A History of Irish Magic
Sally and James North
HolythornPress
Before St. Patrick rid Ireland of ‘the snakes’ that never existed, and before the populace adopted a middle eastern religion’ they had their own belief system (?) Surely. When I hear there is to be a book concerning the ancient Celt or Briton religion and their belief systems immediately I wonder, that they had an oral tradition and there is very little handed down to us, those Druid orders that litter contemporary works are more speculative and artistic, symbolic and role playing at being Merlin or what-not, yes I wonder… is this another cash-in?
But. Almost immediately these facts are verified in the book. Yes, there were Roman accounts of what supposedly those old Druids got up to, but can those reports be believed? The same Romans whose new church now assuaged the population of Ireland, and Europe, to its sway?
The second point that dissuades me from these type of books, is often reading books of ‘historical’ nature, the read becomes bogged down with a drudgery of dates and characters to assimilate, here, the chronology and the layout are much more serene.
It is, after a few chapters a wonder that the book was written at all, we are told how few Irish folk were persecuted during the great witch trials, whereas in countries in Europe tens of thousands were jailed, tortured or burnt, in Ireland there were not enough to count on the fingers of both hands. That coupled with the nature of the Druids which was not written or drawn or etched or made fancy in a work of tapestry by their own hands means there is prior to the Christian/Catholic sublimation no real record of the beliefs of Ireland save those drawn from histories and the invasions of that land, which are of course subject to the whim of the victors who wrote them. So how can a book, and it’s not a thin monologue, its a nice hefty volume be so contained with the subject matter?
There is of course W.B.Yeats and Maud Gonne and George William Russell of which there are lengthy and enlightening outlines of their lives including at length the rituals of the attempted Golden Dawn Offshoot- the Celtic Order and its rituals. In itself the book is worthy of study just for these insights and these three personae’s do make up the majority of the content.
At times, certain passages seem to be repeated, it is as if a paragraph has been copied and pasted and though not frequent I have been tempted to go back to make sure I hadn’t simply placed the included bookmark in the wrong place and re-read, its not important as each paragraph is intrinsic to the story as written where it appears, even if again, and sometimes things need re-iterating.
It would be easy to pad a book of this nature out with some speculative and imaginative works on Irish Druidry and pre-Christian Celt lore as is the case in many a contemporary and particularly American new-age-old-dreaming book on this subject, but the authors haven’t, it is objective and as I say, given a synopsis, there is little that could be argued for writing a history of Irish magic being as on the face of it there is little and scant compared to any other country in Europe, yet, that is what not only makes this book even more fascinating but actually important.
There is a curious omission though, my great-great grandfather was a traveller (My grandmother called this grandfather in law a “diddicoy” ) who lived in Ireland until he left during the “famine” (there wasn’t a famine, just the British took what food were available for themselves despite the blight et al, there was enough food) and used his craft at ‘coach building’ in England. There we have one huge omission from this work, namely the ancient and oral tradition of the travellers, yes, perhaps being secular and ‘closed’ , admittance to this history and work is shut for the cowans who live in houses and beneath roofs, but the history is there. It’s still there and ripe to be uncovered. (I remember curiously of the tale of Lubenny Marsh, or so I reckoned, it was a much loved tale , though I didn’t reckon on the actual wording which was sic.Lubenny Moshi which has nothing to do with a quaint marshland around which men would swoon and submit, so the tale and song goes, but actually means the licentious woman of the pride who enticed the ‘outsiders’ – usually to their doom and certainly in forfeit of anything of value. )
Anyway I digress. There is an abundance of knowledge of the orders both influential to the Celtic tradition and of which the Celtic tradition, even in a romantic and Arthurian manner have influenced the western tradition.
We meet Moriarty ,no not Holmes would-be nemesis, but he who taught Dion Fortune.
Likewise we are taught of the Irish hermeticists~ P.G. Bowen and Col.Seymour before embarking on the rich artwork and archetypal Irish imagery as portrayed by Arthur O’Murnaghan. There is a smattering of speculative druidry, rituals and synopsis providedby Bowen, steps outlined in his ‘occult course’ etc…
Theosophy plays a part in the history provided, a strange one that, I have heard of the relationship between Sanskrit and Welsh/Irish and have researched many root words of the Welsh and Sanskrit, some close, others ambiguous.
The downside perhaps being the vast majority of characters dealt with in the book are of the middle to upper classes end of the occult fraternity as opposed to the peasant and ‘village’ pagan. We can well look back and think one could offer more from a few streets of Victorian London than the whole of ‘this’ Ireland. Again, the point would be missed.
Ireland is many a time likened to the ancient western oasis, that seat of ‘Atlantis’ , the Fae are rife and more’s the pity the populace don’t harp on about it, it’s just part of the culture. Perhaps, many could have stood up to be counted as luminaires of a new enlightenment with regards to the old ‘ways’, but despite the angst of an Ireland colonised for the most part, contentment and freedom in the heart reigns, and so with quiet rectitude the populace are not upon that pedestal of narcissism so enamoured by the cult leaders, high priestesses and chiefs so proclaimed in occult orders from the Western tradition and modern ‘enlightenment’ schools, the bohemians who demand in the mirror that they are the fairest. Perhaps, ironically as the saying goes of British, ‘dont like to make a fuss about it’ though surely the Irish would make a ‘song and dance’. It is an enigma almost.
If someone had read this book and told me what it was about, I’m not sure I would have bought it as I already noted have an aversion to any history books, given that it’s a vomit of dates and histories collected from whichever biased bastard cut throat their way to creating the history, but, this is one volume that is both peculiar and familiar, that on the face of it is unassuming and yet alluring.
I have the hardback version which is limited to 300 copies, remove the dust cover, it’s beautiful. There are included some postcard prints and a bookmark though I’m not sure if they’re included in the softback version.
I am also intrigued by the authors, they seem in many ways to be idiosyncratic of the Ireland they portray, their pursuits, academia and works are suggestive of those who by rights should be at the forefront of this horde of contemporary occultist/esoteric authors seeking acclaim, yet, here they are presenting this wonderful book without so much as a clenched fist and a drawing of a demon or pentagram in sight.
….It’s odd, bonfire comes from the word bone-fire, I had to look that up and check. The authors didn’t even make a song and dance about it, perhaps assuming we all knew. The Samhain Bone-fire! Glorious!
From the early stories of the Fae and the Druid lawmakers to the modern seekers, The history of Irish Magic is one to be read, without wanting or with hunger, a proper fireside book that sets a foundation for a long lost past, Hiraeth even (a welsh word-no Sanskrit equivalent- for that which is lost and of which there is no record, in as much it may all be a dream- like Atlantis)
Now that I have read it, always waiting to be bored by dates,(didn’t happen) or frustrated by ridiculous ancient druid supposes (didn’t happen) I will read it again, because the angst to tread somewhere new with prejudice is no longer there.
A Call of the Sidhe
George William Russell -A.E.
TARRY thou yet, late lingerer in the twilight’s glory:
Gay are the hills with song: earth’s faery children leave
More dim abodes to roam the primrose-hearted eve,
Opening their glimmering lips to breathe some wondrous story.
Hush, not a whisper! Let your heart alone go dreaming.
Dream unto dream may pass: deep in the heart alone
Murmurs the Mighty One his solemn undertone.
Canst thou not see adown the silver cloudland streaming
Rivers of faery light, dewdrop on dewdrop falling,
Star-fire of silver flames, lighting the dark beneath?
And what enraptured hosts burn on the dusky heath!
Come thou away with them, for Heaven to Earth is calling.
These are Earth’s voice–her answer–spirits thronging.
Come to the Land of Youth: the trees grown heavy there
Drop on the purple wave the starry fruit they bear.
Drink: the immortal waters quench the spirit’s longing.
Art thou not now, bright one, all sorrow past, in elation,
Made young with joy, grown brother-hearted with the vast,
Whither thy spirit wending flits the dim stars past
Unto the Light of Lights in burning adoration.
Poem regarding the Mary Butters as discussed in ‘The History of Irish Magic’ though the poem is not included;-
CARMONEY WITCHES,
A humorous modern Song, founded on fact,
by F. B. , Cumber, Granfhaw.
Tune “Lovely Molly has an air ”
In Carrick town a wife did dwell,
Who does pretend to conjure witches
Auld Barbara Goats and lucky Bell,
Ye’ll no lang to come through her clutches ;
A waefu’ trick this wife did play,
On fimple Sawney, our poor tailor,
She’s mittimiss’d the other day
To lie in limbo with the Jailor :
This fimple Sawney had a Cow
Was aye as sleekit as an otter
It happen’d for a month or two.
Aye when they churn’d they got nae butter;
Roun-tree tied in the Cow’s tail,
And vervain glean’d about the ditches;
These freets and charms did not prevail.
They cou’d not banifh the auld witches:
The neighbour wives a’ gather’d in
In number near about a dozen,
Elfpie Dough and Mary Linn,
An’ Keat M’Cart the tailor’s cousin,
Aye they churn’d an’ aye they fwat,
Their aprons loos’d and coost their mutches
But yet nae butter they could get.
They bleft the Cow but curft the witches:
Had Sawney summoned all his wits.
And fent awa for Huie Mertin,
He could have gall’t the witches guts
An’ cur’t the kye to Nannie Barton;
But he may fhow the farmer’s wab
An’ lang wade through Carmoney gutters,
Alas’ it was a fore mis-jab
When he employ’d auld Mary Butters;
The forcereft open’d the fcene.
With magic words of her invention,
To make the foolifh people keen
Who did not know her bafe intention.
She drew a circle round the churn.
An’ wafh’d the staff in fouth run water
An’ fwore the witches fhe would burn,
But fhe would have the tailor’s butter.
When fable night her curtain fpread.
Then fhe got on a flaming fire.
The tailor ftood at the Cow’s head
With his turn’d waiftcoat in the byer;
The chimney cover’d with a fcraw,
An’ ev’ry crevice where it fmoak’d,
But long before the cock did craw
The people in the houfe were choak’d,
The muckle pot hung on all night
As Mary Butters had been brewing,
In hopes to fetch fome witch or wight
Whas entrails by her art was ftewing
In this her magic a’ did fail
Nae witch or wizard was detected;
Now Mary Butters lies in jail,
For the bafe part that fhe has acted.
The tailor loft his fon an’ wife,
For Mary Butters did them fmother
But as he hates a fingle life.
In four weeks time he got another;
He is a crufe auld canty chiel,
An’ cares nae what the witches mutters
He’ll never mair employ the deil,
Nor his auld agent, Mary Butters;
At day the tailor left his poft,
Though he had feen no apparation
Nae wizard grim nae witch nor ghoft,
Though ftill he had a ftrong fuspicion
That fome auld wizard wrinkled wife.
Had caft her cantrips o’er poor brawney
Caufe fhe and he did live in ftrife,
An’ whare’s the man can blame poor Sawney;
Wae sucks for our young laffes now,
For who can read their mystic matters
Or tell if their fweet hearts be true,
The folk a run to Mary Butters;
To tell what thief a horfe did fteal,
In this fhe was a mere pretender
An’ has nae art to raife the deil
Like that auld wife, the witch of Endor
If Mary Butters be a witch,
Why but the people all fhould know it,
An’ if fhe can the mufes touch
I’m fure fhe’ll foon descry the poet,
Her ain familiar aff fhe’ll fen’
Or paughlet wi’ a tu’ commiffion,
To pour her vengeance on fhe men,
That tantalises her condition.
The Western Gate 
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