For this week’s ramble, I am going to tread over old ground, but with new purpose. I have always had a fascination with folk tales of ghosts, apparitions and the unexplained. These old stories are often encoded with ‘truths’ from their own time and give more than a glimpse into the world from which they came; they give a glimpse into the minds of an Ireland past. Today, I will walk along the Liffey from the scout den to the unsurpassed view across the river to the old Shakleton’s Mills, or, as it is known locally, the Devil’s Mill.
For the uninitiated, local legend has it that the mill was constructed as a result of a deal struck between the Devil and Simon Luttrell, the Earl of Carhampton. Carhampton liked to enjoy himself in pretty much any way he could, be it gambling, hunting or enjoying ‘grown up’ activities. He was a member of the notorious Hellfire Club, famously associated with the magnificent ruins atop Piedmont Hill overlooking Dublin. In fact, he had, at the time, what I believe to be the most striking nickname I’ve ever come across: The King of Hell. Jaysus!
I think about him as I begin my ramble out through the tall, dying fireweed remnants that spike out from the ground on either side of the trail along the Liffey. They have a bleakness and a post-apocalyptic feel that strike an apt atmosphere for a walk associated with the Devil. As the trail enters the trees, the sky disappears, broken only occasionally by a stray sunbeam illuminating the deep green ivy.
There are quite a few different versions of the Devil’s Mill story, but most of them share a few common characteristics. Generally, they start with Carhampton being broke. That would seem to tally with his reputation as a gambler. The Devil appeared to him one night and offered him a way out of his financial difficulties: he would grant him a wish in return for his soul. Carhampton wished for a room to be filled with gold. The Devil agreed, but in 21 years, he would return to collect Carhampton’s indebted soul.
My daughter has come on today’s walk with me. She, too, has an interest in stories with an inherent darkness. However, as we exit the first patch of forest and enter the cabbage fields of St. Edmundsbury, she sees a large fluffy bumblebee sitting in the middle of our path. She has always had an affinity with these amicable micro-bears and invites him onto her hand. He crawls on and clings to her thumb as a koala might a eucalyptus branch.
As we walk on, we talk about Carhampton and the room of gold. The Devil had some workmen begin to shovel gold into a room in Carhampton’s house. However, he had removed some of the floorboards and the gold began to slip into the room beneath, meaning the Devil could never have filled the room. When the Devil discovered this deception, he was quite angry, as devil’s tend to be, and said he would return in 21 years for his soul.
Soon, the trail continues into a second patch of forest. As we enter it, we spy something white emerging from the ivy: two giant Prince field mushrooms. I tell my daughter that we should bring them home and cook them. She asks if I’m 100% sure that these are the edible kind of mushroom and not the ‘kill you’ kind. I ask her if 95% certainty will suffice. It will not – but we will bring them home and do some extensive googling to make sure we won’t suffer an appalling yet delicious death.
Twenty-one years passed, and the Devil arrived to take Carhampton’s soul. Carhampton, however, was no longer too keen on going with the Devil and, so he set a series of seemingly-impossible challenges that, if the Devil passed, he could take Carhampton’s soul. For some reason, the Devil agreed to this. However, and I’m speaking as a professional trade union negotiator here, the deal was already struck twenty-one years prior to this. Perhaps the Devil was worried some netherworld arbitration court would find the contract non-binding because the room was not technically filled with gold? Who knows.
The first task set was to build a great mill on the boggy lands by the banks of the Liffey in one night. This was completed and the legend of the Devil’s Mill was born. Now, my daughter is quite well attuned to feminist thought and so I told her to brace herself for the second task: the Devil was challenged to silence the tongue of Carhampton’s wife! I was right. My daughter wasn’t impressed. However, it does strike me that a man who carried the nickname ‘King of Hell’ probably wasn’t all flowers and sunshine to live with.
A scream was heard and Carhampton’s wife was dead. He had not foreseen this as a possibility and was instantly remorseful. He asked for three more days in order to bury his wife. The Devil agreed. When the Devil returned, Carhampton set him his next challenge: he wanted a rope woven from sand with which to end his life. He did not think the Devil would be able to deliver this and assumed that he had yet again outwitted the Devil. No dice. A rope was produced. Carhampton agreed reluctantly that it appeared his time had come. He asked the Devil for enough time to finish reading his bible. TheDevil, presumably as surprised as I was to learn that Carhampton had a moralistic book in his possession, agreed to allow him as much time as it took for the wick of his reed candle to burn out. Carhampton instantly closed the bible on the wick and it was extinguished – but it did not burn itself out! The Devil had been tricked yet again and Carhampton was allowed to live on.
Soon, the vista of the Devil’s Mill comes into view across the river. It looks sublime. My daughter and I agree that we understand how people may have believed that it took a supernatural effort to construct it. We walk on, exiting the trees just in time for the wind to catch in the surrounding beech trees, showering us with an autumn downpour of browned leaves. We return home soon thereafter and prepare our mushrooms for pan frying. One is perfect. The other has been tunnelled hollow by scores of tiny maggots. We don’t have enough good mushrooms for two people. I’d sell my soul for a second perfect Prince field mushroom.