Dear Sir, - I do not believe that the banshee's cry is not now heard in Ireland. I most distinctly heard it about five years ago, previous to the death of my dear brother; he was ailing at the time. It was about 12 o'clock at night, I was up with him watching in case he required a drink, when suddenly I heard an indescribably mournful cry. It seemed to be borne in mid-air. At the time we lived in the country. The terrace we lived in consisted of seven villas, gardens to the rear. The wail seemed to be that of a woman walking up and down at the back of the garden. I went and looked out; it was a beautiful moonlight night. The wail continued for about half an hour. I was not in the least nervous; my people were all asleep; I called my siter and told her to listen; she sat up in bed, listened, and also heard the cry.
I often after sat up all night with my brother, but never again heard the cry. Several people who lived in the villas adjoining ours, on different nights heard the cry and were afraid to tell us, feeling it would make us nervous at the time, but I shall never forget that cry. Father, too, heard it on several previous occasions.
- Faithfully yours,
B. O'Connor,
Old Toll House, Dublin.
Thursday, 8 June 2017
Monday, 5 June 2017
To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times, 15th July 1893
Dear Mr Editor, - A few evenings ago I was telling an old lady about the discussion on the Banshee at present going on in the Letter-Box column, and, infected by "Marjory's" inquisitiveness, I asked what the Banshee is supposed to be. As I had never heard the explanation before, and as none of your other correspondents have mentioned it, I shall tell you what my friend told me.
The Banshee is an ancestress of the family she warns, who has been taken away by the fairies, but is allowed to mourn thus for her friends, although they never see her. I think it is a pity that this quaint poetic belief in the Banshee should die out. I have always believed in her for no other reason than that I love all those old Irish legends, and I do not think it necessary to examine too closely into their truth. But I am grateful to your correspondents for giving me reason for my faith in the Banshee.
Truth to tell, I did not think she would bear discussion so well. I thought that, surely, even the most obdurate sceptic must be converted by "M.E.C.'s" experience, but somehow I fear "Marjory's" volley of questions have an air of doubt and suspicion about them even still.
However, as I am not an authority, I will not attempt to answer her questions.
- Yours sincerely,
Hyacinth.
Sir. - Notwithstanding all that has appeared about the Banshee in the columns of this paper, it is somewhat strange that no convincing proof has yet been given of how the belief in its existence originated. After all, Mr Victory's article is founded on the gossip of a naturally superstitious people, and cannot well be taken as the true history of a superstition regarded differently in other parts of Ireland. Most of your corresponsdents do not believe in its existence, and some are agreed as to the form it takes, so the only question appears to be is, how the belief in the Banshee originated.
It is difficult to trace a superstition. History sheds no light on the subject beyond the fiction of novels and stories, and when all depends on the exaggerated statements of an innocent people it is not wonderful that we still find believers in the Banshee. - Yours, &c.,
M. Cahal-Mor.
The Banshee is an ancestress of the family she warns, who has been taken away by the fairies, but is allowed to mourn thus for her friends, although they never see her. I think it is a pity that this quaint poetic belief in the Banshee should die out. I have always believed in her for no other reason than that I love all those old Irish legends, and I do not think it necessary to examine too closely into their truth. But I am grateful to your correspondents for giving me reason for my faith in the Banshee.
Truth to tell, I did not think she would bear discussion so well. I thought that, surely, even the most obdurate sceptic must be converted by "M.E.C.'s" experience, but somehow I fear "Marjory's" volley of questions have an air of doubt and suspicion about them even still.
However, as I am not an authority, I will not attempt to answer her questions.
- Yours sincerely,
Hyacinth.
Sir. - Notwithstanding all that has appeared about the Banshee in the columns of this paper, it is somewhat strange that no convincing proof has yet been given of how the belief in its existence originated. After all, Mr Victory's article is founded on the gossip of a naturally superstitious people, and cannot well be taken as the true history of a superstition regarded differently in other parts of Ireland. Most of your corresponsdents do not believe in its existence, and some are agreed as to the form it takes, so the only question appears to be is, how the belief in the Banshee originated.
It is difficult to trace a superstition. History sheds no light on the subject beyond the fiction of novels and stories, and when all depends on the exaggerated statements of an innocent people it is not wonderful that we still find believers in the Banshee. - Yours, &c.,
M. Cahal-Mor.
To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times, 19th August 1893
Sir, - I have been a careful reader of the very interesting correspondence in your paper relative to the banshee, and now, at the fag end of the discussion, I venture to offer a few remarks.
The majority, I think, of your correspondents, ridicule the idea of such a thing existing as the banshee, and in your issue of a couple of weeks ago "R.K.Hamilton" says he has been "amused by the number of letters on the subject," and winds up by asking some questions which, he says, if not satisfactorily answered, will leave him a thorough disbeliever in the banshee.
Now, sir, with your permission I will relate an event which occurred about forty years ago, and which proves (to me at least) "that there are stranger things in Heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy." I was, I may remark, in the prime of life - about thirty-five years - at the time when what I am about to relate happened, so that, I think, it cannot be said that it might have been some childish fear or fancy.
It was a beautiful moonlight night in December, business having detained me until a late hour, and not feeling weary I determined to have a short stroll, the night being gloriously fine. On my return I was astonished to find my greyhound trembling violently - the cold sweat actually dripping off him. For some time I sought in vain for a solution of this strange occurrence. After some time I heard, coming from a bush in the middle of a small paddock at the back of my house, a long, low wail, and after some time the most piteous sobbing I have ever heard.
Being then a disbeliever in banshees, ghosts, goblins, fairies, leprechauns, and company, I was glad of an opportunity to test once and for all their genuineness. I determined the greyhound should accompany me to the bush. First I coaxed, but I could not induce him to stir. Then I used force, but he broke away from my grasp, trembling violently the while. I left him so, and proceeded cautiously myself, armed with a heavy walking stick, and after a short time arrived at the bush, beneath which I saw, as plain as the paper I now write upon, a milk white deer, to all appearance unconscious of my presence, sobbing in the most heart-rending manner. There I stood within a couple of yards of it for fully five minutes. Fear in my heart there was none. At last I raised my stick and dealt a terrific blow to my strange visitor. The stick passed through space, but I heard such a scream as, I hope and pray, shall never fall on my ears again. I stood dazed, powerless, paralyzed.
However, I pulled myself together after some time, and went home a sadder but a wiser man. A month later I received news of the death of my cousin in distant Australia, he having passed away on the very night of my strange adventure.
Hoping, sir, I have not trespassed too much on your space - I remain, very truly yours,
Patrick Farrell.
Rathbride road, Kildare.
The majority, I think, of your correspondents, ridicule the idea of such a thing existing as the banshee, and in your issue of a couple of weeks ago "R.K.Hamilton" says he has been "amused by the number of letters on the subject," and winds up by asking some questions which, he says, if not satisfactorily answered, will leave him a thorough disbeliever in the banshee.
Now, sir, with your permission I will relate an event which occurred about forty years ago, and which proves (to me at least) "that there are stranger things in Heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy." I was, I may remark, in the prime of life - about thirty-five years - at the time when what I am about to relate happened, so that, I think, it cannot be said that it might have been some childish fear or fancy.
It was a beautiful moonlight night in December, business having detained me until a late hour, and not feeling weary I determined to have a short stroll, the night being gloriously fine. On my return I was astonished to find my greyhound trembling violently - the cold sweat actually dripping off him. For some time I sought in vain for a solution of this strange occurrence. After some time I heard, coming from a bush in the middle of a small paddock at the back of my house, a long, low wail, and after some time the most piteous sobbing I have ever heard.
Being then a disbeliever in banshees, ghosts, goblins, fairies, leprechauns, and company, I was glad of an opportunity to test once and for all their genuineness. I determined the greyhound should accompany me to the bush. First I coaxed, but I could not induce him to stir. Then I used force, but he broke away from my grasp, trembling violently the while. I left him so, and proceeded cautiously myself, armed with a heavy walking stick, and after a short time arrived at the bush, beneath which I saw, as plain as the paper I now write upon, a milk white deer, to all appearance unconscious of my presence, sobbing in the most heart-rending manner. There I stood within a couple of yards of it for fully five minutes. Fear in my heart there was none. At last I raised my stick and dealt a terrific blow to my strange visitor. The stick passed through space, but I heard such a scream as, I hope and pray, shall never fall on my ears again. I stood dazed, powerless, paralyzed.
However, I pulled myself together after some time, and went home a sadder but a wiser man. A month later I received news of the death of my cousin in distant Australia, he having passed away on the very night of my strange adventure.
Hoping, sir, I have not trespassed too much on your space - I remain, very truly yours,
Patrick Farrell.
Rathbride road, Kildare.
To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times - 29th July 1893
To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times.
Dear Sir, - I write on this subject to mention two cases of banshees, the popular accounts of which have some features which differ from the established belief as generally expressed in legends of the banshee. The first is said to be attached to a family, not Irish at all, and until lately resident in the west of the county Limerick. The first of the name who came to Ireland was an officer in the army of Queen Elizabeth, who got large grants out of the Desmond forfeitures, but, like many others in similar circumstances, his descendants became more Irish than the Irish themselves. In 1641 the head of the family having recently died, and his son being a minor, a younger brother, who was his nephew's guardian, took a leading part in the rising and massacre of that year, and in the following year he, with many others, was killed at the battle of Liscarrol, in Co. Cork.
The popular tradition is that his wife, on hearing suddenly of his death, lost her reason, and, throwing herself from the battlements of the castle in which they resided, was killed, and her ghost became the family banshee, and from then out gave warning in the usual way of the approaching death of the head of the family. Most of the extensive property was forfeited in 1649, but some was saved for the heir, on the plea that he, being a minor, acted under his uncle's influence in the part which he took in the years 1641-2; what was left was, however, forfeited in consequence of the attachment of the then owner to the cause of James II (he was related to Lord Clare).
The family, however, remained in the country, and got leases of some portion of their former estates, and in their fallen fortunes were faithfully attended by the banshee. Some 50 years ago or so, the [?] head of the family died in Limerick, and the story goes, and is even still believed in the neighbourhood, that previous to his death the banshee was heard near the old family residence, and that on the strength of this warning the family vault was opened, and when a messenger came from Limerick to have it opened he found that it had been already done.
I will not go into the question of the accuracy or otherwise of the banshee, or of that of the existence or otherwise of the banshee, but I have conclusive evidence that she could not have originated in the manner alleged, having lately copied the inscription on the tomb erected to the memorey of her husband by the lady whose ghost was supposed to have become the banshee, which is dated A.D. 1664, and who herself belonged to an Anglo-Irish family, though descended in the female line from the last Earl of Desmond. The stories told of this banshee are just such as are usually current of those attached to real old Irish families. I believe that banshees are sometimes supposed to be the ghosts of someone connected with the family to which they are attached.
The second case is that of a sort of banshee unattached, at the town of Ballingarry, Co. Limerick, whose cry is heard previous to the death of members of several families of the real old Irish stock, no matter how humble their present position may be. In this case the unearthly cry is still heard, and as far as I can make out, always previous to the death of some old inhabitant.
I give you these two instances of existing belief in the banshee for what they are worth, as a contribution to an interesting branch of Irish folk-lore now dying out.
- Yours, &c., F.R.S.A.I.
To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times,
Abbeyleis, July 17, 1893.
Dear Sir, - Permit me to ask a few questions regarding the banshee, which subject is now going on in your columns. Firstly, does it appear in different forms, or can it be seen, or is it only heard? Secondly, does it only appear when some one is dying belonging to it? Thirdly, did any of your readers ever see or hear one? as I have often been talking to people who [?] and believe in such things; but I have never yet known any one that saw anything worse than themselves.
I hope I am not troubling you too much.
- I am, dear sir, yours faithfully,
J.W.Dunn.
To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times.
Castle Island, July 19, 1893.
Dear Sir, - The peasantry of Ireland, like those of most other countries, have a vast stock of legends and superstitions which were at one time implicitly believed in, but which the spread of education in the present day has completely exploded. this is not the case in the belief of the appearance of the banshee, however. Belief in the appearance of that spirit is strong to-day, not only among the peasantry, but also among educated persons, some of whom assert that they have seen it themselves.
The common idea of the banshee is a woman with her hair streaming in wild confusion over her neck and shoulders, and arms waving wildly as she shouts her wild caoine which proclaims death to some members of the family, whom she especially follows. I once heard a person who was neither uneducated nor superstitious say that he heard the banshee plainly one night as he lay awake in his bed. The hour was between twelve and one o'clock. When asked whether the crying was like that of a human being, he said it was something like the keen sung in various parts of Ireland at wakes, but sung in such a manner that he had never heard anything to equal it before. The following morning proved that the banshee had not given her warning in vain. A neighbouring gentleman, the descendant of an old Celtic family, had died during the night, between the hours of twelve and one, just a few moments after the banshee had ended her wailing.
- I remain, sir, yours faithfully, M.D.R.
To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times.
Dear Sir - I have read with amusement a number of letters from your numerous correspondents on the above subject. But none of them have been able to satisfy my mind that such a thing exists. Those who have, as they say, heard it, and are believers in it, will greatly oblige by answering the following questions:-
1st. Is it a spirit or an animal?
2nd. If an animal, what are its habits?
3rd. If a spirit, in what form does it manifest itself?
4th. When and where does it appear?
Until I get a satisfactory answer to each of these questions I must look upon the "Banshee" as a mith and a delusion, which I regret in many Irish people cling to, and only because these delusions were handed down to them from their ancestors.
- I remain yours truly, R.K. Hamilton.
All from the 29th July 1893 edition of the Weekly Irish Times.
Dear Sir, - I write on this subject to mention two cases of banshees, the popular accounts of which have some features which differ from the established belief as generally expressed in legends of the banshee. The first is said to be attached to a family, not Irish at all, and until lately resident in the west of the county Limerick. The first of the name who came to Ireland was an officer in the army of Queen Elizabeth, who got large grants out of the Desmond forfeitures, but, like many others in similar circumstances, his descendants became more Irish than the Irish themselves. In 1641 the head of the family having recently died, and his son being a minor, a younger brother, who was his nephew's guardian, took a leading part in the rising and massacre of that year, and in the following year he, with many others, was killed at the battle of Liscarrol, in Co. Cork.
The popular tradition is that his wife, on hearing suddenly of his death, lost her reason, and, throwing herself from the battlements of the castle in which they resided, was killed, and her ghost became the family banshee, and from then out gave warning in the usual way of the approaching death of the head of the family. Most of the extensive property was forfeited in 1649, but some was saved for the heir, on the plea that he, being a minor, acted under his uncle's influence in the part which he took in the years 1641-2; what was left was, however, forfeited in consequence of the attachment of the then owner to the cause of James II (he was related to Lord Clare).
The family, however, remained in the country, and got leases of some portion of their former estates, and in their fallen fortunes were faithfully attended by the banshee. Some 50 years ago or so, the [?] head of the family died in Limerick, and the story goes, and is even still believed in the neighbourhood, that previous to his death the banshee was heard near the old family residence, and that on the strength of this warning the family vault was opened, and when a messenger came from Limerick to have it opened he found that it had been already done.
I will not go into the question of the accuracy or otherwise of the banshee, or of that of the existence or otherwise of the banshee, but I have conclusive evidence that she could not have originated in the manner alleged, having lately copied the inscription on the tomb erected to the memorey of her husband by the lady whose ghost was supposed to have become the banshee, which is dated A.D. 1664, and who herself belonged to an Anglo-Irish family, though descended in the female line from the last Earl of Desmond. The stories told of this banshee are just such as are usually current of those attached to real old Irish families. I believe that banshees are sometimes supposed to be the ghosts of someone connected with the family to which they are attached.
The second case is that of a sort of banshee unattached, at the town of Ballingarry, Co. Limerick, whose cry is heard previous to the death of members of several families of the real old Irish stock, no matter how humble their present position may be. In this case the unearthly cry is still heard, and as far as I can make out, always previous to the death of some old inhabitant.
I give you these two instances of existing belief in the banshee for what they are worth, as a contribution to an interesting branch of Irish folk-lore now dying out.
- Yours, &c., F.R.S.A.I.
To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times,
Abbeyleis, July 17, 1893.
Dear Sir, - Permit me to ask a few questions regarding the banshee, which subject is now going on in your columns. Firstly, does it appear in different forms, or can it be seen, or is it only heard? Secondly, does it only appear when some one is dying belonging to it? Thirdly, did any of your readers ever see or hear one? as I have often been talking to people who [?] and believe in such things; but I have never yet known any one that saw anything worse than themselves.
I hope I am not troubling you too much.
- I am, dear sir, yours faithfully,
J.W.Dunn.
To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times.
Castle Island, July 19, 1893.
Dear Sir, - The peasantry of Ireland, like those of most other countries, have a vast stock of legends and superstitions which were at one time implicitly believed in, but which the spread of education in the present day has completely exploded. this is not the case in the belief of the appearance of the banshee, however. Belief in the appearance of that spirit is strong to-day, not only among the peasantry, but also among educated persons, some of whom assert that they have seen it themselves.
The common idea of the banshee is a woman with her hair streaming in wild confusion over her neck and shoulders, and arms waving wildly as she shouts her wild caoine which proclaims death to some members of the family, whom she especially follows. I once heard a person who was neither uneducated nor superstitious say that he heard the banshee plainly one night as he lay awake in his bed. The hour was between twelve and one o'clock. When asked whether the crying was like that of a human being, he said it was something like the keen sung in various parts of Ireland at wakes, but sung in such a manner that he had never heard anything to equal it before. The following morning proved that the banshee had not given her warning in vain. A neighbouring gentleman, the descendant of an old Celtic family, had died during the night, between the hours of twelve and one, just a few moments after the banshee had ended her wailing.
- I remain, sir, yours faithfully, M.D.R.
To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times.
Dear Sir - I have read with amusement a number of letters from your numerous correspondents on the above subject. But none of them have been able to satisfy my mind that such a thing exists. Those who have, as they say, heard it, and are believers in it, will greatly oblige by answering the following questions:-
1st. Is it a spirit or an animal?
2nd. If an animal, what are its habits?
3rd. If a spirit, in what form does it manifest itself?
4th. When and where does it appear?
Until I get a satisfactory answer to each of these questions I must look upon the "Banshee" as a mith and a delusion, which I regret in many Irish people cling to, and only because these delusions were handed down to them from their ancestors.
- I remain yours truly, R.K. Hamilton.
All from the 29th July 1893 edition of the Weekly Irish Times.
Sunday, 4 June 2017
Variations in banshee appearance - animals
[...] The author tells many eerie stories of the banshee, among others that of an old family, the O'Gradys, a branch of which settled in Canada. Nevertheless, even in that distant land, the "banshee" followed them. One night a fearful, agonising wail was heard which could not be accounted for, and the next day the father and a son were drowned in the lake. Lady Wilde does say that this warning is not always conveyed in the same manner. Certain families see a white dove, others a white horse, where neither dove nor horse can be. In short, these supernatural sounds and appearances are attested with such evident good faith by many Irish men and women of culture, that impartial outsiders cannot but believe with the author, that "much remains unsolved; even to the philosopher of the mystic relations between the material and spiritual world." [...]
From a review of Lady Wilde's "Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland."
in the Morning Post, 29th December 1886.
From a review of Lady Wilde's "Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland."
in the Morning Post, 29th December 1886.
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.
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.
County Kildare
A Kilcullen Fairytale.
Residents in Kilcullen have not been sleeping too soundly this past week. Reason is not the close proximity of the festive season, but the reported presence of the "fairy-woman," our legacy from the ancient seanachie, that "spirit" peculiar to the Irish - in short, our old friend, the Banshee.
Well may the sceptics scoff and logically minded laugh in scorn - but she was seen, it has been told. A local Juliett, dallying by the not so bright wayside with a not so local Romeo, cast her eyes upon the spectre and (with commendable presence of mind, we think) promptly fainted.
Dismayed, but daunted not, right gallantly did Rome carry his fainting sweetheart to her home. The train of after events is not too clear, but it would not appear as if the young man did not hanker after further encounter with the fairy-woman - so he enlisted the aid of a taxi-man to reach his own more distant abode. Or perhaps we do him an injustice - the task of carrying Juliet may have overtaxed his strength.
In any event we cannot guarantee the truth of the latter part of the story; or, for that matter, any part of the story!
Some, no doubt, will not agree with us when we dismiss the whole matter as a figment of imagination, or, more probably, the upshot of a practical joke. It is a seasonal story and we would like to treat it as such and leave to the fairy-woman the freedom of the four winds and unconditional licence to exercise her vocal chords [sic.] (do banshees have vocal chords?) in practice of her weird wail.
But for a lot of Kilcullen's mothers the alleged incident had much more serious repercussions. Children are all ears, they say, and Kilcullen's youngsters missed little of the story, and dreams of banshees and fairy-women are not nearly as pleasant as dreams of Santa Claus and Christmas pudding. And children screaming in early morning nightmares are not conducive to the regulation period of rest presecribed for hard-worked parents.
It is hardly likely that the practical joker (we have no doubt there was a practical joker) is married, but we can only hope that it is so and that the sleep-shattering yells of his (or her) offspring has brought retribution and the belated judgement that the fairies are best left alone.
Leinster Leader, 22nd December, 1951.
Residents in Kilcullen have not been sleeping too soundly this past week. Reason is not the close proximity of the festive season, but the reported presence of the "fairy-woman," our legacy from the ancient seanachie, that "spirit" peculiar to the Irish - in short, our old friend, the Banshee.
Well may the sceptics scoff and logically minded laugh in scorn - but she was seen, it has been told. A local Juliett, dallying by the not so bright wayside with a not so local Romeo, cast her eyes upon the spectre and (with commendable presence of mind, we think) promptly fainted.
Dismayed, but daunted not, right gallantly did Rome carry his fainting sweetheart to her home. The train of after events is not too clear, but it would not appear as if the young man did not hanker after further encounter with the fairy-woman - so he enlisted the aid of a taxi-man to reach his own more distant abode. Or perhaps we do him an injustice - the task of carrying Juliet may have overtaxed his strength.
In any event we cannot guarantee the truth of the latter part of the story; or, for that matter, any part of the story!
Some, no doubt, will not agree with us when we dismiss the whole matter as a figment of imagination, or, more probably, the upshot of a practical joke. It is a seasonal story and we would like to treat it as such and leave to the fairy-woman the freedom of the four winds and unconditional licence to exercise her vocal chords [sic.] (do banshees have vocal chords?) in practice of her weird wail.
But for a lot of Kilcullen's mothers the alleged incident had much more serious repercussions. Children are all ears, they say, and Kilcullen's youngsters missed little of the story, and dreams of banshees and fairy-women are not nearly as pleasant as dreams of Santa Claus and Christmas pudding. And children screaming in early morning nightmares are not conducive to the regulation period of rest presecribed for hard-worked parents.
It is hardly likely that the practical joker (we have no doubt there was a practical joker) is married, but we can only hope that it is so and that the sleep-shattering yells of his (or her) offspring has brought retribution and the belated judgement that the fairies are best left alone.
Leinster Leader, 22nd December, 1951.
Kilnantic, County Kildare
You don't believe in banshees? Well, talk to Mr Richard Mather, Kilnantic, Rathangan, and he will do his best to make you change your mind! Mr Mather is convinced that a banshee is at present prowling around the Kilnantic area - because he heard her.
"It was a long, long wailing sound which lasted for five minutes; I would not like ever to hear it again," he told our representative. He heard "the wail" sometime after midnight just as he entered his home after driving from Waterford.
You still don't believe it? Neither do I, but Mr Mather is quite willing to test your nerves by challenging you to sit up some night at the spot. But he won't be with you!
Leinster Leader, 19th November 1955.
Dear Sir, - Re your report of "Banshee" heard in Rathangan district. Has your correspondent ever heard a vixen fox calling her mate? Well I have, many a time, one of these soloists treated us to his [sic] performance every night at practically the same hour, and in the distance could be heard her boy friends barking in response.
I do not blame anyone for thinking of "Banshees" or any other weird creature, for of all the hair-raising sounds one could imagine this animal's cry is the worst I've ever heard - something between the screaming of a child, or of a woman being strangled. It has to be heard to be believed.
I've invited some neighbours to come and listen to it, and they nearly died from fright, especially when Mrs Vixen jumped out of a hedge quite near us, and ran off protesting. I'm sorry to attempt to explode the exciting "Banshee" thrill, but offer a possible solution, which may save some nervous person having an attack of "jitters."
- Yours, etc., (Miss) B. Gregg, Kilmeague.
Leinster Leader, 26th November, 1955.
Still sticking to his story - that he heard a banshee cry - is Mr Richard Mather, Kilnantic. And to the kind lady who wrote in these columns that his banshee was really a vixen, Mr. Mather replies: "I have heard most native animals cry at night, including the fox and the vixen, but there is nothing like the cry of a woman - and it was a woman I heard."
Leinster Leader, 17th December 1955.
"It was a long, long wailing sound which lasted for five minutes; I would not like ever to hear it again," he told our representative. He heard "the wail" sometime after midnight just as he entered his home after driving from Waterford.
You still don't believe it? Neither do I, but Mr Mather is quite willing to test your nerves by challenging you to sit up some night at the spot. But he won't be with you!
Leinster Leader, 19th November 1955.
Dear Sir, - Re your report of "Banshee" heard in Rathangan district. Has your correspondent ever heard a vixen fox calling her mate? Well I have, many a time, one of these soloists treated us to his [sic] performance every night at practically the same hour, and in the distance could be heard her boy friends barking in response.
I do not blame anyone for thinking of "Banshees" or any other weird creature, for of all the hair-raising sounds one could imagine this animal's cry is the worst I've ever heard - something between the screaming of a child, or of a woman being strangled. It has to be heard to be believed.
I've invited some neighbours to come and listen to it, and they nearly died from fright, especially when Mrs Vixen jumped out of a hedge quite near us, and ran off protesting. I'm sorry to attempt to explode the exciting "Banshee" thrill, but offer a possible solution, which may save some nervous person having an attack of "jitters."
- Yours, etc., (Miss) B. Gregg, Kilmeague.
Leinster Leader, 26th November, 1955.
Still sticking to his story - that he heard a banshee cry - is Mr Richard Mather, Kilnantic. And to the kind lady who wrote in these columns that his banshee was really a vixen, Mr. Mather replies: "I have heard most native animals cry at night, including the fox and the vixen, but there is nothing like the cry of a woman - and it was a woman I heard."
Leinster Leader, 17th December 1955.
Explanations refuted, County Laois
The Cry In The Night.
Editor "Leinster Leader."
Dear Editor, as one who claims to know, I must disagree with Miss Gregg, regarding the cry of the she fox; it is not what she describes. A she fox cries like a rabbit in a snare or trap. Often I heard her. Nearly everyone knows the sharp cry of the dog fox, but he has another cry also, very like a turkey cock gobbling; you hear him at it in the spring or mating season.
There is no disputing the Banshee's cry. It is like what she says, a cross between the screaming of a child and a woman being strangled.
Yours truly, R. Kelly.
Portarlington.
Editor "Leinster Leader."
Dear Editor, as one who claims to know, I must disagree with Miss Gregg, regarding the cry of the she fox; it is not what she describes. A she fox cries like a rabbit in a snare or trap. Often I heard her. Nearly everyone knows the sharp cry of the dog fox, but he has another cry also, very like a turkey cock gobbling; you hear him at it in the spring or mating season.
There is no disputing the Banshee's cry. It is like what she says, a cross between the screaming of a child and a woman being strangled.
Yours truly, R. Kelly.
Portarlington.
Fashions in Banshees?
Banshees have just come into prominence. Both Wales and Ireland have their own special variety. The Irish banshee accompanies the members of the household on all their wanderings. The Welsh banshee, however, refuses to leave the ancestral home and prefers its family to stay put. But it stretches a point occasionally and wails around the house should anyone connected with it die far away.
Western Mail, 18th September 1940.
Is this some kind of reference to the wailing banshee sirens of the war?
Western Mail, 18th September 1940.
Is this some kind of reference to the wailing banshee sirens of the war?
To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times, 8th July 1893
To the editor of the Weekly Irish Times.
Sir, - Notwithstanding the remarks of "M. Cahal Mor" I still persist in the ideas expressed in my former letter. That animals are sometimes disturbed at the death of a human being, the commotion amongst our domestic pets and others on the several occasions I have already mentioned leaves me little room to doubt. Besides, in the colonies and in this country, I have often heard or read of such being the case. And regarding the tradition of the banshee in my family, I think, therefore, that these animal cries must have originated it.
Every superstition has apparently been founded on some germ of truth; for instance, the [common] belief in the Flying Dutchman on the looming in the air of some ship out of sight - that phenomenon sometimes witnessed at sea, and caused by unequal refraction in the lower strata of the atmosphere; and regarding superstition in this light, the cries of animals, of all things in nature, are the most likely to have given rise to the belief in the banshee. Why animals should be disturbed at a death I do not pretend to explain, but I know it is so. Thanking you in anticipation for the [mention] of this my last communication on the subject - I am, dear Mr Editor, your obedient servant,
Latton Hill.
Weekly Irish Times, 8th July 1893.
Sir, - Notwithstanding the remarks of "M. Cahal Mor" I still persist in the ideas expressed in my former letter. That animals are sometimes disturbed at the death of a human being, the commotion amongst our domestic pets and others on the several occasions I have already mentioned leaves me little room to doubt. Besides, in the colonies and in this country, I have often heard or read of such being the case. And regarding the tradition of the banshee in my family, I think, therefore, that these animal cries must have originated it.
Every superstition has apparently been founded on some germ of truth; for instance, the [common] belief in the Flying Dutchman on the looming in the air of some ship out of sight - that phenomenon sometimes witnessed at sea, and caused by unequal refraction in the lower strata of the atmosphere; and regarding superstition in this light, the cries of animals, of all things in nature, are the most likely to have given rise to the belief in the banshee. Why animals should be disturbed at a death I do not pretend to explain, but I know it is so. Thanking you in anticipation for the [mention] of this my last communication on the subject - I am, dear Mr Editor, your obedient servant,
Latton Hill.
Weekly Irish Times, 8th July 1893.
Monday, 1 May 2017
Killarney reports, County Kerry
Serious Landslip Near Killarney. A house and its occupants swept away.
A Killarney Correspondent telegraphed last night: - "An extraordinary and disastrous landslip occurred, early this morning, near Rathmore, about ten miles from Killarney, and it was, unfortunately, attended by a serious loss of life. An enormous bog was, so to speak, let loose, and moved a considerable distance, sweeping everything before it in its irresistable course. A great tract of country has been devastated, and the destructive course of the moving mass can be distinctly traced for miles. The travelling bog in its widest part is nearly a mile across, and everything which stood in its way appears to have been utterly destroyed. A house on Lord Kenmare's estate, known as Quarry Lodge, and occupied by one of his land stewards, named Donnelly, which lay right in the track of the bog, was completely demolished and swallowed up, not a trace now remaining of the building and outhouses and contents, save a few household articles. Donnelly, his wife, and seven children, together with a number of pigs and cattle, have all disappeared, and their bodies, it is thought, will never be recovered from the bog. There was a very heavy rainfall in the district last night, and this, it is believed, precipitated the catastrophe, which, it is thought, occurred between one and four o'clock this morning. This time, however, is merely conjectural, for, so far as can be ascertained from inquiry in the district, the moving bog made no noise, and the victims could have had no warning of the terrible fate in store for them."
Beginning of an article in the London Evening Standard, 29th December 1896.
The Wailings of the Banshee.
A remarkable story has gained currency in the Killarney district. It is stated that about a week before Christmas extraordinary noises were heard in the valley at night, which the people describe as resembling what is traditionally supposed to be the wailings of the banshee. These noises - a long-drawn uncanny sound with cries resembling the Irish keen - are said to have been heard by several persons residing in the valley. Large numbers of the people explained the nature of the cries to the priests, who succeeded in calming their fears.
So widespread were the feelings which these sounds occasioned that numbers of old people sent for the clergy to visit them in their houses. The priests were busy for some days ministering religious consolation to the people and reassuring them. The noises undoubtedly were there, for numbers of the people heard the cries during the night, and in one instance they reached official ears also. The fact that these banshee-like cries, causing apprehension of some disaster among the people, should be so quickly followed by the great calamity that has befallen the district is regarded (the London Daily News says) by those who attach credence to the story as very singular.
Yorkshire Evening Post, 1st January 1897.
Belief in the Banshee.
A respected and entirely serious Irish correspondent of the Daily News believes in the banshee story. He writes:- The statement made with absolute sincerity that the wailings of the banshee were heard a week before Christmas in the valley of the moving bog in East Kerry by large numbers of people must not be set down to a freak of the Celtic imagination. These cries, which are believed to presage death, reached at least in one instance official ears on the eve of this terrible disaster.
I have myself heard the late Archdeacon Whately, who was an Englishman educated in England, the only son of the celebrated Archbishop of Dublin, say that in an Irish country parish he heard distinctly, when administering the Holy Communion to a dying person, the wail known as the cry of the banshee.
Hartlepool Northern Daily Mail, 9th January 1897.
A Killarney Correspondent telegraphed last night: - "An extraordinary and disastrous landslip occurred, early this morning, near Rathmore, about ten miles from Killarney, and it was, unfortunately, attended by a serious loss of life. An enormous bog was, so to speak, let loose, and moved a considerable distance, sweeping everything before it in its irresistable course. A great tract of country has been devastated, and the destructive course of the moving mass can be distinctly traced for miles. The travelling bog in its widest part is nearly a mile across, and everything which stood in its way appears to have been utterly destroyed. A house on Lord Kenmare's estate, known as Quarry Lodge, and occupied by one of his land stewards, named Donnelly, which lay right in the track of the bog, was completely demolished and swallowed up, not a trace now remaining of the building and outhouses and contents, save a few household articles. Donnelly, his wife, and seven children, together with a number of pigs and cattle, have all disappeared, and their bodies, it is thought, will never be recovered from the bog. There was a very heavy rainfall in the district last night, and this, it is believed, precipitated the catastrophe, which, it is thought, occurred between one and four o'clock this morning. This time, however, is merely conjectural, for, so far as can be ascertained from inquiry in the district, the moving bog made no noise, and the victims could have had no warning of the terrible fate in store for them."
Beginning of an article in the London Evening Standard, 29th December 1896.
The Wailings of the Banshee.
A remarkable story has gained currency in the Killarney district. It is stated that about a week before Christmas extraordinary noises were heard in the valley at night, which the people describe as resembling what is traditionally supposed to be the wailings of the banshee. These noises - a long-drawn uncanny sound with cries resembling the Irish keen - are said to have been heard by several persons residing in the valley. Large numbers of the people explained the nature of the cries to the priests, who succeeded in calming their fears.
So widespread were the feelings which these sounds occasioned that numbers of old people sent for the clergy to visit them in their houses. The priests were busy for some days ministering religious consolation to the people and reassuring them. The noises undoubtedly were there, for numbers of the people heard the cries during the night, and in one instance they reached official ears also. The fact that these banshee-like cries, causing apprehension of some disaster among the people, should be so quickly followed by the great calamity that has befallen the district is regarded (the London Daily News says) by those who attach credence to the story as very singular.
Yorkshire Evening Post, 1st January 1897.
Belief in the Banshee.
A respected and entirely serious Irish correspondent of the Daily News believes in the banshee story. He writes:- The statement made with absolute sincerity that the wailings of the banshee were heard a week before Christmas in the valley of the moving bog in East Kerry by large numbers of people must not be set down to a freak of the Celtic imagination. These cries, which are believed to presage death, reached at least in one instance official ears on the eve of this terrible disaster.
I have myself heard the late Archdeacon Whately, who was an Englishman educated in England, the only son of the celebrated Archbishop of Dublin, say that in an Irish country parish he heard distinctly, when administering the Holy Communion to a dying person, the wail known as the cry of the banshee.
Hartlepool Northern Daily Mail, 9th January 1897.
Irish Bog Folklore, Kerry
Irish Bogs and Banshees
[From the "Globe."]
Until quite recently, Giraldus Cambrensis (date about 1200) had apparently said the last word upon the phenomena of Irish bogs. Now, Kenmare is full of scientists finding explanations which no Kerry man will accept. The ancient map-makers, in similar cases of difficulty, had a formula. "Here are Hobgoblins," they wrote, and so passed on to places about which there could be no disputing. Geology takes no account of Hobgoblins, and - as regards Bogs - has found no formula to take their place. Hence the Encyclopaedia Britannica has nothing to say thereon, nor can the British Museum offer any firm ground to the explorer. As for Giraldus, he was frankly on the side of the Hobgoblins.
These bogs, he said, were the abode of evil spirits, who were believed to move them at their will and pleasure. And in this view he is supported by a great number of the present inhabitants of Kerry, who maintain that to shift a bog is just the dirty trick "thim wans" would play. For this reason, Kerry men are slow to take work upon a soft bog, fearing to draw down the vengeance of "thim wans" by interference with their concerns.
[...] In justice to Ireland, it should be said, however, that very little of her bog-land is of this "soft" kind. The "carpet of death" is by no means common. There are about three million acres of bog-land in the country. The greater part of this is a perfectly reliable neighbour, not given to moving, and by no means dangerous to cross. [...] But let a cutting be abandoned for a month or twoand the moss and the bracken will spread over and cover it - the heather comes, and the white flower of the bog-cotton - and the scar is healed. The writer passed six years of childhood within a mile of "bog-land" such as this. A keeper had his house upon the borders, and always gave it as his firm belief that the bog was "fairy ha'nted."
"Amn't I annoyed wid them?" he would say, if asked for proof. Moreover, did not his setter go out one night over the bog, and return cross-eyed next morning through meeting a fairy? Could he prove it? Of course he could. He could show you the dog. Dogs were never cross-eyed unless a witch had over-looked them. It was only after dark that these things affected McKeown. During the day he wandered forth over the bog without a qualm. But when dusk fell on the hill he would stand at his door and point out half-a-dozen spots buoyed in his chart as haunts of the Hobgoblin. His home lay almost in the centre of a magic circle, and to reach it after sundown by any other path than the road, without running plump into some mysterious rite or other, was a thing needing some skill.
To a small boy, therefore, this bog-land was enchanted ground. Fairies hid in its clumps of wild campanula. Elfin ringers made mad music of its "witch-bells" and "fairy-flute." Across the peat-streams, running through the moss, the small good people and "thim wans" waged an internecine war. This little river, which never ceased, night and morning, calling him to play, bore in the day-time speckled trout. But he never knew the evening when it might not bring a princess in a golden boat from those mysterious sources far beyond the hills.
Only once, according to McKeown, has his bog-land shifted "in a thousand years." The story of its moving involves the fate of a Danish host, overwhelmed and buried underneath. It is curious how the visits of the "sea-wolves" live in the talk of the country-side - fact and fiction inextricably confused. There is no doubt, for instance, that McKeown believed that when fig-leaves went out of fashion trowsers were worn. He clothed Berserkers in breeches, and had a vision of a regiment of pipe-clayed Vikings sacking the Bank of Kenmare. Still, he managed to be convincing, and there is alittle doubt that, somewhere in Kerry, a Danish force lies buried fathoms deep in the hill. The supposed place of their entombment is a pass between the upland bog - McKeown's - and a patch of soft bog - a quicksand of slime. The marauders are said to have been returning from a raid inland when - on entering the pass - they saw the whole surface of the upper hill tumbling towards them like a sea. Fleeing before it, they were caught in the lower bog, which held them upstanding to be drowned ina vast cataract of moving earth. This is McKeown's story, and he always adds that upon stormy nights the Danes can still be heard clattering through the pass, and shouting their terror as the bog rolls down.
There is no doubt in the mind of McKeown that these portents have always been the work of the Hobgoblins. His name for the latter, "thim wans" or "the little gentry," testifies his faith in their power to work him harm. Really, he has no great belief in their gentility. There is that little matter of the dog, for instance. But while he thinks what he pleases, he is wise enough to call his neighbours no harsh names. It is an old habit. The ancient Greek called his unseen guests "Eumenides" (the benevolent), meaning something very different, and raised his altar of fruit and corn in the susptected grove. "Good manners are no burthen," says McKeown, and spills his pewter ever so little on the ground before drinking.
Often he does a day's work upon the bog-land without seeing a soul. For him, on days like these, there is "something quare" about - "A wreath of the mist - a bubble of the stream." A half-heard noise behind him in the heather as he leans upon his spade - an outline half-discerned through the plantation "in the darkness of the night" - has each its possible meaning. He raises no altar; but he keeps a watch upon his tongue. He saw "somethin' quare."
One other sound besides the shouting on the bog, McKeown has heard - the wail of the Banshee. He, and all Kerry with him, asserts that the cry forebodes death or other evil following close behind. It is common talk about Killarney that "She Ferogh" appeared before the late disaster, singing through the valley in the path of the bog. Some claim even to have seen her - an aged woman whose long white hair fell over her thin shoulders. It is hard to treat the Banshee with disrespect, even now. There is scarcely a peasant family in Kerry which does not confidently expect her coming when "one of the old race" dies. Even the historian "hedges" when he writes of the Banshee. His text expresses a confident disbelief: his notes are full of true stories of her appearance to people whose word is above reproach. In this way the casual reader has both views presented. Meanwhile, for serious inquirers, there is always Mrs Hall, who has set the Banshee's wail to music, in two keys.
Inverness Courier, 19th January 1897.
[From the "Globe."]
Until quite recently, Giraldus Cambrensis (date about 1200) had apparently said the last word upon the phenomena of Irish bogs. Now, Kenmare is full of scientists finding explanations which no Kerry man will accept. The ancient map-makers, in similar cases of difficulty, had a formula. "Here are Hobgoblins," they wrote, and so passed on to places about which there could be no disputing. Geology takes no account of Hobgoblins, and - as regards Bogs - has found no formula to take their place. Hence the Encyclopaedia Britannica has nothing to say thereon, nor can the British Museum offer any firm ground to the explorer. As for Giraldus, he was frankly on the side of the Hobgoblins.
These bogs, he said, were the abode of evil spirits, who were believed to move them at their will and pleasure. And in this view he is supported by a great number of the present inhabitants of Kerry, who maintain that to shift a bog is just the dirty trick "thim wans" would play. For this reason, Kerry men are slow to take work upon a soft bog, fearing to draw down the vengeance of "thim wans" by interference with their concerns.
[...] In justice to Ireland, it should be said, however, that very little of her bog-land is of this "soft" kind. The "carpet of death" is by no means common. There are about three million acres of bog-land in the country. The greater part of this is a perfectly reliable neighbour, not given to moving, and by no means dangerous to cross. [...] But let a cutting be abandoned for a month or twoand the moss and the bracken will spread over and cover it - the heather comes, and the white flower of the bog-cotton - and the scar is healed. The writer passed six years of childhood within a mile of "bog-land" such as this. A keeper had his house upon the borders, and always gave it as his firm belief that the bog was "fairy ha'nted."
"Amn't I annoyed wid them?" he would say, if asked for proof. Moreover, did not his setter go out one night over the bog, and return cross-eyed next morning through meeting a fairy? Could he prove it? Of course he could. He could show you the dog. Dogs were never cross-eyed unless a witch had over-looked them. It was only after dark that these things affected McKeown. During the day he wandered forth over the bog without a qualm. But when dusk fell on the hill he would stand at his door and point out half-a-dozen spots buoyed in his chart as haunts of the Hobgoblin. His home lay almost in the centre of a magic circle, and to reach it after sundown by any other path than the road, without running plump into some mysterious rite or other, was a thing needing some skill.
To a small boy, therefore, this bog-land was enchanted ground. Fairies hid in its clumps of wild campanula. Elfin ringers made mad music of its "witch-bells" and "fairy-flute." Across the peat-streams, running through the moss, the small good people and "thim wans" waged an internecine war. This little river, which never ceased, night and morning, calling him to play, bore in the day-time speckled trout. But he never knew the evening when it might not bring a princess in a golden boat from those mysterious sources far beyond the hills.
Only once, according to McKeown, has his bog-land shifted "in a thousand years." The story of its moving involves the fate of a Danish host, overwhelmed and buried underneath. It is curious how the visits of the "sea-wolves" live in the talk of the country-side - fact and fiction inextricably confused. There is no doubt, for instance, that McKeown believed that when fig-leaves went out of fashion trowsers were worn. He clothed Berserkers in breeches, and had a vision of a regiment of pipe-clayed Vikings sacking the Bank of Kenmare. Still, he managed to be convincing, and there is alittle doubt that, somewhere in Kerry, a Danish force lies buried fathoms deep in the hill. The supposed place of their entombment is a pass between the upland bog - McKeown's - and a patch of soft bog - a quicksand of slime. The marauders are said to have been returning from a raid inland when - on entering the pass - they saw the whole surface of the upper hill tumbling towards them like a sea. Fleeing before it, they were caught in the lower bog, which held them upstanding to be drowned ina vast cataract of moving earth. This is McKeown's story, and he always adds that upon stormy nights the Danes can still be heard clattering through the pass, and shouting their terror as the bog rolls down.
There is no doubt in the mind of McKeown that these portents have always been the work of the Hobgoblins. His name for the latter, "thim wans" or "the little gentry," testifies his faith in their power to work him harm. Really, he has no great belief in their gentility. There is that little matter of the dog, for instance. But while he thinks what he pleases, he is wise enough to call his neighbours no harsh names. It is an old habit. The ancient Greek called his unseen guests "Eumenides" (the benevolent), meaning something very different, and raised his altar of fruit and corn in the susptected grove. "Good manners are no burthen," says McKeown, and spills his pewter ever so little on the ground before drinking.
Often he does a day's work upon the bog-land without seeing a soul. For him, on days like these, there is "something quare" about - "A wreath of the mist - a bubble of the stream." A half-heard noise behind him in the heather as he leans upon his spade - an outline half-discerned through the plantation "in the darkness of the night" - has each its possible meaning. He raises no altar; but he keeps a watch upon his tongue. He saw "somethin' quare."
One other sound besides the shouting on the bog, McKeown has heard - the wail of the Banshee. He, and all Kerry with him, asserts that the cry forebodes death or other evil following close behind. It is common talk about Killarney that "She Ferogh" appeared before the late disaster, singing through the valley in the path of the bog. Some claim even to have seen her - an aged woman whose long white hair fell over her thin shoulders. It is hard to treat the Banshee with disrespect, even now. There is scarcely a peasant family in Kerry which does not confidently expect her coming when "one of the old race" dies. Even the historian "hedges" when he writes of the Banshee. His text expresses a confident disbelief: his notes are full of true stories of her appearance to people whose word is above reproach. In this way the casual reader has both views presented. Meanwhile, for serious inquirers, there is always Mrs Hall, who has set the Banshee's wail to music, in two keys.
Inverness Courier, 19th January 1897.
Friday, 28 April 2017
Allegedly first hand account
The Banshee - A Rather Strange Experience.
To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times.
Dear Sir, -- Referring to this very interesting subject which I now see fully discussed in the columns of the Weekly Irish Times, I wish to make a few remarks, and give to the reader what I consider is a rather stranger experience, though perhaps not bearing directly on the above subject, but which is strictly true in all its details. Who has not heard of the "banshee", and of the many stories associated with it? How it follows some families (principally old ones) in Ireland? You have heard it assumes different forms, sometimes that of an old shrivelled hag, and at other times the form of a beautiful female, with long flowing tresses. How it is sent to be the forerunner of some disaster to the particular family which it follows, which it foretells by a mournful wail or moan. It is of this class of experience I wish to write. I reside close to a family who are reputed to be followed by a banshee. One night a succession of piercing shrieks awakened many of the inhabitants residing in the same street as I. The shrieks then gave place to a long low moan passing by the doors, and dying off in the distance, and then all was silent. Many of the people got up to try and find out what had happened or where the sounds proceeded from; but no trace of any creature could be found on the street. A telegram was received next morning by the family I referred to, acquainting them of the murder of one who was a member of that family but a short time previous, and who left home and father and mother to become the wife of him who murdered her. The murderer committed suicide. Some years after this I was retiring to bed one night - it wanted but a few minutes of midnight. I had just wound my watch, and was in the act of leaving it down when suddenly there arose a sound which I shall never, never forget - a cry, louder than the cry that any human being could give utterance to. It seemed to me like the cry of a soul in torment. It rose high and loud on the midnight air, then sank into a long, low moan, thrice in quick succession, then died away into the night. The sound proceeded from the street, yet the room in which I stood was filled with the cry as if it was close at hand. I crept into bed; a hundred thoughts hunted each other through my brain. What was it? Then I thought of the "banshee," and of the occurrence years before, but I tried to laugh at the thought, but could not banish it from my mind. Next morning the first news I heard was that old Mr. M--- was dead! And people spoke in whispers of the dread cry heard the previous night. If any reader of the instances I have related have ever had a similar experience I would wish to hear it, as I am deeply interested in this matter. Stories of the "banshee" have often been related to me by father and mother - their own experiences - which I believe implicitly. Indeed I know many people who firmly believe in the "banshee." -- Yours, &c., R.I.N.B.
Weekly Irish Times, 4th July 1891.
To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times.
Dear Sir, -- Referring to this very interesting subject which I now see fully discussed in the columns of the Weekly Irish Times, I wish to make a few remarks, and give to the reader what I consider is a rather stranger experience, though perhaps not bearing directly on the above subject, but which is strictly true in all its details. Who has not heard of the "banshee", and of the many stories associated with it? How it follows some families (principally old ones) in Ireland? You have heard it assumes different forms, sometimes that of an old shrivelled hag, and at other times the form of a beautiful female, with long flowing tresses. How it is sent to be the forerunner of some disaster to the particular family which it follows, which it foretells by a mournful wail or moan. It is of this class of experience I wish to write. I reside close to a family who are reputed to be followed by a banshee. One night a succession of piercing shrieks awakened many of the inhabitants residing in the same street as I. The shrieks then gave place to a long low moan passing by the doors, and dying off in the distance, and then all was silent. Many of the people got up to try and find out what had happened or where the sounds proceeded from; but no trace of any creature could be found on the street. A telegram was received next morning by the family I referred to, acquainting them of the murder of one who was a member of that family but a short time previous, and who left home and father and mother to become the wife of him who murdered her. The murderer committed suicide. Some years after this I was retiring to bed one night - it wanted but a few minutes of midnight. I had just wound my watch, and was in the act of leaving it down when suddenly there arose a sound which I shall never, never forget - a cry, louder than the cry that any human being could give utterance to. It seemed to me like the cry of a soul in torment. It rose high and loud on the midnight air, then sank into a long, low moan, thrice in quick succession, then died away into the night. The sound proceeded from the street, yet the room in which I stood was filled with the cry as if it was close at hand. I crept into bed; a hundred thoughts hunted each other through my brain. What was it? Then I thought of the "banshee," and of the occurrence years before, but I tried to laugh at the thought, but could not banish it from my mind. Next morning the first news I heard was that old Mr. M--- was dead! And people spoke in whispers of the dread cry heard the previous night. If any reader of the instances I have related have ever had a similar experience I would wish to hear it, as I am deeply interested in this matter. Stories of the "banshee" have often been related to me by father and mother - their own experiences - which I believe implicitly. Indeed I know many people who firmly believe in the "banshee." -- Yours, &c., R.I.N.B.
Weekly Irish Times, 4th July 1891.
Saturday, 18 March 2017
Saint Johnstown, County Donegal
There is a woman living near us called Maggie Mc Cready, who saw a banshee. This is how she told me the story.
"We were leevin' in St Johnston at the time this happened. Wan night just as darkness was falling, my father said he'd go oot and put in the cow."
"Before lang he came in again and told my mother and us that he wanted us oot tae see a thing. Out we went and what did we spy bit a wee woman sitting on our roof. She was wearing a wee red cloak and tammy-shanter.
"We stood looking up at her. She kept on saying "Och-och in a nee o." After a while she told us tal go intae the house and not tae be afraid.
"We went oot again tae see her bit she was awa'. We heard her crooning down at the fit of our garden. My fether told us not to be going down near her again because she was a ban-shee and might blow bad luck on us for following her.
From the National Folklore Collection, UCD.
"We were leevin' in St Johnston at the time this happened. Wan night just as darkness was falling, my father said he'd go oot and put in the cow."
"Before lang he came in again and told my mother and us that he wanted us oot tae see a thing. Out we went and what did we spy bit a wee woman sitting on our roof. She was wearing a wee red cloak and tammy-shanter.
"We stood looking up at her. She kept on saying "Och-och in a nee o." After a while she told us tal go intae the house and not tae be afraid.
"We went oot again tae see her bit she was awa'. We heard her crooning down at the fit of our garden. My fether told us not to be going down near her again because she was a ban-shee and might blow bad luck on us for following her.
From the National Folklore Collection, UCD.
Saint Johnstown, County Donegal
Long ago I heard the people saying that the Banshee like a child. The people do not like to hear the Banshee crying because it is a very frightful cry.
I often heard the people saying that there is a race of people that the Banshee follows when they are going to die.
Once upon a time i heard the people saying there was an old man, lived at Greenhill, and one night he was going to St. Johnston and he heard a great noise and at first he thought that it was a child crying.
He told the people and they went to hear the cry and there was a man there that heard the Banshee before and he siad that it was the Banshee. A few days after that the old man got sick and he soon died and he was one of the people that the Banshee followed.
From the National Folklore Collection, UCD.
I often heard the people saying that there is a race of people that the Banshee follows when they are going to die.
Once upon a time i heard the people saying there was an old man, lived at Greenhill, and one night he was going to St. Johnston and he heard a great noise and at first he thought that it was a child crying.
He told the people and they went to hear the cry and there was a man there that heard the Banshee before and he siad that it was the Banshee. A few days after that the old man got sick and he soon died and he was one of the people that the Banshee followed.
From the National Folklore Collection, UCD.
Ballymun, County Dublin
The "Banshee" is supposed to be a little old woman who is crying and combing her hair together. There are certain families she cries when they are going to die.
One calm frosty night my uncle and grandmother were coming home in the milk-car from Dublin. When they came to the Charter School hill near Ballymun my uncle heard the Banshee crying an old man named Mr O'Reilly who had broken his neck at the hunt and was dying nearby. The cry started in the field, right along the road where they were driving. My uncle heard it all the way but my grandmother never heard it at all. Then my uncle stopped the pony and then the banshee stopped too, and when he went on again she went on. She kept crying all the time until she came to the end of the man’s land where she stopped.
Another time she was crying a woman named Mrs Quinn who lived in Ballymun House. This time it was early in the winter’s morning and it was dark. One old man called Hairy Terry was going to his work and he was very nervous. She was crying over at Sillogue and he was hurrying to get past the field before she came to the road. Before he got up she was leaning out over the hedge crying. So he ran back and did not go to any work that day.
I once heard of a man who stole the banshee’s comb. Every night she used come crying to his door for the comb. He was afraid to give it to her so he had to put it on a tongs out under the door.
From the National Folklore Collection, UCD.
One calm frosty night my uncle and grandmother were coming home in the milk-car from Dublin. When they came to the Charter School hill near Ballymun my uncle heard the Banshee crying an old man named Mr O'Reilly who had broken his neck at the hunt and was dying nearby. The cry started in the field, right along the road where they were driving. My uncle heard it all the way but my grandmother never heard it at all. Then my uncle stopped the pony and then the banshee stopped too, and when he went on again she went on. She kept crying all the time until she came to the end of the man’s land where she stopped.
Another time she was crying a woman named Mrs Quinn who lived in Ballymun House. This time it was early in the winter’s morning and it was dark. One old man called Hairy Terry was going to his work and he was very nervous. She was crying over at Sillogue and he was hurrying to get past the field before she came to the road. Before he got up she was leaning out over the hedge crying. So he ran back and did not go to any work that day.
I once heard of a man who stole the banshee’s comb. Every night she used come crying to his door for the comb. He was afraid to give it to her so he had to put it on a tongs out under the door.
From the National Folklore Collection, UCD.
Srahmore, County Mayo
The Banshee is still believed in by certain families in Shramore [sic].
The Banshee is an omen of an approaching death.
It is believed locally that the banshee cries for two local families in Shramore, namely the Conways and the McManamons.
The same two families are notable for hearing the banshee, or seeing funerals.
It is believed in other parts of the districts adjoining that the banshee also follows the Mc.s and the O.s, such as McDonnells, the O'Donnells, and O'Malleys.
From the National Folklore Collection, UCD.
The Banshee is an omen of an approaching death.
It is believed locally that the banshee cries for two local families in Shramore, namely the Conways and the McManamons.
The same two families are notable for hearing the banshee, or seeing funerals.
It is believed in other parts of the districts adjoining that the banshee also follows the Mc.s and the O.s, such as McDonnells, the O'Donnells, and O'Malleys.
From the National Folklore Collection, UCD.
Bridgetown, County Donegal
One night a man was coming from rambling. When he was coming up the railway, a banshee came out and followed him nearly till he was home. Soon after that one of his neighbours died. It is said that when people see a banshee some people near them die. It was Mr Dorrain that the banshee followed.
From the National Folklore Collection, UCD.
From the National Folklore Collection, UCD.
Lucan, County Dublin
The banshee is said to have been heard on the Lock Road about 10 years ago. when a woman was dying. It was heard moaning outside under the window
and was so loud that everyone around heard it. That night the woman,
Miss Mc Connell died. The banshee follows this family. Three knocks came
to the window last night (Tuesday 10th January) Mr Mc Connell is ill
now of course he is over ninety years of age.
Nobody else seems to have heard the banshee when a person belonging to them died. But it surely follows Mc Connells.
From the National Folklore Collection, UCD.
Nobody else seems to have heard the banshee when a person belonging to them died. But it surely follows Mc Connells.
From the National Folklore Collection, UCD.
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