Ireland is known for its stories. I think the wind and the waves started something, and the music picked it up and ran with it. Myths and legends blend with history and hardship to weave a tapestry of tales. They interlock into the backdrop causing imagination to flourish. The fairies, giants, and banshees, the love stories and the heartaches. It all creates a rich history of characters, some of whom are real and others fictitious, though it is sometimes hard to tell the difference.

The influences are many: People like the Celts, Vikings, and Saints as well as events like The Famine, The Troubles…all of them have a place in the historical record, but also in the oral one. Passed from generation to generation, the stories grow; they change depending on who the teller is. Just like any great story, they have plot twists, mysterious characters, and a hero/heroine. If you believe them, they account for the geological landscape, the fortune and misfortune of families, and past feuds which shape current politics. The tales are one part myth, two parts factual, and one part imagination. Somewhere between outlandish tall tales and wise fables.

The country is ancient, and so are the stories. Most are told with a heavy accent and a twinkle in the eye, which keeps foreigners guessing as to what the truth is. I must say it was an effective way to encourage curious folks like me to do some research so I could tell fact from fiction. You would never know the hardship of the past is so monumental in this country, because jolly storytellers always have a smile. But if you look beyond the words, deeper into the tales, you will find a resilient and determined people who have been shaped by the land and the forces that have marched upon it.

The pubs on every corner have storytellers aplenty, lining the bars and mixed among the guests. The tour guides are guardians of the yarns. Then there are the musicians who turn them into melodies and sing of the characters with vigor. It is a beautiful culture that doesn’t forget its past and allows the pain to be transformed into a jig and a reason to celebrate.

We found our own story in a pub in Galway. We had been told the King’s Head Pub was one of the oldest. A must visit place where Guinness and traditional music flowed. There was even a throne on which to sit for photo ops. We went and the place was as described. A place of history with artifacts on the walls and patrons in the seats. I love antiquities no matter where I am because of the stories they tell. This place was a treasure trove from the 1600s. Like a museum, only with loads of people eating and drinking at every table and bar. Because I didn’t want stand over people to read, I snapped pictures all around, particularly of the framed calligraphy passages. I figured I could enlarge the picture on my phone later to read the history.

Later, when going through my pictures, I read this passage.

“In December of 1648, the greatly purged British Parliament, at the behest of Oliver Cromwell, reluctantly passed the sentence on King Charles I that he be executed for his part to causing two civil wars in his country. So that he would not be executed by an Englishman, emissaries were sent to Scotland and Wales in search of a volunteer. Two Galway soldiers named Gunning and Dean, volunteered and were sent to England where on the 30^th of January 1649, Gunning found himself masked in black, holding an axe, and awaiting the signal. The signal came, the axe flashed, and Charles I was dead. A grateful Parliament bestowed this building on Gunning in 1649. Gunning was often heard to boast in the taverns of Galway that this arm has felt the muscle of the king.”

We knew the Gunnins were Irish, but this, this story was one we hadn’t heard before! Is it fact or fiction? You never quite know with Irish story telling. We weren’t sure if we should be grateful or ashamed to be descendants of the executioner, but the tavern itself was a pretty cool place, so we will take our part in the story…relatives of the owner of a famous pub.