MacManus (Klingensmith adaptation) - Billy Beg and His Bull (Part 2) - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

Illustration by Patten Wilson in Best Stories to Tell to Children by Sara Cone Bryant

The story of Billy Beg continues after his bull was killed.

*** 

After three days he came to a farm that belonged to an old gentleman.

Billy asked the old gentleman for work. The old gentleman said he wanted such a boy to herd the cattle. Billy asked what cattle he would have to herd and what wages he would get.

"Three goats, three cows, three horses, and three donkeys,” said the old gentleman, "but no boy that goes to herd them ever comes home alive. There are three giants, brothers, that come to milk the goats and cows, and always kill the herd boy, so we will not say what wages till we see if you come back alive.”

"All right,” said Billy. 

So next morning he got up early, drove out the three goats, the three cows, the three horses, and the three donkeys to the pasture field.

At noon Billy heard three terrible roars that shook the nuts off the trees, and up came a giant with three heads.

"You are too big for one bite, and too small for two," said the giant, "What shall I do with you?’’ 

"I'll fight you,’’ said Billy.

Billy soon made a sword of his stick by swinging it three times round his head.

"How shall I kill you'? Shall it be by a swing from the back, a cut of the sword, or by a blow from my fist?” 

"By a swing from the back if you can,” said Billy.

So they both laid hold, and Billy lifted the giant off his feet and brought him down so hard that he sank into the ground up to his arms.

 "Oh, have mercy,” said the giant.

But Billy cut off his heads with his sword.

It was evening when the fight was over. So Billy drove home the three goats, three cows, the three horses, and the three donkeys. All the pails and kettles and bowls in the house wouldn’t hold the milk the cows gave that night.

''Well,” said the old gentleman, "you are the first herd boy that ever came back alive, and this is the first time the cows ever gave any milk. Didn’t you see anything in the pasture?’

"Nothing worse than myself,’’ said Billy. "What about my wages now?”

"Well,” said the old gentleman, "I think you won’t come back alive to-morrow, so we will wait and see.”

Next morning the old gentleman told Billy something must have happened to one of the giants, for he had only heard two of them roaring.

After breakfast Billy set off with the three goats, the three cows, the three horses, and the three donkeys. About twelve he heard six terrible roars that shook the nuts off the trees and made his hair stand on end, and along came a frightful giant with six heads.

"You killed my brother yesterday,” roared the giant with his six mouths, but I will pay you to-day. You are too big for one bite and too small for two. What shall I do with you?”

"I’ll fight you,” said Billy, swinging his stick three times round his head to make it turn into a sword and give him the strength of a thousand men.

The giant laughed at his size and said, "How shall I kill you? With a swing from the back, a cut of the sword, or a blow from my fist?”

"With a swing from the back, if you can,” said Billy.

So they both laid hold and Billy lifted him off his feet and sunk him into the ground up to his arms.

 ‘‘Oh, mercy, cried the giant, but Billy cut off his six heads.

It was evening by that time and Billy drove the three goats, the three cows, the three horses and the three donkeys to the barn. The milk the cows gave that night overflowed all the pails and kettles and bowls in the house. Running out it made a brook and turned an old mill that hadn’t been turned in thirty years.

The old gentleman was ten times as much surprised to see Billy alive as he had been the day before.

“Didn’t you see anything in the pasture to-day?” said he.

“Nothing worse than myself,” said Billy. “What about my wages now?”

“Never mind about your wages till to-morrow,” said the old gentleman. “If you come back alive, we’ll see then.”

In the morning the old gentleman said, “I only heard one giant roaring last night. The other two must be ill.”

“Perhaps they are dead,” said Billy, as he drove out the three goats, the three cows, the three horses, and the three donkeys.

At noon Billy heard so many roars, he couldn’t count them. He looked about and saw a giant as big as the other two together, with twelve heads.

“You villain,” roared the giant. “You killed my two brothers, but I’ll be even with you. You are too big for one bite and too small for two. How would you rather be killed — by a swing from the back, or a cut from the sword, or by a blow from the fist?”

"By a swing from the back,” said Billy, waving his stick three times around his head.

The giant laughed at Billy’s size and they both laid hold. Billy swung the giant in the air and sunk him into the ground, just as he had the other two. Then he cut off his twelve heads and drove home the three goats, the three horses, and the three donkeys.

The milk that the cows gave that night ran down into a valley, where it made a lake three miles long, and three miles wide, and three miles deep.

"Did you see nothing in the pasture to-day?” said the old gentleman.

"Nothing worse than myself,” said Billy. "What about my wages now?”

"You are a good herd boy,” said the old gentleman, "and I can’t get along well without you, so I will give you whatever you ask.”

Next morning the old gentleman said to Billy, "I heard none of the giants roaring last night. I wonder what has happened to them?”

"Perhaps they are all dead,” said Billy.

"Well, good luck to the lad that killed them then,” said the old gentleman. "Now you must mind the cattle again to-day, Billy, while I go to see the fight.’’

‘‘What fight?” said Billy.

 

“The king’s daughter is going to be devoured by a fiery dragon, if somebody doesn’t kill it,” said the old gentleman. “The greatest fighter in the kingdom has been practicing for three months to get ready for the fight. If he can kill the dragon the king will give him the princess for his wife.”

Billy drove the three goats, the three cows, and the three horses, and the three donkeys to pasture. While they were feeding he watched the people go by. Never had he seen the like of it. They went in coaches and carriages, on horses and donkeys and oxen, and riding and running and walking.

“Why don’t you come to see the fight, my boy?” said a man who passed by.

“Would they let me in?” said Billy.

“Of course they would,” said the man. “Everybody is to have a seat.”

When they were all gone, Billy put on the old gentleman’s best suit and rode off to see the fight on the best horse in the stable.

At the king’s palace, Billy saw the king’s daughter with the whole court sitting around her on a high platform. Down below the great warrior, who was to fight the dragon, was walking up and down with three men to carry his sword. But when the fiery dragon came up roaring and spitting fire from every one of his twelve heads, the great warrior ran away and hid himself in a well, up to his mouth in water.

Then the princess began to weep and say, "Will nobody fight the dragon and save my life?"

Nobody stirred until Billy put his hide belt around his waist, waved his stick three times around his head, and after a terrible fight, killed the dragon.

Everybody ran to look at the dead dragon. While they were looking, Billy jumped upon his horse and was running away. Nobody noticed him but the princess. She caught his foot and tried to hold him, but he slipped away from her leaving his shoe in her hand.

Billy had changed his clothes and brought in all the cattle by the time the old gentleman got home. The old gentleman began at once to tell him about the great fight, how the warrior had hidden in the well, and how a handsome young man had come down out of the clouds on a black horse, killed the dragon, and flown up into the sky again. "Wasn't it wonderful?’’ said the old gentleman.

 

"Oh, very wonderful,” said Billy.

After that it was given out that all the young men in the kingdom should come to the king’s palace to try on the shoe. When the day came Billy was in the pasture as usual with the three cows, the three horses, the three goats, and the three donkeys.

Everybody called to him, "Aren't you going to try on the shoe?’
 

"They wouldn’t let the like of me try it on,” said Billy.

When the people had all passed by, there came a ragged man like a scarecrow, his clothes were so old. Billy stopped him and said, "How much boot will you take and trade clothes with me?”

 

"No jokes about my ragged clothes, or you may feel the weight of my stick,” said the ragged man.

But Billy let him know that he was in earnest. So they traded clothes and Billy gave the ragged man boot.

Billy started off to the palace with the ragged clothes on his back and a stick in his hand. When he got there everybody was crowding and pushing to get a chance to try the shoe on. But it fitted nobody.

Then Billy said, "Let me try it.” All the people laughed and shoved him back, because he was so ragged. But the princess told them to let him try on the shoe. Very soon they all quit laughing, for the shoe fitted Billy exactly.

So Billy married the princess and the wedding lasted nine days, and nine hours, and nine minutes, and nine seconds, and they lived happy for ever after.

Adapted from Seumas McManus

 

***

I don't like to say this is considered "an Irish Cinderella" until after I tell it. They certainly fit in a lot beyond the shoe fitting Billy. 

 

While telling Irish stories, why not try adding green food coloring to a vase of water? After the color is mixed into the water, place white flowers into the water. In minutes, the flowers will be transformed into vibrant, green flowers. 

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This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

 

MacManus (Klingensmith adaptation) - Billy Beg and His Bull - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

 

As March begins I'm already seeing decorations and people wearing green clothes, all are obviously celebrating Saint Patrick's Day on March 17.  I have a program coming up of Irish stories and went looking to see what I should tell. Of course I'm going to tell Olcott's "2 short stories about St. Patrick Driving Snakes Out of Ireland."  They are a lot of fun. I have a short tale of a leprechaun and his pot of gold. I also have an Irish tale of a piper and a mermaid I've told for a great many years. Putting them all together it still seemed short so I went to the Virginia Hamilton series that all begin "Favorite Fairy Tales Told in . . . " There on the cover was today's tale of "Billy Beg and His Bull." 

Something crazy is happening with Blogger's handling of images. At first I thought the problem was that the cover of the Haviland book is under copyright. It did the same with my attempt to show the cover of a picture book version, by Ellin Greene. There was an illustration in the Public Domain version of the tale by Sara Cone Bryant that was also rejected. However it also rejected a photo from Unsplash that was clearly available (although I would give credit to the photographer). Just as I was about to give up, I found a way to handle the Unsplash image.

The same happened with the story, but Archive.org let me highlight the text and copy it so that it is here below. 

It's a fairly long story and, while I had seen Ellin Greene's picture book of it ages ago, I had never read it. Maybe I hadn't, but people like Sara Cone Bryant and the sister team of Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith all told versions of the story originally found in the Irish anthology, In Chimney Corners, by Seumas MacManus. 

I looked at all their versions after learning the story from Haviland. There was always credit going back to MacManus. Seeing a little known book titled Just Stories by Annie Klingensmith had the story and called it's version of the story "Adapted", I looked at it, too. The adaptation is minor, but I liked it the best of all four of the versions. (It even called the queen's confederate a "witch" instead of a "hen wife" which doesn't work half as well for American listeners.) The repetition, which is so much a part of this story is still there, but somehow it feels a bit more manageable. Hamilton's copyrighted version takes out even a bit more repetition while still keeping some to maintain the Irish feeling.
 
Because the story is so long, I'm going to stop it at about the halfway point with the rest of the story continued next week. If you want to see the rest of the story online right now, the link to Just Stories has it all.

*** 

Billy Beg and His Bull

ONCE upon a time there were a king and queen who had one son called Billy Beg. The queen gave Billy a bull. Billy was very fond of the bull and the bull was very fond of Billy.

When Billy was grown to be a young man the queen died. With her last breath, she asked the king not to part Billy and his bull. The king promised, come what might, come what may, he never would.

After some time the king married again. The new queen did not like Billy and she liked his bull still less. She tried to get the king to kill the bull, but the king would not break his promise. So the queen went to a witch to ask what to do.

The witch said, "What will you give me to rid you of the bull?’

"Anything you ask,’’ said the queen. 

"Very well, then,” said the witch, "you take to your bed very ill, and call me for your nurse.”

So the queen took to her bed very ill, and the witch was called. When the king came in to see how the queen was, the witch said, There is only one thing that will save her life?” 

"What is that?” said the king. 

"Three mouthfuls of the blood of Billy Beg's bull" said the witch.

But the king would not hear of breaking his promise to Billy’s mother.

The queen grew worse and worse for three days, and then the king gave up and said the bull should be killed.

When Billy heard that his bull was to be killed he became very down-hearted, and went about looking very sad. The bull saw him and asked what was wrong. Billy told the bull what was wrong, and the bull said, "Cheer up. Do as I tell you, and the queen will never get any of my blood.”

The next day the bull was led up to be killed and Billy came and stood near him. "Jump on my back, Billy,” said the bull, and up Billy jumped.

With that the bull leaped nine miles high, nine miles deep, and nine miles broad, and came down with Billy sticking between his horns. Then away he rushed over the top of the queen and away he ran where you wouldn’t know night from day nor day from night, over high hills and low hills, sheep walks and bullock traces, the Cove of Cork, and old Tom Fox with his bugle horn.

At last they stopped. "Now Billy,” said the bull, ''put your hand into my left ear and take out a napkin you will find there. When you spread the napkin out. it will be covered with eating and drinking fit for a king."

Billy did as he was told. Sure enough, when he spread the napkin out, it was covered with eating and drinking fit for a king. Billy ate and drank and put the napkin back where he got it.

Then says the bull, "Put your hand into my right ear and you will find a stick. Wave the stick three times and it will be turned into a sword and give you the strength of a thousand men. When you have no need of a sword it will turn back into a stick again.”

Billy did as he was told. Then said the bull, "At twelve o’clock to-morrow, I shall have to meet and fight a great bull. So get on my back and let us be off.”

So Billy jumped on the bull’s back, and away went the bull, where you wouldn’t know night from day nor day from night, over high hills and low hills, sheep walks and bullock traces, the Cove of Cork, and old Tom Fox and his bugle horn. There he met the other bull and they fought, and such a fight was never seen before nor since. They knocked the soft ground into hard, and the hard into soft, the soft into spring wells, the spring wells into rocks, and the rocks into high hills.

They fought till Billy Beg’s bull killed the other. Then Billy took out the napkin and had a good dinner. After dinner the bull said to Billy, ‘‘Tomorrow at twelve o’clock, I have to meet the brother of the bull I have just killed. He is bigger than the other bull and I shall have a hard fight.”

So Billy got on the bull’s back again and the bull started off and away again where you wouldn’t know night from day nor day from night, over high hills and low hills, sheep walks and bullock traces, the Cove of Cork, and old Tom Fox with his bugle horn. There they met the brother of the bull that Billy’s bull had killed and they at it and fought.

The like of the fight was never seen before or since. They knocked the soft ground into hard and the hard into soft, the soft into spring wells, and the spring wells into rocks, and the rocks into high hills.

They fought long and hard and at last Billy’s bull killed the other bull. Then Billy ate and drank as before and the bull said, "Tomorrow I must meet and fight the brother of the two bulls I killed. He is stronger than the others and will kill me. When I am dead take the napkin and the stick with you. Then you will never be hungry, and with the stick you can overcome any thing you fight with. Cut a strip of my hide for a belt. As long as you wear the belt nothing can kill you.”

Billy was very sorry to hear that the bull would be killed but he got on his back and they started off and away where you wouldn’t know night from day nor day from night, over high hills and low hills, sheep walks and bullock traces, the Cove of Cork, and old Tom Fox with his bugle horn.

Sure enough, the next day at twelve, they met the great bull, and the two bulls at it and fought.

Such a fight was never seen before or since. They knocked the soft ground into hard, and the hard into soft, the soft into spring wells, the spring wells into rocks, and the rocks into high hills. They fought long, but at last the other bull killed Billy’s.

Billy was so sorry that he sat beside his bull two days without eating and cried all the time. Then he cut himself a belt of the bull’s hide and set off with the napkin and the stick to seek his fortune. After three days he came to a farm that belonged to an old gentleman.

***

The story now takes a major turn away from the bull, but using all the bull gave to Billy. 

To use a bit of Irish dialect: Sure and 'tis a fine story worth hearing it all. I had problems with the Blogger graphics. At first it seemed it might mean future posts are text only. If that happens it's still a story worth waiting to hear. It also might remove the illustrations in other stories, but storytelling is all about seeing the stories in your mind, so I hope this doesn't stop you finding stories worth telling.

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Croker - Rent Day - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

Top o' the Morning to you! . . . or whenever you may read this story celebrating St. Patrick's Day.

The 1844 edition of Thomas Crofton Croker's The Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland holds many delightful tales of the various unusual "people" found in the Emerald Isle. Many people visiting there go to  Killarney National Park near Killarney, County Kerry. Who knows? You may be visited by the spirit of O’Donoghue. Hopefully you won't be as desperate as Bill Doody when he met the  O’Donoghue.

Killarney National Park 

RENT-DAY.

“Oh ullagone, ullagone! this is a wide world, but what will we do in it, or where will we go?” muttered Bill Doody, as he sat on a rock by the Lake of Killarney. “What will we do? to-morrow’s rent-day, and Tim the Driver swears if we don’t pay up our rent, he’ll cant every ha’perth we have; and then, sure enough, there’s Judy and myself, and the poor little grawls,[33] will be turned out to starve on the high road, for the never a halfpenny of rent have I!—Oh hone, that ever I should live to see this day!”

Thus did Bill Doody bemoan his hard fate, pouring his sorrows to the reckless waves of the most beautiful of lakes, which seemed to mock his misery as they rejoiced beneath the cloudless sky of a May morning. That lake, glittering in sunshine, sprinkled with fairy isles of rock and verdure, and bounded by giant hills of ever-varying hues, might, with its magic beauty, charm all sadness but despair; for alas,

“How ill the scene that offers rest,
And heart that cannot rest, agree!”

Yet Bill Doody was not so desolate as he supposed; there was one listening to him he little thought of, and help was at hand from a quarter he could not have expected.

“What’s the matter with you, my poor man?” said a tall portly-looking gentleman, at the same time stepping out of a furze-brake. Now Bill was seated on a rock that commanded the view of a large field. Nothing in the field could be concealed from him, except this furze-brake, which grew in a hollow near the margin of the lake. He was, therefore, not a little surprised at the gentleman’s sudden appearance, and began to question whether the personage before him belonged to this world or not. He, however, soon mustered courage sufficient to tell him how his crops had failed, how some bad member had charmed away his butter, and how Tim the Driver threatened to turn him out of the farm if he didn’t pay up every penny of the rent by twelve o’clock next day.

“A sad story indeed,” said the stranger; “but surely, if you represented the case to your landlord’s agent, he won’t have the heart to turn you out.”

“Heart, your honour! where would an agent get a heart!” exclaimed Bill. “I see your honour does not know him: besides, he has an eye on the farm this long time for a fosterer of his own; so I expect no mercy at all at all, only to be turned out.”

“Take this, my poor fellow, take this,” said the stranger, pouring a purse-full of gold into Bill’s old hat, which in his grief he had flung on the ground. “Pay the fellow your rent, but I’ll take care it shall do him no good. I remember the time when things went otherwise in this country, when I would have hung up such a fellow in the twinkling of an eye!”

These words were lost upon Bill, who was insensible to every thing but the sight of the gold, and before he could unfix his gaze, and lift up his head to pour out his hundred thousand blessings, the stranger was gone. The bewildered peasant looked around in search of his benefactor, and at last he thought he saw him riding on a white horse a long way off on the lake.

“O’Donoghue, O’Donoghue!” shouted Bill; “the good, the blessed O’Donoghue!” and he ran capering like a madman to show Judy the gold, and to rejoice her heart with the prospect of wealth and happiness.

The next day Bill proceeded to the agent’s; not sneakingly, with his hat in his hand, his eyes fixed on the ground, and his knees bending under him; but bold and upright, like a man conscious of his independence.

“Why don’t you take off your hat, fellow; don’t you know you are speaking to a magistrate?” said the agent.

“I know I’m not speaking to the king, sir,” said Bill; “and I never takes off my hat but to them I can respect and love. The Eye that sees all knows I’ve no right either to respect or love an agent!”

“You scoundrel!” retorted the man in office, biting his lips with rage at such an unusual and unexpected opposition, “I’ll teach you how to be insolent again—I have the power, remember.”

“To the cost of the country, I know you have,” said Bill, who still remained with his head as firmly covered as if he was the lord Kingsale himself.

“But come,” said the magistrate; “have you got the money for me?—this is rent-day. If there’s one penny of it wanting, or the running gale that’s due, prepare to turn out before night, for you shall not remain another hour in possession.”

“There is your rent,” said Bill, with an unmoved expression of tone and countenance; “you’d better count it, and give me a receipt in full for the running gale and all.”

The agent gave a look of amazement at the gold; for it was gold—real guineas! and not bits of dirty ragged small notes, that are only fit to light one’s pipe with. However willing the agent may have been to ruin, as he thought, the unfortunate tenant, he took up the gold, and handed the receipt to Bill, who strutted off with it as proud as a cat of her whiskers.

The agent going to his desk shortly after, was confounded at beholding a heap of gingerbread cakes instead of the money he had deposited there. He raved and swore, but all to no purpose; the gold had become gingerbread cakes, just marked like the guineas, with the king’s head, and Bill had the receipt in his pocket; so he saw there was no use in saying any thing about the affair, as he would only get laughed at for his pains.

From that hour Bill Doody grew rich; all his undertakings prospered; and he often blesses the day that he met with O’Donoghue, the great prince that lives down under the lake of Killarney.

Like the butterfly, the spirit of O’Donoghue closely hovers over the perfume of the hills and flowers it loves; while, as the reflection of a star in the waters of a pure lake, to those who look not above, that glorious spirit is believed to dwell beneath.

[33] Children. 

Found this sweet photo on an email from author Victoria L.K. Williams. As a readership test, let me know if you see it.

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This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

 

Curtin - Shaking-Head - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

 "Mary Culhaine and the Dead Man" is at the top of my list of spooky tales to tell. A Public Domain version and a link to another version of it can be found by going to my earlier posts under the link of  Jeremiah Curtin . Curtin's version of "The Blood-Drawing Ghost' came from his Tales of the Fairies and Ghost World. That book is easiest found via the Internet Archive. This internet resource continues its battle to provide open access to millions of free books, movies, software, music, websites, and more in their legal fight against the publishing giants in Hachette v. Internet Archive. It and Project Gutenberg deserve our support to keep these online resources available.

Today's story is long and deserves to be better known as it comes from one of Curtin's best-loved collections, Myths and Folk Tales of Ireland. That link is to the Project Gutenberg version of the book, but if you want a printed copy, Dover Publications has long made it available. 

When I went to Project Gutenberg I found 23 books by Curtin. A dozen were his translations of Polish novels by Henryk Sienkiewicz and an additional two novels by Boleslaw Prus. This surprised me as I was only familiar with his Irish folklore. That initial link I gave to Wikipedia's article about Curtin shows Irish folklore was indeed important in his work (he visited Ireland five times on folklore collecting trips) and his background with Irish parents. What surprised me was he learned 70! languages. This began to explain his life's work including Native Americans such as his collections of tales by the Modocs and the Seneca, but also his Myths and Folk tales of the Russians, Western Slavs, and Magyrs. That and his 70 languages should be enough for several people, but "Wait there's more!" He also was  asked by his friend "President Theodore Roosevelt to serve at the peace conference in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, bringing an end to the Russo-Japanese War." 

With such a background the story of "Shaking-Head" is a traditional tale of a king's son out in the world to seek his fortune, but with a most unusual assistant, Shaking-Head. For those of us who love folklore, other familiar elements are part of that journey, adding to its pleasure

SHAKING-HEAD.

THERE was once a king of a province in Erin who had an only son. The king was very careful of this son, and sent him to school for good instruction.

The other three kings of provinces in Erin had three sons at the same school; and the three sent word by this one to his father, that if he didn't put his son to death they would put both father and son to death themselves.

When the young man came home with this word to his father and mother, they were grieved when they heard it. But the king's son said that he would go out into the world to seek his fortune, and settle the trouble in that way. So away he went, taking with him only five pounds in money for his support.

The young man travelled on till he came to a grave-yard, where he saw four men fighting over a coffin. Then he went up to the four, and saw that two of them were trying to put the coffin down into a grave, and the other two preventing them and keeping the coffin above ground. When the king's son came near the men, he asked: "Why do you fight in such a place as this, and why do you keep the coffin above ground?"

Two of the men answered, and said: "The body of our brother is in this coffin, and these two men won't let us bury it."

The other two then said: "We have a debt of five pounds on the dead man, and we won't let his body be buried till the debt is paid." The king's son said: "Do you let these men bury their brother, and I will pay what you ask."

Then the two let the brothers of the dead man bury him. The king's son paid the five pounds, and went away empty-handed, and, except the clothes on his back, he had no more than on the day he was born. After he had gone on his way awhile and the grave-yard was out of sight he turned and saw a sprightly red-haired man (fear ruadh) hurrying after him. When he came up, the stranger asked: "Don't you want a serving man?"

"I do not," answered the king's son, "I have nothing to support myself with, let alone a serving man."

"Well, never mind that," said the red-haired man; "I'll be with you wherever you go, whether you have anything or not."

"What is your name?" asked the king's son.

"Shaking-head," answered the red man.

When they had gone on a piece of the way together the king's son stopped and asked: "Where shall we be to-night?"

"We shall be in a giant's castle where there will be small welcome for us," said Shaking-head.

When evening came they found themselves in front of a castle. In they went and saw no one inside, only a tall old hag. But they were not long in the place till they heard a loud, rushing noise outside, and a blow on the castle. The giant came; and the first words he let out of his mouth were: "I'm glad to have an Erinach on my supper-table to eat to-night." Then turning to the two he said: "What brought you here this evening; what do you want in my castle?"

"All the champions and heroes of Erin are going to take your property from you and destroy yourself; we have come to warn you, and there is nobody to save you from them but us," said Shaking-head.

When the giant heard these words he changed his treatment entirely. He gave the king's son and Shaking-head a hearty welcome and a kindly greeting. When he understood the news they brought, he washed them with the tears of his eyes, dried them with kisses, and gave them a good supper and a soft bed that night.

Next morning the giant was up at an early hour, and he went to the bedside of each man and told him to rise and have breakfast. Shaking-head asked his reward of the giant for telling him of the champions of Erin and the danger he was in.

"Well," said the giant, "there's a pot of gold over there under my bed; take as much out of it as ever you wish, and welcome."

"It isn't gold I want for my service," said Shaking-head; "you have a gift which suits me better."

"What gift is that?" asked the giant.

"The light black steed in your stable."

"That's a gift I won't give you," said the giant, "for when any one comes to trouble or attack me, all I have to do is to throw my leg over that steed, and away he carries me out of sight of every enemy."

"Well," said Shaking-head, "if you don't give me that steed I'll bring all the kingdom of Erin against you, and you'll be destroyed with all you have."

The giant stopped a moment, and said: "I believe you'd do that thing, so you may take the steed." Then Shaking-head took the steed of the giant, gave him to the king's son, and away they went.

At sunset Shaking-head said: "We are near the castle of another giant, the next brother to the one who entertained us last night. He hasn't much welcome for us either; but he will treat us well when he is threatened."

The second giant was going to eat the king's son for supper, but when Shaking-head told him about the forces of Erin he changed his manner and entertained them well.

Next morning after breakfast, Shaking-head said: "You must give me a present for my services in warning you."

"There is a pot of gold under my bed," said the giant; "take all you want of it."

"I don't want your gold," said Shaking-head, "but you have a gift which suits me well."

"What is that?" asked the giant.

"The two-handed black sword that never fails a blow."

"You won't get that gift from me," said the giant; "and I can't spare it; for if a whole army were to come against me, as soon as I'd have my two hands on the hilt of that sword, I'd let no man near me without sweeping the head off him."

"Well," said Shaking-head, "I have been keeping back your enemies this long time; but I'll let them at you now, and I'll raise up more. I'll put the whole kingdom of Erin against you."

The giant stopped a moment, and said: "I believe you'd do that if it served you." So he took the sword off his belt and handed it to his guest. Shaking-head gave it to the king's son, who mounted his steed, and they both went away.

When they had gone some distance from the giant's castle Shaking-head said to the king's son, "Where shall we be to-night?—you have more knowledge than I." "Indeed then I have not," said the king's son; "I have no knowledge at all of where we are going; it is you who have the knowledge."

"Well," said Shaking-head, "we'll be at the third and youngest giant's castle to-night, and at first he'll treat us far worse and more harshly, but still we'll take this night's lodging of him, and a good gift in the morning."

Soon after sunset they came to the castle where they met the worst reception and the harshest they had found on the road. The giant was going to eat them both for supper; but when Shaking-head told him of the champions of Erin, he became as kind as his two brothers, and gave good entertainment to both.

Next morning after breakfast, Shaking-head asked for a present in return for his services.

"Do you see the pot of gold in the corner there under my bed?—take all you want and welcome," said the giant.

"It's not gold I want," said Shaking-head, "but the cloak of darkness."

"Oh," said the giant, "you'll not get that cloak of me, for I want it myself. If any man were to come against me, all I'd have to do would be to put that cloak on my shoulders, and no one in the world could see me, or know where I'd be."

"Well," said Shaking-head, "it's long enough that I am keeping your enemies away; and if you don't give me that cloak now I'll raise all the kingdom of Erin and still more forces to destroy you, and it's not long you'll last after they come."

The giant thought a moment, and then said: "I believe you'd do what you say. There's the black cloak hanging on the wall before you; take it."

Shaking-head took the cloak, and the two went away together, the king's son riding on the light black steed, and having the double-handed sword at his back. When out of sight of the giant, Shaking-head put on the cloak, and wasn't to be seen, and no other man could have been seen in his place. Then the king's son looked around, and began to call and search for his man,—he was lonely without him and grieved not to see him. Shaking-head, glad to see the affection of the king's son, took off the cloak and was at his side again.

"Where are we going now?" asked the king's son.

"We are going on a long journey to (Ri Chuil an Or) King Behind the Gold, to ask his daughter of him."

The two travelled on, till they came to the castle of King Behind the Gold. Then Shaking-head said: "Go in you, and ask his daughter of the king, and I'll stay here outside with the cloak on me." So he went in and spoke to the king, and the answer he got was this:—

"I am willing to give you my daughter, but you won't get her unless you do what she will ask of you. And I must tell you now that three hundred kings' sons, lacking one, have come to ask for my daughter, and in the garden behind my castle are three hundred iron spikes, and every spike of them but one is covered with the head of a king's son who couldn't do what my daughter wanted of him, and I'm greatly in dread that your own head will be put on the one spike that is left uncovered."

"Well," said the king's son, "I'll do my best to keep my head where it is at present."

"Stay here in my castle," said the king, "and you'll have good entertainment till we know can you do what will be asked of you." At night when the king's son was going to bed, the princess gave him a thimble, and said: "Have this for me in the morning."

He put the thimble on his finger; and she thought it could be easily taken away, if he would sleep. So she came to him in the night, with a drink, and said: "I give you this in hopes I'll gain more drink by you." He swallowed the liquor, and the princess went away with the empty cup. Then the king's son put the thimble in his mouth between his cheek and his teeth for safe keeping, and was soon asleep.

When the princess came to her own chamber, she struck her maid with a slat an draoichta (a rod of enchantment) and turned her into a rat; then she made such music of fifes and trumpets to sound throughout the castle, that every soul in it fell asleep. That minute, she sent the rat to where the king's son was sleeping, and the rat put her tail into the nostrils of the young man, tickled his nose so that he sneezed and blew the thimble out of his mouth. The rat caught it and ran away to the princess, who struck her with the rod of enchantment and turned her into a maid again.

Then the princess and the maid set out for the eastern world, taking the thimble with them. Shaking-head, who was watching with his cloak on, unseen by all, had seen everything, and now followed at their heels. In the eastern world, at the sea-side was a rock. The princess tapped it with her finger, and the rock opened; there was a great house inside, and in the house a giant. The princess greeted him and gave him the thimble, saying: "You're to keep this so no man can get it."

"Oh," said the giant, taking the thimble and throwing it aside, "you need have no fear; no man can find me in this place."

Shaking-head caught the thimble from the ground and put it in his pocket. When she had finished conversation with the giant, the princess kissed him, and hurried away. Shaking-head followed her step for step, till they came at break of day to the castle of King Behind the Gold. Shaking-head went to the king's son and asked: "Was anything given you to keep last night?"

"Yes, before I came to this chamber the princess gave me her thimble, and told me to have it for her in the morning."

"Have you it now?" asked Shaking-head.

"It is not in my mouth where I put it last night, it is not in the bed; I'm afraid my head is lost," said the king's son.

"Well, look at this," said Shaking-head, taking the thimble out of his pocket and giving it to him. "The whole kingdom is moving to-day to see your death. All the people have heard that you are here asking for the princess, and they think your head'll be put on the last spike in the garden, with the heads of the other kings' sons. Rise up now, mount your light black steed, ride to the summer-house of the princess and her father, and give her the thimble."

The king's son did as Shaking-head told him. When he gave up the thimble, the king said, "You have won one third of my daughter." But the princess was bitterly angry and vexed to the heart, that any man on earth should know that she had dealings with the giant; she cared more for that than anything else.

When the second day had passed, and the king's son was going to bed, the princess gave him a comb to keep, and said: "If you don't have this for me in the morning, your head will be put on the spike that's left in my father's garden."

The king's son took the comb with him, wrapped it in a handkerchief, and tied it to his head.

In the night the princess came with a draught which she gave him, and soon he was asleep. Going back to her own chamber, she struck the maid with her rod of enchantment, and made a great yellow cat of her. Then she caused such music of fifes and trumpets to sound throughout the castle that every soul was in a deep sleep before the music was over, and that moment she sent the cat to the chamber of the king's son. The cat worked the handkerchief off his head, took out the comb and ran with it to the princess, who turned her into a maid again.

The two set out for the eastern world straightway; but as they did, Shaking-head followed them in his cloak of darkness, till they came to the house of the giant in the great rock at the end of the road, at the sea. The princess gave the giant the comb, and said: "The thimble that I gave you to keep last night was taken from you, for the king's son in Erin brought it back to me this morning, and has done one third of the work of winning me, and I didn't expect you'd serve me in this way."

When the giant heard this, he was raging, and threw the comb into the sea behind him. Then with Druidic spells he raised thunder and lightning and wind. The sea was roaring with storm and rain; but the comb had not touched the water when Shaking-head caught it.

When her talk was over the princess gave the giant a kiss, and home she went with the maid; but Shaking-head followed them step by step.

In the morning Shaking-head went to the king's son, roused him, and asked: "What was your task last night?"

"The princess gave me a comb to have for her this morning," answered the king's son.

"Where is it now?" asked Shaking-head.

"Here on my head," said the king's son, putting up his hand to get it; but the comb was gone. "I'm done for now," said the king's son; "my head will be on the last spike to-day unless I have the comb for the princess."

"Here it is for you," said Shaking-head, taking the comb out of his pocket. "And now," said he, "the whole kingdom is coming to this castle to-day to see your head put on the last spike in the garden of King Behind the Gold, for all men think the same will happen to you that has happened to every king's son before you. Go up on your steed and ride to the summer-house where the king and his daughter are sitting, and give her the comb."

The king's son did as Shaking-head bade him. When he saw the comb the king said, "Now you have my daughter two-thirds won." But her face went from the princess entirely, she was so vexed that any man should know of her dealings with the giant.

The third night when he was going to bed the princess said to the king's son, "If you will not have at my father's castle to-morrow morning the head I will kiss to-night, you'll die to-morrow, and your own head will be put on the last spike in my father's garden." Later in the night she came to the bedside of the king's son with a draught, which he drank, and before she was back in her chamber, he slept. Then she made such music all over the castle that not a soul was awake when the music had ceased. That moment she hurried away with her maid to the eastern world; but Shaking-head followed her in his cloak of darkness. This time he carried with him the two-handed sword that never failed a blow.

When she came to the rock in the eastern world and entered the house of the giant, the princess said, "You let my two gifts go with the son of the king in Erin, and he'll have me won to-morrow if he'll have your head at my father's castle in the morning."

"Never fear," said the giant, "there is nothing in the world to take the head off me but the double-handed sword of darkness that never fails a blow, and that sword belongs to my brother in the western world."

The princess gave the giant a kiss at parting; and as she hurried away with her maid the giant turned to look at her. His head was covered with an iron cap; but as he looked he laid bare a thin strip of his neck. Shaking-head was there near him, and said in his mind: "Your brother's sword has never been so close to your neck before;" and with one blow he swept the head off him. Then began the greatest struggle that Shaking-head ever had, to keep the head from the body of the giant. The head fought to put itself on again, and never stopped till the body was dead; then it fell to the ground. Shaking-head seized, but couldn't stir the head,—couldn't move it from its place. Then he searched all around it and found a (bar an suan) pin of slumber near the ear. When he took the pin away he had no trouble in carrying the head; and he made no delay but came to the castle at daybreak, and threw the head to a herd of pigs that belonged to the king. Then he went to the king's son, and asked:

"What happened to you last night?"

"The princess came to me, and said that if I wouldn't bring to her father's castle this morning the head she was to kiss last night, my own head would be on the last spike to-day."

"Come out with me now to the pigs," said Shaking-head.

The two went out, and Shaking-head said: "Go in among the pigs, and take the head with you to the king; and a strange head it is to put before a king."

So the king's son went on his steed to the summer-house, and gave the head to the king and his daughter, and turning to the princess, said:

"This is the head you kissed last night, and it's not a nice looking head either."

"You have my daughter won now entirely," said the king, "and she is yours. And do you take that head to the great dark hole that is out there on one side of my castle grounds, and throw it down."

The king's son mounted his steed, and rode off with the head till he came to the hole going deep into the earth. When he let down the head it went to the bottom with such a roaring and such a noise that every mare and cow and every beast in the whole kingdom cast its young, such was the terror that was caused by the noise of the head in going to the bottom of the hole.

When the head was put away the king's son went back to the castle, and married the daughter of King Behind the Gold. The wedding lasted nine days and nights, and the last night was better than the first.

When the wedding was over Shaking-head went to the king, and said: "You have provided no fortune for your daughter, and it is but right that you should remember her."

"I have plenty of gold and silver to give her," said the king.

"It isn't gold and silver that your son-in-law wants, but men to stand against his enemies, when they come on him."

"I have more treasures than men," said King Behind the Gold; "but I won't see my daughter conquered for want of an army."

They were satisfied with the king's word, and next day took the road to Erin, and kept on their way till they came opposite the grave-yard. Then Shaking-head said to the king's son: "You are no good, you have never told me a story since the first day I saw you."

"I have but one story to tell you, except what happened since we met."

"Well, tell me what happened before we met."

"I was passing this place before I saw you," said the king's son, "and four men were fighting over a coffin. I spoke to them, and two of them said they were burying the body of their brother which was in the coffin, and the others said the dead man owed them five pounds, and they wouldn't let the coffin into the ground until they got the money. I paid five pounds and the body was buried."

"It was my body was in the coffin," said Shaking-head, "and I came back into this world to do you a good turn; and now I am going, and you'll never see me again unless trouble is on you."

Shaking-head disappeared, and the king's son went home. He wasn't with his father long till the other three kings' sons heard he had come back to Erin with the daughter of King Behind the Gold. They sent word, saying: "We'll take the head off you now, and put an end to your father and yourself."

The king's son went out to walk alone, and as he was lamenting the fate he had brought on his father, who should come along to meet him but Shaking-head.

"What trouble is on you now?" asked he.

"Oh, three kings' sons are coming with their fleets and armies to destroy my father and myself, and what can we do with our one fleet and one army?"

"Well," said Shaking-head, "I'll settle that for you without delay." Then he sent a message straight to King Behind the Gold, who gave a fleet and an army, and they came to Erin so quickly that they were at the castle before the forces of the three kings' sons. And when the three came the battle began on sea and land at both sides of the castle.

The three fleets of the three kings' sons were sunk, their armies destroyed, and the three heads taken off themselves. When the battle was over and the country safe the king resigned the castle and power to his son, and the son of a king in a province became king over all the land of Erin.

******

Shades of the Dancing Princesses and more! While I doubt that prince would have kept his own head and succeeded on his own, this Irish version has some interesting variations on the theme, including that body in the coffin.

*****************

Today's story has been so long and I've so often closed with a standard introduction and list of online storytelling resources, that I'll merely add that introduction and leave it to you to find the rest at my other "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" posts.

This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, "Keeping the Public in Public Domain."  The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated.  I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20th century.  My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them.  I hope you enjoy discovering new stories.  

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

Olcott - 2 Short Stories About St. Patrick Driving Snakes Out Of Ireleand

Sunday is St. Patrick's Day and wouldn't you know it, at almost the last minute I was asked to substitute for another storyteller who was supposed to do the program, "but her daughter had a baby so she is preoccupied!"  I've never kissed the Blarney Stone, but how could I refuse?!?  

I thought and looked at my stories and story collections and am sure we'll have lots of fun with the stories I have chosen.  Of course I must include some stories in honor of the good saint telling how it is said he drove all the snakes out of Ireland.  I found two inter-related stories in The Wonder Garden; Nature Myths and Tales...  Frances Jenkins Olcott's book is perfect just as the calendar claims spring is coming near on March 19.  Whether the weather is springlike or not, I hope you enjoy these tales of how St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland.  Oh I'm talking reptiles, so don't take this as a political comment!

 

 

 

You can Google "St. Patrick +snakes images" or go to Pinterest which has lots of images for "driving the snakes out of Ireland", but what I like best is the card from NobleWorksCards.com with this cartoon by Dave Blazek

It's too late to order them for this year, but prowl their site.  I guarantee you will laugh and want some of their cards unless you're as mean as a snake.  (Even their message on their phone is funny!  Call it.)

If you are thinking ahead to future years, I also recommend this lesson plan I found on Pinterest by Keri Logan using the book, The Last Snake in Ireland by Sheila MacGill-Callahan with humorous illustrations of the battle by Will Hillenbrand for what Logan calls a stART (story + ART) lesson.

As the old Irish Blessing goes: May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be always at your back.  May the sun shine warm upon your face, the rains fall soft upon your fields.  And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Of course that's Public Domain and may we add to that keep reading and telling stories from all over!

*****************************

This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, "Keeping the Public in Public Domain."  The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated.  I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20th century.  My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them.  I hope you enjoy discovering new stories.  

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

Other Public Domain story resources I recommend-

• There are many online resources for Public Domain stories, maybe none for folklore is as ambitious as fellow storyteller, Yoel Perez's database, Yashpeh, the International Folktales Collection.  I have long recommended it and continue to do so.  He has loaded Stith Thompson's Motif Index into his server as a database so you can search the whole 6 volumes for whatever word or expression you like by pressing one key. http://folkmasa.org/motiv/motif.htm

• You may have noticed I'm no longer certain Dr. Perez has the largest database, although his offering the Motif Index certainly qualifies for those of us seeking specific types of stories.  There's another site, FairyTalez claiming to be the largest, with "over 2000 fairy tales, folktales, and fables" and they are "fully optimized for phones, tablets, and PCs", free and presented without ads.
  Between those two sites, there is much for story-lovers, but as they say in infomercials, "Wait, there's more!"

The email list for storytellers, Storytell, discussed Online Story Sources and came up with these additional suggestions:        

         - David K. Brown - http://people.ucalgary.ca/~dkbrown/stories.html

         - Karen Chace - http://karenchace.blogspot.com/search?q=public+domain

         - Richard Martin - http://www.tellatale.eu/tales_page.html

         - Spirit of Trees - http://spiritoftrees.org/featured-folktales

         - Story-Lovers - http://www.story-lovers.com/ is now only accessible through the Wayback Machine, described below, but the late Jackie Baldwin's wonderful site lives on there, fully searchable manually (the Google search doesn't work), at https://archive.org/ .  It's not easy, but go to Story-lovers.com snapshot for December 22 2016  and you can click on SOS: Searching Out Stories to scroll down through the many story topics and click on the story topic that interests you.

       - Tim Sheppard - http://www.timsheppard.co.uk/story/storylinks.html

       - World of Tales - http://www.worldoftales.com/ 

 
           - Zalka Csenge Virag - http://multicoloreddiary.blogspot.com doesn't give the actual stories, but her recommendations, working her way through each country on a continent, give excellent ideas for finding new books and stories to love and tell.

     
You're going to find many of the links on these sites have gone down, BUT go to the Internet Archive Wayback Machine to find some of these old links.  Tim's site, for example, is so huge probably updating it would be a full-time job.  In the case of Story-Lovers, it's great that Jackie Baldwin set it up to stay online as long as it did after she could no longer maintain it.  Possibly searches maintained it.  Unfortunately Storytell list member, Papa Joe is on both Tim Sheppard's site and Story-Lovers, but he no longer maintains his old Papa Joe's Traveling Storytelling Show website and his Library (something you want to see!) is now only on the Wayback Machine.  It took some patience working back through claims of snapshots but finally in December of 2006 it appears!

Somebody as of this writing whose stories can still be found by his website is the late Chuck Larkin - http://chucklarkin.com/stories.html.  I prefer to list these sites by their complete address so they can be found by the Wayback Machine, a.k.a. Archive.org, when that becomes the only way to find them.

You can see why I recommend these to you. 

Have fun discovering even more stories

 

Larkin - Mary Culhaine - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

from Crosscards.com in the category of "Oops and sorry"

That cat should be all black for Halloween, but his face and paw photograph so much better on a "tuxedo" cat ... consider it the costume for a black cat.  As for me, I truly am embarrassed.  I often work ahead on my blog posts and last week accidentally posted the start of this week's posting of Chuck Larkin's version of my favorite spooky tale, "Mary Culhaine and the Dead Man."  I wouldn't have even realized it if it wasn't for a loyal reader, friend and mentor, Joseph Gaudet, better known as Papa Joe.

He said: I think I'll try putting Darth's voice into one of my Tales this week and see if the kid was right. BTW, in the version of Mary Culhaine I tell, the corpse only makes a slice in a finger of each of the boys. Even still, it's pretty horrifying.

That alerted me there must be a way he saw it.  YIKES!  Well it was complete except for my actually giving the story.  I gave this link, but here is that story as Chuck told it, along with his comments on why he made the choices he did.  I added breaks to the paragraphs for easier reading, but there are also page breaks I'm unable to eliminate.

Mary Culhaine

(Chuck noted this:)
A few years back a school board religious fuss over
this story resulted in a need for a script. I found that both
the Folktellers and Carol Birch had a manuscript version
available from National Storytelling Association (NSA) on
audio cassettes based on a published version from the
early ’70s.
One will note that the dialogue between the characters
returning to the grave yard in the published version is in an
illogical reverse order. Logically the Cadaver asks the ques-
tions and Mary answers. I have included the Bible with holy
water in order to upgrade to southern USA culture (our Bible
thumping kids do not know “Holy Water”). The substitution
of dirty water in some variations also is not logical.
Manuscript variants can be found titled “Mary Culhane
and the Dead Man” in The Goblins Giggle, by Molly Bang
and “The Blood Drawing Ghost” in Robert D. San Souci’s
collection “Even More Short and Shivery.” I have also lis-
tened to a version told by a storyteller from Belfast, Ireland
and this old Irish legend has many variations as the story
involved teenagers and was quite different.

***
Jim Culhaine was walking home during the long shad-
ows of the late afternoon. He was swinging his blackthorn
walking stick, feeling good. Jim had been drinking with his
friends and was a bit late for supper. He decided to take
a short cut through the cemetery. Just as he was about
to step over the wall to the woods path he noticed a fresh
opened grave! “Ah, now that’s a bit strange I wonder why
the new grave? No one in Carlisle has died or I would have
heard about the wake.” As Jim stood there thinking he
heard a strange groaning sound from the open grave. The
noise startled him! He gave a jump, dropped his blackthorn
walking stick, turned and leaped over the wall. Jim being
a bit skittish quickly went through the woods path and the
streets to his house.

The family was already seated at the dinner table. As
Jim sat down he said, “ah, I dropped my walking stick!” His
daughter Mary Culhaine, who was about 18 years old at
the time said, “Daddy where did you drop it?” “I remember
something startled me as I was crossing the graveyard and
I dropped it just inside of the wall by the woods path. I’ll
fetch it in the morning.” “Daddy I’ll fetch it for you now.”
Before any body could stop her Mary was up and running
out the door. She ran down the street through the woods
path and hopped over the wall. It was now dusk. In the
darkness she could still see the long slender black walking
stick in the grass.

As Mary was bending over to pick up the stick when
she heard. “Mary, Mary Culhaine, come over here and help

me out of this grave.” Mary started to turn and head for the
wall but she found she could not move. A force held her
and she found herself standing and turning. Slowly, strug-
gling she was being forced to walk toward a gaping hole
of an open grave which looked like a deeper blackness on
the dark ground. “Mary reach down here and help me up
out of this grave.” Mary found herself kneeling down on the
side of the grave and then her hand on its’ own began to
reach down into the darkness. Something cold and clam-
my grabbed hold of her hand and began pulling itself up
out of the grave. The creature next climbed onto her back,
wrapped its’ arms around her neck and legs around her
waist. “All right Mary stand up and take me into the town.”
Mary found herself slowly standing and with the creature
holding and ridding her piggy back turned and crossed the
graveyard wall.

Mary left the woods path and started walking down
the street. As she was passing the first house the creature
said, “Mary stop here.” “Sniff, sniff, sniff. Keep going to
the next house Mary.” Mary found herself being stopped
at each house while the creature sniffed the air. When they
reached the corner the creature lifted one arm and pointed.
“Mary turn that way.” In the moonlight Mary could see the
outstretched arm. She could see where the flesh had rot-
ted off the bones and parts of the creature’s skeleton were
visible, plus it smelt pretty bad! “What is it you are smelling
for?” “Mary I am smelling each house looking for a house
without any holy water or Bibles in it. Keep moving. Stop
here, sniff, sniff, sniff. Now the next house.”

House after house they stopped and the creature, an
old dead cadaver sniffed the air. Finely the creature said,
“ah Mary here is a house with no holy water or Bibles. We
will go in here.” Mary looked up at the house in the moon-
light and recognized the Finnagin home. She knew that
there were three teenage boys upstairs sleeping in the front
bedroom and there parents were sleeping in the upstairs
back bedroom. “I don’t want to go in their home, we will
wake them up!” “No one wakes up Mary when we go into
their homes. Now do it.” Mary tried to resist but the crea-
tures power was too strong and they entered the house.
“Take me into the kitchen Mary.”

When they reached the kitchen the cadaver slipped
off Mary’s back and sat on a chair by the kitchen table.
“Mary fi x me two bowls of oatmeal.” Mary went over to the
old wood stove and opened it up. She placed some kin-
dling wood on the banked coals and blew softly to restart
the fire. Next she placed in some firewood and closed the
stove. Mary opened the cupboard and found the oatmeal.
She pored water into a pot, placed the pot on the stove and
stirred in the oatmeal. “Mary pick up that bowl and come

over here.” The creature again climbed piggy back on
Mary. “Now Mary go upstairs and into the bathroom. Pick
up that razor and go into the boy’s room.” “I don’t want to
go into the boy’s room!” “Do what I say!”

As Mary was forced to turn to walk into the boy’s room
the door opened slowly in front of her. “Mary take the razor
and cut that boy’s finger and catch the blood in the bowl.”
“I don’t want to do that!” “Do it!” Mary had no control over
her body and as her hand reached down with the razor and
cut the tip of the boy’s finger, her other hand with the bowl
caught the blood. Not much blood came from the boy’s
finger. Less than an ounce when the boy’s finger stopped
bleeding and the boy stopped breathing. “Now Mary get
some blood from each of the other boys.” Mary noticed
when she was done that all three boys had stopped breath-
ing. “Mary put the razor back into the bathroom and then
go back into the kitchen. When they got back into the
kitchen the creature again slipped off of Mary’s back into
the chair. “Mary mix the blood into the oatmeal and serve it
to me in two bowls.” Mary stirred the blood into the cooked
oatmeal and pored it into two bowl and placed the bowls
and a spoon before the creature.

The creature pushed one bowl across the table, “you
eat that bowl Mary.” “I don’t want to eat any bloody oat-
meal” “Do it. Mary’s hand picked up another spoon, sat
down and her hand dipped the spoon into the bloody
oatmeal and started moving the spoon toward her mouth.
Mary struggled as hard as she could and just as the spoon
reached her chin she was able to turn her shaking hand
over and spilled the oatmeal into her neck kerchief. She
looked at the creature but it was looking down at its’ own
bowl. Mary was able to finish first and drop each spoonful
into her kerchief without being caught. “All right Mary clean
up everything so nobody knows we were in this house.”
Mary cleaned the bowls, spoons and the pot and banked
the fi re. As she was returning things to the cupboard she
was able to slip the kerchief off from around her head and
hide it behind a stack of dishes without being seen. “I’m
done.” “Then let’s leave now.”

The creature again climbed on Mary’s back and they
went out the front door. “Are those boy’s dead?” “They
might as well be Mary only some of that bloody oatmeal
on their lips would bring them back to life again. He, he, he
we ate it all. Say Mary do you see that pile of rocks over
there in that empty field?” “Yes,” “What do you call that
field Mary?” “We call that the haunted field no one goes in
that field.” “Oh that is funny Mary, he, he, he that field is not
haunted Mary we just got people thinking that. We keep our
gold and silver in that field under those rocks.” “Why did you
tell me that I don’t want to know that?” “Because you are
going back into the grave with me Mary and live under the

ground.” “I don’t want to do that!” “You’re going to Mary.”
URRACH “What was that sound Mary?” “I don’t know it
sounded like a baby lamb bleating for its’ mother.” “Well,
lets hurry to the graveyard Mary.” As they were walking
through the graveyard again they heard URRACH. “What
was that Mary?” “Well, it sounded like an old hoot owl.”
“Hurry Mary into the graveyard. Stop resisting me!” Mary
did all she could to keep from moving forward but the crea-
tures power was too much. She stepped across the stone
wall and tried everything she could to keep away from that
open grave. She found herself kneeling down on her hands
and knees as the creature slid off her body into the grave.
The suddenly again the sound UR UR UR URACH. “Mary
you lied to me those sounds were the rooster crowing. You
lied to me, get down here in this grave.” But Mary knew that
when the Rooster crows for the third time the first beam
of morning sunlight was rushing over the trees and hit the
graveyard. Immediately the creatures power started to drop
off of her. Mary held on until she was able to break free and
roll over away from the grave. She picked up her daddy’s
walking stick and ran home. Mary placed the blackthorn
walking stick by the front door and went up to bed.

About ten o’clock Mary’s mother woke her up. “Mary
I’ve terrible news. The Finnagin boys have died in their
sleep and we are having the wake.” “Momma I’ve been
up all night I’ll be over later.” Mary got up about two in the
afternoon and went over to the Finnagin’s home. When the
Irish die they have a party we call a wake. People do cry
but they are the Keeners not everybody. In fact Father Kelly
was doing his magic tricks when Mary arrived.

Mary went up to Mrs. Finnagin. “Ah Ms. Finnagin I’m
sad for your loss but may I ask you a question?” “Sure
you can Mary, what can I do for you?” “Ms. Finnagin don’t
you own that old piece of rocky land they call the haunted
field?” “Yes, I do Mary why do you ask about that now at
the wake?” “Well, Ms. Finnagin if you will give me that wee
piece of land I can bring your three boys back to life, I can,
I can!” “Oh Mary if you can, the haunted field is yours.”
Well, the village attorney was at the wake and she drew up
the necessary papers to transfer ownership of the land to
Mary. Then Mary chased everybody out of the house and
retrieved that kerchief with the bloody oatmeal from behind
the dishes. She carried it upstairs and put some on each of
the boys lips and they started breathing at once. Within five
minutes they were sitting up feeling good and did not know
anything was wrong.

Mary hired some young men to move that pile of rocks
and found a catch of gold and silver coins that were worth
more to the museums then the value of the gold and silver.
Mary built a huge white house with pillars holding up the
front roof. And inside by every door is a box nailed to the

wall that has a small vial of holy water and a Bible. This
story took place in western Ireland close to three hundred
years ago. Since the Storytelling renaissance began in 1970
so many Storytellers have told this story that the village of
Carlisle has not only remodeled the Mary Culhaine home
but the Holiday Inn has built a motel in Carlisle to handle
the tourist from all over the world. When you visit Carlisle
you will find that every building even the barns have boxes
next to the doors with bottles of holy water and a Bible.
I’ve been told that every motel room has a box with a glass
front so you can see the vial of holy water and the enclosed
Gideon Bible.

***

Chuck doesn't credit Curtin, but merely calls it "A traditional Irish tale collected and adapted by Chuck Larkin"  For another personal version, I let Mary be especially fond of the youngest boy, who is her own age.  After becoming rich from the buried treasure she marries him.

That's the story and I'm happy to share it with anyone who loves a bloody, spooky story.

****************** Here's my standard message for "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" about finding stories online (including about Chuck Larkin's website) 

This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, "Keeping the Public in Public Domain."  The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated.  I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20th century.  My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them.  I hope you enjoy discovering new stories.  

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

Other Public Domain story resources I recommend-

• There are many online resources for Public Domain stories, maybe none for folklore is as ambitious as fellow storyteller, Yoel Perez's database, Yashpeh, the International Folktales Collection.  I have long recommended it and continue to do so.  He has loaded Stith Thompson's Motif Index into his server as a database so you can search the whole 6 volumes for whatever word or expression you like by pressing one key. http://folkmasa.org/motiv/motif.htm

• You may have noticed I'm no longer certain Dr. Perez has the largest database, although his offering the Motif Index certainly qualifies for those of us seeking specific types of stories.  There's another site, FairyTalez claiming to be the largest, with "over 2000 fairy tales, folktales, and fables" and they are "fully optimized for phones, tablets, and PCs", free and presented without ads.
  Between those two sites, there is much for story-lovers, but as they say in infomercials, "Wait, there's more!"

The email list for storytellers, Storytell, discussed Online Story Sources and came up with these additional suggestions:        

         - David K. Brown - http://people.ucalgary.ca/~dkbrown/stories.html

         - Karen Chace - http://karenchace.blogspot.com/search?q=public+domain

         - Richard Martin - http://www.tellatale.eu/tales_page.html

         - Spirit of Trees - http://spiritoftrees.org/featured-folktales

         - Story-Lovers - http://www.story-lovers.com/ is now only accessible through the Wayback Machine, described below, but the late Jackie Baldwin's wonderful site lives on there, fully searchable manually (the Google search doesn't work), at https://archive.org/ .  It's not easy, but go to Story-lovers.com snapshot for December 22 2016  and you can click on SOS: Searching Out Stories to scroll down through the many story topics and click on the story topic that interests you.

       - Tim Sheppard - http://www.timsheppard.co.uk/story/storylinks.html

       - World of Tales - http://www.worldoftales.com/ 

 
           - Zalka Csenge Virag - http://multicoloreddiary.blogspot.com doesn't give the actual stories, but her recommendations, working her way through each country on a continent, give excellent ideas for finding new books and stories to love and tell.

     
You're going to find many of the links on these sites have gone down, BUT go to the Internet Archive Wayback Machine to find some of these old links.  Tim's site, for example, is so huge probably updating it would be a full-time job.  In the case of Story-Lovers, it's great that Jackie Baldwin set it up to stay online as long as it did after she could no longer maintain it.  Possibly searches maintained it.  Unfortunately Storytell list member, Papa Joe is on both Tim Sheppard's site and Story-Lovers, but he no longer maintains his old Papa Joe's Traveling Storytelling Show website and his Library (something you want to see!) is now only on the Wayback Machine.  It took some patience working back through claims of snapshots but finally in December of 2006 it appears!

Somebody as of this writing whose stories can still be found by his website is the late Chuck Larkin - http://chucklarkin.com/stories.html.  I prefer to list these sites by their complete address so they can be found by the Wayback Machine, a.k.a. Archive.org, when that becomes the only way to find them.

You can see why I recommend these to you. 

Have fun discovering even more stories