A Legend of Islandbridge

Islandbridge is an area in inner-city Dublin with a long past, perhaps even where the Vikings first settled and began the city in the 800s.


When the Vikings settled Dublin, they were being continually harried by chieftains from the nearby hills, and even from north of the settlement in the rich lands of Meath. The native Irish regarded them as barbarians. A Viking who wanted to settle in Dublin decided that marriage would be the solution. He set about finding himself an Irish wife from amongst the families and chieftains that were hostile to the Viking’s growing presence. When he found one, he spoke with her father, a man who was reputed to be both wise and unrelenting in battle.
“I will build her the finest home on the whole island of Ireland,” he told the chieftain. “It will be safe from raiders and brigands, because it will be an island itself, in the River Liffey.”
“My daughter is not an island woman,” the chieftain said. “She will find it confining more than reassuring.”
The wooer had foreseen this objection.
“But it will have a bridge to the shore,” said
“Well if there is a bridge,” the chieftain said, “it can hardly be an island, can it?”
“She can go forth and come back and go as she pleases, amongst her own. It is not my intention that she should be separated from her family and people.”
“You are granting her a freedom that she has by birthright,” said the chieftain. “Who are you to say whether she may come and go?”
At this, the Viking knew he was in a tight spot. Although he had learned many of the customs of the native Irish, he had not reckoned on how the Irish chieftains did not distinguish between the worth of a son and a daughter in their rights.
“She will have the riches of trade,” he said. “Jewels and stones from the East. She will be the envy of all.”
“She, like I, cares nothing for wealth,” said the chieftain. “That is only for display amongst the vulgar classes who would wish to conceal their low character with their baubles.”
The Viking was now in dire straits.
“I know your faith in God,” he said to the chieftain. “I have given you my oath that I will become a Christian like your people.”
“That goes without saying. She will not marry a pagan, or a barbarian.”
Almost at the end of his rope, and seeing the chieftain’s brow descending, the Viking came upon an idea. He had heard that, while Christians, the native Irish retained many of the old ways.
“The island I speak of is more than merely a place to live,” he said. “I have been told the secret of the place and how to use it, by a holy man.”
“And what is that?”
“That on the island, time is yours to do as you please. You can go back in time to youth, and the past, or forward in time to foretell what will happen. Of course those who do not live on the island, and who do not know the secret, will never know this and will live their lives as others, and the days and years will tax them with age and death.”
“Are you saying that this island in the river is Tír na nÓg?”
“The holy man told me that it is an entry to that land of the young that your poets speak of, but it has never been known outside a few who guard its secret.”
The chieftain thought for a long time before he looked to the wooer of his daughter again.
“Well,” he said at last. “If what you say is true, then she could cross that bridge one day, and return to the past to undo a mistake, could she not?”
“She could.”
“Such as her marriage vows?”
The Viking realized that he was caught, but he remembered that the Irish valued those who never stinted in their efforts, be it in horsemanship, battle or argument.
“It is true,” he said, looking boldly into the chieftain’s eyes. “And that is the reason she will never regret those vows for one moment of her life, I promise you.”
The chieftain stared at him for several moments.
“I think you have made your case,” he said finally. “Whether this island can hold time as you say it can, we shall see. But one thing is certain: she will not be bored for lack of storytelling.”
He leaned in over the table that divided the two men. The Viking did not know if a knife would suddenly spring into the chieftain’s hand and he would be dispatched for his impertinence and casuistry.
“In telling the story itself, you yourself have held back time,” said the chieftain.
“Your wisdom is beyond me, sir,” said the Viking.
“What I am telling you is this,” said the chieftain, standing up as a signal that his visitor should depart. “In your desire, you have already made this island with its bridge, an island that is not an island at all - Islandbridge we shall call it - true.”
The Viking left, not knowing what the chieftain thought, or would decide.