Munachar And Manachar

Once upon a time there lived a Munachar and a Manachar. It was a long time ago, and it is a long time since then, and if they were alive now they would not have been alive then.

The two of them went out together to pick raspberries. But every raspberry Munachar picked, Manachar ate. At last Munachar said he would go and find a rod to make a gad, which is a rope of twisted twigs, to hang Manachar, who had eaten every one of his raspberries.

He came to the rod. “What’s the news today?” said the rod.

“My own news is what I’m after,” said Munachar. “I’m looking for a rod, a rod to make a gad, a gad to hang Manachar, who ate every one of my raspberries.”

“You won’t have me,” said the rod, “until you find an axe to cut me.”

So he went to the axe. “What’s the news today?” said the axe. Munachar told it the whole thing: he wanted an axe for the rod, the rod for the gad, and the gad for Manachar, who had eaten all his raspberries.

“You won’t have me,” said the axe, “until you get a flagstone to sharpen me.”

He went to the flagstone and told his tale all over again, from the flagstone to the axe to the rod to the gad to Manachar and the raspberries. “You won’t have me,” said the flagstone, “until you bring water to wet me.”

He went to the water, and the water heard the whole list. “You won’t have me,” it said, “until you find a deer to swim me.”

He went to the deer, and his list was longer now: deer for the water, water for the stone, stone for the axe, axe for the rod, rod for the gad, gad for Manachar. “You won’t have me,” said the deer, “until you bring a hound to hunt me.”

He went to the hound and said it all again. “You won’t have me,” said the hound, “until you get me a bit of butter to put in my claw.”

He went to the butter. “You won’t have me,” said the butter, “until you find a cat to scrape me.”

He went to the cat. “You won’t have me,” said the cat, “until you give me milk.”

So he went to the cow, and by now his list ran all the way from the milk for the cat to the gad for Manachar. “You will get no milk from me,” said the cow, “until you bring me a wisp of straw from the threshers over there.”

He went to the threshers, and they listened to the whole long chain. “You’ll get no straw from us,” they said, “until you bring us the makings of a cake from the miller over yonder.”

He went to the miller and told him everything, from the cake for the threshers right down to the raspberries. “You’ll get no makings of a cake from me,” said the miller, “until you bring me this sieve full of water from the river over there.”

Munachar took the sieve and went down to the river. But every time he stooped and filled it, the water ran straight out through the holes the moment he lifted it up. If he had stayed there from that day to this, he could never have filled it.

Then a crow flew over his head. “Daub! Daub!” called the crow.

“Bless you,” said Munachar, “that is good advice.” He scooped up the red clay and mud from the riverbank and rubbed it over the bottom of the sieve until every hole was stopped. Now the sieve held the water.

He carried the water to the miller, and the miller gave him the makings of a cake. He took them to the threshers, and the threshers gave him a wisp of straw. He took the straw to the cow, and the cow gave him milk. He gave the milk to the cat, and the cat scraped the butter. The butter went into the hound’s claw, and the hound hunted the deer. The deer swam the water, and the water wet the flagstone. The flagstone sharpened the axe, the axe cut the rod, and the rod was twisted into a gad.

And when Munachar at last had the gad ready for Manachar, he found that Manachar had eaten so many raspberries that he had BURST.

Where this story comes from

“Munachar and Manachar” is an Irish cumulative tale that Joseph Jacobs printed in Celtic Fairy Tales (1892). Jacobs says he combined an Irish version supplied by Douglas Hyde with a Scottish version in John Francis Campbell’s collection, numberVIII.

Stories like this, where each helper asks for something else first, are told across Europe and Asia; the English “old woman and her pig” is one. The joke is in the long list, and in the sudden ending, where all Munachar’s work turns out to have been for nothing. The comic repetition surrounds a threat of hanging and a grotesque death; the nonsense form does not make those elements harmless.

Read the original: Joseph Jacobs, Celtic Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg)

Best for older readers with an adult — a quarrel over berries prompts a plan to hang a companion, and the ending describes him bursting.

Reading the story closely

The chain expands one demand at a time, then unwinds in reverse after the crow offers the one piece of help that asks for nothing in return. By then the original purpose has become absurdly distant from the effort spent on it. The sudden ending cancels the revenge just when every prerequisite is ready.

Write each requested object on a card and arrange the outward chain, then reverse it as the help returns. Give the crow a separate card because it breaks the pattern of demands. Finally replace the original threat with a request to share the berries: how much of the elaborate machinery would still be needed?

Talk about it

• Can you remember the whole chain, from the rod to the sieve?
• How did the crow help Munachar?
• Why is the ending funny? Did you expect it?

Related stories

• The Turnip — a Grimm tale whose giant vegetable leads into a dangerous trick
• The Field of Boliauns — another Irish tale from Jacobs
• King O’Toole and His Goose — a funny Irish story from Celtic Fairy Tales