One of the most notable landmarks of Ireland was the Tonn Cliodhna, or “Wave of Cleena,” on the seashore at Glandore Bay, in Co. Cork. The story about Cleena exists in several versions, which do not agree with each other except in so far as she seems to have been a Danaan maiden once living in Mananan’s country, the Land of Youth beyond the sea. Escaping thence with a mortal lover, as one of the versions tells, she landed on the southern coast of Ireland, and her lover, Keevan of the Curling Locks, went off to hunt in the woods. Cleena, who remained on the beach, was lulled to sleep by fairy music played by a minstrel of Mananan, when a great wave of the sea swept up and carried her back to Fairyland, leaving her lover desolate. Hence the place was called the Strand of Cleena’s Wave.
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.
A lovely quote from the Irish poet W.B. Yeats about Celtic people. This is from the introduction to Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry, which was published in London in 1888.
With the Winter Solstice here, and the shortest days and longest nights having arrived, the aurora borealis (northern lights) treated us to a timely and magical display over Newgrange tonight. I hope I have captured some of this magic for you to enjoy. Happy Winter Solstice from the Boyne Valley!
Newgrange and Mound B (left) with an emerald green sky filled with winter solstice aurora tonight.
Green is the Irish gold . . . northern lights over Newgrange on the longest night of the year.
The bright green bands of the northern lights viewed from Red Mountain, with Newgrange to the lower left.
Emerald Isle . . . green aurora with the Plough over the Boyne river and canal at Newgrange tonight.
The aurora subdued after a while but the green still made for a great contrast with the orange clouds.
Bright green auroras shine over the Boyne Valley on winter solstice 2015.
There is a thought that sometimes manifests in my head when I think about the convoluted history of my people. In the stillness of the evening, standing alone at some monument of antiquity, I wonder if it was the sheer beauty of the landscape that made my ancestors stay here – those who were the first to arrive after the ice retreated, and those who later survived imperialism, starvation and poverty.
The world is a big place, and the human race is a migratory species. There were other places these ancestors could have gone to. But they held on.
The forces and factors that kept them here may be the same ones that make me a captive of this wondrous island. Ireland's landscape is lush and fertile. It is beautiful and enrapturing. Many places have an otherwordly placidity about them, even today.
In modern times, there is a tendency to over-rationalise and analyse, such that a landscape that has always been seen as somewhat magical and austere is reduced to something functional and banal. I suggest we refuse to occupy that space. Let us open up to a mystical vista.
Over the past few years in particular, I’ve spent a lot of time at Newgrange, the place most associated with the Tuatha Dé Danann in mythology, known variously as Brugh na Bóinne, Síd in Broga, Síd Mac Ind Oc and the Palace of the Boyne. It’s lovely spending time out there on my own.
I find it such a pleasurable and peaceful and introspective experience. I wrote about this in Newgrange: Monument to Immortality. I can go there, and can feel that, although I am only miles from home, I might have ventured to far distant otherworlds beyond the senses.
I expect that plenty of other people have spent time alone in the evening at Newgrange, but I hardly ever see anyone out there at night. I like it that way.
Newgrange . . . a sacred place with a message for today.
With the shortest days and longest nights upon us, in this, the season of the winter solstice, it would be nice now to think about how we first arrived into Ireland, and how our own journeying here perhaps reflects some of the other journeying going on in the world right now.
In Ireland today, our story is the same as it has always been, since the first days after the ice age. It is a story of comings and goings, of arrivals and departures. Dublin Airport is a great metaphor for Irish mythology and history. There are always people arriving, and always people departing. Some are going on holidays. Others are leaving forever.
How we arrive into Ireland is central to the nature of our belonging here. This is something the late John Moriarty realised and wrote about. Do we descend upon this island from a cloud, wrapped in a mist, like the Dananns? Or do we sail across the rough seas, like the Milesians, with their flotilla of ships – a Spanish Armada of the prehistoric world – to take Ireland, in an act of jealous longing, a rapacious conquest, driven by vengeance?
If we do that, we will never belong here.
I’d much prefer to descend into Ireland in a mist, from the stars, and set my foot gently upon her soil, wrapped up in the Féth Fiada with Manannán by my side. That way, my arrival might take place unknown, so that I could gently tiptoe across dew-covered grasses into some otherworldly copse, and there enchant my every thought with the newfound joy of arrival into an earthly paradise.
I would much prefer this to a Milesian arrival. From a distance of nine waves, as a Milesian you come in sturdy ships, beating drums of battle, and unfurl your banner of war, your standard of conquest.
But no nation ever conquested in spite or by subjugation or force could afterwards live a peaceful existence.
So I urge you to come like the Tuatha Dé Danann. Come in a mist. Arrive magically. And ask Eriú, gently, if perchance you can stay awhile, and dance and sing upon her carpet of tender green, and write joyous words and sing merry songs about netherworlds concealed in the ditches and vales of her beautiful quarters.
And I urge you, as the light creeps up through the dark womb of Newgrange into her cold interior, to think about the fact that, as an Irish person, you are just a visitor to this wonderful place. In essence, you are a migrant. We all came here from over the sea. As a human, you are a born traveller.
And if you arrive into Ireland, Danann-like – magically – you will know, as they did, that there is always room for others. This solstice, let’s share a little bit of that midwinter illumination, for the world of mankind is often dark, and right now it could do with a little bit more of that magical light.
The fighting Irish . . . this is a quote from the famous Irish mythical epic Táin Bó Cuailnge. The Ulster heroes declare this to king Conchubhar when he calls upon them to leave a battle in order to meet an attack in another part of the field.
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.
In the summer of 1999, artist Richard Moore asked me if I would like to see a strange site that he had discovered in the heart of the Boyne Valley. It sounded intriguing. "What kind of site?" I asked. He said he didn't know, but that it was located in a place where it wouldn't be easily seen by archaeologists, and he said that as far as he could tell nobody knew about it but him.
The chance of an adventure into the Boyne Valley involving a mysterious unknown site, possibly an ancient monument, was indeed too tempting. So we agreed that the following weekend, we would go out there and I would bring my camera and he would bring his artist's sketch pad. The site is located on interesting terrain - a very steep forest-covered hillside that runs down to the Boyne river. It was difficult to access - even in dry weather. It can only be described as a semicircular man-made feature set into the side of the hill. There were stones forming a distinct semicircle that appeared to create a revetment. It is possible that the area within the semicircle has some sort of flagging stones on its floor - we certainly saw one large flat stone there, and there may have been others.
Richard Moore sketching the mystery site, which is covered by fallen trees. You can just see the Boyne through the trees.
It's all so long ago now that I can't remember a huge amount about it. Without expert knowledge, I can only speculate that it might have either been some sort of holy or sacred well (now dry) or that it might have been some sort of shrine. My opinion, for what it's worth, is that this is a relatively modern construction, but the archaeologists will confirm this one way or the other. One problem on the two occasions we visited was that the feature was partially covered by fallen trees, and apart from the semicircular stone wall, there was little else to be discerned.
We did, of course, report the find to a couple of archaeologists at the time. However, at the time of writing this blog it appears this possible monument is not on the Sites and Monuments Record (SMR). A major reason for that is undoubtedly the fact that the site is in a location that makes it very difficult to access - and it's hardly likely to have been noticed by many people over the years. In fact, on my first visit (we were there twice; on the second occasion I slipped and fell on the wet incline and wounded little more than my pride!), I remember thinking "how the hell did Richard find this place?"
It was located on private land, and as always, Richard had sought the permission of the landowner to access the land. How he ended up on the site of a steep and somewhat treacherous bank in a forest suggests that he has an intrepid spirit that urges him to go beyond the call of normal duty in the search of new things to paint. Below are some more photos of the site:
The site viewed from above.
Richard Moore points to a stone with a stick to add a sense of scale to the site.
A large flat stone which might have been some sort of flag stone on the floor of the feature.
Another view of the site showing how partial subsidence has concealed it.
