Many people look for meaning in the symbols carved in stone at the great monuments of the Boyne. Sometimes the most facile examination (and perhaps the most puerile too!) is to indulge in pareidolia. When I took this image at Knowth/Cnogba today, I was conscious of the image of the Cailleach, having been reading about her quite a lot lately. I will quote the lovely words of the late Patricia Monaghan, whose book 'The Red-Haired Girl From the Bog' I am currently reading:
"Rock is the hag's prime element, her stony spine.... Cailleach time moves form moon to moon, harvest to harvest. It is pagan time, rooted in the eternal return rather than the once-off redemption."
Seeing this stone again – known under the archaeologists’ counting system simply as Kerb 22 – I was struck at how much it seemed to look like a big smiling face with two bulbous eyes and a big, broad grin.
These rocks were already eternally old when they were hauled into place - all 127 of them - to create a giant kerb or belt of stones around the gigantic mound that we know as Knowth. And now the carvings that were carefully etched into the surface of these slabs are eternally old, and the rocks that bear them speak of the beginning of time.
Once upon a time, so the story goes, this great mound of stone and earth was known as Cnoc Búa or Cnoc Buí, the hill of the daughter of "red-haired Rúadrí", wife of Lug, son of Cian, of the ruddy spears.
"It is there [Cnogba] her body was buried; over her was built a great hill."
What shall we say about Buí today, except that she is remembered still, in these many aeons since her image was first conceived in stone, at the mighty Brug na Bóinde where the hag never dies. The hag's breasts are imagined as mounds in the Boyne landscape; her passage-wombs, creaking and groaning under the weight of the ages, live on to tell the story of the undying sons who were born there – Oengus the young, who was conceived and born in the same day; and Sétanta, whose crossing of the threshold of initiation brought him from innocent boy to murderous warrior. In there, Elcmar the magician of Brug na Bóinde, divined souls with his fork of white hazel; Dagda Mór, the Eochaidh All-Father, offered satiation to those who were crossing over; Oengus protected the beautiful Etaín from the jealous Fuamnach in his sunny, crystal bower.
At ancient Cnogba, it is said that Englec the daughter of Elcmar was stolen away by Midir, much to the heartache of her lover, Oengus Óg. At Newgrange, Oengus had protected Midir’s lover Etáin, and yet at Knowth the two were love rivals for the woman Englec, whose disappearance was mourned greatly by the inconsolable Oengus. Mourning the abduction of his beloved, Oengus engaged in a curious ritual … casting the “blood-red nuts of the forest” on to the ground, and performed “a lament around the little hill”.
Cnogba (Knowth) commemorates a goddess Buí and a goddess Englec.
And so, in the confusion of tales so typical of the lore of the olden days, Knowth commemorates two distinct but perhaps not mutually exclusive events – both involving the passing (so to speak) of great women (goddesses even). As Cnoc Buí, Knowth remembers the great woman who was set to rest there beneath its heaving bulk, the undying hag of the ancient world who had many names and guises. As Chnó-guba (the “nut-lament”), Knowth commemorates the passing of Englec into another realm, swept away by Midir to the Síd of Fer Femin, never to be seen by Oengus again.
Today, I stopped in front of stone 22 at Knowth during my round of the kerb (deiseal, sunwise, this time), and, having to stall a while under the modern concrete ledge to shelter from a summer shower, I imagined for a time that I was seeing the great women of Cnogba, the abiding visage of the ancient hag that was known here as Buí, and the darling Englec, the beautiful daughter of Elcmar. And I wonder which would endure longer – the memory of these great mythic women, or the stone carvings bearing this image.
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".
Many of you have probably heard the story of the Cailleach (hag or witch) of Loughcrew. The hills of Loughcrew are scattered with the remnants of a vast cluster of megalithic monuments that are thought to be up to 5,500 years old. There are four hills - all containing monuments, mostly megalithic cairns and passage-tombs. These are known today as Carnbane West, Carrickbrack, Carnbane East and Patrickstown Hill. The hills, three of them at least, were collectively known in the 19th century as 'The Witches Hops', and in the 17th as 'the Calliagh Steppes'. In some versions, Carrickbrack is omitted, and in the 15th century the remaining three were referred to as Trí Choiscéim na Caillighe, the three footsteps of the hag.
Climbing Carnbane East to see Cairn T, with (in the left background) Carrickbrack and Carnbane West.
There is an old poem told about the Cailleach of Loughcrew, that goes like this:
I am the Chailleach Beara
Many wonders have I seen
I have seen Carn Bawn a lake,
though tis now a mountain green. (1)
The story about the Cailleach tells how she came from the north and she tried to jump from hill to hill, some say from the Carnbane (the westernmost hill) to Patrickstown (the easternmost), alighting on the other hills in between. If she could succeed in this magical feat she would obtain great power. She was carrying an apron full of stones. As she jumped from hill to hill, she dropped some stones from her apron, forming the cairns on each of the peaks. When she reached Patrickstown (which is undoubtedly a Christian name, and perhaps we might some day learn what its original name was) she fell and broke her neck. According to Jean McMann, in her lovely little book Loughcrew - The Cairns - A Guide, a pile of stones at the bottom of the eastern slope of Patrickstown Hill was known until recently as the cailleach's grave.
In earlier times the hill we know today as Carnbane West was known just as the Carnbane (Carn Bán, the white cairn or the white heap of stones). The hill known today as Carnbane East was, it seems, known as Sliabh na Caillaigh, the mountain or hill of the hag/witch.
Cairn T on Carnbane East, formerly known as the Hag's Carn and Sliabh na Caillaigh.
There is no doubt in my mind that the story of the Cailleach of Loughcrew contains essences of an ancient creation or origin myth. This great woman, whose status has been reduced to an old crone, was probably a goddess of the land who was greatly venerated in ancient times. McMann says of her:
'This cailleach is famous in Irish folklore. Other storytellers have described her as a superhuman woman who could harvest a field faster than any man, a crone lamenting her youth, a banshee announcing a death, or a Christian nun. She is best known as Cailleach Bhéarra, but has been called by many other names, including not only Waura but Beri, Buí and Vera ... and may be a later version of the ancient pagan sovereignty queens whose consent was required for kings to rule. Some scholars think she represented wild nature, as a prehistoric earth goddess'.
Michael Dames, writing in 'Ireland, A Sacred Journey', suggests that "the apron is the divine womb, translated into the language of dress".
In this context, we can see the apron as a womb of creation, and perhaps, in the tradition of Marija Gimbutas, we can think of the cairns not so much as tombs, but more like wombs. As a creation or origin myth, the story of the Cailleach of Loughcrew shares some similarities with another origin myth, that which tells about how the River Boyne was formed. In that story, Bóinn approaches Nechtain's Well, something which is forbidden for a woman. The well gushes forth into a fountain, carrying Bóinn along as it creates the River Boyne. Bóinn is mutilated by the waters - she loses an eye, and her arm and leg are broken. Eventually, she is washed out to sea, where she is drowned. Her lapdog, Dabilla, is transformed into the Rockabill islands. In both cases, a female deity is credited with an act of creation, and in both cases at the end of the act of creation the women are killed.
But there is more to the story of the Cailleach of Loughcrew than meets the eye. I'm inclined to think that the imagery of a woman jumping from hill to hill forming cairns is, perhaps, some memory of an ancient astronomical system in which the sun and moon were seen to rise up out of various hills and cairns when viewed from other parts of the complex, and conversely they were seen to "set into" hills and cairns from other vantage points. I'm inspired in this aspect by the Cailleach na Mointeach, the "Old Woman of the Moors" at the Callanish stones in Scotland. The local people there refer to her as the "sleeping beauty" and once every 18.6 years, the moon at its major standstill southern extreme rises from some part of this sleeping beauty and sets again at the bottom of Mount Clisham. (2)
Until 1980, little was known about any astronomical aspect of the Loughcrew cairns. But in that year, Martin Brennan and Jack Roberts discovered the equinox alignment of Cairn T, during which the light of the rising sun on the equinoxes shines into Cairn T (photographed on left) and illuminates what Brennan described as "solar emblems" on the stone at the rear of the chamber. They also discovered that the chamber of Cairn L appeared to be aligned towards the November and February cross-quarter sunrises, and several other small cairns appeared to have alignments towards solar events. In some cases, the passage of a cairn is pointing towards another cairn. For instance, from the chamber of Cairn I on Carnbane West, the sun appears to rise over Cairn T on Carnbane East at the beginning of September.
The imagery of a woman, or goddess, jumping from hill to hill is, I think, possibly symbolic of a system of alignments from various parts of the megalithic complex, focusing on sunrises and moonrises, and also sunsets and moonsets. In the fullness of time, I think an even more comprehensive study of the alignments of Loughcrew will reveal an interest in the extreme lunar declinations, the minor and major standstills of the moon. At Dowth, for instance, my own studies of the alignments of its two known passageways indicates that the setting moon at both its major and minor southern setting positions might have been the primary, or even shared, targets of the southern and northern chambers, while the setting sun at winter solstice (southern chamber) and November/February cross-quarter days (northern chamber) were also targets. Perhaps the death of the Cailleach is allegorical, referring to the lunar extreme, and perhaps the "death" of one 18.6-year cycle and the beginning of the next one? The fact that she was said to have "come from the north is also interesting, because of the fact that the maximum northern rising and setting extremes of the standstill moon are located in the far northeast and northwest.
Until a more comprehensive study of possible lunar alignments at Loughcrew can be undertaken (and I must admit I would be very happy to be involved!) we can only reflect on the possibilities. We know that there are certainly solar alignments. We can't be sure that these alignments were an intended principal function of the monuments, but they constitute a fascinating and indeed almost mystical aspect of these ancient structures. To be lucky enough to have been witness to some of these alignments makes me feel an extraordinary connection with the builders.
We cannot know how far back the story of the Cailleach of Loughcrew goes. Certainly as Jean McMann acknowledges, "People have probably been telling stories about the Loughcrew hills for more than five thousand years".
Is it too bold a step, to wild a conjecture, to suggest that the story of the Witches Hops or the Cailleach's Steps is in fact some remnant of a very ancient myth, one which goes right back to the time when these cairns were constructed?
The illumination of solar emblems by equinox sunrise at Cairn T.
Addendum - watching the moon
Of interest to our discussion about lunar standstills at Loughcrew is the fact that a society carefully observing and recording the moon's cycles would become aware of several things. The number of sidereal months (the time it takes the moon to complete a circuit of the sky, ie from a particular place on the Zodiac back to the same place again) and synodic months (a particular phase back to same phase, eg full moon back to full moon) does not fit neatly into a solar year. 12 synodic months is 11 days short of a 365-day solar year. In fact, the number of lunations only fits the solar year after 254 sideral months, or 235 sidereal months, which is equal to 19 years. This 19-year cycle is known today as the Metonic Cycle. See this page for a further discussion of the Metonics.
Observers watching the Metonic Cycle would also naturally become aware of the rotation of the moon's nodes, and 18.6-year cycle during which the point where the moon's path crosses the sun's path (the moon's path is inclined to the ecliptic by 5.15 degrees, so its path intersects the sun's path at two points in the sky each month) appears to complete a full circuit of the sky. As this happens, the moon appears, at certain times during this 18.6-year cycle, to go through maximum and minimum extremes, which are observable by the moon's rising and setting places relative to the sun's solstice positions. When the moon's node is located exactly on the sun's solstice positions, there is a likelihood of eclipses occurring at the time of the solstices. Conversely, when the moon's nodes are located exactly on the sun's equinox points, not only is there a likelihood of eclipses at the time of equinox, but the moon's path will be at its maximum separation from the ecliptic at the sun's solstice positions. If the moon's declination is at that time within the range of the sun's path, we get what is termed the "minor standstill", while if its declination is outside of the sun's range, we get the major standstill.
It is possible the builders of Cairn T at Loughcrew were not exclusively focused on the equinox sunrises, but also on observing the moon, and in particular at those times when its node was crossing the ecliptic at the sun's equinox points. If this is the case, as we can merely speculate, then we can envisage observers within the rear recess of Cairn T watching for the rising moon at such times. The natural extension of this argument is that if the moon is visible through the aperture of Cairn T and is in the same position in the sky as the equinox sun*, then seven days later (i.e. one-quarter of a circuit around the sky), the moon will be at its major standstill rising position (provided it is on its ascending node when visible within Cairn T) or at its minor standstill rising position if it is on a descending node. In other words, the Hag's Cairn might have been used to indicate the times of the extremes of the moon, when an 18.6-year cycle was ending (the death of the hag?) and a new one was beginning.
(* Around the time the cairns were built. the spring equinox sun was positioned in the constellation we know today as Taurus, the bull, while autumn equinox sun was positioned in Scorpius.)
