A reciter from the Chanonry, Ross-shire, says he has frequently seen women take the ring off their finger, and hurriedly putting water on it in a dish, dash the water over their children if they saw a person coming to call about whom they had any suspicion. This was with a view to prevent cronachadh, either witchcraft or the Evil Eye.
This connection with an eye explains also how the giving away of a darning needle means the giving away of one’s luck. This seems somewhat peculiar to the island of Arran. We give the following as a sample:—
An Arran reciter said: “Bettie many a time tells me of a woman they have beside them who never darns stockings or anything else. One day this woman came in and asked Bettie for a darning needle. Bettie suspected it was for no good end she wanted it and would have refused it, but the woman having seen it went and took it with her. For some time thereafter Bettie was very unlucky. Things were going against her, and one night she dreamed that somebody came to her and said, ‘Why did you give away your darning needle? You have given away your luck with it.’ When she got up in the morning she just went into the woman’s house, and seeing the darning needle stuck in a pincushion, she went and took it with her.”
Bettie here had given away the magic eye of its owner, which acted as a counter charm to the Evil Eyes of others. The above is not the only power inherent in a darning needle in Arran. There, stuck in the cap or bonnet, it is as complete protection against the under-world as represented by fairies, as elsewhere a knife is frequently quoted as being.
SHOWING WHO IS THE MISCHIEF MAKER
We are so easily content to waive aside these superstitions when they come in our way, as if they were the unconsidered dreamings of the insane. Not one of them but has its origin, generally no doubt in a misguided fancy, but still based on something real enough to the mind of the believer, even if it be a mind of childlike simplicity. But when eolas men and women take on themselves to find out for the instruction of their clients to whom the Evil Eye damaging them belongs, one begins to doubt but that there is more of the wisdom of the serpent than of the simplicity of the dove in this part of their performance. We have already mentioned a case in which the eolas woman described to the reciter’s cousin “exactly” the man and woman who had harmed her child, though neither man nor woman had been mentioned to her, and the reciter expressed wonder at the knowledge so displayed.
This spotting the doer is evidently a little more difficult of belief to many than the other notions they entertain about the Evil Eye. Thus, a reciter says that one professor confirmed the owner’s suspicions, a fact openly admitted, but added, “It was said that she told them whose eye had taken the milk away.” In another, “It was believed he could also tell who had done the mischief?”
But in some cases the individual is straightforwardly given. Five reciters at least mentioned that, and in one of these the reciter accepted the nomination as indubitable because they had met “the very man she mentioned on the road.”
There can be no doubt that some of these eolas people have deliberately offered to disclose the personality of the one doing the harm. The owners of the sick animal have refused to have such information given them, stating that they would be entirely content with a cure without knowing any ill of a neighbour. Refinement of feeling of this sort is foreign to many, however, and indeed it is to be excused in a thorough believer, if for no other reason than the well-known principle that “prevention is better than cure.” Some of the indications are particularly vague.
“He asked if a dark-haired man had been praising the cow, and when they said that they didn’t know, ‘Well,’ said he, ‘it was a man with black hair (ceann dubh) that injured your cow, with the Evil Eye!’”