Donegal Tales: Stories from the Western Hills of Ireland

By Jenny Nuttall, Rosaleen Miller and Elizabeth Wallin

Here are twenty delightful Irish tales for children, written seventy years ago by Anne Casserley, writer and teacher, who spent her childhood summers in County Donegal, the mountainous northwest coast of Ireland. There she learned first-hand the rural life and folklore of the County and became in time the talented and inventive storyteller of the world of Donegal.

Her stories recall rural Ireland in a timeless time before cars, radios and electricity. On the wild mountainsides above the fertile valley farms, stray animals, domestic and wild, and a few odd folks lived together in a world of their own where the Leprechaun and the Fairies were everyday neighbors. This is down-to-earth fantasy where animals and people talk, not in dialect, but in unmistakable Irish accents; gregarious, hospitable, full of human faults and virtues.

Donegal Tales are read-aloud stories for children six to nine and wise, funny and beguiling reading for readers of all ages. They are truly literature, rich in language and depiction of character, not Dick and Jane prose nor aimless whimsy.Meet Brian, the orphan from the valley who lives with the black pig Roseen and Katty the turkey-hen, his boisterous friend the Young Donkey, the Kerry Cow and Kerry Calf, Rogureena Rua the fox, the miserly scheming Leprechaun, the tender-hearted Clogmakers Wife, the intrepid but tactless Little Black Lamb, and many other charming, eccentric creatures and folks.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 26, 2007
• ISBN: 9781456805944

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Acknowledgments

Thanks to Rosaleen Miller and Jenny Nuttall of Counties Kilkenny and Wexford, Ireland, for permission to republish the stories of Anne Casserley, and to Mark Boyden and Violet Satchwell who helped me find Rosaleen and Jenny. And thanks to Mark, Rosaleen and Jenny for guidance on Irish idioms, diction and the color of a Kerry cow.

Special thanks to my illustrator, Betsy Wallin, for her many hours of labor and friendly collaboration.

Finally greatest thanks to my mother, Mildred Riorden Blake (1897-1990), wide-ranging reader and professional writer, who one day in 1931 brought home Brian of the Mountain and read it to me when I was seven years old. Thus began a lifetime of admiration for the works of Anne Casserley.

       —Shane Riorden

Text Copyright ©2007 by Rosaleen Miller & Jenny Nuttall

Illustrations Copyright ©2007 by Elizabeth Wallin

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by

any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any

information storage retrieval system, without permission in writing by the copyright owners.

Published by Shane Riorden under license from Rosaleen Miller & Jenny Nutall

Printed in the United States of America

First printing 2007

Library of Congress Control Number: 2006910659

Donegal Tales: Stories from the Western Hills of Ireland

1. Children’s Stories & Illustrations

I. Casserley, Anne

ISBN 978-1-4257-4666-7 (Softcover)

ISBN 978-1-4257-4667-4 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-4568-0594-4 (Ebook)

Edited by Shane Riorden

Book Design by Bob Boeberitz

Printed by Xlibris

To order additional copies contact:

Xlibris Corporation, 1-888-7-XLIBRIS, www.xlibris.com, [e-mail]

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FOREWORD

missing image file t is not uncommon that a work of art and its creator areignored or lightly passed over in their own time but are highly regarded in later generations. Emily Dickinson was practically unknown in her day and even Jane Austen was not an immediate success. J.S. Bach’s music was almost ignored for a century and many works of art now admired in the D’Orsay Museum in Paris were packed away in storage for eighty years.

The children’s stories by the late Irish, teacher-author, Anne Casserley, enjoyed a decade of appreciation in the 1920s and 30s and then faded from public view. This book is intended to bring them back for the pleasure they give and the praise they deserve.

Alice (of Wonderland) complained that her sister’s book had no conversations. She would have liked Anne Casserley stories. They are full of lively conversation and blarney. Casserley is a gifted storyteller. Plot and action are driven by character and loose ends are nicely tidied up. Vocabulary is rich and large but not an obstacle to kids’ understanding.

She published six books of stories; five between 1926 and 1938 and one in 1957. They are in order: Michael of Ireland, The Whins on Knockattan, Roseen, Brian of the Mountain, Barney the Donkey and About Barney. The Whins, Roseen and Brian are set on the same mountains in County Donegal and the same characters appear. All but two of the twenty selections in this book are from those three books.

Anne Casserley illustrated her own books, largely with silhouettes for which she had a talent, but the standards of illustration in children’s books have changed dramatically in the last seventy years, and so all of Donegal Tales is newly illustrated by Elizabeth Wallin. I commissioned her for the work because of her great skill at drawing animals in action in the fantasy world where animals talk (and behave) like people.

The text here is just as Casserley wrote it with a few corrections of obvious errors and literary lapses.

The best children’s literature is perceived on two levels: engaging adventures for children; and ironic and humorous commentary on human nature for adults. Casserley’s stories meet that test. You and your family are in for a treat. For your own enjoyment as well as the children’s, read the stories aloud. Children will read to themselves later—you will too—I promise!

Shane Riorden, Editor & Publisher, Asheville, NC, 2007

Shane Riorden is the author of Having The Last Word—A Personal History of the Twentieth Century and Reading Aloud to Children. He is a graduate of Harvard College and Columbia Law School. He retired in 1986 after a career in college administration at Williams College, Clark University and Bard College.

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CONTENTS

From: Michael of Ireland

The Piece of Gold

From: The Whins on Knockattan

The Little Black Lamb

The Brown Cow

The Tinkers Cabbage Garden

The Glass Ball

The Gold Bell

From: Roseen

The Kerry Calf

The Young Donkey

Six Apples

From: Brian of the Mountain

Introducing Brian: A Party of Four

How Katty Came to the Mountain

The Fourth Potato Cake

The Leprechaun’s Tunnel

Winter Quarters

Far Darig on the Mountain

The Brave Kerry Cow

The Ollave’s Well

The Wonderful Cure

The Embroidered Shawl

From: Barney the Donkey

Bonny Blossom

A Glossary of Irish Terms

Agra: My dear.

Asthore: Surely.

Avic: Lad, boy.

Beg: Suffix to name of a little boy meaning son or lad.

Bilberry: Low-growing shrub with edible blue berries very like blueberries and huckleberries.

Bog: Wet, spongy, marshy ground.

Bracken: A fern common on roadsides.

Changeling: An infant put in a cradle by the fairies in place of the true mortal child—by implication, half fairy and half mortal.

Clogs: Wooden shoes—to keep ones feet out of the mud.

Corncrake: A European marsh bird.

Far Darig: Traditional name of the evil fellow in the neighborhood.

Halfdoor: On farm cottages a door hinged in two parts, above and below, to let in light and air above but closed below to keep pigs and chickens out and little children in.

Heather: Low-growing plants on treeless ground.

Larch trees: The deciduous conifer—a pine-like tree that sheds its needles annually. Also known as Tamarac.

Lough: A lake—pronounced lock.

Midsummer Night: June 21, Summer Solstice, was called Midsummer Night in Pagan Europe.

Ollave: A learned man in ancient Ireland.

Paudeen: Diminutive for Patrick.

Rowan tree: Mountain Ash—branches have magical power to defeat the Fairies and other pagan sprites.

Skeps: Beehives.

Thatch: A thick mat of grasses combed out straight; used as the roof on country houses.

The five-fifths of Ireland: All of Ireland—Ancient Celtic Ireland was ruled by five Kingdoms.

Turf: Peat—aged, dense, decaying grasses dug like sod and used as fuel for heating and cooking.

Whins: Furze, Gorse—a wild shrub-like bush with thorns and yellow flowers—everywhere in Ireland.

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THE PIECE OF GOLD

missing image file ne day the Flanagan Pig was turning up the witheredleaves by the roadside, when he found a beautiful bright piece of gold. The Flanagan Pig had great presence of mind. He did not say a word to anyone, but seizing the piece of gold, he trotted off into the wood, and when he found a quiet spot he sat down and thought.

I certainly will not give it away, said he, when I never have a farthing in my own pocket, good, bad, or indifferent. I will go to the Old Woman who lives by the sea—the Shanavan Lee—and I will consult her and also her black cat, Pangur Dhu, for they are both very wise, and they will tell me what to do with this beautiful piece of gold.

So the Flanagan Pig set off to consult the Shanavan Lee and Pangur Dhu, but he had not gone far before he met the Leprechaun.

Now where are you off in such a hurry, Flanagan Pig? asked the Leprechaun.

Oh, Leprechaun, cried the Flanagan Pig, I found a beautiful bright piece of gold when I was turning up the withered leaves and searching for acorns. I am now going to the Shanavan Lee who lives by the seaside, to consult her and her cat, Pangur Dhu, about the best way to spend it.

Why, Flanagan Pig, said the Leprechaun, your piece of gold will just pay me for the new pair of shoes which I made for you last spring.

My dear Leprechaun, cried the Flanagan Pig in a very shrill voice, "what are you talking about? Never in all my life did I buy a

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My dear leprechaun, what are you talking about?

pair of shoes from you or from anyone else. Have you gone out of your mind?"

The Leprechaun had not gone out of his mind; but he was not telling the truth, for he was collecting pieces of gold to fill a little pot which he had hidden safely away, and which he hoped no one knew about. So he lifted his hands and eyes in horror, and exclaimed:

Oh, hear this Flanagan Pig! A beautiful pair of shoes did I make for him, and like the softhearted fellow I am, I said, ‘No hurry about payment, Flanagan Pig’ And this is how I am treated in return.

Leprechaun, said the Flanagan Pig, nearly choking with indignation, if I ever had bought shoes, which I never have, you are the very last person I would buy them from—you whom the world knows for a bad workman, and neither more nor less than a robber and a thief.

The Leprechaun was just opening his mouth to reply when something rustled in the bracken, and, being nervous, the leprechaun disappeared quickly.

The Flanagan Pig continued his way, ruffled and upset.

I must learn to keep quiet about my own affairs, he said to himself. I am too honest and openhearted. Now here comes Michael. I will listen civilly to all he has to say, but never a word will I say about my beautiful piece of gold.

As soon as Michael came near enough to be heard, he shouted:

Flanagan Pig, see what I have here. A whole silver penny! The Old Woman who keeps the goats gave it to me, and said I might go to the fair and spend it. Will you come with me?

A silver penny? That is nothing! cried the Flanagan Pig, boasting. I have a whole bright piece of gold. We will go together to the fair, Michael, and help each other to spend it.

So Michael and the Flanagan Pig went to the fair together in high spirits. At the entrance to the fair sat the Old Apple Woman surrounded by baskets of big red apples.

Are your apples ripe and sweet, Old Apple Woman? asked the Flanagan Pig of her in a loud patronizing voice.

The Old Apple Woman did not like pigs.

Is your money good and plentiful, Flanagan Pig? she replied coldly. The Apple Woman did not think that the Flanagan Pig had any money at all.

Judge for yourself, said the Flanagan Pig, showing her his piece of gold.

The Apple Woman was very much impressed. Flanagan Pig, she said, I can see by your face that you are a simple trusting soul who will be robbed and robbed again by all the good-for-nothing knaves in the fair. Give me your piece of gold, Flanagan Pig, and I will give you in exchange as many ripe sweet apples as you and Michael can carry home.

But Michael did not like this plan at all, so he drew the Flanagan Pig aside, and whispered:

If you give the Apple Woman your piece of gold then we shall have nothing to spend in the fair but my silver penny. And remember this, Flanagan Pig, that if you buy all these apples, you must carry them home yourself. I certainly will not go through the fair with all these apples. Why, people would follow after us, and make fun of us.

So then the Flanagan Pig said to the Apple Woman:

I will buy some of your apples on my way home, thank you, but I think I should like to have a look round the fair first.

They had only just said good-bye to the Apple Woman when they met a man selling knives, and Michael at once decided that he would have one in exchange for his silver penny. The Flanagan Pig, however, grew tired of waiting while Michael chose the knife he liked best, and so he trotted on by himself. There were many delightful things to see, and the Flanagan Pig became quite confused trying to decide what would be best value for his piece of gold. He enjoyed himself immensely, however, and never felt the time passing until he realized that darkness was beginning to fall, that lanterns were being lighted here and there through the fair, and that he had not seen Michael for quite a long time.

Then it was that a very terrible thing befell him.

A number of young countrymen came laughing and pushing their way down the street. One of them, a rough noisy fellow, saw the Flanagan Pig running here and there in his search for Michael, and, quick as lightning, he had the Flanagan Pig by the ear.

If this isn’t my lost pig! he cried. The one that strayed from me last Saturday week. Give us a hand, boys, and hold him tight, for since he has brought himself to the fair, I will see if I cannot make a couple of shillings out of him before I go home.

The Flanagan Pig was almost struck dumb. When he recovered his breath, he cried:

I am not your pig. You are making a great mistake, sir. I am the Flanagan Pig, and I belong to nobody.

But the countryman seemed not to understand.

Have you a rope there which I could tie to his leg ? he said.

The squealings of the Flanagan Pig filled the whole fair, and soon a crowd gathered round.

I’m not his pig, cried the Flanagan Pig as loudly as ever he could. He is a thief—I belong to nobody—I am being kidnapped!

But the crowd only laughed and said: Nothing wrong with his lungs, anyhow.

So the Flanagan Pig at last was silent, and he listened in what seemed to him a horrible nightmare, while the countryman pointed out to every one how fat, and how young, and how tender, was this pig he had to sell.

A rich old farmer stopped to bargain for him, but the countryman wanted more money than the farmer wished to give, and an argument began. The Flanagan Pig listened in the quietness of despair.

But now it was that Michael at last found his lost friend. He crept up to the Flanagan Pig under cover of the darkness, and whispered to him:

Keep quiet, Flanagan Pig. I have here my sharp new knife, and I am going to cut the rope which ties your leg. The man who is holding the end of the rope is too busy talking to notice, and we shall be lost in the darkness before he misses you. Do not make a sound, but follow me.

In five minutes’ time Michael and the Flanagan Pig were speeding home as fast as they could go, leaving the countryman still holding the rope, and thinking that the Flanagan Pig was at the other end.

And so it was that Flanagan Pig never spent his piece of gold at all.

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THE LITTLE BLACK LAMB

missing image file ne day the Fairy Girl was passing through a field inthe valley which was full of sheep and lambs. The sheep were eating the grass, but the