Irish Wonders

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1. The Widows' Pursuit of Mr. Dooley and the Court Case

   Galway · townland · Galway

   Mr. Dooley, a bachelor farmer near Galway, courted three widows simultaneously while secretly falling for the spinster Miss Rooney, who obtained a love charm from Owld Moll and sewed it into his coat lining. When the widows discovered his supposed engagement to Miss Rooney, they dragged him before the judge at the Galway courthouse, where he was ordered to marry one woman and pay compensation to the others.

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   "'The sintince av this coort, Misther Dooley, is, that ye marry wan av 'em an' make compinsation to the other wans in a paycoonyary way be payin' thim siven poun' aitch.'

   "'Have marcy, yer Lordshap,' says Dooley, bekase he seen himself shtripped av all he had. 'Make it five poun', an' that's more than I've got in money.'

   Project Gutenberg #19486, Chapter 14

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere close to Galway, Mr. Dooley courted three widows while secretly falling for Miss Rooney, who sewed a love charm from Owld Moll into his coat. Caught, he faced the judge, who said: "marry one of them and pay the others seven pound each." Dooley begged, "Make it five pound, and that's more than I've got in money."

2. Angels Aid a Saint to Build Aghagower's Tower Overnight

   Aghagower · townland · Mayo

   Local tradition holds that the round tower of Aghagower, like that of Tulloherin, rose in a single night. In this version the saint who built it was aided in the miraculous overnight construction by angels.

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   The Tower Tulloherin, for instance, was built in one night by a monk who came to the neighborhood as a missionary. Finding the people inhospitable, and unable to obtain lodging for the night, he determined to remain, believing there could not be found in Ireland a locality more in need of missionary work. So, on the evening of his arrival, he began to build, and by morning the tower was finished, and he took up his abode in it, preaching from its entrance to the crowds attracted by the fame of the miracle. The story of the Tower of Aghagower is similar, save in one particular, the saint in this case being aided by angels. Kilmackduagh was built in one night by angels without human assistance, the work being done at the solicitation of a saint who watched and prayed while the angels toiled.

   Ballygaddy has a history somewhat less miraculous, the local peasant historian attributing its origin to a "giont" of the neighborhood. Having received a belligerent message from another "giont," he took a stand on Ballygaddy hill to watch for the coming of his antagonist, proposing, as the humble chronicler stated, "to bate the head aff the braggin' vagabone if he said as much as Boo." For seven days and nights he stood upon the hill, and at the end of that time, as may readily be believed, "his legs wor that tired he thought they'd dhrop aff him." To relieve those valuable members he put up the tower as a support to lean on. The bellicose gigantic party who proposed the encounter finally came to time, and lovers of antiquities will be glad to learn that the tower-building giant "didn't lave a whole bone in the blaggard's ugly carkidge." After the battle, the victor "shtarted for to kick the tower down," but, upon second thought, concluded to put the roof on it and "lave it for a wondher to thim little mortials that come afther him," for which consideration all honor to his memory.

   Project Gutenberg #19486, Chapter 9

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere around here stands the round tower of Aghagower. Local tradition says it rose in a single night, the work of a saint who was aided by angels. The story is told that a saint came to build it, and by morning the tower was finished. The tale echoes another told elsewhere in Ireland, of the tower of Tulloherin. A monk came to that neighbourhood as a missionary and found the people inhospitable. He could not obtain lodging for the night, but he determined to remain, believing there could not be found in Ireland a locality more in need of missionary work. On the evening of his arrival he began to build, and by morning the tower was finished. He took up his abode in it and preached from its entrance to the crowds attracted by the fame of the miracle. The story of Aghagower is similar, save in one particular. The saint in this case was aided by angels. There is also the tower of Kilmackduagh, built in one night by angels without human assistance, the work being done at the solicitation of a saint who watched and prayed while the angels toiled. So at Aghagower the saint did not toil alone. Angels helped raise the tower before dawn, and what stands near here is, in the telling, the fruit of a single night's miraculous labour.

3. Angels Build the Tower of Kilmacduagh Without Human Hands

   Kilmacduagh · townland · Galway

   According to legend, the round tower of Kilmacduagh was erected in one night entirely by angels, with no human assistance. The work was done at the solicitation of a saint, who watched and prayed while the angels toiled.

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   The Tower Tulloherin, for instance, was built in one night by a monk who came to the neighborhood as a missionary. Finding the people inhospitable, and unable to obtain lodging for the night, he determined to remain, believing there could not be found in Ireland a locality more in need of missionary work. So, on the evening of his arrival, he began to build, and by morning the tower was finished, and he took up his abode in it, preaching from its entrance to the crowds attracted by the fame of the miracle. The story of the Tower of Aghagower is similar, save in one particular, the saint in this case being aided by angels. Kilmackduagh was built in one night by angels without human assistance, the work being done at the solicitation of a saint who watched and prayed while the angels toiled.

   Ballygaddy has a history somewhat less miraculous, the local peasant historian attributing its origin to a "giont" of the neighborhood. Having received a belligerent message from another "giont," he took a stand on Ballygaddy hill to watch for the coming of his antagonist, proposing, as the humble chronicler stated, "to bate the head aff the braggin' vagabone if he said as much as Boo." For seven days and nights he stood upon the hill, and at the end of that time, as may readily be believed, "his legs wor that tired he thought they'd dhrop aff him." To relieve those valuable members he put up the tower as a support to lean on. The bellicose gigantic party who proposed the encounter finally came to time, and lovers of antiquities will be glad to learn that the tower-building giant "didn't lave a whole bone in the blaggard's ugly carkidge." After the battle, the victor "shtarted for to kick the tower down," but, upon second thought, concluded to put the roof on it and "lave it for a wondher to thim little mortials that come afther him," for which consideration all honor to his memory.

   Project Gutenberg #19486, Chapter 9

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere around here, in Kilmacduagh, stands a round tower that legend says was built in a single night by angels, without any human hands. The story comes from a book called Irish Wonders, which gathers several such legends. At Tulloherin, a monk arrived as a missionary and found the people inhospitable. He could not get lodging for the night, but he stayed, believing no place in Ireland needed his work more. That evening he began to build, and by morning the tower was finished. He took up residence in it and preached from its entrance to crowds drawn by the fame of the miracle. At Aghagower the story is similar, except the saint was aided by angels. But this tower was built by angels alone, with no human assistance. A saint solicited the work, then watched and prayed while the angels toiled through the night. The book tells of another tower, at Ballygaddy, with a less miraculous origin. A local giant received a belligerent message from another giant. He stood on Ballygaddy hill for 7 days and nights waiting for his antagonist. His legs grew so tired, in the words of the chronicler, he "thought they'd dhrop aff him." So he put up the tower as a support to lean on. His rival finally came, and the tower-building giant "didn't lave a whole bone in the blaggard's ugly carkidge." After the battle, the victor started to kick the tower down, but on second thought concluded to put the roof on and "lave it for a wondher to thim little mortials that come afther him."

4. Death by Whiskey and Sulphur-Water at Lisdoonvarna

   Lisdoonvarna · townland · Clare

   The Widow McMurthry of Galway got her money by marrying McMurthry, a man old enough to be her father. He died first of drinking too much whiskey, and then of taking too much of the sulphur-water at Lisdoonvarna in an attempt to set himself right again.

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   "There was another widdy in it, the Widdy McMurthry, that aftherwards married a sargeant av the polis, an' lives in Limerick. She was wan o' thim frishky widdys that shtruts an' wears fine close an' puts on more airs than a paycock. She was a fine-lookin' woman thim times, an' had money in plinty that she got be marryin' McMurthry, that was owld enough to be a father to her an' died o' dhrinkin' too much whishkey at first, an' thin too much sulphur-wather at Lisdoon Varna to set him right agin. She was always ready wid an answer to ye, fur it was quick witted she was, wid slathers o' talk that didn't mane annything, an' a giggle that she didn't nade to hunt fur whin she wanted it to make a show wid. An' she'd a dawther that was a fine child, about siventeen, a good dale like her mother.

   "Now, Misther Dooley had a kind heart in his body fur wimmin in gineral, an' as he liked a bit o' chaff wid thim on all occashuns, he wasn't long in gettin' acquainted wid all the wimmin o' the parish, an' was well liked be thim, an', be the same token, wasn't be the men, fur men, be nacher, doesn't like a woman's man anny more than wimmin like a men's woman. But, afther a bit, he begun to centher himself on the three widdys, an' sorra the day' ud go by whin he come to town but phat he'd give wan or another o' thim a pace av his comp'ny that was very plazin' to thim. Bedad, he done that same very well, for he made a round av it for to kape thim in suspince. He'd set in the ale room o' the Shamrock an hour in the afthernoon an' chat wid the Widdy Mulligan as she was sarvin' the dhrink, an' shtop in the Widdy O'Donnell's shop as he was goin' by, to get a thrifle or a bit av shwates an' give to her childher beways av a complimint, an' thin go to Missis McMurthry's to tay, an' so got on well wid thim all. An' it's me belafe he'd be doin' that same to this blessed day only that the widdys begun to be pressin' as not likin' fur to wait anny longer. Fur, mind ye, a widdy's not like a young wan that'll wait fur ye to spake, an' if ye don't do it, 'ull go on foriver, or till she gets tired av waitin' an' takes some wan else that does spake, widout sayin' a word to ye at all; but the widdy 'ull be hintin' an' hintin', an' her hints 'ull be as shtrong as a donkey's kick, so that the head o' ye has to be harder than a pavin'-shtone if ye don't undhershtand, an' ye've got to have more impidince than a monkey if ye don't spake up an' say something about marryin'.

   Project Gutenberg #19486, Chapter 14

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere close to Lisdoonvarna, a man named McMurthry came to a bad end. He was old enough to be a father to his own wife. She was the Widow McMurthry, a fine-looking woman from Galway, quick-witted, with plenty of talk that did not mean anything and a giggle she never had to hunt for when she wanted to make a show. She had married him and got her money that way. He drank too much whiskey first, and that did for him, or should have. Then he came here, to Lisdoonvarna, and took too much of the sulphur-water, trying to set himself right again. That finished him. So he died twice over, once from whiskey and once from the cure. The widow did not grieve long. She was what they called a frisky widow, one who strutted and wore fine clothes and put on more airs than a peacock. She had a daughter about seventeen, a good deal like her mother. Afterward she married a sergeant of the police and went to live in Limerick. But it was here that McMurthry met his end, chasing a cure that was worse than the complaint.

5. Inishbofin's Phantom Twin Island

   Inishbofin · townland · Donegal

   The islanders of Inishbofin in Donegal saw the Enchanted Island and said it looked exactly like their own island, remarking that two twins could not be more alike.

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   In Galway, the Enchanted Island has appeared in the mouth of Ballinaleame Bay, a local landlord at the time making a devout wish that it would stay there. The fishermen of Ballynaskill, in the Joyce Country, saw it about fifteen years ago, since when it appeared to the Innisshark islanders. The County Mayo has seen it, not only from the Achille Island cliffs, but also from Downpatrick Head; and in Sligo, the fishermen of Ballysadare Bay know all about it, while half the population of Inishcrone still remember its appearance about twenty years ago. The Inishboffin islanders in Donegal say it looked like their own island, "sure two twins couldn't be liker," and the people on Gweebarra Bay, when it appeared there, observed along the shore of the island a village like Maas, the one in which they lived. It has also appeared off Rathlin's Island, on the Antrim coast, but, so far as could be learned, it went no further to the east, confining its migrations to the west coast, between Cork on the south and Antrim on the north.

   Concerning the island itself, legendary authorities differ on many material points. Some hold it to be "a rale island sure enough," and that its exploits are due to "jommethry or some other inchantmint," while opponents of this materialistic view are inclined to the opinion that the island is not what it seems to be, that is to say, not "airth an' shtones, like as thim we see, but only a deludherin' show that avil sper'ts, or the divil belike, makes fur to desave us poor dishsolute craythers." Public opinion on the west coast is therefore strongly divided on the subject, unity of sentiment existing on two points only; that the island has been seen, and that there is something quite out of the ordinary in its appearance. "For ye see, yer Anner," observed a Kerry fisherman, "it's agin nacher fur a rale island to be comin' and goin' like a light in a bog, an' whin ye do see it, ye can see through it, an' by jagers, if it's a thrue island, a mighty quare wan it is an' no mishtake."

   Project Gutenberg #19486, Chapter 5

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere around here, the people of Inishbofin in Donegal once saw something strange out on the water. It was an island that looked exactly like their own. They said that two twins could not be more alike. What they saw was the Enchanted Island, a wandering place that has appeared off coasts all along the west of Ireland, from Cork in the south to Antrim in the north. In Galway it showed itself in the mouth of Ballinaleame Bay, where a local landlord made a devout wish that it would stay. The fishermen of Ballynaskill in the Joyce Country saw it about 15 years ago, and after that it appeared to the Innisshark islanders. County Mayo has seen it from the Achille Island cliffs and from Downpatrick Head. In Sligo, the fishermen of Ballysadare Bay know all about it, and half the people of Inishcrone still remember its appearance about 20 years ago. When it appeared on Gweebarra Bay, the people there saw along its shore a village like Maas, the one in which they lived. It has also appeared off Rathlin's Island on the Antrim coast, but it went no further east than that. People disagree on what the island is. Some say it is a real island, and its coming and going is due to jommetry or some other enchantment. Others say it is not earth and stones at all, but a deluding show that evil spirits or the devil makes to deceive us. On two things they agree: the island has been seen, and there is something out of the ordinary in its appearance. As a Kerry fisherman put it, it is against nature for a real island to be coming and going like a light in a bog, and when you see it, you can see through it. If it is a true island, it is a mighty queer one.

6. The Giant's Battle at Ballygaddy Hill

   Ballygaddy · townland · Galway

   Local tradition attributes the tower at Ballygaddy to a giant who, challenged by a rival, stood watch on Ballygaddy hill for seven days and nights and built the tower as a support for his tired legs. When his antagonist finally arrived, the giant beat him so thoroughly that he did not leave a whole bone in his body, then roofed the tower and left it as a wonder for later mortals.

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   Ballygaddy has a history somewhat less miraculous, the local peasant historian attributing its origin to a "giont" of the neighborhood. Having received a belligerent message from another "giont," he took a stand on Ballygaddy hill to watch for the coming of his antagonist, proposing, as the humble chronicler stated, "to bate the head aff the braggin' vagabone if he said as much as Boo." For seven days and nights he stood upon the hill, and at the end of that time, as may readily be believed, "his legs wor that tired he thought they'd dhrop aff him." To relieve those valuable members he put up the tower as a support to lean on. The bellicose gigantic party who proposed the encounter finally came to time, and lovers of antiquities will be glad to learn that the tower-building giant "didn't lave a whole bone in the blaggard's ugly carkidge." After the battle, the victor "shtarted for to kick the tower down," but, upon second thought, concluded to put the roof on it and "lave it for a wondher to thim little mortials that come afther him," for which consideration all honor to his memory.

   The Tower Ardpatrick was, according to tradition, built under the auspices of Ireland's great saint, while the high tower on the Rock of Cashel is attributed, by the same authority, to Cormac Macarthy, king and archbishop of Cashel, who, being once engaged in hostilities with a neighboring potentate, needed a watch-tower, so summoned all his people, built the tower in one night, and, at sunrise, was able by its help to ascertain the location of the opposing army and so give it an overwhelming defeat. The Glendalough Tower was built by a demon at the command of Saint Kevin. This saint had conspicuously routed Satan on a previous occasion; so the arch-fiend and all the well-informed of his subjects kept at a safe distance from Glendalough, not caring to take any risks with so doughty a spiritual champion as Saint Kevin had proved himself to be in more than one encounter.

   Project Gutenberg #19486, Chapter 9

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere close to Ballygaddy, there is a tower the local people say a giant built. He got a fighting message from another giant, so he took his stand on Ballygaddy hill to watch for his rival coming. He meant, as the local storyteller put it, to bate the head off the bragging vagabond if he said as much as boo. For seven days and nights he stood on that hill, and by the end his legs were so tired he thought they would drop off him. To give those valuable limbs some relief, he put up the tower as a support to lean on. The other giant, the one who had proposed the fight, finally arrived. The tower-building giant did not leave a whole bone in the blaggard's ugly carcass. After the battle, the victor started to kick the tower down, but on second thought he decided to put the roof on it and leave it as a wonder to the little mortals who came after him. All honour to his memory for that. The story comes from a book called Irish Wonders, which collected tales from the countryside. The tower still stands, and people still tell of the giant who waited a week for his enemy, built himself a prop for his aching legs, and then broke every bone in the other giant's body before roofing the tower and leaving it behind.

7. The Wandering Ghost of the Sinful Abbot at Clare Abbey

   Saint Bridget's Church · townland · Mayo

   In the ruined Abbey of Clare, the ghost of an abbot who sinned in life is doomed to walk the aisles of the nave, endlessly muttering prayers until his sin is atoned for. His penance continues indefinitely as a haunting presence in the ruins.

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   In some parts of Ireland there exists a belief that the spirits of the dead are not taken from earth, nor do they lose all their former interest in earthly affairs, but enjoy the happiness of the saved, or suffer the punishment imposed for their sins, in the neighborhood of the scenes among which they lived while clothed in flesh and blood. At particular crises in the affairs of mortals, these disenthralled spirits sometimes display joy or grief in such a manner as to attract the attention of living men and women. At weddings they are frequently unseen guests; at funerals they are always present; and sometimes, at both weddings and funerals, their presence is recognized by aerial voices or mysterious music known to be of unearthly origin. The spirits of the good wander with the living as guardian angels, but the spirits of the bad are restrained in their action, and compelled to do penance at or near the places where their crimes were committed. Some are chained at the bottoms of the lakes, others buried under ground, others confined in mountain gorges; some hang on the sides of precipices, others are transfixed on the tree-tops, while others haunt the homes of their ancestors, all waiting till the penance has been endured and the hour of release arrives. The Castle of Dunseverick, in Antrim, is believed to be still inhabited by the spirit of a chief, who there atones for a horrid crime, while the castles of Dunluce, of Magrath, and many others are similarly peopled by the wicked dead. In the Abbey of Clare, the ghost of a sinful abbot walks and will continue to do so until his sin has been atoned for by the prayers he unceasingly mutters in his tireless march up and down the aisles of the ruined nave.

   Project Gutenberg #19486, Chapter 8

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere around here, the old belief holds that the dead are not taken from the earth entirely. Their spirits stay near the places where they lived in life, and there they either enjoy the happiness of the saved or suffer the punishment appointed for their sins. The good wander among the living as guardian angels. The wicked are restrained, compelled to do penance at or near the scenes of their crimes. The punishment takes many forms. Some spirits are chained at the bottoms of lakes. Others lie buried under the ground. Some are confined in mountain gorges. Some hang on the sides of precipices. Others are transfixed in the tree-tops. Some haunt the homes of their ancestors. All of them wait until the penance has been endured and the hour of release arrives. These disenthralled spirits sometimes show themselves at particular moments in the affairs of mortals. At weddings they are unseen guests. At funerals they are always present. Sometimes their presence is known by aerial voices, or by mysterious music that is understood to be of unearthly origin. The Castle of Dunseverick in Antrim is believed to be still inhabited by the spirit of a chief, who there atones for a horrid crime. The castles of Dunluce, of Magrath, and many others are similarly peopled by the wicked dead. In the Abbey of Clare, the ghost of a sinful abbot walks, and will continue to do so until his sin has been atoned for by the prayers he unceasingly mutters in his tireless march up and down the aisles of the ruined nave.