At the far western end of County Mayo, between Blacksod Bay and the thundering combers of the Atlantic, lies Mullet Peninsula. Here, where Gaelic is spoken from infancy and not learned painfully in the schools, the scanty human population is kept busy propitiating fairies, changelings, merrows, leprechauns, banshees, pookas, cluricaunes, far darrigs, fear-gortas and headless dallahans, who all like to amuse themselves by turning milk sour, making cows break their legs, laming horses, or defying the machine age by overturning tractors and hurling rocks bigger than themselves into machinery.
Twenty workmen on The Mullet last week were busily employed by...
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