No, it’s not something you eat. It’s a mysterious beverage with the power not only to heal, but perhaps bestow the gift of life everlasting. Would you dare to drink it?
Let’s take a little time out from Ed’s disastrous decisions and the doom of AI and the looming WWIII and the rise of the data centres and the ‘complex humanitarian situation’ in Gaza, and return to the peace and escapism of Irish myth.
Irish myth… a bunch of fun stories of times gone by to lighten our mood. Um… yes and no. Myths were a way of teaching a society that was illiterate. This does not mean they were too stupid to read and write. It simply means they relied on song and story to keep their lore, and I suspect this was a deliberate choice. After all, if they could carve images into stone, they were surely capable of devising a written code, if they wanted to. But they didn’t. Today, in the age of AI, one can see the wisdom in that.
I want to talk about the decline of pollinators, and particularly bees. Hardly anyone seems concerned about this, and I don’t understand why. It’s true that not all food plants require pollination from bees, some self pollinate, some are wind pollinated, for example. But the variety and diversity of our food would be more limited, and food prices would go up. And of course there would be no honey. With the big push towards lab-produced foods and edible plastic, I guess we don’t need to worry.
In Ireland, though, there is an anxiety about the loss of the honeybee, and pollinators in general. Perhaps it stems from the cultural connection the Irish have had with the bees since earliest times. As a result, we currently have an All-Ireland Pollinator Plan 2026-2030 in place that was launched in July. This phase aims to ‘create a landscape with pockets of nature every 200 metres‘ with the aim of increasing pollinator numbers, and ‘creating a thriving landscape for pollinators and people’. And I plan to make my garden one of them.
Why 200 metres? Because that is generally the furthest a bee will travel in search of pollen. I don’t know how big these ‘pockets’ will be, but if its filled with native plants and they are only 200 metres apart, then it’s ambitious and it’s very good news. And we are certainly in need of that right now.
But what has this to do with Irish myth? I’m getting to that. You see, in ancient times, Ireland was renowned for its abundance of honey. In fact, twelfth-century British propagandist Gerald of Wales (who was arch-deacon of Brecon, and also known as Giraldus Cambrensis) claimed there would have been even more still were it not for the bitter and poisonous effect of the land’s many yew trees.
The Irish word for ‘bee’ is beach, pronounced (ba-ch, with the ch soft in the back of your mouth). In Old Irish it was bech.
In early Ireland, there was so much concern for bees that they were protected by law and had a complete section entirely devoted to them in the Brehon Laws, called the Bech-Bretha, which means ‘bee judgements’.
I’m not sure at what stage our Irish ancestors began keeping bees in hives. The Bech-Bretha talks a lot about finding swarms, which makes me think that perhaps most of the honey they obtained was from the wild, although of course hives are also known to swarm.
For example, if someone found a swarm on the training grounds (faitche) of a house, he would be entitled to keep a quarter of the bees and honey, but the rest would go to the house’s owner. If he found the swarm in a tree, he would get half. If he found it on common tribal grazing lands, he could keep all but one ninth, which must go to his clan chieftain.
An owner of bees was required by law to donate portions of his annual yield of honey to his neighbours, because his bees would be gathering pollen from flowers on their land. Every third year, he was to give them a swarm.
Destroying a swarm or hive of bees was considered a serious offence. If someone was stung by someone else’s bees, they were entitled to compensation. A woman separating from her husband was entitled to take a swarm with her, or be compensated with a year’s supply of honey. These lawmakers sure thought of everything!
There is a story in the Bech-Bretha about a King of Ulster named Congal. His epithets were Cáech and Cláen, meaning ‘squinting’ or ‘half-blind’. According to the Bech-Bretha, which was apparently written within a generation of his death, Congal was blinded in one eye by bees owned by Domnall mac Áedo.
This disability meant he was forced to relinquish his position as King of Tara, and thus High King of Ireland, because a king was required to be physically whole and unblemished. In return, the men of Ulster demanded that the eye of Domnall’s son be put out, as punishment. Quite literally, an eye for an eye.
And this is interesting because a king or chieftain was believed to bring prosperity to his people and fertility to the land. If he was blemished in any way, the people and the land would suffer also. The prosperity of the people derives from the fertility of the land, and there are stories of anxiety over blemished kings and the decline of tribal ecosystems in Irish myth too, even if they don’t use the same terminology as us. I’ll share these in another post. This archetype of the sacral kingship can be found in mythologies worldwide, not just Ireland. And thus we have the decline of the land linked to the decline of humankind, and human responsibility for the success of the land entwined.
Now, back to the bees. So, if the early people of Ireland had so much honey, what did they do with it? You have to remember that this was their only source of sweetener, apart from fruit and berries. As such, it was a very valuable and much sought after commodity, probably confined mostly to the wealthy.
They mixed it with milk to make a drink; mixed it with lard as a flavouring; used it as a dip at mealtimes for meat, fish and bread; used it to flavour ‘stirabout’, a kind of porridge made from grains, and basted meat and fish with it during roasting or grilling.
According to mythology, when Queen Medb and her husband, Ailill hosted a local young chieftain named Fraech to a huge feast in his honour, the salmon he was served was basted in honey ‘that was ‘well made’ by their daughter, Findabair. Sounds like a bit of matchmaking was going on!
In Ireland, the saint of beekeepers is Gobnait, who was a fifth-century nun. The anglicised version of her name, Deborah, means ‘honey bee’. She is said to have saved her village, Ballyvourney (in Irish, Baile Bhuirne) in Co. Cork, from enemy soldiers by releasing her bees on them. She is also credited with aiding a devout local chieftain in battle by turning his bees into an army of men.
Today, we are all well aware of the health benefits and medicinal uses of honey. Healing with substances produced by bees has a name, apitherapy… who knew? Modern science has told us that honey has anti-microbial, anti-inflammatory, anti-oxidant, anti-mutagenic (reduces the rate of mutation of cells), anti-tumour and anti-diabetic properties, and speeds the healing of wounds. Our ancestors were well aware of all this, even if they didn’t have the science for it, and made full use of it.
However, honey wasn’t the only golden treasure to be bestowed upon mankind by those industrious little creatures. Oh no. Man found something he could do with honey that he liked even better than stirring it into his porridge, or applying it to wounds, and he named it miodh (pronounced mee), or as we know it better today, mead, which is thought to originate from the Sanskrit word madhu.
Spanish-Roman writer Columella gave this recipe for mead in his book on agriculture, Res Rustica, about AD 60:
Take rainwater kept for several years, and mix a sextarius (a Roman measure equal to 546ml) of this water with a pound (a Roman measure equal to 328.9g) of honey. The whole is exposed to the sun for 40 days, and then left on a shelf near the fire.
Please DON’T try this at home, people. If you fancy having a go at brewing your own mead, buy a book and use all the right equipment.
Of course, it doesn’t stop there. There are many varieties of mead. Metheglin involves the addition of cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg and herbs… all my favourite spices, and can also be flavoured with apples. Melomel contains fruit such as blackberries and raspberries. Mead can also be mulled in winter, just like red wine.
There is also mention of an elusive drink called hazelmead, which was said to be made from mead flavoured with hazel nuts. This is interesting, because hazel nuts were said to contain Otherworldly wisdom and knowledge, and thus hazelmead was thought to have supernatural powers.
Today, people are still searching for ways of making this mysterious drink, there are forums devoted to it. I imagine something like Bailey’s Irish Cream, but made with a mixture of mead and hazelnut milk; nut milks are very nutritious and have surged in popularity in recent years, but I’m sure our ancestors would have known all about them, and they are exceptionally easy, if a little messy, to make.
According to Irish mythology, Fionnuala, one of the Children of Lir, recalls drinking hazelmead in her home before she was afflicted by the spell that transformed her into a swan:
Gay this night Lir’s royal house,
Chiefs carouse, mead flows amain:
Cold this night his children roam,
Their chill home the icy main.
For our mantles fair are found
Feathers curving round our breasts:
Often silken robes we had,
Purple-clad, we sat at feasts.
For our viands here and wine –
Bitter brine and pallid sands:
Of the hazel mead they served
In carved vessels to our hands. 1
If hazelmead was commonly drunk at mealtimes, as Fionnuala leads us to believe, I doubt it would have had any special magical powers. Beyond the usual alcoholic inebriation, any way.
Hazelmead is also mentioned in another poem, King and Hermit, a Colloquy between King Guaire of Aidne and his brother Marban. King Guaire the Hospitable reproaches his brother Marban, a hermit and holy man, about his privations, and Marban responds by waxing lyrical on the gifts of nature provided by God; one of them is Hazelmead.
Which brings me to the elixir of youth everlasting… I bet you’d like a sip of that, wouldn’t you? I surely would!
Achieving immortality by way of a drink fermented from honey is spoken of in many mythologies around the world. We find Nectar in Greek mythology (Ambrosia is also mentioned but is a magical food rather than a drink), Amrita in Vedic mythology, Mead in Norse mythology, for example. In Ireland, we have such a myth, too.
When the Tuatha de Danann were defeated by the Milesians, and tricked into leaving Ireland by retreating into their hollow hills, they were gathered together by the Sea God Manannán and took part in a mysterious feast.
Bodb Derg was elected as the new King, and then the Faeth Fiadha, also known as Manannán’s cloak of mists, was raised to protect them from prying eyes. The swine of Manannán were prepared, which could be killed and eaten, and yet the next day still live, thus providing endless bounty. Finally, the Feast of Goibniu was shared, to ward off age and death from all those present.
This story is told in two ancient texts, one dating to the twelfth century, another to either the thirteenth or fourteenth centuries. Acallamh na Senόrach, (The Colloquy of the Old Men}, refers to the Feast of Goibniu as ‘an ale possessing healing and curing properties’, thus implying longevity if not immortality, for the Danann succumbed to death through illness or battle like anyone else:
St Patrick spoke with an Otherworld woman called Aillenn Ilchrothoch [meaning ‘Aillenn the Multi-shaped’, perhaps a reference to shape-shifting] who spoke to him thus:
Everybody who would be drinking the Feast of Goibniu with us, neither illness nor disease comes upon them.
Another passage claims that Caoilte, a warrior of Fionn mac Cumhall’s Fianna, complains of an old wound and says that an Otherworld woman called Bé Bind ‘has the drink of healing and curing of the Tuatha de Danann, she having the drink which survives from the Feast of Goibniu.’
Some speculate that this drink was a type of beer. Strange that the drink itself is referred to as ‘the feast’, as if it were both food and drink. Also strange, it seems to me, is that the concoction was brewed by Goibniu, a smith, rather than a Druid or physician. I guess there is a kind of logic in it. In Bronze Age and Iron Age times, the magic possessed of a smith was considered mighty indeed, perhaps greater than any other. Perhaps only such a person could wield the power to create such a brew.
So, bearing in mind the honey-sweet Nectar and Amrita were the draught of Gods in other mythologies, is it a stretch to suggest that Miodh was considered the elixir of youth everlasting to the Tuatha de Danann, and that perhaps the mysterious Feast of Goibniu was actually one and the same as the fabulous fabled hazelmead?
What do you think? Let me know in the comments! Thanks for reading, and I would be very grateful if you would like and share. With grá,
- From a poem in the ‘BARDS OF THE GAEL AND GALL; examples of the poetic literature of Erinn, done into English after the metres and modes of the Gael’. by Sigerson, George, 1839-1925 Published 1907 ↩︎
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