Fionn Mac Cumhail And The Old Man's House

Once and once and many good times ago, Fionn MacCumhail and some other heros of the day were out hunting. Fionn loved to hunt, why wouldn't he - his two hounds Bran and Scelon were his own nephews under a spell. But it is not their story I am wishing to tell you. He had with him that day Conan the bald, who never saw a man frown that he would not strike and never did he pass an open door, that he would not enter. Though this is not his story I am telling you. Fionn had with him also that day Deirmid of the love spot. He was called that, for he had a special mark upon his face that whenever a woman saw it, she blushed with love for him. Naturally, he would keep that covered with his hat, you see. Diermid was also a fine huntsmen, one of the best in all of Ireland - but he would never hunt wild boar. Though I digress, for it is not his story I am wanting to share with you. It's the story of their hunt today you will hear.

So it was that the three of them were out hunting, they were out on the west isle of Arin, likely trying to catch a particular red doe of Erin. Anyrate, they didn't catch it - they didn't catch anything at all, but the dark of the evening caught them, alone, hungry and far from home. They stumbled along, as the weather came on. There they were on the high moors, not a stick of wood for fire, or a cave for shelter. Just the rain whisking down their backs and the wind whistling up their noses. Just as they were getting resigned to this, they were fortunate enough to stumble upon a wee cottage. They went to the door and knocked. Well Fionn knocked, good and loud too! Then after a long silence they heard a creaking old voice.

"Time enough, there's time enough to let you in". The door creaked open, and there stood a wee old man, who was thin as a reed. He had long white whispy hair, flowing around his long white whispy beard. He had two white brows, that were like brushes on him. "Time enough, there's time enough to let you in my fine fellows. You'll want shelter from all the weather, I suppose" Here he held up his finger which was like a bone, "I'll not stand for any nonsense, not from the likes of you, not in my house".

They didn't know what to make of that, a frail old man speaking to them the three bravest heros of the time like so. Fionn looked at Deirmad, Deirmad at Conan and Conan to Fionn - with a wink to them Fionn says, "rather kind of you sir, we thank you for the hospitality. So they made their way in, and sat down by the fire.

There was a wee goat that was frisking about the room. After a while the old man asked, "I wonder if any of you strong men, would be so kind as to tether my goat to that ring by the door." Conan got up saying, "I'll do it!" Though try as he might the goat was always out of reach. Deirmad tried, doing no better. So Fionn tried with little or no success. Finally the old man got up grumbling, "Oh you fellows are no help at all, if you want something done you have to do it yourself, that's right I'll do it myself" and with no more adieu he picked the goat up, embraced it in his arms and tethered it to the ring by the door. They didn't know what to make of that, the old man making them look as fools.

After a while a young woman walked in, such a radiant beauty she was that all the men where stricken with love for her. Deirmad, who all women love (uncovering his mark) said, "Oh joy of my soul, I cannot live for want of thee. Consent to be my own - forever" or some other words that young men say at these times. To that she turned to him in anger saying, "Truly you once possessed me, but little enough attention you paid to me when I was yours" she turned on her heels and left them to it. They really didn't know what to make of that either, but at least they were not out in all that weather. Very little sleep they got that night for pure curiousity.

The next morning when the old man came in Fionn asked him, "Sir why is it that you spoke so harshly to us, and why is it you could catch that goat - that none of us could lay a hand on and why is it when Deirmad proclaimed his love for the young woman that she turned to him in anger, while truly neither he nor we have ever seen her before - who is she at all?"

The old man replied, "Her name is youth and little enough attention you paid to her when she was yours. The name of that little goat over there is the world, and there is as yet none that can bind her but me. My name is Death..." While around them everything faded until the three of them were left standing alone on the open moors.

A traditional tale, as told by,
a mad poet

Many thanks to Robin Williamson, whom I first heard this story told by. Stories have a way of evolving as they are told more and more. This is one I try to keep to the way I heard it.