The word banshee comes from the Irish term “Bean Sidhe,” which means “woman of the hill.” In Celtic mythology as the ancient gods of Ireland where decreasing in power and influence, they all got their own little hill – Sidh (pronounced “Shee”) – in which to live. Many were downgraded from “divine” status and became simply “fairies.” Goddesses soon become “women of the hills” – bean sidhe – or banshees. Lots of folk tales grew up around the banshees, who were rumoured to appear on hill tops and wail into the night. Their appearance was typically taken as an omen of a death in the family of those who saw them.
My mum recently told me one particular delightful story about her grandfather – Granda Wilson – which made me smile, particularly in light of my own well-known scepticism of all such phenomena.
My Great Grandfather Wilson lived in County Tyrone just outside of a small down called Castlederg. He was a farmer, and as such lived a tough life. However, such farmers were hardy folk, with a wonderful ability to get on with life in the face of hardships, and even to be jolly as they did so. Apparently my Great Grandfather was no exception, and my mum loved to spend time with him on his farm over the summer. In fact she became his shadow and followed him everywhere he went: except when he went to face a banshee.
The weather was stormy and at night a ghostly figure was spotted wailing into the night. Others were called and confirmed that this was indeed a banshee. What else could it be? Word spread around the area and many people were afraid. The old tales of banshees were well ingrained in rural consciousness and banshees were never rumoured to bring glad-tidings! The hill was avoided, particularly at night.
But my great granda Wilson was a hardy farmer, a man too well acquainted with the earth and its natural rhythms to be afraid of any otherworldly nonsense like this! He wasn’t afraid of anything. He was going to put an end to this silly talk and find out once and for all what was going on at the top of this hill. A small group gathered to watch him as he resolved to confront the banshee. He grabbed his coat, a stick, and a torch and headed off.
The small crowd followed him to the bottom of the hill and watched. From the bottom of the hill the people could see the banshee waving and wailing at the top as it had done now for several nights. After a few minutes they heard the huge hearty laugh of my great grandfather Wilson. A few minutes later he reappeared in jolly good spirits. “A banshee?” he laughed. “Did no-one notice in day light the big bloody tree at the top of the hill had a sheet stuck on it!?!”
Yep. Apparently an old bedsheet had blown off someone’s washing line in the storm and got stuck in the tree. In the stormy weather the trees branches wailed and the sheet flapped in the wind like a ghost. What else could it be but a banshee?
The story reminds us of a number of lessons which must be borne in mind when considering all such phenomena:
1. The power stories can have over our collective consciousness,
2. The ability of groups of people to convince each other of things for which there’s a perfectly normal explanation,
3. How our perception of reality can be skewed and affected by the things we believe, and
4. That exposing the plain truth can often be achieved simply by shedding a little light on the matter.
Stephen J. Graham (proud to be 1/8th Wilson)
stephenjgraham 