BRIDEEN, Episode 2

Samhain was the night of the living and the dead, when the souls of the departed were able to pass through the veil into the world of the living. Who knew which one you might meet? Who knew which of the evil spirits might come and try to steal your soul? The Dullahan, the Puca, the Leanan Sidhe. Or Stingy Jack, the blacksmith who roamed the earth, carrying a lantern lit by an ember from hell. In some ways he was the one that scared Brideen the most – He’d managed to trick the devil himself! The other spirits didn’t look like ordinary people but Stingy Jack did. How were you to know which man carrying a lantern wasn’t him? Yes, she knew people wore costumes and masks to disguise themselves as harmful spirits and thus avoid harm. But how did you know masks would work? Mam, at least, took it seriously, saying you should never throw water out the door on Samhain because you might wet the spirits and cause them to be angry.

Still, there was much to look forward to in the coming days, for Samhain was All Hallows’ Eve, and there would be celebrations on the Feast of All Saints and All Souls’ Day. In the early morning they would set out for Mass at the Abbey at Baile an Tobair. Much of the ancient building had been laid waste two hundred years earlier by Oliver Cromwell, or “that bastard Ironsides,” as Da called him. But the grounds were still beautiful, with gardens lovingly tended by the monks.

The next day would be Brideen’s favorite. The night before Mam would prepare the dough for the Bairín Breac, the speckled loaf dotted with raisins, the kind of treat they only got to eat on that one night of the year. She’d make an extra loaf to share with less fortunate neighbors. But the best part was the secret treasures they would find baked into the bread. Finding a matchstick was good luck for winning an argument, a coin meant you’d be wealthy. A pea or a piece of cloth were things nobody wished to find, since they signified bad luck or a life of poverty. The real prize was a ring, which foretold that the finder would soon be married. Brideen wondered if Mam had rigged it so that Máirín would find the ring, since she was sure that her eldest daughter would soon be betrothed to Brendan Burke.

At bedtime they would say prayers for the souls suffering in Purgatory, and leave some soda bread or remains of the speckled loaf out for the departed ancestors, who would be visiting on All Souls’ Night. The thought of those spirits didn’t distress Brideen, for she knew that the ancestors were friendly spirits who would not cause harm. Mam said the falling leaves were the souls the dearly departed.

“When a leaf falls on your head, that’s one of your ancestors, and you must always say a prayer for them.”  

When they arrived at the crossroads, all sort of games were already going on among the young people. One group of girls were gathered around a bucket, watching as each one in turn dropped gobs of thick grey goo into the water. It was molten lead which hardened into different shapes in the cold water. As each one was fished out of the bucket, the girls shouted out the work implement it looked like, which foretold what will be her future husband's trade or profession. 

“Ah, Mo’s got a spade. Now it’s for sure you’ll be marrying a farmer.”

The girls giggled as they looked in Brendan Burke’s direction.

Brideen watched as Brendan Burke approached her sister, and the two of them joined hands for the set dance. The tune was An Giolla Ruadh, the Red-haired Boy, one of her favorites. As she observed the musicians, she paid close attention to their movements, to how they played their instruments. She couldn’t imagine how they could move their hands so quickly, with such accuracy and smoothness. Two of them were familiar faces, fellows from nearby villages – Junior Gallagher on the fiddle and Enda McMahon working the bellows of the bosca ceoil. She didn’t know the third one, younger than the other two, who was playing a tin flute. As usual with reel tunes, the musicians sped up the tempo with each round through the melody, thrilling the dancers, the crowd, and Brideen herself. She felt a powerful longing that someday she would be one of the musicians playing this music, but it seemed like something that could never happen. Both Junior and Enda had been tutored by uncles who were acknowledged musicians in their villages. Brideen’s family were all good singers, but none of them played an instrument.

She was distracted by a shout from her brother Liam. She looked in the direction he was pointing. Down the road was the figure of a man approaching.

It was Da!

There were cries of excitement among the crowd at the crossroads. Everyone knew that Tom Sweeney had gone to Dublin for the big Repeal rally. They all clustered around him, eager to hear his account of the massive event. But his first words stunned them.

“It was all for nothing, thanks to the cowards at Dublin Castle!”

Da told the crowd that the day before the rally, the government in Dublin had issued a proclamation banning the meeting. O’Connell immediately called off the rally and sent messengers on horseback to turn back the thousands on the roads about to converge on Clontarf, just north of the city. Many of the protesters, Da among them, refused to believe the news and made their way to Clontarf anyway. There they were met by troops of armed soldiers. The platform for the rally had already been dismantled. The marchers were devastated. 

“Once again, Dublin Castle decided to appease the Protestants rather than stand up for Ireland,” Da said. “There were some wanted to take up arms against them, but the Liberator has always stood against the use of violence in our struggle.”

There was silence as the magnitude of Da’s words sunk in. Then a voice rang out from the crowd.

“So that’s it? You just left?”

Brideen recognized the voice – it was Manus, her eldest brother.

“Yes, we did. We did what our leader wanted, to prevent loss of life. If we’d stayed it would surely have ended in slaughter.”

“That’s some kind of revolution your man O’Connell’s got going there.” 

There was a note of disdain in Manus’ voice that shocked Brideen. Before Da could react he went on.

“What if the men of ’98 had done the same? What if the Rebel Priest, my namesake, who gave his life for Ireland, what if Manus Sweeney had taken the coward’s way out?”

Da exploded.

“Cowards? How dare you! The men of ’98 were heroes and so is the Liberator. He and his son have been arrested on charges of seditious conspiracy. He’s going to jail for Ireland.”

Siobhan, who was standing near Manus, tugged at his sleeve and shook her head, pleading with her brother to come away and say no more. Then someone called out for the dancing to resume, which broke the tension in the air. As the musicians started to tune up their instruments, the crowd drifted back to the crossroads. 

Brideen stayed behind, worried that Da was still angry. But the resumption of the music seemed to soften his mood as well. He turned to Brideen and pulled something out of the pack on his back.

“Look, my girl, I brought you something.”

He handed her a slender metal tube, black, with holes punched in it. It was a tin whistle, a bit shorter and thinner than the one the fellow in the band was playing.

“See here?” Da pointed to a string of letters on the side of the tube. “That says who made it, someone called Clarke. One of the marchers in Clontarf got it when he was over in England working on the canals. He played tunes on it while we marched to the platform, but when the soldiers chased us away it fell out of his pocket and I couldn’t find him afterwards. The sound of it put me in mind of the Big Wind night, when we thought we’d lost you.”

Brideen had many times heard the story of how she was found in the butter churn that night, but never with such emotion as was in Da’s voice right now. We thought we’d lost you… He nodded toward the musicians.

“You can ask that fella over there to show you how to play it.”

Brideen shook her head. “I can’t, I don’t know him.”

“That’s silly. He’ll be glad to do it. Musicians always want to share what they know so that more people will learn to play.” 

“He’ll say my hands are too small.”

“They’ll grow!! See, they’re just finishing up a tune. Let’s go over and talk to him.”

Before she could object further he was on his way toward the dance square. She held back, mortified, as her father accosted the whistle player just as he was lifting the instrument to his lips. The young man turned in the direction Da was pointing and smiled when he saw the black tin tube in her hand.

“Come on over, girlie.” Her father waved eagerly at her. “He’s a nice fella. Name’s Gabriel.”

Shyly she approached the two men.

“So you want to learn how to play that whistle, is it?”

Without daring to meet his gaze, Brideen nodded.

“Can you come to market day in Castlebar?”

“Oh, yes,” said Da. “We go all the time”

“Come to the stalls near the linen hall, and bring your whistle. I’ll show you a tune or two.”

“Could you teach me An Giolla Ruadh?”

Gabriel laughed.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be playing a tune like that right off. But sure, you’ll get to it. As long as you practice. Can you do that?”

She nodded eagerly.

“Yes, I will!”

The bosca ceoil player called over to him.

“Gabriel, would ye mind using that clab of yours for something other than talking?”

As Brideen watched Gabriel walk back toward the dancers, worried thoughts crept into her mind.

Would he really be at the market? Would he keep his promise to teach her?

And a note of hopelessness, as she listened to the fluid notes waft through the evening air: 

How would she ever learn to play a real tune like that?