Máire Ghrádaí agus Ruairí Catach /
Máire Ghrádaí and Ruairí Catach
Informant: Seán Mac Énrí
Age: 40
Address: Cill Ghallagáin, Ceathrú Thaidhg, Co. Mayo
Collector: Máirtín Ó Conghaile, National Folklore Collection, UCD
Date of Recording: 1943
Reference:

NFC 926: 570-577

Landscape at Ceathrú Thaidhg, 1952. [Caoimhín Ó Danachair, National Folklore Collection, UCD]

Máire Ghrádaí agus Ruairí Catach

Bhí páirtí ina gcónaí ar an mbaile seo fadó, creidim go bhfuil sé dhá chéad bliain ó shin anois. Bhí aon fhear amháin sa teach seo ar a dtugtaí Ruairí Catach air is deirtear go mba dheas feiliúnach an duine é, nach dtiocfadh leat aon fhear a fháil faoi spéir na gréine ba dheise intinn ná é. Bhí cúl deas de ghruaig chatach air, is sin é an fáth ar tugadh Ruairí Catach air.’

Bhí seanbhean ina cónaí ar an mbaile ar a dtugtaí Máire Ghrádaí uirthí. Bhí sí lán de dhiabhlaíocht agus d’asarlaíocht. Bhí cailín óg d’iníon aice ar a dtugtaí Bríghid uirthi. Bhí Máire ag feitheamh i gcónaí go bpósfadh Ruairí a hiníon ach ní raibh suim ar bith ag Ruairí intí. Thóg sé sróuraidh [soraidh] de ghnaithe a máthar mar ní raibh suim ar bith i ngnaithe asarlaíochta aige. Nuair a chonaic Máire nach raibh aon tsuim ag Ruairí insan iníon thoisigh sí ag caitheamh cuileadachaí cén chaoi a b’fhearr a gcuirfidh sí dtí dá chosa é. Smaoinigh sí an oíche seo dá ndéanfadh sí rón de is glan agus domhan na farraige móire a thabhairt dó san áit a mbeadh súil gach duine tógtha de.

Bhí go maith, bhí Ruairí an lá seo thíos ar Lag Gharaidh na Madadh ag baint fataí. Ní raibh baol ar an mbéile bainte aige nuair a chonaic sé Máire ag tíocht air agus chuímhnigh sé go maith nach obair mhaith a bhí ar bun aici ach ní raibh anonn ná anall le gabháil aige, chuímhnigh sé go raibh sé chomh maith dó bonn a dhéanamh le himeacht. D’fhan sí go dtáinig sí go dtí é is bhuail sí uirthi is chaith sí uair a chloig ar shiúl ag oibriú a cuid asarlaíochta go ndéarna sí rón de ar an talamh thirim agus ar sise ansin;

“Tá mé do chur faoi gheasa, tá mé ag déanamh rón dhíot is ag tabhairt glan is domhan na bá móire dhuit is caithfidh tú codladh san oíche ar chladaigh Dhún na nGall agus seacht mbliana a bhéas tú i do rón agus ní féidir d’athrú i do chruth fhéin an uair sin fhéin go mbaintear braon fola asat le scian coise duibhe ar Thráigh na bhFothantaí Dúbha.”

 Nuair a bhí sé scáthamh ina rón tháinig nádúr na farraige ann is b’éigean dó imeacht. Thug sé aghaidh amach an tsráid ag tarraingt ar an bhfarraige, nuair a chonaic muintir an bhaile é bhí íontas mór orthu rón a bheith chomh gar do thithe. Bhí go maith gur mhothaigh a mháthair an scéal faoina mac Ruairí. Ba dhoiligh foighid a chur intí ach i ndiaidh ama b’éigean dithe trá.

Ní raibh aon lá stoirme dá dtigeadh nach dtéadh sí amach go Gob Leabaidh Choimín is shuíodh sí ansin go gcaoineadh sí a sáith. Bhíodh sí ag faire na dtonntracha ó bhriseadh siad ar Cheann Iorruis nó go dtigeadh siad isteach fúithi is ní raibh ’fhios ag an gcréatúr cén lá a thiocfadh a mac chuici ina stad fhéin arís. Nuair a bhíodh na ba abhaile léithe san oíche ní stopadh sí ach ag caoineadh go dtigeadh sí chun a tí is choinnigh sí uirthí fhéin go raibh sí chomh dona le buachaill bó Shliabh Luachra nuair a bhíodh lorg chosa na mbó líonta aige le gol ag tíocht abhaile dó san oíche. Ní raibh go leor grá aice fhéin ná ag muintir an bhaile ar Mháire Ghrádaí ach níor lig an faitíos dófa labhairt léithi. Ba é an rud a bhí ar Mháire Ghrádaí bean choimhthíoch stráinséara a tháinig d’fharraige agus sin é an t-ábhar nach raibh aon chlaon acu léithi nó aicisean leofa.

Go minic chífeadh na daoine Máire amuigh sa ngárraí agus í ag meascadh rud éicint ar shlioga. Bhíodh toit ag imeacht as an teach amach ar an doras is trí phoill sa mballa. Bhíodh seandaoine ag rá go mbíodh boladh fiáin amach as an teach. Go minic théadh sí síos chun na trá is chruinníodh sí léithe cnuas sa gcladach is thugadh abhaile é. Ní raibh ’fhios ag aoinne cén ghnaithe a bhíodh den chnuas aici.

Bhí go maith, bhí na blianta ag dul thart is téarma Ruairí ag giortú ach ní raibh aon eolas ag duine ar bith cén lá a thiocfadh sé nó a dtiocfadh sé a choíche. An oíche seo ansin bhí foireann as an mbaile seo oíche thíos ag an oileán ag iarraidh glasán, is bhí sin acu cúrsa maith ar ghlasáin. Thug fear acu an rón ag teacht ón bhfarraige ach níor chuir sé aon amhail ann. Leis sin féin tháinig sé gar dófa is anall leis go deireadh an churraigh is thug sé iarraidh cáifirsneach [cafaireacht] chainte a dhéanamh. Nuair a mhothaigh siadsan sin, an braon a bhí i mbun a gcoise chuaigh sé go mullaigh a gcinn is chur siad amach na maidí is bhuail orthu ag iomradh go cruaidh is dá aibéile a raibh siad ag imeacht bhí an rón ag coinneáil ag deireadh an churraigh nó gur bhuail siad tráigh ins na Fóthantaí Dúbha. Chomh túisce is triomaigh siad an currach aníos ar an tráigh bhí an rón triomaithe chomh luath leofa. Choscair fear acu an mhuintir eile é a bhualadh leis an gclár scaoilte ach nuair a bhí an buille tarraingte ag fear acu le dhul dá bhualadh;

         “Ó,” arsa an rón, “an b’é chaoi a bhfuil sibh ag dul a’ bhualadh Ruairí Catach.”

 D’aithnigh siad an chaint ansin agus dúirt siad;

         “Tuige nach n-éiríonn tú is siúl abhaile linn?”

“Bheul,” ar seisean, “ní thig liom seo a fhágáil nó éirí i m’fhear críostúil go bhfuiltear orm le scian coise duibhe ar Thráigh na bhFothantaí Dúbha.

Chuaigh fear acu le hiolghárdas faoi dhéin na scine is d’inis an scéal is ní rabhthar i bhfad ag fáil scian coise duibhe. Ag seanbhid Meaidhbh a bhí sí, bhí sí aice fada. Nuair a chluin a mháthair an scéal tháinig ualach lagair uirthí is nuair a tháinig sí chuici fhéin dúirt sí nach gcreidfeadh sí an scéal go bhfeicfeadh sí é ag teacht isteach faoi thairsí an dorais é.

Tugadh síos scian na coise duibhe agus ba dhoiligh le fear ar bith a dhul ag fuileadh air. Bhí seanfhear amháin ar a mbaile ar a dtugtaí Páidín Ó Monghaile agas bhíodh misneach maith i gcónaí aige agus bhí dáimh ghaol le Ruairí aige agus mara bhfuilfidh an oíche sin ar an rón bhí sé faoi gheasa go brách. Cé bí chuaigh Páidín ina chionn is d’fhuil sé air is ar áit na mbonn ar thit an chéad bhraon fola ar an tráigh d’éirigh sé aníos ina fhear óg chomh húr Gaelach is a bhí sé oíche nó lá ariamh.

Tháinig siad aníos ansin an oíche sin go flaithiúil is bhí a chaona go sásta agus an oíche sin bhí ól is imirt acu. Nuair a chonaic a mháthair é léim a croí is ní rabhthas ar theacht nó imeacht dithe ar feadh thrí lá. Nuair a chuaigh ach aoinne chun suaimhnis is d’éirigh a mháthair ní b’fhearr thoisnigh Ruaidhrí ag insin’ a chuid seanchais ar feadh an méid iontais a chonaic sé ar feadh na seachta mbliana. Bhí sé ag insin’ go bhfaca sé daoine a bádh, cuid mhaith a raibh fán orthu mar é féin is nach bhfuil ’fhios cén chaoi ar tharla sé dófa. Dúirt sé nach raibh suim ar bith ag na rónta eile ann is go gcaitheadh sé imeacht dó fhéin is go mba fhuar í a leabaidh i measc na n-iasc.

 “Bhíodh a chaon acu is a sclamh fhéin asam is sháraigh orm mó scíth a dhéanamh ach i gcónaí ag bocáil ó thoinn go toinn agus i gcónaí ag fanacht go dtiocfadh an lá a mbeinn sa mbaile ag mo mháthair agus ’sé an faitíos is mó a bhí orm nach mbeadh aoinne ar Thráigh na bhFothantaí Dúbha an lá a thiocfainn ar ais le fuil a bhaint asam is mara mbeadh, chaithfinn mo mhuintir a thréig’ is an bhá mhór a ionsaí ar ais. Nuair a chuímhním ar Mháirín bhradach Ghrádhaí, ní hé mo bheannacht a thabharfainn dithe ach mo mhallacht.”

D’oibrigh sé an chuid [eile] dá shaol chomh Críostúil le fear ar leith go bhfuair sé bás ach níl ’fhios cén deireadh a dtáinig ar Mháire Ghrádaí. Sin agaibh anois scéal Mháire Ghrádaí is Ruairí Catach.

Máire Ghrádaí and Ruairí Catach

There was a group in this town long ago, I think around two hundred years ago now. There was one man in the house called Ruairí Catach, and he was supposed to have been a nice, obliging person and that you wouldn’t find another man on earth as well-disposed. He had lovely curly locks, which was why he was called Ruairí Catach, meaning Ruairí of the curly hair.

There was an old woman they called Máire Ghrádaí living in this town. She was full of devilment and sorcery. She had a young daughter called Bríghid. Máire always expected Ruairí to marry her daughter, but Ruairí had no interest in her. He disapproved of her mother’s business because he had no interest in sorcery. When Máire saw that he had no interest, she began mulling over ways to make him concede. One night, she thought that she might turn him into a seal and give him over to the open sea, where he would no longer be the centre of attention.

All was well, Ruairí was down by Lag-Gharaidh-na-Madadh, digging potatoes. He hadn’t even dug a meal’s worth when he saw Máire coming towards him and he knew well that it wasn’t good work she was up to, but he had nowhere to go. He thought that he might as well make tracks. She waited until she had come right up to him and then she spent an hour working her magic until she’d turned him into a seal on dry land. She said;

“I’m putting you under enchantment and turning you into a seal and giving you over to the open sea and you’ll have to sleep at night on the shores of Donegal and you’ll be a seal for seven years and you won’t be able to change into your own shape even then, unless a drop of your blood is spilled with a black handled knife on Trá na bhFothantaí Dúbha.”

When he’d been a seal for a while, his natural affinity towards the sea came to him and he had to leave. He went out on the street, heading towards the sea and when the locals saw him they were surprised to see a seal so close to the houses. All was well until his mother heard the story of her son Ruairí. It was difficult to pacify her but in the end she had to relent.

There wasn’t a single stormy day where she wouldn’t go to Gob Leabaidh Choimín, and she’d sit there crying and crying. She would watch the waves as the broke on Erris Head until they came in under her, and the poor thing didn’t know when her son would return to her as himself again. When the cows were home with her at night she wouldn’t stop crying until she’d come to the house and then she’d keep going until she was as bad as the cowboy of Sliabh Luachra when he filled the cows’ hoof prints with his tears on his way home at night. She had no love for Máire Ghrádaí, and neither did the rest of the town, but they were too scared to talk to her. Máire Ghrádaí was a strange woman who came from the sea, and that was why they were not partial to her, or she to them.

The people would often see Máire out in the garden, mixing something on a shell. Smoke would come from the house from the door, and through holes in the wall. Old people used to say that a wild smell came from the house. She would go down to the beach and she would gather up the gleanings and would take them home with her. Nobody knew what she would do with the gleanings.

All was well and years were going by as Ruairí’s term was shortening, but no-one knew when he would come home, or if he would ever come home. This one night a team from this town were down by the Island looking for coalfish, and they were in a good place for it. One of the men saw the seal coming from the sea but was unconcerned by it. With that, he came up close to them and he went back to the end of the currach and he tried to speak. When they heard that, understanding dawned on them, and they put out the oars and on they went rowing hard, and as quick as they were going, the seal stayed with them behind the currach until they came to Fóthantaí Dúbha, to the beach. As soon as they drew up the currach on to the beach the seal came ashore with them. One man stopped another from hitting it with the loose plank but when he had his hand raised to strike him;

         “Oh,” said the seal, “is that how you are going to strike Ruairí Catach?”

 They recognised what he said then and they said;

         “Why don’t you get up and walk home with us then?”

         “Well,” he said, “I can’t leave here or turn back into a man until someone wounds me with a black handled knife on Tráigh na bhFóthantaí Dúbha.

Jubilant, one man went to fetch the knife, and he told the story and it wasn’t long before a black handled knife was found for him. An old woman called Meadhbh had it, she’d had it for a long time.
When his mother heard the story she fainted, and when she came to she said that she wouldn’t believe the story until she saw him coming through the threshold of the door.

The black handled knife was taken down and it was difficult for any man to wound him. There was one old man in the town called Páidín Ó Monghaile and he always had good courage, and he was very fond of Ruairí, and if the seal wasn’t wounded that night he would stay enchanted forever. Páidín went up to him anyway and wounded him and as soon as the first drop of blood hit the beach he rose up as a young man, the young Irish man he’d always been.

They came back that night and everyone was happy and that night they had drinking and games. When his mother saw him her heart jumped for joy and she didn’t recover for three days. When everyone had settled and his mother had gotten better, Ruairí started to tell his stories about all of the wonders he had seen in those seven years. He told of how he saw people who had drowned, many of them wanderers like himself, and that he didn’t know how that had happened to them. He said that none of the other seals had any interest in him, and that he had to be alone, and that a bed among fish was a cold one.

“They could all bite, and I could never rest, but had to be tossed about from wave to wave and I was always waiting for the day when I would be at home with my mother and I was mostly afraid that nobody would be on Tráigh na bhFóthantaí Dúbha on the day I came back to draw blood from me. If there hadn’t been, I would’ve had to abandon my family and go back towards the bay. When I think of the scoundrel Máire Ghrádaí, it is not my blessing that she gets but my curse.”

He worked the rest of life as Christian as any man until he died, but no-one knows what happened to Máire Ghrádaí. There you have it now, the story of Máire Ghrádaí and Ruairí Catach.