THE RED HAND OF ULSTER
At the end of the eighth century, the Norsemen family huddled together in a small cabin
on the seacoast. Neill and Helga had two sons, both as strong and tall as their father, blueeyed and blond like their mother. As young boys, they liked fishing, boating, racing, and
exploring the picturesque surroundings nearby. Although they had lots in common, Eric was
the one to destroy birds’ nests and wear a chip on his shoulder. He got angry easily while
Herman was even-tempered and calm.
“How can two brothers be so different?” their mother often asked Neill, their father. But
he only shrugged his shoulders.
When the boys were growing up, they always knew they would be the Vikings to explore
the lands by way of the oceans and rivers with the aid of their advanced navigational skills.
“It would be great to find new lands and occupy them. They have many valuables to gain,
and lots of people to slave,” Eric shared one day when sitting near the fire the brothers made
at the edge of the forest. They were brave and grown-up enough to walk far away from their
house hunting and spending nights in the open air.
“I hate to live in this small cabin. I want to be a king to own lands and rule over the
people,” said Eric.
In the red haze of the fire, his face looked defiant and aggressive. Sun slid below the
jagged horizon to the southwest, and Herman looked up at a hawk hovered above them.
“I would not mind being a king either,” he said. “But I don’t want to make raids upon the
lands, I wish to settle down, found new towns and build wide roads.”
Eric chewed his lip.
“Don’t be an idiot,” he said tasting his knife edge against the pad of his thumb. “To found
new towns and build long roads you
need lots of slaves. You always have
been romantic and dreamy. A man
of false dreams,” he said with a
laugh.
“Stop it! Don’t speak with me
like that!” Herman said to his
brother. “Let’s chance it and go to
that green island with the
monasteries on the shore. The first
of us to touch the land will be the
king of it.”
“Well, go,” agreed Eric and
in several days, they put out to sea
with the other men in two big boats
equipped with the necessaries.
At last, they were near the Irish coast. The two boats were going faster and faster.
However, the boat of Herman O’Neill was not as fast as the boat of his brother.
1
“Ah!” yelled out Herman taking his sword with his left hand, he was left handed. In a
blink of an eye, he cut off his right hand and threw it onto the shore. His blooded hand
touched the land and he became the king of Ulster, the ancient name of Northern Ireland.
That is how many people in
Ireland explain the Red Hand of Ulster,
the official seal of the O'Neill family.
.
Olga Volnycheva
June 2007
2