The Old White Thorn sketch

"The Old Hawthorn" acrylic sketch from my Celtic Sketchbook

With this sketch I`m sharing one folktale about this old White Thorn tree...

...There is a legend from the west of Ireland about old White Thorn in the center of an old grove, on a crest of a hillock, overlooking the land.
During the potato famine, one unfortunate farmer lost his son, and as unfortunate stories go, his daughter was slowly dying at home too. And because he was poor, he buried his son under this White Thorn. As he was turning to leave, he was overwhelmed by anger and issued an curse upon the land - for giving up on him, upon people in power - for forsaking the poor, and upon the Daoine Sidhe - for being treacherous and selfish, interested only in their own affairs – as it was believed. At that moment, one of the Sidhe appeared to him – for the old man˙s curse created a powerful summoning effect which drew one of the Other crowd, unwillingly, through the portal – the White Thorn tree. The Otherworldly man was angry for being summoned against his own will, and trapped in the mortal world because of this powerful curse. Even though the old man did not intentionally summoned the being, he still refused to release the curse, leaving the Sidhe being to his unfortunate fate and trapping him in the mortal world. For 3 weeks the Sidhe man pursued the farmer, demanding that he releases the curse, unleashing insults and threats of a terrible vengeance. Still, old man did not release the curse for he was downhearted after death of his son and now facing the slow death of his daughter.
One evening the Sidhe man entered his cottage and threatened to kill his daughter in front of the old man, demanding again his release. As farmer`s daughter was slowly dying, saddened man sad : “ it will be a mercy for poor creature, so do it swiftly, if you must”. This was a shock for the Otherworldly man, for he did not intend to kill the girl in the first place, he just wished to go home. Stunned, he disappeared. Next morning he appeared again, knelt next to the girl, unsure of his own intentions - and she looked upon him with kindness and affection, for she always loved old tales of the Fair folk and seeing one of them warmed her heart and uplifted her soul.
Touched by her words, he recklessly promised that she will not die, but recover and live by his healing, even though he had not power to do so. She was gladdened and asked how will she repay him – at this he felt sorry for the girl, for he told her a lie. He disappeared again, wracked with guilt and ashamed for misleading the girl with a lie – which is something the Fair Folk never do.
The next morning the farmer stood once again in front of the old White Thorn, and Sidhe man appeared once more, willing to accept his fate and leave farmer to his own life, for he was no longer angry with the mortal, but ashamed and sad thinking about dying girl. To his surprise, farmer lifted the curse, telling him that his daughter lived through the night and although she will eventually perish, it will be with a lighter heart – for hope is a powerful healer and she believed in the Sidhe. He went then on his way, leaving the Sidhe man to return to his kin. Touched by farmer`s words, The Sidhe man was not able to leave, even he was now able to do as he pleased. So he collected the fruit of that old Hawthorn tree, for it was covered in thousands of small bright red berries, and cooked these in burdock leaves and roots with mushrooms – creating nourishing magical stew.
He brought this life-giving meal to the farmer and his daughter and decided to stay in the mortal world - as a husband to the girl, who lived after all, and took his name,
" Sidheóg ".
According to the tale, their descendants still live today.

I heard few versions of this story from several sources, but Daniel Kennedy`s version was the one that inspired me for this sketch, so I have to mention him here if anyone is interested to ever listen his charming storytelling.
His irish dark tales form beautiful small collection of vast, old Irish folklore.