The Magical Phouka.

 

 

Gwen an’ tha Phouka

 

 

The Wicked Aye was full of energy when Cullen entered, walked over to the bar and ordered a pint from Elena.  Scanning the crowd he heard and then saw a group of Welshmen singing in the back not far from Heber's table.  MacPhearson, himself, was not present tonight nor was Fionnula.  Maureen was scurrying between the tap and the Welshmen, making sure their voices were well lubricated.  Some of the regulars were in including Philip who was entertaining some English sailors with his satirical poems.  The English fellows were laughing hysterically suggesting the poems might have been of a rather bawdy nature.  Then his gaze fell upon the love of his life, Gwen.  She and her Irish cousin Maitiu' were animated with the telling of a story, no doubt.  As he approached them Cullen heard they were speaking in the Munster Gaelic of their home.  Since he barely understood that language but wanted to hear the story too he mustered up one of the few phrases in that language that he had ever learned:  "Abair e' i mBe'arla e', le do thoil."  That means, "Say it in English please".

Without skipping a beat Maitiu' said, in English: 

 

"I was just after reminding Gwen of her wee pony she had when we were children."

 

Gwen interjected, "She was a phouka, Cullen, she was magical."

 

The Irish fascinated Cullen.  It was partially why he fell in love with Gwen.  They were a people of great contradictions.  They were devoted to the Church of Rome and yet stilled believed in phoukas, woodshees, and banshees and other nature spirits from the pagan past.  They offered the stranger food and shelter while they rieved your cattle.  They fought the happiest wars and sang the saddest songs.  They good be childlike and exuberant.  They lacked the pragmatism and practical life view of a Scots Borderer.  He and Gwen thus complimented each other.

 

Cullen then asked, "Remind me, what is a phouka again?"

 

Replying Gwen said, "In other parts of Ireland phoukas are viewed as malevolent spirits that often take the form of mean horses.  But in our part of Ireland, phoukas are good, if you are good to them first."

 

"So what did this good phouka do that was so magical?"

 

"I'll let Maitiu' tell it, he's the better storyteller.  But I will jump in if he leaves out any good parts."

 

Maitiu' looked at Cullen and with a sudden false expression of weariness said, "Sure and me voice is giving way to a terrible thirst."

 

"De Faoite, you are a blagard.  Elena, a pint for the maltworm, and I am paying"

 

From across the room and behind the bar, Elena slowly shook her head.  "It's your own money you're wasting."  She poured the pint, handed it to Maureen, who walked over and placed it before the Seanchai'.  Maureen sat down herself, her first break that evening, just to listen in.  When the resident poet, Philip MacAlisdair, heard the word, "wasting", he strolled over to see if there was any more to be wasted and brought his wee English audience with him.  In the presence of this assembly, Maitiu' began.

 

"Uncle Eamonn raised ponies, donkeys, and horses for the local people in Deices, the part of Desmond we are from.  He had this one little runt of a pony he kept around the farm.  She guarded the farm like a watch dog and he named her Mary Tudor, because she was so mean."

 

At that, Philip's new found English friends all snickered.

 

"But the pony was nice to us children."

 

Gwen chimed in again, "That's because we brushed her and your sister and my dear cousin Kelly, fed it oats.  If you're good to a phouka it will return the kindness."

 

"Anyway", Maitiu' continued, "we would climb on top of the fence and scratch Mary's back, which she loved, and then, with our hands holding her mane and our little heels digging into her flanks, we would ride her.  Mary would then run us into the barn and peel us off her back by running under a low beam.  We would jump off the beam, run back to the fence, and start all over again."  Then Maitiu' paused and took a deep draught from his pint.

 

Cullen looked disappointed.  "I paid a pint for that story?"

 

Gwen scolded him, "He's not finished.  Maitiu', tell them the rest.  Tell them about the Summer Fionnula came back from Scotland.  Tell them about Redmond's old hound."

 

With a knowing smile, Maitiu' continued, "Now you all know what a troublemaker Fionnula is. One of her favorite diversions, besides meeting secretly with pirates, was to tease Redmond's old hound.  Redmond was this old crank of a man who lived like a hermit in the woods next to Uncle Eamonn's farm.  Old Redmond would be gone from time to time and he would keep that old dog chained up next to his cabin.  Thinking back on it now that poor dog was neglected and miserable and it had a disposition and temperament to match it's situation.  Fionnula would toss pebbles at the beast and it would charge out at us.  When it reached the end of it's chain it would jerk back suddenly.  Fionnula knew exactly how far the chain reached.  The test was to stand still and not flinch when the hound surged at us in its raging fury.  One day, Gwen and I in her company, Fionnula was having her fun at the hound's expense when the vicious, tormented dog broke it's leash.  Gwen, meself, and the dog were momentarily stunned by the sudden change in fortune.  Not Fionnula, she quickly fled, fleet as a deer, and climbed into the safety of a nearby yew tree.  After a brief pause Gwen followed, me behind her, and the hound behind me.  During our mad dash to safety Gwen turned her ankle on a tree root.  She howled with pain.  I managed to catch her up in my arms and push her towards Fionnula's waiting grasp.  But while I was doing that the hound snapped at my arse.  Thank God he missed but his teeth snagged my leine and ripped the bottom half right off."

 

Hearing this Maureen smirked, politely, while Philip laughed derisively and loudly.  "I could see it now in mind's eye.  There was Gwen, Fionnula, and you, up in the boughs of a tree, with your bare arse showing.  It must have been a tempting target for the tormented creature."

 

"The hound did try to lunge up to get me but after a few failed attempts it gave up and sat under the tree and growled.  It seems funny at the time but back then it was frightening.  We called out for help but no one could hear us.  Redmond was either gone or sitting quietly in his cabin savoring our plight.  It started to rain and it was cold.  I was particularly cold, as you might imagine, with my leine half gone.  Gwen's ankle was swollen and painful.  Even the impish Fionnula started to frown.  So Fionnula had a plan:  the girls would scream and shout, Fionnula would dangle her succulent leg before the beast, and with that distraction I would slip out the backside of the tree and run through the woods for home and help.  It worked and there I went, bare arsed through the woods praying that the dog wouldn't see me."

 

Cullen, laughing with everyone else at that point, called out, "This is worth another pint.  A pint for everyone!  Keep going Maitiu', this is most humorous."

 

"Well, when I got back home no one was around.  I don't know where they were.  I stood up on the fence and began to call out.  Out of the barn trotted Mary Tudor, the pony.  I was yelling, 'Gwen is hurt.  She's in a tree by Redmond's cabin.  She's trapped by Redmond's hound.'  I realized then that I would have to run to the next glen to get the neighbors and in my haste to leave I must have left the gate open because Mary Tudor got out."

 

Maureen asked, "What happened next?"

 

Gwen took over the telling, "Fionnula and I heard a noise in the woods and thought it might be Da, Uncle Rory, or Uncle Roibeard come to save us, but it was Mary Tudor.  She sauntered over to the tree, neighed, and snapped her teeth at the hound.  The hound whined and, with it's tail between it's legs, slinked back to the cabin.  So Fionnula and I climbed out of the tree and onto the pony's back and home we went."

 

Cullen spoke with an air of disbelief, "Do you mean to tell me that pony could understand English?"

 

"No", Maitiu' said, "but she could understand Irish.  I couldn't speak English very well back then."

 

Philip laughed, along with everyone else, and said, "Incredible."

 

Maitiu' countered, "No more so than riding across the Isle of Skye on a cloud.  This was a real flesh and blood pony."

 

"No Maitiu'", Gwen insisted, "she was a phouka."