Bealtaine – Reared on Songs and Stories

Written by Johanna O Mahoney 

More stories than songs when it comes to May eve and May day. 

Bluebells

Flower Giving 

Bluebells, buttercups, daisies and the odd dandelion were gathered May eve or May morning to be placed on the doorsteps of houses, this was thought to bring luck for the forthcoming year. This was a lovely tradition, one I still like to follow for my own home. 

Altars

May being the month of Our Lady, altars sprung up everywhere, every classroom had one and every household had an altar inside the house, with a picture or statue of Mary surrounded by milk bottles or jam jars full of flowers, no Waterford crystal vases back then !!!! Some outside shrines were also built for the month to honour Mary Queen of the angels, Queen of the May. Local people would gather to pray at the shrines in the evening time. 

As I was blessed to live in the countryside and had the pleasure of walking to school every day, three miles, uphill, I had the opportunity to pick fresh flowers daily for my classroom on the way to school and fresh ones for our home on the way back in the evening. Bluebells have always been my favourite flower and wild flowers will always hold a special place in my heart. Their beauty in a field or on the roadside is unparalleled, blossoming untouched by man. 

May Altar [Irish Heritage]

Holy Water 

As a child, I can remember my father waiting on “fresh” Holy water from the Church which my mom would go to collect on May eve, a barrel of water would be left in the churchyard for people to take a bottle home with them. Dad would then sprinkle the water inside the house, on every one of us and then outside on every animal, shed and blade of grass. This was to keep us safe for the next year and to protect us from the witches who would roam the fields that night. “Piseoige” at its best. 

Witches 

The story goes that a local lady would change into a hare and run through the files on May Eve showering good luck on those who had been helpful to her during the year, but, likewise placing a curse on those who had not. I was regaled with stories of full litters of bonhams (piglets) dying because she did not get the “runt” of the litter or awarding winning bulls or best milking cows falling mysteriously ill and being found dead on May morning by farmers who had refused her milk during the year. She was also known to leave rotten eggs in farmyards or under the hay, this would be a sign that next year’s crops would fail. The priest would be called to bless the farmyard if the eggs were found to minimise the curse. The woman was feared locally with only the bravest refusing her anything she would ask for during the year. 

The child in me believed all of these stories - the adult? 

May Hares [Ireland's Folklore and Traditions]

The Blessed Well and the Rag Trees 

In the village where my mom grew up, there was a Blessed Well. What made it Blessed, I don’t know. It was more of a stream than a well which ran beside an old graveyard and beside it was a Rag tree or bush. These Rag trees were hawthorn bushes. The tradition was that you prayed at the well and then you tied a piece of cloth i.e. rag to the tree. Further prayers would be said beside the tree, you would ask for your prayers to be heard, you prayed for the dead, the dying, the sick or something else that was important for you. As the cloth rotted your prayers would be answered. My mom would visit every year and as a child, I would give her a piece of cloth to tie for me. When I became an adult, I would bring my mom every year and we faithfully tied pieces of cloth to the tree. Did I believe as an adult? Well I never said I didn’t but as I look back and remember the grin on my mother’s face as she tied her own piece of cloth to the tree, I doubt she believed either, but it was a tradition she wished to keep up. It was a tradition we could share which I believe is what made it special. 

Rag Trees [The Daily Edge]

May day always meant the beginning of summer to us as children, sunshine, altars, communion time, and processions to honour Our Lady through the town in our best outfits. It was a magical time but despite the sunshine, we were always told “Don’t cast a clout till May is out” meaning do not change from your winter warm clothes to your summer ones till June arrives. Of course, we did as the temperatures rose, however, if one got a summer cold then the saying would be ringing in your ears till you were better. No sympathy was forthcoming. Older generations could be seen with heavy coats as they drove their carts to the creamery even if the sun was splitting down on top of them. 

Rural Ireland had its traditions, some of which have survived to this day, some have died off simply because they are no longer believed. The idea of turning yourself into a witch and running through the fields is a bit far-fetched for today’s generation. 

I continue to tell my stories of May eve, witches, rotten eggs, hares, Blessed wells and rag bushes to my new urban friends - I believe they think I have a vivid imagination and that I make some of it up just to entertain them. 

Do I still believe? I’m not too sure if I have grown out of those stories, but I do know that as I turned off the light last night to go to sleep, I found comfort knowing that the Holy water was sprinkled and the flowers were picked to place at the door this morning. 

I’m sure my mom and dad nodded their heads and smiled down at me for remembering to carry on their customs. Who knows maybe there were hares running through the fields last night? !!!!!!!!! 

Bealtaine go maith agaibh go leir.