Out on the bog, it is always Halloween.
The ground shifts beneath our feet as we tramp across what feels like no man’s land, a wide expanse of bog on the border between east Tyrone and Donegal.
It is as bleak as the bog of nightmares: dark, cold and damp, with pools full of bubbling gas that open and close again, apparently on a whim, as the “walking bog” slowly trudges its way down the hillside.
It feels like the sort of place where a hand might rise up from beneath, grab hold of an ankle and drag the unwary down into the depths.
“At this time of year, watch out,” warns tour guide Martin Bradley, only half in jest. “Don’t lean too far in, because Morrigan is down below and she’ll pull you in.”
For the Bronze Age and Celtic peoples of Ireland, this was “a portal to the underworld”, he e
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