Irish Ghost Tales Read online

  He leapt out of bed, lit a candle, but could find nothing. He had, however, made inquiries and had talked with an old woman named Haggard, who lived to the age of 106. She had told him the whole story and remembered Father Broders and the exorcism very well.

  Finally, in 1868, Reade once more visited the hall, which had by then been considerably altered. The Tapestry Chamber was now a billiards room. He asked the old housekeeper how Miss Anne Tottenham had taken these changes and she replied, ‘Oh! Master George, don’t talk about her. Last night she made a horrid noise, knocking the billiard balls about!’

  So there you have it. Would you be brave enough to spend the night in Loftus Hall? Strangely enough, if you know the history of the Irish Hellfire Club you will recognise the same story of a stranger seeking shelter from the storm and playing cards. He too was found to have cloven feet and disappeared in a puff of sulphur smoke through a hole in the ceiling.

  11

  ROSS CASTLE

  COUNTY MEATH

  Ross Castle, County Meath, overlooks Lough Sheelin. It was built in the early sixteenth century by Richard Nugent, the 12th Baron Delvin. He had a sinister reputation and was said to be ill-tempered and cruel, possibly giving rise to his nickname, the Black Baron.

  One story that demonstrates his evil nature concerns the nearby village of Ross. It all started when a local woman placed a freshly baked loaf of bread on the windowsill of her cottage to cool. A passing dog saw this as a free meal, grabbed the loaf and ran off with it. The woman saw what had happened and yelled out of the open window, ‘Stop thief!’ The dog dropped the loaf and headed for safety.

  A beggar was passing through the village as this was going on. It was a warm day and he felt a little tired, so he decided to rest under the shade of a tree. The baron and his entourage were out hunting along the shores of the lake. When he heard the story of the bread thief, he became angry as he felt any crime reflected on his position as a lord of the realm. Unfortunately for the beggar, the baron rode into the village to question the woman about the theft and spotted the beggar sleeping under the tree. The baron demanded to know what he had done with the loaf and the beggar, knowing he had done nothing wrong, denied any knowledge of the crime. The baron flew into a rage and accused him of being a thief and a liar. The beggar begged him to believe him but the baron refused to listen. As the local lord he had the right to pass judgement as he saw fit and he immediately ordered the locals to provide a strong rope. He hanged the poor beggar from the branch of the tree he had been resting under. Shortly afterwards the locals found the missing loaf. They placed a cross at the place where the beggar was hanged and hundreds of years later the black deeds of that day are still remembered.

  The Black Baron went on to have a daughter named Sabina. Although she was a sickly child, she grew to be a beautiful young woman. It is said that she loved walking along the shores of Lough Sheelin and that these walks brought her into contact with many of the local villagers. Although she was the daughter of the cruel and evil Black Baron, the locals knew her to be kind and she was well liked by all who knew her.

  One fine day, when she was walking towards the bridge that crosses the River Inny, she met a handsome young man and they began to exchange pleasantries. His name was Orwin and he was the son of an O’Reilly chieftain. There was an immediate attraction and before parting company they agreed to meet again. Their meetings had to be kept secret for she was the daughter of an English lord and he was the son of an Irish chieftain and in those days any relationship between them would not have been looked upon favourably. It wasn’t long before love blossomed.

  As time passed they realised that they could never be together. They wanted to marry but knew their families would oppose such a union as the two sides were constantly at war with each other. Orwin and Sabina longed to be together and the only way this could become a reality was for them to run away together. They knew that if they stayed there could be no future for them. One night they met in secrecy. They had arranged for there to be a boat down by the lakeside and they planned to row to freedom. They climbed aboard and began their ill-fated journey. As they crossed the lough a storm came upon them suddenly. These storms were well known in the area but this one caught them by surprise. A strong wind caused a swell that engulfed their boat and capsized it. Sabina was rescued but lay in a coma for three days. Orwin was not so lucky. His body was eventually found washed up on the shore. Upon being told of her lover’s fate, Sabina fell into a deep depression. She locked herself into the castle tower and refused to eat or drink. Eventually she fell into a deep sleep from which she never woke.

  Locals believe that her ghost haunts the castle walls. It is as if she walks the battlements that look out over Lough Sheelin, hoping in vain to be reunited with her lost love. Some people say that her father was cursed to wander for all eternity by the victims of his cruelty and evil deeds, as well as out of grief for the loss of his only daughter.

  12

  THE LEGEND OF

  PETTICOAT LUCY

  COUNTY TIPPERARY

  Petticoat’s real name was Mary Hannigan. Born during the time of the hedge schools in the early part of the nineteenth century, she was the only child of a well-to-do farming family. They lived in the townland of Colligan, which is not far from Clogheen in Tipperary.

  Mary was not the type of woman you could call feminine; she was as tough as nails, almost six foot tall and built in proportion. She did the work of a man on her father’s farm without thinking twice about it. If there was one thing that Mary Hannigan was known for far and wide it was her dancing. Spinning and whirling around the dancefloor, no man could match her. That is, except for one hefty lad and his prowess led him into a marriage with Mary, a marriage that was closely followed by his early death. How Mary came to be called Petticoat Lucy came about like this …

  There was a wedding in the neighbourhood, with drinking and dancing well into the night and through to the early hours of the morning. Mary was able to drink as well as she could dance and as she spun around in a drunken dance the buttons of her skirt caught on a nail. The buttons burst open and her skirt fell to the ground, to the great delight of the others in the room, who laughed and jeered at her. This is the incident that earned her the name of Petticoat Loose, which became Petticoat Lucy over time. Not being one to take foul comments lightly, fists were soon flying in all directions as Mary landed many a clout on those who had mocked her.

  It is said that Mary and her husband had difficulties with their herd of cattle and often added water to the milk to make it go further. There were rumours that when Mary’s milk was added to tea it turned blue. Some older locals whispered that she might be a witch.

  Mary had been married a year when one night as she and her servants were milking the cattle there came a cry of agony from a nearby field. A servant girl began to run towards the field; however, she was soon stopped by a milking stool, which hit the poor girl square on the back of the head, knocking her out. When she came to, Mary told her it was she who had thrown the stool, that it served her right and that in future she should learn to mind her own business. Mary’s husband was never seen again after that night. The locals in Colligan concluded that Mary’s lover, a local hedge schoolmaster, had committed the murder. When asked of her husband’s whereabouts, Mary would simply answer that he had gone away and would return some day. Nobody dared question her further as she was known to have a violent temper.

  One night about a year later Mary went on a drinking bout in a local public house with some local workmen. After several pints she was challenged by one of the workmen to prove her drinking skills. She accepting the challenge only to have half a gallon of beer placed before her. She drank it down with ease and was in the middle of gloating to the other workmen when suddenly she slumped forward onto the table, dead. She died without a priest, which was considered an awful thing back then. There was a big wake for Mary and the whole village turned up to pay their last respects but no priest was
called, not even for the burial.

  Seven years passed and Petticoat Lucy was almost forgotten. Then one night there was a dance in Colligan. Around midnight, a man went out to catch a breath of fresh air. When he returned he was as white as a sheet. His voice quivered as he told the others in the hall that he had seen Mary sitting on one of the benches in the yard. Everyone was afraid to leave the dance hall until the next morning.

  After that night Mary was seen often in the area. Many believed she had become a witch. One night a man was travelling down a dark country lane with his horse and cart when he came upon Mary standing by the roadside. The driver didn’t want to stop for her, but she jumped aboard the cart anyway.

  Once on the cart, she decided to punish the driver for his reluctance to stop for her. She raised her left hand and declared, ‘I have one ton in this hand!’ The horse slowed down a little as though the cart had become heavier, but he kept walking. Then the witch raised her other hand and announced, ‘I’ve got one ton in this hand!’ The horse slowed a little more but continued on his journey. The witch smiled and announced, ‘I’ve got one ton in this leg!’, at which the horse began to strain very hard to pull the cart. ‘I’ve got one ton in the other leg!’ Then she said, ‘I’ve got one ton in my belly!’ With this, the struggling horse fell down dead and Petticoat Lucy ran away laughing. Soon it became common practice for people travelling at night to bring a safeguard with them, such as a religious relic or a hazel stick.

  Eventually the people grew tired of living in fear of Petticoat Lucy, so they called upon the parish priest to rid the county of Mary. The priest set out that very night on a pony and trap, accompanied by two men. After some time they spotted her coming across a field. The priest asked her name and she replied, ‘I’m Petticoat Lucy.’ The priest then got off the trap, took out a bottle of holy water and said, ‘I am going to banish you from this place forever! All the devils in hell can’t help you now! For all the cruel things you did during your life, especially getting a man to kill your husband, I shall send you to the far banks of the deepest lake in the Knockmealdown Mountains and you shall be condemned to empty it with a thimble!’ With these words and a splash of the holy water Mary vanished in a flash and was never seen again.

  Many believe that she is still up there, sitting on the far bank of Bay Lough with her thimble, vainly trying to empty the lake. The priest died two weeks later. Some say she had drained the life out of him. If you ever pay a visit the lake, you will be struck by the feeling of loneliness that permeates the area.

  Few dare to swim in that lake out of fear that the spirit of the old witch will grab their legs, pull them under and keep them there forever. It is said that Petticoat Lucy, like many other Irish lake monsters, can take on a half-horse, half-human shape. Whether or not this is true, Bay Lough will forever be associated with the legend of Petticoat Lucy or, as she is also known in this area where she did so much harm, the Witch of the Knockmealdowns.

  13

  THE ARNEY WOMAN

  COUNTY FERMANAGH

  Here in Ireland we have an old saying, ‘A man who dies owing money or a woman who leaves a newborn baby will never lie quiet in the grave.’ Talk about making people feel guilty when they are at their most vulnerable!

  The dead were considered to be very possessive and would return from the grave to claim what was rightfully theirs. This was especially true of mothers and their children. It was widely believed in rural areas that if a mother died during childbirth she would return to care for the baby. However, there was a more macabre side to this belief for sometimes the dead mother missed the child so much that she would return to carry the baby back to her grave. One way to prevent this was to lay the clothes of the father across the foot of the baby’s cot or cradle. This was thought to act as a protection against the fairies and the dead until the child could be baptised. If a child were to be taken before baptism it would be lost to the world of the living forever.

  The story that follows concerns one of these poor unfortunate women. Once well known, it is becoming little more than a fading memory, like so many of the old stories. It is our job as storytellers to make sure that the stories that make up the rich tapestry of Irish folklore are retold and, in this way, continue to be passed down from generation to generation.

  Roughly three miles from Gilleese’s public house at the Arney crossroads in Fermanagh, a man called Peter Maguire and his wife set up house. Peter was a local carpenter, known by everyone as a kind and decent man, quiet but friendly and always ready to help his neighbours. He never had a bad word to say about anyone and could always be relied upon. His wife, however, was a horse of a different colour. Mrs Maguire was described by the locals as surly, sullen, miserable and bad-tempered. Of course it may have had something to do with the fact that she wasn’t a local girl. She was from the far side of Bellanaleck, which was a village up the road, and no one knew anything about her or her people. The locals considered her to be unfriendly and it was even said that she would sooner issue a curse than a blessing.

  As a ‘blow-in’, she was considered to be a strange character. She had vibrant red hair, very pale skin and a physical deformity – one of her legs was shorter than the other, which resulted in a very pronounced limp. Around the Arney area these attributes marked her out as a witch. On top of that, she never attended mass, so the locals decided that she was in league with the fairies, the devil and any number of other evil demons. Well, what else would you expect from a blow-in?

  Despite all this, Peter Maguire was very happy and totally unaware of what his good neighbours said behind his back. His wife was a good cook, she kept a neat house and she was a quiet woman, at least when she appeared in public with him. The locals, however, believed that this was all an act and that Peter must have led a dog’s life, with her controlling ways and her foreign habits. Some felt certain that she had put Peter under an evil spell. People began to avoid looking at her and local farmers kept their animals away from her on market days as it was feared that she would put the evil eye on them.

  A year after they were married some of the local women began to notice that Mrs Maguire was putting on a little weight around the middle and soon Peter announced the good news. He was going to be a father. Of course his wife said nothing and she was seen to be as bad tempered as ever. Some of the local women attempted to make friends with her. They called to the Maguires’ cottage to wish her well and offer advice but they found Peter’s wife to be very cold and unfriendly and soon left.

  However, the women did notice that the pregnancy was taking an awful toll on Mrs Maguire. They said she seemed to be wasting away. Soon the rumours began to spread. It was well known that those who had fairy connections have great trouble carrying and delivering children.

  The time arrived for the baby to be born but still Mrs Maguire wanted nothing to do with the local women, even though many of them were ‘wise women’, experienced in the ways of the midwife.

  On the night of the birth Peter ran to a neighbour’s cottage and battered on the door. The baby was coming but his wife was very ill. If she didn’t get help he feared she may not survive. The neighbours ran to Peter’s cottage. They managed to save the baby – a little boy – but they could do nothing for Mrs Maguire. By the time morning came, she was dead. Of course some said it was no more than she deserved and that it was no bad thing that she had died. There was no funeral in Arney graveyard. Peter was struggling to look after his baby and trying to come to terms with his grief, so the locals took it upon themselves to send the body back to Bellanaleck where Mrs Maguire had come from.

  Time passed and the baby remained healthy. Peter employed a young local woman to act as a wet nurse and to look after his son during the day. At night the baby slept at the foot of Peter’s bed in a cot Peter had made.

  One dark night, a few weeks after his wife’s death, Peter was woken from his sleep by the sound of scratching from outside his bedroom window. He got up and looked out into the darkness
but saw nothing. He checked on his son, who was sleeping peacefully, then went back to bed. No sooner had he got under the blankets than he heard scratching again. He got out of bed once more, muttering under his breath, and once again looked out the window into the darkness. He staggered backwards. She was outside, her ice-cold fingers pale and lifeless, her once vibrant red hair dirty and matted. Peter felt a chill so cold he thought his blood was freezing in his veins. It was her eyes that chilled him most of all for they appeared to be looking right past him, into the room.

  He turned to see what it was that she was looking at. Her eyes were fixed upon the cot where their son lay sleeping. In that awful moment he knew why she had returned: she’d come for the baby. He stared at her in terror, but suddenly she vanished. He heard rattling at the cottage door. His heart missed a beat, but then he remembered that he had bolted the door before going to bed. His relief was short-lived. He heard the sound of wood splintering, then the outside door creaked open. She was in the cottage.

  Peter was shocked into action. He placed himself between the bedroom door and his son’s cot. There was a crack in one of the panels of the bedroom door. He saw her looking through it, a shaft of moonlight shone onto her face but instead of coming into the room she moved away into the kitchen area. Peter held his breath. He heard the sound of movement and cupboards opening and closing. He peered through the crack of the door.

  The moon lit up the kitchen. He saw his dead wife devouring cheese he had left in one of the cupboards. Having satisfied her hunger she turned, went through the broken door and disappeared into the darkness.

  Peter collapsed onto his knees, shocked, confused and shivering in fright. He began to imagine what could have happened. He prayed to God that his dead wife had returned to her grave and left him and his son in peace. Peter then remembered the old story about the walking dead and how to protect his child. He placed his clothes on the end of the cot and hoped that God would answer his prayers.