One of the wonderful aspects of living at this moment in time is that our parents’ generation have had the benefit of better healthcare and many of them are with us for longer. As we age ourselves we have more time for them and are better equipped to appreciate the stories that they pass on. This came home to me again this week when my aunt, aged 83 and a cancer survivor, recalled her boarding school days in Dublin during World War II. If school food was bad, imagine how awful it must have been to be a boarder at a time of rationing. She recalled in particular the night that Dublin was bombed on 31st May 1841. She was 14 at the time and the girls had been huddled away in their air raid shelter. The bombs fell in North Strand which was not a million miles away from her school. The girls were rounded up by their teacher, issued with postcards and instructed to write home letting their families know that they were safe. The teacher collected the cards and took them off to the post office. When my aunt’s family in Wexford received her postcard, it was the first they had heard of the bombing of Dublin.
With Halloween in the air this week, I find my thoughts turning to matters ghostly. Secretly, we all enjoy a scary story and, in this part of the world, such stories often feature the banshee – a ghostly woman, thin, with long hair whose cry is said to herald a death. The banshee (woman fairy) may appear as a beautiful young woman or as an aged crone, or indeed a combination of the two, and the reasons for her visits vary: some say she comes to herald a death in the family of those that see or hear her, others that she only appears when death in a particular family is imminent – a family that may, perhaps, have wronged her during her lifetime, still others claim that she appears only to members of the ancient Irish clans and that her cry is a warning to those whom she loves. Whatever the reason for her visit, she invariably wails and her cry is said to be very frightening. It may be heard on three successive nights – the first time audible only to the soon to be departed, the second time audible to the wider family, and on the third occasion audible to anyone passing as the victim meets his or her forewarned end. The victim may well be in fine fettle when he or she hears the initial wailing – in which case, chances are they will meet with an unusual accident within three days – perhaps falling from the turret of their Irish castle, or drowning in a fairy well, perhaps tripping on a silver comb and falling down a stone stair case.
If you see the Banshee, the chances are it will be through a window. Be very quiet, for if you make a sound or speak a word she will instantly disappear. You may, of course, not see her at all but only hear the ghostly wailing, in which case, check your windowsill for it seems that is where she regularly leaves her silver comb but for goodness sake, don’t touch the comb no matter how strong the value of silver on the commodities markets, since she may have left it there to lure you to the fairy world – and we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?
 Image (c) izzymuses.com
 Holly tree
Spring is in the air in Ireland and, with the luxury of a day off work, I have been out in the countryside for a bit of mental R&R. My destination was rural – a beauty spot in the mountains where the countryside still feels quite primeval. Although it is April, the winter has been hard and the trees are still quite bare. I couldn’t but admire the dark, glossy foliage of the holly trees that stand out so noticeably when all their companions are looking so barren. In landscape like this, it is easy to understand why the Celts thought the tree had magical powers and why holly featured in their rituals. Holly is supposed to have been sacred to Habondia, the Celtic Goddess of Abundance and I have heard stories that the druids instructed people to bring it into their homes to provide shelter for the elves and fairies in winter. But, for the most part, holly is associated with the masculine. Be warned, ladies, if you spot the men in your life sporting sprigs of this sacred tree for I am told that the wearing of the holly makes a man extremely attractive to women – not something you want to encourage for many of us know, to our cost, that the male menopause needs little encouragement.
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