Rhiannon

Gubbin’s Moat.

This is situated in the townland of Ballingarry, Barony Coshlea. A “light” was always associated with it. It is near a graveyard and the light was supposed to be seen going from there to the moat and back again. In my young days when passing by that moat (there is a double ditch beside it, a short cut to village of Ballylanders) we would walk very quietly and silently and never go nearer than the double ditch and we would not dream of crossing at night. Now all that fear is gone.

A story was told by my father (RIP) how one night about midnight he was returning from a hayrick and a light left this moat and went along the road before him and when he came to the crossroads near Ballingarry he heard trampling as if horses were travelling fast but saw nothing and the light was still there. The noise turned at the cross and went along the road whence he had come, towards the churchyard, and the light left him and also went back, and he could see the light facing for the moat again. He used to say that it was a funeral of someone who had been buried in a place he or she did not like and was coming back to their own burial ground.

I think this must be the right place from its proximity to the churchyard and the footpath. It’s recounted in the Schools Collection of the 1930s, now being transcribed at Duchas.ie.

Glenbrohane (Knocklary, Barony of Coshlea, and Co. Limerick) has a collection of moats. Hardly a farm that does not hold a moat and the old people and some of the younger generation hold these moats in great awe and veneration. No one would be allowed to cut a bush off one of them or interfere in any way with them, and stories are told of punishments meted out to some who did dare to interfere with them.
In this place are 13 or 14 moats and from the top of any one of them, three more are visible.

The largest moat of all is in a farm called Quane’s, and is known as Quane’s moat, and it is said to be the second largest in Munster, and it is said that it is from a chief who once lived there that the name Glenbrohane is got. The Glen of the Brohans (Brohan’s being the name of the Chieftain). From this large moat, the others circle so that a complete half circle is formed by all. An underground channel connects all but so far, no one seems to have gone down and explored any of these passages.

One of these is said to have removed from one farm (Madden’s) and goes across the river to another farm (Howard’s) in one night. The hollow is in Madden’s farm where they say the moat once stood. The late owner of the farm – Howard’s – would not allow a bush to be cut from the moat, so that it is overgrown with furze bushes, and I remember myself as a child passing by that silently and very [sickened?] lest the fairies would hear us within. That idea prevailed in this place up to the last generation, who had a great dread of insulting the fairies or rousing their anger in any way, but at present bushes are being cut and these moats are regarded as part of the farms and no more. But when the antiquarians were excavating in Cush-Kilfinaine, Co Limerick, which is only one mile from here – a man who had a moat on his farm would not allow them interfere with it, lest there may be reprisals by the fairies.

Laune’s Moat, in the townsland of Glenbrohane, is a very large moat and though it was overgrown a few years ago, a man came along and cut away all the furze from it, but he lost the farm, and the old people said that it was not right to interfere with the moat.

Story:- The owner of this – Morgan Laune (RIP) had made up his mind to cut the bushes from this one day, years and years ago. He had a very quiet old horse and he harnessed him meaning to take down a car to bring home the bushes. No sooner was he harnessed than away with him from under the car, towards the moat and fell dead at the entrance to the moat.
Ever after, no one ever interfered with that moat during his life time, but the bushes are being cut now and the grass mown off it.

From the Schools Collection of the 1930s, currently being transcribed here and here at Duchas.ie. I’m not sure which of the many moats are the ones referred to. The grid reference I’ve give is the largest and is named ‘Doonglara’ on an old map.

Underneath a natural bower, on the bank of the lowest rampart but one, is a small arch of stone, covering a well of clearest water, fed by a spring that never in the fiercest drought runs dry. The overflowing stream makes a small pond below, but the well itself is almost out of sight under overhanging bushes, in the shadow of the north side of the hill.

This is King Arthur’s Well. A miraculous fountain, into the depths of which you may still peer and see things strange and wonderful. In a basin, some two feet deep, the sheltered water, never moved by wind, lies still and pure as a transparent magic crystal.

[...] The well is also a wishing well. It was a picnic day when I was there – and to see the country maids trip down the foot-worn path between the trees, big and little, plump and lean, all in white frocks, and treading upon each other’s heels, was better than a day-dream, ever so much. And they did drink. If they only wished as hard as they drank, there was a determination about it which, with a little patience and good-temper, and no fortune but a pretty face, was bound to bring success.

There is a ceremony with this sort of thing. Each spread her “hankercher” upon the broad, flat stone beside the well, turned up her white skirt, knelt, both nees, upon a petticoat as white, leant over the water and dropped an offering in, dipped with her hand and drank out of her hollow palm. She rose and gazed into the future with what, in the best fiction, is called a wistful, far-off look, until the next girl promptly elbowed her aside and said,
“Let I.”

It was a Sunday School and Bible Class that I saw intoxicate itself with the secret desire of its own heart. The “titcher” stood on one side. A spinster, tall, thin, sharp-featured, and born, upon a moderate computation, not later than the early sixties. Through a pair of glasses, she watched this pagan rite, smiling with an air of superior toleration upon such follies, because it was a holiday. The bigger girls implored her to drink, too. “Now do ee, Miss ---,” they all said. (In view of what came after, the name shall never be revealed by me.) “Do ee, then.” But persuasion could not move her. She was a total abstainer, and would not touch a drop; and, presently, the girls all went off up the glade, she marching in the rear.

Soon an unaccountable thing happened. That woman came back, quickly, glancing behind and upon each side, to make sure no one saw. She dared not lift her skirt. She had not time to kneel. But she took a tumbler out of her pocket; plunged it in the spring; leaned forward as she held it dripping to her lips, and swallowed half-a-pint. Ah! She did not merely wish to quench her thirst. That is incredible, since there was tea upon the hill.

By Walter Raymond, in ‘The Idler Out of Doors: Camelot’ – The Idler, November 1898.

In the townland of Ballyvocogue there is situated a fort. This fort belongs to Pat Kennedy. Some years ago a dog was seen coming out of the fort, and run along the bank of the fort. It is said that the dog used be throwing fire from his mouth, and all along the bank of the fort people used see burnt patches. The colour of this dog was white.
All the people in the district, and the people in the surrounding districts knew about this dog, and even some of the people in the district shunned that after sunset. No one knows how the dog went out of the fort but, he was not seen after the owner cutting down some of the trees on the bank of the fort.

This is rather odd – a white not a black dog. But it’s still rather otherworldly what with barking fire everywhere. And also rather backwards is its disappearance after trees were cut, rather than the usual fairy disapproval of such things. Perhaps he actually wanted them cut so he could have more room to run around in, dogs being dogs and all. From the 1930s Schools Collection being digitised at duchas.ie.

Quite close to this school on the top of a hill there is a fort which is situated in the townland of Lisbanagher.

Formerly the fort was surrounded by a wall which is now crumbled to heaps of stones, and on this there are trees growing.

It is said that chiefs lived there long ago. In the middle of the fort the chiefs used have castles, but there is no trace of these castles now.
Some chiefs had a good deal of money and used have three walls around their castles and smaller chiefs used have two walls and smaller still used have one wall for protection from their enemies.

The people are in awe of these forts because they say they are inhabited by fairies.

I heard the following story told about the fort.

One morning Mrs Morrison who lives near the fort, got up early. She went to the door and looked out and was surprised to see a great many tiny little men with little creels on their backs coming down to the bog for turf. She went into the house again and said that she got up too early.

From the Schools Collection of the 1930s, being digitised at Duchas.ie.

There is a hill in this locality called Keash Hill. Caves at the back of this hill are still pointed out as places where giants lived. Nearby there is a hollow with a flag flooring which is called the “Giants’ Table” and likely it is here they cooked and eat their food.

Running parallel to this hill and at the back of it is a place called “Dun Ui Bhéara” where the Cailleach Bhéara is supposed to have lived.

Old people tell stories of a fight between the Cailleach Bhéara and one of the giants. He stood on the summit of the hill and fired stones down at her. She lifted stones and earth and fired them up at him. The stones that reached the top of the hill form a “cairn” which is still to be seen. The place from which they were taken formed a small lake which remains to the present day.

Some time ago if children were bold their mothers threatened to tell Cailleach Bhéara and immediately they got quiet. She was able to walk across Lough Arrow and the waters at their deepest part just reached her arm pit.

From the Schools Project of the 1930s, now being digitised at Duchas.ie.

Having gratified my curiosity at [Coeten Arthur], I made for a farm, a mile off, called Ystym Cegid, where I had the pleasure of beholding another, the most beautiful of any I had seen in my journey; the farmer, however, through a natural propensity to render any thing useful that may lie on the ground, has converted it into a sheepfold, by filling up the interstices with stones, very dissimilar to those originally erected to support the coping-stone, of the Cromlech: I have left them out, and the annexed print will shew its prior appearance. The coping-stone takes a triangular form, its thickness is about eighteen inches every where, and it measures thirty-six feet round; it is raised so high as to allow a person on horseback to go underneath. This also is called Arthur’s Quoit: which (to carry on the story [at Coeten Arthur]) we may suppose to have been thrown by the same hand; but, owing to a slip of the foot, in the moment of exertion, it went wide of the mark at least one mile.

From Edward Pugh’s ‘Cambria Depicta’ (1816).

In the village of Lavally about three miles from Clarenbridge there lies a Cromlech. The field where this Cromlech lies belongs to Thomas Heaney now but it was sold to him a few years ago by William Feeney. The Cromlech lies within 20 yds of the road wall. This field belonged to William Feeney when the Cromlech fell about eight years ago.

It is thought that this Cromlech would not have fallen only for a constant grazing of the sheep wore the clay from around the three standing stones so that they could not afford to hold up the top stone. The top stone is about 26 1/2 feet in circumference and about a foot and a half in height. The perimeter of the underneath is about 14’2”.

It is not known for certainty why this Cromlech was erected. Most people think that this was a druid altar in olden times but it is also thought that Diarmuid and Grainne took shelter under this Cromlech. There is also another stone in the wall not far from the Cromlech and is exactly like the stones of the Cromlech. It is thought that this stone was brought to be put in the Cromlech but it was brought no further.

From the Schools Collection of the 1930s, now being digitised at Duchas.

It’s not looking so good at Lavally, as you can see by this 2002 photo on FourWinds‘ Megalithomania site.

The illustration from Borlase’s ‘The Dolmens of Ireland’ book (made towards the end of the 19th century) shows rocks on top of the dolmen. This isn’t mentioned in the text. But it rings a bell with me... I’m sure I’ve read about people somewhere throwing stones up onto cromlechs for luck, or maybe for a more specific outcome. I’ll have to look into it. Maybe people still do it elsewhere...

I’d not thought of this, but the trouble with putting your cathedral in a fort is that all the soldiers get in the way. Apparently.

One its short sheep-bitten turf may yet be traced, in dry weather, the outlines of the foudation walls of its ancient and once splendid cathedral, built by Bishop Osmond – the Conqueror’s nephew – but transferred by Bishop Poore in 1220, from that bleak and barren position, into the sheltered vale and fertile meadows of the fishy Avon beneath. Old Aubrey gives the following version of the cause of its removal, which he says he had from Bishop Seth Ward, who extracted it from the musty records of the cathedral.

The old church in the castle of Old Sarum being seated so high was so obnoxious to the weather that when the wind did blow they could not heare the priest say masse. But this was not the only inconvenience. The soldiers of the castle and the priests could never agree; and one day when they were gone without the castle in procession, the soldiers kept them out all night, or longer. Whereupon the bishop, although much troubled, cheered them up as well as he could, telling them he would study to accommodate them better. In order thereunto he rode several tymes to the Lady Abbesse at Wylton to have bought or exchanged a piece of ground with her ladyship to build a church and homes for the priests. A poor woman at Quidhampton that was spinning in the street, sayd to one of her neighbours, “I marvell what the matter is that the bishop makes so many visits to my lady; I trow he intends to marry her.” Well the bishop and her ladyship could not conclude about the land, and the bishop dreamt that the Virgin Mary came to him and told him she would have him build his church at Merrifield, and dedicate it to her. Merrifield was a great meadow where the city of New Sarum now stands and did belong to the bishop, as now the whole city belongs to him.

From an article about books on Wiltshire in ‘The Quarterly Review’ for January 1858.

Quarrying operations at one time threatened to destroy this far-famed natural curiosity, but the Duchy of Cornwall has wisely limited the scope of their destructive efforts. [...] Immediately outside the rampart of the stone fort above the Cheesewring is a large natural block of granite, hollowed out by the weather into a rude seat called the Druid’s Chair. It is said that whoever sits in it is destined shortly either to become a poet or go mad – in fact, the Laureateship or Colney Hatch!

From a report about an excursion to the Cheesewring in Archaeologia Cambrensis, July 1896.