Meet A Storyteller of Ireland – From Bards to the Seanchaรญ.

Join us by the fire as we explore the tradition of the seanchaรญ in Ireland and their captivating tales.

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Meet A Storyteller of Ireland – From Bards to the Seanchaรญ.

Cรฉad Mรญle Fรกilte! Welcome to this week’s Letter from Ireland. The snow and ice have finally lifted here in Cork, leaving behind a picturesque scene, with fields dusted in white all week. Many of us stayed indoors, making it the perfect time to gather by the fire and share a story or two. And that is the subject of today’s letter – the “seanchaรญ” or storytellers of Ireland. I am sitting here with a cup of Barry’s tea, and do hope you’ll join me with a cup of whatever you’re having yourself as we start into today’s letter – all about the storytelling and bardic tradition in Ireland.

The Bardic Tradition: Where It All Began

The word “seanchaรญ” (pronounced “shan-a-key“) comes from the Irish words “sean” meaning old and “caรญ” meaning to tell. The seanchaรญ wasn’t just an entertainer, but the keeper of Ireland’s oral tradition, our history, mythology, and folklore. To truly understand the seanchaรญ, though, we need to look back to their predecessors: the bards of ancient Ireland.

In ancient and medieval Ireland, bards were part of a highly organized, professional class. They underwent years of rigorous training in poetry, history, and law. Bards were often attached to noble houses, composing praise poetry and recording genealogies and histories. The role of the bard was often hereditary, passed down through certain families.

Today, I want to share with you the role of a very special figure in Irish culture: the seanchaรญ, and how this tradition links back to our ancient bardic past.

However, who better to tell you all about the seanchai (storytellers) of Ireland than one of the originals himself. In this letter, I will set the scene and then let “Shamy” O’Driscoll take over.

Let’s Visit the Story-Telling House.

Let’s make our way to Hurley’s – once a pub but now a house, located at a crossroads just outside Skibbereen, where the lights are already burning bright against the gathering dark. The old place hasn’t served a legal pint in thirty years, but it has retained something far more precious – its tradition as a “night house,” where stories flow as freely as the tea (and often a drop of something stronger!).

We’re early enough, but already there’s a gathering of locals settling into their usual spots – worn armchairs and kitchen chairs arranged around the large hearth where a turf fire burns steady and sweet. Mary Hurley, whose grandmother ran the pub before it closed, is taking down cups and saucers from the dresser, while her husband Tom lays another sod of turf on the fire.

Word has spread that Shamy O’Driscoll will be here tonight, stirring excitement among the locals. When Shamy begins a story, itโ€™s said the very walls of the house lean in to listen. At eighty-three years old, he’s one of the last true seanchaรญ in West Cork, a keeper of tales that stretch back through generations.

Here he comes now, making his way up the boreen with a familiar slow stride, his walking stick marking time against the gravel. Through the window, I can see him pause at the gate, as he always does, to look out toward Mount Gabriel where the last light of day has faded into purple dusk. They say that’s how he gathers his thoughts, choosing which stories to share from the thousands tucked away in his memory.

Tonight, he’s promised to tell us about the bardic traditions of old Ireland, and how they shaped the very way we tell stories today. So pull up a chair close to the fire, wrap your hands around a warm cup of tea, and settle in. When Shamy O’Driscoll starts to speak, you’ll want to catch every word…

Shamy O’Driscoll On the Bardic Traditions of Ireland.

Now, as Mike says – draw your chairs closer to the fire, for I’ve a tale to tell you this evening about the very art of telling tales itself.

Sure, isn’t it fitting that on a night like this, with the wind keening around the chimney like the banshee herself, we should speak of those who kept our stories alive through the long dark of history? The seanchaรญ, God bless them, and those who came before.

You see, long ago – and when I say long ago, I mean back in the times when Ireland’s hills were young and the old gods still walked among us – we had the bards. These weren’t ordinary storytellers, mind you. No, these were men and women who spent seven years and seven days learning their craft, until the words flowed through them like the River Ilen itself.

Sure, don’t I remember my own grandfather – Dinny O’Driscoll, God rest his soul –telling me of the great ร“ Dรกlaigh family – poets to kings they were, and proud as peacocks about it too. There was one tale… ah, but I’ll come back to that. First, you should know about the Mac an Bhaird clan – imagine that, a family so steeped in poetry that their very name means “son of the bard”! They served the O’Donnells up in wild Donegal, where the Atlantic winds would near blow the words right out of your mouth if you weren’t careful.

But everything changes, doesn’t it? Like the tide turning above at Toe Head, the old ways shifted. When the nobles fled – the Flight of the Earls, they call it now, though there’s more than one story about why they left – the bardic schools began to fade like morning mist. But sure, you can’t kill a story any more than you can catch the wind in a net.

That’s where the likes of myself come in – though I’m not saying I’m a patch on the old ones, mind you. The seanchaรญ, we took those grand tales that once echoed through castle halls and brought them to the humble hearths of Ireland. Every winter’s night, in homes just like this one, we’d weave our stories while the turf fire crackled and the shadows danced on the walls.

And let me tell you something – there’s power in a story well told. More power than in all your fancy books and your televisions. For when a seanchaรญ speaks, you’re not just hearing words. No, you’re feeling the weight of generations, the whispers of ancestors, the very breath of Ireland itself.

Even now, in these modern times when children’s eyes are fixed on screens bright as fairy lights, there’s still magic in the old way of telling. For what is a story if not a bridge between past and present, between the world we see and the world we dream of?

But there now, I’ve kept you listening long enough, though there’s many more tales I could tell about the great bardic families and their ways. Perhaps another night, when the wind is high and the spirits are close…

For isn’t that the way with all good stories? They never really end – they just wait for the next telling…

… let us now slip away from Shamy – as he continues to warm the imaginations of those gathered over the rest of the night. I hope you enjoyed that visit to Hurley’s House and the presence of a master storyteller.

So, the seanchaรญ tradition, rooted in our ancient bardic past, has left an indelible mark on Irish culture. Our love for storytelling, our rich oral tradition, and even the lyrical quality of Irish-English all owe a debt to these master storytellers. As we face an increasingly digital world, perhaps there’s something we can learn from the seanchaรญ and the bards before them. They remind us of the power of a well-told tale, the importance of preserving our stories, and the magic that can happen when we gather to listen and share.

How about you? Have you ever experienced a traditional Irish storytelling session? Or do you have a family member who keeps your own family stories alive? Better yet, do you have one of the old bardic surnames in your family tree? Names that include: Ward, Daly, Higgins, Duigenan among others.

I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.

Slรกn for this week,

Mike.

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