The Púca

I Noises in the Kitchen

The púca has more shapes than one. In a Cork tale it is a jet-black horse that flings a man down a cliff. After Samhain the blackberries are not fit to eat, for the púca has spoiled them. ¹

But once, in Kildare, it came into a kitchen, and a girl from Kilcock told Patrick Kennedy what it did there. ²

The master was a great while out of the country on account of the Ninety-Eight business, and the servants had the big house to themselves. Every night in their beds they lay frightened out of their lives: the kitchen door banging, the fire-irons clattering, the pots and plates and dishes all going at once.

One night they sat up late round the fire, keeping their hearts up with stories of ghosts and fetches. The little scullery boy could get no room at the fire, so he crept into the hot hearth and fell dead asleep.

The others went to bed, the fire was raked, and the boy woke to the kitchen door opening and something trampling across the floor.

II The Grey Ass

He peeped out, and what should he see but a big grey ass, sitting before the fire, yawning and scratching his ears. I may as well begin first as last, said he.

The boy’s teeth chattered. Now, he thought, he’s going to eat me. But the fellow with the long ears had other work to do.

He stirred up the fire, fetched water from the pump and put the big pot on to boil. Then he reached into the hearth with his hand (his foot, the girl of Kilcock corrected herself) and pulled the boy out. The boy roared. The ass only stuck out his lower lip, to show how little he thought of him, and pitched him back in.

Then he washed and dried every plate, dish and spoon on the dresser and put them back on the shelves. He swept the floor. He sat down in front of the boy, let one ear droop and cocked up the other, and grinned. The boy tried to roar, and not a sound came out of him.

Last of all the ass raked the fire and walked out, slapping the door so hard that the boy thought the house must come down.

III A Chat with the Púca

In the morning the boy told his story, and Kauth, a fat, lazy scullery girl, saw the sense of it at once. If the púca cleans up after us every night, she said, why should we slave ourselves doing his work? So that evening the dishes went unwashed and the floor unswept, and everyone was in bed soon after sundown. In the morning the kitchen was as fine as fire.

The lazy servants lived at their ease, until a foolhardy boy sat up one night to have a chat with the púca. He held his tongue until the ass lay snug on the hearth, then found his courage. Sir, he said, if it isn’t taking a liberty, who are you, and why do you do half the girls’ work every night?

No liberty at all, said the púca. I was a servant here in the time of the squire’s father, the laziest rogue in the house: clothed and fed, and never did a hand’s turn for it. When my time came for the other world, this was my punishment: to do all this work every night, and then go out into the cold. Fine weather isn’t so bad. But a winter’s night, out in the storm from midnight to sunrise... ³

Could we do anything for your comfort, my poor fellow? said the boy.

I don’t know, said the púca. But a good quilted frieze coat would help to keep the life in me, those long nights.

IV The Frieze Coat

We’d be the most ungrateful people alive, said the boy, if we didn’t feel for you.

The next night but two he was there again, holding up a fine warm coat, and the púca was delighted. The two of them worked his legs into the four arms of it and buttoned it down over his breast and his belly, and he went to the glass to admire himself.

Well, said he, it’s a long lane that has no turning. I’m obliged to you all, and you’ve made me happy at last. Good night to you.

Och, you’re going too soon, cried the boy. What about the washing and the sweeping?

You may tell the girls they must take their turn now, said the púca. My sentence was to run until my work was thought worth a reward. You’ll see me no more.

And they never did. The girls took their turn at the dishes, and sorry they were to have been in such a hurry to reward the ungrateful púca.