My 1941 first edition of 'Haunted England', the seminal work on English ghostlore by Christina Hole. I've recently used a number of its extraordinary, almost abstract, illustrations by John Farleigh for #PhantomsFriday and no doubt will continue to do so. #BookologyThursday #BookChatWeekly #folklore

#BookologyThursday #Celtic: `Martin’s Stane is a 6th-7th century Pictish stone recording the tale of Martin and the Dundee Dragon. While the stone has undergone some weathering in its many years, the shape of the fearsome beast and the hero on horseback can still be discerned. The story of the dragon’s slaying is recounted in the four lines`:
“Tempted at Pitempton,
Draigled at Baldragon,
Stricken at Strathmartin,
And kill’d at Martin’s Stane.”
Source: https://folklorescotland.com/martin-and-the-dragon/
Here`s the whole story: https://hear-me.social/@NeuKelte/115264842364074858

"Woe to the red dragon, for his banishment hasteneth on. His lurking holes shall be seized by the white dragon, which signifies the Saxons whom you invited over; but the red denotes the British nation, which shall be oppressed by the white. Therefore shall its mountains be levelled as the valleys, and the rivers of the valleys shall run with blood. The exercise of religion shall be destroyed, and churches laid open to ruin."
- Geoffrey of Monmouth, "The History of the Kings of Britain"

#BookologyThursday #Mythology #Folklore #Medieval #Book #Literature #KingArthur #Arthurian #Arthuriana

#BookologyThursday: `To this very day, people in the area of Owenreagh say they feel fear when they cross certain parts of Lough Foyle, and the odd tides and disturbances in the water's currents defy explanation. When the river Owenreagh floods, they say it is due to the dragon struggling with its bindings.` #Celtic
Here you find the whole story: http://emeraldisle.ie/the-last-dragon-in-ireland

#BookologyThursday 📚🐉
🐉✨ Dragons in J.K. Rowling’s #HarryPotter series—
Philosopher’s Stone (1997),
Goblet of Fire (2000),
and Deathly Hallows (2007)—aren’t just magical creatures; they symbolize power, danger, transformation, and the courage to face the unknown. #Dragons 🐉

🐲From Norbert (a) to the Hungarian Horntail, each dragon challenges characters to grow.
#BookChatWeekly 📖🫖

🎨 Norbert (a) by Alex Radfield

#BookologyThursday 📚
🐉✨ In Norse mythology, Fáfnir was once a dwarf who, consumed by greed, transformed into a fierce dragon guarding a vast treasure hoard—his own cursed gold.

The hero Sigurd bravely slays Fáfnir, risking his life to claim the riches and confront the darkness of greed and heroism. A legendary tale of courage and peril.
#BookChatWeekly 📖🫖

🎨Illustration: istrandar/deviantart.com

#BookologyThursday #Celtic: "The Death of Fráech" is a poem from The Book of the Dean of Lismore In this story Medb, Queen of Connacht, who has been described as fair haired and beautiful, is jealous of Fráech’s love for Findabair. Findabair is said to be her daughter. Medb then sends Fráech to bring her the berries from a magical Rowan tree. The fruit of this tree has the power to prolong life and cure illness. The tree is on Fraoch Eilean in the middle of Awe (Scottish Gaelic: Loch Obha).
However, the tree itself was guarded by a dragon that lives within its roots. Fráech managed to get to the island and by stealth whilst the dragon slept took some of the berries. When he brought them to Medb she was not satisfied and told him to return to the island and bring back a branch of the Rowan Tree. He went back to the island accompanied by Findabair, but when trying to achieve his task the dragon awoke. A battle ensues in which despite losing an arm Fráech uses a sword to behead the dragon. Fráech escapes but is seriously wounded and dies in Findabair's lap. She is devastated by his death and sings a lament before she dies of a broken heart. They are laid to rest together and a cairn is raised over them.`
Source: https://www.transceltic.com/scottish/scottish-island-of-fraoch-eilean-legendary-place-of-death-of-celtic-hero

It's not often you see the bum-end of a #dragon. Illustration by H R Millar for 'The Seven Dragons' by Edith Nesbit (The Strand 1899). The caption: 'He Only Ate An Orphanage' is not something one would expect to see in a children's story. #BookologyThursday

#BookologyThursday #Celtic: `When Saint Patrick banished the serpents from Ireland, there was at least one who was overlooked, perhaps because he slumbered or was abroad himself, and that one was called Lig na Paiste, or the “Last Great Reptile”. Soon after Saint Patrick passed away, he made his presence known as he was known of old to the people of Owenreagh!
A giant serpent he was, and he could spit fire and venom in equal measure, tall as two men standing one atop the other at the shoulder, with mighty curling ram's horns, an ancient remnant from the beginning of the world. He was long enough to curl around a green hill in the dark valley near the Owenreagh River and hold his tail in his mouth. Black was his tongue and sharp his fangs, and his armoured scales were impenetrable plates larger than a man's head.
No warrior could defeat him and he began a reign of terror from the slopes of the Sperrins to the shores of Lough Foyle, burning crops, cattle and people before devouring them in hunger and vengeance for his banished kin.
It is said that St Murrough O'Heaney was finally able to bind Lig na Paiste and the dragon found his watery grave in the depths of Lough Foyle.`
Source: http://emeraldisle.ie/the-last-dragon-in-ireland

#BookologyThursday #Celtic: `The farmer of Pitempton lived with his nine beautiful daughters. One day, seemingly like any other, the farmer sent his eldest daughter to fetch some water from the well. As the morning turned to afternoon, the farmer grew worried for his daughter, and so sent the second eldest after her. When evening came, neither of the daughters had returned.
The next day, the farmer sent each of his daughters in turn to find their siblings and bring them home, until only he remained on the farm.
On the second evening, a young man by the name of Martin called by the farm, searching for the farmer’s eldest daughter. Much dismayed, the farmer told Martin that all of his daughters had disappeared and that he was at a loss of what to do.
Martin, so in love with the farmer’s eldest daughter, promised the farmer that he would find the nine young women, and at once, he ventured into the night.
Martin saw nothing strange on his journey, until he reached the well, where he was met with a most upsetting sight. The well was gone, replaced by a sprawling nest of bone and smouldering coal. Martin wept when he sighted the nine mangled bodies of the farmer’s daughters, and presiding over them all, a mighty, slumbering dragon.
Martin, enraged by what he had seen, wasted no time in hurrying back to the village and to the smithy where he worked. He saddled his mare, collected a spear, and galloped straight back towards the dragon’s nest as the sun was rising in the East.
The dragon was awake by the time he got there, eyes glinting at the promise of a new meal when it spotted Martin on his mare. It lunged for him, but Martin was faster. He darted across the fields with the dragon in pursuit, circling the beast and confusing it. Martin aimed his spear, but at no point could he find a moment to strike.
His mare tiring, Martin was growing desperate, and as he lured the dragon to Baldragon, a great many villagers rushed to meet him. They had heard the ugly news from the farmer, and had gathered to help, for no small number of them had lost loved ones to the dragon. As the dragon approached, the crowd lured the dragon into a nearby body of water. With an almighty splash, the dragon took to the water and let out a yelp. It struggled out, spraying water across all who had gathered, and fled as the angry mob pursued.
The dragon was injured and heavy with water when the villagers, led still by Martin, met it in the field at Strathmartin. Martin approached the beast, who lashed out in fear. He gripped his spear, but hesitated, for one miscalculated throw and the dragon would surely engulf them all in its rage.
The villagers, excited and anxious to see the dragon struck down cried, “Strike, Martin!”
Martin didn’t wait a second longer, and hurled his spear as hard and fast as he could straight at the dragon’s heart.
The dragon let out a shriek as it crumpled to the ground, and the villagers cheered and celebrated that the beast was no more. To remember his nine daughters, and Martin’s brave victory, the farmer had a stone erected at the very place the dragon fell, to document the deeds of Martin, which can still be seen to this day.`
https://folklorescotland.com/martin-and-the-dragon/

The medieval mind imagined dragons lurking anywhere unfamiliar - even the Alps - and in a 16th century work on Africa, the beautiful engravings show the locals hunting elephants, crocodiles etc and also Romans having a crack at a dragon (I guess in North Africa) #BookologyThursday #dragon #medieval

The dragon from the 1958 Mugnaini-illustrated edition of 'Beowulf'. #BookologyThursday #dragon #monster #folklore #legend

"There was an old dragon under grey stone;
His red eyes blinked as he lay alone.
His joy was dead, and his youth spent,
He was knobbed and wrinkled, and his limbs bent
In the long years to his gold chained;
In his heart's furnace, the fire waned."
- J. R. R. Tolkien, "The Hoard"
🎨 Pauline Baynes

#BookologyThursday #Fiction #Literature #Poetry #Fantasy #Tolkien #Monster #Dragon

"He said, 'Good dog, Beaumont the valiant, sleep now, old friend Beaumont, good old dog.' Then Robin's falchion let Beaumont out of this world, to run free with Orion and roll among the stars."
- T. H. White, "The Sword in the Stone"
🎨 Ferdinand Victor Eugène Delacroix

#BookologyThursday #Book #Fiction #Literature #KingArthur #Arthurian #THWhite

#BookologyThursday: `#Maev was awed when, by the bullets of an unseen slinger, a squirrel and a pet bird were killed as they sat upon her shoulders.` #Celtic
Source: Myths & Legends of the Celtic Race by T. W. Rolleston, Gutenberg eBook

#BookologyThursday: `The name of Boann‘s lapdog was Dabilla. After the little dog “Cnoc Dabilla” (“Dabilla’s Hill”), today called “Sliab in Cotaig” (“the Mountain of the Covenant”), was named.` #Celtic

#BookologyThursday: `Eochaid`s family were drowned by the bursting of a well. His daughter Liban and her lapdog were preserved for a year in the water, but then she was changed into a salmon, save her head, and her dog into an otter.`
Source: #Celtic Mythology by John A. MacCulloch in Mythology of All Races, Vol.3

#BookologyThursday shoutout to Meg and her cat Mog, from the book series by Helen Nicoll and illustrated by Jan Pieńkowski

#BookologyThursday #Celtic: In a poem written in the ninth century in #Irish in the margins of his practice book a Christian scribe describes his industriousness as a wordsmith:
“I and Pangur Ban my cat, ‘Tis a like task we are at: Hunting mice is his delight, Hunting words I sit all night.
Better far than praise of men ‘Tis to sit with book and pen; Pangur bears me no ill-will, He too plies his simple skill.
‘Tis a merry task to see At our tasks how glad are we, When at home we sit and find Entertainment to our mind.
Oftentimes a mouse will stray In the hero Pangur’s way; Oftentimes my keen thought set Takes a meaning in its net.
‘Gainst the wall he sets his eye Full and fierce and sharp and sly; ‘Gainst the wall of knowledge I All my little wisdom try.
When a mouse darts from its den, O how glad is Pangur then! O what gladness do I prove When I solve the doubts I love!
So in peace our task we ply, Pangur Ban, my cat, and I; In our arts we find our bliss, I have mine and he has his.
Practice every day has made Pangur perfect in his trade; I get wisdom day and night Turning darkness into light.“ translation by Robin Flower
Source: https://aliisaac.substack.com/

#BookologyThursday: One evening during the Tain Bo Cuailnge, thinking that all was safe, Meave and her women walked to take the air, she carrying on her shoulders her pet bird and squirrel. They talked together of the wonders that #Cuchulain wrought, and how that very day he had fallen alone upon a troop of men who cut a path through woods some miles away beyond the camp to eastward, and how but one of them escaped to tell the tale. Just as they spoke, a short sharp sound was heard, as of a sling-stone passing near their heads, and at Meave’s feet the squirrel dropped, struck through the heart. Startled, she turned to see whose hand had killed her pet, but as she turned, down from the other shoulder dropped the bird, slain also by a stone. “Cuchulain must be near,” the women cried; “no other hand but his so surely and so straight can sling a stone,” and hastily they turned and sought the shelter of the camp again.` #Celtic
Source: Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster, by Eleanor Hull