ABOUT THE AUTHOR No one is sure where Bob Curran comes from. Tradition says that one moment he wasn’t there and the next moment he was in County Down. He has, however, held various jobs – including gravedigger, hospital porter, civil servant and teacher – has studied History and Education at the New University of Ulster, and has received a Ph.D. in Educational Social Psychology. Bob has a strong interest in local history and folklore, and has both written and lectured on these subjects; he is a frequent contributor to radio, and has appeared on television co-presenting programmes on heritage and history. It is said that Bob currently lives somewhere in north Antrim, with his teacher wife and two small children; but it is difficult to be sure, as he is seen only ‘between the lights’ (at twilight), and then only by a fortunate few.
bob curran
First published 2017 by The O’Brien Press Ltd, 12 Terenure Road East, Rathgar, Dublin 6, D06 HD27, Ireland. Tel: +353 1 4923333; Fax: +353 1 4922777 E-mail: books@obrien.ie; Website: www.obrien.ie Originally published as The Truth about the Leprechaun by Wolfhound Press 2000, reprinted 2002. The O’Brien Press is a member of Publishing Ireland. ISBN: 978-1-84717-914-2 Text copyright © 2000 Bob Curran Copyright for typesetting, layout, design, editing © The O’Brien Press Ltd All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or in any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. 87654321 21 20 19 18 17 Typesetting, layout and design: The O’Brien Press Ltd Printed and bound by Gutenberg The paper in this book is produced using pulp from managed forests. Published in:
Dedication For Mary, my extremely patient wife, and for Michael and Jennifer, my own two leprechauns
Contents Introduction: The Leprechaun in the Wider Fairy World 9 1. Origins and General Appearance
20
2. Habitat and Habits
41
3. Questions of Gender, Birth and Age
72
4. Leprechaun Professions
101
5. Leprechaun Society
124
6. Leprechauns and Religion
141
7. The Leprechaun’s Cousins:
Cluricauns and Sheela-na-Gigs
158
Conclusion 168 Bibliography 171
Introduction
The Leprechaun in the Wider Fairy World Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren’t go a-hunting, For fear of little men.
A
— William Allingham, ‘The Fairies’
lmost every culture has its supernatural beings – from the German kobolds (a bad-tempered, diminutive race
who live far underground and are extremely hostile to mankind) to the Cherokee nunnehi (tiny, mischievous creatures who live in ancient mounds; they play tricks, but they also look after lost children and guide them home) and the English fairies (tiny sprites who dwell in trees and rivers and who maintain an ambivalent attitude to the human race). Yet perhaps no other people have differentiated between the various forms of supernatural entities as clearly as the Irish. Our folklore and traditions portray a whole range of mysterious and sometimes exotic beings that have interacted with 9
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humankind across the centuries. Strictly speaking, the fairy-creatures of Irish folklore belong to the Otherworld – an ill-defined realm that exists just beyond mortal sight. They coexist with humankind throughout the rural countryside, but generally remain invisible to human eyes. Collectively, they are referred to as the Sídhe (meaning ‘dwellers of the mounds’ – the word sí or sídh originally meant ‘a mound’) or Tuatha de Danann (the followers of the goddess Danu – from an ancient legend in the twelfth-century Book of Invasions); but, across the years, they became known in country folk-tales simply as ‘the little people’. This implied a diminutive size and brought the Sídhe into line with other legends to be found in many other cultures across the world. ‘At one time they were as tall as you or I,’ an old man in County Fermanagh once told me. ‘But that was when they were at the height of their power and were greatly feared all across the world. They were gods then, do you see? When the people stopped believing in them and stopped worshipping them, they began to shrink away until they reached their present size. That’s why they are so small nowadays.’ There is much to be said for this theory. The venerable Book of Armagh states categorically that these beings were ‘the spirits of earth and air’ and that they were worshipped right across Ireland. As Christianity spread across the country, the fear and mystery of the fairy folk gradually diminished; and with it, so did the stature of the former gods. Other traditions, especially in the north of Ireland, hold that 10
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the fairies were fallen angels. The legend says that during the great revolt in Heaven, when Lucifer rebelled against the sovereignty of God, some angels ‘sat on the fence’ and refused to become involved. When Lucifer and his acolytes were defeated and cast into the burning pit, the fate of these indifferent angels was uncertain; they were not good enough to be allowed back into Heaven, and not evil enough to be cast into Hell. St Michael reputedly interceded for them, and they were placed on earth, midway between Paradise and the Infernal Regions. Gradually, deprived of their heavenly status, they began to dwindle in stature and thus formed the fairy throng. ‘They were angels, sure enough,’ said an old woman in North Antrim, ‘but they would not stand with God against the Devil, and so they were put into the world of men. They became the fairies over a time.’ The fairies were believed to be a very diverse species. Some lived in the air, some on the land, others in the sea, and others still under the earth – and each kind acquired some of the characteristics of their environment. The fairies of the air, for instance, were light, graceful and rather nebulous beings, often described as flitting about on gossamer-like wings. Those who lived in the sea were sometimes covered in fur, like the seals which they clearly resembled, or in scales, like fish. Those who lived on or under the earth were different again. The invisible beings who lived in the raths and earthen forts which littered the countryside were tall and splendid beings – very like humans, it was said, but with an unearthly beauty about them. The fairies that lived under the earth – in mounds and caverns, in 11
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ditches and under hedgerows – were small, stunted beings with hard skins and even harder looks. They were often described as being ‘as brown as the earth’ from their rather harsh environment. As well as taking on the physical characteristics of their environment, many fairies also acquired a temperamental quality which reflected their surroundings. Fairies of the air were shallow, fickle creatures, who changed their minds as often as the wind changed; the moods of water-fairies fluctuated with the tides; and those who dwelt under the earth and in remote places were usually surly and reclusive in their ways. Many were extremely hostile towards humans, and went out of their way to do mischief and inflict harm upon unwary mortals. Much later, probably in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, a more sophisticated folklore began to divide the fairy realm into two distinct camps. One camp consisted of the trooping fairies – what the poet W.B. Yeats has called the Macara Shee, the fairy cavalcade: a band of supernatural beings, usually of diminutive size, who travelled the country roads on certain nights of the year, such as Hallowe’en and May Eve. At such times, according to rural folklore, the doors of the fairy hills and mounds swung open and the troop came out, led by a king and queen. Depending upon whom they met upon the road, they responded with largesse or with disdain, sometimes rewarding kindness, at other times punishing evil deeds. However, warned the wise people of the countryside, it was as well to avoid them whenever possible and to keep off the moonlit roads as soon as the sun went down. 12
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The other half of fairydom was what Yeats and others referred to as ‘the solitary fairies’: those supernatural beings who lived well away from humans and from other fairies, and had very little to do with them. These beings dwelt in caves, holes, bogs and ditches and remained invisible for most of the time. Mortals could sense their presence only when the fairy lured them into some danger (possibly resulting in death) or when the fairy was accidentally heard by some passerby. Amongst these solitary creatures were such entities as the banshee (a ‘woman of the fairies’ who cried for those who were about to die), the linahan shee (the fairy lover who lured men to their doom), the dullahan (a terrible headless figure who galloped through the night bringing doom, misery and destruction to the houses that he passed) and the leprechaun (the fairy shoemaker). While the banshee has passed, more or less, into ghost-lore, and beings such as the dullahan and the linahan shee have been all but forgotten, the leprechaun has acquired a status which has put him at the forefront of Irish fairy-tales and folk-tales. Despite his solitary nature, the leprechaun appears to have been seen frequently in many parts of Ireland. Indeed, so generic is the term that almost any otherworldly or supernatural creature is accorded the name ‘leprechaun’. Furthermore, the leprechaun has become something of a symbol of Ireland itself (one might be tempted to say he is the ‘national elf ’). He appears on tea-towels, on linen, in porcelain ornaments and illustrated plates from the Emerald Isle. He has appeared in both films and cartoons as the only fairy sprite in Ireland. 13
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This does both the leprechaun and the fairy world a disservice, for the creature also appears in neighbouring parts of the world – in Scotland, in the Western Isles and in the North of England – and he forms part of a wide panoply of magical beings. Most of the painted representations of the leprechaun show him to be a jolly, amiable and carefree creature. He is the sort of sprite with whom one would like to share a winter’s night beside a roaring fire, listening to his old, humorous tales and sharing his poteen. He is the epitome of Irish hospitality and Irish storytelling. The leprechaun is anything but amiable and humorous. He is dark and sombre, with little or no levity about him. Nor is he particularly good company, for he seems to carry the woes of the world with him. Leprechauns are also great misers and extremely selfish, so there is little chance of them sharing anything, let alone their stores of poteen. Not only this, but leprechauns on the whole are extremely spiteful; they are as likely to perform an evil trick on the unwary mortal as a helpful or kindly one. The exception to this rule occurs in some parts of Munster, where, once in a while, a more amiable leprechaun will sometimes present an individual with a sparán na scillinge (purse of the shilling) – a marvellous pouch which never becomes empty. However, although it is a wonderful present, there is a malicious reason for this particular gift. Those to whom it is given invariably misuse it – usually becoming drunkards and gamblers – and eventually all their wealth turns to dust and ashes. The leprechaun’s present turns out to be a double-edged sword. 14
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Because of their uncivil nature and innate hostility towards humans, leprechauns frequently had to be placated by the householders of the area. Failure to do so would invite mischief upon both family and property. Offerings of milk, cheese, bread and other foodstuffs, as well as twists of tobacco, were sometimes left outside cottage doors at night, to keep the leprechaun from making mischief against the owner or tenant of the dwelling. Fresh water, the dregs of the teapot or a glass of strong liquor were often left out as well. Sometimes libations of whiskey were left on the doorstep, but this alcoholic gift could have an adverse effect upon the sprite. ‘Never leave too much whiskey for the leprechaun,’ conventional rural wisdom states, ‘for if you do, he’ll only get very drunk and create a commotion around your house.’ It is also said that the whiskey may addle his wits and make him even more malignant than he already is. Leprechauns have to be treated carefully, even when one is offering them presents! Ancient tradition said that the Tuatha de Danann were usually invisible beings who existed, unseen by mortals, amongst the raths and forts of the countryside. The same is true of the leprechaun, who went about his business beyond the human gaze. The only sign of his presence was, perhaps, a small whirlwind or cloud of dust. In former times (and, in some areas, up until the present day), old men would doff their hats and old ladies would drop a small curtsy as one of these small dust-storms swept past. In some areas, it was also common to genuflect and say ‘God bless me’, or to throw your left shoe after the cloud; if you did, the leprechaun would be compelled 15
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to drop whatever he was carrying – which, if fortune was smiling, might be a bag of gold! These pillars of dust might also be a sign that the leprechauns were carrying some unfortunate human off to the fairy realm. Leprechauns seem to have had a fondness for abducting unbaptised human babies, which they then sold into service in the various raths and mounds. To protect children from such wiles, it was necessary to have an infant baptised by a clergyman as quickly as possible. In some more remote areas, where clerics were not readily available, the midwife who delivered the infant could perform an interim baptism using the following formula: No seed of fairy, no seed of the hosts of the air, no seed of the world’s people can lift away this tranquil little sleeper for whom is made this beneficent prayer of baptism. Evil cannot lie on him [sign of the Cross]; envy cannot lie on him [sign of the Cross]; malice cannot lie on him [sign of the Cross]. The two arms of mild Mary, the Mother of God, graciously encompass him; the two arms of the gentle Christ shield, surround and succour this joyous little sleeper of the baptism. This particular baptism was used by midwives and ‘knee-women’ as far away as the Western Hebrides to protect newborn infants from the taran – a specific type of leprechaun-like creature – and a version of it is mentioned in Alexander Carmichael’s Carmina Gadelica. Two similar non-clerical protective baptisms reputedly come 16
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from the west of Ireland, although they are also found in various parts of Scotland: When the image of the God of Life is brought into the world, I put three little drops of water on the child’s forehead. I put the first little drop in the name of the Father (and the watching women say ‘Amen’); I put the second little drop in the name of the Son (and the watching women say ‘Amen’); I put the third little drop in the name of the Spirit (and the watching women say ‘Amen’). And I beseech the Holy Three to lave and to bathe the child and to preserve it to Themselves, protecting it from any evil thing – witch, goblin or evil spirit. Let no dark thing come near to it or disturb its rest (and the watching women say ‘Amen’). The second baptism employs roughly similar language and imagery: The little drop of the Father On thy little forehead, beloved one. The little drop of the Son On thy little forehead, beloved one. The little drop of the Spirit On thy little forehead, beloved one. To aid thee from the fays, To guard thee from the host 17
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To aid thee from the gnome, To shield thee from the spectre. To keep thee for the Three, To shield thee, to surround thee. To save thee for the Three, To fill thee with the graces. The little drop of the Three, To lave thee with the graces. If any of the above baptisms was performed by the midwife, then the crafty leprechauns (or any other fairy or witch, for that matter) had no power over the child. Of course, a full clerical baptism had to be performed as soon as possible, but the above incantations had the power to restrain all members of the fairy kind until this could be achieved. If neither cleric nor midwife was present at the birth, all the father of the child had to do was throw his coat or an item of his clothing over the sleeping infant. This, presumably, was to remind the fairy world that the child had been claimed by the human world, until a cleric could arrive. Even then, it was believed that children still might not be safe from the leprechauns. Small children were strongly advised not to address a leprechaun directly, or to give direct answers to any ques18
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tions which the creature might ask, since doing so would place the mortal in the fairy’s power; he or she could be whisked off in a magic wind, to be sold in a fairy market or at the door of some rath or mound. Far from being the jolly little fellow who appears on postcards and ornaments from Ireland, then, the leprechaun is a surly, miserly, mischievous and antisocial being. Rather than being sought out by mortals, he was more likely to be feared. Nevertheless, he played a central role in the fairy world, and he deserves to be studied in a bit more depth. It is to this study that we now turn.
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Chapter One
Origins and General Appearance
A
lthough the fairy kind in general are believed to be descended either from the Tuatha de Danann or from
fallen angels, some of their number may have more specific origins. The leprechaun may be one of these distinct entities. So where did leprechauns come from? Despite its now-widespread appeal – it is used to refer to almost any Irish fairy – the term ‘leprechaun’ was not really used until the late seventeenth or early eighteenth century. Even then, the word had many different, localised variations. In east Leinster, for example, the term was liomreachán, while in south Leinster it was lúracán; in Ulster it was luchramán, in Connacht lúracán. Even within provinces, the name varied. For instance, in parts of Munster, the sprite was called a luchargán, lurgadán or cluricán, while in other areas the description luchorpán prevailed. Many of these descriptions were taken from the sprite’s alleged powers or characteristics. Within these terms, there are echoes of the 20
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ancient Irish words luch (mouse), lúth (agility), and lurga (ankle). The leprechaun was, therefore, believed to be about the size of a mouse, with speedy reflexes and large feet. The term ‘leprechaun’ is thought to have been used only in the north Leinster area until the middle or end of the last century. Nowadays, this form seems to be widely used all over Ireland. The origin of the term ‘leprechaun’ is complex. It has been argued that it derives from leith bhrógán (half-shoe-maker – maker of half a pair of shoes), making the sprite a cobbler by profession, with a corpus of related folklore attached to him. However, it is more likely that the name comes from the ancient Irish luchorpán (little man) or luacharmán (pygmy), simply denoting a creature of very small stature. In texts dating from the eighth century, the term is used to denote members of a diminutive race. In the legend of Fearghus mac Léide, for example, reference is made to a community of diminutive people who possess magical powers and skills. Fearghus seizes three of them, and, in return for their release, they bestow the magical skills of swimming upon him. Later texts, dating from the tenth, eleventh and twelfth centuries, say that these beings may also bestow certain magical objects, such as silver shoes, which enable a person to walk on water without drowning. Is the leprechaun, then, a member of such a community? If so, what were the origins of these tiny folk? Origins – Grogochs, Pechts and Other Creatures The Irish leprechaun may be part of a much wider lore concerning 21
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diminutive races. This lore includes brownies, gnomes, goblins, fées and pixies, all of whom feature prominently in Celtic vernacular mythology. It is quite possible that many of the tales concerning leprechauns were adapted by the Irish from other sources, perhaps from outside their own shores. Since there is no reference to the luchorpán in Ireland before the seventh or eighth century, there seems little doubt that he was imported from elsewhere and was integrated into native mythologies. But where could these tales have come from? There is no way to determine an actual source, but it may be that they came from Europe, with waves of invaders who gradually settled in Ireland. Right across the Continent, we find tales of small, elusive aboriginal races dwelling in communities well away from their taller counterparts. Some of these little people were considered to have special powers; many are said to have lived underground, and many were believed to be ugly or slightly deformed (or different from humankind) in some way. Might these have been the prehistoric prototypes for the leprechaun? A clue to the origins of the luchorpán comes from Ulster. Here, the leprechaun is known by two quite specific names – ‘grogoch’ and ‘pecht’. It is the latter epithet, ‘pecht’, which hints at the origin, for it is too close to the word ‘pict’ – a generic name in the area for aboriginal Scottish peoples – to be simply coincidence. Old local people, particularly in the North Antrim area, are quite sure of the area from which their diminutive neighbours came to Ireland. ‘The pechts and grogochs came from Scotland, surely,’ stated Robert McCormick, an old man from the town of Ballycastle on 22
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the northern coast. ‘They came here by way of a land-bridge which was between Kintyre and Antrim in the old days. When the Celtic people came to Scotland, they drove the pechts in front of them and they had to get out of the country. So they came to Ireland, where nobody was living at the time, and started to live here. The Celtic people followed them across the bridge and started to live here too. So the pechts had to hide away in secret places around the countryside, and that’s why you never see much of them. That bridge of land is long gone, but the pechts are still here. We call them “fairies” and “wee people”, and that’s how they came to North Antrim and to Ireland as well.’ Setting aside some of the more fanciful details, there may be some truth in this notion. Both Scottish and Hebridean folklore are filled with tales of communities of little folk living in remote places, some of whom may have migrated to Ireland in prehistoric times. Some of these may well have been aboriginal peoples who were displaced by incoming Celtic settlers. Indeed, the general descriptions of the grogochs or pechts seem to confirm this notion. Although they are widely regarded as a type of leprechaun, the grogochs differ from the standard leprechaun in appearance and character. They are small and brutish-looking, with flat faces and large, languid eyes. They do not wear clothes; instead they grow long, reddish, matted fur which covers their entire bodies. They are untidy and dirty in their habits – their fur, for example, is tangled with twigs and straw which the grogochs inadvertently pick up on their travels. ‘When I was a wee child and staying with my granny in the 23
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Glens [of Antrim],’ recalled the famous Waterfoot historian and storyteller Mary Stone, ‘we would come in from the fields and my granny would say, “Ye look like an oul’ grogoch.” I never knew what that meant, but she always started to comb and untangle my hair. Later on, I found out that it meant “untidy”, because the grogoch is always very untidy and dirty in his habits. He always has bits and pieces of straw and chaff in his hair, and I suppose that after a day playing in the hay-fields, I was dirty and untidy too.’ Their dwellings were usually piles of tumbled rocks, sometimes no more than two great standing stones pushed over to provide a rude shelter from the elements. Several of these ‘grogoch’s houses’ still exist on Rathlin Island, off the Northern Irish coast. ‘The Groigock’s [sic] House is two big stones near Leg-an-thassnee,’ reported Rathlin man Frank Craig. ‘They said you would have been fit one time to see [one could see] the groigocks lying out on the grass and sunning themselves there. It’s up near the Knockans. There used to be plenty of them up there. Leg-a-goin, too: they’d be out sunning themselves, clear as day. When it rained, they took shelter in the House. Two stones leaning together. It’s there yet.’ Unlike the majority of the leprechaun species, the grogoch does not possess an overly surly nature. This makes him different even from those leprechaun-fairies whom he most closely resembles – the laughremen of the South Armagh region (small, hairy creatures who possess eminently unsociable dispositions and sometimes play tricks upon or show violence towards humankind) and an unspecified fur-covered entity who dwells in remote areas of County Sligo 24
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(who continually torments both animals and small children). In fact, the grogoch is usually helpful to the point of being a nuisance, and will sometimes attach himself to one particular individual or household for whom he has developed a special affection. In former times, grogochs would help both Rathlin and North Antrim farmers with the harvest. They were tireless workers; however, they could not tolerate laziness or idleness in others and frequently took steps to rouse a dozing farmhand or careless worker. Frank Craig relates a story from Rathlin which demonstrates this particular fairy trait: There was a groigock in John Vawnilds’ place over in the Castle Quarter [also known as Bruce’s Castle]. He was a wee hairy man who would do turns about the place for John and his wife; he would wash spuds for them and take home the cows of an evening. Now, at this time, John was an old man and liked his rest well enough, especially on a Sunday morning when he should have been at mass. He would take a bit of a lie-in after a week’s hard work. But the groigock wouldn’t have that at all. When old John was lying snoring in the bed, he would hoist himself up onto the covers and creep up. Then he would batter the old man about the face until he got up and did a bit of work before going to mass. They can’t stand anyone not working, do you see? It was the same when the boys in the fields would sit down to have a rest or a can of tea as they did in the olden days. The groigocks would creep up behind them and torment them until they had to go back to the threshing or whatever they were doing. It got so that the groigocks 25
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were great pests and the farmers wouldn’t want them about, no matter how good workers they were. And poor John Vawnilds had reason to curse them as well. That’s a true story, for I mind [remember] my grandfather telling that story often. Of course, you don’t see groigocks about any more, so I suppose them that sleep late in their beds or in the hay-fields are safe enough. Unlike the standard leprechaun, the grogoch was widely thought to be extremely stupid – a kind of North Ulster ‘village idiot’. Always eager to please, grogochs would sometimes make a mess of the tasks they were given, if only through their enthusiasm. A story which was widely told in the Ballycastle area made this point: A shepherd who worked on Knocklayd Mountain had to come into Ballycastle on business. It was the first time in over a year that he had been away from his herd, and, as he was going to be all day in the town, he had to find somebody to look after his flock. The sides of the mountain are very steep, and young lambs would be wandering all over the place and falling into ravines or sinking into bogs. Somebody had to be there to see that they came to no harm and to round them up if need be. On the top of Knocklayd, there was an old grogoch living, and he was very friendly and helpful, so the shepherd went up and asked him if he would look after the sheep and lambs. The grogoch came to the mouth of his cave and told him that he’d be delighted to do so. The shepherd took him down the mountainside and showed him the sheep, grazing on the 26
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slopes, and the pen into which they would have to be put at night. The grogoch told him not to worry and that everything was safe in his hands. The next morning, the shepherd took himself off to Ballycastle, leaving the grogoch in charge. Before he left, he told the fairy that he should gather all the sheep and lambs in that night, and he wasn’t to let any wander down onto the lower slopes. Again, the grogoch told him not to worry – he had been herding sheep off and on for hundreds of years – and so the shepherd eventually set off for the town. He was far longer in Ballycastle than he’d planned to be. The business took up most of the day, and then he ran into some old friends who took him to the pub and bought him drink. The crack among them was good, and so it was late when the shepherd set out and nearly morning when he arrived back on Knocklayd Mountain. To his surprise, all the sheep and their lambs were in the pen, with the grogoch looking after them. However, the little man seemed greatly out of breath and looked very tired. The shepherd naturally asked him if he’d had any trouble with the flock. ‘No real trouble,’ the grogoch answered him. ‘I got them all gathered in without too much trouble, although a wee brown lamb wouldn’t go into the pen and I had to chase it all over the mountain nearly all night. I caught it at last and put it in the pen with the others, but it took me some time to get it in, all right. It didn’t want to go.’ This puzzled the shepherd, for he knew that there was no brown lamb among his flock, and he told the grogoch so. The other, however, insisted that the brown lamb was there and brought the shepherd over to the pen to see it. Imagine his astonishment when he saw, lying in the shadow of 27
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the circling stone wall, nothing more than a small, out-of-breath hare! The stupid grogoch, unable to tell the difference between a lamb and a hare, had chased it all over Knocklayd for the whole night! (A traditional North Antrim tale from the author’s own sources)
In spite of their stupidity, the grogochs were extremely good-hearted and eager to do good turns. Indeed, they were so eager to please that they invariably became pests about the house. They would run about (often invisibly) trying to do small chores for the woman of the house, and would usually end up creating more mess than they cleared. When a housewife unaccountably stumbled or tripped in the kitchen, she was sure that she had stepped on or bumped against an invisible grogoch. The great Rathlin Island storyteller Rose McCurdy mentioned such an encounter: Did nobody tell you about the gruogock? That’s what they call them on this island, and on parts of the mainland as well. I had a man from the County Sligo come to see me, and he knew what it was. In Ireland, where I come from [the inhabitants of Rathlin Island always refer to the mainland as ‘Ireland’; Rose was born in Glenshesk, outside Ballycastle], they called him the grigock, but it’s this land [Rathlin] that I’m talking about now. There was a grigock’s house up at Clegganleck on the upper end of the island. He was supposed to come down from it every day at one time – Alex Morrison or Owney Murphy will tell you the truth of it, for they seen him many a time. The woman of the house was polluted with the 28
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grigock coming down to her every day. When she got up from her chair, he would rise up with her and would be round her legs and feet. And he was always running round the fire and getting in her way. She was polluted. One day, she was carrying a kettle of boiling water from the fire and the grigock was running around her feet, and what did she do but spill a drop on him. He let out a screech of a yell, they said, and shouted in the old Irish (which was all that he spoke), ‘Oh! Oh! My viggeraldvaggerald is all scalded!’ That’s what it sounded like. And he ran out of the house and all the way back to Clegganleck. But I’ll go bail that the grigock never came back to that house again, nor did he go near any of the houses after that. Unlike other leprechauns, the grogoch was not interested in either money or reward for his labours. In fact, any sort of money or gift was anathema to him, and to offer him such a reward, even out of gratitude or sympathy, would invariably drive him away from a house. Frank Craig elaborated on this in a famous tale of the grogoch, widely repeated on Rathlin Island. There was a grogoch worked over at Douglas Cecil’s place at times during the year. One time, there was a very harsh winter, with snow lying all over the island, but the grogoch came down from his house and worked away. Old Mrs Cecil – her that’s long dead – that was the woman of the house, took pity on him and said that it was a shame to have the grogoch doing everything for them and not getting a haet [anything] 29
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back for his troubles, and him such a good worker and all, and the weather being so cold. So she was spinning this day and had a wee bit of the wool left over from what she was making. She thought that she’d make something for the grogoch. There was enough wool to make a pair of heavy socks for him, and she left them out the next time he came by. When he got them he began to cry. ‘Do you not like them?’ asked old Mrs Cecil. And the answer that he gave her was that he could never get back again. ‘When yous give me a reward,’ says he, ‘I can never come back again. I can’t get back.’ And he went away crying. That was the last that the Cecils or anyone else saw of him ever again. The nature and stories of the grogoch have been explored here in some depth, as the creature may give some hint as to the origins of the leprechaun. The primitive conditions in which the grogoch lives – under standing stones, in caves or in deep ravines – are suggestive of a reclusive, aboriginal race who may have migrated to Ireland from Scotland or elsewhere, and who coexisted with the Celtic peoples for a long time. Their overall appearance adds to this theory. There are a number of stories of grogochs working for and trading with country people, and this may be some sort of memory of the interchange between the two races in some former time. Moreover, the grogoch belongs to a tradition of small people and diminutive communities which is widespread all over Scotland and the Hebrides. 30