."

In the tale Altram Tighe Dá Mheadar (The Fosterage of the House of Two Vessels), Manannán advises Oengus on how to take Newgrange from Elcmar: "Command him not to come (again) to the house from which he departs until ogam and achu are mingled together, until heaven and earth are mingled together, and until the sun and moon are mingled together." The mingling of heaven and earth could imply the mating of sky with the earth-mound Newgrange during winter solstice, while the latter reference to sun and moon being mingled might refer to an eclipse, something that I think is implied in the story about Dowth, in which the magic spell on the sun is broken when Bresal commits incest with his sister and a sudden darkness comes upon the land. (For further discussion of this theory, see Island of the Setting Sun, chapter 6.) I have discussed at length on the Mythical Ireland website and in my books the idea that the mound builders were competent astronomers, whose knowledge of the complex movements of the moon (and by extension the predictable patterns of eclipses) were recorded in stone, and inherent in the design of the monuments.

Ronald Hicks

Writing in 2009, Ronald Hicks of Ball State University suggested, in a paper entitled Cosmography In Tochmarc Étaíne, that the story of The Wooing of Étaíne was "meant as an allegory about lunar cycles in which Étaín represents the moon". These lunar cycles, writes Hicks, include the 19-year Metonic Cycle, which was"likely to have been of interest to the ancient Irish".

In one part of The Wooing of Étaín, Midir's wife Fuamnach became jealous of her husband's new wife, Étaín. By magic, Fuamnach turned Étaín into a butterfly (some versions say a fly) and raised a storm that buffeted the butterfly around Ireland for seven years.

At last, however, a chance gust of wind blew her through a window of the fairy palace of Angus on the Boyne. The immortals cannot be hidden from each other, and Angus knew what she was. Unable to release her altogether from the spell of Fuamnach, he made a sunny bower for her, and planted round it all manner of choice and honey-laden flowers, on which she lived as long as she was with him, while in the secrecy of the night he restored her to her own form and enjoyed her love.

There is only one "window" at Newgrange - the sky window, or roof box, as it's more commonly known. This aperture allows the sun to shine into the chamber on winter solstice. Perhaps the "sunny bower" is the chamber of Newgrange, illuminated by the rays of the rising sun on Winter Solstice. I discuss this and some of the other above mentioned myths about Newgrange in this video:

Folk memory - could local people in 1938 recall details about the construction of Newgrange that would not be confirmed until its later excavation?

I've written before about the apparent curious persistence of local folk memory. You might recall one of the most famous examples - the fact that local people said Venus (the Morning Star) shines into Newgrange on one winter solstice morning every eight years. This had been recorded by Joseph Campbell and written about in 1958 - prior to Professor Michael O'Kelly's excavations and restoration of the roofbox, before which time any such phenomena could not be observed within the chamber. Of course, there's always the possibility that the alignment was observed indirectly, from outside the tomb entrance, and thus deduced by locals. But the thing about folklore is that it cannot always be easily dismissed as just some fanciful story.

The entrance to Newgrange as it appears after Prof. O'Kelly's restoration.

In 1938, the Schools' Collection was being gathered around Ireland by the Irish Folklore Commission. At Monknewtown School, which was one of the closest schools to the great monuments of Newgrange, Knowth and Dowth, a man called Gerald Duggan from Dowth recalled some local lore about fairy forts to one of the school pupils. Here are some snippets from Mr. Duggan's recollections about these great monuments:

There are three very important tumulus in this district. They are Newgrange, Knowth and Dowth. They are within view of each other. There is supposed to be a cave running under ground from Newgrange to Dowth. 

This latter claim about a cave connecting two ancient sites is very commonplace in Irish folklore. Many places, including old mounds, forts and even ecclesiastical sites such as monasteries, were said to have been connected by underground tunnels. Perhaps this supposition is based upon the observation of souterrains, of which there is a remarkable proliferation in this northeastern part of Ireland. Mr. Duggan, speaking about Newgrange, says (the spelling is reproduced here exactly from the manuscript):

Outside the entrance there is a large stone with spiral writing on it. Inside in the fort there are two large stones in the shape of a basin. It was the custom long ago for the bodies of pagan kings that died to be buried in these baisins and the ashes used to be burned.

And here's where it gets really interesting:

It is said that it was the Tuatha De Dannans that built those forts. It is said that they brought the stones from the Mourn Mountains to build them.

Gerald Duggan's recollections from the Schools' Collection (© duchas.ie)

It is now postulated by geologists that stones for the construction of Newgrange came from three, and possibly four sites, as follows: (1) The large kerb stones, orthostats and structural stones, which are of greywacke, were brought along the coast from Clogherhead; (2) the milky white quartz stones which form the front wall of Newgrange came from the Wicklow Mountains (although the exact site has never been conclusively located), with a possibility, recently suggested, that this quartz came alternatively from Rockabill Island off the coast at Skerries; (3) the rounded water-rolled granite and granodiorite cobbles which were interspersed with the quartz came from the beach at Rathcor/Templetown, which is on the southern shore of the Cooley Peninsula. It is said that these stones originated in the Mourne Mountains.

In 1938, when the School's Collection was being gathered, the granite cobbles which originated in the Mournes were all buried under the cairn spill - material which had, over time, slipped down from the top of the cairn over the kerb stones and buried the white quartz and rounded cobbles under several feet of stones. When Professor O'Kelly excavated Newgrange, he found this layer of quartz and granite/granodiorite cobbles at the very bottom of the cairn slip. Through experimentation, he postulated that the quartz and water-rolled cobbles had originally formed an almost-vertical facing on the mound, and thus Newgrange was reconstructed in this manner.

The question that arises from all this is this - how did a local man, speaking in 1938, three decades before the excavation of Newgrange, possibly know or have any indication that stones for the construction of Newgrange might have been brought from the Mournes?

Is it possible that some of these cobbles had indeed been found, especially outside the entrance to the tomb, where, in 1699, the land owner Charles Campbell's servants had quarried stone for the construction of his house?

There could be a more prosaic explanation. Perhaps Mr. Duggan was an educated man, who had become aware of the writings of George Wilkinson. Writing in 1845, Wilkinson had suggested that a large stone basin in the chamber of Newgrange was made from granite which originated in the Mournes. Writing in 1912, George Coffey quotes a Mr. R. Clark of the Geological Survey as suggesting that the stone from which this basin was constructed had "more resemblance to some of the granites of the Wicklow series than to those of the Mourne district."

Another story which is interesting was told by a Patrick Walsh of Rushwee, Stackallen, about a giant who lived in a cave near the Boyne:

Stone basin in Newgrange (George Coffey)

The giant lived in the cave at the river Boyne for a long time until an army came and hunted him out of it. It is said that after that he went to the cave at Newgrange and he stayed there until he died and it is said that the people put his body into a stone cup and burned it. The cup that the giant's body was burned in is in the cave at Newgrange yet.

One presumes this "stone cup" referred to is one of the stone basins inside Newgrange. It is interesting that Mr. Walsh's story hints at a funerary use of the ceremonial basins. It is implied by many experts on the great passage-tombs that the interment of the fragmented remains of the deceased were placed carefully in these ritual basins.

In a previous blog post, I discussed the means by which human remains might have been defleshed and cremated such that there were only small fragments left to inter. There is still the tantalising possibility, though, that Mr. Walsh's story is a folk memory of an ancient custom going back deep into prehistory, of burning the corpses of the dead, and placing their fragmented remains in stone basins or urns.

The Dawning of the Day . . . an Irish song and the strange tale of a sunken city off the coast of Co Louth

There are many strange tales in the myths and folklore of Ireland. One, several variants of which can be found in different localities, concerns the idea of a city or village beneath a lake or the sea. Sometimes, as in the legend of the mysterious island of Hy Brazil, the underwater realm becomes visible once every seven years. An extraordinary deluge tale was once recounted in the folklore of a fishing village called Blackrock (Na Creagacha Dubha), on the County Louth coastline near Dundalk.

A wonderful photo of the breaking dawn at Blackrock beach by Barry Kieran.

This village, which mostly fronts on to Dundalk Bay, faces out across the restless waters, offering its residents lovely views of the Cooley Mountains, whose undulating peaks roll out eastwards into the Irish Sea.

Blackrock's flood lore relates to a local version of a well-known song called Déalradh án Lae, 'The Dawning of the Day', written by James Clarence Mangan.

A note appended to the song in a manuscript by transcriber Nicholas O'Kearney says: "This song is founded on a tradition prevalent among the people in the vicinity, that an ancient city, with fine land adjoining it, are seen every seventh year by the fishermen off Blackrock shore near Dundalk. The bard, remembering the legends of Gerald Iarla in Mullach-Elim, and O'Neill in Aileach, considers the appearance a favourable sign for Ireland's liberation."

"It may have happened, time out of mind, that a city and land in this part of the Island were encroached on by the sea. A great causeway, built with huge mountain stones, has been traced from Dunany to Cooley Point, a distance of more than seven miles across the Bay of Dundalk . . . The old people used to tell many stories of the inhabitants of the enchanted city, and assert that some of their offspring still live at Blackrock."

Here is Mangan's translation of the song:

'Twas a balmy summer morning
Warm and early,
Such as only June bestows;
Everywhere the earth adorning,
Dews lay pearly
In the lily-bell and rose.
Up from each green leafy bosk and hollow
Rose the blackbird's pleasant lay,
And the soft cuckoo was sure to follow.
'Twas the Dawning of the Day!

Through the perfumed air the golden
Bees flew round me:
Bright fish dazzled from the sea,
'Till medreamt some fairy olden
World-spell bound me
In a trance of witcherie.
Steeds pranced round anon with stateliest housings,
Bearing riders prankt in rich array,
Like flushed revellers after wine-carousings—
'Twas the Dawning of the Day!

Then a strain of song was chanted,
And the lightly
Floating sea-nymphs drew anear.
Then again the shore seemed haunted
By hosts brightly
Clad, and wielding shield and spear!
Then came battle-shouts—and onward rushing—
Swords and chariots, and a phantom fray.
Then all vanished; the warm skies were blushing
In the Dawning of the Day!

Cities girt with glorious gardens
Whose immortal
Habitants in robes of light
Stood, methought, as angel-wardens
Nigh each portal,
Now arose to daze my sight.
Eden spread around, revived and blooming;
When . . . lo! as I gazed, all passed away—
. . . I saw but black rocks looming
In the dim chill Dawn of Day!

I'm not entirely sure whether this old song is related to the one very well known in modern times as sung by the likes of Mary Fahl (see video below). Luke Kelly sang Patrick Kavanagh's poem 'On Raglan Road' to the air of 'Dawning of the Day'.

With thanks to Barry Kieran for permission to use his beautiful photo of Blackrock.

Work has started on my next book

I have started on my next book. Actually, I started before Christmas, but put it to one side to allow the madness of Christmas and the excitement of solstice pass. I've no idea what it's going to be called yet, but what I can tell you is that it will be a collection of Irish myths explained in such a way as to make them relevant to the modern world and our current situation (as much as possible). I don't believe there's any point in merely continuing to tell the stories - as so many books and websites are doing so diligently and laudably. It is clear - and this is something I touched on quite a bit in the Newgrange book - that people are seeking to reconnect with ancient wisdom and roots. This new book aims to assist them in that task. Our myths are not mere stories, simple fireside entertainment. They venture into the depths of the human spirit, and represent aspects of ourselves and our humanity, and, in some ways, our flaws and failings as well as our genius and our brilliance. I believe that, in looking at the stories of the distant yesteryear, we can rekindle the ancestral aspect of ourselves that makes us uniquely who we are as a people, as well as reinvigorating our own inner spirits for the challenges of a frenetic and challenging 21st Century world. This book will be about bringing the Tuatha Dé Danann out of the sídhe and allowing them to become relevant to a modern Irish man and woman who have lost touch with earth and roots and cosmos. The late John Moriarty believed that we could reconstitute ourselves as a people by working from within our tradition. I agree with him. We are adrift, but we are not hopelessly lost. The fire in the head in each of us never burnt out . . . the emergence of the Tuatha Dé from the sídhe is symbolic of our return from a state of dormancy to a state of invigoration. We can stoke the ashes of the sacred fires of antiquity, and call upon the restorative powers of Diancecht, and the regenerative aspects of Bóann and Brigid, and the heroic aspects of Nuadu and Lugh and Cúchulainn and Finn to help us to become who we were supposed to be. We have a proud tradition. We have survived the invasions, the incursions, the gabála (takings). We are the same as the people who built Newgrange. They built it not only as an everlasting testament to their time, but also as an eternal reminder of the unvanquishable nature of our immortal spirits.

"Heaven is above us, and earth beneath us, and the sea is round about us. Unless the sky shall fall with its showers of stars on the ground where we are camped, or unless the earth shall be rent by an earthquake, or unless the waves of the blue sea come over the forests of the living world, we shall not give ground." (From The Táin)

Out of the obscurity of prehistory, a light has emerged . . .