Hairy tales of Celtic Kojaks and rural Rapunzels

Fiona O’Connell

AFELLOW who lived in the woods outside this country town used to cut a dashing figure whenever he ventured in for a pint, for he had long curly red hair flowing free beneath a great oldfashioned felt hat. He looked like someone from a longgone century, especially when silhouetted on the old stone bridge at dusk.

For some folk hold on to their heritage when it comes to how they style their hair. Like another local who works in the supermarket and has blonde hair that falls to her waist. She tells me that all her relatives wear their hair long, including the men.

Little wonder, for Irish folk have always had a thing about their hair; washing it frequently even back when there was no running water let alone electricity to help the process. At least the poets appreciated the effort; waxing lyrical about women’s long hair, whether raven black, red, gold or amber, and worn in plaits or loose tresses that reached to their waist, knees or ankles.

Men were just as much the preening peacocks when it came to their tresses, wearing it shoulder-length or occasionally closely cropped. While it was unfortunate to be follically challenged in ancient times, for baldness was seen as a blemish. So much so that Cuchulain went into hiding after his enemy Cu Roi mac Daire shaved off his hair, only re-emerging after it had grown again. And Conan the Bald is a figure of fun in the Fianna tales.

Certainly, Celtic Kojaks must have felt left out back then, what with everyone parading about with combs, the way we do mobile phones, so they could constantly dress their hair. Barbers and hairdressers are also mentioned in ancient literature, and were often held in high esteem.

It’s no surprise that things got hairy when politics were involved: the Anglo Irish parliament passing laws in the middle ages that forbade anybody in the territories of the Pale from following the Irish fashion of wearing a fringe or a flowing moustache. Cromwell’s followers in England were nicknamed ‘Roundheads’ and the Irish of 1798 ‘croppies’ because of their short hairstyles.

Superstition had plenty of hair-raising things to say about the mop on our heads, urging you to get on with your grooming on Saturday if you wanted to look well at the weekend, as hair styling on the holy day of Sunday was banned, and Friday likewise out of bounds on account of the Crucifixion.

And if you can’t keep your hair on, then at least hoard whatever has to come off, as some older folk did, for they believed you must have all your hair on the Day of Judgment.

Unlike our local Goldilocks, for she reckons that there are folk who need her hair right now. Which is why she is getting it cut off for the first time ever this November, to donate to the Rapunzel Foundation. This charity supplies hair to be used as wigs for children and adults who have suffered hair loss.

For Samson may have lost his strength when he lost his hair, but compassion is this rural Rapunzel’s crowning glory.