MYTHOLOGY of Scotland & Ireland

Myths are often considered an aspect of folklore. Even so, mythology might include the belief in the supernatural, where as folklore and folk tales derived when people had the need to explain mysterious events. Pre-Christianity might have had a hand in old world myths and folklore. A people’s yearning to believe in the hereafter, or in some type of entity, lived on through stories passed generation to generation. Once Christianity became widespread, faeries, brownies, and even the belief in the Loch Ness monster faded away.

With a rich Celtic History going back over 2,000 years, it is not surprising that Scotland has an extensive heritage of myths and folklore. Many objects have accumulated their share of myths and legends; circles of stones, cairns, and even castles.

Some believe that religion was an adaption from stories and memoires or evolutionary biology. In other words, religion evolved as byproduct of psychological mechanisms that evolved for other reasons. These mechanisms might have told early people how to watch for things that could cause them harm (omens). This morphed into an ability to come up with causal narratives for natural events (folk tales) while other people had minds of their own with their own beliefs, desires and intentions (mythology and the precursors of organized religion).


Some scholars concluded that unexplained observations like thunder or lightning were the basis of stories. These word-of-mouth explanations changed with the frequency of their telling which is why one myth could have many different descriptions or endings. Even the distinctive features of Scotland’s varied scenery fuels these beliefs. Deep mountain lochs, creeks, mountain peaks, and the moor, reflect in their folk tales and myths.

Scotland and Ireland share some basic land similarities. In Scotland, mythical Selkies are shy marine creatures in the shape of a seal, usually found near the islands of Orkney and Shetland. A female can shed her skin and come ashore as a beautiful woman. If found, a man could force her to be his wife. Of course, as the legend goes, if she recovered the skin, off she’d go. Male Selkies are said to be responsible for storms. What better explanation for the sinking of a ship?
Selkies of Irish lore are said to come from Co. Donegal in Ireland, which happens to be where many people made their living from the sea. Living by the sea might cause people to craft stories as a way to explain its mysteries. The Irish considered the Selkies to have the same characteristics as those of Scotland, even though they considered other sea creatures more malevolent. Most scholars believe the seals and sea lions from which these myths evolved had sweet, non-threatening dispositions. This might have allowed them to easily be transformed by myth into non-threatening Selkies. At least, the females!

Religion changed everything. Popular Christian beliefs were the norm. Myths and folklore slipped to the back burner, but never disappeared. Many tales are quite popular today. Think of the legend surrounding the Blarney Stone in Ireland or the Loch Ness Monster. Even Girl Scout troops around the world call their youngest recruits ‘Brownies’ after helpful creatures that do good deeds.


Myths and folk tales live on because people need to believe in them. There are hundreds of wonderful stories out there about kelpies, fairies, banshees, and the like. I recommend the following websites if you would like a taste. You might even recognize one or two stories!

www.compassrose.org/folklore/scottish/Scottish-Folktales.html

http://www.sacred-texts.com/

Interested in reading my take on dead witches, a heroine with the secret gift of premonitions and a hero cursed to turn into a dragon at inopportune times?
Check out my book DRAGON'S CURSE by Whispers Publishing & Amazon for Kindle. Learn more by visiting my website: www.nancyleebadger.com and my blog: www.RescuingRomance.nancyleebadger.com

INTERVIEW WITH AUTHOR KEENA KINCAID

I first "met" Keena Kincaid through reading her novel "Anam Cara," a haunting tale of two souls caught on the karmic wheel.  I knew at once I had found an author I wanted to follow, so you can imagine how pleased I was when Keena agreed to be interviewed for The Celtic Rose.  Especially considering that she had just made a major, cross-country move with all that entails, I'm very grateful for her interest in the blog.  So without further ado, here is her interview:

Where are you from?  Tell us a little about yourself.

I’m from a small Ohio town just to the left of nowhere. I grew up on a farm that had all the accoutrements needed for a fun childhood, dogs, ponies, brothers and a small wooded area that served as Sherwood Forest for a few years.

What inspires you to write?

I’m a natural born storyteller (although my mother called it something else for a few years).  After college, I worked as a newspaper reporter and had a gift for personality profiles and features stories. To me, noveling is a natural extension of that. I’m still telling people’s stories, just a fictional person’s. The germ of a story can come from anywhere these days. A great, a shell on the beach, sometimes even from that single shoe hanging from street wires.

Do you find that your muse takes over when you write?

My characters take over. How much I get accomplished that day is solely determined by how talkative they are and how willing they are to spill secrets. It gets really interesting when my characters start to lie to me because they don’t want to face the truth about themselves anymore than the rest of us do.

Do you have any works in progress that you want to share?

I’m working on a medieval ghost story right now. The ghost is not the hero, by the way, but the catalyst that moves my hero and heroine to act. He betrayed his friends, and now he’s trying to set things to right. Initially, his motivation is to get out of purgatory quicker, but eventually he comes to desire his friend’s safety and his sister’s happiness before his own destiny.

What would be your advice to aspiring writers out there?

Write the book you want to read. I know it’s quite the cliché and the market doesn’t always love what we do, but writing is a long and sometimes lonely process. We spent months, sometimes years with these characters and often come to know them better than we know our spouses or children. If we don’t love and enjoy our characters, who else will?

What are your favorite books at the moment?

I just found a reprinted edition of a 19^th century South Carolina cookbook. I love old cookbooks because they assume you already know how to cook, so the recipes all about proportions and ideas for customizing the recipe. They turn my kitchen into a playground.

What is your favorite word?  Least favorite?

One of my favorite words is gobsmacked, as in “he fell out of the plane and lived. I was gobsmacked when I heard about it.” I write historicals, so it’s not one I can use very often. My least favorite fat-fingered, as in “the article has a lot of typos because I fat-fingered the keyboard.” The word just makes me cringe.

It's been a pleasure to get to know you a little better, Keena!   Let me just share some of your book covers here.  Both are stories of the Sidhe and sure to appeal to readers of The Celtic Rose:

 For more information and buy links for these or any of Keena's books, just go to her website:  www.keenakincaid.com.

Thanks, Keena.

P.S.--Did you find your coffee pot yet?

Enya the Bride

(An Old Tale Retold by Pat McDermott)

As everyone knows, the beauty of mortal women attracts the fairies. Finvarra, the King of the Connacht Fairies, enlisted his minions to find and abduct the prettiest ladies in Ireland. The fairies bewitched the loveliest women and brought them to Finvarra’s crystal palace beneath Knock Ma in Galway. The women heard only fairy music, which lulled them into a trance. They remained enchanted, forgetting about mortal life and living as if in a dream.

Long ago, in that part of the country, a great lord had a comely wife called Enya. He held feasts in her honor and filled his castle from dawn till dusk with music. Lords and ladies danced with great pleasure in Enya’s honor.

At the merriest part of the feast one evening, Enya entered the dance. She wore silver gossamer bound with jewels that outshone the stars in heaven. Suddenly, she released the hand of her partner and fell to the floor in a swoon.

The servants carried her to her chamber, where she lay insensible all night. At dawn, she awoke and told them she’d spent the night in a beautiful palace. "Oh, how I long to go back to sleep and return there in my dreams!"

The servants watched her all day, and she fared well enough, but when evening fell, they heard music at her window. She fell again into a trance from which no one could rouse her.

The young lord set Enya’s old nurse to sit with her, but the silence enticed the woman to sleep until dawn. When she looked at the bed, she saw to her horror that Enya had vanished.

The household searched the castle and gardens but found no trace of Enya. The young lord sent riders into the wind, but no one had seen her. He saddled his chestnut steed and galloped away to Knock Ma to speak to Finvarra, the King of the Fairies, for he and Finvarra were friends. Many a keg of good wine did the young lord leave outside his castle to quench the thirst of the fairies. Finvarra would surely have tidings of Enya.
But little did the young lord know that Finvarra himself was the traitor.

When the young lord stopped by the fairy rath, he heard voices in the air: "Finvarra is happy now, for in his palace he has the bride who will never more see her husband’s face."

"Aye," spoke another. "Finvarra is more powerful than any mortal man, though if the husband dug down through the hill, he would find his bride."

The young lord swore that devil nor fairy nor even Finvarra himself would stand between him and his bride. He sent word to every able-bodied man in the county to come with their spades and pickaxes, and they dug to find the fairy palace.

They made a deep trench, and at sunset they quit for the night. But the very next morning they found that the clay was back in the trench, as if the hill had never been dug.

The brave young lord asked the men to continue their digging, and they dug the trench again. For three days they dug with the same result: the clay was put back each night, and they were no nearer to Finvarra’s palace.

The young lord prepared to die of grief, then he heard a whisper in the air: "Sprinkle the soil you have dug with salt, and the salt will preserve your work."

He scoured the countryside for salt. That night, his men salted the soil they had dug that day. At dawn, they awakened to find the trench safe and the earth untouched around it.
The young lord knew he had beaten Finvarra. He bade the men dig, and by the next day, they’d cut a glen right through the hill. When they put their ears to the ground, they heard fairy music, and voices floated on the air.

"Now," said one, "Finvarra is sad, for if those men strike a blow on his palace, it will crumble and fade away."

"Then let him surrender the bride," said another, "and we shall all be safe."

Then Finvarra himself spoke clear as a silver bugle: "Stop!" he said. "Lay down your spades, mortal men, and at sunset the bride shall return to her husband. I, Finvarra, have spoken."

The young lord commanded his men to stop digging. At sunset he mounted his chestnut steed and rode to the top of the glen, and just as the sun turned the sky blood-red, Enya appeared on the path. He lifted her to the saddle, and they rode to the castle like storm wind.

But Enya spoke not a word. Days passed, then months, and she lay on her bed in a trance.

Sorrow fell over the castle. The young lord and his people feared the enchantment could not be broken. But late one night, when he rode in the dark, he heard voices in the air.

"It is now a year and a day since the young lord reclaimed his bride, but she is no use to him. Though her form is beside him, her spirit is still with the fairies."

Another said, "She will be so until he breaks the spell. He must loosen the pin from the girdle she wears at her waist, and then he must burn the girdle. He must throw the ashes before the door and bury the pin in the earth. Only then will she speak and know true life."

The young lord spurred his horse and hastened to Enya’s chamber, where she lay like a lovely wax figure. He loosened her girdle and found the pin in its folds. He burned the girdle and scattered the ashes before the door, and he buried the pin in the earth, beneath a fairy thorn, that no hand would disturb it.

When he returned to his young wife, she looked up at him smiling and held out her hand.

Joyfully he raised her to him and kissed her, and she stood as if no time had passed between them, as if the year she had spent with the fairies was only a dream.

The cut in the hill remains to this day and is called "The Fairy’s Glen."

Happy Thanksgiving!

I wanted to wish all of my Celtic Rose friends a very Happy Thanksgiving! May you have a feast at your table and loved ones to share it with. I hope for safe travels for you and your family. Take care!

Love,

Sarah

SCOTTISH BANNOCKS

My paternal grandmother was Lillian MacBlain Wells.  A tiny, blonde, blue-eyed enchantress at the turn of the century (I have seen her pictures!), she was the spark who lit some fire in my taciturn Cornish grandfather, Herman Wells.  Grand-Dad said little of his family but Nana, like me, was a babbler.  That's how I learned her people came from Ireland but had first been transplanted from Scotland and were said to be descended from Druids.  Imagine my surprise years later when I learned MacBlain meant "son of the gentle folk."  The gentle folk, of course, being Druids.  It was my Nana who first said--when I was just a small child--that I had the Second Sight and would be fey.  She was the one to give me my first insight into the fact that I was 100% Celt on my father's side and that this was a good thing to be.  And it was Nana who said when my heart had been broken I would find it again in Ireland.  She was right on all counts.

She has been gone a long while now, leaving behind her stories and recipes--and the memories of a lot of very good parties!  No one knew how to party like my Nana.  In the quieter times, we had scones and teabreads washed down by so much tea I'm permanently immune to caffeine.  One of her favorite recipes and mine is this one for Scottish Bannocks.  You can also find this recipe and some other fabulous eats at Pat McDermott's www.kitchenexcursions.blogspot.com

Bannocks

3/4 c. flour
1/4 c. oatmeal
1 tsp. salt
2 tbsp. butter
1 tbsp baking powder
2 tbsp. sugar
1/2 c. milk

Sift flour, salt and baking powder.  Add butter, rub fine.  Mix in oatmeal and sugar.  Make a well.  Pour in milk, stir until it forms a soft, sticky surface.  Turn onto floured surface, knead lightly.  Roll out and shape into one or two 1/2" thick rounds.  Heat griddle, flour rounds lightly.  Cook for 10 minutes.  Turn once and cook other side.  Cool on a rack.  Slice thinly and serve with butter and jam.

INTRODUCING BILL HAWORTH

Today it's my distinct pleasure to introduce British author/actor/playwright Bill Haworth.

Bill's varied life experiences reflect very well in his general fiction short stories and books.  Retired from the Army, Bill has also been employed in offshore activity in the U.K. (North Sea), Canada, the Arctic and the Middle East.

Most recently, DCL Publications has released his short story collection, "Stonehenge and Other Short Stories."  My personal favorite is "The Ice Palace," a story based on a little-known event in Czarist Russia.

You can find Bill's excerpt and buy links at:  http://www.amazon.com/Stonehenge-Other-Short-Stories-Haworth/dp/0984461566 or http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Stonehenge-and-Other-Short-Stories/Bill-Haworth/e/9780984461561

And don't miss his video trailer:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTOoQTOP4Ug

DEIRDRE AND THE SONS OF USNA: PART ONE

This retelling of the ancient tale out of Ireland will appear in an anthology to be released by Victory Tales Press in early 2011.  In the meantime, I hoped you might enjoy Part I of "Deirdre."

It was by the trickery of his mother that Conor MacNessa became King of Ulster.  Connor’s widowed mother Ness had no hope of a throne for him by right of his birth, but beauty she did have in abundance and she set out to seduce Fergus MacRi, king at that time.  Rich and powerful though he was, Fergus could not obtain her consent to marriage despite his constant courtship.  At last, when she had worn Fergus to the bone, Ness agreed on one condition—that he leave his kingship for a year, placing Conor on the throne during that time so that his issue could claim descent from the line of a king.

Now Fergus called it only a sop to her pride and was reluctant to concede this point and rightfully so.  For when he finally agreed and he and Ness were wed, she lost no time in suborning the people to Conor.  Rich bribes and abundant favors won them so that when Fergus went to retake his throne none would have him, saying if he had left it for a woman it could not have meant much to him.

Leaving Ness behind, Fergus and a band of followers departed for Connaught, where they were harbored at the court of Queen Maeve and her beloved, Aillil.   During that time, Fergus fought alongside the men of Connaught against his own Ulstermen in the Tain Bo Cuaigne where Ulster’s champion Cuchullain met with Maeve’s army.  It being impossible to prevail against the great hero, the men of Connaught were turned back and Fergus with them.   And Fergus descended into deep bitterness and grief for the loss of his lands, saying that he must have sight of them again before he died.