29/10/2026
Thanks to Jim O Connor for this appropriately spooky , given the week that's in it. Readers, meet the Cóiste Bodhar ...
There are many folklore stories in Ireland surrounding the Cóiste Bodhar with people hearing the rumble of its wheels in the darkness of the night usually accompanied by the distant wailing of the banshee who summons it. Where it stops is an omen of death as the coach must make its return journey with a soul on board, once it comes on earth it cannot return empty. While it is unlikely that many, if any, still believe in this story, it is still popular within the Irish folklore tradition. The driver of the Cóiste Bodhar is said to be a headless horseman, called the Dullahan, described as follows in the collection of Folk Tales of Ireland by W.B Yeats.
“... is a most gruesome thing. He has no head or carries it under his arm. Often, he is seen driving a black coach called coach-a-bower (Ir. Coite-bodhar), drawn by headless horses. It rumbles to your door, and if you open it a basin of blood is thrown in your face. It is an omen of death to the houses where it pauses. Such a coach not very long ago went through Sligo, in the grey of the morning’’
The following is one such story with a local interest which appeared in ‘’Breaffy School and Parish 1890-1990’’ published 1990. While the road in question is no longer there it can be traced on older maps of the area.
The Cóiste Bodhar
By Billy Bourke
There is a tradition in Breaffy that the ‘Cóiste Bodhar’ appeared to certain people at different times. People say that it comes as a warning when old people in the area are going to die.
The ‘Cóiste Bodhar’ is a horseless coach. I remember my mother once telling us a story about Pakey Walsh, a very tall man who lived in Carn, a great friend of ours who often came visiting to our house in a horse and cart.
He was visiting this night and whatever it was, this noise came up the Turlough road and went over the road. When they heard the rattling coming, they opened the door and looked out. They saw nothing, but Pakey Walsh said, “Well, I’m not leaving here tonight; whatever that was it’s not for the living.” He didn’t go home that night. I know he wasn’t a coward.
The following story, told to me by my brother Tony happened when he was about 15 years of age and going to secondary school in Castlebar.
One fine summer’s evening at about ten o’clock he was coming up the Turlough road towards Breaffy on a bicycle. It was just before dark, and he was cycling along casually towards the gullet below the bend on the road. Just below the Post Office, in that area down there you will find the remains of very old road running from the Turlough Road back through Fahey’s land and across McGreal’s land, joining the main road again at McGreal’s gate. A little bridge over this road is still to be seen at the back of the new houses.
Tony imagined he saw something approaching him across the fields on his left side, from the direction of Whin Hill.
Now there’s a piece of land over there, owned by Johnny Golden which we used to refer to as ‘the banshee’s corner’. How it got that name I don’t know, and I never heard any banshee there even though I spent days and weeks over there hunting rabbits as a lad.
Anyhow there he was on the road and this thing coming across the fields toward him and getting larger as it approached. When it was quite near him, he could clearly see that it was a carriage, an old type of carriage hearse which you would only see in museums now.
He began pedalling as fast as he could in his fright at what he saw coming across the fields. As he approached the gullet he felt he would just about run into this thing on the road. Suddenly the chain came off his bicycle, and he fell crash down on the road just as the carriage crossed very close in front of him. He could clearly make out that it was a horseless carriage, nothing either pulling or pushing it. Inside it was a dim light and it had four tassels on the corners.
As it crossed the road right in front of him, he heard a rattling sound like that made by iron wheels. It continued in the direction of Mc Greal’s and seemed to be passing on the old road. When it got near to Mc Greal’s he thought he heard the sound of some kind of strange music.
When he arrived home, he was in a state of shock and very distressed. He spoke about the experience and was even more upset when everybody said that he imagined the whole thing.
The following night he was talking to Tom Fahey, a close neighbour of ours and described to him in detail what he had seen. Tom said, “Ha, that’s going there for a long time. Did you hear a trumpet?” “I did”, said Tony, “something like the sound of a horn, signalling that it was coming to a halt, coming to an end.”
Happy Hallowe'en 🎃
