The first ruler of Man

Manannan mac y Leirr, the Son of the Sea, was the first Ruler of Mann. He was a great Wizard, and he was so powerful that afterwards he was looked on as a god. He had a great stone fort on Peel Island, and he could make one man, standing on its battlements, seem to be a hundred. When he saw his enemies’ ships sailing, he would cover the island round with a silver mist so that it could not be seen ; and if, in spite of the mist, his enemies came near, he would throw chips into the water and change them into ships. He was out walking one day on Barrule, when he saw the warships of the Northmen were in the bay of Peel. And with that he made himself into the shape of three legs and rolled like a wheel down from the mountain top as fast as the wind. It was about low tide in the harbour, and there ran a stream of sparkling water out to sea. Now the banks of the stream were marshy, and by the river-side grew a quantity of sedge with broad, green leaves. So Manannan made little boats of the sedge, a good number of them, and sailed his boats in the stream. And when the little fleet floated out of the harbour, he caused them to look like great ships of war, well manned with fighting men. Then terror seized on the Northmen when they saw the Manx fleet, and they cut their cables, hoisted sails, and cleared away as fast as they could, and Manannan and his island were left in peace. Thus did he keep Mann, and not with his sword, or his bow and arrows.

In his fort he had a great banqueting-hall, where handsome boys made sweet music, and others played games and did great feats of strength. He had a horse called Enbarr of the Flowing Mane, who could travel like the wind over sea as well as land, swift hounds that could catch any wild beast, and a sword called The Answerer, whose wound was always fatal, besides his Magic Branch and his wonderful boat, Wave Sweeper.

He governed Mann well for long, long years. Manx people had the best of good treatment from him, and all the rent he wanted was that each one was to bring a bundle of green rushes to him on the Mountain of South Barrule on Midsummer Eve. The island was a happy place, full of sunshine and all pleasant things, and no person there was old or tired or sad.

Manx men have never forgotten Manannan, and this thousand years our fisher-men have prayed to him the following prayer, as they have put out to sea. Even up to the days of our fathers it has been used:

Manannan Beg Mac y Leirr
Little Manannan Son of the Sea,
Who blessed our island,
Bless us and our boat, going out well.
Coming in better, with living and dead in our boat.

From Sophia Morrison’s Manx Fairy Tales, 1911, pp171-173.

 

Paying the rents to Manannán

Here is an excerpt of a sixteenth century Manx poem, which mentions the custom of paying the rents to Manannán at Midsummer:

Dy neaishtagh shin agh rish my skeayll,	If you would listen to my story,
As dy ving lhieu ayns Chant;	I will pronounce my chant;
Myr share dy voddyms lesh my Veeal,	As best I can; I will, with my mouth
Yinnin diu geill dán ellan Sheeant.	Give you notice of the enchanted Island.
Quoi yn chied er ee row rieau ee,	Who he was that had it first,
Ny kys eisht myr haghyr da;	And then what happened to him;
Ny kys hug Parick ayn Creestiaght,	And now St. Patrick brought in Christianity,
Ny kys myr haink ee gys Stanlaa.	And how it came to Stanley.
Mannanan beg va mac y Leirr,	Little Mannanan was son of Leirr,
Shen yn chied er ec row rieau ee;	He was the first that ever had it;
Agh myr share oddym’s cur-my-ner,	But as I can best conceive
Cea row eh hene agh an-chreestee.	He himself was a heathen.
Cha nee lesh e Chliwe ren eh ee reayll	It was not with his sword he kept it,
Cha nee lesh e Hideyn, ny lesh e vhow;	Neither with arrows or bow;
Agh tra aikagh eh lhuingys troailt	But when he would see ships sailing,
Oallagh eh ee my geayrt lesh kay.	He would cover it round with fog.
Yinnagh eh doinney ny hassoo er brooghe,	He would set a man, standing on a hill,
Er-lhieu shen hene dy beagh ayn keead;	Appear as if he were a hundred;
As shen myr dreill Mannanan keole,	And thus did wild Mannanan protect
Yn Ellan shoh’n-ayn lesh Cosney bwoid.	That island with all its booty.
Yn mayll deeck dagh unnane ass e cheer,	The rent each landholder paid to him was
Va bart dy leaogher ghlass dagh bleiu;	A bundle of coarse meadow grass yearly;
As eisht shen orroo d’eeck myr keesh,	And that, as their yearly tax,
Trooid magh ny cheery dagh oie-lhoine.	They paid to him each midsummer eve.
Paart ragh lesh y leaogher seose,	Some would carry the grass up
Gyn yn slieau mooar ta heose Barool;	To the great mountain up at Barool;
Paart elley aagagh yn leoagher wass,	Others would leave the grass below,
Ec Mannanan erskyn Keamool.	With Mannanan’s self above Keamool.
Myr shen eisht ren adsyn beaghey,	Thus then did they live;
O er-lhiam pene dy by-veg nyn Geesh;	O, I think their tribute very small,
Gyn kiarail as gyn imnea,	Without care and without anxiety,
Ny doggyr dy lhiggey er nyn skeeys.	Or hard labour to cause weariness.
Eisht haink ayn Parick nyn meayn,	Then came Patrick into the midst of them;
She dooinney-noo, véh lane dy artue,	He was a saint, and full of virtue;
Dimman eh Mannanan er y tonn	He banished Mannanan on the wave,
As e grogh vooinjer dy lieh-chiart.	And his evil servants all dispersed.

The original poem can be found in William Harrison’ Mona Miscellany, 1863, pp26-46, although I’ve followed Charles MacQuarrie’s capitalisations of certain words in Manx – see Macquarrie’s The Waves of Manannán, 1997, pp292-293.

 

Manannán and the Shephard

Before the story, here’s a bit of preamble that might be useful – some epithets and associations of Manannán:

He is spoken of variously as the Old King, Mananan of the Flames [the least common name], the King of the Wanderers, the Sailor’s Friend, and–most intimate and frequent of all the names-Himself. There are stories of his calling people away to his secret Island of Immortality beyond the western sea, or appearing to sailors or fishermen in danger and helping them-sometimes in distant parts of the world. He is the patron (sometimes openly acknowledged but oftener not) of sailors and beggars and poets and all careless wandering people; he has been seen rolling and leaping along the summits of the middle mountains in the form of a wheel of fire; and he is never very far away from the hills of his Island, or from the imaginations of his people when they speak or think of the unseen world.

The following story is called simply “Manannán and the Shepherd”, recorded “from the top of Laxey glen, and relates to the same district” on the Isle of Man:

There was a man living up at the Griananes one time, and he had sheep on the Big Mountain [Snaefell]; and one day he was up after them alone on a middling thick evening in the winter. He had them all nearly gathered in a quiet corner ready for counting, and was thinking of making tracks before the dark would come on him, when he seen a big coarse-looking man and him all like in ragged clothing, coming straight for him through the mist.

“Good evening to thee, master,” he says; and “Good evening to theeself,” says my bold boy.

“It’s a fine lot of sheep thou have there.”

“Aw, middlin’, middlin’. I’m just for counting them before I’ll make tracks for home.”

“A hard task, that,” says the stranger.

“No, not hard at all when ye know the way,” says the farmer – but the words weren’t hardly out of his mouth till he heard a mighty big laugh and a sound like a little mocking tune. And behold ye, when he looked around him there wasn’t a sign of a sheep nor man nor anything at all, only thick, thick mist going swirling around him, and a high wind blowing. And he heard a big voice shouting out in the wind:

“Count thy sheep now, master! Count thy sheep now! Do thou know the way, master?”

Well, he knew then that it was some fairy making gammon of him, but he was wild atchim [Manx: 'terror'] and started trying to find his way out of the mist. But no use at all, for it wasn’t minutes till he was in a strange country altogether, and big, high rocks all standing round in the mist fit to frighten you, and all like the noise of water falling down in deep gullies and places, till he didn’t know where he was at all. And the dark begun to come on, and then he knew he was fairly took, so he sat down and waited till the thing would lift off him.

But no sooner did he sit down and give in than he found the Big Ragged Fellow standing in front of him and saying:

“Didn’t I give thee a fine race now, and wasn’t it a hard task to count thy sheep for all? But sit you there now, and I’ll make the hard task easy.” And then the Big Fellow drove the sheep right past, slow and plain that he could see the mark on every one, and right into the same corner where they were before; and then the man found he was close on the track going down the glen for home.

“What sort of a wandering fairy-man art thou, playing tricks on a poor fellow that never did thee no hurt?” he said. But behold ye, when he looked at the Big Fellow again he was taller than ever, and a sort of shine around him, and like going away up the Big Mountain in the mist. And a soft, easy voice come slipping down the hill – not the same voice at all that was shouting and mocking at him before, only he knew it was coming from the Big Fellow – and it said:

“Who would I be, only the King of the Wanderers, travelling the land and playing pleasant tricks on the like of yourself for my own diversion? But thou’ll be none the worse for thy race arounnd the mountain!”

And he wasn’t neither, for he had great luck with all his stock from that on, and came to be the richest man in the parish.

‘Mananan -The Sea God of Mann’ From A Correspondent in the Isle of Man.

Journal of the Folk-Song Society, Vol. 7, No. 28, Manx Collection Part I (1924).