The Honest History of the Tully Family Crest

The Honest History of the Tully Family Crest

It was a hard time in Ireland, a thousand or so years ago. The winters were cold. The summers were cold. Even the fires were cold. And the Vikings were sore numerous.

But worst of all wasÐ'...the bear.

White, and large. Large beyond telling. From the far north he cameÐ'--perhaps floating on an iceberg from Iceland, or a Greenburg from Greenland (extensive Jewish community there, well known for their buoyancy.) He landed on the coast of Northern Ireland and proceeded to wreak havoc amongst the populaceÐ'--their sheep, their kine, even the people themselves. Fierce was the bear, sparing neither the young nor the aged in its relentless pursuit of the original fast food.

The warriors, hardened men well experienced in fighting off the depredations of the Norse, gathered together their weapons of battle, made their plans, cunning and well-considered, and attacked in a group, intending to put an end to this most uncongenial of all bears.

The bear shrugged off the war spears, batted the swords to the left and the right, and did things with the clubs that one would shudder to tell. A complete rout of the warriors ensued. The only reason any survived was due to the feasting of the bear on the bodies of the brave but dead clansmen.

A second war council was called to plot the next steps. Much wise counsel was heard regarding different ways to deal with the white terror. A renewed frontal assault, a series of smaller attacks by which the warriors hoped to eventually bleed the bear to a point of weakness, even the entrapment in a canyon and the dropping of large stones onto the bear's head, were discussed, but eventually all were rejected.

Finally, an aged sage (that is, one who had lived a good long thyme) rose to address the assembly. "(?Rose)marry, good gentles, withall doestÐ'...". At which time the assemblage realized that this spicy gentlemen was not a sage, but rather a jester, and shouted him down. Also hitting him with sticks, anon, for it was a harsh time.

The chief warrior then arose and addressed the group. "Blow this for a lark," saith he, "for lo, these many years we have sent tribute to the king in the south. What say we send to him for assistance. We have heard that he considers himself to be a fair huntsman. Let us appeal to his sense of honor, his sense of sportsmanship, his sense of justice. Let us further note that the amount of tribute that can be expected from a region generally eaten by a bear should be expected to be somewhat less than otherwise."

Shouts of acclamation were heard, and a consensus arose to send a delegation to the far south to lay their request before the king. Volunteers were numerous, as would be expected when one considered that the farther south one went, the farther from the bear one would be. A spirited debate ensured, at the end of which those still able to walk were named as the delegation.

South they traveled, for many days and weeks, unto the great castle of the king of Ireland, where they laid their petition at the feet of the ruler. The king looked upon these, the most frostbitten of his people, and spake with a great voice, saying, "Dolts, do ye think I can read with my toes? What do you want?"

The petition was then handed to the king, who read it with great favor.

"Much pleased am I with this petition. But it speaks not of the size of the predator. How big is the beast?"

"Large, sireÐ'--large beyond telling."

"Try, good people. I must needs know to select the size of my ash spear for to take."

"Sire, the bear is of 18 or 20 feet, perhaps."

"Zounds," spoke the king. "We generally must content ourselves with the four-footed variety here. But back to my questionÐ'--how big is the bear?"

The confusion being clarified, the king resolved to answer the people's plaint, and prepared to travel to the north.

This being a hunting party, a pack of well trained hunting dogs was a necessity. This further being a hunting party wherein the prey was a most uncivil bear of great size and boundless ferocity, the call went out for a pack of most fearsome and intrepid hunting dogs.

Many men heeded the call, and traveled to the palace with their dogs. Among them was a yeoman by the name of Tully, who, having misunderstood a pub comment about wolfhounds being fine hunting dogs, had trapped and raised a group of three Irish wolves as hunting dogs. Enormous they were, and hairy, with most amazing dentition and considerably nasty attitudes.

The morning