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.