MANX FAIRY TALES - 45 Children's Stories from the Isle of Mann E-Book

Anon E. Mouse

• Herausgeber: Abela Publishing
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

THERE is at least one spot in the world where Fairies are still believed in, and where, if you look in the right places, they may still be found, and that is the little island from which these stories come Elian Vannin, or the Isle of Mann.

But they are never called Fairies by the Manx, instead  they are called the Little People. These Little People are not the tiny creatures with wings who flutter about in many European Fairy tales, but they are small persons from two to three feet in height, much like Ireland’s leprechauns – and why not? Ireland is but a ferry-ride away across the Irish Sea.

Herein are 45 fairy and folk tales about the other-worldly, Little People of the Isle of Mann. The stories in this volume are:

• Themselves
• The Buggane  Of Glen Meay Waterfall
• How The Manx Cat Lost Her Tail
• The Making Of Mann
• The Coming  Of Saint Patrick
• How The Herring Became King Of The Sea
• The Silver Cup
• The Child Without A Name
• The Fairy Doctor
• Joe Moore’s Story  Of Finn Maccooilley  And The Buggane
• The Fynoderee – An Old Song
• The Fynoderee Of Gordon
• The Lhondoo And The Ushag-Reaisht
• Billy Beg, Tom Beg, And The Fairies
• The Lazy Wife
• The Mermaid Of Gob Ny Ooyl
• The Lost Wife Of Ballaleece
• Smereree
• Kebeg
• The Fairy Child  Of Close Ny Lheiy
• The Little Footprints
• The Tall Man Of Ballacurry
• Ned Quayle’s Story Of The Fairy Pig
• Scene: A Village
• Kitterland
• Teeval,  Princess Of The Ocean
• The Wizard’s Palace
• The Enchanted Isle
• Three Stories About Birds
• The Moddey Doo  Or The  Black Dog Of Peel Castle
• Little Red Bird
• Tehi Tegi
• John-Y-Chiarn’s Journey
• A Bad Wish
• The Witch  Of Slieu Whallian
• The Old Christmas
• The Buggane  Of St. Trinian’s
• King Magnus Barefoot
• Manannan Mac Y Leirr
• The Cormorant  And The Bat
• Caillagh-Ny-Faashagh,  Or The Prophet Wizard
• The City Under Sea
• An Ancient Charm  Against The Fairies

It is said the little people of Mann wear red caps and green jackets and are very fond of hunting indeed they are most often seen on horseback followed by packs of little hounds of all the colours of the rainbow. They are rather inclined to be mischievous, and sometimes spiteful, and that is why they are called by such good names, in case they should be listening!

If you look hard enough, you may also find the Fynoderees and the Bugganeswho are totally different to the Little People..

10% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charities.
YESTERDAYS BOOKS raising funds for TODAYS CHARITIES
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KEYWORDS/TAGS: Folklore, fairy tales, myths, legends, folk tales, story, children’s stories, bedtime, fables, culture, cultural, Isle of Man, Manx, Themselves, Buggane, Glen Meay, Waterfall, Manx Cat, no Tail, Making Of Mann, Coming  Of Saint Patrick, Herring, King Of The Sea, Silver Cup, Child, Without A Name, Fairy Doctor, Joe Moore, Story  Of Finn Maccooilley, Fynoderee, Old Song, Gordon, Lhondoo, Ushag-Reaisht, Billy Beg, Tom Beg,  Lazy Wife, Mermaid, Gob Ny Ooyl, Lost Wife, Ballaleece, Smereree, Kebeg, Close Ny Lheiy, Little Footprints, Tall Man, Ballacurry, Ned Quayle, Fairy Pig, Village, Kitterland, Teeval,  Princess Of The Ocean, Wizard’s Palace, Enchanted Isle, Birds, Moddey Doo, Black Dog, Peel Castle, Little Red Bird, Tehi Tegi, John-Y-Chiarn, Journey, Bad Wish, Witch, Slieu Whallian, Old Christmas, St. Trinian, King Magnus Barefoot, Manannan Mac Y Leirr, Cormorant, Bat, Caillagh-Ny-Faashagh,  Prophet Wizard, City Under Sea, Ancient Charm, Against Fairies

Leseprobe

MANX FAIRY TALES

BY

SOPHIA MORRISON

Originally published by

DAVID NUTT, LONDON

[1911]

Resurrected by

Abela Publishing, LONDON

[2018]

Manx Fairy Tales

Typographical arrangement of this edition

© Abela Publishing 2018

This book may not be reproduced in its current format in any manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis, or any other information storage and retrieval system) except as permitted by law without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Abela Publishing,

London

United Kingdom

2018

ISBN-13: 978-X-XXXXXX-XX-X

Email

[email protected]

Website

AbelaPublishing

The RIDE THROUGH THE BARN

RUTH COBB

Acknowledgements

Abela Publishing acknowledges the work that

Sophia Morrison

did in compiling and publishing

Manx Fairy Tales

In a time well before electronic media was in use.

*******

10% of the profit from the sale of this book

Will be donated to charities.

Yesterday’s Books

for

Today’s Charities

Preface

There is at least one spot in the world where Fairies are still believed in, and where, if you look in the right places, they may still be found, and that is the little island from which these stories come—Ellan Vannin, the Isle of Mann. But I have used a word which should not be mentioned here—they are never called Fairies by the Manx, but Themselves, or the Little People, or the Little Fellows, or the Little Ones, or sometimes even the Lil’ Boys. These Little People are not the tiny creatures with wings who flutter about in many English Fairy tales, but they are small persons from two to three feet in height, otherwise very like mortals. They wear red caps and green jackets and are very fond of hunting—indeed they are most often seen on horseback followed by packs of little hounds of all the colours of the rainbow. They are rather inclined to be mischievous and spiteful, and that is why they are called by such good names, in case they should be listening!

Besides these red-capped Little Fellows there are other more alarming folk. There is the Fynoderee, who is large, ugly, hairy and enormously strong, but not so bad as he looks, for often he helps on the farm during the night by thrashing corn. He does not like to be seen, so if a farmer wants work done by him, he must take care to keep out of the Fynoderee’s way. Then, far uglier than Fynoderee, are the Bugganes, who are horrible and cruel creatures. They can appear in any shape they please—as ogres with huge heads and great fiery eyes, or without any heads at all; as small dogs who grow larger and larger as you watch them until they are larger than elephants, when perhaps they turn into the shape of men or disappear into nothing; as horned monsters or anything they choose. Each Buggane has his own particular dwelling-place—a dark sea-cave, a lonely hill, or a ruined Keeill, or Church. There are many others too, but these are the chief.

Most of the stories are traditional and have been handed down by word of mouth from father to son. I owe hearty thanks to those from whose lips I have heard them—Messrs. J. R. Moore, William Cashen, Joe Moore, Ned Quayle and others. Of the four stories which have not been told to me personally—Teeval, Kitterland, The Wizard’s Palace, and Smereree—the three first have been printed in various folk-lore books, and the Manx of the last appeared in ‘Yn Lioar Manninagh’ some years ago. Lastly I must thank my friend Miss Alice Williams for her kind help and valuable assistance in many ways.

Sophia Morrison.

Peel, Isle of Mann,October 1911.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Preface

Contents

MANX FAIRY TALES

Themselves

The Buggane of Glen Meay Waterfall

How the Manx Cat Lost Her Tail

The Making of Mann

The Coming of Saint Patrick

How The Herring Became King of The Sea

The Silver Cup

The Child Without a Name

The Fairy Doctor

Joe Moore’s Story of Finn Maccooilley and the Buggane

The Fynoderee – an old song

The Fynoderee of Gordon

The Lhondoo and the Ushag-Reaisht

Billy Beg, Tom Beg, and the Fairies

The Lazy Wife

The Mermaid of Gob Ny Ooyl

The Lost Wife of Ballaleece

Smereree

Kebeg

The Fairy Child of Close Ny Lheiy

The Little Footprints

The Tall Man of Ballacurry

Ned Quayle’s Story of the Fairy Pig

Scene: A Village

Kitterland

Teeval, Princess of the Ocean

The Wizard’s Palace

The Enchanted Isle

Stories About Birds

I. The Ravens

II. Blackbird’s Morning Song

III. How the Wren became King of the Birds

The Moddey Doo or the Black Dog of Peel Castle

Little Red Bird

Tehi Tegi

John-Y-Chiarn’s Journey

A Bad Wish

The Witch of Slieu Whallian

The Old Christmas

The Buggane of St. Trinian’s

King Magnus Barefoot

Manannan Mac Y Leirr

The Cormorant and the Bat

Caillagh-Ny-Faashagh, or the Prophet Wizard

The City Under Sea

An Ancient Charm Against The Fairies

Manx Fairy Tales

Themselves

I

There was a man once in the Isle of Mann who met one of the Little Fellows, and the Little Fellow told him that if he would go to London Bridge and dig, he would find a fortune. So he went, and when he got there he began to dig, and another man came to him and said:

‘What are you doing?’

‘One of Themselves told me to come to London Bridge and I would get a fortune,’ says he. And the other man said:

‘I dreamed that I was back in the lil’islan’ an’ I was at a house with a thorn-tree at the chimley of it, and if I would dig there I would find a fortune. But I wouldn’ go, for it was only foolishness.’

Then he told him so plainly about the house that the first man knew it was his own, so he went back to the Island. When he got home he dug under the little thorn-tree by the chimney and he found an iron box. He opened the box and it was full of gold, and there was a letter in it, but he could not read the letter because it was in a foreign language. So he put it in the smithy window and challenged any scholar who went by to read it. None of them could, but at last one big boy said it was Latin and it meant:

‘Dig again and you’ll find another.’

So the man dug again under the thorn-tree, and what did he find but another iron box full of gold!

And from that day till the day of his death, that man used to open the front door before going to bed, and call out:‘My blessing with the Little Fellows!’

II

Here is a true story that was told me by a man named James Moore when I was sitting with him by the fire one evening. He said:

‘I’m not much of a believer in most of the stories some ones is telling, but after all a body can’t help believing a thing they happen to see for themselves.

‘I remember one winter’s night—we were living in a house at the time that was pulled down for the building of the Big Wheel. It was a thatched house with two rooms, and a wall about six foot high dividing them, and from that it was open to the scrahs, or turfs, that were laid across the rafters. My Mother was sitting at the fire busy spinning, and my Father was sitting in the big chair at the end of the table taking a chapter for us out of the Manx Bible. My brother was busy winding a spool and I was working with a bunch of ling, trying to make two or three pegs.

‘“There’s a terrible glisther on to-night,” my Mother said, looking at the fire. “An’the rain comin’ peltin’ down the chimley!”

‘“Yes,” said my Father, shutting the Bible; “an’ we better get to bed middlin’ soon and let the Lil’ Ones in to a bit of shelter.”

‘So we all got ready and went to bed.

‘Some time in the night my brother wakened me with a:

‘“Sh—ish! Listen boy, an’ look at the big light tha’s in the kitchen!” Then he rubbed his eyes a bit and whispered:

‘“What’s mother doin’ now at all?”

‘“Listen!” I said. “An’you’ll hear mother in bed, it’s not her at all; it must be the Little Ones that’s agate of the wheel!”

‘And both of us got frightened, and down with our heads under the clothes and fell asleep. In the morning when we got up we told them what we had seen, first thing.

‘“Aw, like enough, like enough,” my Father said, looking at the wheel. “It seems your mother forgot to take the band off last night, a thing people should be careful about, for it’s givin’ Themselves power over the wheel, an’ though their meanin’s well enough, the spinnin’they’re doin’ is nothin’ to brag about. The weaver is always shoutin’ about their work an’ the bad joinin’they’re makin’ in the rolls.”

‘“I remember it as well as yesterday—the big light that was at them, and the whirring that was going on. And let anybody say what they like, that’s a thing I’ve seen and heard for myself.”’

III

One evening a young man who was serving his time as a weaver was walking home late from Douglas to Glen Meay. He had often been boasting that he had never seen any of the Little People. Well, this night he was coming along the St. John’s Road, and when he got near to the river a big, big bull stood across the road before him. He took his stick and gave it one big knock. It went into the river and he never saw it any more.

After that, when he got to the Parson’s Bridge, he met a little thing just like a spinning wheel and there was a little, little body sitting where the spool is. Well, he lifted his stick again and struck the little body that was sitting on the spool a hard knock with his stick. The little body said to him:

‘Ny jean shen arragh!’ which means,‘Don’t do that again!’

He walked on then till he got to Glen Meay and told what he had seen in a house there. Then another man said he had seen the little old woman sitting on the top of the spool of the spinning wheel and coming down Raby Hill at dark. So it took her a long time, for the first man met her at six and the second at eleven, and there isn’t two miles between the two places.

So they were saying, when the cycles came in, that the Little People had been before them! And this is a true story

The Buggane of Glen Meay Waterfall

There was once a woman living near Glen Meay, and she was the wife of a decent, quiet, striving man of the place. There was no one but herself and the man, and they had a nice little cottage and owned a bit of a croft on which they grazed a cow and a few sheep and grew enough potatoes to do them the winter out; and the man had a yawl and went to the fishing when things were slack on land. But for all that they were not comfortable, for work as hard as the man might at his farming and his fishing, he was kept as poor as Lazarus by a lazy wife.

For the woman was fonder of lying a-bed in the morning than sitting at her milking stool; indeed the neighbours had it to say that she wore out more blankets than shoes. Many a day her man would be going out early as hungry as a hawk, without a bite or a sup in him. One morning when he came in from work for his breakfast there was no fire—his wife was never up. Well, my poor man had nothing for it but to get his own breakfast ready and go back to his work. When he came in for dinner it happened as it had happened for breakfast.

‘Bad luck to her laziness,’ he thought;‘this is coul comfort for a poor man, but I’ll play a trick on her for it.’

And with that he fetched a bart of straw and bunged the two windows of his house. Then he went back to his work.

The sun had not yet set when he came home in the evening. His wife was lying in bed waiting for day.

‘Aw, woman,’ he shouted, ‘make haste an’ get up to see the sun rise in the wes’.’

Up jumped the wife and ran to the door just as the sun was going down, and the sight terrified her. The whole sky looked like fire, and she thought that the end of the world had come. But next morning it all happened as it had happened before, and himself said to her:

‘Kirry, it’s the Buggane, sure enough, that’ll be having thee one of these days if thou don’t mend thy ways!’

‘What Buggane?’ said she.

‘Ax me no questions,’ said he,‘an’ I’ll tell thee no lies. But it’s the big, black, hairy fellow that lies under the Spooyt Vooar that I’m meanin’.’

‘Aw, houl yer tongue, man; thou don’t frecken me wi’ thy Bugganes,’ shouted the woman.

In the evening the man left the house to go out to the fishing. As soon as he had gone the woman took a notion in her head to bake, as she had only the heel o’ the loaf left for breakfast. Now, Themselves can’t stand lazy ways, and baking after sunset is the one thing they won’t abide. She who does so will meet their revenge—something is sure to be taken by them, but seldom worse than some of the live stock. Well, the woman set to work to bake some barley bread and flour cake. First, she went out to get gorse to put under the griddle, slipping the bolt on the door as she came in, that none of the neighbours would catch her and cry shame on her for baking after sunset. She got some meal out of the barrel and put it on the round table, and put salt and water on it, and then she kneaded the meal and clapped a cake out as thin as sixpence with her hands. But she was only a middling poor baker, one of the sort that has to use a knife to make the cake of a right round. She had turned the cake twice, and taken it off, and brushed the griddle with a white goose wing ready for the next cake which she was busy cutting round with her knife. Just at that moment there was heard the sound of something heavy lumbering up to the door. After a few secondsSomething Fumbled at the sneg of the door, thenSomethingknocked high up on the door, and a voice like the thick, gruff voice of a giant was heard saying,‘Open, open for me.’ She made no answer. Again there was a loud knock and a big hoarse voice was heard which cried:‘Woman of the house, open for me.’ Then the door burst open and behold ye, what should she see but a great, big ugly beast of a Buggane rushing in mad with rage. Without as much as a ‘By your leave,’ he made one [...]