Beneath the Hill of the Women

Cnoc na mBan, Knocknaman, The Hill of the Women

I recently deserted the studio and my current painting in favour of a landscape which guards ancient secrets.
I travelled west along the curving shoulder of the mountains and turned to wend my way beneath the Hill of the Women.

Rambling through the green shadowed glen and over a small stream I finally reached the
Old Munster Road.

Slí Dála is one of the five roadways which were said to originate from 

the Hill of Tara in the time of the High Kings. 

Along the way lies a holy well dedicated to St. Fionan Cam, known as a healer of the sick and injured around the 6th century. A saint who had a curious paternity.

The well of St. Fionan Cam, restored in 1988.

Legend informs us that he was conceived when his mother bathed in Lough Lein, Killarney, after sunset one evening and whilst doing so she was impregnated by a golden salmon.
She later gave birth to the saint. 

The head of the saint carved by a local man, Paddy Heaney.

From the well the road leads to Forelacka, a glen surrounded by hills and it is here, where the valley suddenly widens and the modern road ends, that a circular burial mound stands, a monument to the early inhabitants.

The passage tomb, similar in style to those in the Boyne Valley, is thought to date to 

the early Bronze Age. 

A stone once rested on this side of the mound indicating an entrance to the chamber.

Looking north from the mound to The Hill of the Women. 

The silhouette of a much larger passage tomb shrouded by forest can just be seen on the summit. 

In 1844, when the forest was being planted, this summit tomb was clearly visible surrounded by a
stone circle. Evidence of fire action was found on the stones with layers of ash discovered in the soil.
It is speculated that ritual fires were once lit on the top of the hill at Bealtaine to welcome
the summer and obtain the blessings of the Ever-Living Ones.

I turned and stood with my back to the passage grave and looked across to another hill, beyond
which sits a modern bungalow concealing a secret.

Dowsers at the Cumber Stones - photo by © Seán Gilmartin.

The Cumber Stones are two limestone pillars, weathered and shaped by time, which stand incongruously at the front entrance to a house.
Over the years dowsers have visited them in an attempt to decipher their meaning within the landscape.

Between the stones by © Seán Gilmartin.

I had a final visit to make on my journey that day so left the strange stones behind me and set out
for Glenafelly. In this quiet valley nestles the Fiddler's Rock, where the fairy fiddle player sits.

He was heard here one evening playing his lament, by two local farmers, now long gone.
More recently children's voices have been heard about the stone, in the glen were children no
longer play.

Although seemingly lost in a field it is the Fiddler's Rock which holds a clue to the beliefs 

of our distant ancestors.

The stone itself, a block of quartzite, is of a type not found elsewhere in the region 

and was probably erected in the Bronze Age.

Many years ago the geologist, John Feehan, made a fascinating discovery.
If you walk in a straight line from the rock you will pass directly between the Cumber pillar stones, descend into the valley beyond and arrive at the entrance to the burial mound near the foot of The Hill of the Women.
And that is not all.

Whilst out running near Glenafelly in the week before Christmas he observed:

"I was stopped in my tracks, awestruck at the great beam of sunlight that streamed through 

Cumber Gap across the Fiddler's Rock, whose long shadow pointed like a dark finger at Knocknaman, 

and all the way down the valley south of it."

Evening gathered as I turned to leave the Fiddler's Rock, my head filled with questions about
sunlight at Winter Solstice, alignments across the landscape and ancient beliefs.

I speculated aloud about the ancient people who once lived here.

Most importantly I asked about the Hill of the Women.
" Who were the women ? Were they warriors, mothers, healers, the wise ones ?

Did they light the fires on the Hill ? " 

But no answers came.

The Fiddler's Rock remained silent and the hills held their secrets.

'The Landscape of the Slieve Bloom - a study of its natural history and human heritage. '
By John Feehan has been republished and is available HERE

Midsummer fires across the land.

As the Midsummer sun bathes the land, Áine's heat brings a mantle of green to the countryside. Walking along the dusty lane the scent of honeysuckle, wild rose and sweet pea wafts from the hedgerows.

© Jane Brideson
Meadowsweet, which folklore explains was given its' scent by the goddess Áine, will soon add to this heady perfume.

A haze lies across the distant mountains and the field margins glow with ox-eye daisies and celandine.

© Jane Brideson

A languor seems to permeate the countryside and the song of the river is almost silent.

In contrast to the brightness of the day, the fairy mounds nearby are shadowed in the deepest green
as the Good People await Midsummer. 

© Jane Brideson

Then, in the twilight, from each province of Ireland it is believed, they will stream towards Áine's
home on Knockainey, Cnoc Áine, each carrying a lighted torch, a wisp or cliar, to honour the goddess.

PIC ©themodernantiquarian.com

Visit the homeplace of Áine at Voices from the Dawn

The goddess Áine herself has been seen leading the procession upon her hill and whilst the Otherworldly ones carry their torches human residents traditionally lit bonfires on St. John's Eve.

All across Ireland communal fires would be lit by local people with the high point of summer celebrated by music, song and jumping the bonfire.
Women leapt the flames to procure a good marriage and those who were pregnant, did so to ensure an easy delivery. As couples jumped together the outcome of their relationship could be foretold from the flickering of the flames.
The ashes from these bonfires were later scattered on the crops to ensure a bountiful harvest.

Small family fires were lit to protect the household and in many areas it was customary to bring back
an ember or charred wood from the communal fire and put it on the hearth.
Ashes were also kept for luck, as a cure for various ailments or to bring a peaceful death to the elderly.

Fire on the hearth © Jane Brideson

As the light fades into twilight here our small fire will be lit in the garden to honour Áine,
whose brightness and radiance ripens the crops and blesses the harvest.

Midsummer fire at home © Jane Brideson.

'Midsummer -Áine agus Grian' by Gaol Naofa  

Three small pleasures

This week it has been really noticeable that the nights are lengthening and the temperature is
dropping. Winter is here along with its' hardships but it is also a season of small pleasures.
We had a delivery of logs earlier this week to keep the range going and when we had finished
stacking the wood I noticed that the mist had crept up from the Lough field to spread like
Manannán's cloak across the land.
The muted colours and silence turned the well known fields into a place of magical mists
where the Otherworld felt close at hand.

What do you see? Is it a tree?
Or a creature with pointy nose & beard - others see a goblin or a big cat with a gun.

Once indoors I lit the fire in the back room stove and lay propped on cushions reading a book
with a cup of tea to hand.

 Small winter pleasures.
Look into the fire on the right - is that another goblin peeking out?

As darkness had descended by 5 o'clock I lit more candles so that their golden light filled the room
then returned to the fire to watch the pictures in the flames.