#irish folklore

The hotel itself reminded me of a few I've stayed in in Ireland funny enough so maybe that's why I fully bought into the creepiness of the hotel. I went in praying whatever was going on would not be revealed to be some Satanic cult, especially since I was hoping it would lean on Irish folklore which is scary as shit sometimes. Not a cult!!! (Can we cool it with the "it was a cult/ritual" trope for a bit?)

Good jump scares, good creepy scares too. The kind that don't draw attention. One of the best involved both. And one especially disturbing bunny. "You're scared? You should be. You fucking should be" that and a few other visuals actually gave me chills. Good chunks of the movie every muscle in my body was *clenched*.

Every March, the same story circulates in pagan spaces:

St. Patrick's "snakes" were Druids

Patrick was a conqueror

March 17th is a holiday celebrating the destruction of Irish paganism

The problem is that none of these points are true. Ireland never had snakes. The snake miracle was invented centuries after Patrick died. And the Christianization of Ireland looked nothing like a genocide. The "All Snakes Day" story feels meaningful, but it's built on fabrications — and pagans interested in Irish history deserve the actual record instead.

Where "All Snakes Day" Comes From

The pagan author and Druid Isaac Bonewits coined the term "All Snakes Day" and wrote songs about welcoming the "snakes" back to Ireland. Wild Hunt, 2012 The claim is that Patrick's "snakes" were actually Druids, making his legendary snake-banishing a stand-in for pagan persecution. The idea spread through neopagan communities online in the 2000s and 2010s and became a seasonal staple.

Bonewits was the founder of Ár nDraíocht Féin and a well-known figure in American paganism, which helped give the story credibility in some circles.

Ireland Never Had Snakes

The most basic problem with the All Snakes Day story: there are no snakes in Ireland's fossil record at all.

Ireland's land bridge to Britain closed around 8,500 years ago as glaciers melted after the last Ice Age. Snakes hadn't reached Ireland before the sea cut the connection. Popular Science, 2024 Nigel Monaghan, keeper of natural history at the National Museum of Ireland, reviewed the fossil record and put it plainly: "At no time has there ever been any suggestion of snakes in Ireland — nothing for St. Patrick to banish." National Geographic

In fact, writers were already noting Ireland's lack of snakes before Patrick was even born. The Roman author Solinus recorded it in the 3rd century CE. Science Musings Patrick had nothing to do with it.

The Snake Miracle Was Added Centuries Later

Patrick's earliest biographies were written in the 7th century, about 200 years after his death. The snake miracle appears in none of them.

The story first shows up in the 11th century. A more well-known version was written by Jocelin of Furness in the 12th century. Ireland's Folklore and Traditions

Celtic Reconstructionist scholar P. Sufenas Virius Lupus said in 2012:

The hagiographies of St. Patrick did not include this particular 'miracle' until quite late, relatively speaking — his earliest hagiographies are from the 7th century, whereas this incident doesn't turn up in any of them until the 11th century. Wild Hunt, 2012

There's also a logic problem with the "Druids as snakes" reading. The 7th century biographies by Muirchú and Tírechán have Patrick fighting Druids constantly. He fights them openly, with earthquakes, curses, and skull-crushing. Wikipedia: Muirchú moccu Machtheni If later writers wanted to describe a purge of Druids, they had no reason to suddenly become cryptic. It had already been said plainly.

The earliest anyone proposed that snakes meant Druids was W.Y. Evans-Wentz in Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries (1911) and even he called it personal speculation. Morgan Daimler, reviewing the text, described the logic as "faulty." Living Liminally

What the Conversion of Ireland Actually Looked Like

Christianity was already in Ireland before Patrick arrived.

In 431 CE, Pope Celestine sent a bishop named Palladius to Ireland as the "first bishop to the Scotti believing in Christ." The wording matters: you don't send a bishop to a community that doesn't exist yet. There were already Christians there. Prosper of Aquitaine, Chronicon, 431 CE, via Wikipedia: Palladius Britannica History Ireland

The real Patrick was, in his own telling, enslaved in Ireland as a teenager, escaped, and came back as a missionary. His own writing describes beatings, robbery, and real doubt about whether his work had any lasting effect. Strange Horizons / Bridgette Da Silva Living Liminally He was not a conqueror, and his writings are still readable today at confession.ie.

The druid-fighting warrior version of Patrick came from Muirchú's 7th century Vita Sancti Patricii, written about 200 years after Patrick's death. It had a clear political goal: promoting the Armagh church's claim to lead all of Irish Christianity. Wikipedia: Muirchú Strange Horizons It's church propaganda, not a historical record.

Ireland stayed mostly pagan for eight or nine generations after Patrick died. Living Liminally, citing Da Silva Druids kept working as folk magicians and diviners. Irish law texts from the 7th and 8th centuries CE still describe druids (draoithe) as active in society. Wikipedia: Druid Some joined the Christian clergy as that became the new intellectual class. Strange Horizons, citing Peter Berresford Ellis

Pagan beliefs didn't die. They blended. Samhain became All Saints' Day. Brigid's feast overlapped with Imbolc. Belief in the fairy folk was still alive when Irish schoolchildren recorded local folklore from older community members in the 1930s that is now accessible on Dúchas.ie.

This conversion was a slow process that took centuries. It was not a genocide. There is no historical evidence of a violent purge of Druids.

Why the Myth Keeps Circulating

The "pagan survival" idea — that modern paganism descends from an unbroken pre-Christian lineage that survived persecution — is emotionally appealing but historically weak. Ronald Hutton's Triumph of the Moon (Oxford University Press, 1999) showed that modern pagan witchcraft is a new religious movement, not an ancient survival. The claimed ancient roots are mostly Victorian and 20th-century inventions. All Snakes Day fits this pattern: a modern story that feels like recovered history.

The genocide framing also gives communities a shared story of persecution and a sense of historical roots. But it's not a good reason to accept bad history.

The story also gets used as a simple argument against Catholicism and Christianity, turning a complex religious shift into a villain story. That doesn't help anyone who actually wants to understand Ireland.

These myths ends up hurting Irish and Irish diaspora communities trying to connect with real heritage. The people most drawn to the story often end up with invented history instead of the real thing.

What to Do Instead

The impulse behind All Snakes Day is not the problem. Celebrating pre-Christian Irish culture, honoring Ireland's traditions before Christianity, wearing a snake pin — none of that needs a fake genocide behind it.

The Henge of Keltria offers a "Feast of Age" as a March 17th alternative: a community celebration not built on invented history. The Witching Path

Better still: learn what Irish people actually did on St. Patrick's Day. The Dúchas Schools' Collection — a collection of folklore recorded by Irish schoolchildren in the late 1930s — documents the real customs: the shamrock's religious meaning, the "drowning the shamrock" drinking tradition, St. Patrick's Cross worn by women and children, the sally stick carried for household protection, holy well patterns, and farming markers tied to the agricultural year. All those traditions are covered in my next article.

You can also critique the plastic Paddy commercialization, the green beer, the novelty hats, the way Irish-American culture rebuilt the holiday, without inventing victims to make the point.

A haunting song appears on the soundtrack of the new Peaky Blinders film: “Hunting the Wren,” performed by Lankum.

The song draws on centuries of Irish folklore surrounding the wren, a tiny winter bird often called the “king of the birds.” According to legend, the wren earned this title through cleverness. When the birds of the world competed to see who could fly the highest, the wren hid in the feathers of an eagle and soared above them all before emerging to claim the crown.

The bird also appears in long-standing winter traditions. On St. Stephen’s Day (December 26), groups known as “wren boys” once paraded through towns and villages carrying decorated “wren bushes,” singing rhymes and collecting small contributions for community celebrations. These rituals were tied to ideas of renewal and prosperity for the year ahead.

But the name “wren” also appears in a lesser-known chapter of Irish history. In the nineteenth century, the “Wrens of the Curragh” referred to women living in makeshift shelters on the plains of the Curragh in County Kildare. Many survived through sex work while forming their own community outside the boundaries of Victorian society. Their living conditions, and the attention they drew from authorities, were documented in reports discussed publicly in the 1860s.

This Women’s History Month, the story of the wrens reminds us how folklore, music, and history can intertwine, sometimes revealing the lives of women whose stories were pushed to the margins.

Read a historical account of the Wrens.

A certain fisherman [...] went to the same place again to fish, and he put a row of hooks on his heels in case he met the Púca again; he attached them like a horseman's spurs. When evening drew near, he made a halter of the fishing-line for the Púca. The Púca met him the second time. He himself caught the Púca, put the fishing-line over his head like a halter, and started to ride him. He drove him wherever he wanted to go, and he kept putting his heels with the hooks like spurs to the Púca's sides, so that the Púca was shedding blood from the pricks of the hooks.

Excerpt from "The Púca: A Multi-Functional Irish Supernatural Entity" by Deasún Breatnach