Finn MacCool and the Giant's Causeway

If you were to stand on the high wind swept cliffs of County Antrum on a clear morning, you could look out across the cold blue waters of the North Channel and see the faint purple outline of Scotland rising from the sea. It looks close enough to touch, though a vast expanse of deep rolling water lies between the two lands. Today, these waters are crossed by fairies and fishing boats. But long ago, in the golden age of giants, the gap between Ireland and Scotland was a stage for the loudest shouting match the world has ever known. This is a story from the ancient rich tradition of Ireland, a land of mist, green hills and memory, where the past is never truly gone, and where stories are kept like treasure. In the old Irish language, the hero of this tale is called Fian Mac Cool, though many know him simply as Finn Mac Cool. Now, if you ask three different storytellers about Finn, you might get three different answers. Some will tell you he was a noble warrior general, a man of average size but extraordinary wisdom, who led a band of fierce protectors called the Fianna. Others will tell you he was a giant, so tall that his footsteps carved out valleys and his hands reshaped the hills. In the story we are telling today, we find ourselves in the world of the giants. And in this world, Finn Mac Cool was a colossal figure, a man who lived on the cliffs of Ulster with his brilliant wife, Una. Finn was strong, he was brave when he had to be, and he was incredibly proud. He had a voice like thunder and a stride that could cover a mile in three steps. But Finn had one great flaw. He could not stop boasting, and he could not stand the thought of anyone being bigger, stronger, or grander than he was. Across the water, on the rugged Scottish isle of Staffa, lived another giant. His name was Benandonner, often called the Red Giant. If Finn's voice was like thunder, Benandonner's was like an earthquake. He was a mountain of a man with a wild beard the color of autumn leaves and a temper to match. For years, Finn and Benandonner had been trading insults across the sea. On days when the wind blew from the north, Benandonner would stand on the Scottish cliffs, cup his hands around his mouth and roar across the water. "Finn Mac Cool!" the Red Giant would bellow. "You are nothing but a puddle splasher. Your arms are like cooked noodles and your head is as empty as a broken pot." The wind would carry the words over the white capped waves right to the door of Finn's cottage on the cliffs of Antrum. Finn would grow red in the face, steam nearly coming from his ears. He would march out to the edge of the cliff, stomp his massive foot, shaking the nests of the seagulls far below, and scream back. "Benandonner, you overgrown heap of heather. If I could get my hands on you, I'd grind your bones to make my porridge. You only shout because you're too afraid to swim across and face me." "I would face you this very afternoon," Benandonner would roar back. "But I'll not wet my feet in the cold sea for a little speck of dirt like you. If there were a dry road between us, I'd walk over and knock you into next week." This went on day after day, week after week. The gulls grew tired of the noise. The seals in the bays covered their ears with their flippers. And Una, Finn's wife, began to find the constant shouting rather tiresome. She would sit by her hearth, spinning wool, shaking her head as her husband stood on the lawn, screaming himself hoarse at a horizon he couldn't reach. But one afternoon, Finn's pride got the better of him. Benandonner had called him a cowardly little turnip, and Finn simply could not let that stand. "A road?" Finn screamed into the wind. "You want a road, you red-headed nuisance? Then a road you…

Continue with the full plain-text transcript.