Strange
Goings-on............
“Hould
yar whisht now” Granddad Gorman broke the sleepy
silence as we all sat around the turf fire feeling drowsy after
our evening meal and before we went to
bed. He jumped up from his chair and almost ran to the little
window that looked out onto the road. Although I was
only seven or eight at the time I realised that he was frightened as he looked
a bundle of nerves. I also saw Granny Gorman drop
her knitting and take up her Rosary Beads.
We, that is, my brothers Ger and Jackie,
were ‘down the country’ back home in Ireland for a
short holiday late in the year 1948. I loved it there
but without even radio and certainly no electricity in the village, the dark
early winter evenings of October left us with little to do a lot of the
time. Some nights Uncle Mick and Uncle
Jack would read us something from one of the many books that lay on
the shelf but I much preferred to hear their stories. Although many
were gruesome and horrible and regularly gave me nightmares, I still loved to
hear them..............
The reason for Granddad’s quick reaction was
the sound of crunching wheels and horse hooves rattling on the roadside not far
away from the front of the house. I had in fact heard
them but had not taken any notice. I thought that it was
probably one of the local farmers making their way home after working in the
fields in a horse and cart.
“What’s wrong Granny?” I
asked. “Shush now Michael, your Granddad will tell
you all in good time” she spoke softly and quietly. Granddad
continued to look out the small window, then turned and said to us, in
particular Granny – “Tis the damn Dullahan that will surely bring bad
news upon the village”. He made the sign of the
cross which only succeeded in making me more nervous.
Twice more in the next ten or fifteen
minutes, the noise from outside got louder then faded away. I am almost
certain that I heard a scream or two from some distant
house. Apart from that you could have heard a pin
drop................
Eventually Granddad returned to his seat near
the fire and all was as quiet as a tomb. “Go on
Granddad” Jackie coaxed “tell us about the Dulli or whatever you called
it. Is it a ghost or are you just pretending?” Jackie
was a disbelieving little so-and-so and would in fact if he had been dared to
do so, gone outside and shook hands with the devil
himself. He began to snigger............
“Laugh?” Granddad asked “so
you think the Dullahan is a figment of me imagination do you? Well
let me tell you that one of these dark nights you will as sure as hell meet up
with the blackguard himself and I can tell you that he will soon wipe that
smile off your face”. I thought that Granddad was
more than a little annoyed with Jackie.
“Tell me Granddad” I spoke softly from
my little perch on the hob close to the fire, “I’ll believe
you”. “You’re alright Mick” he spoke softly to
me “but them that mock the spirits come to a sticky end in the
long run. You mark my words”.........
I think that Jackie understood what Granddad
was saying for the smile was no longer on his face. “I
will believe you too” he said “please tell us about the Dullahan”.
Granddad went through the usual rigmarole
that I knew only too well when he was about to tell us a
story. He slowly took out his pipe, filled it with tobacco and
as he lit it, he puffed away gently, blowing the smoke towards the fire.
“The Dullahan” he said “is
probably the most frightening of all the fairy folk that you are ever likely to
encounter. Maybe I should say that he is the one that you
should pray every night that you will never encounter at all”. Granddad
paused and puffed away knowing right well that we were hanging on his every
word. He slowly continued.
“You see” he said “in the
old Gaelic, he is called the ‘Gan Ceann’. Now tell me,
who knows what that means in Irish?” Ger and Jackie
made no reply but I knew what ‘ceann’ meant. I
said “Something ‘head’, Granddad”. “Excellent
Mick, I knew these two amadans couldn’t hold a light to you. You are
quite right, it does mean ‘head’ and ‘gan’ means ‘without’”. As
he finished speaking I suddenly had the vision forming in my little head of
something,or worse still,someone,without a head.
As I may have said often before, Granddad had
the ability of reading my mind like an open book. “Yes
indeed Mick, a most fearsome man without a head. Now when I
say without a head, that’s not quite true. He carries his ugly
ould head under his arm. Two great big shining eyes and
a grin on his face that would frighten the devil himself. You see it
goes from ear to ear”. He paused for a moment and puffed
away with his pipe as if waiting for this information to sink
in. Jackie again sniggered.
“Oh yes you little brat” Granddad said
slightly annoyed at him “and he carries a whip made of
bone. You know that bone that runs down your back from
your head to your backside? Well that is what’s called
your spine and his whip is made up of a human spine”. Again
he paused for effect..............
“He always has a big black horse that
pulls a wagon and guess what?” he asked. “No” I
replied afraid to guess anything at this stage. “Well now”
he continued “the spokes of the wheels are made of human leg bones and dried
human skin covers the wagon. Now Jackie me boy, how to you
fancy meeting him on a dark night?”
This time Jackie did not
snigger. Granddad continued. “As
long as you can hear the wagon wheels crunching on the road you are safe, for as
soon as he stops he claims a body from close by. Makes not a
hape-worth of difference whether it is a live or dead person, he claims him and
takes him away. The only thing is that if the person is still
alive, the Dullaham calls out that person’s name and good God Almighty but that
same person there and then drops dead at the mention of his or her name”.
“If you say your prayers Granddad” I
asked quietly “does he leave you alone?” “Not
a chance Mick. When the old devil puts his mark on you, sure
you are a certain gonner. All the prayers in the world won’t
save you. Your only hope is that you died in the state of
grace cause then he won’t be able to get you into hell and you will find
yourself at the gates of Heaven”. As he said all
this, he put his right index finger to his lips and nodded towards Jackie who was
staring into the fire. He then, believe it or not
winked at me.................
Now usually at this stage of one of
Granddad’s horror stories I would have a hard time not peeing in my pants but I
was now immediately relieved in a more sensible
meaning. I kept a straight face and winked back at
him............................
“And another thing Jackie” he
continued, now speaking directly to my brother, “there is no use trying
to block his way for you know what. The blackguard will only throw
a bucket of blood on you marking you for his next
victim. Either that or he whips your eyes out with his spine
whip”. I could see that Jackie was now cowering
closer and closer to Granny and I gave another crafty wink to Granddad.
“So how do you stop him Granddad?” I
asked. “Only the one way Mick” he replied “and
that is to always carry something made of real gold. Do
you have any gold Jackie?” he asked. “No
Granddad” he whispered in reply “but I will save up all my pennies
until I can buy some”. “Good” said Granddad “because
you never know the day or the time that you meet him be it in the dark or
during broad daylight. And another thing” he said “don’t
make jokes about such people or one of them might come for you much earlier
than you expect”. I could see that this
warning brought tears to Jackie’s eyes.
A few minutes later, Granddad opened the
front door and stood outside in the dark. I joined him but
neither of us spoke for a couple of minutes. I started
off by saying to him “That was a good one Granddad; you frightened the
daylights out of Jackie. I am glad that it was not true”.
“Not true?” Granddad said loudly “how
dare you suggest that I would tell you a lie. The whole story
from start to finish is as true as I am standing here beside
you. What on earth makes you think it was not true?” he
asked. “But you winked at me when you were telling it” I
protested. “Winked?” he said “sure wasn’t
it just a bit of dust from the fire that got into me eye and I never did it on
purpose”. I now moved back towards the light of the
doorway.
“You mark my words young
Michael. The Dullahan is the real thing and I hope to God that
it is many a year before you hear the grinding sound of those wheels and the
noise of horse’s hooves outside your very own door. For as
sure as eggs is eggs, it will bring sadness and misfortune to you and
yours”........................
So – that was my introduction to the Dullahan and
you know something? I believe every word of
it. Hopefully please God, I have a few more years before
I hear the sound of strange wagons and horses in our road on the outskirts
of London for I can assure you that it would be an awesome
sight and frighten the living daylight out of half the
neighbourhood..........................
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(The
Dullahan is truly a character in ancient Irish
storytelling. The more horrible
and frightening
the storyteller made his tale the more respected he became.
Over
the years, the story has travelled far and wide and is believed to have
inspired the screenwriting
of the film The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’).
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