Tuesday 27 June 2017

Christianity and Banshees collide

Until the Old Age Pension came to kill off the old people and cut short the span of human life in the mountains, there was no more fruitful subject of conversation among the shanahies of the mid-Donegal Gaedhealtacht on winter nights than Scariff Hollis. The name has burned itself into the imagination of the Tirchonaill peasantry. Many are the traditions connected with that fatal mid-summer day over two hundred and eighty years ago.

We are told that three score men crossed the Swilly two days before the battle, each carrying a sack of corn, how the corn was hurriedly ground, and how milk instead of water was used in the baking of the oat-cake. And we are likewise informed of the plan adopted to keep the corn dry when crossing where there was neither bridge, ford, nor stepping-stones. The legends tell us too that there was a stormy discussion in the Irish camp upon the advisability or otherwise of [making] a battle. A friar whose name is not mentioned counselled retreat for a mile or two into a more hilly district, but his advice was unheeded.

Then there is the story of the red haired woman, the banshee of Doon. This fairy lady came into the camp or the Gael on the night before the battle, and, facing Bishop MacMahon, warned him against risking battle on the morrow. "Sun, wind, and water will favour the Gall to-morrow," said she. The Bishop laughed. "Look at that hillock," said the fairy again. "There the women of the shee and the women of the Gael will keen together to-morrow night." Next day Scariff Hollis was fought and lost. And the following night and for many nights afterwards there were great lamentations heard at the hillock indicated by the banshee. And sure enough it is called Ard an Chaoi ever since.

In the Derry Journal, 23rd June 1933.

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