Our Fake History · PodcastOne

Episode #229 - Real Mermaids?

June 3, 2025·1 hr 23 min·5 clips
A Scottish fisherman plucks scales from a mermaid, transforming her into a woman he forces to marry him.
The show starts with housekeeping. Sebastian Major points listeners toward Fire Antlers, the album The Plot is Lost, and a June 14 release show in Ottawa. Then he heads north. Black Isle, he explains, is a peninsula in Northern Scotland, pushing out from Scotland's east coast into the North Sea. That makes it a pretty good place for a creature that refuses to fit one category. Mermaids live in that in-between space: human and fish, folklore and alleged encounter. A man named Patterson appears, though the fragment cuts away before his story lands. The point still comes through. Black Isle is treated as the kind of place where geography and local story start leaning into each other. From there, the evidence gets older and stranger. Pliny's scaly, shell-playing Triton is not handled as pure myth. It is treated as a supposed report of a human-fish creature, which lets Sebastian show how classical water beings could sit in natural history as well as legend. The Nereids matter here too. In the excerpt, they run into Homer's sirens, and the separate traditions begin to blur into the mermaid figure most people now recognize. The Physiologus is where the shape snaps into focus. Written sometime between the 3rd and 4th centuries AD, it gives the siren a maiden's upper body, a fish's lower body, a sweet voice, and a real threat. Not comforting, exactly. Sebastian reads that as the siren shifting toward a half-woman, half-fish figure like Pliny's Nereids, but with Odysseus-level danger attached. The worst parts stuck. As Europe moved into the medieval period, mermaids started showing up in art. Then comes the church problem. Britain alone has at least 55 medieval churches decorated with mermaids, with hundreds more across continental Europe, despite the creature's pagan and monstrous baggage. That mismatch is the fun bit. A nude sea-creature in Christian stonework becomes less a beast to meet at sea than a lustful warning that medieval churches could turn into a lesson.
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