Changelings
Become a Patron!Irish and Celtic myths and legends, Irish folklore and Irish fairy tales tales of Ireland
Changelings, thieves of the young and the fair
While most people nowadays believe fairies to be gentle creatures, prone to mischief perhaps and capricious by their natures yet well intended for all that, in Ireland they have a more sinister reputation. Some say, and some still believe, that the fairies will take small children and young people, leaving in their place creatures known as changelings or Sibhreach, or other names which will not be spoken here!
Often a baby might become ill, or take on a strange appearance, or a person might be left unable to move their limbs, fairy-struck as they called it, and the local people would begin to suspect fairy work.
And it didn't stop with that – the family under whose roof a changeling dwelt would have no luck from that day forward, but still they must care for and love the changeling if they ever wanted to see their own child again! For the fairies would treat their hostage in the same manner or worse.
Babies are most at risk, although the Sidhe fear nothing more than iron and fire, so a pair of scissors or tongs may be left near to the crib, or the crib left close to a fireplace, and draping a garment belonging to the father of the child over the baby as it sleeps is also said to be a preventative.
Sometimes they won't even leave one of their own behind but rather a lump of wood or bundle of twigs called a stock, enchanted to seem like a baby, which will sicken and die before its parents eyes!
But what, you may ask, will the fairies do with abducted children? And well you may ask but the truth is nobody knows. Some say they are offered to dark powers once every seven years in exchange for freedom to walk the earth, others that fairies need new blood from sturdy humans to keep their lines strong – even with all their carousing they don't have many young, and birth is difficult for them – and yet others that changelings are old fairies, near to death, and the children are meant to take their place.
Looking upon a baby with envy, called “overlooking the baby” is frowned upon in Ireland unless it is also accompanied by a blessing and a prayer, for such a gaze may also draw the attention of less kindly eyes.
Babies alone were not in peril from the fairies mind you, any young gentleman or maiden, fair of form and sound of mind and body was at risk, for the wee folk crave beauty with the jealousy of a lover. Although tales do tell of the odd individual who voluntarily went went them, and returned years later with a gift, whether that be an understanding of herbs or some other more eldritch knowledge.
The signs by which the old folk knew a changeling were several, but mainly a change in demeanour was noted, from happy to sullen, and a wizened appearance came upon the person, and an appetite that grew while they lost weight. Innocence would fade from their eyes to be replaced with darkness and a shifty look.
So great is the love of music among the fairies that leaving an instrument near a crib and listening for a virtuoso performance was a good way to confirm any suspicions.
Changelings were crafty sorts as well so you had to have your thinking cap on when dealing with them. One young mother by the name of Maureen Doherty felt something was amiss with her child, so she went to consult with a wise man, a storyteller who lived several miles away.
When she returned, taking his advice, she emptied out the yolks from several eggs and filled them with water, seeing out of the corner of her eyes that the babe watched her every move closely.
“What are you about, ma?” asked the baby.
Her heart lurched in her bosom then for what child could speak at that age.
“I'm brewing, my lovely child,” she said hoarsely, placing the eggshells in the fire.
“What's that you're brewing then, mother,” said the babe, craning out of its crib with narrowed eyes.
“Why eggshells of course,” she replied, upon which the child burst out in a great gust of dry high laughter, like an old man who's seen a dancing chicken wearing a bow tie.
“My eyes have seen the burning of Rome and London, but they haven't yet seen the likes of this!” the creature cackled, and Maureen turned with her heavy iron ladle in hand, raised as if to strike, and rushed at the crib! But she tripped over and hit her head, awaking to find the changeling gone and her son back safe and sound.
Not all stories end so happily of course, there are as many ways to restore a lost child or person as there are tales of their stealing. Some say a dunking in foxglove water will do the trick, while others advise waiting outside the nearest fairy mound for when they go a-trooping, which they do several times a year. If you know the right words, you can give them back their own.
Feeding the person the first milk of a cow after calving, supposed to be like ambrosia to the fairies, was meant to return the original to their rightful place.
Fairies are terrified of fire, so holding a burning brand next to the mouth of one suspected of being a changeling and asking their true names three times may drive them forth. Readers, it shouldn't need saying, I am sure know that much of this was before our modern understanding of afflictions both of the mind and body, and not make the mistake of Michael Cleary of Tipperary, who burned his wife to death in 1895 under the foolish belief that she was a changeling. He served fifteen years in prison and fled the country upon his release.
If after all a changeling is left unaccounted for, they may grow up to become a person slow of wits and of poor manners, what was called an ouphe or oaf, while their human counterparts either pined away under the hill or lived quite happily among the dancing folk.
“The summer sun was sinking
With a mild light, calm and mellow,
It shone on my little boy's bonny cheeks,
And his loose locks of yellow.
The robin was singing sweetly,
And his song was sad and tender;
And my little boy's eyes as he heard the song,
Smiled with sweet soft splendour.
My little boy lay on my bosom,
While his soul the song was quaffing;
The joy of his soul had ting'd his cheek,
And his heart and his eye were laughing.
I sat alone in my cottage,
The midnight needle plying;
I fear'd for my child, for the rush's light
In the socket now was dying.
There came a hand to my lonely latch,
Like the wind at midnight moaning,
I knelt to pray--but rose again--
For I heard my little boy groaning!
I crossed my brow, and I crossed my breast,
But that night my child departed!
They left a weakling in his stead,
And I am broken-hearted!
Oh! it cannot be my own sweet boy,
For his eyes are dim and hollow,
My little boy is gone to God,
And his mother soon will follow.
The dirge for the dead will be sung for me,
And the mass be chaunted sweetly;
And I will sleep with my little boy,
In the moonlight church-yard meetly.”
A man in the village of Dowra claims to have been taken and returned, and you can find the little village on the map below.
We now have an amazing Patreon page as well, where you can listen to the many myths and legends on the Emerald Isle! Exclusive to our Patreon, you can now hear stories of ancient Ireland, folklore and fairy tales and more, all professionally narrated. It's at times like these that it's most important to support artists and creative people whose income might be reduced, so if you'd like to support the work that goes into Emerald Isle, the Patreon can be found here: https://www.patreon.com/emeraldisle
Further Folk and Faerie Tales of Ireland
The people of Ireland before the time of Saint Patrick had many strange customs, and some of these survive even to this very day, often mixed and combined with Christian rites and beliefs! One of those traditions was the sunwise walk. What this meant was, in order for good luck to attend an event, you had to walk around it sunwise or deiseal, pr ... [more]
We have a saying in Ireland, that it's the only place in the world where you can get all four seasons in the one day – well there's truth in that, but Irish weather can be even stranger than most people realise! So it is with the Gaoth Sidhe, which means “the fairy wind,” and is pronounced “gwee sheeha”. Oft ... [more]
One upon a time in Ireland, in the farthest west of County Clare, there lived a brave young chieftain whose name was O'Quinn. A kindly enough man was he, and fair to behold, of ruddy locks and clean limbs, and he made his Dún on a flat plain near to a clearwater spring, the purest in all of Ireland and perhaps all the world. He was co ... [more]
Cursing of various sorts has a history as long and rich as Ireland's own, stretching from the very earliest tales of the first settlers in Ireland all the way to the modern day. Whether a quick muttered malediction on someone who had crossed you or an elaborate, lengthy poem intended to satirise and ruin the legacy of a king, the mallacht, or c ... [more]
Much has been said but little written of the old Irish piseóg, the word of the curse. Now the same term is often used to refer to general traditions and superstitions in Ireland, things like if you're ever lost, turn your socks inside out to find your way home, or opening the back door if you hear a knock at the front door, to let the fa ... [more]
Dotted around Ireland in many places can be found bullán stones, meaning “bowls”, which are stones, large and small, with a depression or bowl in them, often filled with water. These are usually of great antiquity, stretching back before the time of St Patrick and before the time of Cú Chulainn and Fionn Mac Cumhaill, and ... [more]
There's a common misconception some might have about fairies, which is the idea that fairies are nice friendly little spirits, trailing pixie dust and turning pumpkins into luxury vehicles. As any of the old folk of Ireland could tell you, nothing could be further from the truth, for a fairy in wrath is more dangerous than a hive of wasps or a ... [more]
Sometimes when out and about travelling the lesser known byways of Ireland, you might come across a little stone arrowhead or piece of flint shaped by hands long gone, and people would tell you not to touch it for fear it might carry the tinneas sióg, the sickness of the fairy mounds! For it was that fairies, the sidhe, were known to hurl ... [more]
The sinister crone of the woods, the wishing thorn, there are as many tales told of the blackthorn trees of Ireland as there are spiky thorns on its branches. The people who came before, whose blood still runs in some, planted them around their tombs and sacred places and bound the lunantisidhe, or moon fairies to protect them, save only on the ful ... [more]
Once upon a time there was a poor woman with three daughters, and one day the eldest decided to seek her fortunes in the world. “Mother,” she said, “bake me a cake and kill my chicken, for I am away to the wide world.” And so her mother did just that, and when all was ready, her mother asked “which will you have ... [more]
A fair witch crept to a young man's side, And he kissed her and took her for his bride. But a shape came in at the dead of night, And filled the room with snowy light. And he saw how in his arms there lay A thing more frightful than words may say. And he rose in haste, and followed the Shape Till morning crowned an eastern cape. ... [more]
Once upon a time, not so long ago, a lovely young couple had just gotten married in the Irish countryside. It was a wonderful ceremony and all had remarked on how beautiful the bride looked, when suddenly their festivities and dancing were interrupted by the groom, who rushed into the crowd shouting that his Margaret was missing! Well they ... [more]
They do say that once upon a time, long ago, there lived a lady of great beauty in a castle on a lake, and her hair was fair as gold, shining in the summer sun. She had been promised to a king's son, the lord of a nearby kingdom, but as he was coming to see her one dark November evening, who should come upon him but the warriors of a jealous lo ... [more]
One evening in late November, which is the time of year when the spirits of Ireland have the most power, the prettiest girl in all the land was going to the ancient well for water. Then, as chance would have it, her foot turned on a loose stone, and she fell. It was bad luck, but when she got back to her feet, it seemed as though she was in a stran ... [more]
Baile the son of Buan was renowned through Ulster and all of Ireland for his tale-telling, and loved for his his kindly nature, but most of all by by Aillinn, daughter of Lughaidh. From afar they shared sweet messages and poetry, and as time passed she grew to love him more and more, and he in kind. Everyone spoke well of them and looked forward to ... [more]
In the olden days there was a man who played the pipes, but he was not famous for it, or if he was it was for the wrong reasons, since he had but the one tune, a jaunty jig called The Black Rogue. Now it happened one dark night that he was on his way home after entertaining the gentlemen, and with a few pence in his pocket and a few drinks under hi ... [more]
Times were hard in Ireland back years ago, and while some might say they've had it tough today, it was not a patch on the hardships people endured in times gone by. And so it was with Michael McGovern, a poor farmer with hardly an acre of stony soil to rent, who looked upon his three young sons with love for the life of them and fear for their ... [more]
There was a prince in Ireland a long, long time ago, back when Ireland still had princes, and O'Donall was his name. A brave fellow he was, and powerful, but given to risk and heedless thrills in his hunting and leaping and running and swimming, all the better to impress his friends. He was lord of a wide land, and he wasn't hard on the poo ... [more]
A woman was out one day looking after her sheep in the valley, and coming by a little stream she sat down to rest, when suddenly she seemed to hear the sound of low music, and turning round, beheld at some distance a crowd of people dancing and making merry. And she grew afraid and turned her head away not to see them. Then close by her stood a you ... [more]
They say that in Ireland you will enjoy all four seasons in a day, but on this day the four seasons were high and glorious summer, or so it seemed to Tom Fitzpatrick as he walked along a narrow road between two tall hedges in harvest time. As he walked, he chanced to hear a strange ringing like a tiny bell, and he paused, puzzled as to what it migh ... [more]
