A Day Out in County Longford

“Is ó mhnáib do-gabar rath nó amhrath.” Roughly translated as “It is from women that fortune comes, good or bad.” but what if it really means “Fortune, good or bad is taken from women.” Midir did talk in riddles and apparently this quote is cited as coming from Midir, in the council of the Tuatha Dé Danann. You can find this quote and the citation with many more “wise” sayings that will send you off down a rabbit hole here:

https://www.sengoidelc.com/is-o-mhnaib-do-gabar-rath-no-amhrath

Why would I take a more sinister translation than the obvious “women are mighty and great and the reason for everything”, (which of course we are)? I’m thinking it is more a prophesy of what was to come for the women of the Goddess Isle of Ireland, the island of the Síle na Gigs, the womb mounds and Paps mountains. This was the beginning of the end of the old ways and the introduction of the roman patriarchy system to Ireland. The destruction was on a grand scale and still lingers. I think he was warning us. I’ve convinced myself more on this notion after reading this:

The Acallam na Senórach: A Medieval Instruction Manual by Annie Donahue

https://www.jstor.org/stable/40285190

Of course what would I know, I’m only making it up as I go along, except he loves warning us and watching to see if we trip. Look how he often he warned Eochaidh during The wooing of Etain, he didn’t listen either. Nothing Midir ever says is just as is.

There are many things I have found interesting in this reference to Midir and the reading I’ve done since, one of which is that Midir is given a second name, Midir Mongbuide, unusual for someone who normally riddles me this and riddles me that when you ask him who he is. He is the most reluctant namegiver of the Tuatha, often giving great big long winded descriptions of himself and his deeds rather than handing over his name. Of course then I find it everywhere and in places I know I looked before which happens regularly in the research of this legend. It only reveals what it wants me to concentrate on and delve deeper into at that particular time.

“ Midir Mongbuide m. in Dagda 407. 5068. 5184. 6937. also called Midir Bri Leith and Midir Mórglonnacli. Mil (Espáine) 399. 2059. 3909. ancestor of the Milesian Irish. CA. 78. 79. 99.” https://digital.nls.uk/early-gaelic-book-collections/archive/76498395?mode=transcription

“Ancestor of the Milesian Irish”, hmmm, eventually I’ll manage to prove we’re related! 🤣😂🤣😂

Like many others, I watched Notre Dame burn in flames. I watched in horror and despair. All of us who have ever had the privilege to wander in her door and stare upwards at her magnificence, to climb up her stairs and stand beside her gargoyles looking at Paris down below know she will never be the same again. No matter what creed, or lack of creed we had, we stood in a structure which showed the beauty, art and brilliance of human creation. She was built in the 12th century by hand, by many hands, and most of the skills used to build her are gone. Our children will never experience the awe we felt standing in the middle of Notre Dame.

Immediately, it struck me that she will be restored to glory. Being from a little town in Longford, Ireland, I knew that there is hope, that while much is lost something equally magnificent could be constructed in her place. Another Phoenix from the fire, not to replace her, but to remember her by, will be built. She won’t be the same but she will be rebirthed.

The irony of my feelings of despair and hope slapped me in the face quite suddenly. Here I am, saddened by bricks and mortar laid down by people no longer here and in 11 years or less most of the species of this world won’t be here and there will be no beautiful Earth for my children to enjoy, in fact most of the children of Mother Earth will be dead. Many are already dying every minute of starvation, in Yemen, Syria and on the streets of Europe where we mourn a building we call Our Lady, Our Mother.

Our Lady, Notre Dame is gone. So are species of rhinoceros, turtles and bees. Soon will be polar bears and giraffes. Babies in their mother’s arms are dying but let’s wail and pull our hair out over a church no longer frequented by the people of her country. Secular France has lost their Lady. Why is it so important to us all to protect buildings made by man and not the Earth which bore us forth and sustains our life?

My work is all about remembering the past, the stories, artefacts and monuments. I guide people around old buildings and lament the state of those that are not protected, those falling down around the county that I live in. When not working, I drag my house guests around thousand year old dolmens, forts and falling castles. I campaign for restoration of significant buildings. Notre Dame burning before my eyes hurts my heart, makes me weep. I’m not dismissing the tragedy of it all.

I am, however, amazed at tweets from all the world, from places being bombed and torn down for oil and land, for greed and avarice. People who don’t know if they will see another day are saddened by the loss of Notre Dame. Why do we think it is ok for babies to die in war and animals to disappear to memory, for gases to continue to expand from our vehicles and homes, for plastic to suffocate our fish and yet we mourn a building? Is it because people, animals and plants are transient, we are used to them being born and dying quickly compared to rocks made into churches and so the preserving of those rocks has become our purpose.

Like many others, I will probably donate a little of what I have just as we did for the camps of Calais, for Syria, Yemen, for a Cathedral in Longford Town, built during a famine that ravaged our country, built while thousands died and were buried right beside it. Paris will be fine, she lived through many more distressing horrors than losing her lady. Her lady will reemerge from the flames while campaigns for ending famines and wars achieve very little. In 11 years or so despite our marching, protesting and shouts the Earth herself and all her babies will have died but the bricks and mortar will remain to say we stood here and were magnificent.

Sipping pints of the dark stuff they contemplated the news that was invading their peace. It was blaring out from the television that sat precariously balanced on a rickety shelf over the bar. There wasn’t many in the pub, there never was anymore in this small town bypassed by the motorway to Dublin.

“Teresa May, UK prime minister, has lost the vote in Parliament. The troubled exit of Britain from the EU is likely to result in the return to a hard border for this island”

Images of car bombs, crying children,men in balaclavas and soldiers flashed across the screen.

Eochy looked over at his companion, her blond hair glittering in the dim light of the bar, her bright blue eyes glued to the screen while she pursed her ruby red lips in anger.

He coughed to get her attention.

“Do you remember that film, ya know the one with the students from Scotland stealing back that rock thing from the English? Do you remember?”

“You mean The Stone of Scone?” she replied absentmindedly.

“Scone? Scone? You mean like the bun you eat with butter and jam or like the English eat with cream, that Scone?” he half said to himself while she continued watching the news.

“Well it’s spelled the same. Why?”

“I was thinking about that stone. They thought it was the Stone of Destiny, An Lia Fáil, you know what? It wasn’t. They were mad wrong, it never left the Hill of Tara.”

He looked at her waiting for her questions.

“How do you know that? Oh, who cares?

“ Well, I do know and you should care because with that stone and you we can sort out the whole English Brexit shite once and for all. I dreamt about it last night and I know exactly where it is. In my dream a cloaked person led me right to it. I googled it and there are loads of rumours that’s where it’s at. My dream is true, I’m being led to it.”

“You’ve lost me completely now. I haven’t a notion what you’re talking about.”

He was exasperating at times.

Eochy didn’t give up.

“The feckin’ English are going to bring the troubles back if we don’t do something about it and our gobshites of politicians are just bending over backwards for their EU lords and doing nothing about it so, SO, we have to. We have to go to Tara, dig up the real Lia Fáil ‘cos the penis stone they have there now isn’t it, it’s just like a headstone or whatever. The real one is buried somewhere beside the mound of hostages. We need to get the real one and you need to stand on it and Bob’s yer uncle, United Ireland, sorted.”

He sat back, delighted with himself and downed his pint in one.

“Right, losing me again”

Etain had to admit she was more interested now.

“You’re always telling me you’re 100% Irish and your line goes right back to the Kings of Ireland so there is a pretty good chance if you stand on the Stone it will screech with Joy because you’re the rightful heir to the throne and we won’t need to worry anymore about a hard or soft border as there will be no border!”

“You, my friend are most likely mad, polluted drunk definitely and while I’m loving the idea, there is a problem, I won’t be the King of Ireland, I’m a woman. Ireland is a woman and the King is married to her, that’s how it works”

Etain sat back and looked at him.

Eochy looked puzzled.

“Don’t get you, why? We can have a queen, sure it’s 2019 for feck sake and didn’t we vote in same sex marriage. Queen of Ireland, let’s get the stone!”

He stood up unsteadily and made his way to the bar.

All that night, Etain couldn’t get the conversation out of her head. She had a romantic head on her shoulders. She really was a direct descendant of Niall of the Nine hostages and therefore of the last great king of Ireland, Conn of The Hundred Battles. Legend said he was the last king to make the Stone of Destiny sing out in joy as a true King who could unite the country. The next morning she was still seriously contemplating it, though she couldn’t believe it herself. She rang Eochy who was only waiting for her call and they agreed to meet back in the pub and trash the crazy plan out over lunch.

She greeted him with

“It’s an archaeological site of international importance, I don’t want any damage done. Is there any non-invasive way we can locate it first before we start digging, like maybe echo sounding or a drone or something? And, we could get in trouble, big trouble. Could end up in jail”

Eochy smiled, delighted this was happening

“Aye, Maybe we’ll be fined or something, which is a crying shame and us only trying to save the country for feck sake. Trouble will happen only if It doesn’t work”

“Yeah, only if it doesn’t work. We will need more help with this but who can we trust?”

Eochy couldn’t stop smiling

“I was thinking Aengus, well he has a drone and a good understanding of how to excavate without damaging the site.”

“Oh yeah, he should do, he IS an Archaeological student. Oh he won’t agree.”

“I think he will.” answered Aengus himself as he wandered into the bar.

“Eochy already sold the whole idea to me. We should do it as soon as possible. I’ve the drone outside and there was very little growth so we should get a good look at the land. If there is anything there we will see it.”

They discussed it more as they ate their lunch and then drove to the sacred site to have a look for themselves and plan the raid. Etain was worried Aengus doing a drone flight might be traced back but he assured her there were plenty of drones up there all the time and in fact he had, in anticipation, already put a rumour out about a naked pagan ceremony either today or tomorrow so there will be lots of activity. They’ll be lost in the midst of all the air traffic and no one will be suspicious of them being there too.

“There are always prayer circles up there, The other drones will have plenty to look at while we work. It will be like we have a cloak of invisibility over us.” he laughed.

“Misdirection.” agreed Eochy.

When they got to the Hill there already was a bit of a crowd gathered in wait for the mysterious naked pagan ceremony just as Aengus had said. No one noticed them preparing their drone nor did they see that their drone was focused on one small area a little away from all the activity. They were taking detailed coverage over the mound of hostages while the prayer groups, who hadn’t got naked yet, nor would they, were over at the phallic pillar.

Etain decided to take a closer look while the two men were playing with the drone. She wandered up to the entrance of the mound and stared into the darkness. A cloaked man approached her and asked was she joining the group. She said she was only having a look, having never been there before. His accent was Northern Irish, Antrim, like Eochy, she thought. He wandered off up the Hill.

The entrance was gated and locked. She had noticed that despite being an important historical site, there wasn’t much other security about the place. The hill was accessible at all times, they would just need to be careful they weren’t conspicuous, weren’t followed up the Hill. They would need to bring something to cut the lock and dig. How do you carry a spade without drawing suspicion she wondered as she watched the eccentric group on the hill chanting.

When Etain came back down the two men had put away the drone.

“We took as much footage as we could and thermal imaging as well so if the stone is there we will see it.” Aengus said. “How did you get on?”

“I think I know how we get our shovels up there without looking suspicious, in the funniest way really, as anyone dressed like this would be suspicious anywhere else. We dress in cloaks and we carry our shovels in plain sight in our hands. Keeping the shovel part hidden under our cloaks and a candle on the handle we will walk to the mound in a procession as if we are performing a ritual. No one seems to pass any heed on that sort of carry on here.”

Aengus laughed.

“Great idea. We’’ll go back and examine this in detail, I’ll enlarge it up and we can decide when we are coming back then.”

“The sooner the better I think” said Eochy, just to say something as he was feeling a bit superfluous.

“Imbolc” Etain said.

”Imbolc, First of February, day of the goddess Brigid, there will be activity here day and night just like there is at all the sites, no one will notice us.”

Aengus nodded

“That’s less than a week, we better get back and examine these now so. You two ok to come over to mine?”

Eochy nodded.

“Yeah grand, will we stop by the pub and pick up our cars now or will you drop us in later?”

“I’ll drop you there now and you can go home and pack a bag and come over to mine, we could be at this all night, you might as well stay over.”

When they all gathered again, excited with a little trepidation at what they were planning, each of them was afraid to say to the others that this might just be a risk not worth taking. No one in Ireland would appreciate them damaging the site. The authorities would most certainly frown at it. They may be arrested and all for a story, a magical legend that couldn’t possibly be true but they just couldn’t help themselves. It had turned into a quest, a mission, they felt obligated to follow now they had thought of it. Crime or no crime, they had to do it.

“Aengus, this is is very impressive” said Eochy as he looked around at the tech gadgets everywhere. One big screen was in front of the keypad with two smaller ones each side. Aengus was pointing at a spot he had circled on all three screens.

“See here, this darker patch in the photo, there’s something solid there and here over in the thermal image you can see it more clearly. I’ve enlarged it in this one. It’s rectangular, it’s not as big or as phallic looking as the one they have up on the hill but if you look closely you can see a big crack down the middle where, according to legend, it split when Cú Chulainn hit it in anger. It could be it, maybe.”

Etain looked closely at the image.

“It’s flat, you could stand or sit on it. I think it’s worth a try. By the looks of it we have to break in through the entrance, follow the tunnel until we come to the back wall and dig into the left. It looks like there may have been a passage there before. I think we can do this without much interference with the site.”

“We don’t know that for sure but we’ll be years looking for permission and if the legends true well better now than never.” Aengus said against his better judgement.

Over pizza and a bottle, or two, of wine they discussed it more and had a plan of action for the next Thursday night, 31st of January, the eve of Imbolc. Eochy went over to close the curtains as it got dark and noticed a hooded figure standing under the lamppost across the street. While it was odd, he didn’t mention it.

Dressed in cloaks the three gathered their tools from the boot of Aengus’s car, set the battery powered candles on the top of them and made their way up the Hill. They passed a few other cloaked and unusual individuals muttering chants as they wandered up and down the Hill. No one passed much heed on them. They got to the mound of hostages and Etain snapped the lock. Looking around to ensure no one noticed them they slipped inside and pulled the gate behind them. Down the dark passage they went to the end and started to dig at the wall on the left of them. They worked quickly and quietly, each taking turns to keep watch at the gate while the spiritual people outside wandered about their business. Aengus kept a close eye on what they were doing and anything of interest they found he noted it’s position, documented it and photographed it. It slowed the process down but he insisted.

The night went on. Eochy was on watch and Etain and Aengus were working away when Etain hit a large hard rock. They both cleared all around it and pulled at it until they had it out and were preparing it to drag out of the mound. They were so excited they never noticed that Eochy had returned and he wasn’t alone. Etain recognised the man from the day she had been here before and she looked at Eochy.

“I’m sorry, I had no choice. I owe them money. They were going to hurt you, kill you and me. I didn’t have a dream. I made it up. I had to get you here, they wanted to make sure they got the stone so it can never happen, never come to pass and only a true queen could find it.”

“But it was your idea!”

“No it was mine.” The unwanted visitor stepped out and smiled at Etain.

“We can’t take any chances now can we? There won’t be a United Ireland in my lifetime or ever, not when we’ve disposed of you and the stone.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt her!”

“I did, I lied.”

He pointed his gun at Etain ready to shoot.

While they were talking, Aengus, unnoticed had been cleaning the stone and reading the Ogham lettering on its side in a low whisper. He pulled Etain onto it and finished reading. A guttural roar of deep joy vibrated through the chamber. Eochy and the intruder fell to the ground. Gusts of whirling wind surrounded them whispering

“We are released, our time has come.”

Technically this is not a post about Midir but in a way it has something to do with him, he’s always whispering something and actually there is nothing technical about it. This ramble will start with the point that I’ve been contemplating Celtic Brooches on and off all week and it will spiral out from there. So, the shape of the brooches have always intrigued me and I’m fascinated with the fact that the one found in Ardagh at The Back of The Hill hadn’t little glass beads or jewels on it but was delicately made and finished none the less with great love, with a beautiful simple shape and features, enamelled in blue and yellow. What can it have meant for the designer and the wearer?

( For more on that dig visit our site here: http://creativeardagh.blogspot.com/p/the.html )

Then this week my mother gave me a few “Tara brooches”, indeed one was mine already so that’s another story. They are modern ones, not worth anything but useful for costumes when Annette and I are storytelling. I photographed them together with a miraculous medal because I want to jump in, up to my neck like fools do, and suggest they were much more than brooches to hold up cloaks. I don’t mind being the fool, it doesn’t embarrass me in the slightest, in my recollection the fool often pointed out truths to the lords and ladies so it’s an interesting role to take on and I believe Midir might approve.

Were the brooches as important to the wearers as the miraculous medal was to our mothers who insisted we wear them to stay safe? Were we always wearing talisman on this island? Was it natural for the Irish to embrace the miraculous medal as much as the cross around the neck, even more natural as it represents the mother protection? Looking at the shape of the Celtic Brooch I can’t help feeling it’s planetary, Moon or Sun, Goddess in any case and the wearers wore it for protection. Then I was thinking of the different styles and perhaps they represented your tribe or clan or the sacred site you lived closest to, again bringing in the Mother Mary connection, each site she is said to have appeared on has an image slightly different for that site and a medal. I was christened with Guadalupe as my second name and was given many images of her and medals. If you look at the image of her she is so much more like a First Nation Goddess than a Christian Mother of God so it’s easy to see why she was accepted so lovingly in Mexico. Likewise here in Ireland, land of the Goddesses, Áine, Gráinne, Danu etc etc, loved and revered in the landscape and rivers, Mary was embraced.

So, I am suggesting the brooches were the miraculous medals of the people living here long, long ago. I pondered that a while and wondered about the pin and if it had some protective nature and the glass beads and the location of them on it, were they representing stars? And the symbols, well they are easier as lots is written about the symbols whether it’s accurate or not. Then I let it sit with me.

Continuing the journey outward on my spiral, two books I’m currently reading, Mythic Ireland by Michael Dames, 1992, Thames and Hudson, and Mythical Ireland by Anthony Murphy, 2017, The Liffey Press, wildly different from each other yet strangely not, kept bringing me back to it with the imagery in the books as much as the words. The shape of the sacred sites are as the brooches and in particular on page 107 of Mythic Ireland, a drawing by the author of Rannach Crom Dubh is so much like the brooches. He mentions the buried ‘stone staff’ of the Dagda and I can’t help wondering if the pin in the brooches is calling for protection of the wearer from The Dagda? A drawing on page 153 of Mythical Ireland of a Stone Henge no longer there draws me in too.

Who knows? Nobody, as there are none of these people here to verify or deny.

Annette and I went to visit our friend Brendan on friday (who we often call Midir’s current representative on earth and he accepts the title graciously) to get some hazels. We got some lilac and spindle too. Nothing would do me but to plant 9 in a circle around my well, no doubt inspired by Anthony’s book and thinking of the Boyne and another 18 more in a spiral because I’m off on another thought mission about spirals this week. I get the strangest notions that I must follow. Now I have two brooches planted in my garden. Will they protect us? I can’t say. I’m master of nothing and expert in less. I’m just a fool jumping in.

Disclaimer: I tend to speak of the “characters” in the story as if I personally know them (I’m a long time pondering this one legend so forgive my familiarity). I’m analysing, (for myself really), the story, written by writers unknown who used real (or unreal) entities to describe and explain significant events of the time. I do not mean to imply I understand the Other Crowd. They are Themselves.

I’ve been thinking of Midir and the bog and the onerous task of creating a road in a soggy pit that is intent in sinking it. While I was saying in an earlier post he is the land, it’s more that he is about the manipulation of the land, or his talent, one of his talents, if you will, is the manipulation of the land, matter, changing physical forms. It’s interesting to think of a human king Eochaidh putting the task on him to change so much of the landscape and Midir’s reluctance is so clear. He understands better than this human that every manipulation of the earth has a consequence.

“ Put in hand, throw in hand, excellent oxen, in the hours after sundown; overhard is the exaction; none knoweth whose is the gain, whose the loss, from the causeway over Móin Lámraige. ” 35/36

The tasks were enormous in man’s terms, even if they had all the modern machinery we have today it would take months:

“These are the four things that Eochaid Airem imposed on many a manly-visaged throng with many a shield and spear:

A causeway over Móin Lámraige a wood over Bréifne, without difficulty a clearing of stones from the hillocks of great Meath and rushes over Tethba. ” 30-34

All the tasks could be related in some form as forests would need to be grown to replace the wood used for the road, stones and gravel would be needed in the making of it and possibly reeds to bind it.

In the story he tells Eochaidh no one must come to look and yet Eochaidh sends his servant out who saw what looked like all the men of the world working. Midir put a fault in the road, it seems because Eochaidh broke his word and so the road didn’t last long which is in line with the Bog Road discovered in Corlea in the 1990s, it sank within ten/twenty years of it’s laying.

An outcome of the spying was the humans learned a new way to harness their oxen with Eochaidh given the credit for it from then on.

“ Now until that night the men of Ireland used to put the strain on the foreheads of oxen, (but) it was seen that the folk of the elfmounds were putting it on their shoulders. Eochaid did the same, hence he is called Eochaid Airem i.e. ploughman, for he was the first of the men of Ireland to put a yoke upon the necks of oxen. ” 35

Midir is all about balance even if he topples over the scale in one or other direction on many occasions. It seems he would like balance, he doesn’t necessarily always have it and often it seems he has to jump on one side of the scale to realign it after he thinks others have messed up. I’m not saying he is right or infallible, he just is, well, Himself.

Aengus: Are you okay? 

Love it when I find a reference to Midir, doesn’t matter if I agree with it or not, it sends me off again on a search and the chapter I am reading in the current book is discarded til I find out more, even if it resonates, Midir calls…

Interestingly the book so far is saying, more or less, that if we do not pull back from consumerism, materialism, patriarchy and capitalism the world is fucked but sure we all know that even if we chose to ignore it…. And it was written 27 years ago…. Ok, it doesn’t say it quite like that, it’s more about the seperation of the soul from the body and spirit which the “One God, women are evil,” religions have done.. maybe it doesn’t say that either…. Oh read it yourselves, here is the quote I’m off looking for:

From Mythic Ireland by Michael Dames, published in 1992 by Thames and Hudson Limited, London, page 33 -

“ In a poignant ninth-century poem, the god Midir, occupying his fast-fading Otherworld of Bliss, reflects on his isolation, as the people of Ireland are engulfed by the incoming doctrine of sin, and its consequences for every mortal. The Otherworld of pre-christian gods, from where he speaks, seems Ike a lost age of innocence:

"Fine and flawless are the inhabitants of (this) land; conception (here) is without sin or guilt….. We see everyone on every side, and no-one sees us: it is the darkness caused by Adam’s sin which hides us from those (on earth) who could count us.”

The poem is referenced as “ Murphy, G in Elf poem, 42, 107 ” so off I go, see you sometime, tbh I think I have made this journey before, I’m always spiralling around on the same information…. ooh do you know what else I like in this book….

On page 12 in the introduction the author says “With the Irish population scattered across the world, Ireland’s position is elusive, both in space, and (as this book tries to show) in time. Ireland lies here and there, now and then. The Other is often heard knocking on both sides of her door.”

I have also used this language to describe Midir in a story I wrote for our first anthology, Midir and Etain Anthology, no doubt Midir directed us both.

Disclaimer: This is me just pondering again and so I have no references for this, only thoughts.

Living under Brí Leith, it is constantly there, on my mind and if it isn’t, it insists on popping in with random light bulb moments. “It” being the legend of Midir and Etain. There are so many layers to it, so much wisdom, some of which I have touched on before.

On and off I have been considering the elements and the legend and for some reason they are lingering with me this last week so I must out them. What is the message about the elements the story is telling us? All are there in some way. The obvious being Wind with Fuamnach but Water is there as Etain turns into a puddle first which breathes life into the worm then butterfly. Water/Etain/life.

I’ve often considered Etain’s connection to rivers, she was met at a river washing her hair, she wanders, seemingly innocently, all over the country as the many rivers do and gets to the sea quite often, Beara, Newgrange - Boyne, Skellig. All the important places are in this legend too. And on another path I go, no, not today. While Fuamnach blew the butterfly away on the wind I still feel Etain is water, wind blows the rain around.

Earth, this is a stretch but again I’ve had the notion Midir is the land for quite a while, the bog, the Sidhe Mounds, the way to the Otherworld under the ground, he is also the grounding for the other elements, parts of the story, the connection. This seems to conflict with the notion which sticks that he is Mananann but not really. Oh another digression. Back to the Elements.

Fire! Aenghus is Fire, God of love, passion, heat. Fuamnach and Midir love him passionately as their foster son and he them. He flames their feelings, he flames a lot of feelings throughout the legend. He is not as innocent as he appears. He warms Etain and shelters her. At a push he destroys. It’s him that wields the sword to cut off Fuamnach’s head while in another version she is literally burned by fire, still Aenghus.

I’m still playing with this so forgive the randomness. The lesson, (or a lesson as there are many - no need for any other learning, just immerse yourself in this and you’ll know everything… or nothing like me!) the lesson, for today, may be that we need to stop trying to control Nature or she will fight back and consume us with her Wind in Tsunamis, Water in flooding, Earth in landslides and earthquakes and lastly but definitely not least, Fire will destroy us all with great passion. It’s interesting that the human who controlled an element was destroyed. Damn fairies get away with everything.

It’s been a while since we blogged our last “A Day Out in County Longford” as we have been busy little bees with our many events and tours. In the meantime, all of County Longford has also been busy creating more for people to do and see here. There is a greater availability of places to stay too.

We have always felt a day is never long enough to fall in love with County Longford so let’s check in and see how the Smith family from Manchester will spend some of their week next July :

When Jessica Smith was booking her family break in CenterParcs Ireland at Longford Forest she felt it might be nice to stay a few days extra in the vicinity with her family and explore the area. She knew she had some links to Longford as she had found some through many long nights exploring her family tree on Ancestry and she wanted to find out more.

Jessica booked her four day stay at CenterParcs and then searched Airbnb for a few more nights. Top of the list on the Longford listing was a town house in Longford Town hosted by the lovely Lorraine. It was ideal, reviews were great, location central and it was newly renovated. The house is located right next to the historic St. Mels’ Cathedral with easy access to the main road routes. Booking made, she planned her itinerary for the days before they were to check in at the Longford Forest.

Jessica and Tim have two children, Samantha is fourteen and Paul is eleven, both like to spend most of their time on their phones but when new activities are presented to them they always enjoy them even if they are reluctant at first.

Jessica had found links in her family tree to the village of Ardagh, County Longford so when googling it she found just the spot to visit with her family while finding out a little more of where she came from at the same time. Creative Ardagh, based in Ardagh Heritage and Creativity Centre, an old schoolhouse at the edge of the pretty little village looked like an interesting hub to spend a few hours.

Jessica rang Creative Ardagh and booked a family workshop slot to explore the iron age history of Ardagh through the story of The King at the Back of the Hill and try some weaving while they were there. For a little extra, Annette, of Creative Ardagh, suggested they do a walking tour of the village with them. She also told Jessica about their Craft Shop that stocks creations by over 50 local crafters, artists and writers and about the new walk on Brí Leith that the family would surely enjoy. She talked of the state of the art Knights and Conquest centre in Granard where the highest Motte and Bailey of the country is located. Lots to awaken her children’s imagination and to keep her history buff husband Tim interested too.

Exchanging emails, Annette sent Jessica on a few ideas of what else they could do in the area and Jessica was getting quite excited about the stay. Nice cafes, restaurants and boutiques within walking distance of the town house and lots to see and do within a half hour drive meant it would be an easy, relaxed holiday. Four days in CenterParcs doing all sorts of outdoor and indoor adventure activities with their children meant everyone was going to be happy. This was going to be a lovely holiday she would never forget. She was beginning to think she might need to add a few days to the end of the visit too.

We’ll check in again soon with Jessica and see what else she has planned. We’re off now to plan our many workshops and storytelling sessions for the tour groups that are visiting us shortly and for our slot in Roosky Heritage Festival. We also have our annual Bilberry Walk, part of Cruthú Arts Festival, to organise.

Remember we can scale up or down the packages we offer to suit your group size and ages! Email us at [email protected] to find out more.

Slán go fóill,

Ann

Disclaimer: I tend to speak of the “characters” in the story as if I personally know them (I’m a long time pondering this one legend so forgive my familiarity). I’m analysing, (for myself really), the story, written by writers unknown who used real (or unreal) entities to describe and explain significant events of the time. I do not mean to imply I understand the Other Crowd. They are Themselves.

I’ve been thinking of Midir and the bog and the onerous task of creating a road in a soggy pit that is intent in sinking it. While I was saying in an earlier post he is the land, it’s more that he is about the manipulation of the land, or his talent, one of his talents, if you will, is the manipulation of the land, matter, changing physical forms. It’s interesting to think of a human king Eochaidh putting the task on him to change so much of the landscape and Midir’s reluctance is so clear. He understands better than this human that every manipulation of the earth has a consequence.

“ Put in hand, throw in hand, excellent oxen, in the hours after sundown; overhard is the exaction; none knoweth whose is the gain, whose the loss, from the causeway over Móin Lámraige. ” 35/36

The tasks were enormous in man’s terms, even if they had all the modern machinery we have today it would take months:

“These are the four things that Eochaid Airem imposed on many a manly-visaged throng with many a shield and spear:

A causeway over Móin Lámraige a wood over Bréifne, without difficulty a clearing of stones from the hillocks of great Meath and rushes over Tethba. ” 30-34

All the tasks could be related in some form as forests would need to be grown to replace the wood used for the road, stones and gravel would be needed in the making of it and possibly reeds to bind it.

In the story he tells Eochaidh no one must come to look and yet Eochaidh sends his servant out who saw what looked like all the men of the world working. Midir put a fault in the road, it seems because Eochaidh broke his word and so the road didn’t last long which is in line with the Bog Road discovered in Corlea in the 1990s, it sank within ten/twenty years of it’s laying.

An outcome of the spying was the humans learned a new way to harness their oxen with Eochaidh given the credit for it from then on.

“ Now until that night the men of Ireland used to put the strain on the foreheads of oxen, (but) it was seen that the folk of the elfmounds were putting it on their shoulders. Eochaid did the same, hence he is called Eochaid Airem i.e. ploughman, for he was the first of the men of Ireland to put a yoke upon the necks of oxen. ” 35

Midir is all about balance even if he topples over the scale in one or other direction on many occasions. It seems he would like balance, he doesn’t necessarily always have it and often it seems he has to jump on one side of the scale to realign it after he thinks others have messed up. I’m not saying he is right or infallible, he just is, well, Himself.

Disclaimer: Always best to start with a disclaimer. Today’s is that despite this legend consuming my thoughts and work for eight years, with many the late night of research and discussions with Annette and an odd Eureka moment thrown in here and there, take what I say with a pinch of salt (Ha, salt.. Sidhe.. 😂🤣) it’s all just my ramblings.

I spent the day yesterday thinking about Midir and Depression after leaving here with the question Is Midir Depression? It would explain a lot about Longford and the bad press we get, the sadness of these parts, the tragedies, the never quite being taken seriously by others just as many a person with depression finds themselves. Sure, it’s all Midir’s fault he brought a big dark cloud over this hollow and we’re wading through the boggy waters ever since.

It might be nice, even handy, to put the blame on him, sure why not, he gets blamed for everything really doesn’t he? But no, I don’t think Midir IS depression. He may well have been depressed, miserable, in hiding, licking his wounds, dwelling on all the bad stuff for a very, very long time. Hard not to dwell on the catastrophic epic he got involved in. He’s probably been trying to figure out a way to reverse back to the easy days while still being torn between his passion and the joys he encountered along with the disasters and not wanting to let them go. With the many euphoric episodes he had I would say he swings high and low between his moods. What would I know, he loves sending me on wild goose chases and down the wrong path all the time, just for the craic. No matter, whatever makes him happy, I always liked a joker.

If Longford is a reflection of him and his moods, which it could well be as we are his people and this is his land, he installed a great resilience in us, and pride, oh boy did he install that in bucketloads. We may have our many faults but we love our place and we’re damn proud of it and will protect it forever if needs be.

Perhaps Midir has been feeling low for many the century, and Longford has been reflecting it back to him, perhaps. If he was, I believe he isn’t anymore, he is energised and ready for action. Having spent yesterday morning on Brí Leith noticing the abundance of nature and joy of it all, bumble bees, tadpoles, spiders, birdsong, the healing moss on everything, there wasn’t a sign of depression in the clean hill air.

In a strange way we felt near to the sea, perhaps because the wind in the trees sounded like waves, the air was crisp and all the clongomerate rocks revealed in the making of the new path were shining and clean. The energy was rippling through the ground beneath our feet and the whispering in the trees gave us a feeling of expectation and hope that the balance will be restored shortly.

Disclaimer: This is me just pondering again and so I have no references for this, only thoughts.

Living under Brí Leith, it is constantly there, on my mind and if it isn’t, it insists on popping in with random light bulb moments. “It” being the legend of Midir and Etain. There are so many layers to it, so much wisdom, some of which I have touched on before.

On and off I have been considering the elements and the legend and for some reason they are lingering with me this last week so I must out them. What is the message about the elements the story is telling us? All are there in some way. The obvious being Wind with Fuamnach but Water is there as Etain turns into a puddle first which breathes life into the worm then butterfly. Water/Etain/life.

I’ve often considered Etain’s connection to rivers, she was met at a river washing her hair, she wanders, seemingly innocently, all over the country as the many rivers do and gets to the sea quite often, Beara, Newgrange - Boyne, Skellig. All the important places are in this legend too. And on another path I go, no, not today. While Fuamnach blew the butterfly away on the wind I still feel Etain is water, wind blows the rain around.

Earth, this is a stretch but again I’ve had the notion Midir is the land for quite a while, the bog, the Sidhe Mounds, the way to the Otherworld under the ground, he is also the grounding for the other elements, parts of the story, the connection. This seems to conflict with the notion which sticks that he is Mananann but not really. Oh another digression. Back to the Elements.

Fire! Aenghus is Fire, God of love, passion, heat. Fuamnach and Midir love him passionately as their foster son and he them. He flames their feelings, he flames a lot of feelings throughout the legend. He is not as innocent as he appears. He warms Etain and shelters her. At a push he destroys. It’s him that wields the sword to cut off Fuamnach’s head while in another version she is literally burned by fire, still Aenghus.

I’m still playing with this so forgive the randomness. The lesson, (or a lesson as there are many - no need for any other learning, just immerse yourself in this and you’ll know everything… or nothing like me!) the lesson, for today, may be that we need to stop trying to control Nature or she will fight back and consume us with her Wind in Tsunamis, Water in flooding, Earth in landslides and earthquakes and lastly but definitely not least, Fire will destroy us all with great passion. It’s interesting that the human who controlled an element was destroyed. Damn fairies get away with everything.