THERE was one time a Fynoderee living in Gordon. Soon the sea put on another face, the wind from westward blew a sudden gale and swelled up the waves with foam. Then the mother carried it, at dead of night, along the narrow path over the rocks, past where the waters of Gob-yn-Ushtey leap into the bay, past Ooig-ny-Goayr, the Cave of the Goat, to Lag-ny-Keilley. But he was very seldom in Mann, and wherever he was he was always doing some mischief, so that his enemies were many. ‘An’ the child is favourin’ the father.’ Fight on bravely, my men, and fear no danger for me.’ Smereree Tom Beg thought that he had never seen anything so splendid as all he saw there. They floated about and were changed into the dangerous rocks which are now so much feared by ships. Lifting up his other foot, the Buggane, in a furious rage, yelled: He could hear from inside the smithy the roar of the bellows and the clanging of the hammer on the anvil. I’ll be riding behind one of the men on horseback. Away he sailed to the Orkneys; he conquered them and all the Western Islands, and came to Mann. That if the spotted water-bull, And if she didn’t spin her own wool for ever after, that’s nothing to do with you and me. The rest of Kitter’s friends, who had stayed on the Calf and so saved their lives, believed that Eaoch, the cook, had made a plot with the witches of the island to do away with all the Norwegians in Mann, so they brought him before King Olaf to be judged, and he was condemned to death. Without as much as a ‘By your leave,’ he made one grab at her, and clutched hold of her by her apron and swung her on his shoulder, and away with him. The ladle, the dishes, and the pot-stick, When they were in the strong current about half way across the channel, the boat struck on a rock and they were all drowned, and the rock has ever since been called Kitterland. Then as they were turning round to come back, she suddenly sees right before her, her own sweet, rosy, smiling child, with thumb in mouth, lying on a mossy bank. These Little People are not the tiny creatures with wings who flutter about in many English Fairy tales, but they are small persons from two to three feet in height, otherwise very like mortals. ‘Ho la, ho la, la!’ The Old Christmas ‘We’ll be going in on one door and out on another. It was a right fine, beautiful moonlight night when he was coming down from the mark, and when he was near to Gob-yn-Ushtey he heard crying and crying. ‘My Father is doing that, so that he may finish the sword he is making. ONE time Lhondoo, the Blackbird, was living in the mountains and Ushag-reaisht, the Bird of the Waste, as Manx ones call the Golden Plover, was living in the lowlands, and neither of them was able to leave his own haunts. On the newer, second site (RollForFantasy.com), Wait, there's even more! THERE was a man once in the Isle of Mann who met one of the Little Fellows, and the Little Fellow told him that if he would go to London Bridge and dig, he would find a fortune. The men got so frightened that at last they would not go on the bay after dark, but would make from the fishing-ground as soon as the sun was getting low. Undoubtedly the most famous collection of Manx folklore tales ever published, Sophia Morrison’s 1911 book, Manx Fairy Tales, deserves a place in every Manx person’s home. This night, after the Fleet had shot their nets sometime, the night being still fine and calm, the Seven Boys heard the voice of the Merman hailing them and saying: He made up his mind to sit in the cow-house all night to see if he could catch the thief. ‘Where’s Himself?’ says he. ‘The gander said it to me.’ And he sings, as the wheel whirls faster and faster. It seems that he had been so busy tarivating himself up, touching himself up red in places, that he forgot how time went. But he ran in the water till he came to the churchyard, and they could not touch him there. It was like a palace in a dream, built of shining marble of all colours and having great doors covered with gold. It seems that at this time the Irish tribes were gathered in two great forces getting ready to meet the plunderers who had left Scotland and were at work on their own coast. But there is a strange story told of a man that went down to it more than two hundred years ago. ‘Seeing is believing; let the shrine be opened that we may see for ourselves if the story be true.’ And the battle was not over that day, but they fought round into Douglas, and finished at last in Derby Haven, so the old fishermen say. The Little Fellows loosed the yokes from the cows’ necks, hopped on their backs, a dozen, maybe, on each cow, and cracked their little whips. But all this time, in his heart, Magnus could think of nothing but the conquest of Ireland. If you go down to the ledges of the rock, which were made by the horse’s hoofs as he clambered up, you may see the footprints still. ‘I see, I see!’ replied the little Tailor, as before, stitching hard at the breeches and taking long stitches. Their blood got too hot and they went into each other in downright earnest, to show how they would do with the rascals when they came. And a law was made that henceforth the widows in the south of the island should get half of their husband’s estate; but the north side women, who stayed at home, were to get only one-third. The Lhondoo and the Ushag-Reaisht Then they all went on together, Themselves talking and laughing away. The Isle of Man has a population of roughly 85,000, and has a culture influenced heavily by Gaelic, which includes its language. Magnus ordered his chief, Eyvinder, to sound the trumpet and summon his men around the royal standard. Now there was a brave little tailor living about a mile from Greeba, and because he had not too much worldly gear, he made a wager that when the new roof was on, he would not only spend the first night in the church, but also make a pair of breeches there. As he began to pass under the trees that grow round the house at Ballacurry, a little dog appeared suddenly from the black shadow at the roadside and followed at his heels. ‘Go on with thy sewing, Hom; don’t say a word,’ said the little fella, covering himself up in the clothes till nothing was left of him to be seen except his eyes, which keeked out like a ferret’s. The Making of Mann The witch only laughed to see what her beauty had done, and she kept all the men near her by making each think that himself might be the chosen one. One time the tailor went to Chalse Ballawhane. Here lived Juan, the fisherman. It happened one winter’s night that there was a great snow-storm. ‘I batter take yer measure, Mr. Teare, while yer in, for there’s no knowin’ how long that ‘ll be,’ the tailor said. Kebeg! By this time Conchubar was feeling that he would give all he had to keep her. He took his stick and gave it one big knock. Suddenly he saw something flashing at the edge of the waves a few paces from him. Many a time he had wakened from his sleep in the dark, and, in the pauses of the wind and the lull of the great breakers, he had heard the sound of hammering. Then the speckled hen and the little chicken went their ways until they met the cock. The Prophet Wizard foretold, too, the finding of Foxdale lead mines. And I ‘ll go to Mann Well, this night he was coming along the St. John’s Road, and when he got near to the river a big, big bull stood across the road before him. ‘I’ll have no peace night or day with their jingling bells if I let them finish the building.’ And, as he had nothing else to do, he took it into his head to amuse himself by tossing off the roof. And, maybe, it’s because the Herring is King of the Sea that he has so much honour among men. The men would be fishing close in to land under the black shadow of Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa, the Hill of the Rising Day. They were always good to the Dooinney Marrey, the Merman, and when they were hauling their nets they would throw him a dishful of herring, and in return they had always good luck with their fishing. The people on one side of the valley could hear her voice yet calling through the mist: Put thy foot on the stone, No doubt the darkness that was caused by the hand of Finn made it hard to see just how it happened. ‘I’ll send thee home,’ said the tailor, drawing near the cradle, and he stretches out his two hands to take the child and put him on the big, red turf fire. He entered the church boldly, lit a couple of big candles, and looked all over the building to see that everything was right. One day Billy Beg gave Tom a staff, and quoth he: No sooner had this happened than up from the ground beneath came the sound of most terrible groans, high winds blew from every airt out of the heavens, lightnings flashed in the air, dreadful thunder crashed overhead, and the ground heaved beneath his feet; and he knew that there was plenty of company round him, though no man was to be seen. Soon he stood, sure enough, at the top of Peel Hill. His friends might search for him, but they would never find him. Billy Beg wondered greatly when he saw Tom Beg so straight and strong, and when Tom Beg had rested and refreshed himself he told his story: how he had met the Fairies who came every night to Glen Rushen to drill. ‘Are they calling you Mollyvridey?’ says she. At last he flew to a rock, and there sat for hours together, day after day, looking out for the bat. Each regiment gave the password to Tom as it went by – Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday; and last of all came the king, and he, too, gave it Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. Out goes the tailor, and up, with one whip, on her back, and they go like the very hommers, on and on, over hedges and ditches, till they came to a big brow by a river. ‘I’m thinking I’ll go out an’ watch the myrrh.’ So she put a cloak round her and crept out at the door into the cold frosty moonlit night, and midnight had just struck as she put her foot outside. ‘I’m not much of a believer in most of the stories some ones is telling, but after all a body can’t help believing a thing they happen to see for themselves. The hill opened, bright light streamed out, and sounds of music and great merriment. He dared the dog to follow him. He said: Names like Sean and Quinn are common unisex names. 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