Crow

A brief childhood legend

One day, when I was about ten, a strange rumour rapidly infected my primary school. It seemed that something had attacked other pupils coming to school, that very morning.

The scene of terror was a small side entrance, which opened into a narrow, residential street of Priorswood, North Dublin (where I grew up). I first heard of the incident via playground talk, though I had seen nothing myself, yet.

But by home time, I finally saw a black shape, that suddenly swooped down upon the other kids walking ahead of me; their screams filling the air before everyone scattered home. I froze before the exit and watched the crow circle briefly before it disappeared over a rooftop.

Had I been a bit older, I might have fancied this was the Morrígan herself — said to have haunted ancient battlefields in corvine form. But this bird was no war goddess in disguise if seeking conflict for its own reasons. I finally braved the exit with other cautious kids, and we vanished home-like ghosts.

The crow sightings continued for a few days more— even if I never saw it again myself — and then they faded quickly. I eventually forgot about the bird over time, as you do with most things from childhood . . . until I caught a BBC nature documentary one evening when I was now in my late thirties. The program described how crows can become particularly defensive, and even aggressive if they feel their young are being threatened.

After the program ended, I remembered that bird from so long ago, and how it had vanished over a rooftop . . . where it might have had hidden eggs, or even hatchlings. Perhaps the crow had been unable to find a quieter spot to nest, and so had settled on someone’s home instead. But being so near the school had made the bird more defensive than normal.

And thus was born a brief local legend about a crazed crow that attacked school children. A sort of Irish The Birds . . . a similar incident perhaps inspiring Daphne du Maurier to write her short story, that itself later inspired the Alfred Hitchcock film. Returning to the Morrígan, this is probably how all myths or legends start — a grit of truth that becomes a pearl of beautiful (mostly) fiction over time. As we humans do like to spin stories from truthful threads.

I hope that crow and its probable young survived and soon moved on. Maybe their descendants currently live in the trees outside my countryside home . . . though this vast murder has thankfully not decided to do likewise to me. We are happy neighbours.

That childhood memory resurfaced in my mind recently, and so inspired this piece. I love writing about where I grew up too. Thanks for reading.