So the Isle of Man has horrid dogs and sea gods – what else?
The answer? A lot. But some have definitely shaped my idea of home more than others. Whilst Manannán hides us away from the rest of the world and the Moddey Dhoo skulks around Peel Castle, there’s something else that dashes around the heather-dusted and gorse-needled Manx hillsides, clad in blues and greens with little pointed red caps. These are the Mooinjer Veggey – the little people – or the fairies of the Isle of Man. They are, as to be expected, small and impish, standing around two feet tall, and their whimsical ways are accompanied by fantastical music that can bewitch any mortal. I have never seen a fairy out in the hedgerows, but this might be as they’re only visible when they want to be. I do know them to be in one place, however.
Driving to the south of the island takes you past the Fairy Bridge, two little outcroppings of white stone either side of the road. You have to wish them hello (or goodbye, depending on where you’re going) otherwise Something Will Happen. This is how I always understood it as a child, that Something Will Happen. Perhaps you’d get a flat tire, or the sunny weather would suddenly turn grey. Either way, it’s bad luck not to offer a greeting. Everyone in my family follows the rule – even if you’re in the middle of bickering you still say hello. The fairies have always been there at the bridge, and we have always greeted them. It’s just something that I have always accepted without question.
I grew up with the idea that the Mooinjer Veggey were mischievous creatures who enjoyed running rings around us humans, but there are in fact good fairies, along with the bad and those entirely uninterested in mortal affairs. The good fairies can be appeased, and this in turn will bring you luck, or perhaps even cure sickness. One such way to stay in their good graces is to avoid referring to them as fairies, although this is often the default name nowadays. They instead prefer ‘the little people’ (this is partly due to the word ‘fairy’ not existing in Manx before English was introduced!).
You can also get on their good side by leaving the fire burning overnight, and putting out bread and water so that they may make themselves at home. I can imagine them huddled around the fire, passing their feast between them and tearing off chunks with their little hands. Perhaps they listen to their music as they eat, and take off their hats as they come inside. If you do find yourself on the bad side of the Mooinjer Veggey, though, not all is lost. They have a particular dislike of salt and iron, and can be warded off with it.
However, there is one specific Manx fairytale that I didn’t learn until I was much older that has become a firm favourite. This is the Fynoderee, and he is sort of similar to the wider folklore of the brownie. There are disagreements as to whether he is actually large, or just large compared to the other fairies, but he is known to be very hairy and particularly talented at cutting grass, his nickname being ‘yn foldyr gastey’ (‘the nimble mower’). In exchange for food he would complete chores, such as herding animals, moving large stones, repairing boats, and as mentioned, threshing. The only thing that the Fynoderee doesn’t like is to be offered clothes, much like the brownies.
There is a sadness to the Fynoderee’s story, however. Some tales tell of him once being a Knight of the Fairy Court who was banished and turned into his hairy self after falling in love with a human and missing the celebration of the harvest. This part of his story is what endears me the most to him, I think. He’s lonely in the same way that the Moddey Dhoo is, destined to wander without any lasting company.
Our fairies are considered as old as Mannanán himself, inhabiting the island long before we did, so it’s not much of a surprise that they’re still flitting around our imaginations and green hills. Tourists are often seen stopping off at the Fairy Bridge and pinning cards and wishes to the surrounding trees, though this is a custom that we have never picked up. But it is nice to know that our small neighbours have reached so far, and that our folktales mean something to the wider world. And these fairy stories carry one common theme: if you treat people right, they will treat you right in return. Folktales can be lessons – or perhaps warnings. I can’t say that the fairies of Mann encouraged me to be massively better behaved as a kid, but perhaps I remembered my manners a little bit more.
Either way, I don’t think that adding a bit of magic to home is ever a bad thing.
Eve Kinley
*This blog post was written in collaboration with the 2025 YSJ Folklore Anthology.*
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