Jennifer Devore
Dolls Watching From a Window: An Elegy for Anne Rice
A Cry to Heaven, "How could this be?!"
So much she gifted us, on so much we fed
Cry again, "How and when and why was it she?"
A lifetime of belles-lettres, forever to be read
Sometimes a fair sky, light clouds and bright sun, most of it was rain and shadows and fog
Vienna, Rancho, Paris and Budapest
San Francisco, Amsterdam, Miami and Prague
The globe in her velvet, emerald purse, New Orleans is where she shall for eternity rest
A friendly voice from a Garden District dollhouse, welcoming, stoic and serene on First Street
"Please, wait just a moment," she asked; a moment, a month, happy waiting we are pleased to do
The dolls kept eye, keeping her home safe, until we, gracious strangers, may dear Anne have the chance to greet
A moment or few passed, Violin was then passed, too, onto reverend Anne, by a quiet sweetness named Sue
Violin sits still, signed and prized, amongst Twain, Poe, Shakespeare and, humbly, mine
Across a continent, in an old, French town, in a misty shroud of bêtes-noires and mystery
Lies a family in love, together forever, fashioned finally, by design
Anne Rice, you are gone, but also still here, in our hearts and on our shelves, today, tomorrow, for all of man's history
Rest in peace, cherished Anne. You are missed.
Bigger & Belcher Than Ev-er!: The Bob’s Burgers Movie
Clawing Back to the Con: WonderCon Anaheim 2022
Dance 'til You Go Mad: A Journey of Irish Step Dancing
May the leprechauns dance over your bed and bring you sweet dreams. - Irish lessing
To this day, across much of the Western Isle, the lore of fairies remains so strong, farmers will divert crops, homebuilders will adjust property lines, hikers will swing wide of their treks and the burliest and beardiest of men dare not trifle with the environmental curiosity known as, the fairy ring, a.k.a. fairy fort. In Irish, they are called lios or raths and at the end of the 20th Century, there stood, it was believed, some 40,000 fairy rings spotting the Irish countryside. Archaeologists believe the oldest of date to c. 600 BCE. These earthen mounds, sometimes notable only as remaining stone-circles or ancient, circular impressions around raised soil, are generally believed to be the evidence of pre- and early-Celtic dwellings: from the late-Iron Age to the beginnings of Irealand's Christian Era, c. 5th Century CE.
The Tuatha Dé Danann and the Fir Bolg, Ireland's earliest inhabitants of Ireland, were thought to possess mythical abilities and kept supernatural congress with banshees, leprechauns and fairies. These mythics considered fairy rings, also known collectively as tumuli, to be not only domains of the fairies, but portals to the supernatural world. It also remains a claim that fairy forts are where, if you dare, you might seek to find a leprechaun's gold. Repercussions of disturbing a fairy fort, even plucking a flower or cutting or brush within its bounds range from general maladies and acute melancholia to freak accidents and even death. However, curses present themselves in many forms. Of the more deceptive and heinous is "The Dance": Any human who dares to enter a fairy ring or fairy fort, thus disturbing it, must "dance with the fairies until they go mad or perish with exhaustion". Well now, I must have dared to enter a fairy ring, if not on my most recent holiday on the Isle, perchance in a past life, because I am exhausted ... and loving it. If going mad is for you, follow me into the fairy ring and keep reading.
pic shoes
As with so many things Irish, The Dance has a long history, largely emanating from the Celts and Druids. Pagan entities, dating a good millennium before the entrenchment of Christianity on the Isle, focused their religious ceremonies on the natural world; this included dances-in-the-round and, often, around trees: symbols of life and vitality. Initially, accompanying music was that of the earliest forms: drum and song. The pinnacle of these ceremonies was Aonach, or Óenach: originally (c. 3,200 BCE) a congregation of Ireland's kings, called by the High King, usually to commemorate a notable death in the community. High King Lugh held the first of these ceremonies, to commemorate the death of his mother, Tailtiu, after, legend tells, she died from exhaustion, on August 1st, whilst clearing the family land for farming. This funerary event, held at the sacred Hill of Tara - seat of the High King - in County Meath, just north of Dublin, became an annual tradition, later known as Óenach Tailten and was celebrated about the same time each year: the last fortnight of July through the first fortnight of August. Eventually, this commemoration of death became a celebration of life, known as the Celtic festival of Lughnasadh: from the old Gaelic meaning "assembly of Lugh".
Lughnasadh transformed and extended over the years into four, cross-quarter festivals: (Imbolc: the beginning of Spring; Bealtaine: the beginning of Summer; Óenach Tailten, or Lughnasadh-proper: the OG of Celtic festivals, halfway-mark between Summer and Autumn solstices, and the beginning of Harvest season; and, finally, Samhain: the beginning of Winter). In a rough and dark existence, these gatherings of song, dance, feast, drink, trading, truces, dispute-settlements, sport, games and hook-ups, attended by folks from across all the land, were exciting diversions to plan and anticipate throghout the year, kind of like Comic-Con and WonderCon today. Millennia later, these festivals would give way to today's Irish Dance competitions, known as feis However, the feis of today, dotting small towns and metropoli across the globe, are dedicated to the competition of dance and song, with the added cheer and communion of hanging with old friends and new.
As for the fairies? They've been there all along, dancing around trees in magical circles with the Druids and Celts, flitting and mischief-making along seaside cliffs and grass mounds of Samhain and Lughnasadh festivals, and treble-hopping and leaping in ballrooms and convention centers from Orange County to Dublin at modern feis. All mad, too, I tell you. All mad from the fairies' curse.
pic blue shoes
After all that, What is Irish Dance, JennyPop? you might wonder. Well, what it's not, is clogging, but it has elements; it's not tap, but it has elements; it's not square dancing; but it has elements; it's not ballet, but ... yep. What it is, like the Irish themselves, is an amalgam of peoples continually contributing to the Emerald Isle's continual, cultural evolution: Celts, Gauls, Vikings, Normans, English, Romans, Silicon Valley developers. Irish Dance is a combination of ballet and tap dancing. Although, it can be said that tap dancing originated from Irish flat down dance technique.
The neolithic Celts and Druids danced for religion. The Christians settled in and borrowed bits of pagan dance, changing flowers and fairies to penance and Jesus, but continued to incorporate dance into ceremonies; and Irish monks, the smarty-smarts of the day, notated much of this in illustrated manuscripts, like The Book of Kells. If you observe carefully the motifs and decoration on modern, Irish dancers' dresses, you'll see the borrowed imagery of Medieval manuscripts. During the 10thC, as was their wont, Viking raiders invaded and burned the fuck-all out of most of Ireland's books and manuscripts. As the Irish are wont to do, they overcame this adversity by keeping their traditions alive via song and dance, and drink, to be sure. After a harsh raid, who doesn't want a bit of whiskey or mead?
As Ireland slowly recovered from the Viking Era, mainly by living amongst their invaders as generations meandered on (much like this post), Nordic infusions gained a hold in Irish culture and the mons went back to documenting Medeival life. Of course, it wouldn't be Ireland without more uninvited guests. In the 1thC., the Normans crossed the Irish Sea, kicked in the door and kicked up their heels. Unlike the Vikings and their metaphorical vineagar, the Normans used honey, proffering land grants and pretty English girls to the tribal Kings, and soon speckled the landscape with magnificent castles, keeps and fortresses. Within a generation, the Normans introduced their customs, including dance, into Irish culture. One such introduction was the "carol": a circular dance wherein the dancers "follow" the voice a solo siger, standing in the middle of the circle. Over the coming centuries, the carol would evolve into three, altogether new dances: the Irish Hey, the Riinca Fada (a.k.a. the Long Dance, featuring a long line of dancers) and the Trenchmore. These were no longer circle dances, but line-dances and they became all the rage by the 17thC.. Simple songs and bodhrans (a goatskin drum played with, essentially, a single drumstick, called a tipper) grew into great accompaniments with tin whistles, concertinas and the Irish bagpipes (a.k.a. uilleann pipes). Witness, the beginning of true craic.
pic - Irish dance graphic
A Brief (for JennyPop) Note on the types of Irish dance
Traditional Irish Step Dancing : only the legs and feet move in Flat Down technique male and female dancers in long lines, circles, squares or as partnered reels. Traditional Iris Step Dancing consists of dances set to traditional Irish music with a fast tempo
Modern Irish Step Dancing : full body movement with Ballet Up technique female dancers performing ballet up dance movements like leg swings, hopping and jumping or sashaying to the music. The female dancers perform in soft ghillies
Irish Set Dancing : with Flat Down technique
whole choreographed dance performance that is broken up into several separate parts. The set usually requires dancing in couples in four sets.
The Set Dance begins with all four couples dancing to the same choreography. This is followed by each couple performing the same sets as individual couples.
Irish Ceili Dancing : with Ballet Up technique very traditional dance form. It originated in the 1500's and is always performed to traditional Irish music. The Ceili Dances consist of quadrilles, reels, jigs and long or round dances. These were the most native Irish traditional folk dances.
Irish Sean Nós Dancing : with Flat Down technique
one of the oldest of the traditional Irish dance styles. It is the only one performed as a solo. It differs from other Irish dances in that it allows free movement of the arms and it is flat down with the heavy weight on the accented beat of the music.
Sean Nos Dancing is the only Irish dance that also allows the solo dancer to improvise the choreography simultaneously as the dance is performed. The taps consist of shuffles and brushes as the dancer moves across the floor.
Irish Two Hand Dancing : with Flat Down technique
Irish socializing. It is performed much like Irish Set Dancing with the exception that is it danced to polkas, Irish hornpipes, waltzes and jigs. Like the Irish Set Dancing, it is performed by couples with specific choreographic dance patterns, although in Irish Two Hand Dancing the patterns are repeated.
In Irish Two Hand Dancing couples dance in a relaxed style
*Flat Down technique refers to
Flat Down Irish dance steps, the dancer's foot strikes the floor in a twisting shuffle of the right foot while hopping into the air with the left foot.
There are also combinations of Irish dance steps that include the "1-2-3", shuffle, stamping the whole foot and tapping one toe behind the other foot that holds body weight.
Ballet Up refers to uniformly performed steps. The first comes from the ballet step, "chasse," "cabriole" which is to leap into the air while the left calf beats under the right calf that is extended forward in the air.
From the Neolithic to the Modern Era, Irish dance has weaved, zigged, zagged, leapt, slid, rocked and kicked its way into what we know today: a bright, cheerful jig seemingly designed for little bt sheer pleasure. Folks don't "dance a jig" when summat bad happens. Next tie you get happy and do a little dance, watch your feet. Religious rites in a circle, in a wood morphed into everything from happy, plywood-tapping, small-town pub patrons, to Saturday morning classes with bewigged little girls and vest-sporting little boys kicking their own bums in dance studios East to West, to the top-shelf of dancers, Riverdancers, forming the longest of line-dances, gracing the finest stages across the grandest cities of the world.
Whilst Riverdance produced world-class spectacle, Irish dancers you see at a pub, a festival, etc., are generally a solo to a small group. If you;ve ever wondered how that much footwork can stay in one spot, the emergence of dance saw many an 18th and 19thC dancer utiliing the limited space of a room, but dancing on barrels or tabletops. (This is also a common occurraece at Malarkey's in Newport Beach, The Dubliner Irish Pub in Copenhagen and Dick Mack's in Dingle.
By the 18thC, an era in which formality ansdstructure held reign in most aspects of life, Irish dance parameters became notably stringent and rigid, thanks to the new reed of Dancing Master, giving rise to the recognizable form we know today. "Dancing Master" was a prestigious vocation, a teacher who travelled to villages and towns across Ireland, holding group lessons for the peasant and privileged classes alike; though, the students were largely of the peasant class, taking advantage of these opportunities when they came to town. The best dancers would have been awarded solos, to perform for the town and, as dancefloors did not grow in the wild, some villagers would sacrifice their doors, giving the soloist a better platform on which to perform. What did grow in the wild, was the human nature to compete. There grew grand competition not only within a Master's group, for solo positions, but also amongst rival Dance Masters' and their groups throughout neighbouring counties. This fierce spirit gave rise to more competition throughout the counties and country; today we have even more fierce feis and competition, ranging from local to regional to national to international to professional, i.e. Riverdance. World Irish Dance Association, a.k.a. World's, and Oreichtas are premiere levels for sompetition. From toddlers to pro principal-dancers, don't let the guys' charming caps, suspenders, pressed vests and dress pants, or the girls' sweet dresses, shiny tiaras, mile-high, ringlet-wigs - I still don't know the tradition behind those wild wigs - and schoolgirl socks fool you ... dem folks is badass. Irish Dancing: like any other sport, only much harder.
The pursuit of Irish dance is natural for this writer. A far-reaching background in dance and sport is a natural impetus: ballet, Polynesian dance, gymnastics, track, fencing and yoga, Of all these endeavours,fencing and yoga stretch well into my adult life. (Although, my mad yoga skills are far deadlier than my fencing skills. Why the self-centered disclaimer, JennyPop? Nobody cares, the fair reader contemplates. I state this because, it is the most brutal, joyful and rewarding athletic endeavour I've ever done.
What I can conclude, is at some point, my ancestors (MacPhersons, Grimes and Marshalls) must have fecked with a fairy fort; or I did, unwittingly, three years ago (for that is about when my Step Dancing journey commenced) on the road from County Clare to Dublin when our travelling party happened upon the Kilmacduagh ruins in Co. Gort, and wandered about the lands for a good spell. The only other explanation for chasing a curse, is one Kathleen Fitzpatrick: she who introduced me to The Dance, gave me my first lesson and my first hard-shoes, shared with me my first, impromptu pub-dance, on a very tiny dance floor at O'Sulivan's in Escondido, CA, and is my one and only Step-sister. Come to think of it, she was there, at the ruins ... I think she's a fairy, I think I blame her, for catapulting me into this dancing madness. Of course, it could have been anyone around me, for, as Lewis Carroll's Cheshire Cat observed, "We're all mad here."
"Leprechauns, castles, good luck and laughter, lullabies, dreams and love ever after. Poems and songs with pipes and drums, a thousand welcomes when anyone comes. That's the Irish for you!"
Folow @JennyPopCom
Snip! Snap! Dragon! A Victorian Game of Flames
Bow Down: A Star Wars Day Ballad for Princess Leia
Princess, Senator, General, Commander
Organa or Skywalker, born to Breha or Padme, a fantasy in gold
Superior, Rebel, Royalty, Huttslayer
A Madonna in white, honey buns iconically rolled
Whip-smart wit and brazen with a blaster
Heart as fragile as her soul rests stolid and bold
In love with a rebel, a rake, a rover
I love you. I know. No need to be told.
Bow down, out of her way, you walking carpets and Nerf Herders
You're in this only for the money, her loyalty cannot be sold
She irritates easily, Aren't you a little short for a Stormtrooper
Fall in line and take orders, Rebel scum, and there'll be no need to scold
Alderaan's not far away, from her heart and soul, never
Solo is closest, though, by the Empire he was taken from us, from her
Now Han and Leia, forever in the stars, Solo and Fisher, lovers ne'er shall grow old
A Ballad for Solvang: The Copenhagen Murders
Dreessen's Bakery, long since awake, busies and bustles, so many treasures to bake
Morning treats so luscious and fine, "Hygge!" he might exclaim, the Old one once called Gorm
Yet the charmed life is not so placid, on Solvang's sunny field
Treachery and conspiracy hang palatably in the air
Like the arresting, hovering waft of Ingeborg's chocolate cloud
Mystery slowly peels, here and abroad, giving way to scandal, someone's fate is already sealed
Dagmar Dreessen, Solvang sixth-gen, for little does she know
In her Danish ancestors' pioneer town, this California København
Intrigue decants and patiently breathes, like a Fergalicious, prodigious red
Notes of saddle, pepper, smoky plum and murder float on the wind, the piquant mistral of mystery is just starting to blow
*Solving Solvang: The Copenhagen Murders is the working title of author Jennifer Susannah Devore's sequel - a murder mystery mis-en-scène in Solvang, California - to her contempo novel, The Darlings of Orange County.
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Banshees, Bones and Haunted Stones: JennyPop's Haunted Ireland
Dunluce Castle
87 Dunluce Road, Bushmills, County Antrim, Northern Ireland BT57 8UYSea-sprayed and lichen-coated, the seaside ruins of this 14thC., round-tower fortress rests dauntingly atop the Antrim Coast cliffs. Dunluce claims as residents, a winsome White Lady, ghostly tower dwellers and mischievous spirits who, reportedly, play in the gift shop overnight, rearranging books and turning on radios for the morning staff's arrival.
The White Lady hails from Dunluce's origins, the foundations and two round towers built by the MacQuillan sept in the 1300s. A daughter of the family, the now-known White Lady was forbidden by her father to marry the man she loved. As sad, beautiful, medieval nobles were wont to do, she died of a broken heart soon thereafter. Now, she roams the stones, forever young, beauteous and melancholy: the very best look for sporting a long, flowing, white gown as one aimlessly roams castle ruins, atop a jagged cliff overlooking a stormy sea, in an Irish mist, for all eternity.
By the 16thC., inter-family usurpations, kidnap and murder plagued the MacDonnell sept, notably Sorely Boy MacDonnell. After his inheritance of the estate in 1556, his brother-in-law Shane O'Neill captured and imprisoned Sorely Boy during the Battle of Glentaisle. Only after Sorely Boy's posse retaliated and murdered O'Neill during a festive banquet, was Sorely Boy installed again as the rightful occupant and heir to Dunluce.
In 1584, Queen Elizabeth I's Lord Deputy of Ireland, Sir John Perrot, attacked Dunluce sans provocation and garrisoned an army there. Once more, Sorely Boy was ousted from the premises and, in this place, Perrot positioned Peter Carey as castle constable. Queen Elizabeth, however, seems to have known nothing of the attack and, upon learning of it, granted Dunluce back to Sorely Boy. Resurrected, again, Sorely Boy celebrated at Dunluce with a lively banquet and a hanging, of Peter Carey.
As the 17thC. dawned, Dunluce had earned a reputation for desolation and doom. In 1635, Sorely Boy's grandson, Randall MacDonnell, brought his new bride, Catherine Manners, to the castle. Catherine was a widow of the Duke of Buckingham and a dyed-in-the-silk Lady of London. From the moment she stepped onto the Western Isle, Catherine loathed the countryside. The farther north she travelled the deeper her loathing burrowed. The isolation, the placid landscapes and the quiet life set in a madness for the city girl. Most of all, Catherine claimed "the constant boom of the sea drove her to distraction".
On an exceptionally stormy night in 1639, as the family sat to yet another boring dinner in the banquet hall, the north wall of Dunluce's kitchen court crumbled suddenly into the sea, far below. Several of the kitchen staff fell to their terrifying, rocky, briny deaths. From that night, understandably so, Catherine refused "to live on that rock" ever again. As her husband commissioned a new home to be built on the mainland, Dunluce saw fewer inhabitants, less activity, sliding maintenance schedules and, as the years passed, slowly became the spooky, salty ruin it is today.
Most notably, Dunluce Castle features in the origins of the fictitious O'Connor family, as it relates to Miss Erin Tara O'Connor, a prominent, supporting character in author Jennifer Susannah Devore's Savannah of Williamsburg: The Trials of Blackbeard and His Pirates, Virginia 1718 (Book II in the Savannah of Williamsburg Series of Books)
*Dunluce Castle is currently closed, due to Covid, but is usually open for admission and self-guided strolls. For updates, visit their website or phone directly at +44 (0) 28 2073 1938
Carrickfergus Castle
Marine Highway, Carrickfergus, County Antrim, Northern Ireland, BT38 7BGThe house that self-fulfilling prophecy built: In the 12thC., Anglo-Normans roamed the Ulster countryside, oot 'n' aboot, king for land they fancied. When they found just the right bit, they took it. In 1185, a Norman Lord, John deCourcy, heard a prophecy that "a white knight from a foreign land, riding a white horse, with birds of prey upon his shield" would, one day, conquer all of Ulster. "Hey!" deCourcy he thought to himself, "I'm a blond knight from France and could totally get a white horse and make a shield with birds on it!" Because audiences were way easier to convince back then, he assembled an army and led a twenty-five year conquest over Ulster. On every chunk of land he conquered, he built a castle. Carrickfergus is one of those monuments to victory and unfathomable confidence. Today, it is one of the oldest, in-tact, stone castles in Ireland. However his conquest was short-lived. In 1210, England's King John claimed it for himself and it served as a government building for nearly 800 years.
During that time, in the 18thC., consistent military installation oversaw centuries of not only bloodshed but heartache. In 1760, a case worthy of Project Innocence played out at the castle. Infuriated by a duplicitous fiancée, one Betsey Baird, a Carrickfergus soldier known as Robert Rainey rooted out Betsey's illicit paramour, one Col. Jennings and ran him through with his sword. Undaunted and self-satisfied, Rainey returned to his barracks, wiped clean his sword of Jennings' blood, changed shirts and went about his day. Unfortunately, also stationed at Carrickfergus was a soldier named Timothy Lavery. Lavery was a fine fellow who went by the nickname of Buttoncap, for the large, non-issue button he'd attached to his cap. Liked by all, Lavery really had only one fault: he bore a striking resemblance to Rainey. As Jennings lay on his death bed, dying from his sword-wound, he mistakenly identified Lavery, instead of Rainey, as his assailant. Lavery was arrested and sent t the gallows. Claiming innocence to the end, as the noose was pulled over his head and tightened around his neck, he vowed revenge and to haunt the castle forevermore. Today, his sad, vengeful spirit is seen on occasion at a castle well he was known to frequent. It is called Buttoncap's Well.
*Carrickfergus Castle is currently closed, due to Covid of course - stupid virus - but is usually open for admission and self-guided strolls. Call or visit site updates. Phone: +44 (0) 28 9335 1273.
Killakee House (a.k.a. Dower House)
Below Hellfire Club ruins, 12 Killakee Rd. Rathfarnham, Co. Dublin, Dublin D16FT51
Ask Stephen King: some pets are just scary, no matter how much you try to love them. If you've ever had a cat that stalked you, and not playfully, Killakee House Restaurant may not be the dining experience you wish to book. Though the main house - a large, gracious, Regency-era, country home built in 1806 by prominent bookseller Luke White - fell into ill-repair over the last two-hundred years, what does remain today is The Steward's House (a.k.a. Dower House), built circa 1750 -1770. Since the early-2000s, it has stood as a casual dining establishment in the dark and moody hills of County Dublin, overlooking the bustling hub of Dublin Town.
Dower House has been long-reported as haunted. Just above it, up Montpelier Hill lie the wicked ruins of Richard Parsons' Hell-Fire Club. In the 1700s, Satanic and myriad evil events occurred at not only the Hell-Fire, but also inside Dower House. The vile deeds are believed to have included, but are certainly not limited to, devil worship, animal sacrifice and torture (primarily black cats), witch burning, prostitute murders and the deathly beating of a dwarf, as amusement. Evidence of this final "amusement" is the long-forgotten skeleton of a badly deformed dwarf which was found by Dower House renovation workers, in the bell tower, in 1970.
Reported hauntings include sightings of, at least, two ghostly nuns, the spirits of two murdered men, extreme Poltergeist activity, black clouds moving about indoors and various, unsettling, unexplained noises. However, Killakee is best-known for The Killakee Cat. In 1968, Margaret and Nicholas O'Brien purchased the dilapidated Dower House with the intention of refurbishing it into a grand, Fine Arts center and intellectual retreat for writers, dancers and artists of all sorts. In paranormal terms, words like "construction", "renovation" and "refurbishment" are synonymous with "stirring up the spirits". As Dower House underwent renovations, it seems spirits indeed were stirred. Work crews reported, in addition to "general Poltergeist activity", seeing a large, black cat in the gardens. Later that year, Dublin artist and interior decorator Tom McAassey, claimed to see a black cat, "large as a Dalmatian dog" outside the front door.
According to McAssey's personal account in Frank Smyth's Ghosts and Poltergeists, after closing up for the night, one of two workmen on-site with him noted aloud that the heavy, front door was open, even after having locked it. Noticing a dark figure outside the door, McAssey thought it the other workman: the two of them pranking him. He told the figure, thinking it the second workman, "It won’t work, I can see you, so get in". McAssey claimed he then heard a "low voice" reply, "You cannot see me, leave the door open". McAssey turned aroud to see the two workmen standing behind him, well away from the door. In a flash, the two workmen fled the scene in a great fright. Not one to turn tail, McAssey investigated what must be clearly another worker or neighbourhood teen playing a joke. He walked toward the door and, there, now sitting in the foyer, was a black cat, "large as a Dalmatian dog with amber colored eyes" and ears flattened in attack-mode. Thinking the workmen had the right idea after all, McAssey fled out the back door of Dower House, never to see the cat again. Later, as artists do, he painted that which haunted him.
Today, McAssey's famed and spooky Killakee Cat painting hangs in the foyer of Killakee House, greeting guests and workers every day. Some have tried to toy with the painting (or the Cat, one in the same, some say), hanging it upside-down in jest. Yet, each time the painting is vexed, power outages and drained batteries immediately ensue. In a Ghost Adventures episode "Leap Castle & Hell-Fire Club" (S9e4), host Zak Bagans and Killakee House owner (2000 - present) Shay Murphy see a black cat, although domestic-size, dash past the house as they areon-camera discussing the Killakee Cat.
"Now, there's a black cat right there," points out Zak Bagans.
"There is a black cat. Really! Look, look! No way, no way!," Shay Murphy exclaims in true surprise. "No. Genuine. I have never seen that cat before. On my child's life, I have never seen a black cat in Killakee in fourteen years. And yous guys turn up. That is eerie."
"And we're talking about the Killakee black cat. Is it a weird coincidence?" Bagans ponders. "Yes, but we've learned that coincidences also mean something."
Indeed, they do.
*Killakee House appears to be open for lunch and brunch, Thursday - Sunday 11am - 4pm. Dress is casual and restaurant is dog-friendly and offers vegan/vegetarian options for diners. Call to be sure they are open, due to fluctuating Covid-restrictions: IRL country code (353) 14947087.
Leap Castle
Coolderry, Co. Offaly, Ireland (north of Roscrea on the R421)
Easily boasting the title of Ireland's Most Haunted Castle, Leap (pron. leh-p) is a spirit world in its own league. Archeological evidence suggests Leap's earliest foundations may have been laid for a 12thC. fort. The castle, as it stands today, has its origins in the late-15thC., built under the supervision of John O'Carroll, Prince of Ely. Starting with John's death by plague in 1532, Leap Castle would bear witness to centuries of insidious turmoil, heart-wrenching despair, conniving ambition, unfathomable torture and veritable cartloads of heinous demise. Of course, if we've learned anything from Tobe Hooper's Poltergeist, (1982), building a home on ancient burial/sacrificial/pagan ground is never a good idea.
Legend recounts that centuries before Leap was constructed, sometime after the missionary work of St. Patrick and Palladius, but well before the arrival of John O'Carroll, the land where Leap's main tower stands today, was sacred ground for Druidic worship. Further, it is believed a sect of the High Kings summoned from the Earth during a sacrificial ritual, an elemental: a primitive, malevolent, supernatural being, neither spirit of a passed human, nor minion of the devil, but a powerful, insidious creature comprised of natural elements and which attaches itself to the place of its "birth". Therein lies the basic trope/origin story for any good, supernatural horror film.
From 1541 to the 1660s, there occurred a slew of intra-family O'Carroll slayings at Leap. Of those slayings, the murder of an O'Carroll priest, mid-mass, by his own brother, Tyne O'Carroll, seems to be of the most lasting consequence. Slain in what is today known as The Bloody Chapel, the priest's murder was just one of many betrayals in an epic, ongoing power struggle amnogst the O'Carroll sept to secure Chieftainship, after the death of Mulroony O'Carroll in 1532.
Blood begets blood and, in an ill-fated yet unsurprising act of violence, the last-reigning O'Carroll was slain by an Englishman called Darby: the next family to rule Leap all the way through to the 20thC. The Darbys had owned Leap briefly during the English Civil War: the seized property being awarded to Jonathon Darby I in 1649 for his service to Oliver Cromwell and his Parliamentarian army. However, after the Restoration of England's Stuart monarchy in 1660, Leap was returned to the O'Carrolls, in 1664, by King Charles II, for their service and support of his father, the previously ousted King Charles I.
Never a family to be subdued or shamed, the O'Carrolls were nothing if not cunning and vengeful to all whom opposed them, or were simply perceived to be oppositional. The notorious Oubliette in the Bloody Chapel is proof of their mad vengeance and inhumanity. In the northwest corner of the chapel nests a small chamber with a dropped floor. Embedded in that floor is a series of nauseatingly large, iron spikes. Derived from the French verb oublier (pron. oo-blee-ay and meaning "to forget"), it is where the O'Carrolls dumped the dead, dying, living, guilty, innocent and unsuspecting, forever to be forgotten. The lucky ones fell properly on a spike and died instantly. If one was unlucky enough to miss a spike in fatal fashion, one lingered there in pain and obsolescence until infection or madness mercifully ended their suffering. Those who missed the spikes altogether festered away until hunger, thirst or death by shock took them away from their hell. To add some twisted psychology to the torture, the Oubliette had an arrow-slit window, just large enough for the trapped to view all the lively cavorting in a lovely landscape they could never experience again. There were also vents so that tasty food smells wafted up from the dining hall into the dungeon. What a bunch of bastards. Few made it out alive.
One such fortunate soul to escape was the Englishman, Captain Jonathon Darby III (a.k.a. the Wild Captain). In Romeo and Juliet style, but with a happy ending, an O'Carroll daughter fell in love with the Captain, and he with her. Free of any spike-damage, the captain subsisted breifly on food smuggled to him by his love. When it was deemed safe, she would bust him out of there. When she finally did free him, she and her captain headed down the chapel stairwell to ground-floor freedom; yet, on the way down, they happened upon her brother, on his way up the stairs. In a heartbeat, the Wild Captain Darby fatally slew the O'Carroll brother. As the last male heir of Leap, the dead brother's property passed to his sister ... and to Captain Darby and the whole Darby line. Hey, look at that, Karma works sometimes.
Hauntings kicked up at the turn of the 20thC., when Mildred Darby - wife of Charles, last of the Darbys - delved deeply into the Victorian fad of séances, holding several at the castle and dabbling in various occult practices. It is believed she unintentionally invited, amongst a host of other malevolent spirits, the elemental begat by the Druids so many centuries ago.
" ... standing in the gallery looking down at the main floor, when I felt somebody put a hand on my shoulder. The thing was the size of a sheep. Thin, gaunt and shadowy ... its eyes, which seemed half-decomposed in black cavities, stared into mine. The horrible smell ... gave me a deadly nausea. It was the smell of a decomposing corpse ... ," claimed Mildred in an article she penned for Occult Review in 1909.
After a fire gutted Leap in 1922, reconstruction crews discovered the O'Carroll Oubleitte. Workers removed three horse-carts flush with human bones from the Bloody Chapel's hidden dungeon. For decades, as Leap stood uninhabited - by the living, at any rate - locals claimed to see the Bloody Chapel's window brief cast a bright glow of amber candlelight in the night, seen across the fields. Witnesses described the sudden glow, "as if someone lit a great number of candles, walked through the chapel's upper room, then blew out all the candles and left". Others who dared to explore the ruins at night during this period reported a wandering woman in a long, red, billowing gown. Funny how they're always in a beautiful gown. One never hears of a ghostly lady in yoga pants or bell-bottoms.
Today, a few broken bones and some unsettling "accidents" later, owners Sean and Anne Ryan seem to have earned their keep. Whilst the spirits "may make nuisances of themselves occasionally", they are largely non-malevolent, but very much still present. Perhaps it's Sean's music (he being a professional musician), the friendly, personal tours or the festive gatherings and feasts that have calmed the spirits. Or, perchance, most important of all, it is the atmosphere of a loving and cheerful home, free of fratricide, torture, deceit and violence that has set the Leap spirits most at peace. For,, when you take all the rough history out of it, the Irish countryside is nothing, if not peaceful.
*Leap Castle is generally open for guided tours; although due to Ireland's changing covid-restrictions, please, contact Mr. Sean Ryan for availability. Phone: +353868690547 or email: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..
Thoor Ballylee
Nr. Gort, south Co. Galway, Ireland
Sprouting from idyllic, pastoral fields, like the distant focal point of a Turner landscape, stands proudly the 14thC. Hiberno-Norman tower which Irish writer William Butler Yeats called his Summer home. Essentially a ruin by 1917, Yeats shrewdly purchased Islandmore Castle, as it was hitherto known, for a mere £35. Yeats renamed it Thoor Ballylee, Gaelic for "Tower Homestead". As writers love to do, he played with words and the sounds they create, choosing the Gaelic Thoor specifically because, I think the harsh sound of Thoor amends the softness of the rest. One might assume "the softness" Yeats meant, was the tranquil land on which Thoor stands.
Within two years, in 1919, after considerable refurbishment, Yeats not only inhabited Thoor in the Summer months, but Thoor Ballylee inhabited his spirit, always. A stolid believer in the supernatural and intrigued by the occult, Yeats found Thoor fed that intrigue. With certainty, Yeats was convinced an Anglo-Norman soldier haunted his home. This belief, or concern, depending on your viewpoint, was shared by later residents. This included a woman who reported a ghost frequenting the tower stairwell often enough, she refused to trod the stairs once night fell. Apparently, her dog shared her concerns, regularly cowering from an unseen presence in the downstairs areas of the tower.
Photographic evidence in 1989 exposes the form of a young boy staring directly at the camera, as a guest took pictures in Yeats' sitting room. The guest, one David Blnkthorne was the only person in the room, as the tower had closed for the day, just as Blinkthorne and his family arrived a bit too late in the day, after a long carride. Blinkthorne entreated the curator to stay open just long enoough for hiis family to take a quick run-through and snap some photos. She allowed the family a few moments as she closed up shop. Blinkthorne's wife and children were in another part of the home; David explored the sitting room alone, or so he believed. The boy has been seen before; he is thought to be Yeats' young son.
Blessed be this place, more blessed still this tower. A bloody, arrogant power, rose out of the race.
- from William Butler Yeats' "Blood and The Moon", reference to Thoor Ballylee and its haunted staircase
*Thoor Ballylee is generally open April - September for tours tea and hearty welcomes. Failte Thoor Ballylee! As with everything in Europe, the UK and the States, please, double-check for availability and hours.
Phone: +353 (0) 91 631436 (weekdays 10am-2pm, weekends 11am-5pm) or email: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..
Happy St. Patrick's Day, Happy Irish-American Heritage Month and safe travel to all, when the time time comes again that we may. Sláinte, kittens!
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