Thomastown, County Tipperary

(From Mrs. Hall's Ireland.)

Of the advent of the Banshee, in the morning [as opposed to at night], we have heard of only one instance, which we shall relate. On the morning of the 25th of September, 1818, Mrs. R. a native of Thomastown, in the county of Tipperary, residing in Clonmel, arose somewhat earlier than usual, and went downstairs into an office situate inside the hall. She had not been there long, when she distinctly heard, outside in the hall, a low and plaintive wail, and as plainly distinguished the step, the motion, and shadow of a woman. -

The wail was repeated three times, and then all was silent. Mrs R. now went out into the hall; but although there was sufficient light she could see no one. This alarmed her, as all her family and servants were buried in sleep, and all the doors were fast. She unlocked the hall door, and looked out into the street; but all was still and deserted - not a mouse stirring. She clasped her hands, and exclaimed, "Oh, I know that one of my relations is dead."

She remained some time at the door, wrapped in mournful thought, when her attention was attracted by the approach of a servant of Mrs W., a near relative of hers. "Oh, what brings you here at this early hour?" exclaimed Mrs R., running to meet her. "Bad news enough, ma'am," replied the servant, "my mistress died a few minutes ago."

[...] One of the O'Sullivans, a day-labourer, known in the neighbourhood [of Dingle] as "the prince" was ill. A gentleman from whom we heard the anecdote, meeting a servant, asked if the poor man was dead, and received this answer, "No, Sir, he is not dead, but he very soon will be. We heard the voice last night, and the neighbours came in this morning."


The old schoolmaster at Bantry, to whom we have elsewhere referred, told us this, of one of the MacCarthys:- "My father's family," said he,"were ill of the sickness," so the fever is commonly called; "his neighbour, a poor widow, one MacCarthy, had her son sick also; my father went to her, and begged her not to screech when the life left the boy, for fear of frightening my mother. She promised that with God's help she wouldn't. Well, at midnight we heard a scream - a loud, a sorrowful, and awful scream; we all heard it; and my father went out to complain to the widow that she had broke her word. He found her at home; she said her son was dead, but she hadn't crossed the door-way, keeping the grief in her heart. So he went homewards, and again he heard the voice; and he followed it for above a mile, and at last it left him at the north end of a stream."

A very recent account of a Banshee was communicated to us by a lady on whose veracity we place every reliance, though of course we carefully conceal names and places. - Her account is, that as she sat with her mother a few days previously to her death, they both distinctly heard, towards evening, a low mournful wail at the window, resembling the moaning of the wind; whereupon the mother said to her daughter, "Do you hear that?" "Oh, mama," replied the daughter, "it is only the wind." "Ah, no," exclaimed the mother, "It is the sure messenger that always comes for our family." Her death took place a few days after, and amidst the deep silence which prevailed as she was dying, the same wail was heard.

All her family were at the time around her, with the exception of one who was in the parlour with a gentleman. The latter, on hearing the sound, which appeared to him like a song in the kitchen, rushed into it, and said to the servants, angrily, "Is it possible you are singing, and your mistress dying?" They answered, "it would be far from us to sing, and our beloved mistress dying; but don't you hear the Banshee come for her?" The gentleman believing this to be an excuse, seized a candle and ran up the walk of a small garden adjoining the house. On reaching the top of the walk he could see nothing, but still heard the same beautiful and unearthly music. He continued to listen until it ceased, which was (as he afterwards found) just as the old lady drew her last breath. He returned to the servants and said - "Well, what i never credited, I have heard and believe now." The gentleman afterwards repeated this story at several parties.


Another story was related to us very circumstantially. - Waterford, before the Union, was the chief emporium of the Newfoundland trade, and many an anxious wife and mother looked forward to the fall of the year for the return of their husbands and sons. Two families of the name of Power were distantly related in blood and closely in affinity, the only son of the one having married the only daughter of the other, so that the entire hope of both rested on the issue of this marriage. Young Power was brought up to the Newfoundland trade, and went out as master of a brig called the Betsey, of Waterford, of which he was also part owner. In two former voyages he was very prosperous, and, after going to market, returned to his joyful family, as the common phrase went, rolling in riches; and the expected results of the present trip were looked to as sufficient to give him an opprortunity of settling at home in some lucrative business, pursuing which he might enjoy the pleasures of domestic comfort, without the painful separations and racking fears that severe changes of weather bring continually to the minds of the sailor's family.

 A short time before the arrival of the first Newfoundland trader the anxious wife was disturbed several successive nights by strange noises in her bed-room; and once or twice she was crossed in the passage to her room by a light shadowy figure of indistinct perceptibility, and many of the neighbours said they had heard dismal wailings round the house, though they were never heard by any of the inmates; it was generally whispered that something very heavy hung over the family.

 One night while in that state when the heaviness of sleep is creeping over the senses, but leaves them still capable of perception, she was startled by the figure of a man leaning over her in the bed. She started up; the figure receded and passed out at the door which she had found locked as she had left it. Her father and mother slept in the adjoining room, and she resolved to arouse them; but on opening the door she saw a female figure with long dishevelled hair, and wrapped in a shroud or winding sheet, sitting at the back window, who uttered three long and dismal cries of lamentation, and disappeared.

Her horror was indescribable; she had power sufficient to enter the room of her parents and fainted away. Being far advanced in pregnancy, she was taken in premature labour, and herself and infant fell victims to her fright. She survived long enough to be sensible of the loss of her husband, the Betsey having foundered off the coast of Dungarvan, where he, with two more of the crew, perished.


The following anecdote was given us by a peasant woman of the class called decent. She solemnly assured us of its truth. When a little girl, her father and mother had gone out to a wake, and left her, along with her younger sisters and brothers, in care of the house. They were all, four or five in number, ,gathered round the fire. Suddenly, they heard a melancholy cry, as of a woman approaching the house. They ran to the door, supposing it might be the daughter of the deceased person, who was coming to borrow something for the wake; but, to their great dismay, saw no one, though they still heard the cry, passing as it were, by them, and down along on their right. Upon their father's return they told him what had occurred. "Don't mind, girls," said he; "perhaps the person whom that cry lamented is not one of us, or it may be that he is far away."

In a fortnight after they received intelligence from London that an uncle of their, a physician, had died there on the very night they had heard the Banshee cry. They were MacCarthys by the father's side, and O'Sullivans by the mother's.[...]

Reprinted in the Waterford Chronicle, 6th August 1842.