A reciter in Mull was telling before her mother of the operations of a cailleach of this sort, when the mother added, she herself had spoken with the woman, she was a decent body, and assured her that there was nothing whatever wrong in what she did for the cure of cattle when hurt by the Evil Eye. The words used were good, and she repeated them, but she added that a great deal depended upon the person who applied for eolas, and that, unless such a person believed that a cure would be effectual, there was little use in what she herself could do, and no use at all in the contents of the bottle which she supplied. It might just as well be thrown out on the roadside.
HURTER AND HEALER
A farmer’s wife, an old woman, but smart and intelligent, and showing no failure of memory, expressed the following opinion:—
The power to do injury to beast or person, and the power to cure such an injury appeared to have been given to different classes of people. Those who did injury were supposed to be malevolent, and of course held in bad repute, while the curers were looked upon as for the good of people and to be respected. What the one did was called cronachadh, and what the other did beannachadh (blessing).
To another, an Islay lady, the remark was made that cronachadh was a strange thing. In answer she said: “Yes, but beannachadh was quite as strange.” “What is that?” “Fiosrachadh or eolas.” (Knowledge the result of inquiry, and knowledge apparently arrived at in any way, say by revelation.)
That is one side of the picture. We see the other in the following:—
“There was a lad at service at one time with Malcolm here beside us. He was one of the T’s. He was in the habit of coming to this house, and my father said to myself, I should not have too much to do with him, for that there was something bad in him. It was maintained that his father had eolas, and people would be going to him when a beast or person was unwell, but those that have the one thing, the knowledge of healing, it is usual for them to have the other thing, knowledge to cause injury also.” The reciter believed that this lad deliberately did them an injury, and after recounting the particulars said, “My father advised us not to show any anger to the lad for fear he might do something worse to us, if he were to know that we were angry. ‘That is the way the like of these people have. If they do harm to a person and he shows anger they will do him more harm.’”
A domestic servant, speaking of an old woman that she knew very well, said: “She was known as Mairi Siath (Mary of sprains?) and was looked upon as one who had a great deal of secret power by which she could do both harm and good. People were afraid to offend her, and would give her almost anything she would ask rather than offend her.” The said Mary, having been consulted about unsuccessful churning, “brought back the butter every bit that should have been on the churn from the time it had been taken away, and there was so much that the mistress was afraid to use it in the house, for she said it could not have come in a right way. She gave it away, and after that they always got butter on the churn.”
There is no doubt that the girl who repeated this believed what she was telling as of her own knowledge. The only explanation that occurs to one is that the milk, having been for some reason poor for a time from bad feeding or some such thing, the food having become better and richer, the milk was thereby improved to such an extent as to give the appearance, especially in comparison with the small yield before, of a somewhat supernatural supply.
The same belief in the power of hurting and healing being united in one person has been already mentioned in connection with an Arran shepherd on page 19.