The Wexford Banshee

W hat is a Bow?...No, it's not the favoured weapon Of Robin Hood, I am writing about here.The Bow was the Wexford name for the Banshee.

Banshee is from the Gaelic Bean-Sidhe (same pronunciation basically) that means literally Fairy Woman.

The Bow would follow the families of Celtic Families, those with an O’ or a Mac’ before their name, rumours had it that she followed particular families even in that ring which are the O’Neills, O’Briens, O’Connors, O’Gradys & the Kavanaghs – those 5 families strangely enough span the country and were representative of our old 5 provinces, many more clans are interlinked to these families.

She appeared as a young girl, a stately woman or an old hag in tatters, wrapped in a grave shroud or a grey cloak.

She was also known as The Bean-chaointe (keening woman) or the Bean-nighe (the washer woman) in my home province of Leinster. The banshee would keen for a family who was to lose a member, staying outside the window of the person in questions room, howling her sorrow all night long. The washer woman was a tag attributed to her washing the blood stained clothes of those about to be killed in battle.


Indeed it was said around the fire at night to us young’uns that she was an ancestral spirit come to forewarn us of an impending death in the family. When the wind would be raging outside, I remember Paddy Gaul telling us that was the “Bow” outside on her way to some poor family that night. Mr. Gaul was a great one for a song or a story. His wife, Marie would coax him on for our benefit. Another neighbour, Andy Nolan & his wife Sissy would tell us similar tales – The Nolans were from the Counties of Laois & Kilkenny, and great neighbours also.

“Bow” , pronounced bough as in Bough of a tree was a name you often heard in Wexford Town. She was known to haunt Mulgannon Hill where she often follow some poor unfortunate wending their way home after the pubs would shut.

Stories of the Bow abroad in the town were manifest, our mothers especially those native born would warn us “to beware the bow” when we would stay out past dusk during the summer, we would all scuttle in dutifully no doubt muttering about that “oul hag” and then shutting up hoping a member of the other crowd weren’t within ear-shot.

As I revealed, amongst even the kids when we are out playing in the street. The Bow was never that far away. A local character who had the appearance to our childish imaginations at least had to endure the privations of being identified as the local banshee. There was a woman, dead now called Bridgey Harris who was known as 'the bow' or "Bridgey the Bow'.

Some little curs would call after how...."Bowwww!" and get a curse muttered at them as she scuttled her way home through the Republic of Davitt Road South on her way home to the sylvan folds of Wolfe Tone Villas.

She was person of modest means, the poverty of her life, apparent by the cut of her clothes, the perpetual woodbine cigarette hanging from her lips.

Her occupation was one of forager & scavenger. She was eternally searching trough empty & abandoned houses, picking at rubbish tips…Many a day we’d see her pass by, her cart – an old pram carriage piled high with timber, slates whatever trundling by…her tiny frame pushing what a full grown carthorse would have difficulty pulling. A hard life she had, of that there is no doubt.

The local wags said she had millions stashed by but I heard when she passed on, she had but a pittance and that ended up soon in the coffers of some local hostelry, her house-friend drinking it away in mere months - he to die by a broken neck after falling down the stairs in a drunken stupor. Sometimes Irony is a bitter joker.

Life’s not all sweetness & roses especially where drink is concerned.