A Bewitched Land E-Book

Robert, Dr. Curran

• Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
• Kategorie: Ratgeber
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

Witch trials in the European or American sense were not common in Ireland although they did occur. In this book the stories of four remarkable court cases that took place from the fourteenth to the nineteenth century are told; other chapters chronicle the extraordinary lives of individuals deemed to be practitioners of the black arts – hedge witches, sorcerers and sinister characters. The book gives a unique insight into the fascinating overlap between witch belief and the vast range of fairy lore that held sway for many centuries throughout the land.

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

Title Page

Introduction

WITCHCRAFT TRIALS IN IRELAND

Dame Alice Kyteler

THE KILKENNY SORCERESS (1324)

Florence Newton

THE WITCH OF YOUGHAL (1661)

The Islandmagee Witches

THE DEVIL’S COVEN IN EAST ANTRIM (1711)

Bridget Cleary

‘THE CLONMEL WITCH BURNING’ (1895)

HEDGE WITCHES AND WISE WOMEN

Biddy Early

THE WISE WOMAN OF CLARE

Moll Anthony

THE WITCH OF THE RED HILLS

SORCERERS AND SINISTER CHARACTERS

Alexander Colville

THE DEVIL DOCTOR

Some Minor Irish Witches and Wizards

About the Author

Copyright

Introduction

‘To the Catholics their fairies and the Protestants their witches’ ran an old saying in the north of Ireland at one time. This would, on the face of it, suggest that Ireland was fairly rife with instances of witchcraft and that it occurred in largely Protestant areas of the country. This is not wholly true. In fact, according to the records, there appear to have been very few formal cases of witchcraft in Ireland. Compared with areas such as Essex in England, the recorded material regarding witchcraft trials is very scarce indeed.

This, of course, does not mean that there was no witchcraft in Ireland. It could mean one of two things – first, that evidence concerning instances of witchcraft and trials of alleged witches has been lost or (more likely) that few formal instances of witchcraft were ever brought to trial in Ireland. Witchcraft certainly existed throughout the country but, one suspects, it was regarded quite differently than it was in England or Scotland.

Under the laws of both Church and State, witchcraft was viewed in different ways, depending upon the country concerned. In England, for example, it was viewed as maleficium (evil doing), a crime against society, and was therefore treated as a felony under the civil law. Historians such as Keith Thomas in his seminal book on English witchcraft, Religion and the Decline of Magic, and Alan MacFarlane in his Witchcraft in Tudor and Stuart England have shown how English witchcraft was firmly rooted in social disputes, individual envy, communal injustices and interpersonal dislike, coupled with a changing social ethos. The idea of witchcraft seemed to spring from spite and hatred of one’s neighbours – an ill-wishing, as it were, against those who were socially better or socially different – and English law reflected such thinking: few alleged English witches were burned, all were hanged, the traditional punishment for a felony.

On the Continent and in Scotland, however, the position was very different. Here, the notion of witchcraft was fundamentally religious and involved the complicity of Satan, the Evil One, the Enemy of All Mankind. In return for earthly powers, witches were considered to have thrown in their lot with diabolical forces – usually at the expense of their immortal souls – and had turned upon the servants and followers of Christ. In doing so, they had completely renounced Christ’s salvation and had rejected His love. They were beyond help and would ultimately burn in the fires of Hell. Under Continental law, then, witchcraft was heresy – an offence against both the laws of Man and the laws of God – and those who practised it were to be burned. The Continental view made its way to Scotland with Protestant clerics and Reformers such as George Wishart and John Knox around the end of the 1500s. Scotland became one of the very few parts of the British Isles where old women were placed on blazing tar barrels or burnt at the stake in town and village squares. Ireland, it would appear, was curiously oblivious to all this and stood apart from the witch-persecutions which sporadically afflicted its neighbours. Or did it?

What particular form of behaviour constituted witchcraft? What set the alleged witch apart from his or her community? And did this sort of behaviour appear in Ireland? As with England and Scotland, the answer lay in the context of local community relations.

There is some evidence to suggest that both versions of the witch-belief – English and Continental – prevailed in Ireland as well. In many parts of the countryside there were people (mainly women) who displayed both skills and knowledge which were considered to be beyond the capabilities of ordinary mortals. Such people may have had a knowledge of herblore, a way with livestock or a highly intuitive ability to foretell the future. However, although these ‘powers’ were usually acknowledged as being supernatural, such people were not necessarily deemed to be witches – rather they were referred to as ‘wise women’ or ‘fairy doctors’ by their community. Indeed, they were regarded as integral members of society – often acting as doctors and midwives in areas where no formal medicine existed or as ‘advisors’ in the years before a communal counselling service came into being. Nevertheless, it was generally agreed that because of their alleged powers, it was unwise to cross them and that some misfortune would ensue if the wise woman or fairy doctor ‘took against’ a person. Farmers knew that if they spoke rudely to some old woman living alone on the edge of their property or if they refused her charity, their crops could fail, their cattle might fall ill, or worse – a member of their family might die. Such people were to be treated with respect.

In many cases, a reputation like this was sometimes the only way in which the old or the particularly vulnerable could obtain any sort of status in their communities. In a chauvinistic rural society, a widow woman, perhaps with no man to provide for her or to look after her, was especially susceptible to hardship. However, if the other members of the community feared her, they would treat her with caution and provide for her when she asked. Thus, as elsewhere, vulnerable people encouraged such beliefs about themselves by deliberately adopting and developing eccentric and independent ways. For women this was especially easy. Many male-dominated communities demanded certain behaviour patterns from the women in their midst. These were enforced by another male-dominated organisation – the Church. Therefore, it was not hard for independent women to outrage the forces of social morality by behaving in non-acceptable ways. And the way in which some women did this was to behave like a man – thus some women smoked, drank to excess and played cards, just like their male counterparts. Such behaviour drew attention to them and through it they acquired a reputation. If this behaviour was linked to alleged supernatural powers, then the person in question was deemed to be a ‘wise woman’ or in some other cases ‘touched by the fairies’. From their pulpits, the clergy denounced such people – women especially – as being outside the Church and ‘in dire need of salvation’.

It was a small step in certain localities from such denunciations of outlandish behaviour towards what might be described as a more ‘Continental’ viewpoint. Such women were not only flouting the Church and its teachings, they were deliberately courting the Devil and his minions. The north of Ireland, in particular, had been strongly influenced by Calvinistic Protestant doctrines introduced by Scottish settlers during the Ulster Plantation. In areas steeped in such a strict religious view, the Devil was everywhere, seeking through his agents to lead God’s people astray or to do them harm. What better way to do so than to enlist the help of such eccentric women and mould them for his own purposes by offering them earthly power and status? Thus the fiercely independent man or woman with his or her ‘arcane’ knowledge and odd ways became an instrument of the Evil One and those who consulted them were placing their immortal souls in terrible danger. At least, so ran Church teaching. Nevertheless, in many instances, the so-called witches continued to enjoy both status and reputation in their specific communities. Those who were forbidden by the authorities to consult them often did so secretly, adding to the air of sinister mystery which surrounded these local practitioners. And the Church continued to fume and fulminate against them.

Occasionally such accusations did spill over into formal trials. These occurred particularly in areas of Ireland that had become heavily Anglicised – places like Youghal in County Cork or Carrickfergus in County Antrim – and may have reflected a more ‘English’ view of the matter. The case of Florence Newton, for example, with its curses and witchfinders, reflects many of the characteristics of English witchcraft cases recorded in places such as Essex. But there were Continental influences in some of the trials too, especially in areas that had been settled by those espousing religious doctrines derived from Continental Calvinism, most notably the Presbyterians of Ulster. It is interesting to note that at least one witchcraft trial in the north of Ireland – the Islandmagee case in the early eighteenth century – bears all the hallmarks of the Salem experience in 1692, which occurred in a New England community heavily influenced by Calvinist beliefs.

In the rural Irish countryside, however, the wise women and fairy doctors continued to ply their trade undeterred. Local figures such as Biddy Early in Clare and Moll Anthony in Kildare continued to give out cures, love potions and curses, just as they’d always done and although a number of Witchcraft Acts were passed in England, supposedly to limit the influence of such practitioners, in rural Ireland they seem to have had little effect. Moreover, many of these alleged ‘witches’ were steadily acquiring a reputation far beyond their own localities. Biddy Early, the famous ‘wise woman of Clare’, for example, was well-known even as far away as the Isle of Man and people were prepared to travel from places like Douglas to her cottage at Kilbarron to consult her. And of course, as the reputation of these people grew, so did the legends and stories about them, sometimes to wild and improbable heights – Biddy Early was said to have a magic bottle in which she could foresee the future, spy on her neighbours or pin-point the location of lost objects, whilst Maurice Griffin, a legendary ‘fairy doctor’ of Kerry, was supposed to have received his powers by drinking milk from a cow which had been overwhelmed by a supernatural cloud. In many cases, the individuals concerned supported these fables as it added to their status as practitioners of the dark and magical arts.

A formal belief in witchcraft by the authorities seems to have declined around the beginning of the eighteenth century, mirroring developments in England where witchcraft trials began to die out at around this time. Informally, however, ‘wise women and fairy men’ continued to practise in rural areas right up until the twentieth century and some may still practise in the remoter regions of the countryside even today. Indeed, the last instance of alleged witchcraft in which the law was involved occurred in Ballyvadlea, County Tipperary, as recently as 1895. This case is discussed in the fourth chapter of the book.

The figure of the Irish witch, then, is a complicated one, comprising a number of functions (midwife, healer, mischief worker) and a number of strands of belief (Celtic, English, Continental). In many instances it is extremely difficult to untangle these in order to get a clear picture of what was really going on. The overlap between traditional notions of witchcraft as found in Britain and on the Continent and the widespread Irish vernacular belief in fairies, in particular, resulted in a distinctively Irish ‘take’ on witchcraft and associated supernatural matters.

This book sets out to tell the story of Irish witchcraft in all its variety. It has been divided into three sections. The first section examines the history of witchcraft trials in Ireland (the last chapter in this section, on Bridget Cleary, having a slightly different emphasis in that the people brought to trial were not accused of witchcraft as such but rather of murdering a woman they considered to be a changeling). The second section focuses on the stories surrounding wise women and ‘hedge witches’, and includes a chapter on the most celebrated of these figures, Biddy Early. The third and final section relates folk tales and anecdotes concerning lesser known Irish witches and other sinister individuals such as ‘The Wizard Earl’ of Lough Gur, ‘The Black Hag’ of Shanagolden in Limerick and the Ulster warlock Alexander Colville, who is reputed to have sold his soul to the Devil.

In outlining the prevalent perceptions which determined belief in witchcraft in this country and in presenting a picture of Irish witchcraft that is both as rich and vivid as the folklore that surrounds the subject, this book will hopefully tell us something about ourselves – our beliefs and fears and the way in which we see the world.

Witchcraft Trials in Ireland

Dame Alice Kyteler

THE KILKENNY SORCERESS (1324)

Although traditionally witches were hanged throughout the British Isles (with the exception of Scotland), the first actual witch burning took place in Ireland. And, just to confuse matters even further, it was not the alleged witch who was burnt but rather her servant. The year was 1324 and the place was the then wealthy town of Kilkenny.

Of course the burning predates any formal witchcraft statute in the country and therefore relies on ecclesiastical law (which treated witchcraft as heresy) rather than English common law (which treated it as a felony). Still, the case was characterised by the same petty jealousies and personal spites which were symptomatic of later, English trials. There was also the added dimension of a struggle for power between the religious and secular authorities, in a wealthy merchant town and in a country that was going through a period of transition and consolidation.

Kilkenny was a thriving and prosperous town. It had grown from a settlement around a monastery founded by St Canice (c.AD514-598/600) who had been reputedly born in the Roe Valley in County Derry but had travelled south bringing the Gospel with him and founding churches and religious houses. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the town was a Norman one, having received its first Charter in 1208, granted by William the Marshal, the Earl of Pembroke, and for a long time it was the centre of important decisions for the area and for most of Ireland as well. It was from here that the incoming English planters issued statutes that governed many of their relationships with the native Irish. And the monastic tradition still seems to have been very strong in the area – Kilkenny was certainly a base for the important Diocese of Ossory. As Kilkenny began to develop as a trading town, with many artisans setting up business there, the secular and the religious authorities, both regulating various aspects of everyday life, must have come into conflict.

The underlying tensions between Church and State came to something of a head with the accusations of witchcraft that appeared in the town early in the fourteenth century and which centred around a prominent woman in the community.

Although she has sometimes been portrayed as an old, shrivelled hag, Dame Alice Kyteler (or Kettle) was probably nothing of the kind. Indeed, she was in all likelihood quite a handsome woman, as evidenced by the fact that she was married four times, on each occasion to prominent Norman noblemen. Her first husband, William Outlawe, was a town banker, by whom she bore a son, also called William. This husband seems to have died rather mysteriously and very soon afterwards Dame Alice got married again – this time to the wealthy Adam de Blund of Callan, to whom she seems to have borne more children. Once again, he died quickly and mysteriously, leaving Dame Alice free to take a third husband, Richard de Valle. Some time after he, too, took sick and died and following his demise Dame Alice began to look around for another husband. This time it was Sir John le Poer, a wealthy landowner. By now, the sequential deaths of Dame Alice’s unfortunate husbands were becoming a source of some scandal in Kilkenny and a number of questions were being asked. Even before she had married, Alice seems to have been a reasonably prosperous woman but the estates of three husbands had enriched her considerably.

It was not long before Dame Alice’s fourth husband began to show signs of illness. He appears to have become weak and sickly and, fearing he was dying, resolved to change his will in order to provide for his widow. Included in this settlement, it appears, was a provision for Dame Alice’s eldest and allegedly favourite son, William Outlawe. Sir John had been married before and had a family from his previous marriage who were not at all pleased at being ousted from their inheritance by this now-suspicious lady and her son. They approached a leading churchman, Richard de Ledrede, an English-born Franciscan friar who was Bishop of Ossory, and laid a charge in front of him that something was not right and that their stepmother had somehow ‘bewitched’ their father and had made him ‘take leave of his senses’. It was also hinted that Dame Alice might have poisoned her three previous husbands. In medieval Ireland (as in England) the term ‘poisoner’ was usually synonymous with ‘witch’, since both implied an arcane knowledge of herbs and philtres. De Ledrede promised that he would investigate.

On a diocesan visit to Kilkenny in 1324, he convened a Court of Inquisition, which comprised five knights and several nobles, to examine the facts of the case. It seems, according to some sources, that de Ledrede was determined to establish the rule of the Church in an increasingly wealthy but secularised Kilkenny and that he was obsessed with the occult and with witchcraft. The Kyteler case allowed him to give vent to both of these obsessions.

After much deliberation, presumably guided by the bishop, the Inquisition reached a somewhat startling conclusion. There was, it declared, a coven or band of ‘heretical sorcerers’ actively operating in the town of Kilkenny, the head of whom was Dame Alice herself. No doubt inspired by de Ledrede, the Inquisition laid the following charges against them.

That they had denied the faith of Christ absolutely, for a year or a month, according to the value or importance of the object which they desired to gain through sorcery. During all that period they believed in none of the doctrines of the Church and they did not adore the Body of Christ, nor did they enter a sacred building or hear the Mass or receive or make use of the Sacraments.

That they offered sacrifices to demons of living animals, which they dismembered and then scattered at the cross-roads in honour of a certain spirit ‘of low rank’ which was named as Robin, Son of Art (or Artisson).

That they had sought, by their sorcery, advice, encouragement and responses from demons.

That they had blasphemously imitated the power of the Church by imposing, by the light of three tallow candles, a sentence of excommunication against their own husbands from the soles of their feet to the crowns of their heads, specifically naming each part of the body and then concluding the ‘service’ by extinguishing the candles and by crying ‘Fi! Fi! Fi! Amen’.