Sad swan story has echoes of legend
Beautiful white swans have enriched Celtic legend since time immemorial.
In Irish myth, the god of love and youth, Angus, is secretively spirited off in the form of a swan to a secret cave.
He lives in paradise forever afterwards with Caer, a glamorous maiden transformed into a lovely white swan after being bewitched by a magic spell.
Also in Irish fable, Finnguala, the daughter of King Lir, was turned into a swan by her sorceress step-mother, Aoife.
She and her three brothers were doomed to wander the lakes and rivers of the Emerald Isle until the dawn of Christianity hundreds of years later.
Then – changed back into human shape – they became grizzled, wrinkled and stooped and died.
They were baptised and buried in the same grave by the aged St Caemhac.
The Paisley area has its own sad swan story – and it’s a true tale.
For months, two male and female swans – ornithologically known as cob and pen – swam serenely along the placid waters of the River Black Cart, near Milliken Park.
They had been mates for three Derek Parker knew many of Paisley’s secrets – the grimy and the good.
He wandered every corner in search of the clues that would unlock Renfrewshire’s rich history.
These tales were shared with readers in his hugely popular Parker’s Way column.
We’ve opened our vault to handpick our favourites for you.
This article was first printed on June 16, 2003
years.
During the bleak cold days and long, dreary nights of last winter, they looked forward eagerly to raising a family of fluffy cygnets in springtime. Then tragedy struck. One day, the enamoured birds waddled from the river and flew and flapped towards a nearby field to feed on the lush, green grass.
Sadly, the pen crashed catastrophically into an overhead cable and was mortally wounded.
Battered and bloodied, the beautiful white bird – her pearly plumage coloured crimson – fluttered agonisingly down to earth, gasped her last few breaths and died.
Mine of information
For several days, the heartbroken male stood beside his companion’s lifeless body, willing her to come alive and lay the six white eggs from which the cygnets would hatch.
Then, a scavenging fox skulked on to the sorrowful scene and feasted on the crumpled carcass.
Soon, all that remained of the majestic bird was a pathetic bundle of feathers wistfully wafted to the four winds on a gentle breeze.
Still, the saddened swan maintained his solitary vigil beside the dwindling cluster of feathers.
Finally, he realised love’s dream was dead and he would never partner his beloved soulmate again.
The last I saw of him, he was swimming forlornly down the river, grieving for his lost love.
Like Finnguala, the swan-maiden mourning for her father, Lir – and Angus longing for Caer.