The deep vein of legend and lore that runs through the Ordnance Survey Memoirs for Londonderry owes a debt of gratitude to the rich oral tradition the writers drew upon. The OS Memoirs were the result of a request by House of Commons committee in 1824 for a townland survey of Ireland. The scheme went ahead and the result was a detailed and comprehensive overview of life in the north of Ireland at that time. Londonderry in particular fared well from the scheme; as one of the first counties to be covered, it benefited from a great deal of time and labour not afforded most of the other counties. As such the memoirs for Londonderry are a colourful tapestry not just of land holdings and public buildings, but of a way of life largely perished after the Great Famine. An intriguing insight into the habits and idiosyncrasies of the people, their beliefs, fears and superstitions. And while some memoir writers may deride these superstitions as ‘absurd’ and ‘puerile’, as the ‘weakness of the people’, not all writers were so unresponsive. So that these stories are told not just with contempt but with an indulgent fascination for the less ordinary. And so we learn of holy wells and sacred bushes, of strange nocturnal disturbances, and of men blighted by greed and a lack of regard for these very superstitions.

A much documented phenomenon associated with the older churches of the county is that of unexplained nocturnal demolitions, which the churches suffered whilst under construction. As a result of these mysterious night time activities the site chosen for the erection of the church would have to be abandoned. Among the churches thus afflicted was Ballynascreen Old Church, said to be the central one of the nine churches founded by St. Columbkille. Everything about this old church has romantic connotations and the memoir writer seems to have fallen under its spell when he describes it as ‘. . .enclosed on every side by cliffs and rising grounds. The situation is lonely and must have been singularly so when the country was wild and covered with woods.’ Onto this romantically charged background he paints a picture of preternatural doings: ‘While (the church) was building the architects were greatly disturbed by a ‘pesht’ or monster who pulled down their work by night.’ After many such disappointments it is said that St. Columbkille, called together ‘both lay and ecclesiastic, that they might join together in prayer. . .to choose a fit and proper site to build the church on. At concluding their devotions the saint heard the sweet clangour of a bell as if descending from the heavens, which he believed was the harbinger of good sent by the almighty to point out the spot on which the church was to be built.’

In similar circumstances the intercession of St. Austin was sought to settle a dispute over Errigal Old Church. The story says that the saint retired to the original site and spent some time there in prayer and reading until he fell asleep. He later awoke to find the book he had been reading carried off by a bird. The bird flew off and deposited the book at a new site which the saint decreed to be the proper site for the erection of the church. And indeed the church was finished ‘without any of those midnight interruptions which had attended the previous work.’

Stories such as these attend several other churches in the county and all have a common thread running through them: the work done by day would be undone by night until eventually a new site was chosen. But it is the method of allocating the new site that lends colour, interest and even humour to these stories. At Church Island in the parish of Ballyscullion the stones from the original construction site were dismantled, removed and positioned at the new site. Likewise at Bovevagh Old Church the matter was settled when the keystone or ‘Quoin-stone’ was removed from the original construction site and deposited in a more suitable place. A dispute as to the best site for Banagher Old Church was settled by a deer with a manuscript fastened to her antlers showing the way to the chosen spot. And in the case of the Ancient Church of Balteagh two ravens carry a plumb line and deposit it at the appropriate place. Interestingly, it is from this occurrence that the parish of Balteagh derives its name. For, from that time forward the place was called Baileagh-ein-dah-eigheagh which translates to ‘the town of the two ravens’.

It is only when relating the story surrounding the construction of Greenally Roman Catholic Church in the parish of Agivey that the memoir writers sound a note of cynicism, offering a more prosaic explanation for these nocturnal activities, ‘The builders of this church were long in doubt as to whether (this church) should be in Agivey, Mullahinch or near the eel-weirs of Movanagher. They left a stone in the three places. In the night a cunning friar transferred them all to Agivey and in the morning a miracle was proclaimed.’

Many of these older churches and graveyards are associated with holy wells. They are too numerous to mention them all, but the supernatural powers these wells were believed to possess cannot be overlooked. Indeed, such wells are guarded jealously. In the parish of Ballynascreen there was only such well near the R.C.chapel of Moneyneany, and this well was defended by a magician known as Sir Volvet. The magician was so possessive of the well’s properties that he kept an earless dog no less, chained to the well, the better to prevent other inhabitants of the area from benefiting from the water. Through time this well became known as ‘Tobarawathymeel’ or ‘The Earless Dog’s Well’. Magical powers were not restricted to this individual, tradition says that the townland of Moneyneany derived its name from the fact that its valleys were a favourite place with the old Irish warriors to learn their exercises and also to perform great exploits and tricks by magic. It was consequently called ‘Meen-na-neenthus’ or ‘The plain of wonders’.

The majority of the holy wells were revered for their healing properties and were very often associated with a famous saint; St. Patrick, St. Columbkille or St. Aidan (of Iona and Lindisfarne) whose remains are said to lie in the graveyard of Tamlaght Old Church, and close by his grave is a holy well dedicated to the man. Moreover, the well was often testimony to the benevolence of the saint. The town of Maghera is said to owe its prosperity to St. Lawrence who was abbot in Maghera in the 12th century, ‘. . .about that period he caused that ancient spring well, which is the chief support of the town, in a miraculous manner to force or gush from the surface, as a great scarcity of water at that time prevailed in the town. The well is dedicated to his name and called in the Irish language ‘Tobbarnieve-Lourass’ or ‘St. Lawrence’s Well’.

Some wells, like that in the parish of Ballyaghran, about half a mile north-west of Ballyaghran Church, are the consequence of a saint having visited the area. It is said that ‘St. Patrick, when journeying through this country, drank the water in this well and afterwards blessed it, and from him it derives its healing properties and its name- ‘Tubber Patrick’. Not surprisingly, this is not the only Tubber Patrick to be found in the parishes. They can be found at Dunboe Old Church and Dungiven Abbey, and in the parish of Tamlaght Finlagan where ‘back-going children are washed in the well and immediate restoration of good health is the result’. Here also, as with many of these sacred sites, votive rags are hung from trees, in this case ‘an ancient hazel bush that overhangs the well’ further indicating the sacred nature of the spot. It is the miraculous healing properties of the wells that set them apart, and the Ordnance Survey Memoirs are full of references to this effect. At Aghanloo Old Church there are two such wells where children who were not thriving were brought.

And at the foot of the hill on which Bovevagh Old Church stands is a well known locally at St. Ringan’s Well. The memoir describes how ‘Delicate children are brought on New May Eves and Midsummer Eves, and stations are performed to effect the return to good health. The children are dipped three times into the well as soon as the stations are performed.’ The memoir also relates how a young boy’s sight was restored after visiting the well, and how one farmer was blighted for abusing the sacred properties of the well. This farmer was burdened by a blind horse and in an attempt to improve his fortunes led the animal to the well. There, he washed the horse’s eyes with the well water and miraculously its sight was returned. However, no sooner had this miracle occurred than disaster struck – the farmer lost his own sight and the well dried up. Some days later the well forced its way to the surface ‘some yards from its original place, where it still flows’. The farmer was not so fortunate.

Healing properties were not limited to wells only. In the graveyards of Ballyeglish Old Church in the parish of Artrea, are the remains of the Reverence James Mackel, who officiated as curate and parish priest in the area for over forty years. During his time as priest in the parish the Rev. Mackel became renowned for his ability to cure people from a variety of diseases. Better still, this much loved and revered priest did not discriminate on grounds of denomination, but shared his gifts equally with all. The man’s renown did not wane after his death, as the memoirs tell us, ‘. . . even after his demise, his grave is repaired to by hundreds of persons from various parts of the counties of Derry, Antrim, Tyrone, Down and Donegal, and after some ceremony of prayer be observed . . .an parcel of earth is taken from his grave, its tea subsequently given as drinks to the patient and the clay afterwards applied to the part of the body complained of or afflicted.’ Pilgrims to the grave testified confidently that the cures were as effectual as when the priest was alive. Furthermore, the Revd. Mackel’s grave became such a popular site for pilgrimage that ‘at present there is scarce a covering left on his coffin’.

No other parish documented in the Ordnance Survey Memoirs is so rich in legend and lore as Desertoghill, and within it Desertoghill Old Church (said to have been founded by Columbkille in the fifth century). This church has it all; nocturnal disturbances, holy wells, kneeling stones, remarkable burials and larger than life characters in the form of two watchmen with wolf dogs who guard over the parishioners. And is if this were not enough, ‘it is in a dreary bleak situation at the edge of a bog and appears to be decaying fast’. In the tradition of so many churches in this county, it is said that this church was originally begun at Moneydig, but that ‘. . .the masonry raised in that place during the day was always pulled down at night, which discouraged the builders so much that they ceased building there’. Not far from the church is a holy well dedicated to St. Columbkille and on the north side of the church there is a stone called ‘St. Columbkille’s stone, with the impression on it believed to have been produced by the saint’s knee’. This stone, the memoir tells us, was stolen by one miscreant parishioner, who after the theft ‘. . .could find no rest by night’ till he replace the stone.

Perhaps the most macabre of all the stories associated with this church and graveyard is that of the ‘tragic death’ of a child by its father. Add to this gruesome tale the detached and impassive tone in which the memoir writer relates the story and the result is chilling; ‘In the churchyard there is a tombstone on which is engraven a cock and a child, of which the following is the particulars: as Thomas Dunlap was chopping sticks, a cock came in and flew upon the dresser and tossed some delf from off the dresser. When the father enraged, turning round, threw the hatchet at the cock, which struck the child and knocked out its brains, the cock immediately ran in and commenced picking the brains of the child, and which was the occasion of the engraving on the tombstone. The stone is at the north side of the old churchyard with the epitaph: ‘Here lyeth the body of Archibald Dunlap, who departed this life January 23rd aged 2 years 1779’.

The memoirs reveal one further fascinating detail about this parish – that it was plagued by wolves, and that it is in part due to this fact that the parish derived its name: ‘In ancient time the people resorting to the old church of Desertoghill were very much disturbed by the wolves that infested the country . . .on sundry occasions of the people assembling to midnight mass on Christmas days, the wolves made sudden and unexpected attacks on different persons. Particularly on some women who were unable to defend themselves, till they were nearly destroyed by these animals. It was necessary to have watchmen with wolf-dogs to guard the county. Consequently, a watch-house was erected by the congregation a little beyond the old church near St. Columb’s well, in which two men with wolf-dogs were stationed to guard the congregation. One of these wolf hunters was a gigantic man and of great courage, by name Toughill.’ This Toughill, it is said was a huge and impressive man, and though other came after him, none so colourful as he. It is believed that through time this man became known locally as Desert ( a reference to his life and work in the parish) and that eventually the place was partly dedicated to his name, ‘and called Desert Toughill, and gave name to the parish, which is said to have been originally Desert only.’

A great many of the parishes have strong ties with and lay claim to famous saints, St. Patrick and St. Columbkille in particular. It comes as no surprise then that the departure of these revered men should cause turmoil and distress among the people. Indeed, on the occasion of St. Columbkille’s departure from Clondermot parish strange things came to pass. . . ‘In this place a cock has been never known to crow’ since the departure of the saint. It is said that Columbkille’s grief was great a leaving a place that ‘had been to him a paradise’. His grief was equalled only by that manifested by the people on the announcement of (his) departure. They learned that he would leave them at cock-crow in the morning, and immediately began to tie up all the beaks of the chanticleers in the neighbourhood. However, one woman . . . either through neglect or in contempt of the experiment had not adopted the precaution, in so much that her cock crew at the usual hour. Upon this the saint pronounced the malediction: ‘As long as time shall be time, a cock shall not crow in this place.’ And according to popular legend it has ever been so. For as the memoir tells us, this strange phenomenon was in later years put to the test; even when parishioners brought several cockerels to this place they would not crow.

t is by now evident that the parishes of Londonderry are rich in history and lore, and that for the most part its stories are told with relish. The memoirs were originally conceived and commissioned for taxation purposes yet the writers for County Londonderry have captured and preserved a whole world of enchantment. Their legacy is a host of stories that range from charming – like that of Desertlyn Old Church where it is said ‘ a fine ash tree’ grew from a handspoke (used for carrying a coffin) after it was thrown into the grave – to the blood-curdling: The practice of body snatching, for example, was common place at the time and prompted churches such as Magilligan Old Church to position a guard over the graves, ‘To prevent the practice of exhumation of bodies, a night watch is kept in the church until the body is decayed’. More gruesome still, is the fact that executions were actually carried out in the very doorway of one of these old churches, ‘Local tradition says that all persons condemned to die were executed or hung from a stone that projected out some inches over the door of Kilcronaghan Old Church. In this stone there was a gutter cut to embrace the rope or prevent it slipping off the stone during executions. The blood of some of the persons executed at the above old church remained on the walls to a very late period’. The grounds of this same church are the scene of yet another unsettling story. The memoir relates how the skulls of nuns from the nearby convent were unearthed there, . . . ‘several skulls [were] raised out, with silk skull caps on them, completely cemented to the skulls by time’.

But perhaps the most bizarre of all these tales is that told of Downhill Temple in the parish of Dunboe. The temple was built in 1788 by Lord Bristol and housed the only Roman Catholic chapel in the parish. It was believed that the temple also housed an iron chest containing a number of old books and manuscripts said to belong to St. Columbkille. ‘It was said that this chest could not be opened but by a man who had never been born, and who was to ride on a white horse without a black hair, and which had never been foaled. The bishop, thinking himself possessed of the above necessary qualifications, procured a white horse on which was not a black hair, and which had never been foaled but was taken out of the mare’s side as he (the bishop) had by skilful surgeons been taken out of his mother’s side.’ This foolhardy bishop proceeded to prise open the iron chest and calamity ensued; ‘the consequence was that the bishop could not sleep two nights in the one house and from the disquiet state of his mind fled to Rome where it is said he died a papist and in a miserable state’. Human folly is clearly no match for the supernatural. It is only when one supernatural power is pitted against another that the religious foundations of one begin to crumble, quite literally. Such was the case at Clondermot Parish Church. This church was built at Altnagelvin in 1753, a belfry was added in 1789 and in 1794 a wooden spire covered with copper. This spire however, lasted but a short time, for it was destroyed in a storm in November 1831. According to tradition this was no ordinary storm but the workings of a witch – one Bell Miller, who it was believed has the power to transform herself into any shape. ‘It is the general opinion that the high wind which in 1831 blew down the spire was caused by the illness and death of Bell Miller, an old woman of Ardlough, for they say the moment she expired, the wind ceased to blow’.

It is fortuitous that the Ordnance Survey Memoirs for Co. Londonderry were written before prudence and financial concerns reined in the scheme. Those county memoirs that followed neither so detailed nor so colourful, and they are quite simple the poorer for it. Between 1839 and 1840 the memoir scheme finally collapsed. The government was unwilling to spend further time or money on the project. The House of Commons had requested a survey ‘to facilitate a uniform valuation for local taxation.’ And they got it, what they also got was an unforeseen and invaluable storehouse for the traditions that are our cultural heritage. Finally, should any sceptic reading this think the stories told here more apocryphal that real let me leave you with the thought provoking words of J. Stokes, one of the chief memoir writers for Co. Londonderry; ‘An Irish tradition is a vocal history. It may be corrupted but is never unfounded’.