“The wran, the wran, the king of all birds,

on Stephen's day was caught in the furze.

His body is little but his family is sweet

so rise up landlady and give us a treat.

And if your treat be of the best

your soul in heaven can then find its rest.

And if your treat be much…

At the Ould Lammas Fair boys were you ever there

Were you ever at the Fair In Ballycastle-O?

Did you treat your Mary Ann

To some Dulse and Yellow Man

At the…

In the early evening they would gather in the grove, beneath the sheltering embrace of the sacred white oak tree. The Master had carefully dowsed the area, and had chosen it for the serene beauty and peaceful aura. The salmon-filled, crystal clear waters of the river wound a course through…

I am Gullion, old as time itself, older than the pre-dawn of life, forged in the crucible of a ring of fire, before man existed. Up here the air is pure and fresh and crisp as the frost of winter’s breath. I’ve seen it all from up here, here by the bottomless lake, here beside the elevated cairns and high burial places.…

"Hey boy, who am I going to leave these hands to when I’m gone?”

A long silence…then the words were repeated, louder and more animated.

“I say, who will I leave them to, eh? I think I’ll leave them to science.”

Again, the words fell on deaf ears and were greeted with total silence…

Those immortal words were uttered by my father, Mal, as he…

It was Samhain, the eve of the Celtic New Year -- the night when the veil between worlds was parted. The night when the spirits could commune with earthly mortals. As a child, he had often heard the tales told around the fireside but as he grew older he dismissed them as harmless ghost stories.                                                            …

The dealing man can still be found in every market square and bazzar in towns and villages around the world. Their nationalities and languages may be different but the art of dealing always follows the same ancient ways. Dealing men were expected to look the part at all times and had a common mode of dress with only slight…

I’ve been down in the green valley, the Holy place.

The one where the river flows ever onward to its birthplace, carrying the tortured history, winding slow with measured precision, to cast upon the ocean. Down where the sacred hills, those silent sentinels to the glorious but tragic past, keep watch in painful solitude. Down where the spirits keen and await each dawn…