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The Pooka
The Pooka, or phooka is a type of Irish hobgoblin who can appear in many different shapes and forms. Usually he has red eyes and some sort of fire-breathing properties. He usually appears in the shape of a dark coloured large animal, resembling a horse or a pony, or even a very large goat. Sometimes he appears as a giant bull with eyes and nostrils gleaming fire. He has even been described as a very large eagle-like creature such as the great winged Roc of the legends of Sinbad in the Arabian nights.
The time of year particularly associated with the pooka is Samhain or Halloween the last day of October. This is the time when the Celts believed the barriers between our material world and the otherworld to be at their weakest.
The Pooka usually crept up silently behind his victim and if he succeeded in getting his head between the victim's legs they were whisked up on his back, then he could take his victim anywhere - to the highest peak or the lowest depth or to any place on the face of the earth.
In Gaelic the pooka is sometimes called "Gruagach" - the hairy one.
Many place names are derived from this creature's name - in Cork there are two places called Carraig phooka - the pooka's rock. One is near Doneraile and the other is near Macroom. More famously is Poul-a-phooka - the pooka's cavern in Co. Wicklow. There is also a cairn and a natural cave at Clopoke ( the name deriving from the Gaelic cloch a phúka meaning stone of the pooka ) in the County Laois. There is also a clochán (stone structure) on Inishmore, the Arran island off Galway coast which is called Clochán a Phúca.
There is also a fair held every year in honour of the goat called "Puck Fair" at Kilorglin, Co. Kerry.
The Haunted Castle
The Christmas of 1820 I had promised to spend at Island Bawn Horne, in the county Tipperary, and I arrived there from Dublin on the 18th of December: I was so tired with travelling, that for two days after I remained quietly by the fireside, reading Mr. Luttrell's exquisite jeu d'esprit, "Advice to Julia."
The first person I met on venturing out was old Pierce Grace, the smith, one of whose sons always attends me on my shooting excursions: " Welcome to these parts," said Pierce: " I was waiting all day yesterday, expecting to see your honour."
"I am obliged to you, Piercy; I was with the mistress."
"So I heard, your honour, which made me delicate of asking to see you. John is ready to attend you, and he has taken count of a power of birds."
The following morning, gun in hand, I sallied forth on a ramble through the country, attended by old Pierce's son John. After some hours' walking, we got into that winding vale, through which the Curriheen flows, and beheld the castle of Ballinatotty, whose base it washes, in the distance.
The castle is still in good preservation, and was once a place of some strength. It was the residence of a powerful and barbarous race, named O'Brian, who were the scourge and terror of the country. Tradition has preserved the names of three of the family: Phelim lauve lauider (with the strong hand), his son Morty lauve ne fulle (of the bloody hand), and grandson Donough gontrough na thaha (without mercy in the dark), whose atrocities threw the bloody deeds of his predecessors completely into the shade.
Of him it is related, that in an incursion on a neighbouring chieftain's territories, he put all the men and children to the sword; and having ordered the women to be half buried in the earth, he had them torn in pieces by bloodhounds " Just to frighten his enemies," added my narrator.
The deed, however, which drew down upon him the deepest execration was the murder of his wife, Aileen na gruig buie (Ellen with the yellow hair), celebrated throughout the country for her beauty and affability. She was the daughter of O'Kennedy of Lisnabonney Castle, and refused an offer of marriage made to her by Donough; being supported in her refusal by her brother Brian Oge, skeul roa more (the persuasive speaking) she was allowed to remain single by her father, and his death seemed to relieve her from the fear of compulsion; but in less than a month after, Brian Oge was murdered by an unknown hand; on which occasion Ellen composed that affecting and well-known keen, Thaw ma cree qeen bruitha le focth (My heart is sick and heavy with cold).
As she returned from her brother's funeral, Donough waylaid the procession: her attendants were slaughtered, and she was compelled to become his wife. Ellen ultimately perished by his hand, being, it is said, thrown out of the bower window for having charged him with the murder of her brother. The spot where she fell is shown; and on the anniversary of her death (the second Tuesday in August) her spirit is believed to visit it.
Giving John my gun, I proceeded to examine the castle: a window on the south side is pointed out as the one from which Ellen was precipitated; but it appears more probable that it was from the battlement over it, because from the circumstance of there being corresponding holes in the masonry above and below, it is evident that the iron-work must have been let in at the time of building, and that it did not open.
Having satisfied my curiosity, I was about to quit the room, when observing an opening in the south-east corner, I was tempted to explore it, and found a small staircase, which led to a sleeping recess. This recess was occupied by a terrier and a litter of whelps. Enraged at my intrusion, the dam attacked me, and having no means of defence, I made a hasty retreat.
How far the angry animal pursued me, I cannot say; for in my precipitate flight, as I descended the second staircase, my foot slipped, and I tumbled through a broad opening into what had probably been the guardroom: but the evil I now encountered far exceeded that from which I fled, for the floor of this room was in the last stage of decay: a cat could hardly have crossed it in safety; and the violence with which I came on it carried me through its rotten surface with as little opposition as I should have received from a spider's web, and down I plunged into the gloomy depth beneath. A number of bats, whom my sudden entrance disturbed, flapped their wings, and flitted round me.
* * * * *
When my recollection returned, a confused sound of voices struck my ears, and I then distinguished a female, who in a tone of the greatest sweetness and tenderness said, "It's not wanting - it's not wanting - the life's coming into him." Opening my eyes, I found my head resting in the lap of a peasant girl, about eighteen, who was chafing my temples.
Health or anxiety gave a glow to her mild and expressive features, and her light brown hair was simply parted on her forehead. On one side stood an old man, her father, with a bunch of keys, and on the other knelt John Grace, with a cup of whiskey, which she was applying to recover me.
Looking round, I perceived that we were on the rocks near the castle, and the river was flowing at our feet. Various exclamations of joy followed; and the old man desiring John to rinse the cup, insisted on my swallowing some of the "cratur," which having done and got up, I returned my thanks, and offered a small pecuniary recompense, which they would not accept, " For sure and certain they would have gladly done tin times as much for his honour without fee or reward."
I then inquired how they came to find me. "Why, as I thought your honour," said John Grace, " would be some time looking into the crooks and corners of the place, I just walked round to talk to Honny here; and so we were talking over matters, and Honny was just saying to me that the boys (meaning her brothers) were just baling the streams, and had got a can of large eels, and that if I thought the mistress would like them, I could take as many as I pleased, and welcome, when we heard a great crash of a noise.
' What's that ?' says I. 'I suppose,' says Honny, ''tis the ould gray horse that has fallen down and is kilt or may be it's Paddy's Spanish dog Sagur that 's coursing about : there 's no thinking the plague he gives me - they're both in the turf-house, fornent us (meaning, your honour, the underpart of the castle that Cromwell made a breach into, and beside which the cabin stands).
"In comes Tim Hagerty there, and then we heard a screech ! ''Tis his honour's voice, says I; 'he has fallen through the flooring!' 'Oh! if he has,' says Tim, 'I'm lost and undone for ever: and didn't the Squire no later than last Monday week bid me build up the passage, or that somebody he said would be kilt - and sure I meant to do it tomorrow.'
Well, your honour, we got a light, and we saw the Phookas that caused your fall all flying about, in the shape of bats, and there we found your honour, and the turf all over the place; and for sure and certain, if you hadn't first come on it, instead of the bones that Paddy and Mick have been gathering against the young master's wedding, you would have been smashed entirely.
All of us were mad and distracted about the wicked Phookas that were in the place, and could not tell what to do; but Honny said to bring you out into the open air; and so we did; and there, your honour, by care and management, praise be to God, we brought you round again; but it was a desperate long time first, and myself thought it was as good as all over with you."
Notes: The reader, it is to he hoped, will not he able to form a perfect notion of the Phooka; for indistinctness, like that of an imperfectly remembered dream, seems to constitute its character, and yet Irish superstition makes the Phooka palpable to the touch. To its agency the peasantry usually ascribe accidental falls; and hence many rocky pits and caverns are called Poula Phooka, or the hole of the Phooka. A waterfall of this name, formed by the Liffey, is enumerated among "the sights" of the county Wicklow.
An odd notion connected with the Phooka is, that the country people will tell their children after Michaelmas day not to eat blackberries, and they attribute the decay in them, which about that time commences, to the operation of the Phooka.
Source: Thomas Crofton Croker - Fairy Traditions and Beliefs, first published 1825.
republished by Collins Press, Cork 1998.
The Pooka
The Pooka, recte Puca, seems essentially an animal spirit. Some derivehis name from poc, a he-goat; and speculative persons consider him the forefather of Shakespeare's "Puck". On solitary mountains and among old ruins he lives, "grown monstrous with much solitude", and is of the race of the nightmare.
"In the MS. story, called 'Mac-na-Michomhairle', of uncertain authorship," writes Mr. Douglas Hyde, "we read that 'out of a certain hill in Leinster, there used to emerge as far as his middle, a plump, sleek, terrible steed, and speak in human voice to each person about November-day, and he was accustomed to give intelligent and proper answers to such as consulted him concerning all that would befall them until the November of next year.
And the people used to leave gifts and presents at the hill until the coming of Patrick and the holy clergy.' This tradition appears to be a cognate one with that of the Puca." Yes! unless it were merely an augh-ishka [each-uisge], or Water-horse.
For these, we are told, were common once, and used to come out of the water to gallop on the sands and in the fields, and people would often go between the mares and bridle them, and they would make the finest of horses if only you could keep them away from the sight of the water; but if once they saw a glimpse of the water, they would plunge in with their rider, and tear him to pieces at the bottom.
It being a November spirit, however, tells in favour of the Pooka, for November-day is sacred to the Pooka. It is hard to realise that wild, staring phantom grown sleek and civil.
He has many shapes - is now a horse, now an ass, now a bull, a goat, now an eagle. Like all spirits, he is only half in the world of form.
Source: William Butler Yeats - Writings on Irish Folklore, Legend and Myth, published by Penguin Books 1993.
A sunbeam to warm you, A moonbeam to charm you, A sheltering angel, so nothing can harm you.
~Irish Blessing
An old legend says that, while Christ will judge all nations on judgment day, St. Patrick will be the judge of the Irish.
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