There was once an old woman in the Glens of Antrim who was said to practice the darker arts. She lived in a rusty old iron hut with an iron stove on which bubbled and simmered iron pots of goodness only knows what. Her teeth were crooked and stained and looked as if they were made of rusty old iron nails. All the people roundabout called her The Iron Hag.
She lived by eating all the animals of the woods. She robbed wee bird nests of their eggs and ate frogspawn with a spoon like other folk eat porridge. Everyone was terrified of her, and few ever ventured near her abode on the edge of the woods. Parents told their children stories of how she liked to eat little boys and girls and so even at the sight of her they ran for their lives. Any misfortune that came about the place was blamed on The Iron Hag, but such was her fearsome reputation that the people never dared go near her.
One day the Iron Hag was gathering firewood deep in the woods when she came across a strange looking wee fellow. He was small and fat with spindly arms and legs and a beard like a goat. On his face played a mischievous grin and his bright eyes danced with devilment.
“What is your name?” Said the Iron Hag, her mouth-watering with delight.
“My name is Plummacan.” Said the wee fellow very politely.
“And do you live hereabouts?” She said.
“I do.” Said he.
“Alone in the woods?”
“Well, I have the birds and the beasts for company.” Said Plummacan.
“And where is your abode?”
Plummacan pointed through the hazel and holly and birch trees, and The Iron Hag had to squint her old eyes to see a wee wooden shack covered with tree bark and ivy. “That is where I lay my head and your welcome any time.”
“Thank ye Plummacan,” she said, “I will call with ye another time, sooner maybe than later.” And with that The Iron Hag lifted her bundle of firewood and away she went.
By the time she got home she had already made up her mind to return to Plummacan’s dwelling in the woods. But first she set the fire blazing in her iron stove. On it she set the biggest iron pot and filled it with water. Then she took a sack and hid it in under her cloak and away with it she went.
It was straight back to Plammacan’s shack in the woods she wended her way, carefully trying not to step on a branch so as not to make a sound. When she got near the little wooden house the smell of wood smoke met her. When she got to the door, she never knocked but just called, “Plummacan. I’m here.” As she birled on in. Pummacan nearly jumped a foot in the air.
“I never heard you coming.” He said, but The Iron Hag never answered she just went straight to the fire and began to warm her backside. “I’m very cold.” She said.
“I see that.” Said Plummacan. “It is the shortest, darkest day of the year you know.”
“Indeed.” She said, “A gentleman would offer his coat or a warm blanket to put over the shoulders and warm the back of a lady.”
“Aye, but I’m no gentleman and you’re no lady.” Said he.
With that The Iron Hag caught Plummacan by the scruff of the neck with her big bony hand she stuffed him into the sack. “I’ll put some manners into you.” She said and threw the sack over her shoulder. As she walked along, she cackled and sang:
Plummacan, Plummacan ‘s for the pot.
I’ll eat him cold, or I’ll eat him hot,
I’ll pull his legs and arms apart,
I’ll eat his liver, I’ll eat his heart…
The Iron Hag was as strong as two men and she never tired carrying Plummacan for the more he was stout he was small. “You’re not going to eat me, are you?” Said Plummacan.
“Bones and all. Bones and all.” Said The Iron Hag, laughing.
“Well, I won’t make a very tasty meal.” Said Plummacan. “If you let me go, I’ll take you to a big hare sitting in her form. She would make a much better meal than me.”
“If I were to let you go, you’d be away and I’d neither have you nor the hare. Take me to the hare first and then I might let you go.”
So Plummacan made a little hole in the corner of the sack and with his finger he directed The Iron Hag to where a beautiful big hare lay in her form. Her huge eyes were staring and her ears lying flat along her back. The Iron Hag snatched the hare up by its’ ears with her big bony hand and stuffed it into the sack along with Plummacan. And as she walked along, she cackled and sang:
Plummacan, Plummacan ‘s for the pot.
I’ll eat him cold, or I’ll eat him hot,
I’ll pull his legs and arms apart,
I’ll eat his liver, I’ll eat his heart…
“I won’t make a very tasty meal.” Said Plummacan. “If you let me go, I’ll take you to where a squirrel has hidden two quarts of hazel nuts.”
“If I were to let you go, you’d be away and I’d neither have you nor the nuts. Take me to the nuts first and then I might let you go.”
So Plummacan made the hole in the corner of the sack a little bigger and with his hand he directed The Iron Hag to where a squirrel had hidden two quarts of hazel nuts at the base of big oak tree. She gathered them all up with her big bony hand and stuffed them into the sack along with Plummacan and the hare. And as she walked along, she cackled and sang:
Plummacan, Plummacan ‘s for the pot.
I’ll eat him cold, or I’ll eat him hot,
I’ll pull his legs and arms apart,
I’ll eat his liver, I’ll eat his heart…
“The sack must be very heavy now.” Said Plummacan, “With me and the hare and two quarts of hazel nuts.” And in truth even the Iron Hag was beginning to tire. “If you let me go, I’ll take you to where a holly sapling grows as straight as a rush. It would make great staff for you and ease your burden.”
“If I were to let you go, you’d be away and I’d neither have you nor the holly staff. Take me to the holly sapling first and I might let you go.”
So Plummacan made the hole in the sack even bigger and with his arm he directed The Iron Hag to the holly sapling. When she saw it growing straight as a rush she said, “The best time to cut a stick is when you see it.” And she began to chop it down herself. While she was chopping and hacking, Plummacan made the hole in the sack big enough that he could squeeze his fat body out. Then he filled the sack full of stones and with all the hazel nuts in his pockets and the hare under his arm, he was away like lightening before The Iron Hag noticed him gone.
All the way home she cackled and laughed and sang her song, and when she got there the big black pot of water was boiling and steam was billowing out her front door. The Iron Hag stuck her holly staff in the ground and went inside. She tipped the sack into the pot but when the stones hit the bottom of it the sides cracked open. The boiling water gushed out all over the Iron Hag.
Well, she jumped ten foot in the air and let a scream out of her that soured milk for miles around. She took off like a scalded cat through those woods and for all I know she is running yet.
Plummacan took the hare back to her form and put the hazel nuts back where they belonged, for he was the guardian of the woods you see. He went back to his own wee shack among the hazel and holly and birch trees covered with tree bark and ivy and they say he lives there to this very day.
The Iron Hag’s old iron hut and her iron stove and pots eventually all rusted away. She was never heard tell of again. But if ever you come across a holly tree growing as straight as a rush in the woods it might just be the one that old woman stuck in the ground all those years ago. You could be standing in the exact place where she once stood. Make sure and look over your shoulder for Plummacan might just be watching you.
© 2025 Liz Weir