Who was Fiacail mac Codhna

Fiacail mac Codhna is a swaggering and irrepressible warrior from the Fionn mac Cumhaill Series, based on the original Fenian narratives. Handsome, charming, and shrewdly strategic in battle, Fiacail’s potential for tribal greatness is undermined only by an over-sexed libido and a strong weakness for women, particularly where it relates to Bodhmhall ua Baoiscne, sometimes – but not always – portrayed as the aunt of Fionn mac Cumhaill.

Previously bonded to Bodhmhall, Fiacail’s tomcat behaviour eventually led to the dissolution of their relationship, something he still regrets many years later.

Fiacail mac Codhna’s quite a lot of fun as a character. He can be charmingly crass at times – particularly where it relates to sex – but his humour and genuine attraction to Bodhmhall means he’s a credible third player in the love triangle with Bodhmhall and Liath Luachra. His bawdy humour and blunt demeanour, meanwhile, offers welcome relief from some of the more serious and intellectual characters in the series.

When not chasing women, Fiacail likes long walks in the mornings (usually naked), having conversations with Great Father Sun. Much of this involves trying to convince Father Sun not to cause the end of the world but there’s also the occasional attempt to negotiate the gift of a pony.

Fiacail turns up on several occasions over the course of the original Fenian narratives, usually as a kind of foster father/advisor to the young Fionn mac Cumhaill. In some of the manuscripts however, he’s referred to as a ‘reaver’.

In modern Irish, ‘fiacail’ is actually the word for ‘tooth’ so it seems an unusual name for a character. Sadly, the name is so old even the Fenian narratives in the original manuscripts offer little explanation for its origin. As a result, I had to come up with own rationale

Goll mac Morna

Military leader of Clann Morna (not the chieftain), Goll mac Morna takes on a much larger role in Fionn mac Cumhaill’s life as the core Fenian narrative progresses.

Interestingly, you rarely see much about Goll from the English web content publishers (generally, because they don’t really understand how Gaelic culture works in the Fenian narratives) but Goll is actually quite the fascinating character when you get to know him.

All the same, you still wouldn’t want to meet him alone on a dark night.

In Cú Chulainn’s Footsteps

Ireland’s ‘Poc Fada’ (Long Puck) competition was originally inspired by the old Ulster tale of Cú Chulainn travelling across the Cooley Mountains to the territory land of his uncle, Conchubar mac Neasa. Bored by the journey, the young Cú Chulainn (then, Setanta) decided to shorten the road by ‘pucking’ a ball ahead of himself and then running to catch it before it hit the ground.

The more modern version of that is an unusual competition where the participants not only compete with each other across the Cooley Mountain, but compete with nature and the elements as well, all the while traversing a landscape emanating a genuine sense of ancient history and culture.

The first Poc Fada competition was held in 1960 with competitors following a designated trail over the ridge of the Cooley Mountains, pucking the sliotar over a distance of slightly more than three miles. That competition consisted of six young hurlers from the Dundalk region but by 1962, the popularity of the competition meant hurlers from all parts of the country were participating.

In its early days, the course was marked out with temporary flags but as the competition became more established, these were replaced by permanent standing stones. The rules of the competition are quite similar to golf in that the person who can hit the sliotar (the ball) through the outlined trail with as few pucks as possible is the winner.

In the early 1980s, the competition was revised with a new course through the Cooley Mountains (now, approximately 5km in length) and in 2004, camogie players were finally allowed to take part. To date, the record for the Cooley Mountains course stands at an impressive 48 pucks . That basically means the winner slammed the sliotar over an average distance of about 104 metres per puck – quite a remarkable feat – I certainly couldn’t do it.

The competition is still ongoing with the latest taking place last month on August 5th.

An Irish ‘Mythology’ Test

Irish (and other) cultural stories frequently get used in advertising campaigns – particularly where the base story can be linked to an ‘Irish’-related product. A lot of the time however, those advertisements can be misrepresentative or simply get things wrong.

Take this Guinness campaign for the Guinness-sponsored All-Ireland Hurling Championship, for example. If you look closely, you’ll see that one of the three Cú Chulainn images in the advertising campaign got its sources mixed up. Can you tell which one it was?

Photo A (The Bull)

(b) Photo B (The Giant)

Photo C (The Hound)

If you can’t work it out, you’ll find the answer in the original post HERE.

Deirdre Unforgiven

I came across an interesting book – Deirdre Unforgiven – by Eamon Carr during my recent visit home. Sitting in a friend’s bookshelf, I found myself drawn to it by the bleak cover image from Irish artist John Devlin.

A brief flip through it revealed the book was a clever conflation of the ancient Irish tragedy with more contemporary ‘troubles’ in the north of Ireland covered by Eamon Carr during his time as a journalist. As a result, it’s quite powerful and evocative but it’s certainly not light reading.

Certainly interesting for those with a link to/or interest in Northern Ireland and a familiarity with the raw narrative of the original tale, it can be ordered through the usual outlets.

Cosplaying Irish History

The site of Cú Chulainn’s supposed settlement at Dún Dealgan (which actually means ‘the Dún of Dalga’) was, in far more recent times, anglicized to Dundalk. When the town opened its first museum in 1901, therefore, it’s no surprise that they harkened back to the town’s imagined history rather than its real history – which involved colonisation, land grabbing, subjugation, and was a lot less appealing – to celebrate its opening.

That opening was marked with a huge outdoor pageant with numerous people dressed up in authentic fantasy costumes of the period. To celebrate the occasion four postcards were also produced.

Outdoor pageants of this type were very popular at the time but, obviously, come 1916, people had a lot more on their mind and they fell out of fashion.

Interestingly enough, go to any ‘mythology’-related event in Ireland and it seems to have become more popular again.

No-one cares if you scream!

This is a tagline I was using recently for ‘The Great Wild’ – an unintended spin on the iconic ‘Alien’ feature film tagline (“In space, no-one one can hear you scream”). I only realised that a day or two after coming up with it.

That said, at the time, I felt my tagline worked in terms of capturing the ‘isolation’ concept of the Great Wild, as well as the callous nature of some of its inhabitants. The ‘Alien’ tagline, however, was exceptionally clever in that it also captured the whole nature of space (the vacuum meaning that you can’t, of course, physically scream).

I don’t really feel this kind of ‘market writing’ is my forte but I guess, you just do what you can and look at other talented people for inspiration.

‘Liath Luachra: The Great Wild’ is currently running at a reduced price ($2:00 instead of $4.99) but I’ll probably be going back to the original price in a few weeks.

A Moment on the Islet

There was one morning when the world dissolved, obliterated in a downpour that melted the distant islands, then the immediate surroundings as well.

Preceded by a cluster of unusually threatening, blue-bruised clouds, the incoming deluge had given plenty of warning. As a result, the girl was comfortably settled under a solitary oak at the tip of the inlet outcrop, cloak tugged tight around her shoulders as she waited to watch the clouds to unload their burden.

The downpour rattled the lake’s surface with a startling intensity that she’d never seen before, a ferocious hail that scattered white-foamed eruptions across the water around her. Mirrored by countless ripples on that shuddering surface, the resulting kaleidoscope of movement was giddyingly, but terrifyingly, beautiful.

Tethered to the island by nothing but a thin strip of rock, the girl felt a swell of panic when even that link disappeared, and her existence reduced to the tree above and three paces of the rocky outcrop. Conscious that there was nothing beyond the fusillade of rain, she was struck by a sudden, shocking sense of absence.

Terrified at the prospect of being cut adrift, she peered desperately through the deluge for any hint of physical substance, for any trace of natural solidness, for … anything.

To her trembling relief, the downpour eased soon after, and although it seemed to take far too long a time, the outline of the island took substance through the rain. Whole and expansive, the Great Mother’s bulk emerged from the surrounding murk. Slowly, ponderously, it reached across the thin strip of stone, embraced the girl in her fulsome whole and, soothingly, reassuringly, brought her home.

[Excerpt from ‘Liath Luachra: The Great Wild’, released 2023]

Raiders of the Lost Irish Crown!

I was quietly amused this week when I came across an article on Clare TD Cathal Crowe who apparently submitted a parliamentary question demanding that the Tánaiste work with the Irish Ambassador to the Holy See to ensure the (ahem) legendary crown of Brian Ború was returned.

Crowe, it seems, is a supporter of one the nuttier conspiracy theories about how Brian Ború’s ‘crown’has been hidden away in a Vatican vault – Indiana Jones style – for almost a thousand years.

According to Crowe, his request was prompted as a result of contact with a direct descendant of Brian Ború. To be honets, given the number of people supposedly descended from Brian Ború, that could have been anyone.

The thought that a rí like Brian Ború would actually bother with a crown (a Continental and British concept, never an ancient Irish one) is also quite amusing and tends to follow the fantastical thinking associated with other supposed Brian Ború relics like the Brian Ború Harp (supposedly owned by Brian Ború but not actually manufactured until 300-400 years later).

If you’re interested, you can find a link to the parliamentary question (and its response) in the comments below.

Clíodhna – hammered by waves and ‘waves’

One tale about Cliona – the female figure from Irish literary and oral tradition – tells how she ended up landing on the beach of Trá Théite (close to modern day Glandore) after fleeing from Tír Tairngire with her lover Ciabhán.

There, desperate for food, Ciabhán left her sleeping on the beach while he took the boat out and went further along the coast to catch some fish. While he was absent, a mysterious wave swept in and washed the sleeping Clíodhna away. Known as ‘Tonn Clíodhna’, this ‘wave’ is actually believed to have been some kind of waterline marker for the local shore.

Sadly, although Clíodhna has long been known to be a land goddess – a figurative representation of nature and the land – she continues to get misrepresented online, predominantly through recurring waves of a strange ‘Chinese Whispers’ style of misinformation, predominantly spread via English language ‘mythology’ sites.

Wikipedia, probably one of the major sites of such misinformation (its ‘Irish’ content is mostly entered by people who have a limited understanding of Irish language and culture) not only suggests that Clíodhna is ‘Cleena’ in English (it’s not – that sounds more like a cheap brand of manufactured tissues) but claims that she’s ‘Queen of the Banshees’.

Seriously?

A few years back, it was revealed that almost all of Wikipedia’s ‘Scottish’ language content had bene entered by an eighteen-year-old American who’d “read some books” on the subject. I think its probably safe to assume a similar standard of quality assurance has been applied for Irish cultural entries.

Cú Chulainn and Ferdia

Cú Chulainn and Ferdia in combat at Áth Fhirdia (the Ford of Ferdia).

With the intial series of FIONN mac Cumhaill coming to a close next year, I’ve been giving some thought to doing a series based on the Ulster narratives.

To be honest, I’ve still not decided. Developing a workable narrative for Cú Chulainn is no easy task and would require some serious adaptation from An Táin to make it work (unless you go down the whole Celtic Fantasy which doesn’t really interest me and which, frankly, has had its day).

We’ll see. I’ll give an update in Vóg – (my newsletter – link available in the comment below) on my thoughts around that at the end of June.