Sunday, 28 August 2016

The story of the Cailleach of Loughcrew and its meaning

Many of you have probably heard the story of the Cailleach (hag or witch) of Loughcrew. The hills of Loughcrew are scattered with the remnants of a vast cluster of megalithic monuments that are thought to be up to 5,500 years old. There are four hills - all containing monuments, mostly megalithic cairns and passage-tombs. These are known today as Carnbane West, Carrickbrack, Carnbane East and Patrickstown Hill. The hills, three of them at least, were collectively known in the 19th century as 'The Witches Hops', and in the 17th as 'the Calliagh Steppes'. In some versions, Carrickbrack is omitted, and in the 15th century the remaining three were referred to as Trí Choiscéim na Caillighe, the three footsteps of the hag.

Climbing Carnbane East to see Cairn T, with (in the left background) Carrickbrack and Carnbane West.

There is an old poem told about the Cailleach of Loughcrew, that goes like this:

I am the Chailleach Beara
Many wonders have I seen
I have seen Carn Bawn a lake,
though tis now a mountain green. (1)

The story about the Cailleach tells how she came from the north and she tried to jump from hill to hill, some say from the Carnbane (the westernmost hill) to Patrickstown (the easternmost), alighting on the other hills in between. If she could succeed in this magical feat she would obtain great power. She was carrying an apron full of stones. As she jumped from hill to hill, she dropped some stones from her apron, forming the cairns on each of the peaks. When she reached Patrickstown (which is undoubtedly a Christian name, and perhaps we might some day learn what its original name was) she fell and broke her neck. According to Jean McMann, in her lovely little book Loughcrew - The Cairns - A Guide, a pile of stones at the bottom of the eastern slope of Patrickstown Hill was known until recently as the cailleach's grave.

In earlier times the hill we know today as Carnbane West was known just as the Carnbane (Carn Bán, the white cairn or the white heap of stones). The hill known today as Carnbane East was, it seems, known as Sliabh na Caillaigh, the mountain or hill of the hag/witch.

Cairn T on Carnbane East, formerly known as the Hag's Carn and Sliabh na Caillaigh.

There is no doubt in my mind that the story of the Cailleach of Loughcrew contains essences of an ancient creation or origin myth. This great woman, whose status has been reduced to an old crone, was probably a goddess of the land who was greatly venerated in ancient times. McMann says of her:

'This cailleach is famous in Irish folklore. Other storytellers have described her as a superhuman woman who could harvest a field faster than any man, a crone lamenting her youth, a banshee announcing a death, or a Christian nun. She is best known as Cailleach Bhéarra, but has been called by many other names, including not only Waura but Beri, Buí and Vera ... and may be a later version of the ancient pagan sovereignty queens whose consent was required for kings to rule. Some scholars think she represented wild nature, as a prehistoric earth goddess'.

Michael Dames, writing in 'Ireland, A Sacred Journey', suggests that "the apron is the divine womb, translated into the language of dress".

In this context, we can see the apron as a womb of creation, and perhaps, in the tradition of Marija Gimbutas, we can think of the cairns not so much as tombs, but more like wombs. As a creation or origin myth, the story of the Cailleach of Loughcrew shares some similarities with another origin myth, that which tells about how the River Boyne was formed. In that story, Bóinn approaches Nechtain's Well, something which is forbidden for a woman. The well gushes forth into a fountain, carrying Bóinn along as it creates the River Boyne. Bóinn is mutilated by the waters - she loses an eye, and her arm and leg are broken. Eventually, she is washed out to sea, where she is drowned. Her lapdog, Dabilla, is transformed into the Rockabill islands. In both cases, a female deity is credited with an act of creation, and in both cases at the end of the act of creation the women are killed.

But there is more to the story of the Cailleach of Loughcrew than meets the eye. I'm inclined to think that the imagery of a woman jumping from hill to hill forming cairns is, perhaps, some memory of an ancient astronomical system in which the sun and moon were seen to rise up out of various hills and cairns when viewed from other parts of the complex, and conversely they were seen to "set into" hills and cairns from other vantage points. I'm inspired in this aspect by the Cailleach na Mointeach, the "Old Woman of the Moors" at the Callanish stones in Scotland. The local people there refer to her as the "sleeping beauty" and once every 18.6 years, the moon at its major standstill southern extreme rises from some part of this sleeping beauty and sets again at the bottom of Mount Clisham. (2)

Until 1980, little was known about any astronomical aspect of the Loughcrew cairns. But in that year, Martin Brennan and Jack Roberts discovered the equinox alignment of Cairn T, during which the light of the rising sun on the equinoxes shines into Cairn T (photographed on left) and illuminates what Brennan described as "solar emblems" on the stone at the rear of the chamber. They also discovered that the chamber of Cairn L appeared to be aligned towards the November and February cross-quarter sunrises, and several other small cairns appeared to have alignments towards solar events. In some cases, the passage of a cairn is pointing towards another cairn. For instance, from the chamber of Cairn I on Carnbane West, the sun appears to rise over Cairn T on Carnbane East  at the beginning of September.

The imagery of a woman, or goddess, jumping from hill to hill is, I think, possibly symbolic of a system of alignments from various parts of the megalithic complex, focusing on sunrises and moonrises, and also sunsets and moonsets. In the fullness of time, I think an even more comprehensive study of the alignments of Loughcrew will reveal an interest in the extreme lunar declinations, the minor and major standstills of the moon. At Dowth, for instance, my own studies of the alignments of its two known passageways indicates that the setting moon at both its major and minor southern setting positions might have been the primary, or even shared, targets of the southern and northern chambers, while the setting sun at winter solstice (southern chamber) and November/February cross-quarter days (northern chamber) were also targets. Perhaps the death of the Cailleach is allegorical, referring to the lunar extreme, and perhaps the "death" of one 18.6-year cycle and the beginning of the next one? The fact that she was said to have "come from the north is also interesting, because of the fact that the maximum northern rising and setting extremes of the standstill moon are located in the far northeast and northwest.


Until a more comprehensive study of possible lunar alignments at Loughcrew can be undertaken (and I must admit I would be very happy to be involved!) we can only reflect on the possibilities. We know that there are certainly solar alignments. We can't be sure that these alignments were an intended principal function of the monuments, but they constitute a fascinating and indeed almost mystical aspect of these ancient structures. To be lucky enough to have been witness to some of these alignments makes me feel an extraordinary connection with the builders.

We cannot know how far back the story of the Cailleach of Loughcrew goes. Certainly as Jean McMann acknowledges, "People have probably been telling stories about the Loughcrew hills for more than five thousand years".

Is it too bold a step, to wild a conjecture, to suggest that the story of the Witches Hops or the Cailleach's Steps is in fact some remnant of a very ancient myth, one which goes right back to the time when these cairns were constructed?

The illumination of solar emblems by equinox sunrise at Cairn T.

Addendum - watching the moon


Of interest to our discussion about lunar standstills at Loughcrew is the fact that a society carefully observing and recording the moon's cycles would become aware of several things. The number of sidereal months (the time it takes the moon to complete a circuit of the sky, ie from a particular place on the Zodiac back to the same place again) and synodic months (a particular phase back to same phase, eg full moon back to full moon) does not fit neatly into a solar year. 12 synodic months is 11 days short of a 365-day solar year. In fact, the number of lunations only fits the solar year after 254 sideral months, or 235 sidereal months, which is equal to 19 years. This 19-year cycle is known today as the Metonic Cycle. See this page for a further discussion of the Metonics.

Observers watching the Metonic Cycle would also naturally become aware of the rotation of the moon's nodes, and 18.6-year cycle during which the point where the moon's path crosses the sun's path (the moon's path is inclined to the ecliptic by 5.15 degrees, so its path intersects the sun's path at two points in the sky each month) appears to complete a full circuit of the sky. As this happens, the moon appears, at certain times during this 18.6-year cycle, to go through maximum and minimum extremes, which are observable by the moon's rising and setting places relative to the sun's solstice positions. When the moon's node is located exactly on the sun's solstice positions, there is a likelihood of eclipses occurring at the time of the solstices. Conversely, when the moon's nodes are located exactly on the sun's equinox points, not only is there a likelihood of eclipses at the time of equinox, but the moon's path will be at its maximum separation from the ecliptic at the sun's solstice positions. If the moon's declination is at that time within the range of the sun's path, we get what is termed the "minor standstill", while if its declination is outside of the sun's range, we get the major standstill.

It is possible the builders of Cairn T at Loughcrew were not exclusively focused on the equinox sunrises, but also on observing the moon, and in particular at those times when its node was crossing the ecliptic at the sun's equinox points. If this is the case, as we can merely speculate, then we can envisage observers within the rear recess of Cairn T watching for the rising moon at such times. The natural extension of this argument is that if  the moon is visible through the aperture of Cairn T and is in the same position in the sky as the equinox sun*, then seven days later (i.e. one-quarter of a circuit around the sky), the moon will be at its major standstill rising position (provided it is on its ascending node when visible within Cairn T) or at its minor standstill rising position if it is on a descending node. In other words, the Hag's Cairn might have been used to indicate the times of the extremes of the moon, when an 18.6-year cycle was ending (the death of the hag?) and a new one was beginning.

(* Around the time the cairns were built. the spring equinox sun was positioned in the constellation we know today as Taurus, the bull, while autumn equinox sun was positioned in Scorpius.)

Wednesday, 24 August 2016

What is the meaning of Knowth's pillar stones?

A large sandstone pillar stands outside the entrance to the western passage at Knowth. The meaning of this pillar, and a similar but smaller one on the eastern side, is not known. They appear to be somewhat phallic in nature, and both are accompanied at a short distance by two large "testes" stones. 
The sandstone pillar and stone settings outside Knowth's western entrance.
At Knowth, the white quartz has been left in situ, on the ground, where it was found during excavations, which is contrary to the reconstruction of Newgrange, where the white quartz found on the ground beneath the cairn slip was once thought to have been on the front of the mound, forming a near-vertical wall, and thus Newgrange has been reconstructed that way. The quartz at Knowth is interspersed with water-rolled granite cobbles identical to those found at Newgrange. The interpretations are different. Perhaps the two monuments were built differently?

Knowth west at equinox. Click to enlarge.
There is no easy explanation for the presence of the pillar stones at opposite entrances. Martin Brennan (The Stones of Time, 1984) has noted the interplay of the shadow from the stone at the western side (pictured above) with a vertical line on the centre of the stone immediately outside the entrance to the passage around the time of the equinoxes, when the sun's light reportedly illuminates the passageway. (It does indeed illuminate the passage, as I witnessed and photographed in September 2000, but the maximum reach of the sun into the passage does not occur for another couple of weeks after this, around October 3rd). The photo on left shows the illumination of the orthostats along one side of Knowth's western passage at autumn equinox. This photo was taken by film maker Grant Wakefield on September 20th 2010.


The eastern pillar stone, visible from the pedestrian footbridge at the entrance to Knowth East.
The stone pillar outside the eastern entrance is much smaller, and is made of a different type of stone. Unfortunately, alterations to the outer portion of the eastern passage in medieval times due to souterrain construction have meant the outer section of this passage has a bend in it, precluding light from travelling into the eastern passage/chamber around the equinoxes. The addition in recent times of a bridge and a concrete door surround (see photo above) have further exacerbated this problem. Is there an argument, I wonder, for the removal of part of the souterrains in order that any possible alignment with the sun be investigated? Could we once again (for the first time possibly in thousands of years) witness the sun illuminating the cruciform eastern chamber of Knowth, in a way similar to the solstice illumination of Newgrange? I live in hope.

It might still be possible to witness and record any interplay between the shadow of the pillar stone (gnomon?) at Knowth's eastern entrance around the time of the equinoxes. One wonders if anyone has ever witnessed such an interplay. Such studies (of both east and west entrances) could prove very valuable in revealing any subtle astronomical functions of these entrance settings. These stones undoubtedly had a purpose and a reason for being there in the minds of the builders. 

Another interesting facet of the sandstone pillar outside the western entrance is that it is quite polished on the side facing the mound - as if it had been rubbed smooth over a period of time. One wonders if there might have been some ritual involving the touching of this stone over a long period of time in antiquity. The story about the Lia Fáil (another phallic or pillar stone) at Tara and how it screamed when the rightful king touched it brings to mind the idea of perhaps many people touching a stone to receive some sort of blessing or luck from it. Perhaps they kissed the stone, like kissing the modern-day Blarney stone? Who knows?

The modern entrance to Newgrange.
Yet another interesting aspect of the Knowth entrances is that, with the preponderance of stones carefully placed and set out in front of these portals, it must be assumed that access into the passageways was not easy, and was perhaps undertaken by only the chosen few? Indeed at Newgrange the only reason tourists can access the passage and chamber today is because (a) the entrance area was widened, and set back from the kerb to accommodate people and (b) wooden steps were installed so that people don't have to clamber over the entrance kerb stones, thereby slowly eroding and damaging them. The entrance is shown in the photo on right (click to enlarge), in this somewhat exaggerated fisheye-lens view. But you get the picture.

A shallow basin-type feature outside Knowth east, replicated on a smaller scale at Knowth west, may have perhaps held water for some sort of ceremony - absolute speculation on my part, but the study of these things is necessarily subjective. Unfortunately, a similar circular-shaped stone setting outside the entrance of Newgrange, in which a stone phallus artefact was found, was removed during excavations and not put back afterwards. Perhaps there were more similarities between these sacred entrances than we might have considered.

One thing that seems clear is that there was an intentional liminal aspect of the entrances. These are boundaries, thresholds. The kerb stones outside Newgrange as well as Knowth East and West are all lavishly designed. Settings of stone on the ground were perhaps associated with rituals held outside the entrances in ancient times. One wonders if the builders of these magnificent structures were to somehow magically venture forward in time to today, would they be delighted, or horrified, to see so many people entering these sacred womb-tombs?

Below is a short video trailer of a film called "Remnants" made by Grant Wakefield. At 0:49s you can see some brief footage of the equinox illumination of the western passageway at Knowth.

REMNANTS - 2k DCP - OFFICIAL TRAILER - 02 from GRANT WAKEFIELD on Vimeo.

Thursday, 11 August 2016

Explore Newgrange virtually with this fantastic 3D model

Do you live thousands of miles from Ireland? Yearn to see Newgrange up close but cannot afford the air fare? Fret not. Technology now enables you to explore it from afar....


This fantastic model, created by Seán Doran and shared on Sketchfab, is based on images of the famous Stone Age monument that were taken from a drone by Matthew Kelly. The model is easy to navigate. Use your mouse wheel to zoom in and out. Left-click and drag to move around the model. Right-click and drag to move the centre of the model.

Enjoy this opportunity to see Newgrange up close, without having to make the journey half way around the world!

Wednesday, 10 August 2016

Podcast: hour-long interview with Mythical Ireland founder and author Anthony Murphy on Dundalk FM

I was recently interviewed on Dundalk FM radio by Betty Clarke for a show called Castaways. This is an hour-long show in which a guest talks about their life, interspersed with choices of music. It's a lovely show and I thoroughly enjoyed the interview. The full interview can be heard by clicking the YouTube video below:



During the course of the hour, we spoke about many things, not least Mythical Ireland, my books, the role of music, photography and newspapers. I hope you enjoy it.

Mythical Ireland's Anthony Murphy in the ancient megalithic chamber of Fourknocks.

Monday, 25 July 2016

Reflecting on the metaphor of the slaying of Balor by Lugh - we must kill the evil eye in ourselves

I recently had the opportunity to visit Tory Island, off the northwest coast of Ireland, nine miles out into the Atlantic Ocean off Donegal. Being acutely aware that the island is known in myth as the stronghold of the Fomorians, those dark, brooding forces of evil that sought to suppress and vanquish the Tuatha Dé Danann, I somehow felt that I should gird myself for the journey. Shortly before I went to Tory, I visited Newgrange, where I hoped that, in some way, the Dé Dananns would make their presence felt in my own mental being - that, somehow, I would be imbued with some supernatural psychological strength to repel any of that dark energy that might perhaps lurk on this mysterious island out in the ocean.

The rationalist in me balked at the whole idea. Supernatural forces indeed. What a load of nonsense.

However, at Newgrange I had a strangely unique experience. The place seemed bereft of presence. It felt bizarrely devoid of any energy or power. It had become, for the first time in my experience, just a heap of stones. Under the stars in the summer twilight, I felt very alone. What was happening?

This self portrait was taken at Newgrange on the night in question.

Upon reflection, it now seems clear that the perceived absence of energy at Newgrange was the unconscious realisation within myself of a distinct lack of presupposed personal energy of any form - good or bad, Dé Danann or Fomorian - that I might have used in my own imagined battle with the Fomorians out on Tory. In other words, while I went to Newgrange to mentally prepare for the trip to Tory, where I feared I might encounter a darkness in my own nature, when I got to Newgrange and found it bereft of vitality, I should have realised that this was a blunt message from within, which might have said something like "there is no need to gird yourself, because the only energy you will encounter on Tory is whatever energy you bring there yourself".

Through such experiences, we realise one of the great truths about sacred sites like Newgrange. And that is the idea that they are expressions of our own numen-seeking nature. They reflect back to us the energy that we bring to them. Newgrange is a place of peace and power because we make it so. Does this mean we only imagine that it has power, and that in fact, as many archaeologists have perhaps concluded, it is merely a man-made cairn of stones and nothing more? Does this mean it has no power at all?

The answer to that question depends entirely on your own perception of it, and indeed your own general approach to such issues. For many of us, Newgrange has an intense power. The monument functions as a mandala of sorts. It activates for us great sources of awe and wonderment, of some deep bliss within us, or perhaps even a sense of our greater connection to the cosmos, and to forces of spiritual vitality and oneness that lie beyond rational explanation. It has this power because we allow ourselves to be open to the possibilities.

How can we know whether any of this power with which we imbue it was an intention of the builders? We can't. And therefore we must allow it to be whatever it will be for each and every individual. And therein lies the true power of Newgrange.

Arriving on Tory Island in June, coming towards midsummer and the longest days of the year, I can truly say that I was enchanted. It did not hold any sort of dark energy perceptible me, except for whatever feelings such a remote and windswept and barren piece of rock might instill in the human spirit. While I enjoyed my time there and really warmed to Tory, I can imagine that the picture must be much bleaker in winter time, when the island often becomes cut off from the mainland, sometimes for several weeks or even months.
A view from Tory Island looking towards Donegal on the mainland.

On most days, you can see the mainland, and the mountains of Donegal. But despite their relative proximity, there are times when they seem a lifetime's journey away. Tory is one of those unique places where it is possible to experience a sense of loneliness and detachment, in a way that visits to Newgrange cannot possibly do.

Staying in the easternmost property on the island with a group of amateur radio friends gave me the opportunity to visit what is perhaps the single most powerful part of the island from the point of view of both mythology and dramatic landscape - Dún Bhalóir (Balor's Fort). This very striking promontory is the highest part of the 5km-long island, with dramatic precipitous cliffs that present almost-vertical drops to the surging Atlantic below.

Over the course of five days on the island, I made many visits to Dún Bhalóir. The first was filled with some trepidation, as I am not blessed with a good head for heights! Despite my fear, I was captivated and enthralled by Balor's Fort, which is a fantastic example of an Iron Age promontory fort. There are dramatic views of the whole island from up there, and indeed the Atlantic Ocean. It was here that Balor had his stronghold, and in an a cleft on its eastern side, surrounded by high sea cliffs, was Príosún Bhaloir, into which he was said to have kept his prisoners. Was it here at Balor kept his daughter, Eithne, who would eventually become the mother of Lugh, the one who would kill Balor?

Dún Bhalóir with its precipitous cliffs in the midnight twilight.

I made repeated visits to Balor's Fort. It kept calling me back. This isolated spot, high on a rocky isthmus on this remote outpost of civilisation, had a power for me similar to Newgrange. It awakened within me some deep-seated sense of awe, and of rugged and raw isolation, such that it was possible, momentarily at least, to lose all sense of myself. Of course the camera was always on hand, and the nature of the sunsets and long drawn-out, everlasting twilight of June meant that the constantly-changing scene presented dramatic pictures that transformed from one moment to the next.

Eithne's son Lugh built himself a fort called Dún Lúiche, at the base of mount Errigal on the mainland. It was here that Balor was said to have been killed by Lugh with the help of Gaibhdín Gabha, a Tuatha Dé Danann smith. They killed him by thrusting a red hot spear through the back of his head and out through his evil eye. Gleann Nimhe/Poison Glen is named from the liquid which poured from Balor's eye.

On one of my last visits to Dún Bhalóir, while climbing up its steep slopes, I reflected on this story of the killing of Balor by Lugh, and the version from the Second Battle of Moytura with which I was more familiar. In some versions of his story, his eye was said to have burned the landscape. While pondering the symbolism of the evil eye, a thought suddenly came into my head, very clearly:


"We must kill the evil eye within ourselves."

Sunset on Tory, captured from the cliff tops at Balor's Fort.


Reflecting on the metaphor of the story of Balor's evil eye, and how he was killed by a spear or slingshot from Lugh, it became clear to me that what the evil eye represents is our own shadow, the dark aspects of ourselves which we might perhaps project onto others - in this case, these others are represented by Balor and the Fomorians. They are not some dark or evil race, some shadowy mythical beings. The Fomorians are our shadow. In the human lifetime, there is an everlasting conflict between the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Fomorians. This battle, or counter-positioning of the forces of light and darkness, is present to some extent in all of us.

But furthermore is the notion that the evil eye of Balor represents the human weakness of projecting our own shortcomings and failings, and prejudices, onto others, as exemplified by Matthew 7:3:

And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
This problem of the evil eye - the eye that sees malevolence and misdeeds in others and perhaps wants to act upon this prejudice - is present in very destructive and threatening forms in the world today. This current manifestation of the evil eye in Europe and America in particular threatens to bring the world to a new conflict - a clash of civilisations akin to the great battles between the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Fomorians.

We must not seek to kill the Fomorians. For one cannot kill one's own shadow. One must merely acknowledge its presence and, to an extent, "make friends with the devil". Jung might have referred to this as assimilation of the shadow. We should retain an awareness of our own shadow, but not identify with it.

It is more important that we kill the evil eye, that prejudice within us that wants to blame others for the ills of the world. Let us pierce that evil eye with a great spear, or break it with a slingshot, so that the world of mankind does not bring itself towards a Third Battle of Moytura.

"We must kill the evil eye within ourselves."

Monday, 11 July 2016

Spend a few minutes at Newgrange enjoying the sights and sounds of evening in this beautiful video


This is a video of Newgrange in the evening time in summer. It's such a tranquil and beautiful place to spend time, as this video shows. Listen to the sounds of the birds and the animals and take yourself to this sacred spot overlooking the Boyne for a few minutes of bliss.

It is strongly advised that you watch this short video in full screen mode in high definition and with either good speakers or headphones. Enjoy!


Sunday, 10 July 2016

'Above Below' - a documentary about Newgrange author Anthony Murphy and his fascination with the monuments


This is a segment from a half hour documentary about Newgrange Monument to Immortality author Anthony Murphy and his journey from being a newspaper journalist into writing books about the ancient monuments of the Boyne Valley.

The film was made by local film maker Martin O'Donoghue. In this segment, Anthony talks about his many visits to Newgrange and discusses some of his personal insights into this ancient wonder. He talks in particular about how he wanted to write a book devoted to Newgrange, having included the monument as part of a wider look at the ancient landscape in his first work, Island of the Setting Sun.

The project is a precursor to a much  larger, full-length documentary film on the subject, exploring the meaning of Newgrange to people today. Planning for that larger film has begun.

A screen shot from Above Below with Anthony Murphy.