The Fort on the Hollow Hill

High atop the royal hill of Aileach, at the gateway to my own fair Inishowen, sits the fort of An Grianan. It is a place of myth and magic, cutting through the mists of time to transport receptive visitors to an otherworldly age… And to hell with how cheesy that sounds; it’s only cliched ‘cause it’s true, goddamit!

In fact, Grianan is so steeped in legend and history that I’ve been putting off this post ever since I started blogging.  The only reason I’m writing it now is because I said I would the other day. Why so reluctant? Because there’s so bloody much to say about the place! 

How could I describe to you just how utterly amazing it is without telling absolutely everything about it? And how could I do that without boring the arse off everyone bar those with a very particular interest in pre-Celtic Irish monuments?  (Or those from Donegal, who’d probably already know everything I had to say anyway.)

So I’ve decided I’m not going to - describe each myth and chronological event associated with the fort right up to the present day, that is. Besides, there’s already a wonderful website and blog dedicated to doing just that, hosted by a lovely German girl I know named Bettina Linke. Ever since Bettina moved to the area many years ago she’s committed herself to the promotion and protection of An Grianan with unparalleled passion.  With a book on the way, she’s now even set herself to translating Old Irish poetry about the site in her spare time. That’s dedication for you!

Anyhow, instead of getting bogged down in the details, which is what happened each time I sat down to write this post over the past couple of days, I’m just going to run quickly through the facts and move swiftly on to the folk tales. Those of you still interested in finding out more afterwards can then call over and pay Bettina a wee visit.  I’ll try my best to keep this as succinct as possible, though be warned - I do tend to drift when it comes to subjects I care about. Right, let us begin…

More important than Tara- FACT.

To sum it up in a sentence, An Grianan of Aileach is an iron age ringfort, built on the remnants of a much earlier fortification (thought to be up to 5000-years-old, in your face Pyramids!), with the current stone structure undergoing heavy restoration in the nineteenth-century following it’s destruction during a conflict between two Irish chieftains in 1101. Phew! That was a long sentence. But the place does have a long history, and an important one at that.

Indeed, it is my guess that if it wasn’t for its geographical location Grianan would likely be as famous as Newgrange, and undoubtedly more well-known than Tara. For, just like that other royal hill - and that’s all it is these days, a hill, with hardly any visible fort worth talking about - Aileach too was seat to the High Kings of Ireland at various points over the centuries, and for an even longer period served as the centre of power and culture for all Ulster. (And we still have our fort intact.)

It is also interesting to note that while Grianan shares good company with other sites of high mythological and historical regard, such as Emain Macha, in that it is one of only a handful of Irish locations to be marked on Ptolemy’s 4th century map of the world, Tara gets no mention on the famous document. Mmm…

As I said, the reason most of you have probably never heard of it till now is down to where it is. For one it’s relatively far away from the major airports, and secondly it’s also only a few miles from the border with Northern Ireland,  which meant the area was shunned for decades by foreign tourists afraid of getting blown-up. (Kind of silly really considering the chances of getting blown-up in Donegal were so miniscule it was ridiculous.)

Anyway, enough about all that ‘real’ stuff, I want to talk about the stories!  

Built by the king of the fairies, no less.

As I’ve said, it would be easy for me to ramble on and on about the ‘true’ history of Grianan, which in itself is pretty darn interesting,  but it’s always been the myths and legends surrounding the place which have captured my imagination. And there’s certainly no shortage of them.

The word ‘Grianan’ comes from the Irish word for ‘sun’ and one thing that is agreed upon by archaeologists is that the original structure was most likely built by pagan sun worshipers. That’s fair enough, but it’s who these sun worshipers were that’s most intriguing; ask anyone round here and you’ll only get one answer - An Tuatha De Danann. The Children of Danu themselves.

Now I think I know you, my dear blog readers, well enough at this point to assume that most of you are already well acquainted with this mystical race, and their gods and leaders. Many of you will probably also be aware that they were, in fact, the descendents of Ireland’s fairy aristocracy. (Those who aren’t as familiar with this can find a wee bit more about it in my introductory blog post, and then of course there’s always Google.)

Anyway! One of the most famous tales regarding the origins of Grianan states that it was built by no less than Daghda himself, High King of the Tuatha De Danann who later achieved godly status. The story goes that, following their invasion of Ireland in pre-Celtic times, it was at the hill of Aileach that the Tuatha De Danann first made contact with the natives of their new land. They must’ve liked the spot, or it must’ve already been an area of some significance, for when Daghda’s own son, Aeah, was slew in battle it was here that the god king buried him and built the fort to protect the grave.

Other tales also hint that Daghda’s predecessor,  Nuada of the Silver Hand,  may also be interred beneath the mound.  Indeed, it is what is under the fort rather than the stones themselves that hold the deepest magic and mystery.

Take the little portal pictured below for example, one of several in the interior wall. When we were little the gates weren’t there and we used to crawl inside. My mum used to go crazy at us, though claustrophobia usually got the better of me before I ventured far enough to make her really mad. Now that they’ve been sealed off to curious children and I’ve grown much too large, I often wonder what I would’ve discovered if I’d been a little braver.

You see another of the local legends of Grianan, and one which is inextricably tied to Irish fairy mythology in general, tells of an extensive network of tunnels that run from these little holes in the wall deep down into the hill. Within there is believed to be a hollow where a band of Tuatha de Danann horsemen still slumber, waiting for the day when “the sacred sword” is removed and they can awake to reclaim their ancient lands.

A more detailed account of this tale can be found here on Bettina’s blog, though as a child I always heard the Irish nationalist version in which the sword was British rule and those inside would only wake once Ireland was united again. Considering Ireland as a whole entity has for the most part only ever been united while under British rule, you’ll have to forgive me if I declare this to be bollocks. ‘Ireland’ of the past was an island of five provinces, those again divided into kingdoms, and not one unified state in the modern sense. But once again I digress…

As you might imagine from it’s name, An Grianan is also associated with other ancient Irish sun dieties such as Lugh and Gráinne, though I’m not going to talk about them now. A little tale I will relate is one from my dad, who often tells of how after a night out partying in his younger days he and a friend decided to go up to Grianan to watch the sun rise. Now it’s very likely considering the context of the story that what he saw may've been in some way influenced from the previous night’s indulgences, but he swears that from his position atop the stone walls he saw the sun dancing in the sky - looping and diving, jumping forward and falling back. In fact, to this day he finds it hard to describe his experiences of that morning exactly. And I’ve heard others tell similar stories so there must be something in it.

Well my friends, you’ll be happy to hear that I’ve finally exhausted myself and have to decided to wrap this thing up now. God, this was a post and a half! Believe me when I tell you I could’ve written twice as much. Anyway, thanks to anyone who stuck with me to the end and sorry for rambling on so much. I just want Grianan to get the recognition it deserves for being so super amazingly awesome. 

I suppose every little corner of the world hides it’s own treasures, and we all like to defend our own wee plots. What about you folk, do any of you have any little under-appreciated gems nearby? I’d love to hear about them!

Happy May Day!

Image by Angela Barnett

Now I’m more of a Samhain girl to be honest- there’s something about the dry smoky air on those dark evenings that warms my soul- yet today I find myself all nostalgic for Beltaines past. Not that we call it that here anymore, these days it’s just May Day like everywhere else. But I was chatting to my mum earlier and it got me thinking again about all the little paganish traditions that still surround the festival.

It’s another glaring example of the way in which St Patrick absorbed pre-existing local customs into the new religious tapestry that would come to shape Christian Ireland to the present day. Paddy put his own slant on it, of course. While in the days of old Beltaine was an occasion for frolicking naked round bonfires and ushering in the summer, he made it all decent and Catholic by replacing the promiscuity-promoting Mother Goddess with the chaste Virgin Mother.

And so now May is the month of Mary, the first of which is supposed to be spent in honour of the good lady. I remember in primary school we would have the ‘May Procession’ today, which entailed every single pupil wandering round the local convent gardens in a big line while singing hymns to Mary- for hours. Kinda mad when you think about it. I wonder do they still do it? There are so many more kids in that school now it would be a nightmare to organise, and scary to watch!

Another, fonder memory I have is of waking up on the morning of May 1 to find flowers and petals sprinkled all over our front door step. We never really knew who left them or why but I was asking my mum about it today and she said it hasn’t happened for the past two years. It’s sad to think, but whoever used to do it has probably died. Or maybe it really was the fairies, but then why did they stop? I feel an urge to start doing it now for my own neighbours, especially the ones with children. I’ll have to try and remember for next year.

Anyway, I could ramble on all day about this sort of thing but I’m going to have to cut myself short. I’m having internet connection troubles at the minute and if I don’t act fast I may not get this posted at all. The web pixies are giving me small windows of connectivity so I have to make best use of the time. I know what the problem is and hopefully I’ll get it sorted in the next couple of days. For now, though, I’m getting reacquainted with my offline life. Well, hope you’re all having a lovely bank holiday weekend!

Some Home-Grown Fairy Tales

The reason for today’s post is three-fold: I’m using it firstly as an excuse to show off these beautiful paintings by local artist Ros Harvey, secondly to give a little shout out to my newest follower Celtic Lady, and finally for its original purpose which was to share these links to fae tales from fair Inishowen.

All the stories below were taken from a website dedicated to a wee town called Moville, just down the road from me. As far as I know the site’s run by one man. A bit of a modern day Yeats, this fella has gathered up local folk and fairy lore from various sources and included the collection in his history and genealogy of the area. If you have an afternoon free some day, I thoroughly recommend taking some time out to read them. You won’t be disappointed. Oh, and the images by Ms Harvey just happen to be of the area where most of the stories are set.

Well here you go, tales of pesky Sidhe meddling with the lives of us mere mortals:

A Date With Death- One man's warning from the wee folk.

The Fairy Rope- A lucky find for two Buncrana factory girls.

Blind Man’s Buff- It's not hard to find someone in Ireland to spin you a yarn or two about a fool who axed a fairy tree and even now all these years later they still always go something like this.

Fairy Magic Around the Coasts of Inishowen- This one is a gem. It reads like an old pre-Tolkien fantasy and was written in 1867 by a historian named Maghtochair. I’m trying to figure out some way to include it in our wedding whenever we manage to get round to organising it.

Marriage on the Rocks- Another one I’m thinking of working into my wedding, about a man who marries a selkie.

The Tuatha de Danann- Finally, here’s a little something for anyone who liked ‘about the title’. It contains bags more information on Danu and her children, along with other summaries of old Irish legends.

Images © Ros Harvey

Child of Danú

      Danu the Mother Goddess

I really doubt anybody other than myself will ever read this blog, but, on the off chance that someone actually bothers, maybe I should offer an explanation of its somewhat silly and slightly ostentatious title.

First of all, I just want to point out that I am by no means claiming to be a ‘Child of Danu’ ( that, in my opinion, would be arrogant). Nor do I intend this to be a place where I’ll mull over the great goddess, or any of her demigod children.

I simply thought the term to be an apt, if a little irrelevant, heading for a scrapbook of my flights of fancy. Apt because it alludes to many such fanciful flights, irrelevant because it may be that after this initial post I’ll never refer to anything pertaining to it directly again. Who knows?

Anyway, here is as concise an explanatory note as to its meaning that I can provide:

The Children of Danu were the legendary Tuatha De Danann, a people strongly linked to my local area, my family name, and the imagination I inherited from my childhood.

They were a heroic, mystical race who inhabited Ireland in pre-Celtic times, yet they remain a pervasive force on the psyche of the Irish, whether they realise it or not, and stand for all that I love about the culture and mythology of my homeland.

The Tuatha De Danann Arriving in Ireland by Roy Burns

Evidently enough, they worshipped Danu who was mother of all gods and goddess of all things. The Tuatha De Danann were themselves godlike, though mortal. They possessed ancient knowledge and commanded great magic, as can be seen in tales of their coming to this land, which they won following a battle with a race called the Fir Bolgs.

According to legend, upon their approach to Ireland the Tuatha De Danann “spread druidically-formed showers and fog-sustaining shower-clouds over the country, and caused the air to pour down fire and blood upon the Fir Bolgs,”  but their enemy had druids of their own who cast counter spells and enchantments.(Squire, 1905)

The story goes that due to a magical coastal mist summoned by the Fir Bolgs the Tuatha De Danann were forced to circle Ireland nine times before making landfall on the shores of present day Leitrim from whence they marched northwards, stopping to make first contact with the natives at a place dear to my heart.

      An Grianan

That place was An Grianan of Aileach, an iron-age stone ring fort perched on a hill not far from my hometown. From within the fort it is possible to access tunnels that apparently run underground for miles. It is said that deep within the labyrinth lies a room where a band of Tuatha De Danann horsemen still slumber. Just as in the tales of England’s Arthur, they will come again when Ireland needs them most, marking their return by lapping the island nine times.

But that’s just a local yarn, sourced from a story about a drunkard who fell in a ditch one night and found a hidden, external opening to one of the passageways. He claimed to have spoken with one of the horsemen who, astride his mount, woke momentarily to tell the bewildered gentleman of their apocalyptic-esque plans.

It is likely that the stories of the end of the Tuatha De Danann’s reign inspired the tale. You see, with the arrival of the Celts and the subsequent advent of Christianity, like the people of Avalon, the Tuatha De Dannan did not simply die away. Instead they retreated from the world of men into the mounds of the earth, supposedly revealing themselves on occasion to this very day. They are the Aes Sidhe (usually simply called ‘Sidhe’), more commonly known as the fairy folk.

According to a wee woman down the road, and probably American tourist guides to Ireland, they can still be found living in trees and caves, by ancient stones and sacred lakes, around ruined forts and craggy hills.

Indeed, the Children of Danu were not the first peoples to inhabit this isle, nor were they to be the last, but tales of their magical mastery and later demise have left their mark on our mythology and folklore.

When I was little I was often warned to stay away from the bells of purple foxglove lest I anger the fairies who made their homes there. The fantasy was somewhat spoiled when I discovered that the flowers are actually poisonous and it was more likely a clever conspiracy by my mother to keep me for picking them. But I believed it, if only for a time. *sigh*

Picture by Charlotte Bird

Still, though, even in the commercial, money idolising society of Ireland today, where tradition and story-telling are fading away as fast as Aga cookers and local bakeries, you’d be hard pressed to find a child who’ll step in a ring of toadstools but on a dare, or a man who’ll cut down a fairy tree without a care to his own well being.

More than that, many of the practices and characters that litter the sagas of the Tuatha De Danann can be yet found in Irish society in the guise of saints, shrines and sacraments. From Danu herself (St Anne) to the patron St Brigit (Brigid, goddess of love and war), and in the now holy days of Beltane and Samhain. The list goes on and on… They weren’t the most inventive, the early Celtic Christians, but they certainly were adaptive.