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Heavens Clan (Vince)
As a young boy I ventured with some friends to visit a cemetery, we felt very daring as the cemetery was a mile outside of town and very isolated..
This was not some midnight excursion this was just after mid day on an extremely hot August day.. in fact the weather had broken all kind of local records due to the temperature and lack of rain..
I remember clearly that I was with three girls of approx. my age (11 years).. I was a near stranger in the town, just there for the holiday with my parents and brothers... I had made new friends of these girls who seemed to delight in teasing us 'foreigners' and playing kiss chase and dare type of games.....
We wandered around in the cemetery reading out the names and playing hide and seek or chase then played a few dares... The girls got away with giggly peeks of their underwear, or swearing, or hanging from trees then I was dared to stand on a concrete slab covered slightly raised tomb and chant three times 'Old witch Blaney I not scared of you'.
Fine I thought.. no problem and promptly stood as required and made the chant.. I remember the grave stones and the concrete slab were devilishly hot from the sun, the girls went silent and were totally in awe of the brave deed I had performed. I recall that one of the girls then asked wasn't I frightened to say such a thing I of course replied 'No' and that I had never heard of Old witch Blaney. thus the girls with hushed voices told me the tale..
It was not a particularly frightening tale, not now that is, but at the time in a cemetery being told by three locals who obviously believed the story it had me worried to say the least...
Mrs Blaney was an old woman who had outlived her husband and only son both of whom had died within a year or so of each other but none present could recall from what they had died.
Mrs. Blaney then suffered from the loneliness and poverty of living alone as a widow in rural Ireland in the sixties. She would often be seen gathering wood in the lanes and woods of the area to use as firewood, the only fuel she used..
She rented a tiny plot of land of approx. 1/2acre in which she grew her potatoes and some vegetables that were her main sustenance.. Her income was a tiny state pension that paid the rent on her cottage and land and little else..
She earned some cash by midwifery and laying out the dead for her neighbours and some healing.. Doctors where still far to expensive for the common people. (Years later I heard that probably a large portion of her money came form illegal abortion but that was probably rumour).
So with working outdoors her skin became tough and wrinkled, she was terribly poor so her clothes were quite tattered, and due to her healing concoctions and midwifery etc. she was whispered to be a witch.. Out of her earshot she as referred to as old Witch Blaney..
Mrs. Blaney had one major fault she regularly got extremely drunk, at good old Irish Wakes to which she was invited after laying out the dead, and with the income from her healing and midwifery etc., she spent it all on alcohol..
Now in rural Ireland it was not becoming for a woman to be seen roaring drunk in the streets and so the local Gardie (police) had the chore of picking her up and putting her into one of the two tiny cells in the police station that doubled as the police sergeants home..
This is where the story turns strange.. It is alleged that although Mrs Blaney was regularly picked up and placed in the cell in the evening she was never there in the morning. The police sergeant (who's name was told to me but in the years has been lost to me) was forever trying to puzzle how she was always found at home in her own bed in the morning with the police cell still locked and empty. (the cells were left wide open when not in use and only locked when inhabited)...
It is to be noted that Mrs Blaney and the police sergeant were not the best of friends as he would suffer terrible abuse from her whenever she laid eyes on him...
One night Mrs Blaney was again drunk and was particularly foul mouthed regarding the sergeant (and apparently his inability to father children!!!) when she was arrested and brought to the cells.. In the morning the sergeant went to look in the cell and sure enough she was gone, he and another officer went to her home (apparently there are certain things that need to be signed when a detainee is released????) to officially release her and do the paper work. However when they got to
her home they found her dead in bed.. There was an investigation and, I presume, a post mortem etc. the cause of death being natural causes, (liver damage I seem to recall) The police man was interrogated re how she got home but no answer was ever found.. (knowing the local finance or lack of it is VERY likely she just picked the lock and went home, why she would wait and re lock it was another mystery, unless she knew it caused the sergeant some concern;-)
When Mrs Blaney was buried many of the locals attended as she had no family.. and they set about making her tiny grave as attractive as possible with a small wooden cross and plants and flowers...
However Mrs. Blaney was spotted several times with a bundle of fire wood on her back in the small lanes around the area.. Allegedly she was also heard once or twice bad mouthing the Sergeant as was her way...
Strangely the Police sergeant was able to use some funds (what funds????) and organised that she had a small raised tomb erected over her grave into which was placed the heavy concrete lid (to stop her escaping???).
Mrs Blaney was never seen again but several incidents of mischief were pinned on her name and a legend that she was trying to escape from her tomb...
After I had been told this mildly scary story we went back to the grave and I was again dared to stand on the concrete and recite 'old witch Blaney I'm not scared of you', three times' this time I declined (just in case). but the girls began to insist, calling me coward etc.. at that moment it started to rain, great big blobs of rain began to slowly fall then more and more, suddenly we heard a tremendous 'CRACK' and a puff of cement dust puffed up from a huge crack that had appeared in the concrete slab..
Now I do not know the world record for the one mile sprint but I bet I had it well beaten....
Years after, when I was an adult, I returned I went to look at the grave and saw there was still the huge crack with an opening large enough to put your hand inside.. strangely I never did put my hand in.
Of course I can hear you all say it was just the cold water on the extremely hot concrete.. and well it could have been. but even now as an adult I cannot bring myself to stand on a grave....
Don't know what you think about this daft tale, which happens to be absolutely true ....
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Shanachie
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