Saints and Fairies of the Aran Islands

Galway Observer, February 8, 1930.

One on the most interesting spots in the world is the group of small islands, the Aran Isles, which stand like a barbican protecting Galway Bay on the Irish coast. From the Canadian steamer, by the northern route, the islands are sometimes visible, if you know where to look, for they lie 120 miles further west than Tory Island Light, which everyone sees as the first bit of Britain; but they are, it is true, no less than 100 mile south of the light. They bear old world names, the three of them — Inishmaam, Inisheer and Inishmore. Inishmore, often called Aranmore, though a thousand years ago its name was Aran—na—naomh (Aran of the Saints), is the outermost, and the largest, being eight miles in circumference and against its southwest cliffs 300 feet high, the mighty Atlantic waves throw themselves with thundering roar.

No other known sites so abound in antiquities. The most ancient buildings in western Europe are there. If Flinders Petrie be right, some of the Irish remains of forts are twice as old as the great Egyptian pyramids! Buildings dating back to the early Christian centuries include the Abbey of Killenda, monasteries more than 20 in number, numerous cloghans or beehive cells of dry masonry, and holy wells, shrines and altars beyond count. In the fifth century the Aran Isles had amazing religious fame, and devotees, came long voyages from distant lands. "Yes sir, the isles were just full of saints," was the reply of a native to a visitor's remark that in early times there must have been many holy people there. It is verily the sacred Iona of Erin, and it is certain that at the very date, A.D. 563, when Columba landed in Scotland, the Royal Irish Saint Enda arrived with his disciples on the Aran Islands under permission of Angus, King of Munster. They built seven chapels at Killeaney close together, one of which, Tegiah Enda, was his oratory during his life, and at the end his tomb. Today the huge flat stone or leae, where his body was laid, can still be seen.

Up the hill, a few years away, is the temple Benain, or ruined oratory of St. Benignus, measuring only 14 feet by 11 feet. At many places chapels in groups of seven are standing, but many of them are very small, and the door at the end very narrow, so that as a famous Irish scholar, whom I accompanied to the Aran Isles, remarked: "De Holy men themselves must have been very tin, and strong west gales must have been blowing to help them troo—" The doors are narrow at the bottom and wide at the top, a curious feature.

At other places there are seven holy wells, and pilgrims must visit them still in numbers, for thorn bushes close by are gay with fluttering ribbons and with blue, red, and other colored pieces of cloth, visible marks of gratitude for benefits received. St. Francis Abbey and Ennis Church and other sanctuaries are little more than ruined mounds now, for much stone was used in the time of Elizabeth, taken from these places to build Castle Arkin. It is surprising to note, however, how perfect and uninjured so many of these very ancient relics are.

Still more wonderful is the every perfect state of the vast forts, for which the Aran Isles are justly famous. These seven such forts, the finest being Dun Aengus on Inishmore, half an oval in shape, 142 feet long ands rounded by four walls of massive stone blocks uncemented. The first wall is 18 feet high and eight feet think. A space of 200 feet intervenes between the first and second wall. Outside the latter are many hundreds of crowded sharp—pointed stones planted upright in the turf, scattered irregularly like a field of bayonets, and so skillfully set in disorder that it is difficult to pass through them without injury to knees and limbs. Bare limbed barbarians could hardly get through without seriously wounding themselves. Out side this terrible chevauz—de—firsie there runs the third wall of masonry, much of it skirting the very edge of the yawning cliffs above the sea. A similar fortification on Inishmaam is round in form and situated in the centre of the island, and is 250 feet long and 115 feet wide, but the triple walls run around the east side only. It is called Connor's fort or Dun Conchobhair.

To visit these remains of ancient races, pagan and Christian, whose very names are shadowy and uncertain, is impressive beyond words. The simple native islanders, with a touch of superstitious reverence, have sumptuously abstained from removing a stone and only time and waste of Natures' forces, frost, snow, rain and wind, have effected the perfectness of these wonderful pre—Christian and early Christians remains. The Aran Isles is the oldest form of the ancient Erse tongue. They have never learned to speak any other. They wear a small round cap a long smock and wide shapeless nether garments, all homespun, the undyed wool from their own shape; but their shoes are primitive in the extreme, a piece of untanned calf hide sewn round the foot with the hair outside and allowed to dry. These rude mocassins are called "panpoutis" — from the Greek, "pan," all, and "pous", the foot, as some ingenious writers have suggested, though how these remote natives got hold of Greek words is a mystery. Their coracles or "pookawns", are skins stretched on a wood framework, with a coat of pitch on the outside. It is wonderful what wild seas they will dare in these frail shells. The Eskimo in his "kayak" is not more adventurous. Fishing,, burning kelp or seaweed for soda ash, raising scanty crops of oats, rye and potatoes and keeping a few sheep are the occupations of these simple peasants.

There is not sound on Aran Isles beyond the ceaseless voice of the sea, the cry of seabirds the house caw of the "chough" or almost extinct scarlet—legged crow, which still survives and nests on the precipitous cliffs below mysterious Dun Aengus.

The Aran Islanders, O'Flahertie, in 1864, told, "often see the enchanted Isle of O'Brasil, with its lovely peaks and flowery meadows." but they have visions, too, of rocky Skeide with its towers, castles and chimneys sometimes full of flames and smoke and people running to and fro. "O'Brasil is not always visible," added O'Flaherty (in lar Connaught), "nor have Skeide Rocks always those apparition."

It is with inexpressible regret the visitor tears himself away from these peaceful isles and sees them fade away as his boat speeds across the 30 mile of rippling water to Galway City, and in the deep blue of the sky: —

"The bright star shone,
Within the cerulean hyaline,
Till the glimmering isles were gone
And Galway's glaring lights 'gan shine."

—E. E. Prince, in "Ottawa Journal."