Book Review: A treasure trove of folk tales

• The Anthology of Irish Folk Tales: Volume Two 
• Extract: Inchiquin Lake: Never Disturb A Woman at Her Knitting
• Editor/author: Ruth Marshall

BEFORE there was a lake or a castle or anything else there, there used to be a hurling field where Lake Inchiquin is now. Boys used to come from all around the area to play hurling matches there. So one day there was a big crowd of lads playing hurling, and they began to quarrel when one of them had hit another. The one said the other tripped him up on purpose, the other denied it.

Voices were raised and fists would be out next, as the quarrel got louder and louder. There was an old woman who lived in a cave on the side of Clifden Hill. She was sitting there working at her knitting, and minding her own business, when the sound of the boys’ fighting caught her attention. She got up from her rocking chair, and with her knitting under her arm, she went marching down to see what the cause of all the noise was. Finding the boys still fighting with each other, she shouted at them crossly to stop it at once. When the boys paid her no heed, and just kept on with their sport, the old woman took out one of her knitting needles and stuck it deep into the ground. When she pulled the needle out again, up sprang a well full of water. It spouted up into the air, and ran bubbling over the ground, rising higher and spreading further until it covered the whole field.

That was how Inchiquin Lake was made. If you pass by any of County Clare’s many lakes, you will often see a party of swans gracefully taking their ease on the still waters.

When they fly over the lakes, it is surely one of the most beautiful and haunting sights, with the sound of their wings beating echoing through the air, it is easy to picture the sad story of Conor O’Quin who met with a beautiful swan maiden on the shores of Inchiquin Lake near Corofin.

There was a young chief, Conor O’Quin, who lived near Inchiquin Lake. One day as he was out walking near an old stone fort by the lake, he saw a large number of swans swimming on the lake, heading in towards the southern shore. As he watched them, the swans stretched their necks, shook out their wings and walked ashore.

There they seemed to grow taller, and removing black hoods and feathered dresses, became a group of graceful young women dressed in thin white shifts. These girls danced and chattered there at the lake’s reedy edge. One girl sat on a rock to comb her black hair and turned her face in O’Quin’s direction.

The Irish Anthology Folk Tales: Volume Two The History Press, €19.99

O’Quin had never seen such a beauty before, and he was immediately smitten. The girl, when she noticed the man watching her, took up her feathered dress and flew off over the water, the other swan-girls behind her in graceful flight.

O’Quin could not get the face of this beautiful swan maiden from his mind. He took to wandering down by the lake each day in the hope of seeing her again. Three times he caught a glimpse of her as she sat on the rock by the water’s edge combing her dark hair. Each time he approached she would quickly pull on her hood and feathered dress and take flight. One day however O’Quin, now consumed with love for the swan maiden, had a plan. He rose early and hid himself behind some scrubby trees and bushes near the water’s edge and waited for the swans to come to shore. When they did, he watched them shake off their feathered dresses and hoods, biding his time, waiting only for the right moment to make his move. As his beloved lay down her black hood, O’Quin quickly grabbed it up and held it fast.

This time the swan maiden could not escape him. He asked her to marry him and come live with him in his grand house. She tried to dissuade him. ‘You would be better to marry one of your own kind,’ she said. But O’Quin would not be put off. He asked again, stressing the depth of his love for her. At last she agreed to become his wife, but she named three conditions to her consent.

The first condition was that the marriage must remain a secret; the second, that he must never invite an O’Brien into their house; and third, that he must not engage in games of chance. O’Quin agreed at once, and swore that he would tell no one about his lovely bride; that he would never invite an O’Brien to the house; and that he would neither gamble nor play cards. He thought these conditions a small price to pay for the love of his life. O’Quin scooped her up into his arms and carried her back to the grand house. There they lived happily together for many years. As time went by two children were born, and as they grew, all seemed well in the world for Conor O’Quin.

ONE day, O’Brien of Leamanagh and some of the other chiefs of the area decided to hold a tournament nearby at Coad. There would be horse races, and great sport was promised. O’Quin’s wife begged him not to go, but when he insisted, she pleaded with him to accept no invitation to dine, nor to invite anyone to dine at their house. O’Quin gave her his solemn word and set off for the races at Coad.

In the excitement of the day, he quite forgot his promise. He invited O’Brien to dine with him and the chief came with all his retinue to O’Quin’s house. O’Quin’s wife prepared a glorious feast and served it up on the finest of dishes, but she spoke not one word. While O’Brien and his party ate their fill, entertained by her foolish husband, she took up her swan gown and put it on, along with her black hood.

She carried her children, one under each arm from their beds, and then slipped away down to the shores of the lake and was never seen again in human form. Not knowing about his loss, O’Quin played cards with O’Brien after dinner. He wagered his house and lands and lost it all to Tadg O’Brien of Coad.

O’Quin was a ruined man. Having broken his promises, he had lost all that he held dear: his wife, family, house and lands, all gone in one foolish, thoughtless night. They say O’Brien gave him a place to build a small house and he lived out his days there, a sad and broken man. I can see him still wandering the shore on Lake Inchiquin in the hope that his beloved swan maiden might one day return.

Review/book extract: Forthcoming new book ‘The Anthology of Irish Folk Tales: Volume Two’, a second selection of tales from a wealth of authentic Irish storytellers, honouring the unmistakable character of Ireland’s customs, beliefs, and dialects