If you like to wander, now and then, outside the big towns and cities, here and elsewhere, you will surely have heard tell of the slua sí, the bunadh na gcnoc, na daoine maithe - the fairies, what else? And, after a while, listening to the tales, you might be tempted to believe - especially at this time of year, drawing towards Hallowe'en - that maybe they do exist somewhere out there. The stories are so vivid, as if told of an episode experienced yesterday. Yes?
Well, now, I'll tell you of an experience shared by me and an acquaintance some years ago on a moonlit night in autumn. I was having a pint in an Inis Oírr pub when he walks in, he who at that time had little Irish, so 'twas in English we conversed, about how long it had been since last we had met, and what do you think of the island? And how are you keeping, anyway?
We both are interested in folklore, so I suppose it was inevitable that the fairies should crop up. Were there many tales about them in Inis Oírr? Hundreds! Any particular place here associated with them?
"Well," I say, "there is a path at the south end of the island called Bóithrín na Sídheog, which they are said to frequent. Would you like to go over there?"
It was one of those autumn evenings when nature seems to be holding her breath. The day had been warm, without a sigh of a wind. Now, under the full moon, it was still warm, quiet, and even the sea below hardly moved.
"Come on then," say I, and after finishing our drinks we go out into the road, turn right, then across the level stretch where today you will very likely see many tents, then almost across to the primary school, then over to the right.
"This is it, Bóithrín na Sídheog."
Onwards in silence. Soon we climb a short hill and across the sea from us are the lights of houses in Co Clare. Evening drifting into night and all is still and warm.
"You have walked it," I said.
"What a night!"
For long moments we were silent, looking around us, glorying in the moonlight. Inis Oírr can be close to paradise at times. Then a thought: Why not salute her now that we are here?
"Listen," I said. "I'm going to salute the queen of the fairies, and say that we are here to greet her, in Irish, of course. Right?"
"OK."
"A Áine, a bhainríon na sídheog, anseo atáimíd le beannú dhuit!" Suddenly, in response from Co Clare, comes a strong short blast of wind, lasting about seven seconds. Behind the wall on my left I can see the potato plants are bowing steeply before the onslaught. Then, as quickly as it started it is no more. The stillness of the night returns.
Both of us had been startled a bit but, perhaps surprisingly, not afraid. Then we saw the humour in it.
"Anois an gcreideann tú?" I ask (now do you believe in them?)
"Creidim!"
We waited a short while to see if anything else would happen - her ladyship on her white steed suddenly in our midst, perhaps - but the evening on that hilltop was empty again but for the two of us. We went back, walking along the strand. All the time we were heading back to the pub the night remained breathless, calm, exuding a great feeling of security.
There are people who will "explain" the phenomenon of that sudden burst of wind as "coincidence". But there had been no wind, not even the softest slough, all day, all evening, nothing really strange about such a spell in early Irish autumn.
"Well," I said to Christopher, my friend, my only witness, "we must admit that Áine, or whoever it was, must have a great sense of humour! Such a fitting response!"
Someone else, on hearing of the episode, likely enough will ask: "Odd, yes. But how do you know it was the fairies? Might it not have been the work of some evil spirit?"
And, of course, I do not know. According to tradition, it is Áine in this region who is queen of the fairies, and I had called her up. There are people who would consider such a calling up to be unwise, to say the least. What if she had taken it the wrong way, considering it an impertinence?
Some of my critics will say that we imagined the whole drama or, worse still, that we made it up. Often, disbelief tends to be stronger, much stronger, than belief.
From time to time most of us, in some sort of way, and by chance, make brief contact with the paranormal, or supernatural, or whatever you're having yourself. At least, that is my belief. It may happen once or twice in a lifetime. For me there have been two such occasions, the one I have just mentioned, and a strange happening with a book.
A friend had died but, before that, he had promised to give me one of his books, one not normally obtainable in Ireland. After his death all his belongings, including his books, were moved from his flat in Dublin's north side, to the house of his sister, who lived in Dún Laoghaire.
After a decent period of waiting I contacted the sister and told her of her brother's promise. Would she care to see if she could find what I was seeking? She promised to look. After a few days I called to the house and she told me a strange story.
All his books had been placed in the pantry, usually a small room for precious articles and, perhaps, not very fashionable these days. As she opened the pantry door the book I was seeking forced its way out of the tightly packed volumes and right into her had: "I opened the door of the pantry and the book just jumped out at me!"
I believed her, and still believe her. Why should she make up a story like that? Jimmy, Lord rest him, a friend of Peadar O'Donnell, had a great sense of humour. For me, for his sister, there was nothing out of character in that episode.
Again, many people will be disposed to disbelief, especially these days when disbelief is so fashionable, and are we not all, or mostly, creatures, even slaves, of fashion?
Is there an afterlife? Being a Christian, I believe there is. Right. But what of the fairies?
Did not Jesus say on one occasion: "In my father's mansion there are many rooms"?