Brigh an Òrain - A Story in Every Song 9780773568518

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Brìgh an Òrain / A Story in Every Song

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m c gill-queen’s studies in ethnic history donald harman akenson, editor 1 Irish Migrants in the Canadas A New Approach Bruce S. Elliott 2 Critical Years in Immigration Canada and Australia Compared Freda Hawkins (Second edition, 1991) 3 Italians in Toronto Development of a National Identity, 1875–1935 John E. Zucchi 4 Linguistics and Poetics of Latvian Folk Songs Essays in Honour of the Sesquicentennial of the Birth of Kr. Barons Vaira Vikis-Freibergs 5 Johan Schrøder’s Travels in Canada, 1863 Orm Øverland 6 Class, Ethnicity, and Social Inequality Christopher McAll 7 The Victorian Interpretation of Racial Conflict The Maori, the British, and the New Zealand Wars James Belich 8 White Canada Forever Popular Attitudes and Public Policy towards Orientals in British Columbia W. Peter Ward (Second edition, 1990)

9 The People of Glengarry Highlanders in Transition, 1745–1820 Marianne McLean 10 Vancouver’s Chinatown Racial Discourse in Canada, 1875–1980 Kay J. Anderson 11 Best Left as Indians Native-White Relations in the Yukon Territory, 1840–1973 Ken Coates 12 Such Hardworking People Italian Immigrants in Postwar Toronto Franca Iacovetta 13 The Little Slaves of the Harp Italian Child Street Musicians in Nineteenth-Century Paris, London, and New York John E. Zucchi 14 The Light of Nature and the Law of God Antislavery in Ontario, 1833–1877 Allen P. Stouffer 15 Drum Songs Glimpses of Dene History Kerry Abel 16 Louis Rosenberg Canada’s Jews Edited by Morton Weinfeld

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17 A New Lease on Life Landlords, Tenants, and Immigrants in Ireland and Canada Catherine Anne Wilson

22 Resistance and Pluralism A Cultural History of Guyana, 1838–1900 Brian L. Moore

18 In Search of Paradise The Odyssey of an Italian Family Susan Gabori

23 Search Out the Land The Jews and the Growth of Equality in British Colonial America, 1740–1867 Sheldon J. Godfrey and Judith C. Godfrey

19 Ethnicity in the Mainstream Three Studies of English Canadian Culture in Ontario Pauline Greenhill 20 Patriots and Proletarians The Politicization of Hungarian Immigrants in Canada, 1923–1939 Carmela Patrias 21 The Four Quarters of the Night The Life-Journey of an Emigrant Sikh Tara Singh Bains and Hugh Johnston

24 The Development of Elites in Acadian New Brunswick, 1861–1881 Sheila M. Andrew 25 Journey to Vaja Reconstructing the World of a Hungarian-Jewish Family Elaine Kalman Naves

m c gill-queen’s studies in ethnic history series two: john zucchi, editor Inside Ethnic Families Three Generations of PortugueseCanadians Edite Noivo A House of Words Jewish Writing, Identity, and Memory Norman Ravvin Oatmeal and the Catechism Scottish Gaelic Settlers in Quebec Margaret Bennett

With Scarcely a Ripple Anglo-Canadian Migration into the United States and Western Canada, 1880–1920 Randy William Widdis Creating Societies Immigrant Lives in Canada Dirk Hoerder Social Discredit Anti-Semitism, Social Credit, and the Jewish Response Janine Stingel

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Coalescence of Styles The Ethnic Heritage of St-John River Valley Regional Furniture, 1763–1851 Jane L. Cook

Brìgh an Òrain / A Story in Every Song The Songs and Tales of Lauchie MacLellan Translated and Edited by John Shaw

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© McGill-Queen’s University Press 2000 isbn 0-7735-2063-5 Legal deposit fourth quarter 2000 Bibliothèque nationale du Québec Printed in Canada on acid-free paper This book has been published with the help of a grant from the International Council for Canadian Studies. McGill-Queen’s University Press acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (bpidp) for its activities. It also acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for its publishing program.

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data MacLellan, Lauchie, 1910–1991 Brigh an Orain = A story in every song: the songs and tales of Lauchie MacLellan (McGill-Queen’s studies in ethnic history) Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 0-7735-2063-5 1. MacLellan, Lauchie, 1910–1991. 2. Folk songs, Gaelic – Nova Scotia – Cape Breton Island. 3. Tales – Nova Scotia – Cape Breton Island. 4. Celts – Nova Scotia – Cape Breton Island – Folklore. I. Ornstein, Lisa, 1955– II. Shaw, John William III. Title. IV. Title: A story in every song. V. Series. ml420.m165b85 2000 782.42162′9163′0092 c00-900478-5

This book was typeset by Typo Litho Composition Inc. in 10/12 Palatino.

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Contents

foreword Alistair MacLeod preface

xi

xv

introduction

xix

illustrations

xxviii

pa r t o n e Gaelic Singing and Broad Cove Parish

3

pa r t t w o Air Réir Mo Sgeula 56 As My Story Has It 57 pa r t t h r e e

na h-òrain / the songs

Òrain Gaoil / Love Songs

97

1 Hó ro Mo Nighean Donn Bhòidheach nan Gorm-Shùil Meallach O My Lovely Girl with Blue Eyes So Enticing 99 2 Co-dhiubh Thogainn Fonn Mo Leannain 102 Yet I Would Sing My Love’s Praises 104 3 Na h-Ìghneagan Donna, Bòidheach’ 105 The Pretty, Brown-Haired Girls 107 4 Mo Rùn an Cailin 110 The Pick of the Young Girls

112

5 Air fail irinn ìllirinn oich irinn ù 113 Air fail irinn ìllirinn oich irinn ù 115 6 O hi rìthill ó bha hó 118 O hi rìthill ó bha hó 120 7 ’S e Mo Rùn an t-Oighr’ Òg 123 My Love Is for the Young Heir 125 8 Mo Nighean Donn an t-Sùgraidh 128 My Dark-Haired, Sporting Girl 130

97

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Contents

9 É ho Nighean, hì-ri Nighean 133 É ho Lass, hì-ri Lass 135 10 Cailin Bòidheach nan Rosg Mall 136 Pretty Maid with the Lingering Glance 138 11 Tha Mo Rùn air a’ Ghille 139 The Handsome Youth Is My Darling 141 12 Mo Nighean Donn as Bòidhche 144 My Lovely Dark-Haired Maiden 146 Orain Seòlaidh / Sailing Songs 149 13 Eilidh Chuain 149 Eilidh Chuain 151 14 O Mo Chaochladh Mór a Thànaig 154 Oh, the Changes I’ve Endured 156 15 Beinn Lòmann 159 The Benlomond 161 16 Hiù a ho hù ‘s Mi fo Mhìgein 162 Hiù a ho hù, I’m Downhearted 164 17 Gaol Fearainn, Gràdh Fuinn 167 Love of Land and the Home Ground 169 18 Ochoin Nuair a dh’ Fhalbh Sinn 170 Ochoin As We Set Sail 172 19 Tha M’ Inntinn Trom, Cha Thog Mi Fonn 175 My Heart Is Sad, I Cannot Sing 177 20 Air faill ill ó ro, faill ill ó 180 Air faill ill ó ro, faill ill ó 182 21 ’S Ann Di-luain Ghabh i ’n Cuan 185 Monday She Set Out to Sea 187 Òrain Luaidh / Walking Songs 188 22 Nighean Dubh, Nighean Donn Dhut is Éibhinn Happy You Are, Dark-Haired Girl 190 23 A hiù a hó Ailein Duinn 193 A hiù a hó, Allan Donn 195 24 Ó Mo Leannan, é Mo Leannan 198 Ó My Darling, é My Darling 200 25 Oidhche Dhomh air Àirigh Buaileadh 201 One Night at the Shieling Cattle Fold 203 26 Moch ’sa Mhadainn Rinn Mi Éirigh 204 Early in the Morning I Arose 206

188

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Contents ix

27 Ò hao ho, Nighean Dubh, Nighean Donn Ò hao ho, Dark-Haired Maiden 209

207

28 Gura Mis’ Tha fo Éislein 210 I’m Tormented with Sorrow 212 29 Moch ’sa Mhadainn Rinn Mi Gluasad I Arose This Morning Early 215 30 Mo Rùn an t-Uasal 216 My Darling the Nobleman

213

218

31 ’S Mithich Duinn Éirigh Mo Nighean Donn 221 Time That We Awaken, My Brown-Haired Girl

223

32 Hó ro Mo Luaidh Ort 226 Hó ro My Beloved 228 33 Ó ho ró ’Ille Dhuinn 229 Ó ho ró Brown-Haired Lad

231

34 Chì Mi Thallad 234 I See Yonder 236 Òrain Ionadail / Local Songs

237

35 Òran nan Dòmhnallach à Eilean a’ Phrionnsa le Màiri Theàrlaich 237 A Song for the MacDonalds of Prince Edward Island by Mary MacPherson 239 36 Òran do Mhaighstir Dòmhnall Siosal 244 For Father Donald Chisholm 246 37 Òran nan Granndach 249 Lament for the Grants 251 38 [Bàta Ailein Bhàin] 256 [Allan Bàn’s Boat] 258 39 [Bàthadh Ailein Bhàin] 259 [The Drowning of Allan Bàn] 40 Òran Anna Ruadh 261 Red Anna’s Song 263 41 Òran na h-Àthaidh 266 The Song of the Kiln 268 42 Bàta Iagain Cheanadaich 271 Iagan Kennedy’s Boat 273 43 Òran a’ Mhathain 276 The Bear’s Song 278

260

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x Contents

Òrain Cogaidh / War Songs

279

44 Òran an t-Saighdeir / Òran an t-Seathaich The Soldier’s Song 281 Òrain Sìdh / Fairy Songs

279

286

45 A’ Sealg anns a’ Choire Bhuidhe 286 Hunting in the Yellow Corrie 288 Òrain Botuil / Drinking Songs

289

46 A Bhean an Taighe, Ghaoil an Fhortain 289 Woman of the House, Dear and Precious 291 47 Air faill ill éileadh o hu gù 292 Air faill ill éileadh o hu gù 294 48 Cuach Mhic’Ill’Anndrainn 295 The Quaich of Gillander 297 pa r t f o u r

na sgeulachdan / the tales

1 An Sionnach ’s a’ Chorra-Ghritheach The Fox and the Heron 303

302

2 An Gadaiche Dubh 306 The Black Thief 307 3 Aisling Chadail Lachlainn Lauchie’s Dream 327

326

4 Hige-Haige is Ràthag 342 Hige-Haige and Ràthag 343 5 Crom a’ Ghille Cromaidh agus Donn a’ Ghille Donnaidh 350 Crom a’ Ghille Cromaidh and Donn a’ Ghille Donnaidh 351 6 Eadar an Stiorap ’s an Làr 352 Between the Stirrup and the Ground

353

7 Nighean a’ Chùbair 354 The Cooper’s Daughter 355 8 Brògan an t-Sagairt 356 The Priest’s Shoes 357 9 Naidheachd a’ Bhòcain as a’ Chamas Leathan 358 The Ghost of Broad Cove 359 notes

365

sources index

419

429

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Foreword

I grew up about two miles from the home of Lauchie MacLellan. He worked for many years as a carpenter and the windows through which I view the ocean as I write this were once installed by him. The house was originally built by my great-grandfather and he looked down from his picture “in the parlour” then, as he does now. When Lauchie MacLellan installed the windows, I believe the year was 1948 or perhaps it was a few years later. Lauchie was working on the outside of the house and was trying to insert a particularly stubborn part of the window’s casing. He struck the casing so vigorously with his hammer that it caused my great grandfather’s picture to come crashing to the floor. It was summer and the doors were opened and he heard the crash. He came rushing in to see what had happened and we all looked at my great-grandfather’s picture as it lay face down in the middle of the floor. We picked it up carefully and to the relief of us all the glass had not shattered. In hindsight, we probably should have had the foresight to remove the picture from the wall before he began his work. (Hindsight is easy.) I was about thirteen at the time and Lauchie about thirty-eight. Later he removed a sagging verandah and replaced it with a jutting little porch – a “portico” it was called at the time. It is still standing. In later years his older children attended the same two-room school as I did. We were there together for a number of years, although I was considerably older than they were. In the school pictures of the time we are all facing the camera in the bemused shynesses of our age. Many, many years later my wife sang with him in the Gaelic group Coisir an Eileann. By that time John Shaw had come into his life and had begun the task of assembling much of the material found within this volume. As I write this I can still hear, in my imaginative memory, Lauchie MacLellan’s high tenor voice as he sang the songs he so dearly loved. He loved to “practice” the songs he cared about so deeply, although again in hindsight he probably needed very little practice because the songs were so profoundly embedded within his being. He was unfailingly enthusiastic about his music and willing to share his knowledge and his insights.

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Sometimes on summer Sunday afternoons he would come “to visit,” bringing with him Gaelic texts and transcripts of certain songs that he had discovered or rediscovered and which he felt were worthy of discussion and inclusion. My wife shared his enthusiasm if not his vast knowledge. She was also a MacLellan by birth and they shared a common Morar history. All of us knew that we were in the presence of someone special. Sometimes he would look at the picture of my great grandfather and ask me if I remembered the time it had fallen, in such an undignified fashion, to the floor. Once, on the occasion of the death of a man formerly from Dunvegan, we went to a funeral in Antigonish. The man’s name was Dan Joe MacEachern and he had been well respected and a friend to many. A number of us went in two or three cars and Lauchie sat beside me in the front seat of mine. Antigonish is ninety or a hundred miles from Dunvegan and we decided to make part of the Cape Breton journey on the Trans-Canada Highway. Lauchie was older by this time and his health had begun to deteriorate. As we entered Glendale, he pointed in the direction of John Shaw’s house. “That’s where John Shaw lives,” he said to me, “he has nearly all of my songs.” He was quiet for a while looking rather wistfully, I thought, out the window. The day was hot and he took off his dark “funeral” jacket and placed it on the seat between us. The last time he visited our house was again on a summer Sunday. He was infirm and he said his legs were giving him trouble. He had an elderly brown car which, he said, was not working very well. “The two of us go well together,” he said with what seemed like forced joviality. He stayed for a while and then said he was going to visit another friend who lived about a mile away. He had some trouble getting into the car and when it lurched down the driveway it seemed that both man and car might be in some danger, but he was able to maintain control and continue on his appointed journey. A few minutes later we drove, unobtrusively we hoped, by the neighbour’s house and the brown car was parked safely in the quiet summer yard. As I said, this was the last time he was in our house. He is gone now although the windows he installed some fifty-two years ago remain, as does “the portico.” He endures also in this volume so lovingly put together by John Shaw. This is a collection that pays tribute to a man and also to the community that produced him and nurtured him throughout much of the twentieth century. He was born into an almost totally Gaelic-speaking world and by the time he left he had witnessed and endured tremendous changes of both a cultural and economic nature. Many of the songs and stories included in this volume originated in Scotland and, as such, they are part of the larger fabric of Gaeldom that

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stretches across both oceans and centuries. Others are of a “local” nature, which, through their inclusion in this volume, will also take their place within the warp and woof of the past and future. And yet there is so much more. Of the 150 songs that John Shaw collected from Lauchie MacLellan, there are included but 48. Of the 100 tales there are but 9. Yet we should, and must, be grateful to John Shaw for his careful selection and astute judgement. The remaining corpus of material is in good hands and perhaps in the future more of it will appear in print. It is good that John Shaw came into Lauchie MacLellan’s life. It was a serendipitous meeting that resulted in increased enrichment for us all. Those who knew Lauchie MacLellan as a person and as an artist perhaps thought of him too often as mainly a carpenter rather than an artist. But he was an artist in his own sensitive way and he was much more than an installer of windows – although, as I have indicated, he was good at that too. Those who once sang with him (and they are declining in number) still often say, “If Lauchie were alive he would know this,” but in the words of “The Soldier’s Song,” “Cha dean aithreachas mall bonn feum dhomh”; “Regrets based on hindsight are useless.” We must be grateful for what he was and what, in the pages of this volume, he remains. We must be grateful for John Shaw and his assiduous work. For both of them, indeed, there was and is “A Story in Every Song.” Alistair MacLeod August 2000 Dunvegan, N.S.

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Preface

Well over two decades have passed since Lauchie MacLellan and I first embarked on the work of preparing a collection of the Gaelic oral tradition of his family and the surrounding district of Broad Cove, Nova Scotia. Throughout the various changes in fortune that each of us experienced during the time we worked together, the effort was sustained in no small part by my confidence in Lauchie and by his own firm conviction regarding the value and the relevance of his people’s tradition. During the past decade, with Lauchie’s death in 1991 and my own move from rural Inverness County to the other side of the Atlantic, the people of Broad Cove, living and gone, have never been far from my thoughts. Our conversations were far ranging and the occasional item from them, though not recorded on tape, has been included in part 1. Often we discussed the dramatic, seemingly inevitable changes affecting a unique way of life, each of us wondering in his own way what effects the disappearance of an entire tradition would have in the long term. The support from scores of Gaels in terms of knowledge generously and intelligently shared makes it clear that to discount the significance of the sudden passing of a language and the achievements of a culture, even on a small island, is to misunderstand the outlook of Lauchie, his contemporaries, and their counterparts throughout the world. The present collection is intended to go some way toward providing an accessible and reliable record of those achievements as conveyed through an oral tradition. It is hoped that our work will be a source of enjoyment to Gaelic speakers and to others, will serve to dispel some of the common misconceptions regarding Gaelic culture, and will be of use to those raised within or entering the Gaelic world, especially the young, with whom the future now rests. The following individuals and agencies have contributed information, advice, and financial support that have added immeasurably to all major aspects of the work. The Gaelic singers and reciters who with their clear memories and wide knowledge guided me at every turn include Dan Allan Gillis, the late Katie Florence and Archie Kennedy, Donald MacDonald, the late Archie MacKenzie, Margaret MacLean, Peter MacLean, Flora MacLellan, Annie May MacLeod, the late Joe Neil MacNeil, the late

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John Dan MacNeil, the late Michael MacNeil, the late Donnie Morrison, John (Seogan) Shaw, and John Williams. Lauchie’s daughter Crisi Boucher and his late wife Kay, both of Broad Cove, provided constant support during recording sessions, as well as family photographs and information on family background. John Gibson of Judique contributed the photograph which was taken during a recording session and is used here, with permission. For their numerous, varied, and essential contributions, my thanks to Kerstin Mueller of the Eastern Counties Regional Library of Nova Scotia; Jim Watson; Frances MacEachen; Don MacGillivray; Mike Kennedy; Ken Nilsen, the late Rev. Charles Brewer, and the library staff of St Francis Xavier University, Antigonish; Cyril Byrne, Saint Mary’s University, Halifax; the staffs of the Public Archives of Nova Scotia, Halifax, and the Beaton Institute, Sydney; Nova Scotia Department of Lands and Forests; the Canadian Museum of Civilization, Hull, Quebec, for permission to include two full-length tales; the late Gordon MacLennan, Ottawa; Multiculturalism Canada, for financial assistance toward recording, translation, music transcription, and preparation of the book manuscript; the International Council for Canadian Studies Publishing Fund for assistance toward publishing costs; Alistair Macleod, writer, Windsor, Ontario; Tony Engel of Topic Records, London, for permission to use the description of waulking on pp. 16–17. The ethnomusicologist Lisa Ornstein deserves a large part of the credit for her generous and unique contribution to this work. Consulting with her on each of the songs has provided me at every turn with new insights into traditional song and its transcription. Along with her considerable experience in transcribing recordings made in the field, Lisa has brought to the project a concern for accuracy and a depth of understanding that will be appreciated by researchers in the field of Gaelic song for years to come. The work owes an equal amount to those in Scotland who have contributed their learning and skills at every stage: at the School of Scottish Studies, to the late Donald Archie MacDonald for the breadth of scholarship and attention to detail that he brought to the work, from the initial checking of transcriptions to the final version of the manuscript; to John MacInnes for sharing his unique knowledge of Gaelic language and song; to Morag MacLeod and Margaret Mackay, who in addition to reading the manuscript provided many important suggestions on language, song sources, style, and material culture; to Ian Fraser for his guidance through the often rough and rocky terrain of the place names mentioned in the songs. My thanks to Rhona Talbot, Ian MacKenzie, and Carol Smith of the school’s technical and clerical staff for photographic work and computer support, to Ben Newman and Martin Parker for typesetting the music, and to Anona Lyons for maps. I am also grateful to the University of Edinburgh and its Faculty Group Research Fund for generous financial

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assistance toward music typesetting, maps, indexing, and proofreading; the staff of the University of Edinburgh Library; Christina Hussell and Edinburgh University Computing Services; Dòmhnall Uilleam Stiubhart and Cathlin MacAulay for proofreading and indexing; the late Rev. William Matheson; Hugh Cheape and the trustees of the National Museums of Scotland for making available the John MacGillivray portrait; the National Library of Scotland; the Scottish Catholic Archive, Edinburgh; Roy Pedersen; Donald Meek, Colm Ó Baoill, and Seumas Grannd of the Department of Celtic, University of Aberdeen; Ronald MacLellan and A.A. MacLellan, both of Morar; the late John Lorne Campbell of Canna; Jill Shaw, my wife, for helping in so many ways; and Breandán Ó Madagáin, Galway, for knowing what questions to ask. John Shaw, Edinburgh, 2000

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Introduction

In the summer of 1963, Inverness County, Cape Breton, was still largely Gaelic speaking and the annual parish concert held in early July was one of the main events of the summer. As a young student from the outside, working during the holidays on the glebe farm in the small rural community of Glendale, I had not fully understood the necessity of the elaborate preparations by the people of the parish, lasting up to a week and involving everything from fencing to building a raised stage and the constant monitoring of weather reports over the local radio station. It all became apparent when the day arrived and the cars and pickups – in the hundreds, and overflowing with relatives, neighbours, and friends – converged on the farm, filling the enormous hayfields cleared early for the occasion and eventually lining both sides of the Trans-Canada Highway. From the moment the concert began the excitement was palpable – a festive atmosphere surrounding an annual event where kinship groups were reunited, friendships renewed, news exchanged, all underlain by the serious business of celebrating the song, music, and dance central to the life of the region. No less powerful, from the visitor’s point of view at least, was the experience of Highland culture from the eighteenth century performed with a natural competence and vigour which, even with the benefits of a pa system and floodlights, had little if any relation to the modern concert stages of North America or Europe. Performers were neatly – almost formally – dressed, yet in their manner they were unassuming, often appearing shy when introduced on stage. The audience, however, knew what to expect. Whenever a fiddler made particularly skillful work of the transition from strathspey to reel, the listeners, many of whom knew the tunes and were following the playing intently, responded with a spontaneous swell of applause. During the Gaelic songs people in the audience joined in the chorus with gusto. Most, though not all, of the Gaelic singers were men, usually in groups of four or five, with a leader singing the verses and the rest taking up the refrain. Toward the end of the evening a group from a place called Broad Cove were announced, launching almost casually into rendition of “Air faill ill ó ro, faill ill ó,” an old sailing song known on both sides of the

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xx Introduction

Atlantic (see part 3, no. 20). The leader, a trim man in his fifties, sang the verses with an ease and authority that caught and held the listeners’ attention while appearing to be totally absorbed in the song and unaware of the audience. Afterwards I approached him, telling him that I had enjoyed his song, and he responded cordially, saying that I should visit him sometime and that his name was Lauchie MacLellan. Within a few weeks a fortunate turn of events led me to Katie Florence Kennedy and her husband Archie. Katie Florence was a Gaelic teacher and linguistics informant, and in those days their house at Dunvegan, Broad Cove Parish, served as the focal point for an extended family consisting of at least three fiddlers, a piper, a piano player, a stepdancer, and one of the best living storytellers on the island.1 During that summer and the following one, the Kennedys invited me to stay with them whenever work on the farm at Glendale permitted, and the constant musical and social activity, along with their generous support, provided the ideal introduction to the people of Broad Cove. Lauchie MacLellan’s farm lay a short distance down the road toward South West Margaree, providing ample opportunity to stop by and visit. Because of the unremitting demands of Lauchie’s farming, carpentry work, and family during the summer season, I was reluctant to ask much of him; however, during the summer of 1964 we recorded six songs, two of which are printed in this collection (see part 3, nos. 15, 34). We did not meet again until the spring of 1975 when, on what had been intended as a short visit to Cape Breton, I telephoned from the Kennedy house. Within minutes Lauchie arrived at the door, clearly enthusiastic, and I came away from our conversation that evening deeply impressed by his mental gifts, especially his knowledge of Gaelic tradition. During the following eighteen months while employed as a Gaelic language instructor in the industrial region at the far end of the island, I called on Lauchie whenever possible, frequently recording songs and other material and spending many enjoyable evenings absorbed in his entertaining anecdotes concerning his songs and community. It was during this time that Lauchie first raised the subject of his family tradition and its transmission to him through his uncle Neil. He took pleasure in discussing the traditions and the personalities that had been important formative and guiding factors during his life, and from that time we became close friends. For Lauchie the opportunity to review his repertoire of songs and stories had the effect of revalidating a culture which during his entire lifetime had been routinely undervalued by the agencies representing power, progress, and enlightenment, and early on he took on board my hints that his materials and skills were of a uniqueness and value that should be recognized far beyond his own community. Between 1977 and 1982, thanks to federal funding from the Multiculturalism directorate, Ottawa, and with support from the Gaelic Folklore

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Project, St Francis Xavier University, Antigonish, it was possible to engage in full-time fieldwork recording Cape Breton’s Gaelic tradition. Lauchie became one of the two tradition bearers hired by the Gaelic Folklore Project with a view to the eventual publication of their materials. Though past retirement age, Lauchie continued working as a carpenter during the initial stages of recording, when his health allowed; nonetheless, he was determined to carry through regularly and effectively on his commitment. Often during my visits to Dunvegan he would recall another song, or a fragment of one, which I would note for a future recording session, usually happening within a week or two. This technique allowed Lauchie the time to remember verses and bring the item up to the standard that he required of himself. Many of the more difficult or less-known songs were recorded during sessions lasting two to three days at my house in Kingsville, Inverness County, near Glendale. From his early seventies, Lauchie’s health began to fail noticeably. Yet in spite of the physical limitations that this imposed on his singing and recording, we were able to spend many hours together going over the backgrounds to songs or addressing the difficulties encountered in transcriptions. In dealing with questions regarding obscure words or expressions in his songs, or even the innuendoes underlying entire verses, Lauchie showed a remarkable ability to go to the heart of the problem and use his extensive knowledge of Gaelic and the wider cultural or social contexts to bring out the intended meaning. He could read Gaelic with some facility, but never asked to see the transcriptions, preferring instead to think it through aurally. In the case of words or expressions it was evident that he had previously considered many of them on his own initiative and when asked replied that he had thought about them constantly, sometimes over a number of years (e.g. part 3, no. 35, note to line 50). The local associations of songs – events, personal names, place names – in Lauchie’s accounts formed a rich, interwoven system of oral history, legend, and anecdote, capable of leading in a number of directions. The body of tradition known to Lauchie and others concerning the local bard Donald MacDonald (Dòmhnall Thormaid), for example, is intimately bound up in their minds with his songs, and that tradition will be lost once the songs are forgotten. The preponderance of Scottish families from Morar that settled close by in South West Margaree would also seem to apply to Lauchie’s immediate community (MacDougall 1972, 351–73), making it most likely that the community song repertoire, like the specific lines of transmission described for the MacLellan family, was founded largely on Morar tradition. That this does not hold in all instances is obvious; the ability of songs to travel over considerable distances in Nova Scotia is evidenced by the presence of songs composed by Donald MacLean of Tiree and the piper

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John MacGillivray in Lauchie’s repertoire (part 3, nos. 17, 37 below). Without corroborating evidence it is difficult to identify any specific item as originating in Morar with total certainty. Nonetheless, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, the lines of transmission within the family, combined with the known origins of surrounding families, lend strong support to the view that the settings of Lauchie’s older songs are those which were current in Morar at the very beginning of the nineteenth century. Comparison of the texts of songs composed by Lauchie’s great-grandfather, Archibald MacLellan of Morar, around the turn of the century with Lauchie’s own recorded versions suggests that changes have been minimal and that the process of transmission has been conservative. Relative to other Gaelic districts of the Highlands, including the Outer Isles, Skye, Islay, Tiree, and Perthshire, very little of the Morar repertoire tradition has survived elsewhere in printed or recorded form (Broadwood 1931; MacCallum 1821). Waulking songs from the area are particularly rare, as are settings of eighteenth-century Jacobite songs. Lauchie has recorded a large number of airs from both genres, as well as martial songs, taken from song collections such as Sàr-Obair nam Bard Gaelach (J. MacKenzie 1841), where the music is rarely printed.2 When we first embarked on the work of recording, the emphasis was on the preservation of song texts with their airs, along with narratives. As recording progressed, however, our conversations turned increasingly toward the role of family and community in singing, and the need to regard song in its social context became one of the main strands in the present work.3 Over the past two or three generations in Cape Breton, singing has been far more a social activity than storytelling, and it continues to play a marginal yet required role in community concerts, weddings, and fundraising events. In house gatherings from this time, because of growing language barriers, a song with a lively chorus has been the more likely activity, with those present deriving a sense of conviviality and social cohesion regardless of their ability to speak the language. The primary purpose of part 1 is to introduce the materials that follow by providing the sort of context that will be useful to the reader. It begins with a brief discussion of family origins and historical background, moving on to more general questions concerning singing activity in the community, performance, learning and transmission, functions, community repertoire, local aesthetics, composition in its local context, cultural dynamics, and observations on the local storytelling tradition. In our treatment of the material we have attempted to take a broad view by drawing comparisons with sources from Gaelic Scotland and Ireland from the late eighteenth century to the present. Such comparisons serve to reveal common concepts and themes, at the same time bringing to light what distinguishes the singing culture of Cape Breton from that of other Gàidhealtachds. Where appropri-

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ate, comparisons have been introduced from cultures further removed in order to place Gaelic singing in its larger cross-cultural context. Needless to say, such comparisons raise many questions concerning Gaelic folk song that are worthy of further investigation. In considering the questions above, the most obvious sources are to be found within the culture, and to date little has been written on these important aspects of Scottish Gaelic singing. In one of the few works on the subject it has been aptly observed that there is a general lack of information from the primary source – the singers themselves – for European folk song, while considerable work has been devoted to describing the musical activities of “primitive” or “exotic” cultures on other continents (McKean 1997, xi). The recording of contextual information from Lauchie and others was begun relatively late – in the 1980s and in some instances within a decade of this writing – but the results easily exceeded initial expectations and have revealed much that would otherwise have been lost. The answers – which are given so far as is practicable in the singers’ own words – provide a clear demonstration that, in this instance at least, the subjects of a “naturalist” approach to ethnography can provide views concerning their own culture that are informative, coherent, and generally verifiable from other sources.4 The work of gathering information in the field was limited by considerations of time, resources, and Lauchie’s health, but was helped immeasurably by the advice and generosity of Breandán Ó Madagáin, who made copies of his field questionnaires available to me, and was present at recording sessions with singers in Cape Breton in 1989. The material presented in the first section is intended in part to complement his important 1985 work based on Irish printed sources from the previous century. The discussion in part 1 identifies a strong element of social cohesion, illustrated by anecdote and legend and supporting a repertoire of considerable force and appeal, but it would be misleading to view the Gaelic song of the region – or Gaelic culture in general – as being romantic in the sense that it belongs to “a vanished world of integrated emotion and natural feeling which we have lost” (Finnegan 1977, 259) – or indeed romantic in any other sense. Both the song texts and Lauchie’s accounts make it clear that, from the period of settlement until our own lifetime, the daily routine involved more than its share of exhausting physical work, insecurity, and setbacks, along with social and cultural repression. Song, as we shall see, was one way open to Gaelic society to deal with what was never a comfortable situation. In presenting Lauchie’s life story (part 2) it is not our intention to provide a full autobiography of a Gaelic tradition bearer along the lines of that taken down from the South Uist storyteller Angus MacLellan (1962), though such a project would have been of immense value. The autobiographical material

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was recorded toward the end of Lauchie’s life, and in some subsections (as indicated by the sources given) has been collated from the results of various recording sessions with a view to providing the best possible version of his story through his own words. The materials given here comprise nearly the entirety of the recorded life history, with the aim to provide a first-hand account of community history, social life, formative influences, oral transmission and the aspects of song and storytelling introduced in part one. We have selected the materials according to the quality of the descriptions, what they reveal of Gaelic life, and their relevance to the main orientation of this study. The decisions involved in selecting the forty-eight songs in part 3 from over 150 recorded have not been easy. A number of criteria have been applied: relevance to the range of Lauchie’s repertoire and that of the surrounding community;5 importance to the MacLellan family tradition; previous availability in print. We also attempted to include as many complete (or nearly so) local settings of waulking songs as possible, along with compositions by local bards, and particularly good or distinctive settings of songs well known elsewhere. One song, “A’ Sealg anns a’ Choire Bhuidhe” (known in Scotland as Sealgair a’ Choilich Bhuidhe), has been selected on the strength of its rarity and the distinctiveness of its air (see part 3, no. 45). Two additional criteria applied are Lauchie’s expressed liking for a song and its suitability for use and enjoyment by contemporary singers and audiences, for the songs in this collection are intended to be sung. Songs are grouped under categories which correspond to Lauchie’s own preferences and are understood within his singing community, and which at the same time have been widely used in earlier publications (e.g. M. Shaw 1955, vii–xi).6 In a few instances, in order to provide a (more) complete text, verses from another source have been added and are indicated in the accompanying notes and by italics. The notes for song and narrative give the catalogue number, the date of recording, Lauchie’s recalled source, the location of other printed sources, and that of recorded oral variants from the Gaelic Folklore Collection held at St Francis Xavier University, Antigonish, N.S., and the sound archive of the School of Scottish Studies, the University of Edinburgh. With the exception of songs that are relatively rare, we have not provided an exhaustive list of Scottish oral variants for every item; we have opted instead to provide an indication of what is known concerning their distribution from twentieth-century fieldwork. Occasionally when an item occurs in the repertoire of an important singer or reciter it is noted in the hopes that the information will be of use to subsequent research. Where variants from other versions of a song are provided, it has been with a number of intentions in mind. Firstly, variants are given by way of com-

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parison, to throw light on obscure passages, and to provide a basis for emendations in restoring the most likely original text (all emendations along with the written or recorded source accompany the recorded form in the notes). Secondly, comparison of variants has proven useful in revealing the effects of transmission among singers within Nova Scotia. The known variants of the piper John MacGillivray’s composition “Òran nan Granndach” (Lament for the Grants, part 3, no. 37) leave a valuable record of the changes that can occur in a song text over nearly a century and a half in a Gaelic speaking region. In the case of the song for Father Donald Chisholm (“Òran do Mhaighstir Dòmhnall Siosal,” part 3, no. 36) composed locally by Lauchie’s great-grandfather, Archibald MacLellan, we can see the results of the process as it has occurred within a single family. Although evidence either way is lacking, we should remain aware that both songs may also have been reinforced by printed versions from the first decade of this century, if not earlier. In our text transcriptions we have endeavoured to provide an accurate, readable text within the confines of conventional Gaelic orthography. It should be kept in mind throughout that the performance situation was not the ideal one for the tradition; nearly all recordings were made with only Lauchie and the editor present, and many of the elements of a complete performance were thus absent. We have left out all the hesitation phenomena and hiatuses, and the occasional false start, which in Lauchie’s recorded speech are remarkably rare.7 Words or brief segments not clear on the tape have been restored within square brackets.8 Refrains are given in italics. Insofar as Gaelic orthography allows, we have retained the linguistic forms and features of the dialects represented, including the syntax, grammar, and lexis. Instances where a form or expression is not readily apparent to the reader are dealt with in the notes.9 The primary considerations underlying Lisa Ornstein’s detailed musical transcriptions are “to provide a readable, accessible, and reasonably accurate record” of Lauchie’s singing for a general readership by endeavouring to “strike a balance between descriptive and prescriptive methodologies” (Ornstein 1990, 1). Transcriptions provide the refrain melody (usually sung initially in the recording) and a sample verse.10 Lauchie’s use of rhythmic and melodic variations is so extensive (in many instances it would be necessary to transcribe the entire performance in order to represent them) that including them has not been practical.11 For readers with an interest in ethnomusicology, and following the practice of Francis Collinson in Hebridean Folksongs (see J.L. Campbell 1969–81), information on form, structure, scale, compass, and tempo is given for each song. In keeping with the practice of Gaelic traditional singers and instrumentalists elsewhere, the singing does

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not adhere to a tempered scale (J.L. Campbell 1969–81, 1:206) and marked alterations in pitch from the “true scale” are indicated by arrows. In order to facilitate use by singers, transcriptions are set to a pitch suitable for an easily read key signature and the confines of the stave, with the original pitch of the opening measure indicated below. Vocal ornaments involving grace-notes and “shimmers”12 are routinely transcribed. In her observations on Lauchie’s singing style, Ornstein remarks on the frequency and degree of variation occurring in rhythm, tempo, melody, and ornamentation, where certain songs may show greater variation than others;13 there may be “as many variations of any given verse measure as there are stanzas.” A variation will frequently persist over the following stanza or two, to be replaced by some other variation or reverting to the more common form of the melody. Variation is often based on half-measure units and comparisons show that some measures are less subject to variation than others.14 Grace-note ornaments generally occur over close intervals (thirds and seconds) and fall below the primary note.15 The rhythmic variation with its shadings between groupings of notes is more subtle than conventional music notation can represent, and the transcriptions are thus best perceived as approximate. In the òran mór (big song) genre in particular, consisting of eight-line stanzas, rhythmic variation is used to expressive effect by means of lengthening important notes and pauses to bring forward or hold back the melody.16 The relation of such practices to critical words in the text has not been explored, but is viewed by Gaels as an integral part of the traditional singing technique. In nos. 3 and 43 the rhythm contains a strong metric element, suggesting additional links between text and musical air. Tales and other items of oral narrative recorded number around one hundred, and in contrast to the songs, the task of selecting them (for part 4) has been relatively easier. The major folk tales and related items in Lauchie’s repertoire are few and have all been included. The shorter selections are but a small portion of scores of humorous anecdotes, local legends, witty sayings, and items of verbal repartee. The most entertaining of these have been chosen in order to represent what are still popular genres among Gaelic reciters on the island. The translations are intended to convey the spoken and sung Gaelic contents into modern, idiomatic English as accurately as the languages will permit, in hopes that that the collection will be of use to students and specialists in fields such as Celtic Studies and Ethnology, while at the same time being accessible to a wider readership. The approach has varied with the materials, which range from the high linguistic register of the òrain mhóra (big songs) to descriptions of ordinary daily events. We have avoided the extremes of literal or poetic renderings, aiming

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instead to make available the ideas, feelings, and levels of meaning implicit in the performance or recitation. Translations of the songs therefore do not accurately reproduce the Gaelic song metres and are not intended for singing; however they do attempt to provide access to what the songs say, along with something of the aesthetic sense through which the central proposition is expressed.

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Cape Breton Island

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Scotland

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Br0ad Cove Parish: Key Points of Reference

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John MacGillivray, from a painting done in the early 1800s (The name John MacDonald on the print is a misattribution; see Cheape 1994.)

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Lachlann Dhòmnaill Nìll / Lauchie MacLellan, 1978

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Part One Gaelic Singing and Broad Cove Parish “The text, of course, is extremely important, but without the context it remains lifeless.” Bronislaw Malinowski

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l au c h i e ’ s s o n g h e r i t a g e f r o m m o r a r t o b r oa d c o v e One evening during the summer of 1953 after a day’s work in the lumber woods of Labrador, a woodsworker by the name of Lauchie MacLellan, from the parish of Broad Cove on the western shore of Cape Breton Island, was attracted by singing in an adjoining camp and walked over to investigate. As he approached he became aware that the songs were not in English, nor in Scottish Gaelic (his first language), but nevertheless contained something that seemed strangely familiar. The Canadian lumber camps attracted a great variety of nationalities, and after some time had passed, Lauchie, his curiosity by now aroused, asked the men in English where they were from and what their language was. They replied that they were immigrants from the south of Ireland, singing in their own language, Irish Gaelic. Lauchie was made welcome and from then on visited regularly in the evenings, quickly making friends with the Irishmen and adding his own Gaelic songs occasionally, to the delight of his hosts.1 In recounting the chance encounter some twenty years later, Lauchie made it clear that, however unlikely the setting, the socializing and entertainment provided by the Gaels from Ireland was a high point in a long and varied seasonal cycle of “working away” that to this day characterizes the working life of Cape Bretoners. Much of the pleasure in the sessions arose from the ease with which Lauchie and the Irish workers took to each other, sharing conversation and drink as well as songs, yet the significance for Lauchie extended beyond the immediate circumstances to a developing mutual awareness of a tradition shared by all of them – highly valued and like no other. That awareness, along with the ability to understand more of his friends’ Gaelic dialect as the evenings passed, introduced Lauchie to the concept of a wider Gaelic-speaking world beyond Nova Scotia, or even Scotland, providing him with a context both wide ranging and venerable for the traditions of his own family and small community. The resultant thoughts, discoveries, and concerns expressed directly or indirectly by a farmer-carpenter-lumberjack from a small Gaelic-speaking community in North America on the extent, social contexts, and antecedents of his singing and song tradition lie at the centre of this section. The MacLellan farm is situated some two miles from the Gulf of St Lawrence shore in the settlement of Dunvegan, Inverness County (known at the middle of the nineteenth century as Broad Cove Marsh), belonging to the parish of Broad Cove. The landscape in this part of Cape Breton is pleasing without being dramatic, consisting of valleys, some of them fairly broad, divided by hills covered with spruce, and offering the occasional view of the sea from the main road. The farm itself is bisected

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by the old South West Road (now Route 19) connecting the town of Inverness, some nine miles distant, with South West Margaree and the series of neighbouring settlements along the Margaree River. The holding, consisting of 160 acres distributed between level agricultural land and wooded hillside, is fairly typical in its size for the district (as set out in the original land grants) and has lent itself well to providing for the needs of four generations of large families. Here, as in the other Cape Breton Highland communities, houses are spread out with ample distance between them instead of being clustered together. Driving through Dunvegan today it is evident that the active farming ceased decades ago: fields have grown in under pasture spruce; some outbuildings are not kept up. The frame houses, many of them immaculately maintained and now standing alone, reflect the conversion that took place during Lauchie’s lifetime from a traditional subsistence economy to one based outside the community. If one takes a closer look at the outlines of fields and the clearly visible building foundations, however, it requires no great effort to picture the farming, fishing, and woodlot activities that were the mainstay of the “patchwork” economy that evolved with the first settler families. Lauchie’s family accounts of clearing the land, building a dwelling, and the initial stages of farming were experiences widely shared by Highlanders and others during the first half of the nineteenth century, and have been dealt with in detail in other works.2 Equally relevant, though less accessible, are the surviving sources in Gaelic, including a first-hand account from a settler in Middle River, Victoria County3 and a history, partially drawn from oral sources, by Jonathan G. MacKinnon of Whycocomagh, Inverness County, editor of the Gaelic newspaper Mac-Talla.4 Oral sources in song and anecdote recorded in the field since the 1950s are plentiful and lend a sense of the directness and immediacy of the first settlers’ experiences.5 Thirty or more families of “Scots” were reported to be at Broad Cove in 1815 (A.A. Johnston 1960–71, 1:273). Two years later in a missionary report of visits to Highland settlements, including Broad Cove, one Father Gaulin, a native of Canada, expressed his strong disapproval of the settlers’ fondness for “frolicking,” dancing, drinking, and the excessive vanity of women that he observed. Regarding the language of the settlers, the report continues: “I could not instruct them, because very few indeed understood the English language; and, except in Broad Cove, none would undertake to interpret my instructions, nor even my public exhortations.” In any event the parish of Broad Cove was on a firm footing by 1825 when it had become distinct from the parish of Judique with its own chapel, resident pastor, and 109 families who were “doing well, and coming on as well as can be expected” (A.A. Johnston 1960–71, 1:273, 383–4, 497–8). The surviving records suggest that Lauchie’s Broad Cove forebears arrived ahead of the dramatic influx of immigration from the western

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Highlands into Inverness County in the late 1820s and could therefore be counted among the more fortunate of the thousands of Highland families who landed in Cape Breton during the first half of the nineteenth century. Whether or not the time of their arrival indicates that the MacLellan family had some status in Morar, possibly as tenant farmers, we cannot say, but passage for a family around 1817 was expensive and required resources. At this time good land was still available in lots of varying sizes, with 200-acre lots being granted to married men. The lot where the MacLellan farm stands is some distance from the shore where the first arrivals had earlier established themselves, but it possessed many advantages over the poorer, less fertile upland portions known in Gaelic as an Cùl (the Rear) settled by the great numbers entering Cape Breton after 1830, by which time no more good land was available (Hornsby 1992, 42, 49, 56). Within a generation the family farms were well established, and farmers subsisted on the mixed pattern of work – arable and pastoral farming, fishing, and selling lumber and labour for cash – to which Lauchie became heir in the 1920s. The system of land grants promoting small family holdings over large landowners produced a rural society markedly less hierarchical than the vertically ordered world left behind, with its lairds, tacksmen, tenant farmers, and landless poor. Early immigrants were certainly not unaware of the advantages.6 Perceived on another axis, however, Gaelic settlements in the New World were extremely varied, consisting of diverse transferred communities formed through a process of “chain migration” where kin groups and indeed “whole neighbourhoods formed parties for removal so that departure from their native country is no longer exile.”7 The distinctiveness of these settlements included retaining the Gaelic dialects of the region of origin along with other aspects of the oral traditions – among them settings and extensive repertoires of tales and songs. Further accounts from Lauchie’s contemporaries in Broad Cove bear out the view that the settlers, particularly those on the favoured lots, considered themselves far better off in their new surroundings. Certainly memories of Scotland and initial hardships persisted over generations and were often discussed, possibly because adversity was a feature of the lives of many families well into the twentieth century: Cion airgid na obair, agus an aon rud nach robh a dhìth air daoine, bha biadh gu leòr aca. Thogadh iad biadh air na bailtean [‘s] cha robh an t-acras orra. Agus bhiodh am bothan fhéin aca, math no dona gum biodh e; ‘s e an dachaigh fhéin a bh’ann. ‘S e sin a bha an inntinn a h-uile Gàidheal agus barrachd ‘s na Gàidheil – na Goill agus a h-uile duine a thànaig dhan dùthaich seo. A chionn ‘san t-seann dùthaich ‘s ann am Breatainn ‘s ‘san Roinn Eòrpa, bha e duilich dha na daoine

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A Story in Every Song bochda fearann no dachaigh bhith aca. Bhiodh iad fo mhàl agus fo spòg … Bha am pailteas ac’ an seo do bhiadh; rud nach robh aca air uairean ‘san t-seann dùthaich. [There was] a lack of money or work, and the one thing that people did not lack was that they had a sufficiency of food. They raised it on the farms, so they did not go hungry. They had their own dwelling; good or bad, it was their home. That was what was on the mind of every Gael, and others besides – non-Gaels, in fact everyone who arrived in this country – because in the old country, or Britain or Europe, it was difficult for poor people to own land or a home. They were subject to rents and domination … But here they had plenty to eat, something that they did not have on occasion in the old country.8

The sense of relative prosperity, in terms understood by the community, continued until the close of the century. A letter to the Gaelic newspaper Mac-Talla in 1896 from the neighbouring district of South West Margaree observes that there were nearly one hundred Highland families in the parish, chiefly immigrants from Morar, the majority being very well off in their circumstances.9 It was into this world that the eldest son of Dan N. and Catherine MacLellan – John Lauchie, known everywhere as Lauchie Dan N. (Lachlann Dhòmhnaill Nill) – was born in 1910. Dan N., who worked as a carpenter, was the third generation to farm on the lot after his father Neil (Niall Ruadh) and his grandfather Archibald (Gilleasbuig Fhearchair); Catherine, née Kennedy, was from Headlake.10 In those days households consisted of extended families, supplemented by frequent visits from neighbouring close relatives, so Lauchie presumably was in daily contact with his paternal grandparents Jessie (Seònaid) and Neil (Niall Ruadh), until Neil’s death in 1922. A crucial event in Lauchie’s life occurred around his fourteenth year when his father’s health failed and, as the eldest son, he was left with the responsibility for the heavy work on the farm. Most demanding of all was the spring ploughing with a team of horses, and in conversation Lauchie attributed his less-than-average height to the untoward physical pressure from this time in his life. Like most of his generation he acquired a range of working skills. Dan N. and his family were well known as carpenters, and one winter during his teens Lauchie undertook to build a sleigh in the barn, coming to his father occasionally for advice when it came time to make the runners. The acquisition of carpentry skills was regarded by Lauchie as part of a natural process: “Chan ionnsaich thu saoirsneachd idir; feumaidh i bhith annad. Dal a rug mi air a’ ghnothach cha robh sian ann.” (You can’t really learn to be a carpenter; it has to be in you. When I came to grips with it there was nothing to it).11 Although Lauchie occa-

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sionally spoke of the limitations of being “behind the hammer,” carpentry proved to be his most practical and reliable source of income over the next half-century, as small farming in the area began to become less viable. After two decades of running the farm, interspersed with short periods of “working away” for the necessary cash, Lauchie, then in his early thirties, married Kay MacNeil from neighbouring Ste Rose and started a family, which eventually grew to eight children. The increasing need for money took him to Labrador and to Windsor, Ontario, for a year in the early 1950s. The funds acquired enabled him to remain in Dunvegan on a more secure footing, taking on carpentry jobs ranging from local house repair to construction around the island. By 1970 with the increasing dependence on a cash economy, farming, even as a sideline, no longer made sense; the routine of caring for livestock, making the hay, and cutting in the woods – in addition to carpentry on the side – was more than one man could handle.12 He continued with the carpentry work until the late 1970s, well past the normal retirement age. No work has been done on personality profiles of tradition bearers in Scottish Gaelic society, and those discussed for other cultures (Pentikäinen 1978; Siikala 1980) would seem to apply only partially to Lauchie. As a singer, raconteur, and personality, he was regarded as exceptional by people in Inverness County and by visitors with interests in local tradition, though as in most cases of this kind the recognition was informal. Local accounts giving examples of Lauchie’s wit in Gaelic and English and celebrating his undoubted effectiveness as a scrapper are uniformly approving, often presenting him as personifying values shared and appreciated by all Gaelic communities in Cape Breton. Yet many of the anecdotes reveal a frank independence of mind unusual in Cape Breton rural communities, and that recalls the descriptions of his paternal uncle and mentor, Neil MacLellan, discussed below. Although a few of Lauchie’s own life stories confirm this – for example, those having to do with poaching deer or helping to run off a commercial batch of poit dhubh (illegal whiskey) for a friend – his primary concerns were conventional in nature and were dictated by tradition, centring around family, community, and the Roman Catholic parish. Lauchie demonstrated an extraordinary ability to put people at their ease in a society already renowned for a natural openness toward strangers, and showed exceptional kindness toward young children as a matter of course. Perhaps the most interesting views on Lauchie’s appearance and character are supplied by his Gaelicspeaking contemporaries and lifelong friends,13 who portray him as a small, trim, fit, and energetic man whose size was deceiving, for he possessed such physical strength that there were very few who could stand up to him. During his adulthood Lauchie’s appearance changed little until he became ill toward the end of his life. Contemporaries portray for us

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an easygoing nature, fond of company, combined with an ability to take care of oneself: “Bha e ‘na dhuineachan cho laghach ‘s a dh’iarradh tu a bhith ‘nar measg. Cha robh e aimhreiteach – ach na cuir air.” (He was as nice a fellow as one would wish to be among us. Not at all quarrelsome – but don’t try to abuse him.)14 His way of speaking, one close neighbour remarked, conveyed an unusual degree of intelligence and recalled the manner of the MacLellan branch of his paternal grandmother (Cloinn ’Illeasbuig an Tàilleir) who were regarded in the community as intellectually gifted to an unusual degree. A further aspect regarding Lauchie’s speech was pointed out by one of the more thoughtful younger nonGaelic-speaking neighbours – his ability in any social situation to capture and hold the attention of those around him once he started on an anecdote, the mark of a gifted narrator. Yet the primary and distinctive characteristic attached to Lauchie by the other Gaelic speakers in Broad Cove was not expressed in terms of appearance, social behaviour, or ability, but in his uncommonly strong and active interest in Gaelic songs. Dan Allan Gillis, two years his senior, recalls that Lauchie began singing actively while still very young; Gillis heard him perform at a concert held in the Dunvegan school when Lauchie would have been fourteen of fifteen.15 Lauchie himself mentioned in conversation more than once his willingness as a youth to walk miles to acquire a new song. In spite of the numerous sources and contacts for songs throughout the parish, there is a repeated emphasis in the transcribed materials in the following sections on the close association between Lauchie’s repertoire and family lines in Broad Cove. Since I first raised the topic with Lauchie in 1975 it has been evident that the tradition handed down and the family who practised it were, in Lauchie’s mind, inseparable; earlier generations, particularly those associated with Morar, were frequently mentioned in connection with songs or stories. Available parish records for the region of North Morar do not extend back beyond 1832, and neither family of MacLellans in Lauchie’s lineage has left a trace in the townships of Buorblach or Beòraid Mhór, which are separated by a short walk. (Both Lauchie’s paternal great-grandparents were MacLellans, from neighboring localities.) Written records of the departure of those and other families are also absent, but some details of the circumstances leading up to emigration have come down orally. According to A.A. MacLellan, a local historian residing in Morar, a local family of MacLellans were active in the Rising of 1745 (known as “the ’45”), and the district suffered harsh retribution by government forces with many people being captured and sent out to the West Indies into forced labour.16 There was a Catholic training seminary in Buorblach for a decade from 1770, and adjacent to the site are the ruins of nine houses, all said to

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have been occupied by MacLellans. They left in 1820 and Buorblach was converted into a sheep run. Beòraid was likewise cleared for sheep and most of Morar’s population was replaced by shepherds from the south. Eventually under Lord Lovat the lands reverted to small holdings that were occupied by families from other parts of North Morar, among them the families of MacLellans currently in the district. Through his father, A.A. MacLellan was familiar with the legend of the branch of Morar MacLellans called na Leth-Chluasaich (One-Eared), whose Cape Breton descendants Lauchie claimed as relatives.17 It was recalled in more detail by Ronnie MacLellan, a crofter and piper in Morar: Fhuair mi am beagan eachdraidh a th’agam mun deidhinn, fhuair mi bho m’athair e gur e Cloinn ‘IllFhialain a’ Leth-Chluasaich a bh’annta. Agus an eachdraidh mar a fhuair mi e, ‘s ann a chionn ‘s gur e mèairlich a bh’annta – ann an cuid dhiubh; bhiodh iad a’ goid chaorach – agus gur ann ann an sabaid a fhuair fear dhiubh a chluas a chur dheth. Nis chan eil an còrr agam ach sin mu dheidhinn obair nam mèairlich agus Mac’IllFhialain Leth-Chluasaich. (The little history I know concerning them I got from my father: that they were the One-Eared MacLellans. And in the story as I heard it, the reason was that they were thieves – some of them; they used to steal sheep – and one of them had his ear taken off in a fight. Now, I have no more than that concerning the sheepstealing and the One-Eared MacLellans.)18

Traditions regarding literacy among the MacLellans of Buorblach (Lauchie’s paternal grandmother’s family) who settled in Broad Cove should be regarded in light of the schools known to have existed in or around Morar before the time of emigration. Morar was noteworthy in the Highlands for having been the location of a series of seminaries for the training of priests to serve the Gaelic-speaking districts where they were in great demand since the seventeenth century.19 The first seminary, initially established in 1714 and situated on Eilean Bàn near the mouth of Loch Morar, was moved to Guideal, Arisaig, in 1737 where it remained until 1746. In 1770 the seminary opened at Buorblach, training young men from the surrounding districts with instruction in English literature and the classical languages, but it was relocated to Salaman in 1779 (Blundell 1917, 107–113; MacWilliam 1951; MacWilliam ms, 235–50; Charles Macdonald 1989, 241). Whether this place of learning provided the humbler population with any access to literacy in either language is impossible to say, but it cannot be ruled out;20 if literacy was spread informally in this way in the western Highlands, Buorblach would be a most likely place.

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At the end of the eighteenth century, North Morar was situated in the parish of Glenelg, which also comprised the districts of Knoydart and Glenelg proper. According to the Old Statistical Account (Sinclair 1791–99) the population of North Morar in 1793 was 460, all of whom are listed as Catholic and were served by one priest. There was a schoolhouse in Glenelg, as well as one maintained by the Society for the Propagation of Christian Knowledge (spck) in Knoydart, but there is no mention of a school during this period in North Morar. Emigration figures are likewise not given for North Morar, but numbers from the period 1770–93 for the other two districts indicate that outward migration was heavy, particularly in Knoydart (Sinclair 1791–99, vol. 16: 267, 272). Much the same story holds for the neighbouring districts of South Morar and Arisaig, which belonged, along with Sunart, Moidart, and Ardnamurchan proper, to the parish of Ardnamurchan. In 1790–91, 322 people from the district emigrated to America, leaving a total population of 1,278 in 1795. South Morar / Arisaig at this time had a school and a schoolmaster, and thirtyfive “young persons [were] taught English, writing, &c.” Evidently the school, like those nearby in Glenelg and Sunart, was run by the spck with a sum of sixteen pounds appropriated annually.21 The paternal line of MacLellans, styled Cloinn Fhearchair (Farquhar) and going back to Beòraid near the Morar River and the entrance to Loch Morar,22 has left few records from the time of initial settlement. Oral traditions regarding the first settler, Lauchie’s great-grandfather Archibald (Gilleasbuig Fhearchair), in Broad Cove are confined to one minor family anecdote in which Archibald left a drinking container by a well for the use of passersby.23 Family tradition also has it that Archibald was accompanied by to the New World at least two brothers – John and Donald Farquhar – though it is not clear whether their father remained in Scotland.24 That Farquhar MacLellan Sr was styled Fearchar an Òir (Farquhar of the Gold) finds independent confirmation in an early history of the parish, where John MacLellan (styled Farquhar) and his brother Donald Farquhar MacLellan (styled Gold) are listed among those who took up rear concessions of lots.25 There is no certain reference to this Archibald MacLellan in J.L. MacDougall’s History of Inverness County, and the name does not appear in the (incomplete) census of Broad Cove in 1818 (St Margaret’s Church 1982, 53–4). The Register of Land Grants yields no certain information until 20 September 1858, when the lot of 160 acres that is now the MacLellan farm was granted to Archibald MacLellan (pans rlg 4334, no. 12991). Archibald married, possibly after his arrival, and Neil (Niall Ruadh), Lauchie’s grandfather, was born in 1827.26 The Church Map of 1864 shows an A. MacLellan on the lot immediately beside an N. MacLellan, but the year of Archibald’s death is not known.27

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In 1857 Archibald’s son Neil married Jessie (Seònaid) MacLellan,28 from nearby Beinn an Tàilleir (Tailor’s Mountain), whose family Lauchie regarded as the primary source of his song tradition. Jessie’s father, another Archibald MacLellan (Gilleasbuig mac an Tàilleir), was evidently one of the most highly respected settlers of his generation, and there are numerous references to him in printed sources. At the age of ten he left Buorblach, Morar (also near the mouth of the Morar River), where his family was said to have lived for generations. The family, which included his father Angus and his two younger brothers, sailed from Stornoway in August 1815 on the ship The Three Brothers of Hull, landing on the Nova Scotia mainland at Pictou some seven weeks later.29 After settling for a time on the mainland at South River, near Antigonish, the family moved to Broad Cove in 1820. Archibald was especially noted for his skill and success at fishing, and for his intellectual gifts (Mac Dougall 1972, 372). He married in 1828, prospered from his fishing, farming, and allied business activities, and the couple produced seven sons and eight daughters. Archibald’s wife, Mary MacFarlane, born at South River, provides the only certain link between Lauchie’s family and the Gaelic aristocracy of the west Highlands. Her paternal grandmother, Margaret MacDonnell, was the daughter of Ronald MacDonnell of Scotus, Knoydart, and a sister of “Spanish John,” a professional soldier who fought on the continent and actively supported Prince Charles in the ’45 (Mac Dougall 1972, 403–4; M’Donell 1993). Lauchie maintained that the Cloinn an Tàilleir branch of the family were literate in Gaelic at the time of their arrival, and likely before. Although direct evidence is lacking, the 1891 census lists the settler Archibald, then eighty-six, as being able to read and write (presumably in English) – no mean accomplishment for a person of his generation. His wife, Mary, although her Knoydart forbears were demonstrably literate in English, was apparently not so herself, making it likely that the basis for the family claims to literacy is to be found with the MacLellans of Buorblach. By all accounts the household run by Neil Sr (Niall Ruadh) and Jessie MacLellan was a lively place, not least of all in terms of their combined family traditions. Regarding Neil’s interests and skills, nothing is known beyond what Lauchie has recorded. He has remarked in conversation that Neil maintained a strong interest in songs throughout his life. It is not known whether or not his stock of tales had come down through Cloinn Fhearchair, but they were certainly to a high standard if “An Gadaiche Dubh” (The Black Thief) is anything to go by. Neil Sr continued to recite tales when he was well into his eighties, it being noted in his obituary that “the strength of his memory was remarkable.”30 Neil and Jessie’s son (and Lauchie’s uncle) Neil Angus, born around 1873 and the eighth of ten

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children according to the 1881 census, became the main inheritor of the tradition, taking great interest in what was handed down from his mother’s side. Neil Jr’s contribution to Lauchie’s song repertoire is beyond question, and from the constant references to him in the autobiographical materials printed here as well as those made in conversation, he appears to have had a major formative influence on Lauchie from an early age. Neil’s blindness, brought about by an accident one winter when he was on the verge of manhood, amounted to a major misfortune in a society where each member of the family was expected to make a substantial contribution through labour. His adjustment, even in a world where serious injuries were commonplace, was widely admired. Dan Allan Gillis was not closely acquainted with Neil Jr, but vividly recalls his exceptional gifts and his role in the community as a tradition bearer: ’S e duine sìtheil a bh’ann agus chan fhaca tu riamh a leithid gu innse sgeulachdan. Bha sgeulachdan aige, bha a h-uile naidheachd aige mar a thachair e. Nam biodh òran bhuat bha thu dol gu Niall ‘s ma bha ceathramh gad dhìth gheobhadh tu bho Niall e. Bha e cho toileach cuideachadh a thoirt dhan ògradh co-dhiubh nuair a bhiodh iad a’ coimhead airson cuideachadh le Gàidhlig, no na h-òrain no na seann naidheachdan a bhiodh e ag innse. Cha chluinneadh tu Beurla bho Niall mura feumadh e a bruidhinn. Duine nach b’aithne dha e, a bhith ga fhaicinn a’ cheud uair cha shaoileadh e gu robh e dall idir. Bha glé bheag a bha bruidhinn na Gàidhlig a chuala mi roimhidh siod na bhuaidhe siod a bha Gàidhlig na b’fheàrr aige na bha aig Niall. Bha meabhar aige a bha uamhasach ‘s bha na sean-fhacail Ghàidhlig aig’ uile, cha chreid mi, agus na naidheachdan mu dheidhinn na seann dùthchadh ‘s mu dheidhinn na dùthaich seo nuair a chaidh a fosgladh suas an toiseach. ’S bha rud eile ann an Niall: bha tuigs’ aige a bha bliadhnaichean air thoiseach air an am ‘sa robh e beò – mar bu chòir do ghnothaichean a bhith. A chionn nuair a shuidheadh Niall a sheanchas, chuireadh e aodann ùr air na cùisean a bhiodh a’ tachairt ann a’ siod – agus glé thric bhiodh e ceart. Nuair a chitheadh tu sin … ann an ceann beagan bhliadhnaichean mar a bha Niall a’ bruidhinn, thigeadh e, mar gum biodh car do dh’fhiosachd aige gu robh seo a’ dol a thighinn. Chitheadh e taobh air argumaid nach fhaiceadh feadhainn eile … A’ bharail aig Niall, dh’fhaoidte nach b’e barail a h-uile duine aig an am, ach bhiodh e ceart a’ chuid bu mhotha dhen ùine. (He was an easy-going man and you never saw his like for telling traditional tales. He knew the tales, and every story just as it had happened. If you wanted a song you went to Neil, and if you were looking for a verse you’d get it from him. He was more than willing to assist the young people when they were looking for help with Gaelic or songs or the old stories he used to recite. You wouldn’t hear English from Neil unless he was forced to speak it.

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Gaelic Singing and Broad Cove Parish To see him for the first time a person who didn’t know him wouldn’t think he was blind at all. There were very few that I heard speaking Gaelic before or since with a better command of it than Neil. He had a truly astounding memory and I believe he knew every proverb, also the stories about the old country along with those about this country when it was first opened up. There was something else in Neil’s character: his understanding of things was years ahead of his time – how things ought to be. For when Neil would sit down to talk about something, he could place a whole new perspective on events that were taking place – and very often he was right. When you saw what Neil described … in a few years it would happen, almost as if he had foreknowledge that it was going to happen. He could see a side of an argument that others could not … Neil’s opinion might not be shared by everyone else at the time, but most often he was right.)31

singing and society The experiences recounted by Lauchie as a young man who sang reveal much regarding the role of singing in his own community, and as a rule such beliefs and practices applied to other Highland settlements throughout Cape Breton. A modern trait that would immediately strike a person of Lauchie’s generation returning home after an absence of a half century or more is how seldom the younger, non-Gaelic speakers sing compared to his own contemporaries and their parents. Performers emphasize that, until recently, songs were constantly present in the lives of the people. On the way past a homestead one often used to hear singing as people went about their chores outside, or when they sat down to catch their breath.32 People sang while bringing home cattle; women sang as they sat and knitted; a farmer could be heard singing alone over the noise of the tractor on his way up the mountain to cut spruce blocks; and at least one township recalled special songs sung while milking.33 In some Presbyterian areas men engaged in the heavy communal work of snaking (hauling) logs out of the woods in winter would sing hymns to pass the time, and in Marion Bridge, Cape Breton County it was a common occurrence (and one fondly recalled) to hear Gaelic songs in the distance as people returned on their sleighs – usually in the best of cheer – from their errands in the industrial town of Sydney.34 The occasions for singing were so numerous that Gaelic song – and the social and affective content of the verses – has over generations inevitably made up a large part of the inner verbal dialogue among many traditional Gaels.35 As one singer expressed it, “Uill, cha robh latha nach cluinnt’ òran agus gu h-àraid air an oidhche.“ (Not a day passed without hearing a song, and in the evenings especially.)36 In Broad Cove, among the older generations at least, singing was the preferred form of expression and entertainment: “Dh’éisdeadh

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iad ris air thoiseach air ceòl sam bith.” (They would listen to it in preference to any other [kind of] music.)37 The preference in Broad Cove, and also more generally, was for singing without instrumental accompaniment.38 When instruments were present, piano, pump organ, and sometimes violin were used, but the results occasionally elicited emotional reactions from older singers: “Carson fo Dhia nach cum thu suas an cleachdadh a bh’againn?” (Why in God’s name won’t you keep up the way that we had?)39 Such seemingly random singing during the day was reinforced in a communal atmosphere in the evening through a round of céilidhs, the staple of rural Gaelic social and intellectual life. The céilidh, which was simply a house visit within the neighbourhood, had over the centuries since the disappearance of the Gaelic professional performers in Ireland and Scotland become the institution through which Gaelic oral, musical, and dance traditions were enjoyed, maintained, and transmitted. Céilidh scenes for Cape Breton, Prince Edward Island, Scotland, and Ireland have been described in print elsewhere.40 As an indication of the value placed on such visiting with its attendant activities, people after their day’s work were accustomed to travelling over a considerable distance – three miles or more – in order to attend. Such gatherings in Cape Breton were characterized by the informality customary between neighbours and relatives, with no restrictions concerning age, social or economic status, or gender. Often more than one form of entertainment was featured, with the result that the various components of the community tradition reinforced each other regularly (J. Shaw 1992–93, 38–9; cf. Merriam 1964, 218). In a culture where the various genres of oral tradition and music complement and support each other, the links between song and oral narrative are of primary importance. In addition to naming the composer, as was often the practice, a singer would preface the song with the story behind it, providing a context and easier access to the allusions made in the verses.41 Some songs in Cape Breton, at least in the form they were recorded, are nowhere near complete without their story context.42 Likewise, the accompanying narrative could be essential for explaining the basis for flytings (bardic contests) between local song makers, with performers in some areas employing the phrase “agus thill e òran ‘na choinneamh” (and he came back at him with a song).43 In some cases the narratives also served to highlight the bard’s skill, with the singer going back and forth in conversation between narrative and verses to illustrate how neatly things were expressed through song. In others, the narratives would consist of an anecdote, not always directly related to the content of the song, dealing with the bard’s life or personality. Prefaces of this sort, which could extend to some length, could be regarded as an integral part of the song by the singers, and were routinely told to me during recording sessions or in conversation.

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In each Gaelic settlement the céilidh houses (taighean céilidh), though not formally designated, were known to all. A particular céilidh house could be regarded as excelling in a certain form of entertainment, and was often the home of a highly regarded performer. Flora MacLellan unhesitatingly identified four households in Broad Cove which between them specialized in singing, storytelling, and instrumental music (see illustration 3).44 On the strength of Lauchie’s portrait of his grandfather Niall Ruadh telling stories, we can also place the MacLellan household itself in this category; neighbours have pointed out that it was situated on the South West Road some nine miles from the town of Inverness and approximately at the halfway point for many of those living in the Margaree settlements, thus making an ideal stopping place for those returning after a day in town with their various supplies. Singing was central not only to entertainment but also to work as a communal activity, universally known as “frolics,” and frolic singing was particularly highly evolved among women. Spinning frolics were plentiful within living memory in the parish. Participation was limited to women, but the song repertoire was not restricted, allowing a large variety of songs – “whatever came along that suited them.”45 These songs added much pleasure to the performing of tasks that would otherwise have been tedious, as the following description by Dan Allan Gillis makes clear: Bhiodh iad a’ gabhail òrain bhiodh car sunndach. Chan e òrain luaidh a bhiodh iad a’ gabhail idir. Tha cuimhn’ a’m air aon froilig shnìomh a bh’ann agus bha mo mhàthair ann. Thug mise suas i ‘s chaidh mi ‘sin dh’a h-iarraidh feasgar. Agus bha seann bhoireannach a-staigh far an robh an fhroilig-shnìomh: Màiri Iain ‘ac Dhòmhnaill Dhuinn. Agus tha cuimhn’ a’m – cha mhór nach fhaic mi i. Ghabh i “Faill ill ó, faill ill ó.” Ghabh i an t-òran ud. Agus bha i cumail a’ chloimhe a’ dol dhan t-snìomh ris a’ chaoin. Bha ’chaoin a’ freagairt dha na … is sunnd an òrain a’ freagairt dha. Agus nuair a chitheadh tu dh’fhaoidte leth-dusan cuibhle a’ falbh – a h-uile gin dhiubh gabhail an fhuinn, ghabhadh is’ an ceathramh a’ sin – ‘s e rud caran bòidheach a bh’ann ri fhaicinn. Chan fhaicear ‘leithid gu bràcha tuilleadh. (They used to sing fairly lively songs [at spinning frolics], but not the milling songs at all. I remember one spinning frolic that my mother attended; I took her up and came to get her in the evening. And there was one old woman at the frolic styled Màiri Iain ‘ac Dhòmhnaill Dhuinn. And I remember – I can almost see her. “Faill ill ó, faill ill ó” was the song she sang and she would keep spinning the wool in time to the song air. The air suited, and so did the cheerfulness of the song. And when you saw something like half a dozen spinning wheels turning – all the women singing the chorus, then the old lady singing the verse – it was quite a pretty thing to watch. We’ll never see anything like it again.)46

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The milling frolic (also known in some districts as a “tucking frolic,” [luadh]), in which the tweed cloth was waulked or milled in order to shrink it, was the chief occasion for work accompanied by communal singing in the island’s Highland settlements and the highlight of social activity during the late autumn and winter. In most communities the practice continued into the 1930s or ’40s. In Scotland the songs along with the work activity had achieved their distinctive form well before the period of emigration, with a remarkably uniform repertoire of songs extending down the western seaboard. The extent to which the milling song repertoire was transferred to and retained in this part of the New World has elicited comment from researchers since the ’30s (J.L. Campbell 1990, 16, 155). As time passed, a growing number of songs from the wider Cape Breton repertoire were adapted to milling, with varying degrees of success.47 In Scotland the task was the preserve of women, but throughout the Cape Breton localities, as well as Prince Edward Island and Newfoundland’s Codroy Valley, men freely participated in the work and the singing (Bennett 1989, 155; J. Shaw 1988b, 8). There are still memories in Cape Breton, however, that “many women were regarded as outstanding singers of milling songs, and it was they who most often [sang the verses].”48 Singers on the North Shore (Victoria County) – settled at a relatively late stage, chiefly by Lewis and Harris immigrants – recall hearing that it was customary for women to begin the milling in the late afternoon, to be joined later by the men after they had returned from their outside work and had had their evening meal.49 One woman from the same district, however, remembered accounts of the early millings being restricted to women, and accounts of the technique of luadh chas (milling with the feet) had likewise survived, although no one had actually witnessed it being performed.50 The following description from Lauchie provides a detailed sequence of events surrounding milling frolics in Broad Cove: After the sheep had been sheared in early summer, some time around mid-July, the wool was cleaned, usually beside a small stream passing close by the house. It was then spread out to dry, and when completely dry was taken inside the house, combed, and the burrs and spruce ends removed. Once this was done, the woman of the house would take her wool-cards and comb the wool out to make long rolls (rolagan). The rolls were spun into yarn on the spinning-wheel, and it should be remembered here that two kinds of yarn went into the cloth: the warp (an dlùth) and the woof (an t-uachdar). The warp was spun out farther and more uniformly than the woof, with much more twisting. This was done until it was estimated that enough warp had been spun to make a piece of cloth about forty yards long by three feet wide. When the web had been completed, toward the end of autumn, word was sent out to the neighbours in the immediate area that a milling frolic would be held on

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Gaelic Singing and Broad Cove Parish a particular night. By then, of course, everyone in the neighbourhood knew that there was to be a milling and was waiting eagerly for it. The man of the house, usually with a friend’s help, would fetch two large planks, twelve feet long by ten inches wide and two inches thick. These were set side by side to make a flat surface on which the web [the unfulled cloth] could be milled. A fourteen-yard length of web was placed on the boards after it had been soaked in warm, soapy water and fourteen people or so, both men and women, would sit at both sides and at the ends. Then the milling would begin: O ho ro ‘s na hó gù Na hi hiùraibh o eile O ho ro ‘s na hó gù Gura mis’ tha fo éislein … After the milling had gone on for two songs the woman of the house would come up and measure the length of her middle finger (le cromadh a dòrn) to determine whether the web had been milled enough, or whether another song was required. Usually it would take three songs, and the folded-over web was passed [sunwise] around on the milling surface. When this was completed, it was usual to sing three “striking songs” (òrain bualaidh) or “clapping songs” (òrain basaidh) as some prefer to call them, and these were happy, cheerful songs.51

There were further significant occasions for singing closely associated with activities or events fundamental to the life of the community or to important stages in an individual’s passage through life.52 Lullabies, according to those interviewed, used to be plentiful though perhaps as a result of the islandwide shift to English since the 1930s and ’40s they have been recorded only infrequently in the field over the last three decades. Songs used for this purpose were not restricted to the genre; often a singer would choose a favourite song delivered in a soothing manner, as was Lauchie’s habit, and some singers would extemporise verses.53 The importance of love songs in Lauchie’s repertoire is characteristic of all localities; chiefly but not exclusively devoted to females, they were a staple of the active song repertoire and were constantly composed, recalled, and performed everywhere. Laments were routinely produced for the locality, or sung within a family as a means of reinforcing its own history. A number of laments, such as “Òran Bean Dr Noble” (The Lament for Dr Noble’s Wife) and “Òran nan Granndach” (part 3, no. 37 below) became universal favourites for reasons of their aesthetic appeal, and were widely performed. From the time the first Nova Scotia-born generation began to compose, sometime around the mid-nineteenth century, local panegyrics, much along the lines of those composed by village bards in

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Scotland, were a major form of expression, as were political songs, ranging from comments on temperance issues to innumerable compositions entitled “Òran an Election” (The Election Song) and concerned with local and provincial contests. The religious output of Archibald (Gilleasbuig mac an Tàilleir) MacLellan, discussed below, is not generally representative of Catholic districts; more so is the tradition of the òrain mhatha or laoidhean (religious hymns), many of them having great appeal. They were sung to an air and collected and published by Alexander Carmichael in the Outer Isles and western mainland of Gaelic Scotland (Carmichael 1928–71, vols. 1–3). In Cape Breton their performance was restricted to the household, and even the oldest singers only recall hearing them infrequently. Nevertheless they existed among the previous generations in great numbers and one example has been recorded (with its air) from Broad Cove.54 Wakes were among the few social occasions in Catholic areas where singing was not permitted,55 though this taboo does not seem to have applied universally in Ireland (Ó Madagáin 1985, 187). Regarding further restrictions on the kinds of songs appropriate for gatherings, satirical songs (òrain mhagaidh) were viewed as inappropriate because of the consequences in a small rural community. On this subject, Archie Alec (mac Eairdsidh Sheumais) MacKenzie of Christmas Island, Cape Breton County, remarked concerning his brother Hugh, an accomplished bard, “dheanadh e aoir dhuit a bheireadh an craiceann dhiot” (he could compose you a satire that would flay the skin off you).56 The same taboos applied to bawdry, though in private, such items were often requested and sung. The primary consideration appears to be the kind of language used (e.g. air réir na cànain a bh’as na h-òrain).57 In one remembered instance a clergyman prevailed upon a parishioner to sing a local song containing risqué verses, though the singer was clearly reluctant to perform them in their entirety.58 In a culture where singing has been so pervasive we may well ask, in keeping with lines of inquiry for other societies (Merriam 1964, 218–27), what its “functions” are – what purposes it serves and what it does for people. When confronted with the general opening question as to why Gaels in Cape Breton sing songs at all, respondents seemed perplexed. However, the most revealing response, although it expressed the usual difficulty with the question, stated the position succinctly: “Gabhail òrain? Uill, chan eil fhios a’m. Bha iad a’ gabhail òrain bho’n a thòisich a’ saoghal.” (Singing songs? Well, I don’t know. People have been singing songs since the world began.)59 What prompted the response is the perception that singing occupies such a fundamental, pervasive role in the Gaelic world that to question the reasons for its existence would be like attempting to produce an explanation for why we breathe air or walk on the ground.

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A further observation, “bha i toirt togail-intinne dhaibh” (it raised people’s spirits),60 is a point often made in the various communities, and serves to highlight that song in the Gaelic world as well as elsewhere must be regarded as multifunctional, fulfilling a number of purposes at the same time (Ó Madagáin 1985, 214; Merriam 1964, 216). Singing could help relieve the tedium of solitary chores, liven up a wedding, lend some perspective on the wiles of a politician, or provide a reliable focus for conviviality among neighbours. An aspect of singing often advanced by Gaels themselves, and one of major importance in all Gàidhealtachds is that of simple entertainment. Gaels were accustomed to singing at any time of day while relaxing; for example, Gaelic-speaking workers at the Sydney steel mill in Cape Breton’s industrial area were known to strike up a song during their lunch break. In his study of singing in nineteenth-century Ireland, Breandán Ó Madagáin (1985, 171–5) draws attention to the shortterm and long-term effects of such apparently casual activity, mentioning the enhancement of a sense of communality in performers and audience, the articulation and reinforcement of shared cultural values, the evocation of personality-forming experiences, and the shaping and transmission of culture.61 Allusions within songs, especially when supported by an associated story, were an aid to understanding society, and the values, questions, and examples contained in folk tales are also to be found in song texts.62 For songs in an entertaining role, the themes need not be grand nor the text packed with humour to hold the audience’s attention. Many songs, such as those composed by Hugh MacDonald (Eóghann Thormaid) below, are filled with local flavour, alluding to personalities, events, and places. This technique was also highly developed in Scotland; the songs of the Skye poet Mary MacPherson use a series of placenames to emphasize the value of “homeland” and the issues associated with it. Allusions to local personalities, expressed in verse, were an effective method of maintaining the community’s command of its oral history and ensuring that some people, at least, would be remembered long after their time. A thread that runs through the recorded descriptions of singing occasions is the keen sense of aesthetic enjoyment which is apparent in the account of the spinning frolic above. This aspect of the experience is highly developed among older people in Cape Breton, as it was in Ireland in the nineteenth century (Ó Madagáin 1985, 178–82). The “solidarity function” in its various aspects (Merriam 1964, 221–3) is not so often expressed verbally, but is readily apparent through observing the infrequent gatherings where singing is still featured. In times past, the milling frolic was the social occasion for singing par excellence, which may provide at least a partial explanation for the inclusion of men of such events throughout the Maritime settlements. In traditional society by all accounts people did not perform together in large groups, the optimum being the dozen or so at a

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milling table; in modern concerts the number of performers is usually half that, or less. The enjoyment derived from a group of people involved in a traditional activity that is distinctive to the regional culture is now the prime drawing card for the milling frolics which are arranged throughout the island, primarily during the summer season. At the same time, such occasions, along with the Gaelic singing on the circuit of the summer parish concerts, offer a way of asserting the continuity of the communities involved, and reflect the cyclical, recurring nature of singing events such as milling frolics in the older traditional communities. All the evidence from song composition supports the observations made for Ireland that song plays an important part in the culture in articulating shared emotion, and that it provides a “release” for the singer as well as the composer. Indeed these functions may be cultural universals. The expression of intense emotion through singing, as a kind of catharsis, is well documented for Ireland, with an instance drawn as well from Eriskay in Scotland from around 1900 (Ó Madagáin 1985, 134–6, 144–8; Merriam 1964, 221–2; Finnegan 1992, 129). In Cape Breton the evidence of cathartic singing is scarce or non-existent, even among those of Outer Hebridean origin.63 Considerable emotion can accompany the routine singing and hearing of songs, however, as Patrick MacDonald observed in Scotland in the eighteenth century about his brother Joseph: “his passion for that of his native mountains never abandoned him. It presented itself to his imagination with all those associations, which often give to music its greatest power over the mind. While he played or sung those simple artless melodies, his eyes frequently streamed with tears” (P. MacDonald 1784, 1). In the late spring of 1978 during a recording session, John Dan (Iain mac Dhòmhnaill Bhàin) MacNeil of Ste Rose, a singer whom Lauchie regarded highly, sang “An Corra-Ghiullan Glas” (The Exceptional Grey Lad), a narrative song recounting the return of the favourite suitor in disguise on the wedding day of his betrothed, and his success, through the use of coded verses, in eloping with her. Lauchie was visibly moved by the performance, at the same time commenting on the quality of the poetry. The main conclusion to be drawn from an examination of the uses of singing in Cape Breton is that the concept of song is above all a social one, and is concerned with the communal life of the people who practise and maintain the tradition. Ó Madagáin’s observation for Gaelic Ireland that “songs are not an independent entity in themselves: they are a form of human behaviour. And their vital context is the social life and culture of the community” (1985, 132) is borne out in its various aspects in all of the songs given in this work. Some further aspects, though not so easily observable, are important enough to bear mentioning. After singing certain songs, particularly early

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in our recording work, Lauchie would immediately tell a short anecdote about his uncle Neil with considerable emotion in his voice. The same sequence took place during a recording session with the late Archie Alec MacKenzie of Christmas Island and Halifax, with reference to his older brother Joe, whom he termed duine air leth (a special person) and who died during Archie’s childhood, in World War I.64 In both instances the reference was not only about the provenance of the song, but about the personal relationship, which was – to the performers at least – an integral part of the song. A nearly identical account regarding a personality that is mentioned along with items in a folk repertoire was recorded from the traveller storyteller Duncan Williamson (L. Williamson 1981, 73–5; cf. Porter and Gower 1995, 301). An additional observation concerns the role of singers in Broad Cove as social facilitators. Flora MacLellan described her father Hugh MacLellan, a mentor of Lauchie’s, thus: “’S e duine a bh’ ann a reachadh aig’ air bruidhinn ri cnapaich bheaga mar seo, le feadhainn dhan aois ‘s le feadhainn bu shine na sin.” (He was the kind of man who was able to talk to young lads, to people of their age, and people older than that.)65 Dan Allan Gillis’s remarks on the respected singer Peggy Rory MacDonald reveal her abilities in more detail: Boireannach eireachdail a bh’ann am Peigi. Bha meas aig a h-uile duine a b’aithne dhi oirre. Chan fhaca tu duine riamh a reachadh am measg cuideachd a chuireadh ùpraid fodhpa mar a chuir Peigi. Bhiodh iad a-staigh a’ coimhead air a chéile ‘s thigeadh Peigi a-staigh ‘s choimheadadh i mun cuairt ‘s bhruidhneadh i ris a huile duine agus gheobhadh i a h-uile duine a’ toirt pàirt ann ‘s bith dé bha dol air adhart. Agus nan tigeadh i gu òrain bha Peigi aig ceann a’ bhùird … Cha chreid mi gu robh òran ’nam measg a bha daoine eòlach air aig an am nach deachaidh a ghabhail an oidhch’ ud. Agus bha Peigi Ruairidh air an ceann. Agus bhuaileadh i a basan. “Good boy, Broad Cove!” theireadh i. No “good boy, South West!” nuair a ghabhadh fear dhiubh òran. Agus bho dhuine gu duine bha e mu thrì uairean nuair a sguir na h-òrain. (Peggy was a fine woman and everyone who knew her was fond of her. You never saw anyone going into company who could get people going the way Peggy could. People would be inside looking at each other and she would come in, glance around, speak to everyone, and then get people involved in whatever was going on. And when it came to songs, Peggy would be at the head of the table … I doubt there was a song that those present knew at the time that was not sung that night. And Peggy Rory was leading them. Then she would clap her hands, saying “good boy, Broad Cove!” or “good boy, South West!” when someone from there sang. And going from one singer to the other it was about three in the morning before the songs ceased.66

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Considering the number of social activities involving singing, it seems remarkable that there were no tangible rewards for performers. To be sure, in appropriate circumstances a performer would be rewarded with a drink, but the performance was regarded by singer and audience as an end in itself: “’S e an t-òran a ghabhail ‘s an t-òran a chluinntinn.” (It was just to sing the song and hear it.)67 Less immediate returns along the lines of amassing a lasting reputation like that of Peggy Rory MacDonald or Neil Angus MacLellan were nonetheless important in a culture with traditions strongly aligned around an axis of praise and blame. In rare cases there were rewards related to singing that could benefit a performer materially. As Archie Alec MacKenzie recalls of Malcolm MacLeod of Framboise, Richmond County, a widely admired singer, “Rinn Calum MacLeòid airgead mór a’ dol mu chuairt na dùthchadh a’ reic innealan tuathanachas … ’S rinn e fortan a chionn cha robh àite a bhiodh e … air feadh na dùthchadh nach cruinnicheadh na coimhearsnaich uile a dh’éisdeachd ri Calum … ’S ann dha fhéin a nì an cat an crònan.” (Malcolm MacLeod made a great deal of money selling agricultural equipment … He made himself a fortune because every place he went … throughout the countryside the neighbours would all gather to listen to him. … It’s for itself that the cat purrs.)68 The frequent mention of the author of a song at a gathering was intended to indicate the source and associations; in contrast to some other cultures (Finnegan 1977, 203–5) the concept of ownership did not apply to songs any more than to fiddle tunes or stories. Similarly, for purposes of performance, no singer had a formal or enforceable claim on any particular song, though it was observed in various communities that for reasons of voice quality, for example, a singer might be recognized as being particularly capable at performing a certain song and would regularly be requested to do so.69 In a single case observed, a song with a highly personal significance composed within a family was restricted to the family circle (cf. Finnegan 1977, 203).

p e r f o r m e r a n d au d i e n c e In a tradition where no formal performance criteria have existed for nearly three centuries and access to the kinds of standards associated with modern public institutions is lacking, it is remarkable how strongly views on local aesthetics are articulated by Gaels. The majority of the observations have focused on changes in performance through time, as we shall see below, but the criteria and the underlying aesthetic sense appear to remain remarkably constant among the older people across communities.70 In Broad Cove perceptions regarding the best singers within living memory were likewise consistent, with Lauchie and Peggy Rory MacDonald being singled out.71 Lauchie’s own views in this regard were

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interesting; since he did not consider himself to be a particularly gifted singer, he named his friend and mentor, John Dan MacNeil of Ste Rose, as his own favourite. A number of criteria could apply, depending to some degree on personal preference. In their answers, respondents tended to emphasize the performance and the repertoire over the singer: Bha feadhainn a chòrdadh e riu’ faclan a bhith air òrain a bha domhain ‘s a bha tùrail ‘s a bha freagarrach. Agus bha feadhainn eile a b’fheàrr leo’ ma dh’fhaoidte gu robh iad a’ faighinn barrachd as a’cheòl – bha cluas-chiùil aca a bha sònraichte. Ach bha cuid mhór ann a bha fìor mhath gu seinn òrain ‘s bha suidheachadh math aca dhe na h-òrain. Bha iad a’ falbh réidh: bha am barrachd tuigs’ aca air a’ bhàrdachd. (There were those who liked the words to a song to be profound, thoughtful, and to the point, and others might prefer to get more from the melody – they had a keen ear for music. But there were many who were accomplished at singing songs and had them in good settings. They sang them smoothly and had a more extensive understanding of the poetry.)72

In order for a song to be considered good it had to be “easy to sing” (furasda a sheinn) and contain poetry showing careful construction where “everything was in its proper place.”73 The latter criterion, in addition to the formal features of metre and rhyme, included sequencing and logical development. There was considerable variation in the types of songs preferred by individuals, or perceived to please an audience, with humorous songs being mentioned as great favourites.74 The audience and the occasion, here as elsewhere (Finnegan 1977, 154), contributed to the choice of songs. In house gatherings, and often carried over into recent recording sessions, songs seemed to be prompted by the conversation in which all present took part, subject to the constraints on bawdry in mixed company, or on satire. Voice quality was appreciated by audiences, as evidenced by the term guth seinn (singing voice), but was considered secondary to the sorts of songs and their settings that made up a singer’s repertoire: “Ged nach biodh an duine cho fìor cheòlmhor idir, ma bha e cho math gus a’ rann a leantail agus ma bha na faclan aige mar bu chóir dhaibh agus freagarrach, sin a’ rud a bha dhìth ormsa.” (Though the singer might not be that musical, if he was good at following the verses and if he knew the words properly, that’s what I desired.)75 Another quality cited was a good memory, which made for accuracy in the verses. The same criteria applied to what people regarded as a good performance as to the song itself: the singing voice served primarily as an enhancement of the essential event.

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Central to the concept of a song well sung is an understanding of the song itself: “Mar a b’fheàrr a thuigeadh iad a h-uile sian, gu robh iad a’ faighinn am barrachd as an obair.” (The better they [the singers] understood everything [in the song], the more they derived from their performance effort.)76 The concept of “understanding” a song extends beyond performance into the realm of what constitutes a good song, and is also central to the process of learning a song. Dan Allan Gillis emphasizes “brigh an òrain” as one of the qualities necessary for an outstanding song: “Uaireannan ‘s e a’ bhàrdachd, ‘s uaireannan ‘s e a’ chaoin, agus a’ chuid bu mhotha dhen ùine ‘s e brìgh an òrain.” (Sometimes it’s the poetry and sometimes it’s the melody, but most of the time it’s the essence of the song.) He goes on to specify that brìgh an òrain refers to the subject of the song – “an rud a chaidh an t-òran a dheanamh mu dheidhinn” (the thing concerning which the song was composed) – that is, the central proposition of the song.77 The criteria of voice quality and memory are in any case closely connected to the performance event, and are identified as being important in unlettered cultures (Nettl 1977, 20–1; Merriam 1964, 115–17). The requirements of “understanding” a song, however, do not seem to appear widely throughout the world – or are not verbalised – and are closely associated with the concept of song shared by Gaels as incorporating an unusually strong narrative element: “Bha an t-òran ‘na naidheachd fhéin. Bha e ‘na naidheachd nuair a bha a h-uile sian air a chuir sios ann an òrdadh.” (The song itself was a story. It was a story when everything had been put together in order.)78 Presumably this would also allow for or even call for an introductory supporting narrative. The importance of narrativity was again brought out in more detail while illustrating the meaning of brìgh an òrain, a song’s subject matter: “Bha an t-òran ga innse. Gabh thus’ na h-òrain mar a tha iad ga sheinn an-diugh. Chan eil ach ceathramh a’ siod ‘s ceathramh a’ seo. Chaidh na h-òrain a dheanamh mu rudeiginn a thachair: bainis no baiteal no bàs no pòsadh no gaol. Rud sam bith a dheanadh iad an t-òran mu dheidhinn, dh’innseadh iad an naidheachd.” (The song recounted it. But take the songs the way they sing them today and it’s only a verse here and a verse there. Songs were composed about something that took place: a wedding or battle, death, marriage, or love. Anything that was the subject of the song they could tell [as] the story.)79 Technical terms associated with singing are few in the culture, one of the most common being caoin for the “air or melody or music” of a song.80 Caoin, related to words for crying, weeping, keening, is distinguished from fonn, which denotes the refrain of a song. In most unlettered song traditions words and melody are conceived by singers as a single unit, and the perception that the two “go together” is shared by at least some

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Gaelic singers.81 When questioned singers were well aware that new songs were composed to airs already belonging to other songs, but it is rare to hear the verses of a song recited apart from the melody, and songs composed to an entirely new air are a rarity because to a Gaelic song maker they would represent a modern, outside aesthetic (McKean 1997, 178). In the delivery of a song to the audience there is an awareness that words are essential to the understanding of the song; in laments, as was aptly pointed out on one occasion,82 genealogies (often as not involving members of the audience) can be prominently featured. Among Scottish Gaels, as in Ireland, the words of a song are never dominated or obscured by the air (Ó Madagáin 1985, 192) and for these reasons Gaelic singers on both sides of the Atlantic are inclined to articulate the words with great clarity.83 The expressed consciousness among Gaels of the song text should not lead us to discount the ability to perceive and appreciate a good melody, however, Their emphasis on the text may be based on the relative ease with which language can be discussed in contrast to other forms of communication (Ó Madagáin 1985, 180). In addition to the quality of the airs current in Cape Breton, the folk culture has maintained a widely admired variety of fiddle music, and the high degree of underlying musicality in the culture has been recognized and articulated by the folk themselves: “Chan eil sluagh air an t-saoghal cho portmhor ris a’ Ghàidheal.” (No people on earth are as musical as the Gaels.)84 The performances in the céilidh houses, though not entirely unexpected by those participating, involved an impromptu audience and followed no set program with regard to material. Most often members of the audience were known to the performers, and to each other, encouraging an informal atmosphere. Audiences were almost uniformly homogeneous in their social and economic status, for rural communities were subject to a minimum of social stratification. Since performers were drawn from the audience, there was no significant separation between them and those listening; the food and conversation shared according to the code of hospitality during the course of the visit signalled the communal nature of the occasion. A performer would wait to be asked to sing, often but not necessarily by the host. A greater degree of formality applied to the schoolhouse concerts where Lauchie performed in the 1920s and ’30s, and which gradually replaced the house gatherings. For all singing occasions, however, there were rules of etiquette for the audience. Once a performance began, the audience was expected to remain silent until it was over.85 The one exception to the rule was a song having a chorus, where all present, including those who did not ordinarily sing, joined in.86 Audience participation in the chorus was an effective way of reinforcing the community context for singing and the shared ownership of the songs. Refrains consisting of words instead of (or in addition to) vocables

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frequently reflected the subject matter of the song, and repetition by the audience served to emphasize that the values and experiences expressed in the verses were shared ones. In contrast to céilidh descriptions of storytelling from nineteenthcentury Scotland, listeners did not openly display emotion during a performance beyond the occasional quiet laugh at a humorous song (cf. Carmichael 1928–71, 1:xxiii). Praise, along with other comments, was reserved for after the performance. It could be an important part of the occasion, adding considerably to a singer’s reputation and providing some with a powerful, if usually covert, incentive to perform: “Bha feadhainn ann, bha nàdar aca gum b’fhìor thoil leo a bhith gam moladh, ‘s gu rachadh ac’ air innse do dhaoin’ eile gun deachaidh am moladh.” (There were those who had it in their nature that they very much enjoyed receiving praise and being able to tell others that they had been praised.) Praise, however, was not always the whole story, with critical comments made well away from the gathering: “Ma bha iad ga mholadh dheanadh iad e ’na làthair ach ma bha iad ga chàineadh dheanadh iad e air cùl a chinn.” (If people praised [a singer] they’d do it to his face, but if they criticized him it was behind his back.)87 Corrections to a rendition where accuracy in the text was at issue were occasionally heard at Broad Cove gatherings after a song: “Bhiodh cuideiginn ann an oisinn ‘s bheireadh e, ‘Tha ceathramh eile air an òran sin ‘s cha deach an ceathramh a ghabhail.’ ‘Tha dà cheathramh ga dhìth.› (There would be someone in the corner who would say, “There’s another verse to that song which was not sung,” or “There are two verses missing.”)88 In the case of younger singers they might be taken aside after the event and the error pointed out apart from the company. In Ireland and Scotland, competition, especially between localities, had long been a feature of singing gatherings. Famous examples such as the bardic flyting at a waulking event between the Uist bard Nic a’ Mhanaich and her Barra counterpart Nic Iain Fhinn (J.L. Campbell 1969–81, 2:112– 121; Tocher 2 [1973–74]: 134–8) were maintained in folk memory on both sides of the Atlantic. By contrast, responses in Cape Breton indicated clearly that serious competition between individuals or communities was not an important part of the tradition and there are no memories recorded of overt competition between singers performing in the same room, or between localities. The absence of a sense of rivalry concerning singing between groups is all the more noteworthy in a frequently unruly society where differences between kin groups, small communities, or regions of the island are still likely to erupt at local dances and similar events. Peggy Rory’s exclamation “good boy, South West!” in the gathering was made with the intention of signalling support of singers from nearby communities, and other sources confirm that praise was routinely extended to sing-

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ing from neighbouring areas.89 In the 1970s Lauchie accompanied the writer on a recording visit to John (Seogan) Shaw of Indian Brook, Victoria County, an outstanding source for songs from the Lewis-Harrisderived settlements in the Presbyterian North Shore (Victoria County). A warm rapport was quickly established between the two singers, who often asked after each other.90 The foregoing observations and responses indicate that the preponderantly social character of singing and its perceived role as an integrating force at all levels of traditional society provides the most coherent and far-reaching explanation for singers’ activities in the contemporary Cape Breton céilidh setting: “Co-dhiubh bhiodh tu na b’fheàrr na duine eile, chan e sin idir e. Nan gabhadh e na h-òrain ‘s nam biodh òran math aige ‘s nam biodh e toileach òran a ghabhail, ‘s e duine math a bh’ann a bhith mun cuairt.” (Whether you were better than somebody else was not the point. If someone could sing the songs and knew a good one and was happy to sing, that was the kind of person who was good to have around.)91 In some areas during the 1930s, owing to influences from the outside, a system of competitions was superimposed on the older practices. Milling contests with teams representing districts from Washabuck, Ottawa Brook, Barra Glen, and Jubilee in Victoria County were held in 1932, and songs were made commemorating the awarding and the loss of the prize cup.92 A few years later the Gaelic College of Folk Arts and Home Crafts, founded in 1939 at St Ann’s (Victoria County), introduced individual Gaelic singing competitions – modelled after the National Mod in Scotland – that attracted traditional singers from the North Shore. Song gatherings in the houses within living memory were held in the kitchen or, if numbers required, in the main sitting room. Singers preferred to sit “among the audience,” the men being fully engaged in conversing, performing, or listening, with some of the women on the periphery preparing food or serving tea. If it was a matter of a few close friends exchanging songs in the kitchen it was not unknown for the host to recline on the lounge and sing in that position,93 where the singer’s gaze is not directed at the audience, and the eyes are often closed.94 A noticeable characteristic of Cape Bretoners even today is to keep time with one or both feet while singing, and listeners are inclined to join in the activity, as they do when listening to instrumental music. The foot tapping, which can be quite audible, accompanies the whole range of tempos, from free-rhythm laments to livelier and faster puirt-a-beul (mouth music) renditions of fiddle tunes. For the more spirited, uptempo songs, Lauchie often kept time with both feet in the alternating heel-toe rhythm used by fiddlers to mark reel time. Foot tapping has been observed in Gaelic settlements throughout the island and is often begun by a singer as a short

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prelude to the song itself. In certain circumstances those present will strike the kitchen table in a back-and-forth motion that recalls milling. No rhythm instruments are used, but older people with walking sticks would sometimes use them to keep time.95 A further islandwide habit is that of holding hands during a song, and it has continued among performers into the more structured and formalized setting of the summer parish concerts where audiences can number in the thousands. Until recently the custom was widely practised at house gatherings, with those seated often forming a continuous chain around the room. Songs associated with the custom are those with a perceptible rhythm (e.g. milling songs) where the hands are moved up and down in time while sitting, or swung backwards and forwards while standing. In the Big Pond area the custom was associated with the distribution of a dram “airson sgàth na cuideachd” (for the sake of the company), linking it in the minds of the folk with solidarity. Although not widely practised in Scotland now, holding hands is well attested to in the west and appears to have been common throughout Gaeldom.96 Early in the nineteenth century L.A. Necker de Saussure (1822, 42–3) recorded during a visit to Iona that “the men and women seated themselves in a circle and joined hands, or held, in couples, the end of a handkerchief, with which they kept time during the chorus.”97 Lucy Broadwood nearly a century later describes choral singing in Morar: “Usually the chorus begins the song. People forming the chorus will sit, or stand, round the room, in a circle, holding the corners of handkerchiefs, which they use to connect themselves in a chain. They flap the handkerchiefs up and down as they sing, to mark the time … [Mrs Angus MacLellan of North Morar] sang beating time with her foot, and varied the ornaments, etc., with nearly every verse” (1927–31, 282). With such a great variety of vocal styles, characterizing the singing of Cape Breton Gaels is not easy.98 Lauchie’s singing, and that of Inverness County in general, has a marked nasal quality not found in the Presbyterian areas of the North Shore, nor in Framboise, Richmond County. Except for the older songs performed in free tempo, the rhythm is emphatic, and a good “swing” is favourably regarded. The songs, including those for milling or waulking, are sung to a faster tempo than their counterparts in Scotland; the difference in tempo is particularly striking in the case of love songs (e.g. part 3, no. 2 below). Both the characteristics of strong rhythm and increased tempo are also to be found in the regional fiddle music, which can contrast in this respect as well with modern Scottish traditions. Within a single singing community the range of what was aesthetically acceptable allowed for considerable individuality in singing. Lauchie’s renditions of songs, for example, tend to exhibit a faster tempo than those

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recorded from some other singers in Broad Cove, and recordings demonstrate that his voice quality is quite distinct from that of his close friend John Dan MacNeil. Variations in style between regions were noted and often discussed by singers, with that of the North Shore being identified as the most distinctive.99 In general, such differences were viewed with approval (though such was not always the case regarding divergences in song texts), and a singer who had gained recognition in the home community was likely to win respect in others.100 Differences between local styles and those current in Scotland, mostly with regard to tempo and repertoire, are not always remarked on favourably, for exposure to singing from Scotland has been largely confined to mass media performance and a yearly mod event, often obscuring the true counterparts of Cape Breton tradition that exist in the more conservative localities in the Outer Isles.

song repertoires The corpus of songs recorded from Lauchie between 1963 and 1989 consists of some 150 items and comes close to covering his entire repertoire.101 Given the disappearing context for Gaelic singing, which was a major factor during the latter part of his life, it was not practical, or meaningful, to classify the songs into active and passive repertoires. Nonetheless, the lack of an audience should not lead us to assume that Lauchie did not accord some songs, or types of songs, greater importance than others. In order to understand the factors governing the song materials available to choose from, and those which determined the selection of a repertoire,102 a more detailed understanding of the songs available during his youth along with their social context is useful. The community repertoire103 recorded in Broad Cove contains virtually the whole range of important categories of song familiar to field collectors in Scotland: love songs; hunting, homeland, and topographical songs; panegyric; satire; religious; drinking; Jacobite; humorous; pibroch; puirt-a-beul (mouth music); and occupational songs (Ross 1957, 96–7; M. Shaw 1955, viii–xi).104 The collection of bards’ compositions from nearby Margaree (with some songs from Broad Cove) Smeòrach nan Cnoc ‘s nan Gleann (MacDhùghaill 1939) provides a useful view of locally composed songs current during the first decades of this century and suggests that themes such as homeland, love, praise, and humour were highly popular with audiences.105 The preponderance of love songs in this selection from Lauchie’s repertoire is an accurate reflection of his community and many others in Cape Breton, with parallels in Ireland, where they are “the largest category in the entertainment repertoire” and contain a strong symbolic element (Ó Madagáin 1985, 189). On the other hand, the number of

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songs associated with the sea in the present collection is not so characteristic of the community repertoire and may continue a family tradition inherited from Morar. Lauchie’s repertoire is also unusual in that it does not contain the high proportion of songs obviously related to reinforcing and maintaining the status quo. This function, which has been a major one for Gaelic song since medieval times, is expressed through some of the most frequently recurring themes popular with composers in the district: homeland, topography, praise of an individual, laments, religion, political songs from the ’45, and war songs. The theme of homeland, so widespread in Scotland during the nineteenth century, rapidly established itself among the first native generation of Cape Breton bards in the form of a generous output of local praise poetry (J. Shaw 1994, 347–50), for the sense of belonging to a specific place is a fundamental one for the culture here and elsewhere: “Duine sam bith nach cum cuimhne air a dhachaigh far an d’rugadh e, tha rudeiginn ceàrr air – air an inntinn aige … Cha ruig thu leas do shùilean a dhùnadh. Tha e ‘nad inntinne fad na h-ùineadh – am baile beag no ‘n t-sràid no ‘n gleann no ‘n cnoc air ‘n d’rugadh tu.” (Anyone who does not retain a memory of where he was born has something wrong with him – with his mind … You don’t even need to close your eyes. It’s in your mind all the time – the little settlement or the street, the glen or the hill where you were born.)106 A larger sense of social validation was expressed through panegyrics on this theme, and field recordings and printed sources vouch for their popularity (Dunn 1953, 64–8; MacDhùghaill 1939; Mac-Talla 2, 47:8 [6/9/94]). Although a number of these were known to Lauchie, they did not figure as prominently in his repertoire, or among the songs he enjoyed discussing, as they did with many other singers. The panegyrics composed by Archibald MacLellan, Lauchie’s greatgrandfather, received more of Lauchie’s attention, both for their family associations and for their content, for they exemplify songs that for various cultures provide a mythical or sociological charter for a society (Finnegan 1977, 242–3). Archibald MacLellan’s song to Father Donald Chisholm (part 3, no. 36 below) provides an example by listing the virtues the clergyman upheld and providing a summary of the priest’s family’s origins. War songs such as Duncan Ban MacIntyre’s “Òran do Réisimeid Bhraghaid Albann” (Song to the Breadalbane Regiment)107 and songs from the ’45, as expressions and verbal authorities for Gaelic history, along with associated seanchas (oral history narrative) also come under this heading, commanding considerable respect from Lauchie. Songs of the Napoleonic wars along the lines of “Òran an t-Saighdeir” (The Soldier’s Song, part 3, no. 44 below), encountered often while collecting in the field, chronicled the Gaels’ participation and adventures in a critical period of European history producing memorates that were doubtless

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prominent in the céilidh house sessions shortly before the time of emigration. Taken as a group, the songs were important in emphasizing the continuity of beliefs and validating them together with the shared history.108 Given Lauchie’s preference for older songs (those orally handed down from the eighteenth century or available in printed collections), along with the waulking / milling songs, we may well ask whether these too did not serve a purpose in the traditional society around him. Studies of the roles of song texts from a wider perspective suggest at least a partial answer, which amounts to validation on another more profound level than that discussed above. In examining various cultures anthropologists have learned that “there are interrelationships among the elements of culture” which involve “basic themes, configurations, sanctions, or patterns which tend to run through an entire culture bringing holistic unity to it” (Merriam 1964, 247). In the case of rural Cape Breton the concept of the integration of culture is a fruitful one, since songs served – in the absence of written records – as an essential internal record of the history of a community, or an entire society, and the bard fulfilled the role of “the community mouthpiece” (Ó Madagáin 1985, 176). From this perspective the content of the milling songs, so valued by Lauchie’s generation and those before them, that “take us back into the Highlands and Islands of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries” (J.L. Campbell 1969–81, 1:17) still expressed much in terms of a cultural ethos that was real in people’s everyday lives: loyalty to the extended kin group, the pastoral economy, nature closely observed, deer hunting, and the martial tradition.109 It is factors of immediate cultural expression and relevance, rather than a folk variety of antiquarianism, that account for the survival through continued use of these genres into our own time.110 In Broad Cove and other similar settlements, many of the songs composed and passed on were associated with critical transitions in the life of individuals or their communities and the same, though to a lesser extent, held true for the singing occasions.111 Songs were sung at and about weddings and during at least one funeral for a Gaelic singer in modern times.112 The singer John Williams recalls spending the night in the hospital in the town of Inverness on a visit to his father Angus, a local song maker, who was critically ill. John awoke sometime during the night to hear his father singing: An nochd is trom tha mo cheum Tha snigh’ ùr air m’ghruaidhidh An nochd is trom tha mo cheum. (My step is heavy tonight Fresh tears on my cheeks My step is heavy tonight.)

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His father died before morning.113 The more elaborate locally composed songs printed in Mac-Talla and The Casket contain their share of laments, and many more of these lengthier songs were never committed to writing. The song output of Archibald MacLellan from oral and printed sources can be viewed as revolving around various aspects of the same theme, as can the corpus of songs of exile made by ever increasing numbers leaving the island of Cape Breton from the late nineteenth century in search of better prospects (Dunn 1953, 123–35). Here as elsewhere song functioned as a means of articulating feelings the expression of which was not permitted through a direct verbal challenge (Finnegan 1977, 224–31; Merriam 1964, 191–2). In Lauchie’s world such songs can be placed on an ascending scale of directness and force, beginning with the affectionate and entertaining portrayals of Hugh MacDonald (part 3, nos. 38, 39) and extending to undisguised verbal attacks. Topical songs for Gaels provided the mildest and most frequent vehicle for social and personal commentary, using the apparently innocuous settings of daily life peopled by characters known to all; in this respect they serve as an important source of otherwise unavailable information (Merriam 1964, 193). In their social commentaries the songs frequently call attention to the less flattering characteristics present in a community – excessive pride, vanity, pretension, malice – by devices such as putting words in the mouths of local characters. Donald MacDonald’s “Òran Anna Ruadh” (Red Anna’s Song, no. 40) comes under this heading, as an example of how a village bard in a local setting can use innuendo and indirect imagery contrasted with direct bawdry to address such delicate issues as female vanity, aging, and sexual mores.114 The Broad Cove flyting recounted by Lauchie, (see part 2, below), presumably composed extempore, is the most detailed description of the genre in Nova Scotia to come down to us, though there are verses recalled elsewhere that also reflect friendly bardic contests. In Scotland as well, the verses surviving from these informal encounters are recited, not sung (Ross 1957, 120). We should note that both participants were first generation recent arrivals; such ritual or mock contests between bards ceased around the turn of the century.115 The most evident reasons behind the lack of serious competition on the bardic level are associated with the various kinds of damage believed to result from satire. To this day singers are keenly aware of the social consequences of satire, and the fear is manifested in the restrictions regarding appropriate occasions for satirical songs noted above. Combined with this is the belief in the physical harm that can result, extending back at least as far as medieval times and contained in anecdotes recorded recently in the field (J. Shaw 1998, 319–21). Donald MacDonald, who belonged to the second generation, was active as well in at least one later bardic exchange, albeit a mild one, centring

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around a humorous comparison between life on the wealthier shore of Broad Cove (an Cladach), and in the more recently settled uplands (an Cùl). The topic, which in those days must have still incorporated some social connotations, is handled in deft language with underlying humour and eventually called forth a spirited reply from a bard on the shore (MacDhùghaill 1939, 110–15). More recent satires following the old format but taking care to record the subject’s permission were composed by the Christmas Island bard Hugh Francis MacKenzie but have not appeared in print. Direct invective in song intended for an individual and not couched in humour is – not surprisingly – regarded as a serious matter in a society whose concerns are based to a large extent on praise and dispraise (J. Shaw 1997, 15; MacInnes 1976–78, ff.). For this reason singers are understandably wary of being associated closely with the genre, and complete texts from the field are rare (Dunn 1953, 69–70; Ross 1957, 119). Although serious satires were undoubtedly sung in Broad Cove as elsewhere, none have been recorded there, but examples from similar districts provide a clear illustration of what the songs were like in Cape Breton. A satire of a less extreme variety which did not name its target was composed toward the turn of the century for William MacIsaac of Big Pond, Cape Breton County and was made widely accessible.116 The song is preceded by a short account of how the culprit, a neighbour, made off with some pine boards that MacIsaac had just finished sawing by hand, and the bard’s remark that the boards could not have travelled a great distance was presumably intended for the community at large as a means of bringing about some sort of social corrective, however long after the fact.117 A more famous – and more personal – satire retained in folk memory for close to a century was made by a gifted bard, Alexander (Alasdair mac Eóghainn Bhàin) MacLean of Judique Intervale, Inverness County, against the Irish-born merchant-politician Peter Smyth of Port Hood, who was reputed in some quarters to have enriched himself by enticing families into debt and taking their land in payment.118 MacLean’s is by far the more damning and powerful, but both compositions invoke the precepts of religion, which served as the overt moral code in their society, and predict adverse consequences (the failure of crops, misfortune, and humiliation for the culprit’s progeny) should these guidelines be disregarded.119 As a rule the scope of topical songs dealing with events was limited to the immediate locality, and in keeping with the practice throughout the Atlantic provinces, they were not designed for a wider social effect (Ives 1964, 180). This limitation contrasts markedly with the uses of the genre in some other parts of North America, with songs composed in Scotland during the eighteenth and later nineteenth centuries on occasion addressing the major issues facing Gaeldom (J.L. Campbell 1984; Thomson 1989, ch. 5, 6), and with a large number of other cultures where songs play a

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role in advancing the political and cultural concerns of a society; for example, the topical songs and their symbolic function in early-nineteenthcentury Ireland (Ó Madagáin 1985, 185–6; Finnegan 1977, 220–1; 207–8). Considering that the Gaelic language, in addition to being their vehicle for expression, was what defined their constituency, the reticence of village bards with regard to commenting on language politics is noteworthy and reveals much concerning their perception of their own cultural position relative to English. In the most widely known song to deal with the demise of Gaelic, “An Té a Chaill a’ Ghàidhlig” (The Girl Who Lost Her Gaelic), composed ca 1880 on the North Shore (Victoria Co.), the blame is placed squarely on the social pretensions of youth, and the institutional pressures bearing on the community language are ignored (Creighton and MacLeod 1964, 26–30). The quality of language used in the community song repertoire contains various registers, according to the type of song. An everyday idiomatic register characterizes the language used by Hugh MacDonald in his entertaining topical songs. This language differs little in its vocabulary and expression from what we would expect to hear in a colourful prose description of the same events given by one neighbour to another. A more elevated form of language appears in the older songs and the laments and eulogies, whose content signals something of greater significance on a longer term. Such “particular forms of language” for singing are paralleled worldwide (Finnegan 1977, 109–18; Merriam 1964, 189–90) and in addition to employing a specialized vocabulary and archaisms, they frequently make use of devices such as metaphor, simile, and figurative language. Along with the language of religion and that of storytelling, song is one of the few domains in which a higher register of Gaelic has survived. On numerous occasions during recording sessions, Lauchie and other singers took considerable pleasure in explaining the meaning of the more difficult passages in their songs; puzzling out the meaning could be both a challenge and a form of entertainment.120Among ordinary people the language other than that used every day is termed Gàidhlig dhomhain (deep Gaelic), and those raised in the song culture are conscious of the difference. Lauchie himself did not alter his diction while singing, but a few Gaelic singers in Inverness County habitually do so (cf. J.L. Campbell 1956–57, 90; Nettl 1977, 41). The rapid disappearance of the “singing register” in the Gaelic language has made a large proportion of the more substantial songs virtually incomprehensible to younger aspiring singers, thus affecting the later repertoire of songs transmitted in communities and performed publicly. Formulas also figure in the language of the community song repertoire, although their frequency and importance in the language used does not compare with some other European traditions studied.121 Most are to be found in songs originating before the nine-

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teenth century (e.g. nighean donn, “brown-haired girl”)122 though at least one (t’aghaidh thana nàrach, “your face, spare and modest”) has “travelled” and appears in an older song (no. 1, line 8) as well as in a composition by Donald MacDonald (no. 40, line 33). Some, like rosg mall (lingering glance; see no. 10, note to line 1) have been established in poetry since medieval times; they no longer carry a precise meaning for composers or performers and can be termed “song words” (cf. Merriam 1964, 189). Formulas in song evoke an impression of depth, learning, and antiquity with parallels in the elaborate and often obscure language that adorned certain tales (cf. Bruford 1969, 37). The influence of written sources on community repertoires was strong both in its role of supporting oral transmission and of making new songs available. In the Margaree-Broad Cove area, considering the failure of formal education to provide access to any language but English, the ability to read Gaelic was not unusual among singers (MacDhùghaill 1939, ix) and publication was perceived to lend legitimacy to any output of Gaelic material (cf. McKean 1997, 161). Lauchie’s pride in his own family background of Gaelic literacy is evident from his account of his great-grandfather Archibald MacLellan writing down “Òran an t-Saighdeir (The Soldier’s Song) where he adds, “Faodaidh tu bhith diabhalta cinnteach gun do sgrìobh e ceart e agus gu robh e aige mar a chuala e e” (and you may be damn sure that he wrote it down correctly and had it the way he heard it.)123 Songbooks in Gaelic were highly valued possessions, and sources such as Sàr-Obair nam Bàrd Gàelach (J. MacKenzie 1841; published in an enlarged edition in Halifax, N.S., in 1863) and Smeòrach nan Cnoc ‘s nan Gleann (MacDhùghaill 1939) were regarded as important in communities as containing authoritative versions of songs.124 The extensive Gaelic publishing activity in Nova Scotia since the early 1800s (Dunn 1953, 74– 90) further reinforced oral transmission through scrapbooks of song clippings from sources such as the Gaelic newspaper Mac-Talla that were compiled and used in homes, functioning much like the broadside ballads had in England from the sixteenth century (Finnegan 1977, 162). Songs available through local publications included a large number of topical songs – laments, commemorations, etc. – composed in Cape Breton communities, among them the songs of Archibald MacLellan of Broad Cove. Communities also produced their share of stories concerning old song manuscripts stored in attics or trunks – often recently carted off to the dump and incinerated – which in some cases proved to be true.125

learning and transmission Every member of Lauchie’s society was considered eligible to sing and most, though not all, did. It is evident from the above that the daily

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routines in Gaelic-speaking rural communities of the early twentieth century provided a nearly ideal environment for a child to become exposed to and drawn into the singing tradition. Here the lifelong learning process known to ethnomusicologists as enculturation or cultural learning (Merriam 1964, 145–6) began as a part of the wider process of the child’s socialization. Generally, those destined to be active singers began at an early age, “cho luath ‘s a thuigeadh iad facail is ceòl” (as soon as they could understand words and music), and often with active support from women: “Feadhainn aig am biodh guth òrain, nuair a bhiodh iad ceithir na còig a bhliadhnaichean a dh’aois ‘s cinnteach gu leòr gu rachadh rannan do dh’òrain ionnsachadh dhaibh. Bha iad a’ cluinntinn nan òran cho tric co-dhiubh … Bha na boireannaich ‘san am sin, bha na h-òrain ac’ cho cumanta. Cha mhór bhoireannaich a bha ‘san àit’ sin nach robh òrain aca.” (Certainly when they were four of five years old, those with good singing voices were taught verses from songs. They used to hear the songs so often anyway … In those days it was so common for the women to know the songs; there were few women in the district who did not know songs.)126 The learning of songs was characterized throughout singers’ lives by informality. Children were encouraged to participate in milling frolics: “Uaireannan shuidheadh iad mun bhòrd. Neo’r-ar-thaing nach biodh iad a’ coimhead, cumail sùil air dé bha dol air adhart.” (Sometimes they [the young children] would sit at the table and you can be sure they would be looking on, keeping an eye on what was happening.)127. Through observing and participating in an atmosphere of informal socialization, children were able to assimilate the basic information concerning singing with no apparent effort. In the absence of formal structures, procedures, and tangible rewards, the effectiveness of transmission provides an eloquent testimony for the strength of the tradition and the tacit value placed on it by the society. From Lauchie’s autobiographical account (part 2) and our own contact with singers there is no evidence for positing a course of cognitive development as clearly defined or detailed as the five stages of learning outlined in the case of the Scottish traveller-singer Jeannie Robertson, or the progressive levels that traveller children pass through in acquiring their traditional stories according to the traveller-storyteller Duncan Williamson (Porter and Gower 1995, 270–1; Williamson 1981, 75). Singing among Cape Breton children evolved through what can be described as a process of education consisting of informal, directed learning during childhood and adolescence, rather than by means of schooling at a specific location or following a set schedule.128 In this respect the acquisition of singing and songs was clearly distinguishable from the formal English-language learning of the schoolhouse, but provided a parallel to the learning of other traditional skills in the neighbourhood. As we have seen, Lauchie

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acquired carpentry in much the same way, with occasional supervision from his father, although in this instance it led to the more tangible benefits of a relatively steady livelihood. Lauchie’s initial exposure to song was through groups of people, often the extended family, visiting from nearby places such as Ste Rose, and singing a large variety of songs, including their own compositions. The group activity also involved several generations, since his father’s parents, Neil and Jessie MacLellan, were both active tradition bearers and living in the house at the time. A second stage can be defined with the appearance of mentors, usually relatives and neighbours, who took an interest in encouraging a singer’s growth.129 Support from mentors, however, did not preclude the emphasis on group learning, which continued past childhood and adolescence and throughout a singer’s development. Flora MacLellan recalled how Lauchie and his family used to pass by their house regularly during the winter on the way to mass (snowdrifts often made the main road impassable) and return to call on her father, Hugh MacLellan, for a visit involving a game of cards followed by songs. It was also customary for Lauchie to visit on his way back from Inverness, usually on a weekend, to share treats and exchange songs.130 These casual but regular visits, often in the company of younger friends, involved considerable social interaction and provided ample opportunities to practise songs and technique, and to build a repertoire. In contrast to the usual pattern of group learning, Lauchie’s later learning with his blind uncle, Neil, beginning in his late childhood or early adolescence, was of a more directed nature than has been observed for singing in other families. The instruction from Neil, however, focused on the texts of songs, and Lauchie has made no allusions to the conscious transmission of singing technique and style, which singers apparently acquired by observing, imitating, and developing on their own. Accuracy in transmission of texts, however, was a matter taken seriously by Lauchie and others and widely subject to comment and discussion. In Gaelic culture, songs – unlike most parts of the traditional tales where a reciter exercised considerable liberty with regard to language – were expected to be passed on verbatim. An approximate idea of the degree to which expectations were actually realized in Lauchie’s family can be drawn from comparing his version of the song composed in 1896 by his great-grandfather, “Òran do Mhaighstir Dòmhnall Siosal” (no. 36, sung without reference to a written text), against the version printed in The Casket in 1921. The following song, no. 37, made by the piper John MacGillivray some three generations earlier, poses a different set of questions. The wide disparity in verse order between the variants, and the appearance of a fragment in Eriskay may indicate an uncommonly rapid spread of the song and the absence of a stabilizing written text.

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Turning to the process of transmission in communities, accuracy was an ideal strictly adhered to, and failure to observe it in reproducing a text would be commented on. When listening to Lauchie mastering a song Neil would often exclaim, “Glé mhath, a Lachainn, glé mhath. Ach dh’fhàg thu seo as.” (Very good, Lauchie, very good. But you left this out.) The same care taken with the words applied equally to the order of verses: “Feumaidh tu an gnothach a chur as deaghaidh a chéile.” (Everything must be arranged in its proper sequence.)131 An anecdote from Peter (Peadar Jack Pheadair) MacLean of Christmas Island, Cape Breton County illustrates the importance placed on accuracy in the transmission of a song early this century, this time by women: Bean Iain Ruairidh ’ic ’IllFheòlain: bha i mhuinntir Bharraigh. Beagan do dh’ùine an déidh dha m’ athair ’s dha m’ mhàthair pòsadh thànaig i [‘s] dh’fhuirich i seachdainn na colla-deug còmhla riu’ ann. ‘S dh’ionnsaich i na h-òrain seo dha m’ mhàthair – na h-òrain a rinn i fhéin. Agus lath’ a bha i fàgail sheas i aig an doras ‘s i fàgail ‘s thionndaidh i ri m’ mhàthair ‘s thuirt i ri m’ mhàthair, ors’ ise, “Na h-òrain’, ors’ ise, ‘a rinn mise ‘s a dh’ionnsaich mi dhuibh, nuair ghabhas sibh na h-òrain sin, feuch,’ ors’ ise, ‘nach bi ag annta.” Bha toil aice na h-òrain a ghabhail mar a chaidh an deanamh – mar a chaidh an cur ‘na chéile – nach biodh sgàth ceàrr orra. Nach biodh difir as na faclan na difir as a’ chànan mar a ghabhadh i an t-òran. (John Rory MacLellan’s wife: she was of Barra background. Shortly after my parents married, she came down and stayed with them a week or two and taught these songs – the ones she composed herself – to my mother. And on the day she was leaving she stood at the door, turning to my mother, and said to her, “Now the songs I made and taught you, when you sing them see that there’s no hesitation in them.” She wanted the songs sung as she composed them – as they were put together – with no errors. So that there was no difference in the words – in the language – from how she herself sang the song.)132

Individuals from within the culture were able to comment further on questions of accuracy, remarking that many of the most frequent errors in adding or omitting words were related to a lack of verbal listening skills and an inadequate knowledge of the supporting lore and materials (seanchas) that serve as verbal and conceptual points of reference for songs.133 Further to careful rendering of the words, mastery of the essence of the song (brìgh an òrain), considered so important to performance, was encouraged as a part of learning. Neil’s succinct advice to Lauchie in this connection was “tuig an t-òran” (understand the song).134 Learning and transmission grounded on the supporting narrative are not unique to Gaeldom; in the Anglo-American ballad tradition a singer’s perception of

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the emotional core of a poem is what is retained (Finnegan 1977, 144). The evidence suggests that transmission consisted of a series of interlocking factors (Finnegan 1992, 113–14) beginning with an essential narrative grasp of a song, followed by memorization of the words, reinforced by the air, metre, and parallel materials existing in the rest of the oral tradition. Exact reproduction of the verbal text – the declared cultural ideal in this and a number of other cultures135 – may not be the end result, as demonstrated by omissions and variants that can appear within a few generations. Yet a number of Lauchie’s songs, particularly the waulking / milling songs, have retained their texts over close to two centuries with only minor changes and must be understood as the product of a conservative process.136 Typologically the concept of transmission is more on the side of memorization and exact reproduction than on that of re-creation, recomposition in performance, and oral-formulaic devices – techniques encountered in other singing traditions (Finnegan 1977, 142, 152). Lauchie’s repertoire parallels those of other singers in his generation by drawing on two sources: songs from his own family tradition and those “making the rounds.” Songs in the second category represent what was once a robust custom of song sharing, and it is by no means unusual to find local compositions such as “Bàta Iagain Cheanadaich (Iagan Kennedy’s Boat)” (part 3, no. 42) widely distributed over the island. Doubtless due to the influence of Neil and the close personal bond that developed between him and Lauchie, the family element assumes a more prominent role in Lauchie’s stock of songs than would generally be the case for this Gàidhealtachd. Personal preference was the primary factor in the choice of songs for young singers building a repertoire, and no instances have been observed in traditional society where authority or pressure were exercised on a singer to learn a particular song. Even during Lauchie’s youth the wider context for Gaelic singing, such as it was, had begun to contract rapidly, and this fact precluded any major influence on his choice of songs from a changing or growing audience. In a culture with so few formal practices attached to singing, together with a large community repertoire and a high value placed on accuracy in transmission, it is natural to ask what the learning channels and motivations might have been, especially since they were indirect, and based in social traditions that usually encouraged the learning of songs through group activity (cf. Merriam 1964, 150–1). The fact that singing events, including those associated with manual work, were routinely set within a framework of entertainment and social cohesion created an ideal environment for absorbing a tradition with a minimum of effort. Combined with this is a code of etiquette that features praise and avoids open censure during performances; indeed the behaviour of singers such as Peggy Rory MacDonald makes it clear that songs were conceived of as a means

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of encouraging people to socialize. For the young there was no system of punishment attached to this style of learning, nor were there formal gradations of skill: assessments of singing or composing competence were based on personal preference within a shared local aesthetic, and opinions regarding singing are still often as not prefaced to this effect. A form of reward can be seen in the help received early on, especially from mentors, and the goodwill, time, and effort bestowed by members of the community. The song itself, and the esteem attached to it, could also function as something of utility and value that is consciously imparted, like transmitted tales among the Scottish travellers (Williamson 1981, 70). The only event approaching a rite of passage for singers was the first time that a young person was asked to lead a song at a milling frolic. In the case of Lauchie and his close neighbour Dan Allan Gillis the event, though informal, was well remembered by the singers themselves and coincided with entering into manhood. When Johnny Williams of Melford first sang the verses at a milling frolic in his teens, an older lady exclaimed, “Bheat thu iad uileadh” (You trimmed them all). Indeed, praise appears to be the most important reward – and one that has remained in the memories of other singers besides Lauchie. Linked to the culturally relevant currency of praise was a wider reinforcement from the culture in the form of attendance at singing occasions, one’s reputation as a singer, and in the case of bards, being regularly credited with the authorship of popular songs. It was on such a degree of participation and goodwill that the tradition depended, and more than anything else the gradual tapering off of community support as a part of the cultural dynamics during this century led to the demise of singing in Broad Cove and surrounding communities.

composition Folk beliefs concerning composers of songs in a community and the processes of composition derive from what was once a formal tradition shared between Scotland and Ireland (Thomson 1989, ch. 1; Ó hÓgáin 1982). The traditional view – expressed by Iain MacNeacail, the song maker from Skye – that “poets are born, not made” (McKean 1997, 114) parallels community traditions recorded in Cape Breton and Scotland regarding buaidh na bàrdachd (the power to compose poetry) which make it clear that composition was a gift whose origins often lay outwith the realm of earthly life and imbued a person with special related powers.137 The capacity to be a bard could be apparent from birth, according to Michael (Migi bean Nìlleag) MacNeil, a singer of Barra descent from Iona, Victoria County: “Chaidh innse dhuinne, na bàird a bhiodh ann dha rìreabh, gu robh am bàrd sin a’ tighinn dhan t-saoghal ‘na leanabh le fhia-

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clan ‘na cheann.” (It was told to us concerning the real bards that that [sort of] bard came into the world as a newborn infant with a [full] set of teeth.)138 A further characteristic of bardic ability is its tendency, according to folk belief, to be inherited, or as one Cape Breton singer put it, “bha e ruith as na daoine” (it was transmitted through families).139 (Lauchie never sang songs of his own composition, although he was reputed to have composed some. For this reason he was not considered a bard.) Unlike many of their professional forebears under the old system of aristocratic Gaeldom, local “village” bards were sedentary, practising their song making in a single community. Continuing the inherited tradition, they were primarily male, though women bards like Mary MacPherson of Ste Rose were by no means rare and could evidently win respect on a par with men for their abilities. Gaelic society in Cape Breton and Scotland in the nineteenth century paralleled many other orally based cultures in supporting “no professional or near-professional poets, but … recognised experts,” (Finnegan 1977, 196) some of whom specialized in various genres of song.140 The question as to whether recognition as a bard, or indeed a singer, is a form of ascribed or achieved status is not a simple one. The concept of performing or composing abilities being inherited is often met with and expressed through phrases like “it’s in them,” “he came by it honestly,” or “thug e sin bhuamsa” (he got [inherited] that from me). In numerous instances transmission through families has been an important factor, with its ease of access to materials and early reinforcement. It is furthermore possible that such views are based less on notions of genetic transmission than on echoes of a society where families, sometimes over centuries, were the official custodians of various kinds of learning (Thomson 1968). In practice, inheritance can be seen to play a minimal role in determining the status connected with singing or composition; the active criterion is popular acceptance of a performer, or of a composer’s songs. In a culture where poetic and musical gifts are viewed as inherited, or mysteriously conferred, often with an accompanying sign, it is not surprising that these should be associated with a strong belief in the supernatural. Legends recounting the fairy origins of instrumental tunes and / or song airs are widespread over Gaelic Scotland and have been recently recorded in Cape Breton (cf. part 3, no. 45 below). A further frequent theme is that of the gift of music bestowed upon an individual, usually a youth, by the fairies either in the form of a magic chanter or a bogha sìdh (fairy bow) (cf. MacNeil 1987, 431). “Poetry as well as music could come from the fairy hill” (MacInnes 1994–96, 8), but accounts attributing such an origin to transmitted words of specific songs are far less common. Usually mortals obtaining words from this source are prevented from passing them on – either by prior agreement, forgetfulness, or sudden disability – indicating that, in the Gaelic mind at least, links between

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poetry and the supernatural were considerably more tenuous than those existing for music and song airs.141 In fact, with the possible exception of satire, there is no evidence in Cape Breton tradition that any belief remained in the supernatural, shamanic, or mantic sources of poetic inspiration that were associated with bardic composition in earlier times.142 There was no formal system of rewards for composing a song, though it was not unknown for a composition to be requested, thus gaining currency in the system of favours and obligations that characterize rural life.143 An absence of formal exchange does not necessarily imply a lack of status, however, and local bards were regarded by the rest of society as being “elevated” in their position in the community, much like a clergyman or an educator (Cregeen and MacKenzie 1978, 17–19; McKean 1997, 154). Status of this kind did not exist on its own; it was associated with the performance of an important social role involving the power of opinion, whether through giving voice to widely held views in the community or asserting the bard’s own perspective on issues of local importance (e.g. the temperance movement in eastern Nova Scotia during the nineteenth century).144 A further benefit was the acquisition of a lasting reputation, and the community bards, particularly when a few examples of their work found their way into print, have proven to be more enduring in popular memory than many an ambitious local or provincial politician. Such composers would not be considered “specialists” in the sense used by Alan Merriam (1964, 171–2) for other cultures, or in terms of the duties performed by the earlier Gaelic learned orders, but they did often respond to requests for composition and, as is clear from their surviving verse, could show an aptitude for various genres such as panegyric, humour, or satire. Over time the songs of Archibald MacLellan of Buorblach became relatively widely published, but his career was hardly typical for a community bard.145 His surviving verse, consisting of religious themes, songs to clergy, to the Gaelic newspaper Mac-Talla, and thoughts on old age, is centred on maintaining the status quo in the community according to the precepts of his religious faith. Along with the published songs, the anonymous Broad Cove contributor to The Casket mentions more than once that Archibald began composing late in life. Archibald’s obituary furnishes us with some additional detail: “In his declining years, when his sight and hearing began to fail him and he could not enjoy as usual the company of his friends, he might be found, when not engaged in prayer, sitting down quietly in his room composing songs and hymns, many of which possess considerable merit”.146 Donald (Dòmhnall Thormaid) MacDonald, while equally highly regarded, seems to have made a mark of another kind. According to the 1891 census he was born in Nova Scotia around 1843 of Scottish parents and was listed as being able to read. His father had arrived from Moidart

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around 1828 and married locally (MacDougall 1972, 387, 406).147 Donald, who never married, spent his life on the farm at Broad Cove and according to Lauchie would hire out locally as a thresher in order to make the necessary cash to see him through the year. Most sources agree on his ability to read, but it was the social aspects of his verse and not his literacy that became the real issue for the folk. His talent was unquestioned and his character admired from all accounts, but his career was surrounded by events that point to controversy. Donald’s strength as a bard centred around humorous songs, often with a satirical edge, and however humane the understanding or good-natured the tone, the consequences seemed to revisit him regularly. One of the four songs in print, simply entitled “Leisgeul (Apology; MacDhùghaill 1939, 120–2), is a meditation on being too outspoken in a humorous song (since lost) for a neighbour, which led to a falling-out and adverse, though only temporary, consequences for his love life. A minor item to survive is a song fragment parodying the speech of another neighbour, Angus (Aonghus ‘Illeasbuig Fhearchair) MacLellan, a brother of Lauchie’s paternal grandfather: Bha Aonghus ‘Illeasbuig Fhearchair ‘na dhuine ciatach, ciùin ‘na dhòigheannan. Theireadh tu gura h-e duine car socharach a bh’ann; cha robh cur a-mach aige air fhéin mar a th’aig feadhainn. Ach dh’fhaodadh tu falbh air ge b’e gu dé theireadh e. Nuair dh’innseadh e naidheachd bheireadh e dhut facal air an fhacal mar a bh’ann agus mar a chunnaic e. Rinn am bàrd òran air bruidhinn Aonghuis agus seo mar a bha e falbh. Chan eil agam ach aon cheathramh dheth: Nuair a bha mi réidh dhen bhriogais Ghléidh mi’m minidh crom; Na piseagan a’ cleasachd, Iseabail ‘san allt. Chaidh mi sios dhan t-sabhal Tud do bhuidheachain ann; ‘S ann a chaidh mi a-mach dhan phastar ‘S bha an cat glas air feans’ an fhaing. (Angus Archie Farquhar was a quiet, affable man in his ways. You could say that he was diffident; he did not assert himself like some other people. And you could go by what he said. When he told you a story he’d give it to you word for word as it happened and as he saw it. Now the bard made a song about Angus’s way of speaking and it went like this. I only know one verse of it: When I had finished the trousers I kept the crooked awl; The kittens were playing and Isabelle in the brook.

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A Story in Every Song I went down to the barn A patch of buttercups there; Then I went out to the pasture And the grey cat was on the the sheep-pen fence.)148

The tension surrounding Donald’s bardic activity was expressed, and partly resolved, in the local legends that surrounded him. The best known of these concerned a dispute with the parish priest, the arbiter of morals and social behaviour in the community, with the result that Donald did not take communion for eight years.149 The resolution to the standoff appeared in the form of a minor miracle one afternoon when Donald, watching the swallows flying far above him and ruefully contemplating his chances of entering heaven, suddenly found himself holding one in his hand. He returned home to find the obstacles to his salvation removed.150 The legend provides a good indication of where community sympathies lay, as well as suggesting a still active belief in special powers attached to bards which, while not necessarily destructive, were not always compatible with the agendas of the clergy. Another legend, this one with farther-reaching consequences, did not involve the clergy at all. The account has it that Donald’s songs had been written down and were in a manuscript that he possessed, with the following outcome: Rinn e ceathramhan do dh’òran do choimhearsnach a bha dona. Chuir e moit air a’ choimhearsnach ‘s bhruidhinn e ri Dòmhnall Thormaid mu dheidhinn, tha fhios agad. ‘S bha Dòmhnall – duine ciallach151 a bh’ann ‘s thuirt e ma bha a chuid-san òrain a’ dol ga chuir a-mach air a choimhearsnaich nach deanadh e an còrr dhiubh – nach faigheadh duine a-mach an còrr dhiubh ‘s loisg e am manuscript a bh’aige. (He made some verses on a song to a neighbour that were bad. This offended the neighbour, who spoke to Donald about it. Now Donald was a sensible man, and if his songs were going to cause him to fall out with his neighbour, he would make no more such verses – and people would have no more access to them. So he burnt the manuscript.)152

It has been observed that members of societies possessing primarily unlettered traditions are often less articulate than their modern western counterparts in discussing song or music composition (Merriam 1964, 166), which may explain why there is no evidence known to Lauchie of the bards employing a formal set of standards or a technical vocabulary to describe the techniques and processes attached to their craft. When encouraged Gaels can (and do) discuss such matters, but tend to draw on borrowings from English as the readiest means of articulating concepts

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associated with composition.153A more common, though less precise vehicle for describing good song making is the use of compositions by former bards – very often those active in the eighteenth century – as models. Lauchie, though himself not a bard, expressed clear preferences for songs composed by William Ross and Duncan Ban MacIntyre, and would often recite verses from their songs, which he regarded as examples of great poetry; in this respect his perceptions were closely paralleled by his contemporaries in Gaelic Scotland. Lauchie’s awareness of song makers extended beyond the songs themselves to key anecdotes and legends surrounding their life experiences and activities. In one such story Duncan Ban MacIntyre, upon being told that Màiri Bhàn Òg (Young, FairHaired Mary) was not the striking woman described in the song, replied, “Chan fhaca tusa ise riamh le mo dhà shùil-sa.” (You’ve never seen her through my own eyes.)154 In the case of Mary MacPherson (Màiri Mhór nan Òran’), the most famous maker of songs to emerge during the Highland land agitations some two or three generations after Cape Breton was settled, Lauchie was clearly impressed that the adversity and misfortune that she experienced – expressed in the lines “s e na dh’fhuiling mi de thàmailt a thug mo bhàrdachd beò” (the affronts that I endured brought my poetry to life) – provided the inspiration for her songs.155 Lauchie had an equally high regard for the songs, together with the brief life, of William Ross, and attached great importance to the tradition that he died of love. Here as in other Gaelic localities some local bards were recognized for their ability to extemporize verses. Angus Y. MacLellan of Margaree Island, a popular song maker some of whose verse has survived in print (MacDhùghaill 1939, 137–44), was remembered in Broad Cove as being particularly accomplished in both languages: Dheanadh e ceathramh ‘s e ‘na sheasamh a’ bruidhinn riut … reachadh aig’ air a dheanamh suas ann an Gàidhlig no am Beurla. (He could compose a verse as he stood there talking to you … and could put it together in Gaelic or English.)156 In general, songs were composed in sections or stages rather than in a single prolonged effort, even when the content was highly emotional or when they marked an important social occasion: “Vincent Mac’IllFheòlain, Vincent Dhòmhnaill Ghobha, nuair a rinn e marbhrann nuair a chaochail an sagart, Mgr Dòmhnall MacEumainn – rinn e marbhrann dha agus sheinn e ‘n t-òran a bha seo do Sheumas Teàrlach … agus thuirt e, ors’ esan, “Tha aon rann fhathast ri dhol air”. Agus cha deachaidh sin air gus an deaghaidh an tòrradh.” (Vincent MacLellan, the son of Donald Gobha, when he composed the elegy on the death of the priest, Fr Donald MacAdam – he composed an elegy for him and sang the song to Jim Charlie … and he said, “There’s still one verse to add.” And that verse was not added until after the funeral.)157

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It follows from the informal, noninstitutional nature of singing and its surrounding events that an attempt to classify song makers into various types may not produce categories as clear as those proposed for other cultures (cf. Merriam 1964, 174). At least some communities on the island possessed counterparts to what is elsewhere recognized as specialist composers, who could produce a song on request for a specific occasion,158 but the majority can be placed under the heading of casual or sporadic composers – also occasionally making songs for specific events (e.g., laments), but as the spirit moved them. Little is known about song making in the wider sense, concerning the frequency of composition among local bards or the range of their subject matter, but the impressions gained from anecdotes in the field and recorded songs indicate that these elements could vary enormously. Songs were generally, but not always, the work of a single individual, and those songs in which more than one composer was involved often incorporated humour or mild satire. In one instance a man from Maple Brook, near Glendale, in the course of composing a humorous song about a wedding in Glencoe, sought help from a friend he regarded as a better composer. The result was a great local favourite, still in the active repertoire some four generations later. An older song, “Seònaid na Sùil Airgid” (Janet with the Silver Eye), composed for one Janet MacPherson whose missing eye had been replaced by one of silver, consists of four verses, each by a different composer from around Mabou.159 In the techniques of song composition the relationship of words and music has drawn comments from specialists in the field, and from Gaelic singers themselves. A fundamental characteristic, and one regarded as obvious from within the culture, is the interdependence of text and melody: “It is certain that in Scottish Gaelic tradition poetry and music are inextricably fused,” or in a Cape Breton composer’s words, “Tha an dà chuid a’ falbh còmhla” (The two go together.)160 Singers and researchers alike recognize of the routine practice of using existing airs to create new songs and the implications that this holds for composition. In Cape Breton singers tend to attribute primacy to the words in composition, and their view is paralleled in Scotland: “As a rule, Highlanders use the tunes as vehicles for their verse and are frequently almost unaware of what tune they are using,” and in the process the bard adapts old tunes “to suit his own words” (Tolmie 1997, ix).161 According to one Cape Breton respondent, however, the air would come to the bard first, supplying the rhythm or metre to which the verses would be composed: “Gu feumadh a’ chaoin tighinn gu m’ inntinn an toiseach, airneo mura tigeadh cha bhiodh comas agam air a leantail; chuirinn móran facail ann no chuirinn gann iad.” (The air would have to come to my mind first, for unless it did I would not be

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able to proceed;. I’d put in too many words, or too few.)162 Recent interviews with the Skye song maker Iain MacNeacail suggest the essential role of rhythm in the initial stages; the metre is established through the text and the verses are then combined with an existing air that is rhythmically and emotionally appropriate. In MacNeacail’s mind, song verses are always allied to an air, even if the air is not known to him (McKean 1997, 118–19). For the bard, nevertheless, the creation of what is accepted by the community as a new song is focused on the composition of the verbal text.163 Composed song airs for Gaelic songs in Cape Breton are virtually unknown, the only recorded example being a lament for fiddler-composer Dan Rory MacDonald composed in 1976, arguably a product of influences from outside the tradition.164 Such constraints are in marked contrast to the prolific composition of fiddle tunes over generations, which has continued to thrive to the present despite linguistic and cultural change. It was rare, though not entirely unknown, for a bard to write down a new song. Michael MacNeil (Mìcheal Lachlainn ’ac Caluim) of Hay Cove, Richmond County, was one of the few to do so, and apparently he did not write out his songs as he composed them, but some time afterwards.165 The single known instance on the island of a song maker who wrote down Gaelic songs as he composed them – Archibald J. MacKenzie (Eairdsidh Sheumais) of Christmas Island – was very likely the result of exceptional circumstances, since MacKenzie, in addition to being a schoolmaster and a keen Gaelic scholar, was also the author of a highly regarded work on local history and genealogy (A. MacKenzie 1926).166 Since the end of the nineteenth century there has been no clearer indicator of the vast differences separating internal and external perceptions of Scottish Gaelic culture than that provided by local aesthetics – what is considered by a culture to fall within the realm of appropriate artistic expression. It is an area of Gaelic ethnology that has received surprisingly little attention in the published literature, but in which the views held by members of the culture (in Cape Breton, speakers of Gaelic) are generally coherent and clear.167 In Gaelic society, with its resolutely informal approach to singing, the factors determining the acceptance, survival, and spread of a particular song in the folk repertoire are not well understood and have not been studied. In some instances an important element has been the expression of a preoccupation shared within a society, often centring around an event that has captured the imagination of the community.168 On a more technical level, singers can and do provide examples of what they regard as good and bad practice by local bards. Lauchie’s close neighbour and friend Archie Dan MacLellan recorded an anecdote where an insult directed at a boat builder and couched in a verse of droch bhàrdachd (bad

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verse making) was countered by a stream of invective so competent that it quickly settled the issue.169 As an example of exceptional craftsmanship in verse making Lauchie cited a fragment of a spinning song made in North East Margaree, “’S Iomadh Caileag Bhòidheach Laghach” (Many the Nice and Comely Girl), and then sang it through with great enjoyment.170

the story repertoire Lauchie was by universal agreement a gifted raconteur, but did not credit himself with being a competent reciter of the full-length tales known in Gaelic as sgeulachdan. Due to circumstance as much as anything, his longer tales were told to a restricted audience, but the texts alone show that his exposure to the higher registers of storytelling had been considerable. His command of stories combined with his skill as a performer served him well during a lengthy field recording session with storyteller Joe Neil MacNeil in February, 1976, and Joe Neil later remarked that Lauchie was the storyteller he most respected among those then living in Cape Breton. The February session was evidently important for Lauchie as well, since he composed a full-length tale for the event (see part 4, no. 3), noted down in a Gaelic orthography he had developed himself and likened to hen tracks. Other reciters of note are known to have been active in Broad Cove, but few stories have been recorded there from those outside the MacLellan family, suggesting that they were locally distinguished for their storytelling as well as for their songs. Written evidence of storytelling in the surrounding district before Lauchie’s time is limited to a single item from a Margaree source in Mac-Talla: “Cha robh seanchaidh ro-mhath anns a’ chuideachd agus b’fheudar sgaoileadh gun sgeulachd fhaotainn. Tha beagan do sheann daoine anns an aite fhathasd ‘tha gle mhath air innseadh seann naigheachdan, ach chan fhada bhios a h-aon an lathair dhiubh.” (There was no accomplished reciter in the company, so we had to take leave without getting a tale. There are still a few elderly men in the vicinity who are very good at reciting old stories, but none of them will be around for long.)171 The limited number of tales recorded in the parish points to an earlier repertoire of exceptional interest containing international tale types that have appeared elsewhere in Cape Breton rarely if at all. Both Lauchie and Flora MacLellan, the other primary source, declared the origins of their materials to be in Morar. The presence in the archive of the School of Scottish Studies of a fragment of the same variant of “Crom a’ Ghille Cromaidh agus Donn a’ Ghille Donnaidh” (at 2033) from Arisaig would seem to offer a confirmation for the claim, and a greater knowledge of the story repertoire of this parish would have been a welcome addition to what is known

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about Scottish Gaelic folktales.172 In fact Lauchie was able to recall the names of tales from his grandfather Neil which he had forgotten, one of which took between an hour and one-half and two hours to recite. Among these are “Sgeulachd a’ Chamain Iarainn” (The Story of the Iron ShintyStick),173 “Sgeulachd na h-Ubhaill Òir” (The Story of the Golden Apple), “Rìgh Tulach Uaine” (The King of Green Hillock), and “Glagan-Glùin” (Knocky-Knees), along with a fragment of a popular sea run.174 “Dòmhnall Dona Mac na Banndraich” (Bad Donald the Widow’s Son),175 a tale of cleverness, was also in circulation during Lauchie’s youth. Legends do not feature prominently in his story repertoire, but he recalled hearing talk of the Morar legend “Cù Glas Mheòbail” (The Grey Dog of Meoble) whose appearance was associated with deaths among a Morar branch of the MacDonalds.176 The practice of composing tales in Gaelic in recent times has received little attention considering the evidence that has come to light in Cape Breton alone (cf. MacNeil 1987, 224–31). According to Lauchie the bard Donald MacDonald (Dòmhnall Thormaid) was known to have composed a story describing how he obtained a fairy woman’s apron (aparan sìdh) which would transport him anywhere he desired when he recited a certain rhyme.177 As a rule “homemade” tales were humorous, and were often modelled on the sort of tall tales that were popular across North America. One humorous story by the schoolmaster Archie MacKenzie of Christmas Island appeared in print in the 1960s (MacLeòid 1969, 138–44) and was greatly enjoyed by Lauchie. Such compositions tended to be short, almost anecdotal, and easily remembered. In company they functioned as jokes and were routinely attributed to specific individuals, much like local songs or memorable witty sayings. “Aisling Chadail Lachlainn” (Lauchie’s Dream), on the other hand, is unique in terms of what has survived among stories composed in Gaelic in Cape Breton, for instead of consisting of a single punchline, a denouement based on humorous exaggeration, or a series of comical events strung together, its narrative structure is realized with a degree of development and detail found in the lengthy, highly evolved narratives such as the international wonder tales (Finnegan 1992, 167–9; Toolan 1988, 146–64). Within the well-established narrative framework, Lauchie has used storytelling techniques and devices well known from other Gaelic reciters, indicating that Broad Cove storytellers (and presumably their forebears in Morar) commanded a large store of performance skills. These include the use of vivid imagery, heightened language with runs, archaic expressions seldom encountered in daily conversation, and the expert use of direct and indirect speech. Throughout the island with the disappearance of the more elaborate genres in the inherited repertoire (cf. MacNeil 1987, xxv) stories in the

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form of short, humorous anecdotes – often with local content and incorporating repartee – have become the norm. Such anecdotes, along with the occasional supernatural or historical legend, have come to dominate the popular concept of traditional storytelling, and are still enjoyed and valued in social gatherings and even in individual conversations (today the language used is mostly English). Unlike the singing featured at local simulated milling frolics, no events are organized expressly for storytelling. Thus by the time we began recording, apart from such brief and marginal occasions, the social context for storytelling had all but disappeared, though a general awareness has persisted of the earlier importance of the storyteller’s role.

c u lt u r a l dy na m i c s a n d c h a n g e The relative geographical isolation of Cape Breton was the most readily apparent factor in the ability of Gaelic communities there to maintain a distinct language and traditional culture in North America for up to a century and a half (J. Shaw 1988, 77). In this regard the parish of Broad Cove, along with much of Inverness County, was advantageously placed, being at a remove from the industrial area at the eastern end of the island and provided with plentiful natural resources. A further important factor, albeit one not subject to quantification, was the presence of a dynamic, vibrant, and popular folk culture that has left a prodigious legacy, much of it created over generations within the communities themselves. The dynamism of the tradition derived from a broad social context which was, as we have seen, vastly different from that in the Highlands of Scotland during the nineteenth century. An examination of themes present in locally composed songs from oral and written sources suggests an emerging literature that developed according to Gaelic cultural patterns, but showed a distinct direction and sense of innovation (Dunn, 1953, 117, 158; J. Shaw 1994). The evolving tradition can thus be seen as an effective and stable counterbalance to the cultural influences that returned with the many Cape Bretoners who worked and travelled throughout North America. Direct contact with the Scottish Highlands ceased as immigration tailed off around 1850, but Gaels were kept at least partially aware of developments across the Atlantic through Gaelic-language publications, primarily items in the Cape Breton newspaper Mac-Talla and Gaelic song books, which were read aloud in households throughout the island. Latenineteenth-century compositions from Scotland entered the Cape Breton repertoire from oral as well as written sources (as witnessed by the presence of airs that were not included in the collections), possibly through contacts between the great numbers of men from both Gàidhealtachds who spent their lives at sea.

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The singing style in Cape Breton is a direct continuation of that current in the western Highlands in the late-eighteenth century and recalls the style of older singers recorded in the Outer Hebrides in the 1930s. In the absence of any performance standards imposed on communities from the outside, the mod style promoted throughout Scotland from the turn of the century by cultural organizations such as An Comunn Gàidhealach has not taken root in Cape Breton.178 An aspect of cultural dynamics worthy of further study is the recording and understanding of perceptions concerning the process of imposed standards by members of the culture, preferably in their own words. In the Highlands the effects of acculturation in the form of imposed settings and performance standards were being remarked on as early as 1905, when Amy Murray during her collecting visit to Eriskay noted Father Allan Macdonald’s dismay at songs being “spoiled” and altered in their performance “as though you were to fit a statue in a box by taking off the nose and ears” (Murray 1936, 89–91). A year later Lucy Broadwood in the course of noting songs from one Katrinian McLean in Arisaig mentions that her father, also a singer, “despises the ‘faked’ versions of Gaelic songs when he hears them, and so do his family”; the family considered two specific songs prominently featured in competitions as “hackneyed” and often in “very wrong” versions (Broadwood 1927–31, 280–1). From as early as the 1890s Gaels in Broad Cove were aware that their traditions were under pressure, although there was little economic hardship at the time: “As far as I’m aware people are pleased with their lot. Most of the district is farmed by Gaels and I’m proud to say that they are more than willing to maintain the spirit and customs of the heroes abroad [in Scotland], though circumstances in part make this difficult. Even dancing is largely going out of fashion, and what is prettier to behold than a young, lively foursome travelling the floor to the pleasing music of Niel Gow? But I fear that in a few years we’ll be left with something useless and devoid of enjoyment.”179 Since the first decades of the 1900s the one common factor having the greatest effect on Gaelic singing in rural communities has been the accelerating replacement of the language by English. Until well into the 1960s Broad Cove remained one of the stronger districts in terms of language retention, but was nonetheless very much part of what can only be described as an islandwide phenomenon where intergenerational language transmission had ceased dramatically beginning in the 1940s. Significantly, local bards, though aware of the erosion of their language around them, did not present it in their songs as a political issue on a par with temperance movements or elections; they chose instead to place the blame on the pretensions and frivolity of their children’s generation, thus internalizing the issue by keeping it solidly within the

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language community and out of the public arena (Shaw 1997, 351–2). Gaelic speakers throughout the island are still often hesitant to volunteer information or opinions when the subject is raised. Lauchie’s own early experience was very much in keeping with the bards’ stance. He recalls that the demise of Gaelic was not accorded any importance in the community and was never raised in conversation, adding that the ability to speak English was by itself sufficient to win people’s respect. In his youth the instruction at the Dunvegan schoolhouse was entirely in English, though children were permitted to use Gaelic inside the building and were not punished on that account.180 Nonetheless he ends his comments on the normality attributed by the community to such domain-restriction with the revealing phrase, “fhad ’s a bha iad a’ snìgeadh thro’n t-saoghal an dòigh air choireiginn” (as long as they were sneaking through the world in one way or another).181 In fact the tolerance shown by the Gaelic-speaking schoolmistress at Dunvegan was not always the rule in the district: one of Lauchie’s contemporaries recalled receiving physical punishment for speaking Gaelic; incidents from as late as the 1940s or ’50s are still referred to in neighbouring districts, and detention after school was not unknown in communities further removed.182 Combined with other recent agents of cultural change, the language shift has effectively altered the social context for singing – interrupting the lines of transmission and changing the community’s internal concepts of such fundamental aspects as function, performance, occasion, and composition. One highly visible change has been the formalization of song occasions in the form of concerts, where performers and audience are separated and opportunities to perform are controlled by individuals or groups who are not always familiar with the content of the tradition or its social context. Milling frolics (now simulated), still regular events and widely enjoyed in a number of locales, have become community fund raising events while retaining much of their social content and flavour. Other singing events, though perceived as “Scottish” or “local,” now routinely include materials from other sources such as country and western, Scottish folk, or mainstream folk. Indications of further effects of language contact on singing that are less readily apparent have emerged from field interviews with Gaelic speakers. One change often mentioned has to do with the concepts of etiquette surrounding a performance: Chan fhosgladh duine a bheul ’s cha ghluaiseadh e fhad’s a bha duine gabhail no ’g innse naidheachd no rud eile. As an t-saoghal a th’ann an-diugh nuair bhios daoine cruinn chì thu dithist ann a’ sin ’s dithist ann a’ seo ’s an gob ri chèile ’s iad uile a’ bruidhinn.

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Gaelic Singing and Broad Cove Parish (No one used to open his mouth or stir as long as there was someone singing or telling a story or anything else. In today’s world whenever people gather you’ll see a pair here and another pair there nose to nose and all of them talking.)183 Cha ghabh òran seinn an-diugh ann. Feumaidh tu do chluasan a stobadh mun tòisich thu air seinn òran an-diugh. (You can’t sing a song today. These days you have to stop up your ears before you begin singing.)184

Formalization and the adoption of an English-language format have brought about a change in performance criteria, and the new standards often contrast with the local aesthetics that earlier served to define and stabilize the tradition. Among singers raised in the Gaelic tradition the commonly held view is that singing standards, associated in their minds with the role of the words in a song, have suffered as a direct consequence of language decline. It is often mentioned that the Gaelic of many contemporary singers is no longer adequate for understanding the songs: “Na seann fheadhainn, thuigeadh iad e. Ach do dhuine tha Gàidhlig aige, Gàidhlig car math aige, tha iad a’ deanadh milleadh air an òran a tha sgreataidh.“ (The old people could understand it [the song]. But for anyone who speaks Gaelic and speaks it well, [nowadays] they spoil the song in a way that’s downright disgusting.)185 Within the newer framework efforts have been made to adapt, primarily with a view to including non-Gaelic speakers, and these have centred around retaining the form and changing the content. Attempts to sing songs in English at the milling table have met with only temporary success.186 Lauchie in polite but ironic tones once described a performance at a milling frolic elsewhere in Inverness County where the singer substituted meaningless vocables for the words of the song “and made a hell of a hit.” Singers within the tradition have viewed the advent of radio and television as an additional crucial factor in the demise of singing, observing that the lines of transmission to the young have been broken. They are likewise conscious of the dramatic effects of these advances on social patterns in their communities, particularly on the social context for performing, namely the céilidh: “Na seann chéilidhean: chuir iad as dhaibh. Cha bhite dol a dh’àite … Thug sin bàrr air a’ghnothach. Thug e an comas bho na h-òrain.”187 (They [the electronic media] just wiped out the old-style ceilidhs. People didn’t go [visiting] anywhere … It put the lid on it and rendered the songs ineffective.) The youth were quick to adopt radio, and the net effect was that the control of culture was removed from the community: “Rinn e difir mòr air an dòigh a bha a h-uile duine a’cur seachad

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an ùine a bh’aca dhaibh p-fhéin. An àite grunnan a dh’fhaighinn còmhla a sheinneadh òran no a chluitheadh ceòl reachadh an inneal seo a thionndadh air agus éisdeachd ri cuideiginn bha seinn dà cheud mìle air falbh.” (It made a great difference to how people spent their free time. Instead of groups of people getting together to sing songs or play music this device was turned on and people would listen to someone singing two hundred miles away.)188 Such analyses arising from an internal perspective imply a clear understanding of a decades-long process that has been met with a degree of resignation expressed through the saying “dh’fhalbh siod ‘s thànaig seo” (that has gone and this has come). Due to the weight of institutions and mass movements, along with the continuing Cape Breton diaspora with its brief reunions during the summer parish concert season, Gaels have not resisted changes to the tradition; nor have they welcomed them as a matter of personal preference as did their non-Gaelic-speaking relatives and neighbours. The social context has altered almost beyond recognition, yet Gaelic singing retains a high emblematic value, where a variety of communal events “would not be the same without a Gaelic song.”

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P a r t Tw o Air Réir Mo Sgeula As My Story Has It “Cha robh tuilleadh ‘s a chòrr dhen t-saoghal againn riamh.” (We never had too much in the way of material wealth.) Lauchie MacLellan

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mórair agus an t-seann fheadhainn [‘S] mise Lachlainn mac Dhòmhnaill Nìll ‘ic ‘Illeasbuig ‘ic Fhearchair ‘ac Fhearchair ‘ac Néill.1 Rugadh agus thogadh mi thall ann an Dunbheagain ann a’ Siorramachd Inbhirnis. Rugadh mi air an naoidheamh latha deug dhen t-Samhainn ann an naoidh ceud deug agus a deich. Dh’fhàg mo shìn seanair, Gilleasbu’ mac Fhearchair, dh’fhàg e Beòraid Mórair anns a’ bhliadhna … chan eil mi buileach cinneach co-dhiubh bha e ochd ceud deug ‘s a h-ochd deug airneo ochd ceud deug agus a fichead. Air réir mar a chuala mise bha Beòraid Àrd agus Beòraid Ìseal ann. Tha mi deanadh dheth gur ann à Beòraid Àrd a thànaig mo shìn-seanair. Cha robh an t-àite ‘san d’rugadh e ‘na àite tuathanachas air dòigh air an t-saoghal. Cha robh ann ach sgreaban cruaidh do bhaile agus e clachach, agus gun mhóran dheth sin fhéin aige. Bha mo shìn [sìn] seanair Fearchar – Fearchar an Òir a theireadh iad ris – air réir mar a bhathas ag innse dhomhsa gum biodh e a’ togail a’ mhàil dhan uachdaran agus gur e sin bu choireach iad a thoirt Fearchar an Òir air.2 Agus bha iad ag innse dhomh air leac na starsnaich gu robh farquhar maclellan air a ghearradh anns a’ chloich; agus nan reachainn-sa a Mhórair no Beòraid am màireach ‘s e sin a’ cheud rud a reachainn a choimhead – feuch am faighinn clach na starsnach aig mo shìn seanair. Thànaig iad imprig do dh’Ameireaga; thug e seachd seachdainnean dhaibh tighinn air an t-slighidh air bàta beag siùil. Bha an uair ud fearann a’ chladaich uileadh air a thogail, agus bha fearann a’ chladaich uileadh a’ dol a-mach mìle agus cairteal. Dh’fheumadh àsan a dhol air an taobh amach dheth sin. Bha fon an d’rugadh ‘s na thogadh mise dà mhìle bhon chladach.3 Bha an t-àite fo choille throm agus ‘s e mo shìn seanair a gheàrr a’ choille sin – a’ mhór-chuid dhi – agus gheàrr mo sheanair an còrr. Tha e glé dhuilich dhuinn a thuigsinn an obair chruaidh a bh’aca an uair ud: a’ gearradh na coilleadh, agus ‘s e coille mhór, throm a bh’ann uileadh. Agus dh’fheumadh sin a ghearradh leis an tuaigh, agus a chur air muin a chéile agus tein’ a chur ris agus an luatha, ga fàgail sin agus iad ag obrachadh an talmhainne le cas-cheaba – theireadh feadhainn caschrom ris. Agus bha té dhiubh air a’ bhaile agus tha cuimhn’ agams’ air a faicinn. Chan eil fhios a’m gu dé dh’éirich dhi: chan eil i ann an-diugh. Ach sin an dòigh a bh’aca air beòshlaint fhaighinn: togail buntata gus am faigheadh iad an gnothach a réiteach suas gun tigeadh ac’ air coirce ‘s eòrna a chur. Ma dh’fhaoidte gu robh suas ri dà fhichead acaire aca fo fheur ‘s fo ghràn ‘s fo bhuntàta – ge b’e gu dé bha iad a’ cur. Thog mo shìn seanair taigh-logaichean. ‘S ann a’ sin a rugadh mo sheanair agus a h-uile h-aon dhen teaghlach. Chuir iad pìos ris an taigh. Chaidh am fiodh a shàbhadh aig a’ mhuileann-shàbhaidh leis an t-sàbh mhór. Agus an taigh ‘sa bheil mise fuireach an dràsda, ‘s e m’athair a

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morar and the old people My name is Lachlan, son of Donald, son of Neil, son of Archibald, son of Farquhar, son of Farquhar, son of Neil.1 I was born and raised over in Dunvegan, Inverness County. I was born on the nineteenth of November, 1910. My great-grandfather, Archibald, son of Farqhuar, left Beòraid, Morar, in the year … I’m not certain whether it was the year 1818 or 1820. From what I heard there was an Upper and a Lower Beòraid, and I believe that my great-grandfather came from Upper Beòraid. The croft where he was born could in no earthly way be described as farmland; it was no more than a hard crust of a place, all rock, and he didn’t even have much of that. There was my great-great-grandfather Farquhar – Farquhar of the Gold they used to call him. According to what I was told he used to collect the rents for the landlord and for that reason he was styled Farquhar of the Gold.2 And people told me that the name farquhar maclellan was carved into the stone threshold. If I were to travel to Morar or Beòraid tomorrow, that is the first thing I would go to look at – to see if I could find the threshold of my great-grandfather’s house. They emigrated to America and it took them seven weeks to travel the distance in a small sailing ship. By then all of the land on the shore had been taken up, and that land extended back a mile and a quarter, so my people had to go farther than that and the place where I was born and raised was two miles from the shore.3 The district was heavily forested and it was my great-grandfather who felled the forest – the greater part of it – and my grandfather cut down the rest. Today it is very difficult to comprehend the hard work people were faced with in those days – felling the forest, and what a great, thick forest it was. The felling had to be done with the axe, the logs piled, set afire, the ash left there, and then they worked the ground with a foot plough (cas cheaba), which some people call the cas chrom. We had one on the farm which I remember seeing. I don’t know what became of it; it isn’t here today. In any case that is how people made their living: raising potatoes until they managed to clear the land sufficiently to plant oats and barley. They might have had up to forty acres under hay, grain, and potatoes or whatever they planted. My great-grandfather put up a log house and that’s where my grandfather and all the rest of the family were born. They added a piece to the house with the lumber from the sawmill, sawn with the big saw. And the house where I now live was built by my father. I don’t remember the old

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thog e, agus chan eil cuimhn’ agam-as idir air an t-seann taigh. Neo’r-arthaing nach eil an làrach ann a’ siod ionnan ‘s lethcheud slat bhon taigh. Agus a-niste air an taobh eile, taobh mo sheanmhar, ‘s e Nic’IllFheòlain a bh’innte cuideachd. Rugadh i shuas an àite ris an canadh iad Beinn ‘Illeasbuig an Tàilleir. ‘S e nighean ‘Illeasbuig an Tàilleir4 a bh’innte-se. Bha Gilleasbuig an Tàilleir, bha e ‘na thuathanach agus bha e ‘na iasgair, agus bha e glé fhòghlamaichte anns a’ Ghàidhlig: sgrìobhadh is leubhadh e Ghàidhlig. Chluitheadh e ‘n fhidheall agus chluitheadh mo sheanmhair port na dhà air an fhidhill, agus dal a chluitheadh i ‘m port bheireadh i sin dhut am port ann an canntaireachd ann an Gàidhlig. Agus bha i ‘na bean-ghlùn. Bhiodh i air falbh gach dalacha h-oidhche feadh na sgìreachd eadar Abhainn Mhairgrìdh, Broad Cove, agus bha i mar sin fad a beatha gus a robh i ‘na seann bhoireannach, a-mach air ceithir fichead; bhiodh iad a’ tighinn ga sireadh. Agus bha iad ag innse dhomh nach do chaill i leanabh riamh. Bha an creideamh cho làidir ‘nam measg an uair ud, agus an dòchas cho làidir ann an Dia gu bheil mi cinnteach gu robh e ga sàrchuideachadh anns a h-uile h-obair a rinn i fad a beatha. Chuala mi ‘n naidheachd tha seo nuair nach robh annam ach am balach – tha iomadh bliadhna bhuaithe sin – air fear a thànaig a nall à Albainn; chan urrainn dhomhs’ an t-ainm aige thoirt dhuibh. Agus fhuair e fearann, thog e taigh-logaichean, e fhéin ‘s a bhean. Ach air feasgar dhe na feasgraichean thànaig e staigh an deaghaidh a bhith ‘g obair cruaidh fad a’ latha leis an tuaigh. Chaidh e ‘na shìneadh ‘s thuirt e ris a’ bhean, “Dhia seall orm,” thuirt e, “chan eil fhios a’m co-dhiubh tha ‘s nach eil seo a’dol a phàigheadh dhomhsa. ‘S e obair chruaidh a tha seo.” “Cuist!” thuirt ise. “Tha thu ‘nad shìneadh ‘nad leabaidh fhéin, ‘nad thaigh fhéin agus bu chòir dhut a bhith glé thoilicht’ as a’ sin. Bidh obair chruaidh ann,” thuirt i, “ach tha diofar mór eadar sin agus a bhith ‘nad sheasamh air gainmheach a’ chladaich ‘s gun àit’ agad ‘san coimheadadh tu no gun sian agad. Agus bi glé thoilichte as na bheil agad: tha taigh agad agus nì sinn beòshlaint air dòigh air choireiginn.” Chuala mi bhith bruidhinn air fear a thànaig a nall à Albainn agus bha e ‘n ceàrn air choireiginn do Bhroad Cove – dhen Chamas Leathan – ach bha càirdean aige fuireach air Abhainn Mhairgrìdh. Agus smaointich e gu rachadh e a choimhead orra ‘s dh’fhalbh e thron choillidh. Cha robh ann ach rathad beag falbh thron choillidh. Bha tuagh aige – tuagh mhór throm a thug e a nall à Albainn – agus dal a bha e nunn mu leathach slighe stob e ‘n tuagh ann an craoibh. Thuirt e ris fhéin, “Chan eil sian reusan dhomh bhith a’ toirt seo liom. Gheobh mi air mo thilleadh i.” Chum e roimhe ‘s rànaig e a chàirdean thall aig Abhainn Mhargarìdh ach nuair a bha e tilleadh dhachaidh cha d’fhuair e ‘n tuagh riamh. Dh’fhaillich air a faighinn. Bha m’athair agus mo sheanair a’ treabhadh pìos do dh’fhearann agus bha fhios aig mo sheanair gu robh a leithid do

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house at all, but the foundation is certainly there some fifty yards from the present house. As for the other side of the family, my grandmother’s side, she was also a MacLellan. She was born over in a place known as Archie the Tailor’s Mountain, and she was Archie the Tailor’s daughter.4 Now Archie the Tailor was a farmer-fisherman, and very well educated in Gaelic; he could both read and write Gaelic. He played the fiddle, and my grandmother could play a tune or two as well; when she played the tune she would give you the mouth-music in Gaelic. She was also a midwife. Every other night she used to be away through the countryside between Margaree River and Broad Cove, and she kept this up all her life until she was an old woman, over eighty; they used to come looking for her. And people told me that she never lost a baby. Their faith was so strong in those days, and they placed such hope in God that I’m certain it was a great help to her in all the work she accomplished during her life. I heard this story many years ago when I was just a small boy about a man who had come over from Scotland; I cannot give you his name. But he obtained land and he and his wife built a log house. One evening he came in after working hard all day with the axe. He lay down and said to his wife, “God look down on me, I don’t know whether or not this is going to pay me. It’s hard work.” “Shush!” said his wife. “You’re lying in your own bed, in your own house, and you should be well content with that. Of course the work will be hard,” she said, “but there’s a big difference between that and standing on the sandy shore without a place of your own to look at and nothing else either. So be happy with what you’ve got. You have a house and we’ll make a living somehow.” I heard them talking of a man who came over from Scotland and was in some part of Broad Cove, though he had relations living on the Margaree River. So he made up his mind to go visit them and set off through the woods and there was only a small path leading through. Now he had an axe – a big, heavy one he had brought over from Scotland – and when he was about halfway there he stuck the axe in a tree, saying to himself, “There is no reason for me to take this along. I’ll get it on my way back.” He continued on and arrived at his relatives’ on the Margaree River, but when he returned home he never found the axe. He failed to locate it. Now my father and grandfather were ploughing a piece of land and my grandfather knew that there was such a thing all right. They found the

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rud ann all right. Fhuair iad an tuagh; bha i’n deaghaidh tuiteam sios dhan talamh. Agus bha ‘n tuagh sin agamsa. Tuagh mhór – tha mi creidsinn gun tomhaiseadh i suas ri sia puinnd. Chaill mi i air thàilleabh gun tug mi anuas seann sabhal a bh’againn agus nuair a chaidh an sabhal chur an dala taobh dh’fhalbh an tuagh leis ‘s cha b’urrainn dhomhsa faighinn. Ach chunna mise ‘n tuagh ‘s bha i agam ‘s bha mi ga gléidheadh bliadhnachan. Niall Ruadh Mo Sheanair ‘S minig a dh’fhairich mise Niall mo sheanair a’ bruidhinn air an tuaigh. Ach ‘s e duine bha ‘nam sheanair, bha e ‘na iasgair ‘s bha e ‘na thuathanach. Agus bha e a chearta cho math sin gu sgeulachdan. Bhiodh na daoine mun cuairt a’ tighinn a-staigh a choimhead air oidhcheannan. Shuidheadh Niall suas, dh’innseadh e sgeulachd no dhà, bheireadh a huile té dhiubh sin ma dh’fhaoidte dà uair dha a dhol throimpe. Thòisicheadh Niall air a’ sgeulachd agus chuireadh e suas greim mór do thombaca agus bha e tilgeadh sin nunn rathad an teine: car fon a robh an teine. Cha robh e dol dhan teine ach a’ dol air an ùrlar. Bhiodh lub5 mór do smugaidean tombaca mun cuairt air dal a bha e réidh. Cha robh sian a’ sin. Cha robh sian bhuapa-san ach an naidheachd. ‘S e cuaille do dhuine mór a bha ‘nam sheanair. Niall Ruadh a theireadh iad ris – Niall Mór. Dh’fhairich mi m’athair ag innse naidheachd trup: thànaig Niall dhachaidh as an eilein6 an deaghaidh bhith ‘g iasgach agus bha trosg mór aig’ air a ghualainn ‘s bha e gràdhainn gu robh an trosg a’ slaodadh as a dheaghaidh. ’S e trosg mór a bha sin. Bha interest aig Niall cuideachd ann an òrain. Bhiodh e gabhail rannghailean neònacha bha seo mun tànaig tuigs’ thugamas airson gnothaichean ionnsachadh. Bha e ceithir fichead ‘s a sia deug dal a dh’eug e.7 An Caitheamh-Beatha a Bh’Againn Cha robh tuilleadh ‘s a chòrr dhen t-saoghal againn riamh. Cha robh feum againn air; bha sinn faighinn gu leòr. Dh’obraich mise cruaidh. Thog mi ochdnar do theaghlach. Cha robh sian a dhìth orra riamh. Ach anns na laithean ud bha an obair ri dheanadh agus dh’fheumadh tu deanadh ma bha toil agad ithe. Cha robh duine a’ faighinn peansean; bha a’ rathad làn do dh’fheadhainn air ais ‘s air adhart gun sian dhen t-saoghal ac’ ach a’ rathad mór. Bhiodh duine na dhà dhiubh sin agad a-staigh air an oidhche ‘s dh’fheumadh tu ‘m biadhadh. Agus chan eil sian dheth sin ann an-diugh. Bha an t-iasgach math an uair ud. ‘S minig a dh’fhairich mi iad a’ bruidhinn air Alasdair Fhearchair shuas air a’ bheinn ann a’ seo.8 Bha e

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axe; it had fallen on the ground. And I used to have that axe. It was a big one – I believe it would weigh up to six pounds. I lost it because I took down an old barn that we had, and when the barn was removed the axe went with it and I couldn’t find it. But I saw the axe, had it and kept it for years. My Grandfather Red Neil I often heard my grandfather Neil talking about the axe. Now my grandfather was a fisherman, a farmer, and he was just as good at telling stories. The people living around used to come in to visit him nights. Neil would sit up and tell a story or two, each one of which would take him perhaps two hours to go through. He would begin the story, put up a big piece of chewing tobacco, and spit toward the fire – that is, in the general direction of the fire. But instead of reaching the fire it would land on the floor, and there was a great pool5 of tobacco juice around it by the time he was through. But that made no difference; all they wanted was the story. My grandfather was a big, strapping man. They called him Red Neil, or Big Neil. I once heard my father telling the story of Neil coming home from the island6 after being out fishing with a big codfish over his shoulder; and he said the cod was dragging behind him. That was a good sized codfish. Neil was interested in songs as well and used to sing these funny little ditties before I had the understanding to learn such things. He was ninety-six when he died.7 How We Lived We never had too much in the way of worldly wealth; nor did we need it because we were bringing in enough. I worked hard and raised a family of eight, and they never wanted for anything. In those times there was work to be done and you had to do it if you wanted to eat. No one received a pension; the road was full of people going back and forth with nothing in the world but the open road. One or two of them would call in at night and you had to feed them, but there’s none of that these days. In those times the fishing was good. I often heard them talking about Alec Farquhar, who lived up the mountain here.8 He was an old man, out

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‘na sheann duine. Bha e a-muigh ag iasgach rionnaich agus bha biadh aca an uair sin ris an canadh iad a’ sonnd:9 bhiodh bogsa dheth sin aige. Bha bàta Geangach10 a’ tighinn cho teann air ‘s a mheantradh iad agus gun iad a’ faighinn dad sam bith do dh’iasg. Bha Alasdair a’slaodadh astaigh dìreach mar a b’urrainn dha. Agus bha lamhan móra, mór’ air. Bheireadh e leis làn a chròig’ dheth sin ‘s chrathadh e sin mun cuairt air a’ bhàta. Rinn e Hosiah riu, “Gheobh mise na bheil bhuam,” thuirt esan, “ge b’e gu dé na gheobh sibhse.” Bha iad a’ faighinn poidhle éisg an uair ud. Bhiodh iad a-muigh ‘san eilein. Deireadh an fhoghair thigeadh a’ sin mar an tuirt iad fhéin an uair ud, an Treadair – Trader’s – thigeadh an soitheach sin mun cuairt. Reiceadh iad an cuid éisg; gheobhadh iad flùr a’ gheamhraidh ‘s gheobhadh iad a h-uile sian mar sin mar a bha bhuapa. Agus dal thigeadh iad astaigh as an eilein bha iad deiseil airson a’ gheamhraidh. Bha an t-iasg air a shàilleadh ‘s a h-uile sian deiseil airson a thoirt dhaibh. Seumas Mór agus an Taigh ‘na Theine [Bha Seumas Mór a’fuireach] goirid dhuinn agus ‘s iomadh duine a fhuair duais mhór nach d’rinn a leithid a rud ‘s a rinn Seumas Mór. B’e seanair Angus L. MacDonald11 a bh’ann a’ Seumas Mór. Bha e fuireach air a’ bheinn fos cionn an àit’ agamsa thall ris an can iad àite Raghnaill ‘ic Pheadail – ‘s e Raghnall mac Pheadail a fhuair an t-àit’ as a dheaghaidh sin. Agus bha seo nuair a bha na geamhraidhean móra, reoite, uamhasach ann. Dh’éirich e ré na h-oidhcheadh agus thug e sùil a-mach air an uinneag agus chunnaic e taigh Iain ‘ac Dhòmhnaill ‘ic ‘ic Iain12 ‘na theine air a’ bheinn eile thall. Bhiodh sin sia mìle an dòigh a sheòladh am fitheach. Bha aigesan ris a’ bheinn a theàrnadh, a’ dol thron t-sloc mhór ‘s a’ bheinn eil’ a dhìreadh agus sia traighean shneachda roimhe. Co-dhiubh, an àite tha mi creidsinn a’ rud a dheanamaide – a dhol air ais dhan leaba a chadal ‘s rudeiginn a dheanadh ‘sa mhadainn – dh’éirich an duine sin [‘s] chuir e air a chuid aodaich. Tha seansa gur e duine mór, uamhasach a bh’ann. Chaidh e dh’ionnsaigh na leabadh aige fhéin agus thug e an t-aodach a bh’air a’ leaba leis air a mhuin agus dh’fhalbh e ann am meadhon na h-oidhcheadh ‘s ghabh e sios thron choillidh. Choisich e thron chulaidh-uamhais sneachda bha sin, chaidh e a-mach àite ris an can iad àite Dhòmhnaill Thormaid – àit’ a’ bhàird: bha sin dà mhìle a-mach bho’n rathad – chaidh e sin a-mach dà mhìl’ eile gus an ruigeadh e àite Nic Ìosaig. Agus dal a rànaig e bha Raghnall MacÌosaig13 marbh ach bha boireannach ann a’ sin agus iad ‘sna h-àinean teine14 agus triùir chloinneadh aice. Chuir e na triùir chloinneadh – phaisg e suas iad ann am brata agus thug e leis sin air a ghualainn ‘s thuirt e rithe-se, “Lean thusa mise,” thuirt esan. “Nì mis’ an rathad.”

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fishing for mackerel and they used to have bait which they called sonnd;9 he would have a box of that. There was an American10 boat that came in as close as it dared and was not getting any fish at all. Meanwhile, Alec was hauling in the fish for all he was worth. He had huge hands, so he would take up a large handful of the bait and shake it around the boat as he shouted to them, “I’ll catch all I want, however much you catch.” They used to catch large quantities of fish in those days and would fish out around Margaree Island. Toward the close of autumn the Trader, as they called him, would appear – his vessel would arrive and they would sell him their fish and get their winter flour and everything else they wanted. When they came in from the island they were ready for winter; the fish was salted and everything prepared for the Trader. Big Jim and the Burning House [Big Jim lived] close by and many’s the man who was handsomely rewarded and did not do as much as he. Big Jim was the grandfather of Angus L. MacDonald11 and he lived on the mountain above my own farm on a place known as Ranald Peter’s place – Ranald Peter came into the place afterwards. That was a time of terrible, freezing winters. During the night, Big Jim arose, looked out the window, and saw the house belonging to John Donald, the son of the son of John,12 in flames over on the mountain over there. That would be about six miles distant as the crow flies. Big Jim had to go down the mountain from there, cross the big hollow, and climb the other mountain through six feet of snow. Instead of doing what I think we would have done – go back to bed and sleep and do something come morning – this man got up and dressed himself. Apparently he was a big, rugged man and he went over to his own bed and taking the bedclothes on his back set out in the middle of the night, making his way down through the woods. He walked through that horrendous amount of snow and headed out to what they call Donald Norman’s place – the bard’s home, about two miles out from the road. Then he continued two miles farther out until he reached Mrs MacIsaac’s farm. And when he reached them, Ranald MacIsaac13 was dead and there was a woman there with three children surrounded by the dying embers.14 He took the three children, wrapped them in a bedcover, and as he set off with that on his shoulder he said to the woman, “Follow me,” he said, “and I’ll make the way.”

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Bha a bràthair, bha e fuireach dà mhìl’ eile shuas dìreach mu’r coinneimh ann a’seo. Rinn e rathad roimhe thron t-sneachda agus thug e a’ chloinn bheag air a mhuin gu àite a bràthar ‘s bha e ann aig soilleireachadh a’latha. Nise, có meud duine a deanadh a leithid sin? Chan aithne dhomhsa gu bheil duine beò an-diugh a dheanadh a leithid a rud.

òige is oideas Bha m’athair, bha e ‘na shaor. Bhiodh e saoirsneachd a-mach air feadh an àite; bha bràithrean m’athar uile ‘nan saoir. Agus bhiodh e tuathanachas: mar bu trice bhiodh ceithir ‘s a cóig do mhairt bainne ann agus roinn do bheathaichean òga, dà each, lethcheud caora. Agus cha robh m’athair ‘na thuathanach mar sin: bhiodh e saoirsneachd mu fad na h-ùineadh. Mar a Thòisich Mi air Smogadh Cha robh mi ach seachd bliadhn’ a dh’aois. Bha MacLeòid, bha bùth aige faisg air an taigh-sgoileadh. Gheobhainn pìob chrèadh air sgillinn; gheobhainn pagaid do thombaca air cóig centachan – bha ‘n sin a h-uile sian agam. Bha ‘n sin pàirt dhe na gillean eile a bha dol dhan sgoil còmhla rium, bha fear ann a’ sin, Teàrlach MacRath. Bha mi fhìn ‘s e fhéin mun aon aois. Bha esan a’ cagnadh tombaca. Tha cuimhn’ a’ m air latha dhe na lathaichean bha sinn ‘san taigh-sgoileadh agus bh’agam ri dhol suas dhan chlas. Dh’éirich Teàrlach – chaill e cuimhn’ air fhéin. Chaidh e nunn dh’ionnsaigh an fhear-theine, thug e ‘n greim tombaca as a bheul ‘s [chuir e] a-staigh ‘san tein’ e. Dh’fhoighneachd am maighstear-sgoil dha, “Dé rinn thu ‘n siod?” “Tha mi faighinn cuidhteas an tombaca,” thuirt e. Uill, fhuair mise e ‘s fhuair esan run a thoirt oirnn15 airson a bhith smogadh cho òg. Ach bha sinn a’ smogadh ‘s bha sinn a’ cagnadh agus cha d’rinn e dad do dhiofar riamh do ghin againn. An Oidhche a Thànaig an Smuglair Tha cuimhn’ a’m mar chanadh iad, “bha smuglair mun cuairt.” Bhiodh e smugailigeadh rumpa. Bha fear a’ seo ‘s cheannaich e mach air trì mìle dolar dhen rumpa. Mu dhà uair ‘sa mhadainn dh’fhairich sinn bualadh aig an dorast ‘s chaidh mise dh’ionnsaigh an dorais (‘s) bha fear ann a’ sin. Cha robh e fuireach glé fhada bhuainn. Fìor-dhuine socrach, ciùin a bh’ann agus chuir e ìoghnadh mór ormsa fhaicinn a-muigh an am seo a dh’oidhche. Dh’fhoighneachd e dhomh a robh m’athair a-staigh ‘s thuirt mi ris gu rogh ‘s dh’fhalbh mi ‘s dhùisg mi m’athair. ‘S gu dé bh’aige ach team do dh’eich, rag an fheòir agus dà fhichead buideal do rumpa: an

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The woman’s brother lived two miles further on right across from us here. So Big Jim made a road through the snow and carried the small children on his back to her brother’s place, arriving at daybreak. Now, how many men would do something like that? I don’t know that there’s anyone living today who would do such a thing.

youth and learning My father was a carpenter and used to work around the district. All his brothers were carpenters as well. He was also engaged in farming, usually keeping four or five milk cows, a good number of young animals, two horses, and fifty sheep. But my father was not truly a farmer; he worked pretty much full-time as a carpenter. How I Started Smoking I was only seven years old, and MacLeod had a store near the schoolhouse where I could get a clay pipe for a penny and a packet of tobacco for five cents, so I had everything. Among the boys going to school with me was a Charlie MacRae. He and I were about the same age and he chewed tobacco. I remember one particular day when we were in school and I had to go up before the class. Charlie got up, forgetting himself, and went over to the stove. He took the tobacco out of his mouth and threw it in the fire. The schoolmaster asked him, “What did you just do there?” “I’m getting rid of my tobacco,” Charlie replied. Well, I caught it and he got us reprimanded for smoking so young.15 But we smoked and chewed anyway and it never did anything to either of us. A Night Visit from the Smuggler I remember when, as they used to say, “there was a smuggler around” who used to smuggle rum; a local man had bought some three thousand dollars’ worth. Around two in the morning we heard a knocking at the door, so I went to the door and there was a man. He was a very quiet and placid man who did not live far from us, and I was very surprised to see him out at that time of night. He asked me if my father was in and I replied that he was and went and roused him. And what did the other man have but a team of horses and a hayrack loaded with forty casks of rum –

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dala leth dhiubh sin deich galain annta ‘s an fheadhainn eile cóig galain. Chaidh tòiseachadh air sin a chur a-staigh dhan t-sabhal. Fhuair sinn àite dha ‘san t-sabhal ‘s chuir sinn feur fairis air ‘s neo-ar-thaing nach robh e ann an àite math. Thuirt e rinn nach biodh e air fhàgail ann glé fhada. Ach cha b’ann mar sin a bh’ann. Ach smaoinich Lachainn latha bha seo air coimhead air a’ ghnothach. Bha mi tarraing dà tharann as, a’ cur sop do dh’fhodar ann. Lìonainn car ‘sa rumpa ann an dà mhionaid [e]. Agus dh’fhalbh e ‘na fhrìneachan ‘s na shnàthadan16 glé shocrach. Cha d’fhuair sinne móran riamh as. Ach thigeadh duine ‘s bheireadh e leis buideal ‘s bheireadh e leis a dhà dhiubh … Bha sin air té17 dhe na cheud deochannan a ghabh mise riamh. Ghabh mi deoch mhath dheth seo ‘s neo-ar-thaing nach robh mi faireachdainn math. Ma dh’fhaoidte gun do ghabh mi té eile ach an deireadh thànaig air a sin, dh’fhàs Lachainn cho tinn – bha mi deanadh dheth gu robh am bàs orm. Ach cha do chur sin stad orm. Chum mi gabhail deoch bheag riamh, ach a’ cheud deoch, ‘s i ‘n deoch bu mhiosa ghabh mi riamh. Dh’fhàs mi glé thinn air a thàilleabh. Bha mi eadar dusan ‘s ceithir bliadhn’ deug an uair sin. An Dòigh a Theirinn-sa Riu Òl [Bha fear a’] fuireach goirid dhan àite ‘san18 d’rugadh ‘s na thogadh mi fhìn. Agus, o, bha e ‘na sheann duine. B’fhìor thoil leis searrag mhath do rumpa ‘n dràsda ‘s a-rithist. Ach thuit a-mach air oidhche shònraichte bha seo, bha còmhlan do dh’ògradh a-staigh ‘s bha e car a’ toirt comhairl’ oirnn. Bha e ‘g innse nach robh fhios aig an ògradh ‘n latha an-diugh – thuirt e, “Chan eil fhios aca dé an dòigh a dh’òlas iad a’ stuth. Agus éiridh iad air òl,” thuirt esan, “gus an gabh iad an daorach. Chan e sin,” thuirt esan, “an dòigh a theirinn-sa riu òl; ach innsidh mise dhuibh mar bu chòir an stuth fiachail sin a bhith ga òl. Nuair dh’éireadh tu ‘sa mhadainn bhiodh e glé mhath an uairsin searrag mhath a ghabhail mun cuireadh tu air an teine. Reachadh tu ‘n sin amach,” thuirt e, “agus dheanadh tu obair an t-sabhail. Agus dal a thigeadh tu a-staigh, mun gabhadh tu do bhreiceast, bhiodh e math searrag mhath eile ghabhail an uairsin. Sin a-nunn mu dheich uairean, dal bha dìreach tea nan deich uairean deiseil, searrag a ghabhail an uairsin cuideachd. Agus, o,” thuirt e, “mun tigeadh an dinneir19 a chur air a’ bhòrd,” thuirt e, “’s ann an uairsin a dh’fhaodadh tu searrag cuimseach math a ghabhail. Agus sin nunn mu thrì uairean feasgar dal a bhiodh tea nan trì uairean ann, bhiodh e laghach té ghabhail an uairsin. Agus a’ sin a-nunn,” thuirt e, “dal a bhiodh tu dol a-mach a dheanadh obair an t-sabhail ghabhadh tu searrag mhath an uairsin,” thuirt e. “Agus thigeadh tu a’ sin a-staigh agus dìreach

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half of them holding ten gallons apiece and the other half, five gallons. They began to load the rum into the barn. We found a place for it in the barn and covered it with hay, which was a good place for it indeed. He told us it would not be left there for long, but that was not the way things turned out. But one day it occurred to Lauchie to investigate, so I pulled out two nails [from a cask] and inserted a wisp of straw, which I could pretty well fill with rum in two minutes. The rum went out [of the barn] “by pins and needles,”16 and very quietly. We never got much out of it; a man would come and take a cask, and then take two more … That was one17 of the first drinks I ever had. I took a good drink of it and indeed it got me feeling good. I may have had another one then, but the end result for Lauchie was that he got very sick: I thought I was about to die. But that didn’t stop me. I kept right on taking a little drink, but that first drink was the worst one I ever had. I was really sick on account of it. I was between twelve and fourteen at the time. The Correct Way to Take a Drink There was an older man who lived not far away from where18 I was born and raised, and he was very fond of a good drink of rum now and again. But it happened on a certain evening that there was a gathering of young people in visiting, and he started giving us advice. He was holding forth on modern youth’s lack of knowledge, saying, “They don’t know how to drink rum properly. They embark on a drinking session,” he said, “until they’re soused. That isn’t the drinking technique that I would recommend to them. Let me tell you how this most excellent substance should be taken. “When you get up in the morning it might be a good idea to have a good one before you put on the fire. Then you might go out and do the barn work. And when you come in, before you have your breakfast, it would be very pleasant to have another one. Round about the time for ten o’clock tea you could have another one. And,” he continued, “before dinner19 was put on the table, you might choose to take a fairly large one. Around three in the afternoon, when it was time for three o’clock tea, it would be pleasant to have another one, and one more good one later on,” he said, “when you went out to do the barn work. When you came in and

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mun suidheadh tu aig do shuipeir, dh’fhaodadh tu té bheag, laghach a ghabhail an uairsin,” thuirt e. Agus a’ sin dal a thigeadh am a dhol a laighe, uill, dh’fhaodadh tu té cuimseach math, foghainneach a ghabhail an uairsin,” thuirt e. “Dh’fhadoadh tu té mhath a ghabhail an uairsin mun rachadh tu a laighe.” Agus thionndaich e a’ sin ‘s thuirt e, “Agus té bheag in between – ‘s e sin nam biodh càil agad dhi.” Niall Bràthair M’Athar Ach bha fear eile fuireach còmhla rinn, Niall20 bràthair m’athar. Chaill esan a fhradharc dal nach robh e ach mu naoidh bliadhn’ deug a dh’aois. Ach ma chaill e a fhradharc fhuair e tàlantan eile air a thàilleabh sin. Cha robh bhuaith’ ach òran fhaireachdainn air a ghabhail dà thrup agus bhiodh a h-uile facal dheth aige. Ach ged a bha Niall dall cha robh e gun fheum. Reachadh e gu ceithir oisinnean a’ bhaile ‘s choisicheadh e mun cuairt am baile ‘s thigeadh e dhachaidh. Agus neo-ar-thaing nach robh Niall math gu obair. Theireadh poidhle nach aithnigheadh iad nach fhaiceadh e a cheart cho math ‘s a chithinn-sa. Ghearradh e ‘n connadh, dheanadh e lòd feòir, sgaoileadh e sin ‘san t-sabhal. ‘S e bha biadhadh a’ chruidh, na h-eich, deanadh obair an t-sabhail mar bu trice gus an d’fhàs mi sean gu leòr ‘s gun tigeadh agam fhìn air sin a dheanadh, no cuideachadh a thoirt dha.21 Tha cuimh’ a’ m – bha seo ron Depression, a-nunn 1925, mun am sin – bhiodh iad a’ faighinn tairbh dhachaidh à Truro agus bhiodh a h-uile duine ga chumail colla-deug. Thuit a-mach aig an am seo gu robh e aig an àit’ againne ‘s tha cuimhn’ a’ m glé mhath air: béist mhór uamhasach do Holstein. Agus air latha dhe na lathaichean cha robh m’athair aig an taigh; bha e ‘g obair an àite air choireiginn. Bha pìos do chruithneachd air cùl an t-sabhail agus – a-nunn as t-fhoghar a bh’ann – bha e dìreach glé fhaisg air a bhith deiseil airson a ghearradh. Thug mise sùil a-mach air an uinneig ‘s bha an tarbh mór an deaghaidh cliath dhen fheansa a thilgeadh seachad air a cheann agus e gaileapadh air feadh na pàirceadh, a theanga a-mach ‘s e a’ bùireinich ‘s e ‘g éibheachd. “Dhia seall orm,” thuirt Niall. “Tha an tarbh an deaghaidh faighinn amach. Feumaidh mi a dhol a-mach ‘s a chur a-staigh.” Bha fhios agam-as – bha tùr gu leòr agam an uair sin – nach robh Niall ga fhaicinn, a’ chulaidh-uamhais a bha seo. Ach chaidh e a-mach agus fhuair e bogsa agus chuir e coirce ann agus choisich e sios bhon t-sabhal. Thòisich e air éibheachd air an tarbh. Thug an tarbh sùil, thog e a cheann ‘s bha e coimhead air tacan. Leig e burral uamhasach as an uair sin agus a-mach a ghabh e, e tighinn air gaileap cho cruaidh ‘s a bheireadh a cheithir chasan e. Dal a bha e mu fhichead troigh bho Niall dh’fhorc22 e

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were just about to sit down to your supper, you could have a nice little one. And when it came time to retire,” he went on, “you could have a fairly stiff one before you went to bed.” And turning to us, he said, “And a small one in between – that is, if you felt like it.” My Paternal Uncle Neil Now there was someone else living with us – Neil, my father’s brother.20 He lost his sight when he was only about nineteen, but if he did he gained other talents because of this. He only needed to hear a song sung twice and he would have every word of it. But though Neil was blind he was far from useless. He would walk to the four corners of the farm, make the circuit, and return home. Now Neil was a great worker. Many people would remark that they could not tell that his sight was not every bit as good as my own. He could cut the stovewood or make a load of hay and spread it in the barn. It was his job to feed the cattle and the horses, and he usually did the barn work until I grew old enough to handle it, or at least help him.21 I remember before the Depression – sometime around 1925 – they used to get a bull home from Truro and everyone kept it for two weeks. It happened at that time that it was at our farm and I remember it very well indeed – an awful brute of a Holstein. One day my father was somewhere away from home working. There was a patch of wheat behind the barn – it was into autumn then – which was just about ready to be cut. I glanced out the window and the big bull had just thrown a section of the pole fence back over its head and was galloping through the field with its tongue hanging out, roaring and bellowing. “God help us,” said Neil. “The bull has broken out. I have to go out and put it in.” Now, I knew – I had enough sense to understand by then – that Neil couldn’t see the brute, but out he went. He got a box, filled it with oats, and began calling the bull as he walked down from the barn. The bull looked up, raised its head, and looked him over for a short time. Then it let forth a frightful bellow and charged, bearing down and galloping as hard as its four legs could carry it. When it was about twenty feet from Neil, it thrust out22 its [front] legs and put its head into the box. Neil put

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chasan agus chuir e cheann a-staigh ‘sa bhogsa. Chuir Niall a làmh mun cuairt air amhaich agus choisich e a-staigh dhan t-sabhal agus cha d’fhuair e a-mach a’ latha sin tuilleadh. Tha cuimhn’ a’ m glé mhath mo mhàthair a’ coimhead air agus cha robh ann ach dìreach gu robh i beò – i deanadh dheth gu robh an tarbh a’ dol ga mharbhadh, ach cha do mharbh.23 Bha fhios agam-as gu robh Niall fòghlamaichte anns a’ Ghàidhlig agus ged a chaill e fhradhrarc fhuair e rud eile ‘na àite.24 Bha meabhar aige a bha uamhasach. Agus tha cuimhn’ a’m, bhiodh iad a’ tighinn as a’ siod ‘s as a’ seo airson càirdeas fhaighinn. Dh’fhoighneachdadh iad do Niall an robh càirdeas ann ‘s theireadh Niall gu robh. An uair ud dal bha thu pòsadh bhathas gad éibheach as an eaglais. Agus thiginn-sa dhachaidh agus dh’innsinn do Niall gun deach a leithid seo do dh’fheadhainn èibheach an-diugh. “Ai, ai,” thuirt e. “O, tha. Tha iad cho càirdeach seo.” An Solast Dealain Bha sin anns a’ bhliadhna naoidh ceud deug a fichead ‘s a h-ochd; thànaig an electricity.25 Fhuair sinn an taigh a wireigeadh ‘s chur air dòigh; bha i dìreach rud beag ro Nollaig. Agus thànaig iad ‘s chuir iad suas a huile sian ‘s thuirt iad gu robh a h-uile sian deiseil. Ach bha sinn a’ feitheamh a-nunn beul na h-oidhcheadh ris a’ solast a thighinn air ‘s cha robh a’ solast a’ tighinn ‘s cha robh a’ solast a’ tighinn, gus mu dheireadh ‘s mu dheireadh thall chuimhnich mise gu robh switch agam ri chur air. Rinn mi sin: chuir mi air a’ switch. Thànaig na solaist air ‘s bha a h-uile sian cho soilleir ris a’ latha. Bha thus’ a Nìll bhochd ann a’ sin ‘s bha e foighneachdainn gu dé bha ceàrr oirnn: a’ fuaim a bh’againn. Dh’inns’ sinn dha mar a thachair. “O, shin mar a th’ann,” thuirt esan. “Chan eil mise gam faicinn. Ach,” thuirt e, “tha mi creidsinn gur e seo an ceithreamh solast bho’n a rugadh mise. Tha cuimhn’ a’m,” thuirt e, “glé mhath air a’ bhuaicein. Tha cuimhn’ a’m air a’ choinneal.26 Tha cuimhn’ a’m air a’ lamp. Agus chan urrainn dhomhsa sian fhaicinn,” thuirt esan, “airson description a thoirt dhuibh air dé seòrsa rud a th’ann.”

òrain is ceòl Na Coimhearsnaich air Chéilidh Dh’ionnsaich mise poidhle do dh’òrain bho Niall, agus bha poidhle mór aig Niall nach do dh’ionnsaich mise. ‘S cha robh aige ach ri ghabhail dhomhsa dà thrup ‘s bha an t-òran agam. Bha a’ sin Dòmhnallaich

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his arm around the bull’s neck and walked into the barn with it, and it didn’t get out again that day. I remember clearly my mother watching Neil and how she nearly died thinking that the bull was going to kill him, but it didn’t.23 I knew that Neil was learned in Gaelic, and though he had lost his sight, he received something else in its place:24 he had an astonishing memory. I recall how people would come to him from all around to find out about blood relationships. They would ask Neil whether there was a relationship and Neil would say that there was. Now in those days when you married they used to proclaim the marriage banns in church, and I would come home and tell Neil that such-and-such a couple had been announced that day. “Aye, aye,” he would say. “They are related to this degree.” The Electric Lights In the year 1928 electricity was introduced.25 We had the house wired and made ready just a short time before Christmas. So the workmen came and installed everything and said it was all ready. Come nightfall we were waiting for the lights to come on and they weren’t coming on and they weren’t coming on until at long last I remembered that there was a switch that had to be turned on. So I went ahead and turned on the switch. The lights came on then and everything was as bright as day. And there you were, poor Neil, asking what was the matter with us – the noise we were making. So we told him what had happened. “Oh, that’s the way it is,” said Neil. “I don’t see them now, but I believe this is the fourth source of light since I was born. I remember the wicks very clearly,” he continued, “and I remember the candles26 and lamps as well. But I can’t see anything to give you a description of what we have here.”

song and music Neighbours Dropping By Many’s the song I learned from Neil, but he had many more that I did not learn. He had only to sing a song to me twice and I knew it. At that time there were MacDonalds living quite close to us, about a mile up the

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a’ fuireach glé fhaisg oirnn, mu mhìle suas a’ bheinn, ris an canadh iad Dòmhnall Thormaid, Eóghann, Sìne, Ruairidh, Màiri agus bhiodh iad tighinn dh’ionnsaigh an taighe cuimseach glé thric. Agus sin fon a robh Niall a’ faighinn poidhle dhe chuid òrain. Bha càirdean eile againn, muinntir Alasdair Iseabail.27 Bhiodh té dhe na h-igheannan air a robh Beileag mar bu trice a’ fuireach aig an taigh againne agus neoar-thaing nach robh òrain aice-se agus bha a’ fear eile deiseil airson an ionnsachadh. ‘S e sin dal a bha sinne glé òg; chan eil cuimhn’ agam-as air iad a bhith ann idir. Ach fhuair e poidhle òrain bhuapa sin. Agus bhiodh luadh aig an àit’ againne a h-uile foghar. Agus nuair chruinnicheadh an còmhlan, neo-ar-thaing òrain Ghàidhlig a’ sin! Bhiodh Iain Dhòmhnaill Bhàin ann, bhiodh Peigi Ruairidh Ailein ann, Gilleasbuig Aonghuis ‘ic Alasdair, Iain Eoghainn ‘ac Dhòmhnaill ‘ic Fhearchair – an crowd sin. Bhiodh iad sin a’ gabhail òran, ‘s bhiodh Niall a’ gabhail òran. Eadar a h-uile sian a bh’ann, neo-ar-thaing nach robh dòigh aig’ air òrain ionnsachadh. Cha robh aigesan ach an t-òran a chluinntinn ‘s bha e aige. Mar a dh’Ionnsaich Mi Mo Chuid Òrain Ann an toiseach mo chuimhne nuair nach robh mi ach glé òg cha robh sian air an t-saoghal a b’fheàrr leamsa na falbh mach air an oidhche ‘s a dhol a dh’àite air choireiginn ‘s a bhith ri gabhail òran ‘s naidheachdan. Bha àite ‘Illeasbuig Aonghuis ‘ic Alasdair28 air fear dhiubh sin. Bha e fhéin ‘na dhuine gasda ‘s bha a bhean cho math ‘s a ghabhadh i, agus shuidh e suas a’ gabhail òran ‘s dh’inns’ e naidheachdan aite. Gheobhadh e greim orm-s’ shios: “Lachainn, gabh an t-òran seo. Gabh a leithid seo do dh’òran.” Uill, ghabhainn-sa na bh’agam dhiubh agus aig an am29 cheudna bha mise gan ionnsachadh bho Ghilleasbuig Aonghuis ‘ic Alasdair ‘s bho iomadh duine’ eile – Eóghann Dhòmhnaill ‘ic Aonghuis, muinntir Ruairidh Ailein, Iain Dhòmhnaill Bhàin – neo-ar-thaing nach biodh oidhche mhath againn. ‘S ann mar sin a bha mi gan ionnsachadh. Nam biodh òran ann a b’fhìor thoil leam, cha robh bhuam ach fhaireachdainn dà thrup. Agus tha cuimhn’ a’ m air òran a dh’ionnsaich mi bho Niall: “Oran an t-Saighdeir.” Thug e orm a dhol throimhe dà thrup. Madainn a la’r-na-mhàireach bha Niall truagh air a chois aig soilleireachadh agus dal gheobhadh e an tein’ air dòigh ‘s gheobhadh e an coir’ air goil thigeadh e suas, dhùisgeadh e mis’ agus dh’éirinn-sa anuas. “A Lachainn, dé na bheil agad dhen òran a bha sinn ag obair air a-raoir?” Thòisichinn-sa air air mo shocair. Cha bhiodh a dhìth orm ma dh’fhaoidte ach a dhà no thrì dh’fhaclan ‘s bha e agam uileadh, an t-òran.

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mountain, who were known as Donald Norman, Hugh, Jane, Roddie, and Mary. They used to come to the house frequently, and that’s where Neil got a good part of his store of songs. There were other relatives of ours, Alec Isabelle’s family.27 One of the daughters, Beileag, usually stayed at our house; she certainly knew songs, and Neil was more than ready to learn them. That all happened when we were very young. I don’t remember their being there at all, but Neil learned a lot of songs from them. Now, we used to hold a milling frolic at the house every autumn, and when people got together that’s where Gaelic songs would be! John Dan MacNeil would be there, and Peggy Rory Allan, Archie Gillis, John Hugh Donald Farquhar – that crowd. Then they would sing and so would Neil. So with all this he had a great opportunity to learn songs. He only had to hear a song and he knew it. How I Acquired My Songs Ever since I could remember, from the time I was very young there was nothing I liked better than to go out at night on a visit to some house to sing songs and tell stories. Archie Gillis’s28 place was one of these. He was a fine man and his wife was as kind as could be and he used to sit up singing and recounting comical stories. He would grasp me by the knee: “Lauchie, sing this song. Sing such-and-such a song.” Well, I’d sing what I knew of them and at the same time29 I was acquiring them from Archie and from many others: Hugh MacLellan, Rory Allan’s people, John Dan MacNeil. We’d certainly have a good night of it, and that’s how I learned the songs. I remember one song, “Òran an t-Saighdeir” (The Soldier’s Song), that I learned from Neil. He made me go through it twice. Then on the morning of the next day poor Neil was up at first light and once he had the fire going and the kettle boiled he’d come up, wake me, and I’d get up and come down. “Lauchie, what do you have of the song we were working on last night?” I’d start on it, taking my time. It would only require perhaps two or three words and I’d have the song right through.

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“Uill a-nise,” thurt esan, “bi ga ghabhail dhut fhéin agus ma bhios facal sam bith ann nach eil thu tuigsinn foighneachd dhomhs’ e.” Agus sin an dòigh a bha mi gan ionnsachadh. Agus neo-ar-thaing nach robh e furasda òran ionnsachadh bho Niall truagh: bha an fhoighdinn aig’ uileadh – móran barrachd ‘s a bh’agamsa. A’ Cheud Òran a Ghabh Mi air Luadh Tha cuimhn’ agams’ air tha mi creidsinn a’ cheud luadh air a robh mi … gur ann a’ seo fhéin aig an taigh. Cha ghabhainn òran aig an taigh idir ach gus am bithinn cuimseach math cinneach gu robh e agam. Thug iad orm [òran a ghabhail] an àite John Alec Iain ‘ac Dhòmhnaill ‘ic Fhearchair. Ma dh’fhaoidte gu robh mi cóig deug na sia deug. Agus bha Gilleasbuig Aonghuis ‘ic Alasdair ann ‘s bha Iain Dhòmhnaill Bhàin ann ‘s bha Eóghann Dhòmhnaill ‘ic Aonghuis ann. An ceann tacain thànaig e mun cuairt. “Feumaidh tu fear eile a ghabhail. Chan fhaigh thu air falbh le siod idir. Chan eil math do dhuine òg faighinn air falbh le siod idir.” Thug iad orm òran eile a ghabhail, na òran na dhà. ‘S e siod car a’ cheud uair a ghabh mise òran an àit’ eile. ’S e fìor dhuine laghach a bh’ ann an Eóghann Dhòmhnaill ‘ic Aonghuis.30 Tha cuimhne mhath agam air agus bha e làn do dh’òrain. ’S dal reachadh tu a-staigh bhiodh e glé thoilichte suidhe suas còmhla riut ‘s dh’entertaineadh e thu fhad’s a bhiodh tu a-staigh. Bha e math air òrain ‘s bha e math air naidheachdan, an dà chuid. Agus b’fhìor thoil leamsa bhith dol ann a dh’éisdeachd ri Eóghann Dhòmhnaill ‘ic Aonghuis. Bu thoil leam e. Dh’innseadh e naidheachdan beaga ‘s dh’fhàgadh e sin agad fhéin ri chur air dòigh. Agus bha a bhràthair Teàrlach – an Tannair mar an tuirt iad – deifir duine uile gu léir. Cha robh ‘n saoghal cur sian air Teàrlach. O, cha robh e [Eóghann Dhòmhnaill ‘ic Aonghuis] ach dìreach air a’ bhaile: bha iad a’ tuathanachas. ‘S e fìor dhaoine teòma a bh’annta agus ge b’e gu dé na bh’aca bha iad a’ toirt an aire dha. Agus bha iad a’ faighinn air adhart math gu leòr am measg a chéile. An uair ud ‘s e rud mór a bh’ann an òran. Ma bha thu dol ga ghabhail dh’fheumadh e bhith agad. Cha deanadh e sian a dh’fheum dhut tòiseachadh air rannan airson rud a ghabhail nach tuigeadh tu fhéin na duin’ eile. Dh’fheumadh tu an t-òran a ghabhail ceathramh an deaghaidh ceathramh. Tha cuimhn’ a’ m air a bhith ga ionnsachadh bho Niall: “A-nise, a Lachainn,” thuirt e, “tha thu dol a dh’innse naidheachd. Agus feumaidh tu falbh ceathramh an deaghaidh ceathramh.” Agus ‘s e sin a chuireas am blas air an òran. Dh’ionnsaichinn mar sin bho Niall e. Ach b’fhìor thoil leamsa bhith gan ionnsachadh. Bha té31 dhe m’ pheathraichean, Ceit, math air òrain ach dh’fhalbh i dha na States nuair nach robh i ach òg, agus mhill sin car an gnothach

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“Well, now,” he’d say, “sing it to yourself and if there is any word you don’t understand, ask me.” So that was how I learned them. And it certainly was easy to learn songs from poor Neil. He had all the patience – a lot more than I ever had. My First Song at a Milling Frolic I remember what I think was the first milling frolic I attended, and that it was right here at home. I wouldn’t sing a song at home at all until I was fairly sure I had it down. They did get me to sing at John Alec MacLellan’s place; I must have been fifteen or sixteen, and Archie Gillis, John Dan MacNeil, and Hugh MacLellan were all there. After a time John Alec came around. “You won’t get away with just that. You’ve got to sing another one. A young person shouldn’t get off with that at all.” So they made me sing another song, or another few. That was pretty much the first time I sang at another place. Hugh MacLellan was an extremely nice and friendly man.30 I remember him well and he was full of songs. When you went into the house he would be delighted to sit up with you and would entertain you as long as you were there. He was good at both songs and stories. I greatly enjoyed going there to listen to him and I was fond of him. He would tell short little anecdotes and leave it to you to put them together. Now his brother Charles – the Tanner, as people called him – was a different kind of man altogether. Nothing ever flustered Charles. Hugh’s only work was on the place – they farmed there. They were real experts at it and whatever they had they took care of, and they got along quite well together. In those times a song meant something. If you were going to sing it you had to know it. It would do you no good to start in on the verses just to sing something that neither you nor anyone else could understand. You had to sing the song with the verses in order. I can remember learning this from Neil: “Now Lauchie,” he said, “you’re going to be telling a story. And you must go ahead with one verse following the other.” And that’s what gives the song its quality. I would learn that way from Neil, and I truly enjoyed learning the songs. One31 of my sisters, Kate, was a good singer, but when she was only young she left for the States and that was a disadvantage for her singing.

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oirr’. Ach ghabhadh i òran [‘s] ghabhadh a h-uile gin dhiubh òran. Bha a’ chuimhn’ agamsa na b’fheàrr, tha seansa. Chuir mi barrachd do dh’ùidh annta ‘s a chuir àsan. Cloinn ‘IllFheòlain na Leth-Chluais agus Còmhstri nam Bàrd Cha do dh’fhairich mise a mhór a riamh air a’ sin, ach ge b’e gu dé bha dol air adhart chaidh iad far a chéile ‘s bha iad a’ dol a shabaid: còmhrag eadariu. Chaill Mac’IllFheòlain a chluas – co-dhiubh chuir sin stad air airneo nach do chuir chan eil fhios agam-as.32 Ach bha Cloinn ‘IllFheòlain na Leth-Chluas … tha cuimhn’ a’ m air Bean Alasdair Dhùgh’laich. Bha i fuireach ‘san eilean agus phòs i Alasdair Dùgh’lach33 agus bha a cuid bhràithrean a’ tighinn a nall ga coimhead. Sin bu choireach i dheanadh an òrain dal a chunnaic i ‘m bàta tighinn. Rugadh i fhéin ‘san t-seann dùthaich agus bha i ‘na fìor bhana-bhàrd. Bhiodh i fhéin agus Fearchar mac Iain Ruaidh34 air a’ bheinn ann a’ seo car a’ dol air ais ‘s air adhart agus cha chuireadh esan sgòd dhith. Ach ciamar a thuirt i: Tha Cloinn ‘IllFheòlain air fàs cho lìonmhor Chan eil trian ann ach bidh iad còmhladh; An cinneadh suarach a dh’fhàs leth-chluasach Cha tugainn luaidh orra Luain na Dhòmhnach.

Bhiodh esan a’ cur sios oirre: Nam faigheadh tu sgiathan geòidh Reachadh tu sgrìob a dh’Eilein Eòin35 Shealltainn air Cloinn ‘ic Iain Òig Gur e siod am pòr tha sgallach.

Ach thuirt ise, Nan reachainn-sa dh’Eilein Eòin Cha ruiginn a leas sgiathan geòidh; Gheobhainn bàta leam fo sheòl Agus còmhlan oirr’ a dh’fhearaibh. Nuair dh’fheòraichinn tighinn a nall Gheobhainn iùbhrach fo cuid crann ‘S sgiobair oirre dh’fhear nan Gleannd A dh’fhàgadh do cheann-sa sgallach.

Bhiodh iad dol far a chéile mar sin.

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But she could sing, as could all the rest of them. Perhaps my memory was better; I showed more interest than the others did in songs. The One-Eared MacLellans and a Bardic Contest I never got to hear much concerning this, but whatever the story was, there was a falling-out and people were going to fight – a fight between them. A MacLellan lost his ear, but whether this stopped him or not I don’t know.32 But regarding the One-Eared MacLellans … I remember Alexander MacDougall’s wife.33 She had lived in P.E.I. and she married Alexander MacDougall and her brothers were coming over to visit her. That’s why she made the song when she saw the boat coming. She was born in the old country and she was a true woman bard. She and Farquhar Red John34 who lived here on the mountain were back and forth, and he couldn’t come close to her [as a bard]. But how did she say it … The MacLellans have grown so numerous That they are assembled when only one-third is present: The niggardly clan that became one-eared, I would not esteem them Monday or Sunday.

And he in turn would rebuke her: Were you to get a goose’s wings, You would go to visit Prince Edward Island35 To see Iain Òg’s clan, The bald-headed progeny.

But she replied, Were I to visit the Island I would have no need of goose’s wings; I would get a boat to use under sail With a complement of able men. And on enquiring about returning I would get a craft with masts With a captain of the Glen people Such as would leave your own head bald.

They used to go up against each other like that.

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Dòmhnall Thormaid36 Nunn an toiseach an t-samhraidh bhiodh iad a’ falbh a’ siod ‘s a’ seo a’ sgealbadh a’ bhuntata. Agus bha Aonghus Ailein thall ann a’ seo. Fhuair e Anna Ruadh Dhòmhnaill ‘ic Iain a sgealbadh a’ bhuntata dha. Agus cha rachadh i sgealbadh a’ bhuntata còmhla ri Dòmhnall Thormaid idir: bha e leis fhéin, agus e ‘na sheann duine ‘s ise ‘na seann bhoireannach. Agus fhuair Dòmhnall, fhuair e roinn do chig as a’ seo, nach rachadh i còmhla rissan a dh’àite Aonghuis Ailein. Agus rinn e’n t-òran. Bha an t-òran aig Dòmhnall Iain Bhàin – Dan Collins37 – agus theireadh e rium, “A Lachainn, cha ghabh mi dhut idir e. Bheir mi dhut e,” thuirt esan, “air leaba mo bhàis.” ‘S rinn e sin. Thug mise an aire gu luath gum b’e a rinn an t-òran ‘s thug e dhomh an t-òran. Cha robh toil aige gun deanadh e sian do thrioblaid measg nan daoine. Agus cha robh sian ceàrr air an òran, sian idir, ach bheireadh e ort bhith a’ gàireachdainn.38 Bhiodh iad a’ bruidhinn air a’ Halley’s Comet. Bha a’ Halley’s Comet a’ dol a thighinn.39 Bha i dol a thighinn anuas air an t-saoghal seo agus ma dh’fhaoidte gu robh i dol a smàladh an t-saoghail uile: gu robh i na bu mhotha na ‘n saoghal seo. Ach co-dhiubh no dheth cha robh Dòmhnall math gu leubhadh. Cha robh dad do sgoil idir aige, ach leubhadh e gu leòr as a’ phàipear a thuigeadh e car gu dé bha iad a’ ciallachadh. Ach dé thachair aig Bliadhn’ Ùir: bha aifhreann a’ dol a bhith aca thall ann am Parraiste Naoimh Eòsaiph – thall air an abhainn40 mar a theireamaid – air meadhon-oidhche ‘s cha do thachair seo riamh roimhe. Agus bha Dòmhnall a’ deanadh dheth bho’n a bha an aifhreann a’ dol a bhith ann air meadhon-oidhche agus gu robh a’ Halley’s Comet a bha seo a’ tighinn, bha e cur a h-uile sian còmhla agus bhuail eagal uamhasach e. Ach an oidhche a bha iad a’ dol ann – oidhche na Bliadhn’ Ùireadh – bha iad a’ coiseachd dhan eaglais. Agus bha cleòca mór, fada, dubh air [Dòmhnall] agus tubaid air a chùlaibh. Agus thuit a-mach an oidhche a bha seo gu robh soirbheas an iar-thuath ann cuimseach math làidir ‘s dh’éirich an sin an soirbheas na b’àird’ uileadh agus na bu mhotha ‘s na bu treasa. Agus bha còmhlan eile còmhla ris ‘s e ag innse dhaibh mu dheidhinn na Halley’s Comet, gu robh i dol a thighinn. Agus aig a’ cheart am thànaig sguail mhór do shoirbheas agus thog i an tubaid a bh’air druim Dhòmhnaill agus chuir i mun cuairt air aodann mar seo e. “A Dhia seall air m’anam,” thuirt esan, “tha i seo!” Peigi Ruairidh41 Tha mi dol a thoirt dhuibh eachdraidh bheag air Peigi Ruairidh. Bha i uamhasach math; nam biodh pioc do thinneas anns a’ pharraiste an àit’ sam

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Donald Norman36 Around the beginning of the summer they used to travel here and there to prepare the seed potatoes. Angus Allan lived over here and he got Red Anna to prepare them for him. But she wouldn’t do the potatoes with Donald at all: he was single and an old man, and she was an old woman. Donald got a great kick from the fact that she would not go with him to Angus Allan’s place and he composed the song. Dan Collins37 knew the song and he used to say to me, “I won’t sing it for you at all, Lauchie. I’ll give it to you on my deathbed.” And so he did. I was quick to notice that it was Donald who had composed the song, and Dan Collins gave it to me. He did not want to cause any trouble in the community, but there was nothing at all wrong with the song, except that it might make you laugh.38 They used to talk about Halley’s Comet39 – how Halley’s Comet was going to arrive; that it was going to descend on the world, and perhaps it would snuff out the whole planet, and that it was larger than the earth. Now Donald was not a good reader. He had had no schooling at all, but he could read enough from the paper so that he could at least partially understand the significance of what people meant. But at New Year’s, what happened but they were having mass at St Joseph’s Parish – over on the river as we would say40 – which was to be at midnight, and such a thing had never happened before. And Donald conjectured, since the mass was to be at midnight and this Halley’s Comet was coming … he put everything together and became very frightened. On the night they were going there – New Year’s Eve – they were walking to the church and Donald was wearing a long black cloak with a tippet in back. And it happened on this particular night that there was quite a strong breeze from the northwest and the wind rose until it blew stronger and heavier. There was a group of other people with him and he was telling them all about Halley’s Comet and how it was about to arrive. And just at that moment a big gust of wind came along and lifted the tippet on Donald’s back and blew it up over his face like this. “God preserve my soul,” said Donald, “it’s here!” Peggy Rory41 I’ll give you a little background on Peggy Rory. She was a very good per-

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bith no caithris thigeadh Peigi ‘s cha bu diù leatha42 fuireach beagan lathaichean. Bha i math gu bruidhinn ‘s bha i math gu caithris. Bha i math mun cuairt air duine tinn: chan iarradh tu na b’fheàrr na Peigi Ruairidh airson an aire thoirt dhut ma bha thu tinn. Boireannach math a bh’ann am Peigi agus bha i math mu dheidhinn òrain: bha iad aic’ uileadh. Cha bhiodh luadh ‘san àite nach biodh Peigi Ruairidh ann. Agus bha i mar a bha a h-uile boireannach eile aig an am: chaill i na fiaclan. Agus cha do chuir sin stad air na h-òrain. Bhiodh cnap beag do gheir aice ‘na pòca. Shuathadh i sin air a slioban. Ghabhadh i an t-òran a-mach cho cruaidh, làidir. Agus nan tuiteadh a-mach gun rachadh tu gu luadh, chitheadh tu iad uile a’ foighneachd a robh Peigi Ruairidh a’ seo. “Tha, thànaig Peigi Ruairidh tràth feasgar.” Chan e boireannach mór idir a bh’innte. Bha i [‘na] boireannach gun a bhith ro mhór, smearail agus neo-ar-thaing nach robh a coltas all right. Bha meas againn uileadh air Peigi. An t-Seann Dòigh a Bh’aca air Luadh Anns a’ cheud àite, ‘s e plangaichean móra air an sàbhadh dìreach bhon t-sàbh a bh’anns a’ chléith luaidh. Agus bha na boireannaich a’ cur a’ chlò no ge b’e gu dé theireadh tu ris – an t-aodach – bha e aca air a ghearradh suas an dòigh ‘s gum biodh ma dh’fhaoidte ceithir na cóig do phlaideachan a’ tighinn as an aon luadh. Agus bha sin aca ann an tuba mhór agus poidhle do shiabann a chaidh a dheanadh aig an taigh ann a’ sin. Bhathas a’ sin a’ toirt beagan do dh’fhàsgadh air a’ sin – agus ‘s iomadh bogadh a fhuair mi – agus ga chur air a’ chléithidh. Reachadh tacan beag a thoirt a’ luadh an toiseachd gus am faigheadh iad a dheanadh réidh mun cuairt air feadh na cléitheadh. Thòisicheadh iad a’ sin air òran luaidh, agus gabhaidh mi fonn fear dhe na h-òrain sin dhuibh ann a’ seo: Hó ho ró ‘s na hó gù Na hì hiuraibh o éileadh Hó ho ró ‘s na hó gù

Tha sibh a-nist a’ tuigsinn gu bheil an t-òran ri ghabhail glé shocrach agus gun tig aig an fheadhainn a tha a’ deanadh a’ luaidh, gun cum iad ris a h-uile facal dhen òran sin. A’ cheud rud: bha sibh a’ beirid air a’ chlò, bha sibh ga phutadh bhuaibh, bha sibh ga fhàgail gu teann air a’ chléithidh. Bha sibh a’ sin ga tharraing thugaibh. Bha sibh a’ sin ga thogail ‘s ga bhualadh ‘s ga phutadh bhuaibh aig an aon am ‘s ga tharraing air ais air a’ chléithidh agus ga shìneadh dha’ n duine bha ri’r taobh, co-dhiubh bh’ann fireannach na boireannach. Bha fhios aca fhéin cho furasda ‘s a bha seo a dheanadh agus cumail ris an òran. ‘S mura biodh an t-òran aca bha e glé dhuilich a

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son; if there was illness anywhere in the parish or someone to sit up with, Peggy would come, and she thought nothing42 of staying for a few days. She was a good conversationalist and good at attending people through the night. She was also good around the sick; you couldn’t ask for better than Peggy Rory to care for you if you were sick. A good woman, Peggy, with a talent for song: she knew them all. There was not a local milling frolic where she would not be found. She was like all the other women in those days: she had lost her teeth. But that did not prevent her from singing songs. She used to carry a small lump of suet in her pocket and she would rub that on her lips. Then she would sing out the song loud and strong. And should you happen to go to a milling, you would see everyone asking whether Peggy Rory was there. “Yes. Peggy Rory came early in the afternoon.” She was not a big woman at all – rather on the small side – but vigorous and of good appearance. We were all fond of her. Milling in the Old Style To begin with, the milling board was made from large sawn planks brought straight from the sawmill. Then the women would put out the web – or whatever you might call it, the cloth. They had it cut up so that there would be perhaps four or five blankets produced from the one milling. They had the web in a large tub along with a lot of homemade soap in there with it. Then they would wring it out – many’s the soaking I got – and place it on the milling board. They would spend a short time milling at the beginning until they got the web evenly distributed around the milling board. Then they would begin a milling song, and I’ll sing you the chorus of one of those songs right here: Hó ho ró ‘s na hó gù Na hì hiuraibh o éileadh Hó ho ró ‘s na hó gù

Now you should understand that the song must be sung quite slowly and moderately so that those who are milling can keep up with every word of the song. First you took hold of the web and pushed it away from you; you left it tightly bunched on the milling board. So you pushed it away from you, and then you pulled it toward you. Then you raised it and brought it down with a striking motion, at the same time pushing it away from you and pulling it back toward you on the milling board and passing it on to the person beside you, be it a man or a woman. They all knew how easy it was to do this and keep time with the song. And if they did not know the song, it was very difficult to do this, but when they were singing the song

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dheanadh. Ach dal a bhathas a’ gabhail an òrain agus an t-òran ceart cha robh strì ann, ach gu robh an clò a’ dol mun cuairt fad an t-siubhail. Chan fhaca mise riamh a bhith luadh le beirid air a’ chlò agus ga bhualadh anns an aon spot: cha robh sin a’ luadh a’ chlò idir. Ach ‘s e mar a theireadh iad slìobadh a bha e faighinn air ais ‘s air adhart air a chléithidh. Sin a bha luadh a’ chlò. Nam biodh pìos àraide aca airson clò-muilinn43 a dheanadh dh’fheumadh e mu cheithir òrain luaidh. Bha pàirt dhe na h-òrain air an robh ochd ceathramhnan fichead ach bha òrain ann na bu ghiorra na sin ‘s ghabhadh e dh’fhaoidte ceithir dhiubh sin. Ach airson plaideachan no a leithid sin, dithist dhe na h-òrain mhóra, fhada, dheanadh sin an gnothach. Bhathas a’ sin a’ rolladh44 a’ chlò – fosgladh a’ chlò ‘s ga rolladh sios dh’ionnsaigh an dala ceann dhen chléithidh ‘s fàgail a’ chòrr air uachdar na cléitheadh. Bhathas a’ sin a’ tòiseachadh air: ‘s e òran basach a theireadh iad ris. Bha iad a’ bualadh a’ chlò le’m basan agus bhathas a’ gabhail òran glé shunndach an uair sin: dh’fhaoidte trì na ceithir dhiubh no dh’fhaoidt’ am barrachd corra uair. Bhiodh sin air réir ‘s có bh’aig a’ chléithidh aig an am. Agus fear dhe na h-òrain sin,45 gabhaidh mi fonn dhuibh: Bheir mi ó ro ho le ló Hó ró mo rùn an t-uasal Bheir mi ó ro ho le ló ‘S misde dhomh teannadh ri òran Do cheaptan òg a’ chùil dualaich. Bheir mi ó ro ho le ló.

Ruidhle Cheathrair agus Ochdnar Tha mi creidsinn gu bheil fichead bliadhna bhuaithe seo. Bha toil aca ruidhle cheathrair a dhannsa shuas aig a’ Chamas Leathan oidhch’ a’ choncert. Agus bha fhios agams’ fon a robh dannsair math, Alasdair MacNìll. Agus fhuair mi e ‘s thànaig e nall còmhla rinn agus bha ceathrar dol a dhol a dhannsa ‘s sheall e dhaibh an dòigh a sheasadh iad air an ùrlar ‘s mu choinneimh a chéile. Agus cho luath ‘s a thòisicheadh am port, agus mar bu trice ‘s e “A Mhórag a bheil thu ann, fir a’ faire46 a bheil thu ann. Shiod agad fon a bheil do chasan, seo an lag am bheil do cheann.”47 Mar bu trice ‘s e sin a’ cheud port a chluitheadh iad. Bha thu deanadh modh ris an té a thug thu a dhannsa, a’ cheud rud. ‘S bha ise a’ sin a’ coiseachd seachad air do bheulaibh agus bha i falbh

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and singing it correctly it was no effort – only that the web was going around the whole time. I never saw milling performed by taking hold of the web and striking it in one spot: that was not milling cloth at all. Instead the cloth was given what might be called a rubbing back and forth on the milling board: that was what milled the cloth. If they had a particular piece for making milled cloth43 it would require about four milling songs. Some songs contained twenty-eight verses, but there were others songs shorter than that and it would take perhaps four of those. But for blankets or the like, two of the big, long songs would do. Then they rolled44 up the web – opened it up and rolled it down toward one end of the milling board, leaving the rest covering the milling board. Then they would begin; they called it a clapping song. They would strike the web with their palms and choose a very cheerful song – maybe three or four of them or occasionally more. That would depend on who was at the milling board at the time. Now I’ll sing the chorus of one of those songs for you:45 Bheir mi ó ro ho le ló Hó ró mo rùn an t-uasal Bheir mi ó ro ho le ló Now I must compose a song To the young, curly-haired captain. Bheir mi ó ro ho le ló.

Foursome and Eightsome Reels It was twenty years ago, I believe, and they wanted to dance a foursome reel up at Broad Cove the night of the concert. I knew where there was a good dancer, Alec MacNeil, so I fetched him and he came along with us. There were four people going to perform it, so he showed them how they would stand facing each other on the floor. And as soon as the tune started – it was usually “Morag, are you there,46 men are watching, are you there. There is where your feet are, and here is the hollow for your head.”47 That was generally the first tune they would play. The first thing would be to honour your partner. She would then pass in front of you and proceed ahead of you and you would both dance very

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romhad agus bha sibh a’ dannsa glé shocrach mar a bha sibh a’ dol air adhart. Bha thus’ an uair sin a’ dannsa a’ cheud steap mu choinneimh na té thug thu dhannsa. Agus air an ath-uair a bha thu dol mun cuairt bha thu deanadh a’ mhodh cheudna ‘s ga leigeil a’ sin air falbh agus bha thu dannsa còmhla ris an té eile. Bha sin a’ dol air adhart [‘s] mar bu trice ‘s e ceithir steapannan, ceithir airneo sia, a bha iad a’ faighinn bho’n cheud phort. Bhathas a’ sin a faighinn an ath-phort beagan na bu luaithidh. Agus dal a dhannsadh iad dh’fhaoidte trì no ceithir steapannan leis a’ sin thigeadh a’ sin am port luath. Cha robh thusa a’ dannsa ach aon uair mu choinneimh na té eile. Ach thigeadh tu ‘sin dh’ionnsaigh na té thug thu dhannsa. Bha thu dannsa dh’fhaoidte ceithir na cóig a steapannan còmhla rithe sin a’ cur finid air a’ ruidhleadh. Thuirt e riumsa gur e siod an dòigh a bhathas ga dhannsa bho chionn ceithir fichead bliadhna – MacNìll, bràthair athar dhan bhean agam. Chunna mis’ e fhéin a’ dannsa ‘s chunna mi a h-athair a’ dannsa ‘s chunna mi bràthair eile, Seumas, chunna mi esan a’ dannsa. Bha iad ‘nan dannsairean math’ uileadh. Siod dìreach mar a bha iad a’ deanadh, a’ dol throimhe.48 Cha bhiodh cruinneachadh an àit’ sam bith gun ruidhle ceithir. ‘S iad bu mhotha bh’ann an toiseach mo chuimhne-sa. Thànaig a’ sin na sets. Bha ruidhleadh ochdnar, chan eil cuimhn’ agamas air, ach bha e air a bhacadh aig an eaglais, nach bu chòir dhaibh bhith ga dhanns’ idir. Bha pàirt dhiubh a’ canaid gur e ruidhleadh ochdnar a dhanns na h-Iudhaich an deaghaidh dhaibh Crìosda a chur gu bàs.49

t i g h i n n g u ì r e , c o s na d h ag u s a m na d e p re s s i o n Cha robh mi buileach na trì bliadhn’ deug nuair bhrist air slàinte m’athar ‘s b’fheudar dhomhsa ‘n uair sin sgur a dhol dha’ n sgoil agus obair a’ bhaile a dheanadh. Rinn mi e as a dheaghaidh sin. Shin car mar dh’éirich dhomhs’ ‘s mar a bha gnothaichean ag obrachadh aig an am an uair a thàna mise gu ìre [‘s] a rinn mi a’ cheud treabhadh le paidhir do dh’eich. Rinn mise barrachd do dh’obair air a’ bhaile ‘s a rinn m’athair, chionn ‘s dh’fhuirich mi air a’ bhaile agus bha mi togail poidhle do bhuntàta ‘s do dh’fheur ‘s do chruithneachd ‘s do choirce. Chan e baile mór a bh’ann ach cha robh e duilich obrachadh: bha ma dh’fhaoidte ceithir no cóig a mhairt-bhainne ‘s roinn do chrodh òg. Mar bu trice bhiodh trì eich againn ‘s lethcheud do chaoraich. Bha poidhle obair air sin a chumail suas gun thu ach mu thrì bliadhn’ deug a dh’aois. Ach aig a’ sin fhéin bha mise cuideachd ‘nam shaor. Anns a’ bhliadhna naoidh ceud deug agus deich air fhichead – bhiodh sin nunn mu thoiseach na Depression agus cha robh cosnadh ri fhaighinn an àite sam bith – dh’ionnsaich mise a’ chiùird

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quietly as you went forward. Then you [the man] danced the first step opposite the one you had brought to dance. The next time you went around, you honoured her in the same way, let her go, and you danced with the other female dancer. That continued and usually it was four steps, four or six, that they performed to the first tune. Then they had the next tune, played a little faster. And when they had danced maybe three or four steps to that, the fast tune would come. You only danced once facing the other female dancer, and then you would find yourself opposite the partner you brought out to dance. And to finish the reel you would dance maybe four or five steps with her. He told me this was the way people danced some eighty years ago – [Alec] MacNeil, my wife’s father’s brother. I saw him dancing, as well as my wife’s father and another brother, James. They were all accomplished dancers, and that is exactly how they used to do it and go through it.48 There wasn’t a gathering anywhere without a foursome reel. This was what there mostly was from my earliest memories. Then the sets came in. The eightsome reel is something I don’t remember, it but it was opposed by the church and was not supposed to be danced at all. There were some who claimed that the eightsome reel was what was danced by the Jews after Christ had been crucified.49

g r o w i n g u p, w o r k , a n d t h e d e p r e s s i o n I was not quite thirteen when my father’s health failed and I had to quit school and take over the work on the farm, which I did from then on. That’s how things turned out for me and the way things worked when I entered manhood and did the ploughing for the first time with a pair of horses. I did more work on the farm than my father, because I remained on the place raising lots of potatoes, hay, wheat, and oats. It’s not a large farm, but it wasn’t difficult to work: there were perhaps four or five milk cows and a number of young cattle. Usually we would have three horses and fifty sheep. It was a lot of work to keeping that up when you were only thirteen years old. But with all that I was also a carpenter. In 1930– that would have been around the beginning of the Depression and there was no work to be found anywhere – I learned the carpenter’s trade from

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saoirsneachd bho m’athair agus bhithinn ag obair a’ siod agus a’ seo. Thig agam air a chanaid gu bheil mi ‘g obair aig saoirsneachd dà fhichead bliadhna. Agus thig agam cuideachd air a chanaid nach eil mi cho math air saoirsneachd an-diugh ‘s a bha mi, ach tha sin furasda gu leòr a thuigsinn. Musquodoboit Nuair a bha mi ‘nam bhalach òg ma dh’fhaoidte naoidh ceud deug agus deich air fhichead agus a trì, cha robh obair do sheòrsa sam bith a’ dol air adhart. Bha mis’ an uair sin ‘nam cheannard aig an t-seann dachaidh. Dh’fheumainn rud air choireiginn a dheanadh airson an teachd-an-tìr fhaighinn. Dh’fhalbh mi air an fhoghar a bha seo agus chaidh mi suas gu Alba Nuadh,50 àite ris an canadh iad Musquodoboit. ‘S e sin ainm Innseanaich.51 Ach co-dhiubh na co-dheth fhuair sinn obair. Bha sinn a’ faighinn dolar anns a’ latha – ‘s e sin a’ latha a dh’obraicheadh tu. A’ latha nach obraicheadh tu cha robh thu pàigheadh seud52 air a shon: bha thu faighinn trosg agus buntàta airson ithe. Ach co-dhiubh na co-dheth air madainn a bha seo chaidh mis’ a-mach. Bha mi ‘n uair sin ‘nam ghill’ òg, làidir, eangarra, agus gheàrr mi craobh. Cha robh i ach ma dh’fhaoidte ach sia òirlich air a’ stumpaidh ach bha i as a’ rathad oirnn. Cha do thuit i buileach gu làr; bhuail i craobh eile a bha ‘na laighidh (craobh-laighidh). Ach choisich mise suas agus thug mi liom an tuagh anns a robh ceithir puinnd do chudthromad. Gu dé a thachair ach gu robh meur mhór an crochadh anuas fos cionn mo chinn, agus rug i air an tuagh agus chuir i an tuagh [am] mearachd. Chuir i ceàrr a’ bhuille agus thànaig i anuas air uachdar mo choiseadh eadar an t-aobrann53 agus an òrdag, agus gheàrr i ‘n cnàimh agus gheàrr i a’ chuisle. Bha ceathrar do ghillean òga còmhla rium. Rug iad orm ‘s thug iad dhiom – ge b’e gu dé bh’air a’ chois agam chan eil cuimhn’ agam an-diugh co-dhiubh bh’orm mogais airneo bròg ach thug iad dhiom i. Agus chunnaic iad gu dé thachair agus chaidh rudeiginn gu daingeann a chur mun cuairt air a’ chois agam an dòigh agus nach caillinn an fhuil uileadh.54 Chaidh sinn a dh’ionnsaigh a’ chaimp. Bha an còcaire gar feitheamh agus thug e dheth an t-aparan agus chuir e ‘n t-aparan mu chuairt air a’ chois agam-as gu daingeann agus dh’fhalbh mi fhìn agus mo nàbaidh a bha ‘g obair còmhla rium agus chaidh sinn ceithir mìle deug air muin eich: a’ chas agam-as an ceangal suas le m’ chompanach agus e cur an eich air adhart cho math’s a b’urrainn dha. Cha robh mi faicinn sian ‘s cha robh mi a’ faireachann sian ach goirt. Ach bha i cóig uairean feasgar nuair a rànaig sinn àite agus gum faighinn-sa furtachd. Chaidh fios a chur gu dotair shios ann a’ Sheet Harbour – b’fheudar dha tighinn dà mhìle fichead – agus thug e leis a’

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my father and used to work here and there. I can say now that I’ve worked at carpentry for forty years. I can say, too, that I’m not as good at carpentry as I once was, but that is easily enough understood. Musquodoboit When I was still a young boy, somewhere around 1933, there was no employment of any description. In those days I was in charge of the old home and had to do something in order to make a living. So in the autumn I left and went up to the Nova Scotia mainland50 to a place known as Musquodoboit, which is an Indian name.51 And in any case we found work there and we were making a dollar a day – that is on days we worked. On the days you didn’t work you didn’t pay anything to live: you got cod and potatoes to eat.52 Now on a certain morning I went out to work – in those days I was a strong and agile young man – and I felled a tree. It was only around six inches at the base, but it was in our way. It did not fall all the way to the ground, but struck another fallen tree that was down. So I walked over, taking the four-pound axe, and what happened but there was a large branch hanging down that caught the axe and misdirected it – it deflected the blow – so that the axe came down on the top of my foot between the ankle53 and the big toe, cutting the bone and the artery. There were four young lads with me, so they took hold of me and took off whatever I was wearing on my feet – I don’t recall whether it was a moccasin or a shoe, but they removed it. They saw what had happened, so they tied something firmly around my leg to prevent me losing all the blood.54 We went to the camp and the cook was waiting for us. He took off his apron and wrapped it tight around my foot and I set out with my neighbour who had worked with me and we travelled fourteen miles on horseback with my leg bound up, riding with my companion, who drove the horse as well as he was able. I couldn’t see, and felt nothing but the pain. It was five in the afternoon by the time we reached the place where I could get medical help. A doctor down in Sheet Harbour was sent for and

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chas agamsa agus thug e dhith na ruib ‘s a h-uile sian a bh’againne oirre. Leig e leatha sileadh ann a’ sin ‘s chuir e naoidh stidseachan anns a’ chois agam. Ach nuair a bha an t-ochdamh stidse ann thuirt mise ri’m chompanach, “Gu dé Dhia seall air m’anam,” thuirt mi, “a th’aig an duine seo? ‘N e snàthad mhór a th’aige?” Thionndaich e mun cuairt agus choimhead e orm. Thuirt e, “Dhia seall air m’anam,” thuirt esan, “a bheil Gàidhlig agad-sa?” “Tha,” thuirt mi, “tha Gàidhlig agam-sa.” “Chan e,” thuirt esan, “snàthad mhór a th’agam-as idir.” Ach sheall e dhomh rudeiginn coltach ri dubhan iasgaich – do dhubhan beag cruinn – ‘s thuirt e, “Siod a tha mise a’ cur air do chois. Agus có as a thànaig thu?” Thuirt mi, “Thàna mi à Ceap Breatainn. Inbhirnis.” “Gu dé an ceàrn do dh’Inbhirnis thànaig thus’ as?” thuirt e. “Thàna mi à Broad Cove.” “Dhia seall air m’anam,” thuirt esan. “Thàna mis’ à Twin Rock Valley.” Donnachan Mac’Illeain: Donnchadh Eòin Iain Mhóir a theireadh iad ris. Ach thuirt mise ris, “Cuiribh an té mu dheireadh ann ‘s seasaidh mise ris. ‘S mac athar mi agus cha tig sian rium.” Rinn e sin. Agus thug e mise leis ann an carbad ‘s thuirt e, “Tha aon àit’ ann a tha mi deanadh dheth a chumas iad thusa. Bidh sinn teann orm-as ‘s thig agams’ air tighinn a choimhead ort a h-uile madainn no a h-uile feasgar no airneo ge b’e uair am bi thu ‘nam fheum.” Thug e mìl’ air fhichead mi agus dh’fhàg e mise còmhla ri Innseanaich. Bha àite beag laghach aca agus bha iad a’ togail an cuid fhéin bhuntàta, agus mu dheidhinn feòil cha ruigeadh iad leas: bha sin ‘sa choillidh. Ach co-dhiubh na co-dheth thug mise ochd seachdainnean còmh’ ris na hInnseanaich agus bha an dotair a’ tighinn anuas uair ‘sa latha fad a’ cheud trì seachdainnean. ‘S e fìor dhroch ghearradh a bh’ann. Bha e deanadh dheth gu feumadh e mo thoirt a-staigh gu Baile Halifax, ach thuirt mi ris nach ruigeadh e leas; gu robh i dol a bhith all right. As a dheaghaidh sin thuirt e rium, “Fàg an gnothach aig na h-Innseanaich anise agus cha tig sian riut. Cha ruig mi leas do thoirt55 a-staigh do Bhaile Halifax ‘s ma dh’fhaoidte, chaidh thu glé theann air do chas a chall.” Ach co-dhiubh dh’fhuirich mise còmhla riu. Bha seann duine [ann]; theirinn gu robh e iorbhaide,56 ma d’fhaoidte trì fichead. Thigeadh e agus chuireadh e a’ chas agamsa ann am bucaid mhór do dh’uisge teth. Ghlanadh e sin suas. Chuireadh e ‘sin plàsda do shiabunn bog agus cairt juniper. Nuair a gheobhadh e cairt an juniper bheireadh e dhith an snodhach. A’ snodhach agus a’ siabunn, bha e gan cur57 còmhla. Ach an uair a bha mi còmhla riu bha iomadh seòrsa aca ri ithe. Bha gille òg a’ fuireach còmhla riu agus bha e trapadh agus bhiodh e faighinn musgraisean, bhiodh e faighinn neasaichean, bhiodh e faighinn minceachan.

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he had to come twenty-two miles. He took my leg and removed the bindings and everything else we’d wrapped around it. Then he let it bleed freely and put nine stitches in my foot. But when the eighth stitch was put in I said to my friend, “What – God look upon my soul – is this man using?” I said. “Is it a large needle?” The doctor turned around and looked at me, saying, “May God look upon my own soul. Do you speak Gaelic?” “Yes, I do speak Gaelic.” “It’s not a large needle I’m using here at all,” the doctor said, and he showed me a small round hook that looked like a fish hook. That’s what I’m using on your foot. And where do you come from?” I replied, “From Cape Breton. Inverness.” “And what district of Inverness have you come from?” “I’ve come from Broad Cove.” “God look down upon my soul,” the doctor said, “I come from Twin Rock Valley.” [His name was] Duncan MacLean, styled Duncan Jonathan Big John. I said to him, “Put the last one in; I’ll stand up to it. I’m my father’s son and nothing bad will happen to me.” So he did. Then he took me with him in a car, saying, “There is one place where I believe they will keep you. It will be close to me so that I can come to look in on you every morning or evening or whenever you need me.” He took me twenty-one miles and left me with an Indian family. They had a nice little place where they raised their own potatoes, and as for meat, they didn’t need to – it was in the woods. In any case I spent eight weeks with the Indians and the doctor came down once a day for the first three weeks. The cut was a bad one indeed, and he thought that he would have to take me to Halifax, but I told him not to bother, that it was going to be all right. After that he said to me, “Leave it up to the Indians now and you’ll come to no harm. I don’t need to take you55 to Halifax; it’s likely you came very close to losing your foot.” So I stayed with them and there was an older man who I would say was well along in years,56 perhaps sixty. He would come and put my foot in a big bucket of hot water and clean it carefully. Then he would apply a plaster of soft soap and juniper bark. When he got the bark of the juniper he would first extract the sap, and then combine57 the juniper sap with the soap. While I was living with them they had a great variety of things to eat. A young boy living with them was trapping, catching muskrats, weasels,

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Ach co-dhiubh nuair a thigeadh e dhachaidh agus a dheanadh an seann fhear – bheireadh e leis a h-uile h-aon dhe na beathachan sin a bha e faighinn – feannadh builg58 orra agus chuireadh e air dòigh iad, ach a’ mhince: bha e ga tilgeadh air falbh. Chan itheadh e a’ mhinc idir ach dh’ith e a’ mhusgrais. Ach latha dhe na lathaichean thuirt mise ris – ‘s e Paul an t-ainm a bh’air ‘s thuirt mi, “Paul, carson nach toir sibh dhomhsa beagan dhen mhusgrais sin cuideachd?” Uill, thuirt esan, “Tha na Gàidheil uile gu léir,” thuirt esan, “cho srònach agus cha thoil leo seo ith’ idir.” Thuirt mise, “Ithidh mis’ e ma bheir thu dhomh e.” Agus rinn e sin. Agus a bhean, neo-ar-thaing nach robh i ‘na bana-chòcaire cho math ‘s a ghabhadh faighinn an àit’ sam bith. Chuir i seo air an teine agus bha i ga ghoil ma dh’fhaoidte leth-uair. Bheireadh i sin far an teine agus ròsladh i e fad ma dh’fhaoidte leth-uair eile, a’ cur ìm air agus ma dh’fhaoidte beagan do dh’fheòil muiceadh còmhla ris. Agus nuair a thug i sin dhomhsa cha do dh’ith Mac’IllFheòlain à Dùn Bheagain sian riamh na b’fheàrr na e. Ach thug mise ochd seachdainnean còmhla riu agus an ceann na h-ochd seachdainnean fhuair mi rud ris an canadh iad compensation: cóig dolar as t-seachdain. An ceann dhà no trì sheachdainnean bha gu leòr do dh’airgead agam a bheireadh dhachaidh mi. Agus nuair a fhuair mi beagan do dh’airgead a bha tighinn thugam, a’ cheud rud a cheannaich mi ‘s e càrt mór do rumpa ‘s dh’fhalbh mi dhachaidh. Agus nuair a ràna mi dhachaidh cha robh dòrainn na aicid orms’ a’ tighinn ach ged a bha mi air aon chois agus maide ri’m thaobh gam chumail suas. Ach rinn Dia na b’fheàrr na sin riumsa: fhuair mi seachad air a’ sin ‘s tha mi cho math ‘s a bha mi riamh an-diugh aig trì fichead agus a deich. Ach co-dhiubh no dheth, chaidh sinn thron Depression ‘s cha robh sian a’ tighinn rinn. Bha iad a’togail a h-uile sian a bha dhìth orra. Dal bhiodh aca ri dhol a-mach a cheannach, mar a bha tea ’s molasses ‘s rudan mar siod, bhiodh beagan do dh’airgead aca airson sin a dheanadh. Cha robh e mór ach an dòigh a tha mise coimhead air a’ ghnothach bha barrachd aca ri ithe an uair ud a-staigh ‘nan taigh fhéin na th’ann an-diugh. Bha Seumas Ruadh shios ann a’ seo ‘s cha robh duine ‘san àite na bu thoilichte na e. Bha dà mhart aige, e fhéin ‘s a phiuthar a’ fuireach còmhla ‘s bha poidhle do chàirdean aige mun cuairt. Agus bha e faighinn gu leòr mhór a dh’itheadh e ‘s mu dheidhinn connadh, sin an job a bh’aigesan: connadh a chumail ris an taigh ‘s bha a h-uile sian eile tighinn a-staigh. Cha tànaig sian idir ri Seumas bochd – sian an t-saoghail. Chaochail m’athair car mu dheireadh na Depression. Ach a’ sin thòisich an cogadh ‘s thuirt mis’ agam fhìn gu robh mi ‘g obair tuilleadh is cruaidh air a’ bhaile. Bha mi cuimseach iorbhaide an uair sin. Thuirt mi

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As My Story Has It 91

and mink. When the boy came home, the old man would take all the animals the boy had caught and case-skin58 them and dress them – except for the mink, which he threw away. He would not eat mink at all, but he would eat muskrat. One day I said to him – Paul was his name, “Paul, why don’t you give me a little of that muskrat too?” Well, he replied, “Scotsmen are all so fussy that they don’t like to eat this at all.” So I said, “If you give me some I’ll eat it,” and he did. Now, the wife was as good a cook as could be found anywhere. She put it on the fire and boiled it for perhaps a half-hour. Then she took it off the fire and roasted it for perhaps another half-hour with butter and perhaps a little bit of pork. And when she served me that, MacLellan of Dunvegan had never partaken of anything better. I lived with them over the eight weeks, and after that time I received what they called compensation: five dollars per week. After two or three weeks I had enough money for my fare home. And when I got the little money coming to me, I bought a good quart of rum and headed home. When I arrived there I felt no pain or discomfort at my homecoming, even though it was on one foot and with a crutch at my side holding me up. But God did even better by me than that: I recovered and now I’m as well today at seventy as I ever was. In any case we got through the Depression with no great hardship. People raised everything they needed. When they had to go out to purchase staples such as tea, molasses, and so on, they would have a small amount of money for this. It wasn’t much, but to my mind they had more to eat in their own homes then than they have now. Now, a man called Red Jim was living down here and there was no one happier. As well as having two milk cows, he had his sister living with him, and he had plenty of relatives around. He got more than enough to eat; and as for firewood, it was his job to supply the firewood for the house and everything else just came in. Poor Jim never experienced any hardship in the world. My father died around the end of the Depression. Then the war began and I said to myself that I was working too hard on the farm. By then I

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Air Réir Mo Sgeula

agam fhìn gu robh mi dol a-mach le m’ chiùird agus ‘s e sin a rinn mi. Ach bhithinn air ais ‘s air adhart gu Halifax, Sudni, a’ siod ‘s a’ seo. Ach latha dhe na lathaichean thuirt Niall rium, “A Lachainn,” thuirt e, “cha chreid mi nach eil e chearta cho math dhut,” thuirt e, “t’inntinn a dheanadh suas agus fuireach ann a’ seo. Fuirich còmhl’ rium-as,” thuirt e, “agus cha tig sian an t-saoghail riut.” Thuirt mi ri Niall, “Fuirghidh. Fuirghidh mise còmhla ribh ann a’ seo.” Agus ‘s e sin a rinn mi ‘s cha tànaig sian rium mar sin. Ach dh’obraich mi cuimseach math cruaidh fad mo bheatha, eadar dhomh a dhol sios a Labrador. Thug mi mach air bliadhna a’ sin. Chaidh mi suas gu Windsor, Ontario, ‘s thug mi mu bhliadhna gu leth a’ sin. Agus eadar a h-uile sian a bh’ann dal a dh’fhàgadh tu ‘n taigh ‘s a dh’fhàgadh tu ‘n teaghlach bhiodh tu car leat fhéin mar bu trice. Agus sin car an caitheamh-beatha a bh’agam-as.

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As My Story Has It 93

was fairly mature. I said to myself that I would go out into the world with my trade, and so I did, going back and forth to Halifax and Sydney, here and there. But one day Neil spoke to me, “Lauchie, I think it’s just as well for you to make up your mind to remain here. Stay here with me,” he said, “and no harm in the world will come to you.” I replied to Neil, “Yes, all right. I’ll stay here with you.” And so I did, and nothing bad ever happened to me. But I did work hard enough all my life, going north to Labrador – I spent a year there – and up to Windsor, Ontario, where I spent about a year and a half. Along with everything else, when you left your house and your family, you were usually pretty much on your own. And that has been pretty much the way I’ve lived.

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par_3-1.fm Page 95 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

2=HJ6DHAA Na h-Òrain The Songs “Bha iad a’ gabhail òran bho’n a thòisich an saoghal.” (People have sung songs since the world began.) Dan Allan Gillis

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Òrain Gaoil / Love Songs 97

1 Hó ro Mo Nighean Donn Bhòidheach nan Gorm-Shùil Meallach (O My Lovely Girl with Blue Eyes So Enticing)

introductory & closing refrain

Ú 76 & 24

r œ

œœ

Hó

ro

j œ.

r r j œ œ œ. mo

3

5

a

ged

donn

bhòidh - each nan

r r j r œ œj œr œr œj . œr œj œ œ . œ gorm

-

œ œ œj œj œ œ œj œr œj . J

shùil meall - ach,

3

& œ œ œ œ Jœ còmhl

nighean

r œ œ œ œ

j œ

3

bhiom - aid

fal - amh,

O

mo nighean donn

j œ

'S truagh nach robh sinn

j r œ œ . œ œ œ œr œr œj .

bhòidh - each

nan

gorm

- shùil meall - ach.

3 3 3 3 % verse j j r j r œ . j œj j r œ .œ œ . œ . r œ jœ 3 j r j r j r j j j & 4 œ . œ œ .œ œ . œ œ œ œ œ œ. œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ J

10

Tha

do nàd - ar còmhn - ard

& 24 œ

14

3

refrain

œ

O

j œ mo

scale: pentatonic

&œ ˙

˙

verse: first position refrain: fifth position

form: 5 phrases: verse: AB full refrain: CDC' structure: 13 bar melody: verse: A,2; B,2 full refrain: C,2; D,2; C,2

Gun fhaoin - eis, gun

j œ.

r œ

nigh - ean donn

œ

˙

-

aich,

bhòidh

˙

œ

Ir - is - eal, ro - spòrs - ail,

j œ.

œ

compass: 9 degrees

œ œ

ghòr

-

each

r œ nan

œ

œ

r œ

gorm

-

shùil

original pitch (introductory refrain)

?

# œ R

œ œ

Beus - ach, bòidh - each, ban - ail.

œ. r r j Jœœœ.

r œ

j œ.

meall - ach.

fine

par_3-1.fm Page 98 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

98

Òrain Gaoil

òrain gaoil Hó ro Mo Nighean Donn Bhòidheach nan Gorm-Shùil Meallach Hó ro mo nighean donn bhòidheach nan gorm-shùil meallach, ‘S truagh nach robh sinn còmhla ged bhiomaid falamh, O mo nighean donn bhòidheach nan gorm-shùil meallach.

5

10

15

A-raoir a rinn mi ‘m bruadal Dh’fhàg mo chadal luaineach; Mur dean mi do bhuannachd ‘S truagh nach robh mi ‘s talamh. T’aghaidh thana nàrach Gu sealltainn an sgàthan; Mheud ‘s a thug mi ghràdh dhut A dh’fhàg mi air m’aineol. Tha do nàdar còmhnard Gun fhaoineis, gun ghòraich’, Iriseal, ro-spòrsail, Beusach, bòidheach, banail. Do shlios mar an fhaoileann Do ghruaidh mar na caorainn, Mala nan trì faobhar ‘San aodann gun smalan.

20

25

30

Tha do chliù ‘s do bheusan Co-mire ri chéile; ‘S binne na na teudan An téis a thig bho t’anail. ‘S binne liom do chòmhradh Na ‘chuthag ‘s an smeòrach, ‘S iad a’ seinn mar chòmhladh ‘Sa cheò madainn earraich. ‘S e mo cheist a’ mhaighdeann Bhios na fir a’ foighneachd; Gu siùibhlinn an oidhch’ leat An coillteannan bharraich.

par_3-1.fm Page 99 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 99

l ove so ng s O My Lovely Girl with Blue Eyes So Enticing Ho ró my lovely girl with blue eyes so enticing, If we could only be together, though we had nothing, O my lovely girl with blue eyes so enticing.

5

10

15

Last night I was dreaming And my sleep uneasy; Should I fail to win you I’d rather be dead and buried. Your face, spare and modest Well suited for the mirror; All the love I gave you Has left my mind confused. Constant is your nature, Never vain or foolish, Unassuming, fun-loving, A woman’s grace and beauty. Your side is seagull-white Your cheek red like the rowan, Your eyebrow with three edges In a face untouched by sadness.

20

25

30

Your good name and virtues Complement each other; More sweetly than string music You sing to yourself softly. Sweeter your conversing Than thrush or cuckoo singing, Joining in together In the mist on a spring morning. My eye is on the maiden The young men ask after; With you I’d walk most gladly At nighttime in the birch woods.

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100

Òrain Gaoil

35

Banarach na buaileadh Meur as grinne a dh’fhuaigheas, Cha mhiosa latha buan’ thu Cur nan sguab am bannaibh. Gur math thig an t-òmar Am broilleach na h-òighidh, Stocainn shìod’ is brògan Bùcaill òir gan ceangal.

40

45

50

55

‘S e mo cheist a’ rìbhinn ‘S deise théid ‘sa ruidhleadh; Meur as grinne sgrìobhas Dìomhaireachd gun mhearachd. ‘S a dh’aon taobh gu siùibhlinn ‘S mise bheir an cliù dhut; Dh’fhaodadh bean do ghiùlain Diùc bhith dhi mar leannan. Do dheud thana, dhlùthmhor Mar chanach an t-siùcair, ‘S t’anail liom cho cùbhraidh Ri ùbhlan a’ mheangain. Ach ma chuir thu cùl rium Coma liom co-dhiubh thu, ‘S mo shoiridh gad ionnsaigh Tha mi’n dùrachd mhath dhut.

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Love Songs 101

35

Milkmaid with the cattle, A finger neat for sewing, And just as good at harvest-time At binding sheaves together. Amber on her breast Becomes a lovely maiden; Shoes with silken stockings And gold buckles to close them.

40

45

50

55

My thoughts are of the girl The nicest reel dancer; A refined and faultless hand For writing down our secrets. Wherever I may travel I will always praise you; A woman of your bearing Could have a duke for lover. Your teeth are fine, close-set White like the sweet bog-cotton; And your breath to me is fragrant As apples on the branch. But now that you have left me I must learn to live without you; Take this as my farewell With all my fondest wishes.

par_3-1.fm Page 102 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Òrain Gaoil / Love Songs

102

2 Co-dhiubh Thogainn Fonn Mo Leannain (Yet I Would Sing My Love’s Praises)

1

Ú276 refrain r j. &4 œ œ

3

œ.

r œ

œ

thog

-

ainn

fonn

j j œ œ œ

% r œ

mi

Co - dhiubh

Co - dhiubh

3 4

3

& œ

œ

òl

7

&

dram - a

3

œ

j œ œ œ œ.

B'fheàrr

leam cail - eag

verse œ

11

& œj Gad

j œ

3

j œ

œ

bhiodh oirr

scale: pentatonic

&˙

3

œ

-

œ œ œ œ

first position

form: 7 phrases: verse: ABCC refrain: DED structure: 14 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 6

r œ

œ.

mo

r œ

leann - ain

œ

œ.

r œ

3

j œ

thog

-

ainn

-

aich

3

j j œ œ œ œ œ . œr

e

dath

an

compass: 9 degrees

œ

˙

gach

àit'

an

r œ

r œ

j œ.

3

3

mo dhùth

Anns

3

j œ.

j r j œ œ œj œ œ . œ as

j j r œ. œ. œ

r œ

j œ.

dùrd

-

œ

?

ain

r j œ œ. Bho´n 's ann

œ fonn

œ.

mo

3

j œ

j œ œ a

rith'

#### œ œ . # RJ

original pitch

-

adh am

œ œ. œ R 3

-

j œ œ 3

3

r r j r j œj . œ œ œ œ œ Gun dean

leann - ain.

j j j œ œ œ dhean

fine

j œ

ainn sùgr - adh,

3 % j r j jœ . œ œ œ œ

bùrn

a

glan - adh.

par_3-1.fm Page 103 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 103

Co-dhiubh Thogainn Fonn Mo Leannain ‘S co-dhiubh thogainn fonn mo leannain Anns gach àit’ an òl mi drama Co-dhiubh thogainn fonn mo leannain

5

10

15

Thug mi ‘n oidhche raoir a’ còmhradh Ri Nì ‘acNeacail as taigh-òsda, ‘S ged a bha carpet fo’m bhrògan B’fheàrr a bhith còmhla ri’m leannan. Gad’s bòdhach caileagan Dhùn-Eideann Le’n organ ‘s le’n òrain Bheurla, ‘S mór gum b’annsa leam bhith ‘g éisdeachd Cuachag na spréidh aig a’ bhaile. Gad’s bòdhach caileagan Lìte Air an dreasadh anns an t-sìoda, Mheud’s gun cuir sibh oirbh do rìomhadh Cha teid mise leibh am falach. B’fheàrr leam caileag as mo dhùthaich Bho’n ‘s ann rith’ a dheanainn sùgradh, Gad bhiodh oirre dath an dùrdain Gun deanadh am bùrn a glanadh.

20

Théid mi dhachaigh mu Fhéill Màrtainn, Bucaill gheala, brògan àrda; ‘S fhada bhuam a chì mi’n deàrrsadh Teàrnadh le Màm Coir’ a’ Ghearrain.

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104

Òrain Gaoil

Yet I Would Sing My Love’s Praises Yet I would sing my love’s praises Wherever I should drink a dram Yet I would sing my love’s praises.

5

10

15

Last night I spent at the tavern Conversing with a Nicholson lady; And though I stood on fancy carpet I’d far prefer my lady lover. Comely though Edinburgh girls may be With their organ music, songs in English, I would sooner choose to hear The young girl herding at the homestead. And comely though Leith girls may be All fitted out in their silk dresses, For all your style and finery, I’ll never meet with you in secret. A local girl’s my first choice, One that’s proper for good sporting; Though she had the hue of mill dust All she’ll need to wash is water.

20

At Martinmas I’m home again Sporting high shoes with white buckles; From afar I’ll see lights shining, As I descend Màm Coir’ a’ Ghearrain.

par_3-1.fm Page 105 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Òrain Gaoil / Love Songs 105

3 Na h-Ìghneagan Donna, Bòidheach’ (The Pretty, Brown-Haired Girls)

Ú 76± % & 34 œj . œr

j œ

Ann am

4

U œ

œ

ach.

Ann

& œ -

j œ

œ

j œ

both - an

j œ

barr

œ

œ

œ.

j œ

an

j œ

3

j œ

œ.

œ

œ

both

-

j r œ. œ

œ

t-sùgr - aidh

j œ

am

œ

an

'S e

bu

œ

œ.

j œ

œ

&

j œ

œ

œ

buail

-

œ

œ.

dha 'm

j œ

œ.

na

œ

dhùn - adh

faster 7

j œ

œ

eadh

fine

œ

œ.

Taobh

scale: pentatonic

&˙ œ œ œ œ second position

form: 4 phrases: AA'BB' structure: 9 bar melody

œ

œ.

tuath

Gleann

œ ˙

-

original pitch (opening verse)

compass: 8 degrees

œ

œ

?

bbb œ . œ

œ œ œ

œ

œ

œ

j œ

a

Gar

œ

˙ -

œ. œ. œ

adh.

par_3-1.fm Page 106 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

106

Òrain Gaoil

Na h-Ìghneagan Donna, Bòidheach’ Bha na h-ìghneagan donna, bòidheach’ A’ buain an eòrn’ an-dé mar rium, Air cnocan an eadraidh Fon a leagar na h-aighean.

5

Air cnocan an eadraidh Fon a leagar na h-aighean. Gura trom laigh an aois orm Bho nach fhaod mi bhith mar riut. Gura minig a bhà mi ‘S tu air àirigh a’ rainich

10

Ann am bothan an t-sùgraidh ‘S e bu dhùnadh dha ‘m barrach Ann am bothan na buaileadh Taobh tuath Gleanna Garadh Bhiodh na féidh anns a’ bhùiridh Gar dùsgadh le langan

15

Coileach dubh air bhàrr gheugan Greis mun éireadh grian gheal ann Dh’amais gruagach ‘san fhraoch orm Ghabh mi gaol oirr’ mar leannan

20

C’àite faicte ri fhaotainn Ceart aogas mo leannain Air ghilead, air bhòidhchead Air chòmhnard ‘s air loinnead? ‘S e do mhuime rinn t’fhòghlam Ciamar dh’fhaod thu bhith ‘ad chaile

25

Cha do chuir i riamh buarach Air crodh guaillfhionn neo caisfhionn ‘S ann bhiodh i ri fuaghal Measg ghruagaichan glana

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Love Songs 107

The Pretty, Brown-Haired Girls Yesterday the pretty, brown-haired girls Were with me harvesting the barley On the milking mound Where they milk the heifers

5

On the milking mound Where they milk the heifers Now old age has lain heavy on me Since I cannot be with you Often you and I were together In the bracken shieling

10

In the hut for our sporting With a door of brush to close it In the hut near the cattle fold On the north side of Glen Garry Where the deer at their rutting With their bellowing would wake us

15

And the black cock on the branches A while before clear sunrise I encountered a maiden in the heather And loved her as a sweetheart

20

Where else could you see The equal of my love’s countenance For its brightness or beauty, Regular features or elegance? Your foster mother instructed you How you should be as a young girl

25

She never placed a fetter On white-shouldered or white-footed cattle Instead she occupied herself with sewing Among respectable young maidens

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108

Òrain Gaoil

30

‘S ann a bhith ri cur ghréisean Air léintean do dh’fhearaibh Cha b’e an aois a chum bhuam thu Fhlòraidh ruadh nan sùil meallach Ach fear eil’ a rinn suas riut A chum bhuam thu a dh’aindeoin

35

‘S truagh nach robh mi ‘s tu seòladh Air long mhór nan trì chrannaibh Dheanainn sgiobair air bòrd dhut An am a còcrach a tharraing

40

Bhiodh srannd aig ruip chaola Cumail h-aodach rith’ a dh’aindeoin A’ cur cuairt air an t-saoghal Bheir a’ ghaoth sinn gu cala Bha na h-ìghneagan donna, bòidheach’ A’ buain an eòrn’ an-dé mar rium.

par_3-1.fm Page 109 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 109

30

And putting embroidery On shirts for the menfolk It was not old age that kept us apart Red-haired Flora of the enticing eyes But another who courted you And against my wishes kept you from me

35

It is a pity we were not sailing On a great, three-masted ship I would be your skipper on board When it came time to pull in her hempen ropes

40

The thin ropes would hum then, Keeping her sails aloft despite the weather And when we’ve circled the world The wind will take us to harbour Yesterday the pretty brown-haired girls Were with me harvesting the barley.

par_3-1.fm Page 110 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Òrain Gaoil / Love Songs

110

4 Mo Rùn an Cailin (The Pick of the Young Girls)

Ú680± & 8 œj

refrain

Air

5

faill

& œ %

ill

ill eó

verse

& œ

eó

j œ

j œ œj œ

Faill

9

2

j œr œj œj . œr œ. 2

's na

j œ

j œ œj œ

Labh - air mis

-

e

œ œ

's na

hó

ro hù

œ œj œ œ œj hó

ro

hù

o

2

j œ . œr œ mar

bu

œ

dual

2

j r & œj . œr œj œ . œ

13

2

"C'àit'

a nist

a

scale: pentatonic (hexatonic)

&˙

œ œ (œ ) œ œ

second position

form: 8 phrases: verse: ABAC refrain: AB'AC structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

œ œj œ œ œj bheil a´ ghruag

compass: 8 degrees

œ ˙

-

3 j j œ œ œ œ j œ œ œ œ

œ œj œ œ œ

ach

o

j œ

Hiùr - aibh o

2 j r œj . œ œ

œ

Rùn

nan

cail - in

j œ

œ

j œ œ

dhomh

Ann

Fhuair

j œ

am briathr - an

original pitch

2

r œ

j œ

œ. J

mun

2

ro hù

o

j œ

-

œ

a

œ J

tù

œ

i.

j œ

sìobh - alt´, suairc - e,

œ

sinn cliù oirr´

hó

œ œ œj œ œj 's gur

2 r j j œ œ œ. œ j œ

œ ? œj œj .

's na

œ œ œ œ j J œ

j œ

œ R

œ

j œ œ do

fine

j œ

ghluais sinn?"

%

par_3-1.fm Page 111 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 111

Mo Rùn an Cailin Air faill ill eó ‘s na hó ro hù o Hiùraibh o ‘s na hó ro hù o Faill ill eó ‘s na hó ro hù o Rùn nan cailin ‘s gura tù i. 5

10

15

20

Latha dhomh ‘s mi falbh ‘nam ònar Siubhal gharbhlach agus mòinteach, Nuair rànaig mise ‘s gun mi eòlach Chaidh mi thaigh nan daoine còire. Labhair bean an taighe coibhneil, “Có as a thànaig an strainnsear? Deanaibh suidhe ‘s lasaibh coinnlean; Bidh sinn cridheil ré na h-oidhcheadh.” Labhair mise mar bu dual dhomh Ann am briathran sìobhalt’, suairce, “C’àit’ a-nist a bheil a’ ghruagach Fhuair sinn cliù oirr’ mun do ghluais sinn? “Fhir an taighe na biodh sprochd ort, Cha tànaig sinne gun bhotal; Co-dhiu gheobh ‘s nach fhaigh sinn tochradh Cha bhi deur air clàr nach cosg sinn.” “Bithinn dhut mar bhiodh do mhàthair, ‘S cinnteach mi gum biodh i blàth riut. Thréiginn mo chinneadh ‘s mo chàirdean ‘S reachainn leat thar chuain am màireach.”

par_3-1.fm Page 112 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

112

Òrain Gaoil

The Pick of the Young Girls Air faill ill eó ‘s na hó ro hù o Hiùraibh o ‘s na hó ro hù o Faill ill eó ‘s na hó ro hù o Of all the young girls you’re the favourite. 5

10

15

20

One day as I walked alone Over moors and rough terrain, Arriving in an unfamiliar place I called upon the kindly people. The woman of the house addressed me politely, “Where has the stranger come from? Have a seat and light the candles; We’ll spend the night in good cheer.” I replied according to the custom In words both mannerly and friendly, “Where’s the lovely young maiden Whose praises we heard before we departed? “My good host, be not dejected For we have not arrived without a bottle; Whether or not we get the dowry We won’t leave a single drop on the table.” “I’ll treat you as would your mother; And surely she regards you warmly. I would leave behind my kin and clansmen And cross the ocean with you tomorrow.”

par_3-1.fm Page 113 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Òrain Gaoil / Love Songs 113

5 Air fail irinn ìllirinn oich irinn ù

Ú 82± refrain & 24 œ œ

3

Air fail

7

-

ir - inn

ìll - ir - inn

ró hiù

o

% verse r & œj . œr œj œj . œ

13

mis'

r & œ Jœ . œj œ

17

'S mi

ri

éisd

tha

œ -

œ œ œ œ

scale: pentatonic

&˙

oich

ir - inn

ù

fifth position

form: 10 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: CDABCD structure: 20 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 12

Air

faill

œ. J

œ

j œ

'nam

òn

-

œ

j œ

r œ eachd

œ

˙

ir - inn

r œ

r œ

ar,

Mi

-

œ

œ

j r œ.œ

original pitch

ir - inn

shuidh'

œ

-

inn ìll

œ œ œ œ . œr œ

r œ

an

œ œj Jœ . œr

3

oich

ir - inn

œ. J

œ

aig

a'

j œ . œr œ œ r œ œ

Toirt

?

-

j œ.

j œ

an

ìll

'nam

j œ . œr

do chròn

compass: 9 degrees

-

j œ

Air faill - ir

3

o

Gur - a

œ œ œ œ . œr œ œ œ œ. œ

œ œ . œ œj œ œ . œ œ r œ œ . œ œ œ œ R

r & œ œ œ œ inn ù

3

. œ . œr œ œ . œj Jœ Rœ

1

òir

far

œ . œr

3

a'

-

U j œ œ

ir -

fine

ù.

œ. J

œ R

chòmhl - aidh,

U % œ. œ œ. bhùird.

par_3-1.fm Page 114 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

114

Òrain Gaoil

Air fail irinn ìllirinn oich irinn ù Air failirinn ìllirinn oich irinn ù Air failirinn ìllirinn ù o ró hiù o Air failirinn ìllirinn oich irinn ù.

5

10

15

Gura mis’ tha ‘nam ònar, Mi ‘nam shuidh’ aig a’ chòmhlaidh, ‘S mi ri éisdeachd do chrònan Toirt an òir far a’ bhùird. Mi ri dìreadh a’ bhealaich ‘S trom mo cheum ‘s mi air m’aineol; Ma bha sùgradh air m’aire Chaidh a theannal air chùl. ‘S ann aig Port an Taighe-Thàirneadh Thogadh siùil ris a’ bhàta; Cha b’e ‘n stiùir a rinn t’fhàgail, Gu robh fàillinn ‘sna bùird. ‘S ann aig ceann Loch a’ Mhadaidh A shil an fhras-sneachda; A h-uile té mar bha tapaidh Bha i pasgadh a siùil.

20

25

30

Mi ri dìreadh ‘s a’ teàrnadh Nam bruthaichean àrda; Chì mi tighinn am bàta ‘S gun mo ghràdh air a stiùir. Fhir ud dhìreadh na bruthachan Le gunn’ air do ghualainn, Féile cuim ann an cuaich ort Tiugh dualach, trom, dlùth. Fhir ud dhìreadh am bealach ‘S a theàrnadh an gleannan; Cha bhiodh mac an fhéidh fallain Fo shealladh do shùil. Fhir nan calpannan troma ‘S nam mìog-shùilean donna,

par_3-1.fm Page 115 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 115

Air fail irinn ìllirinn oich irinn ù Air failirinn ìllirinn oich irinn ù Air failirinn ìllirinn ù o ró hiù o Air failirinn ìllirinn oich irinn ù.

5

10

15

Here I am all alone Sitting at the door, Listening to your humming As you hand the gold over the table. Climbing over the mountain pass My step is slow, I’ve lost my way. What loving sport I had in mind I have put to one side. There at Port an Taighe-Thàirneadh Is where they raised the boat’s sails; Your craft did not lose its rudder: Instead the planks were flawed through. At the head of Loch a’ Mhadaidh The snow was pelting down on us; And every vessel well commanded Was busy reefing her sails.

20

25

30

As I climb up and descend The high slopes of the mountains, I can see the boat approaching Without my love at the helm. You who used to climb the slopes Your gun carried on your shoulder, Your kilt in pleats about your body In thick, heavy, close folds. You who used to climb the pass And descend along the glen; No deer could hope to survive Once spotted by your keen eye. With your thick calves And your clear brown alluring eyes,

par_3-1.fm Page 116 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

116

Òrain Gaoil

35

‘S mi gu rachadh ‘nad choinneimh Cha bu choma liom thu. Ach ma chaidh do bhàthadh Mach bho Rubha na h-Airigh, ‘S truagh nach mise bha làmh riut Le d’ bhàta fo siùil.

40

45

50

55

Gura buidhe dha’ d mhàthair Ged a tha i dheth cràiteach; Nì i innse do chàcha ‘S cha bhi nàir’ oirre tùirs’. Gura truagh liom do phiuthar Gad a tha i dheth dubhach; Nuair a théid i measg cuideachd Théid a mulad air chùl. ‘S nan tigeadh MacIain ‘S gu seinneadh e ‘n fhidheall, Ciamar dh’éireas mo chridhe ‘S gun thu tighinn, mo rùn? Liom is truagh do chùl clannach Bhith ga luadh anns an fheamain, Gun chiste, gun anart Ach greannal ‘us grunnd. Liom is duilich an t-uisge Bhith sruthadh thro’d thrusgan; Com cho àlainn ‘s a rugadh Bhith ga fhliuchadh le bùrn.

60

65

Nuair thig oirnn an samhradh ‘Us iomradh air bainnsean, Cha teid mi ‘n bhàil-dhannsa; Cha ghabh iad ann mi co-dhiubh. ‘S truagh a Rìgh nach b’e an nochd An oidhche laigheamaid socair; Sinn gun òladh am botul Gad a chosgadh e crùn.

par_3-1.fm Page 117 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 117

35

I would gladly go to meet you And would show you no indifference. But if you died by drowning Off Rubha na h-Àirigh, My sorrow that I was not beside you With your boat under sail.

40

45

50

55

How fortunate for your mother, Though it must distress her sorely, That she can convey it to others And can grieve without shame. I’m sad for your sister Though she is now mourning; When she goes amongst her friends Her sorrow will in time recede. Should MacIan arrive now And play tunes on the fiddle, How can my heart rise, my darling, Without you returning to me? How sad to think, your curly hair Being worked about in the seaweed; No shroud or coffin, only gravel On the bottom of the sea. And no less tragic that the water Is flowing freely through your garments, A body handsome as was born Immersed in water, soaked through.

60

65

And come the summer season With its happy talk of weddings, I’ll not go to the dance; For no one there will want me. A pity, O Lord, tonight were not A night for quiet lying together; We could gladly drink the bottle Though it cost us a crown.

par_3-1.fm Page 118 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

118

Òrain Gaoil / Love Songs

6 O hi rìthill ó bha hó

1

Ú277± refrain œ & 4 œj Jœ . R O

5

hi rìth

-

œ R

œ

ill

ó

œ . œ œ 3œ J œ R & J -

i - rinn

% j verse & œ Jœ . Rœ

j œ

's

-

œ

e

bàt

œ œ œ œ (œ )

scale: pentatonic (hexatonic)

&˙

Fifth position

form: 8 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: ABCD structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

œ.

hó

œ

œ

Mo

œ R

œ

Di - luain

-

a

mo luaidh

œ

compass: 9 degrees

œ ˙

Air

original pitch

?

b

j œ

j œ.

j œ

œ. œ J R

œ. œ J R

œ

O

hi

rìth - ill

ó

œ. œ R 3

chridh

œ œ. œ œ œ R J R

œ. & J Rœ Rœ œ œ mi

ó

moch

13

Chunn - a

œ œ R bha

hog - i

œ. J Rœ

Dh'éir - ich mis

œ

œ 3 œ œj Jœ . œ J R

j œ

Ill

9

œ. J

j œ

-

œ trom

j3 œ œ

œ. J

mi

's cha

neòn

r œ

nan stuadh

j œ

œ. J

r œ

fine

ach.

œ 3œ œ œ 3 œ J J

œ R

m'agh - aidh

hó

U œ. œ

œ

air

3 œ 3œ œj œj œj œj

bhàrr

bha

3

e

Thug

r œ. œ

œ

3 œ . Rœ

a'

a' chuan;

j3 œ œ seòl

œ adh.

%

par_3-1.fm Page 119 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 119

O hi rìthill ó bha hó O hi rìthill ó bha hó O hi rìthill ó bha hó Illirinn ‘s hogi ó Mo chridhe trom ‘s cha neònach. 5

10

15

20

Tha mo chridhe brist’ am chom M’aigne cha dean éirigh liom; Mo cheist maraiche nan tonn A nì long mhór a sheòladh. ‘S ann an tìr nan tonnan àrd Tha mo ghaol a’ gabhail tàmh, Aig a bheil an cridhe blàth ‘S a fhuair mo làmh le sòlas. Air bhàrr nan tonn a tha mo ghaol Broilleach geal fo léine chaol, Dha’ n tug mise mo cheud ghaol Nuair bha mi aotrom ògail. Dh’éirich mise moch Di-luain Thug mi m’aghaidh air a’ chuan; Chunna mi bàta mo luaidh Air bhàrr nan stuadh a’ seòladh. Dh’éirich mise moch Diardaoin Thug mi m’aghaidh air a’ chaol; Chunna mi do bhàta caol A’ seòladh aotrom bòidheach.

25

30

Mo cheist an Dòmhnallach treun, Chuireadh tu fidheall air ghleus; Cas as deise shiùibhleadh féith, ‘S e chuir mi fhéin an tòir ort. Mo cheist macraich’ an eich dhuibh Maraiche nan long, nan slub; ‘S iomadh oidhche bha thu muigh ‘S fliuchan ann ad bhrògan. Mo cheist macraich’ an eich sheing Leumadh a ghléidheadh an geall;

par_3-1.fm Page 120 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

120

Òrain Gaoil

O hi rìthill ó bha hó O hi rìthill ó bha hó O hi rìthill ó bha hó Illirinn ‘s hogi ó No wonder my heart’s heavy. 5

10

15

20

My heart is broken in my breast And my spirits will not rise; I love the sailor on the waves Who sails a big ship. In the land of towering waves Is the place my lover dwells, One possessed of a warm heart Who received my hand so gladly. Now my darling sails on the crests, Fair-chested in a narrow shirt, The very first I ever loved When I was young and carefree. Early Monday I arose And walked over toward the sea; And there I saw my sweetheart’s boat, Sailing over the wave tops. Early Thursday I arose And set out toward the strait; And there I saw your narrow boat Sailing light and pretty.

25

30

Brave MacDonald is my love, You could tune the fiddle well; Swift-footed over boggy land – That caused me to pursue you. I love the rider of the black horse The mariner on ships and sloops; Many’s the night that you were out And your shoes were filled with water. I love the man on the lean horse Who would jump and win the bet,

par_3-1.fm Page 121 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 121

35

40

Gur e a’ ghruag a th’air do cheann A chuir an geall cho mór mi. Mo cheist macraich’ an eich ghlais ‘S gorm-shùil an aodann nach tais; ‘S iomadh maighdean òg ‘na dreas A ghabhadh tu ri pòsadh. Tha mo chridhe briste, briste Tha mo shùilean silteach, silteach; Mo cheist sgrìobhadair na litreach Bheireadh misneach dhòmhsa.

45

50

55

Ach nam bithinn aig an aiseag Peannd ‘us pàipear a bhith agam, ‘S mi gu sgrìobhadh dusan facal Chuireadh stad ‘sa chòrdadh. Tha mo chàirdean rium an smalan A chionn mo ghaol bhith cho daingeann; Ach ‘s tu ogha peathar mo sheanar, ‘S òg an leannan dhòmhs’ thu. Tha mo chàirdean rium an gruaim A chionn mo ghaol a bhith cho buan; Gus an càrar mi ‘san uaigh Cha toir mi fuath dhan òigear.

par_3-1.fm Page 122 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

122

Òrain Gaoil

35

40

For it was your head of hair That made me so fond of you. I love the man on the grey horse Blue eyes in a face not soft; Many’s the maid in her fine dress That you could have in marriage. Now my heart is sorely broken, And my eyes are freely weeping; I love the writer of the letter Who could have brought my faith back.

45

50

55

If only I were at the ferry And had pen and paper with me, I’d gladly write a dozen words To hinder the betrothal. My people look at me with sorrow Because my love for you is so constant; But being to me a second cousin You’re young to be my sweetheart. My relatives look at me with gloom Since my love for you is lasting; ’Til they lay me in the grave The youth will be my darling.

par_3-1.fm Page 123 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Òrain Gaoil / Love Songs 123

7 ’S e Mo Rùn an t-Oighr’ Òg (My Love Is for the Young Heir)

Ú 82± refrain % K r j r & 24 œj . . œ œ . œ

1

O

5

rì

's na

&

ri

j œ

œ

13

œ œ œ 'S

's na

j r œ. œ

verse

Nach

&

rì

suidh

œ. œ ann

œ

mu dheidh

scale: pentatonic (hexatonic)

& œ œ (œ) ˙ first position

form: 8 phrases: verse: AA'BC refrain: AA'BC structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

j œ

sibh

œ

œ

hì

œ œ œ & Jœ . Rœ R Hao

9

hi

j œ

œ

œ. œ

hì

ù

œ

mun

œ

3

inn

œ œ

j . . Kr œj . œr œ œ

j œ

ù

O

hì

a

a

an

compass: 8 degrees

˙

A

œ

j œ

j œ.

'S gun gabh

j œ œj

uasail

rì

r œ œ œ Jœ .

œ

dhomh

j œ

hi

'S e mo

r œ

œ

œ œj œ .

œ

r œ

œ

cuairt

œ. œ -

j œ œj

œ dh'fhalbh

?

j œ . . Rœ Ô

original pitch

's na

œ

œ

œ

œ.

rùn

an

t–oighr'

mi

œ . œ . œr J bhuainn air

œ. œ J R

œ J

ù

œ.

r œ

œ 3

j œ

œ

dhuibh

a

fine

œ

òg.

j œ

œ. J

duan

œ œ. œ a'

œ

œ R -

ag;

% œ œ

bhòids´.

œ.

par_3-1.fm Page 124 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

124

Òrain Gaoil

’S e Mo Rùn an t-Oighr’ Òg O hi rì ‘s na hì ù a O hi rì ‘s na hì ù a Hao ri rì ‘s na hì ù a ‘S e mo rùn an t-oighr’ òg. 5

10

15

20

Nach suidh sibh mun cuairt dhomh ‘S gun gabh mi dhuibh duanag; ‘S ann mu dhéidhinn an uasail A dh’fhalbh bhuainn air a’ bhòids’. Tha mo chion air an uasal A dhìreadh na bruthachan, Le gunn’ air a ghualainn Bhiodh a luaidhe ‘na dhòrn. Tha mo chion air an t-sealgair A dhìreadh a’ gharbhlach, Le gunna gun chearb ‘S gum biodh an earb is i leòint’. ‘S tric a’ fiaradh a’ mhunaidh Le d’ ghunna, le d’ chuilean; Bhiodh damh dearg agus fuil air ‘S tu air t’uilinn ‘na lorg. ‘S bu tu sàr a mhac duine Bho d’shàiltean gud mhullach; Thug do chàirdean dhut urram Airson òraid do bheòil.

25

30

Bu tu sealgair na h-eala Damh donn a’ chruaidh-langain, Coileach dubh air bhac meangain Ann an gleannan a’ cheò. Oighr’ òg à Dùn Bheagain Nam pìoban ‘s nam feadan; ‘S tric a rinn mi do fhreagairt Le fead dhe mo mheòir. ‘S tha do pheathraichean cràiteach Tha Is’beil ‘us Màiri,

par_3-1.fm Page 125 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 125

My Love Is for the Young Heir O hi rì ‘s na hì ù a O hi rì ‘s na hì ù a Hao ri rì ‘s na hì ù a My love is for the young heir. 5

10

15

20

O won’t you gather ’round me So that I can sing to you A song about the noble youth Who departed from us on a voyage. I love the noble youth Who climbed the mountain slopes, With a gun on his shoulder Holding bullets in his hand. My love is for the hunter Who ranged over the rough country With a gun in perfect order; And the roe would soon be hit. Often you traversed the moor With your gun and young hound; When you aimed, propped on your elbow The stag was red with its own blood. Among men you were distinguished From head to toe a true example; Your friends accorded you honour For your eloquent speech.

25

30

Hunter of the wild swan The brown stag, loudly belling; The black cock on the branch’s crook In the mist-filled mountain glen. Young heir from Dunvegan Of the pipes and chanters; Often I gave you my answer Whistling through my fingers loud. Isabelle and Mary Your sisters are despondent,

par_3-1.fm Page 126 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

126

Òrain Gaoil

35

40

Bho’n a dh’fhalbh thu air sàil’ Air long àrd nan crann òir. ‘S mi nach gabhadh bonn cùram Ach thu, ghaoil, bhith ga stiùireadh; Gad a bhiodh a’ mhuir dhubh-ghorm A’ ruith dlùth ma slat bheòil. ‘S mi nach gabhadh bonn gealtachd Gad a shéideadh garbh-fhrasan, Ach thu fhéin bhith ‘m bàrr slaiteadh A’ pasgadh nan seòl.

par_3-1.fm Page 127 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 127

35

40

Since you departed over the ocean On the tall, gold-masted ship. I would have no cause to worry With you, my love, as the helmsman; Even though the blue-black sea Surged by her gunwale very close. And I’d not suffer the least fright Though heavy showers were blowing, With you at the yards’ ends Gathering in the ship’s sails.

par_3-1.fm Page 128 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

128

Òrain Gaoil / Love Songs

8 Mo Nighean Donn an t-Sùgraidh (My Dark-Haired, Sporting Girl)

Ú %r & 24 œ

refrain 76

1

r j œ œ. œ

Mo

6

nigh - ean

10

verse

& œr Gur

3

j œ œ

an

t–sùgr

j r œ.œ œ

mis'

a

j œ chàird - ean 's iad

scale: pentatonic

&˙

˙

œ œ œ

first & second position

form: 8 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: ABCD structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

j œ œ œj œj t–sùgr - aidh 'S mo

an

r œ

tha

ag

-

j œ œj ainn,

compass: 10 degrees

œ ˙

œ

chùr

˙

am h–uil

œ œ . œ œj fhràmh dheth Air œ

ràdh

œ

aidh 'S do

3

fo

œ

j œ œ

Gu

r œj . œj . œr œ chail - eag bhòidh- each r r œj œj . œ œ

3

-

œ

j r r j œ . œ œ œ Rœ

15

&

j œ

donn

œ

donn

j j & œr œ . œ . Rœ nigh - ean

3

r œ

-

e

bheil

mi

làn

lath'

œ œ

œ œ œj . œr àrd

amh - ar - as.

r œ

fine

orm.

-

j ≈ œ œj œj

le

original pitch (slightly higher than written)

œ? œ œ œ . R R J

shunnd - ach; Mo

œ œ œj ≈

r œ œj . œr œj . œ œ nam beann uil - inn

j r r œ œj . œ . œj œ

œ . œ œr œj .

a;

Do

%

par_3-1.fm Page 129 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 129

Mo Nighean Donn an t-Sùgraidh Mo nighean donn an t-sùgraidh ‘S mo chaileag bhòidheach shunndach; Mo nighean donn an t-sùgraidh ‘S do chùram h-uile lath’ orm. 5

10

15

20

‘S marbhphaisg air an t-saoghal A Rì gur beag a shaoilinn; Mo thaigh gun bhiadh, gun aodach ‘S a’ ghaoth a’ toirt nan sgrathan dheth. Gur mis’ a tha fo fhràmh dheth Air uilinn nam beann àrda; Do chàirdean ‘s iad ag ràdhainn Gu bheil mi làn le amharas. An oidhche thug mi don bhàil thu Bu chridheil am measg chàich thu; Nuair fhuair mi suidhe làmh riut Bha fear neo dhà fo smalan dheth. ‘S e an dag’ a bh’air mo ghiùlain A ghaoil a rinn do chiùrradh; ‘S e an luaidhe ghorm a dhrùidh ort ‘S gun d’fhàg siod brùite fhathast mi. Gum b’fheàrr liom na mo chòta Ged bhiodh e ùr an òrdugh, Gu robh mis’ is tu pòsda ‘S gun chòir aig Cloinn ‘Illeain ort.

25

30

Gum b’fheàrr liom na mo léine Bho’n ‘s i as fhaisg’ dha’ m chreubhaig, Gum faighinn-sa dhomh fhéin thu Cead éirigh agus laighe leat. Gur mise th’air mo shiaradh A’ siubhal ghlac ‘us lianag; Do chàirdean ‘s iad gam iarraidh ‘S na h-iarainn ac’ a’ feitheamh rium.

par_3-1.fm Page 130 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

130

Òrain Gaoil

My Dark-Haired, Sporting Girl My dark-haired, sporting girl, My cheerful, pretty maiden; My dark-haired, sporting girl, Every day you’re on my mind. 5

10

15

20

A curse upon this world; Little did I expect, O Lord, In my house no food or clothing And the wind strips off the roofing sods. Today I am despondent On the angled ridge of the high mountains; Your relatives are talking, Regarding me suspiciously. The night I took you dancing You showed good cheer in company; When I found a seat beside you It clearly vexed a youth or two. The pistol I was carrying Has wounded you, my darling; The blue-black lead has pierced you And left me stricken ever since. Far greater is my preference To a coat, though newly fashioned, That we should join in marriage With no MacLeans to press their claim.

25

30

I’d rather than my shirt, Which is closest to my body, That I might possess you With leave to sleep and rise with you. In hollows and in meadows I wander in dejection; Your relatives pursue me, Their shackles are awaiting me.

par_3-1.fm Page 131 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 131

35

‘S iomadh caileag ghuanach Bha roimhe strì mo bhuanndachd, A chuireadh crodh air buailidh ‘S an uair seo nach toir gamhainn dhomh.

par_3-1.fm Page 132 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

132

Òrain Gaoil

35

Many’s the whimsical maiden Who tried before to win me, Who would bring in gifts of cattle And now won’t trade a stirk for me.

par_3-1.fm Page 133 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Òrain Gaoil / Love Songs 133

9 É ho Nighean, hì-ri Nighean (É ho Lass, hì-ri Lass)

1

Ú78± refrain j & 24 œj . œr œr œ . É

5

nigh - ean,

r j & œ œ . œj Jœ . œr Mo

9

ho

rùn cail - in

còrr

'us

j & œr œj œ . œj Jœ . œr

13

Gus am

fac

scale: pentatonic

&˙

-

a

œ œ œ œ

second position

form: 8 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: ABCD structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

hì - ri

j œr œr œj . œ.

œ

nigh - ean

É

j œ . œr œ œ œj -

e

3

Dha'n

3

r j œ œ . œj œ œ œj bliadn'

an

dòch

-

r j œ œ . œ œ œj le m' shùil

compass: 8 degrees

œ ˙

-

œ

?

nigh - ean,

ean,

tug mi

œ . œr œ œ œr J

j œ

'chinn

Nach

luaidh

-

j œ œr œ œ œj . œ 3

Aig

fear eil' thu 'n

j bbb œ .

r r œ œ Jœ .

original pitch

àl

-

ainn,

U fine œ œ . œr œr œj œr

mo

robh gòr

dubh

3

aich

'sa

dh' fhàg mi.

3

r œj . œj œj . œr œ

as,

3

mi

ho

r œj . œj œj . œr œ

3

donn na buail

% verse j r & œj . œr œ . œ Thug mi

j œ . œr œr œ

r œ Jœ . œ œ . œj -

e

'nad nàd

-

ar,

3 % r œ œ . œ œ œ œj 3

cùil

'gad thàl

-

adh.

par_3-1.fm Page 134 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

134

Òrain Gaoil

É ho Nighean, hì-ri Nighean É ho nighean, hì-ri nighean É ho nighean, ‘chinn dubh àlainn, Mo rùn cailin donn na buaile Dha’ n tug mi mo luaidh ‘s a dh’fhàg mi. 5

10

15

20

‘S mairg a bheireadh gaol do nighinn, Gad a bhiodh i bruidhinn bàigheil; Gad bhiodh cainnt a beòil dhut luaineach Bhiodh a cridhe fuar gad fhàgail. Thug mi còrr ‘us bliadhna an dòchas Nach robh gòraiche ‘nad nàdar, Gus am faca mi le m’ shùilean Aig fear eil’ thu ‘n cùil gad thàladh. Thug mi còrr is ràith’ ag iasgach An dùil gun dèanainn do thàladh; Bho nach d’fhuair mi mar bu mhiann leam Thilg mi bhuam an lìon ‘s am bàta. ‘S bòidheach liom a dh’fhàs an rìbhinn Dà shùil mhìogach ‘s iad glé nàrach; Slios mar fhaoileann, gruaidh mar chaorann Mala chaol ‘san aodann àlainn. Bha thu farasda ‘nad ghluasad Bha thu uallach ann ad nàdar; Chuireadh tu t’ainm anns an t-sìoda Air a sgrìobhadh ann le snàthaid.

par_3-1.fm Page 135 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 135

É ho Lass, hì-ri Lass É ho lass, hì-ri lass É ho lovely black-haired maiden, My darling girl herding cattle Whom I so loved and who forsook me. 5

10

15

20

Pity him who loves a girl; Though her speech be warm and friendly And her words sound gay and flighty, She’d be cold-hearted when she quits you. A year and more I vainly hoped There was no folly in your nature, Until I noticed you being courted In the corner by another. A season and more I spent fishing In the hope that I would entice you; Since my wish did not prevail I rid myself of my boat and net. My darling girl became a beauty, Her eyes enticing, yet so modest; Her side gull-white, red cheeks like rowan, An eyebrow fine in a face so lovely. You were tranquil in your gestures, And by nature light and cheerful; You’d inscribe your name in silk, Embroidered deftly with a needle.

par_3-1.fm Page 136 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

136

Òrain Gaoil / Love Songs

10 Cailin Bòidheach nan Rosg Mall (Pretty Maid with the Lingering Glance)

Ú 80± verse %2 3 j 3 œ œ œ &4 œ œ J

r r œj . œr œj œ œ œ œ œ

1

Gur - a

5

œ. &J Bho

mi - se

œ R

œ. J

œ R

œ. J

nach

fhaic

mi

an

œ œ œ œ œ

scale: hexatonic

&˙

tha

Dorian-Aeolian with gap at 6

form: 4 phrases: ABCD structure: 8 bar melody: verse: 8

fo phràmh

r œ œ té

compass: 10 degrees

œ ˙

bhàn;

œ.

œ œj . R

œ

An seo

r Jœ . œ B'e

mo

'sa

œ

3

œ

œ

3

chutt - er

œ J

ghràdh bhith

3

j œ

pitch (first verse) œ ? original 3 œ b b bbb œ J œ œ œ

j œ

œ

a' tàmh,

œ

3

œ J

brìod

-

ail

j œ

œ J

U fine % œ rith'.

par_3-1.fm Page 137 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 137

Cailin Bòidheach nan Rosg Mall Cailin bòidheach nan rosg mall Dha’n tug mi mo ghaol nach gann; Mìog-shuil a dh’fhàg m’inntinn trom Mo nighean chruinn donn nach till thu rium? 5

10

15

20

Gura mise tha fo phràmh An seo ‘sa chutter a’ tàmh, Bho nach fhaic mi an té bhàn; B’e mo ghràdh bhith brìodail rith’. Nuair a bhios mi air a’ chuan A’ riofadh nan seòl gu cruaidh, Nuair a thuiteas mi ‘nam shuain Anns gach bruadal chì mi thu. Fhuair thu ‘n urram air an danns’ Air gach fòghlam grinn a bh’ann; ‘S lìonmhor h-aon a bh’ort an geall Nach cuir bann gu dìleann ort. ‘S beag an t-ìonadh thu bhith àrd Fada, fada fos ceann chàich; Thug MacCoinnich dhut a làmh ‘S chan àichich e gu dìleann e. Mo bheannachd aig h-aon fo’n ghréin Dheanadh mar a rinn mi fhéin: Cùl a thoirt ri leannan fhéin Airson sgeul a dh’innseadh i.

25

30

Bha thu ceanalta gu leòr, Cha robh mearachd ann ad dhòigh; ‘S fhada dh’fhuirghinn fhéin ‘nad chòir Mun creidinn droch sgeul a dh’innseadh ort. A dh’aindeoin na their luchd beul-luath Tha mo ghaol-sa cheart cho buan; Cha laigh smalan air mo luaidh Ach gu suairce, sìobhalta.

par_3-1.fm Page 138 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

138

Òrain Gaoil

Pretty Maid with the Lingering Glance Pretty girl with the lingering glance To whom I gave my love so full Whose charming glances left me sad; My shapely maid, come back to me. 5

10

15

20

How melancholy, sad am I, In the cutter I remain; I cannot see the fair-haired girl Whom I so loved to banter with. When I’m sailing on the sea Reefing sails and working hard, When at last I fall asleep, In every dream you appear to me. At the dance you showed your worth And every other refined pursuit; Many’s the man whose heart was set Who will never marry you. No wonder that you’re held so high, Head and shoulders above the rest; MacKenzie’s given you his hand, He’ll never take it back again. My blessing to any under the sun Who would do as I have done: To turn his lady love away For all that she might choose to tell.

25

30

You were pleasant company Conducting yourself faultlessly; With you I’d stay, for many’s the day Before I’d believe bad reports of you. Despite what idle talk may claim, My devotion to you still endures; My sweetheart’s not the gloomy kind But well disposed and sociable.

par_3-1.fm Page 139 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Òrain Gaoil / Love Songs 139

11 Tha Mo Rùn air a’ Ghille (The Handsome Youth Is My Darling)

1

Ú 76 refrain 2 & 4 œj . œr œ Tha

mo

j œ . œr œr œj .

œ.

rùn

air

a'

ghille - e

'S mór

3 5

3

& œ œ . œr œ œ . œr 'S mi

9

gu siùibhl

-

% verse & œj . œr œj œj . œr Gur - a

13

& œ

h-e

œ

'S mi

mo

eadh

leat

ghaol

an t–òig

r j œ œ . œr gu

siùibhl - eadh

œ œ œ œ œ

structure: 16 bar melody: verse: A,2; B,2; C,2; D,2 refrain: A,2; B,2; C,2; D,2

fhir - each

-

œ

ear

˙

thar m'eòl

j œ œ

œ

?

j œ

A' chùil duinn

-

œ. J

as

### j œ.

nam

j œ

's an

3

j œ œ Gad

thu

r œ œ œ.

original pitch

thill - eadh;

3

j œ œ fuar

-

a

3

j œ œ

fine

– bheann.

3

3

œ

œ

lead - ain

j r j œ œ . œ

tha'n còt

r œ œj .

œ R

ri

j r œ. œ

3

œ œ . œr œr œj œr leat

dhùil

Fo shileadh

3

compass: (11) 8 degrees

( ) Ionian-Mixolydian with gap at 4'

form: 8 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: ABCD

dhan

3 j . œr j œ œ œ œ œj

scale: hexatonic

&˙

j œ œ

mo

j œ

3 r r œ. œ J œ œ. œ

3

j œ œ

3

œ.

j r œ. œ œ

j œ

bhòidh - each;

3

j œ œ œ œ. ruadh

ort.

%

par_3-1.fm Page 140 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

140

Òrain Gaoil

Tha Mo Rùn air a’ Ghille Tha mo rùn air a’ ghille ‘S mór mo dhùil ri thu thilleadh; ‘S mi gu siùibhleadh leat dhan fhireach Fo shileadh nam fuar-bheann. 5

10

15

20

Oidhche Shamhna dhomh ‘s mi ‘m ònar Smaoinich mi gun dèanainn òran; ‘S truagh a Rìgh nach mi bha pòsd’ Ri òigear a’ chùil dualaich. Gura h-e mo cheist an diùlnach Tha mach bho theaghlach Chill-Fhionnaidh; Sealgair féidh thu ‘m Beinn a’ Mhùnraidh ‘S eilid dhubh nan luath-chas. Bu tu òganach cho foirmeil Eadar Éirinn agus Albainn; ‘S mairg a dhùisgeadh suas gu fearg thu An am an t-arm a bhuanndachd. Gura h-e mo ghaol an t-òigear A’ chùil duinn ‘s an leadain bhòidheach; ‘S mi gu siùibhleadh leat thar m’eòlas Gad tha ‘n còta ruadh ort. Chuir thu falt mo chinn gu talamh Chuir thu mo ghruaidh dhearg an tainead; ‘S truagh nach robh mise fon talamh Mun deachaidh mo luaidh riut.

25

30

B’fheàrr liom gun innseadh tu ‘n fhìrinn Cho math ‘s a leubhadh tu ‘m Bìoball; ‘S daor a cheannaich mi dhomh fhìn thu Nan innsinn dhan t-sluagh e. Gad tha blàth na bric air t’aodann Cha do lughdaich e mo ghaol ort; ‘S mi gu siùibhleadh leat an saoghal A ghaoil, ach do bhuanndachd.

par_3-1.fm Page 141 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 141

The Handsome Youth Is My Darling The handsome youth is my darling, You’ll return to me, I trust; With you I’d walk through rain and cold In high country and mountains. 5

10

15

20

On the eve of All Saints’ Day, alone, I thought that I’d compose a song; Alas, O Lord, that I’ve not wed The youth with curly ringlets. I dearly love the gallant hero Of the family from Cill-Fhionnaidh; You hunt the deer on Beinn a’ Mhùnraidh and the black hind, nimble-footed. You were a young man so lively As was to be found in Ireland or Scotland; Woe to him who’d stir your wrath At the time for battle victory. The youthful one is my sweetheart, A head of hair so brown and handsome; With you I’d travel parts unknown Although you are a redcoat. On your account my hair is thinning And my cheeks, once red, are hollow; I wish that I’d been in the ground Before I grew to love you.

25

30

I wish that you could tell the truth As well as you could read the Bible; Possessing you has cost me much Were I to make it public. Though smallpox has marked your face My love for you has not diminished; With you I’d gladly walk the world, My darling, just to win you.

par_3-1.fm Page 142 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

142

Òrain Gaoil

35

40

Thug mi gaol dhut, thug mi gràdh dhut Do làmh a stiùireadh am bàta; Bheireadh i gu cala sàbhailt’ ‘S a’ mhuir àrd mu guaillibh. Phòsainn thu gun deòin mo chàirdean Gun toil m’athar no mo mhàthar; Eachann Saor a tha mi a’ gràdhainn Bho’n ‘s e chnàmh a’ ghruag dhiom. Gad a rinn mi dhut an t-òran Cha do dhùraig mi do phòsadh; Fhir aig bheil a’ phearsa bhòidheach ‘S fòghlam an duin’ uasail.

45

50

‘S beag shaoilinn an taice seo ‘n uiridh Gun tréigeadh tu mi cho buileach; Mar a thilgeadh craobh a duilleach Dh’fhàs thu umam suarach. Tha mi ‘n nochd a’ dol a laighe, ‘S cinnteach liom gum faic mi aisir, Thu bhith sìnte ann am leabaidh Tacan air a’ chluasag. Sguiridh mi niste dhen òran, Cha d’rinn mi uiread ‘s bu chòir dhomh; Bidh mi smaontainn fad’s is beò mi Air an òg a bhuair mi.

par_3-1.fm Page 143 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 143

35

40

I gave my love and my affection To you whose hand could steer the boat And bring her safely into port, The sea high on her shoulders. Without assent from my parents, Or from relations, we could marry; Eachann Saor, I do declare, Has caused my locks to grow thin. Although I made this song for you I don’t intend for us to marry, My love, with your handsome looks And noble’s education.

45

50

A year ago I’d have never thought That you’d so utterly forsake me; As trees by seasons shed their leaves Your interest in me faded. When I go to sleep tonight I know for certain that I’ll dream Of you reclining on my bed, Briefly on my pillow. Now I will conclude my song, Though it isn’t all it should be; All my life I will recall The youth who so beguiled me.

par_3-1.fm Page 144 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

144

Òrain Gaoil / Love Songs

12 Mo Nighean Donn as Bòidhche (My Lovely Dark-Haired Maiden)

refrain

1

Ú 80 & 24 œ

3

j œ œr œj .

œ

Hao

5

ri - ri

œ œ œ œr œj . & J 3

Hao

ri

3 9

ri

j œ œ

verse

& œ

Bàl - ach

ho

3

cinn

j œ as

3

œ œ œ œ œj & J 3

13

Gus

&œ ˙

an

càir - ear

˙

form: 4 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: ABCD structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

œ œ

j œ

ho

j r œ. œ

ràill

ill

j œ

ó

Ràill

ill

3

j œ

œ

àill

-

ó

Mo

j œ

œ

e

snuadh

nigh - ean

œ.

œ œ œj œ œ œr 'san uaigh

compass: 9 degrees

œ ˙

˙

œ

Cha

?

o - ho

3

-

ear

r œ Jœ . œ toir

mi

fuath

3 j b b b b œ œ œ œr œj .

original pitch

œ R

j œ

ill

ó

œ

3

j œ œ

as

œ R

j œ. ràill

j œ

œ

donn

A chàir

3

mi

ill

r œ œj Jœ .

j œ.

œ R

r œ Jœ . œ

r œj . œr j j œ œ . œ ràill

œ. œ J R

œ

fine

œ

bòidhch'

j œ.

œ.

thu.

r œ Jœ . œ

an

iom - adh

3

œ . œr do

œ Mhò

%

œ.

dual;

U % œ . œj œ -

rag.

par_3-1.fm Page 145 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 145

Mo Nighean Donn as Bòidhche Hao ri-ri ho ràill ill ó Ràill ill o-ho ràill ill ó Hao ri-ri ho ràill ill ó Mo nighean donn as bòidhch’ thu. 5

10

15

20

‘S misde dhomhsa bhith cur umam, Dìreadh ris an àirigh-mhullaich; Fon an d’fhàg mi fhìn mo chruinneag Cùl buidhe mar òr oirr’. ‘S fheudar dhomhsa bhith dol dhachaigh ‘S earball na casaig’ fo m’achlais; Nuair a dhìreas mi ‘bheinn chas ud Gum bi m’air’ air Mòrag. Bàlach cinn as àille snuadh A chàirear an iomadh dual; Gus an càirear mi ‘san uaigh Cha toir mi fuath do Mhòrag. Ògbhean mhaiseach mar a’ bheinn ‘N déidh an sneachda chur gu teann; ‘S math a dh’aithnighinn fhìn do chainnt Air mullach bheanntan Mhòrair. ‘S iomadh àite robh mi riamh Bha mi ‘n àird an ear ‘san iar, An Glascho ‘s am Baile Cliath Ach ‘s tusa chiall a leòn mi.

25

30

‘S gad a thug mi dhut mo ghaol Cha robh ‘n siod ach gnothach faoin; Bhiodh car an aghaidh gach taobh ‘S cha’ n fhaodamaid dhol còmhladh. ‘S a Mhòrag, na biodh ortsa mulad Fhad bhitheas na féidh anns a’ mhunadh; Thig an t-arm a nall à Lunnainn [‘s] Gheobh sinn uile pòsadh.

par_3-1.fm Page 146 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

146

Òrain Gaoil

My Lovely Dark-Haired Maiden Hao ri-ri ho ràill ill ó Ràill ill o-ho, ràill ill ó Hao ri-ri ho ràill ill ó My lovely dark-haired maiden. 5

10

15

20

It’s time to put on my attire And climb up to the upper shieling Where I left my pretty girl With yellow hair so golden. And now I must go home again, My coattail tucked beneath my arm; As I ascend the steep hill yonder My thoughts are all of Morag. Curly hair of lovely hue In ringlets artfully arranged; Until they lay me in the grave I’ll find no fault with Morag. A girl as lovely to behold As a mountain crowned with hard-packed snow; Your signal I could easily know On top of Morar’s mountains. To many places I have been, To the east and to the west; In Glasgow and in Dublin too But it’s you, my love, who touched me.

25

30

And though I gave to you all my love It only proved to be in vain; Events conspired on all sides To prevent our being united. But, Morag, do not lose your faith; As sure as deer are on the hill The army will return from London, And all of us can marry.

par_3-1.fm Page 147 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

Love Songs 147

35

40

‘S e mo cheist an Dòmhnallach treun Chuireadh tu fidheall air ghleus; Dhannsadh tu air ùrlar réidh ‘S mo chridhe leum le sòlas. Bha mi ‘m ghobhainn, bha mi ‘m cheàrd, Bha mi ‘m shaor an dòigh no dhà; ‘S lìonmhor ciùird a chaidh thro’m làmh Gad tha mi ‘n dràsd’ a’ seòladh. A nigheanag air a bheil an gùn Air a chur ‘san fhasan ùr; B’fheàrr liom fhìn na mìle crùn Gun dùraigeadh tu pòsadh.

45

A nigheanag air a bheil an loinn Cha robh m’aigne dhut am foill; ‘S mi gu siùibhleadh leat a’ choill’ Gad bhiodh an oidhche reoit’ ann.

par_3-1.fm Page 148 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:50 PM

148

Òrain Gaoil

35

40

My affection is for MacDonald brave; You knew how to tune a fiddle And dance upon an even floor While my heart with joy was leaping. I’ve been a blacksmith, a metalsmith too And a carpenter of more than one kind; Many’s the trade that I took on, Though presently I’m a sailor. Young girl attired in a gown According to the latest style; I’d rather than a thousand crowns That you would wish to marry.

45

Young girl so elegant to see, Whom I have no wish to deceive; Through the wood I’d walk with you Though the night were frosty.

par_3-2.fm Page 149 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Òrain Sèolaidh / Sailing Songs 149

13 Eilidh Chuain

1

Ú276 jrefrain r &4 œ . œ Eil

4

-

Théid

11

&

j œ

j œ

brat

-

j r r œ. œ œ i

scale: pentatonic

&œ œ ˙

%j œ.

ach

Eil

œ œ

j œ

second position

form: 7 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: EFE structure: 14 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 6

œ.

théid

œ. J

j œ

dhach-aigh

œ ( œ) œ

j œ.

œ R

œ. œ J R

i dh'Éir - inn,

Théid

j œ 's i

œ. J

'na

j & œ . Rœ

œ.

Chuain

r œ

j & œj œ . e

7

idh

œ

œ

˙

Chuain

Fhraing,

œ J

3

3

caoil

œ

luath

idh

i

compass: 7 degrees

bha

œ

œ J

na

œ

r œ

œ

œ. J Rœ

thro

-

œ R

Buidh

-

j œ

j œ.

œ.

Thig

i sgrìob

'na

r j3 œ Jœ . œ œ

œ

. b b Jœ

original pitch

r œ

r œ

e

's

's i

j r r œ . œ œj Jœ . œ

œ

Chuir

?

j œ.

i

faoin

œ œ R œ.

j œ

j œ. uain

-

fine

œ R

œ

bha

luath.

œ . œr œr œj . J

deann

j œ . Rœ

do

Shas - ann;

j œ

œ

3

œ J

Coir - e Bhreac - ain.

%

par_3-2.fm Page 150 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

150

Òrain Sèolaidh

orain seòlaidh Eilidh Chuain Eilidh Chuain ‘s i bha luath Buidhe ‘s uaine ‘na bratach Eilidh Chuain ‘s i bha luath.

5

10

15

Nuair a thog sinn oirnn bho thìr Toirt ar cùl ri tìr Shasainn, Bha MacCoinnich ann ‘s MacLeòid Siod an còmhlan bha taitneach. Bha Niall Dubh ‘s mac Iain Ruaidh A’ toirt bhuaip’ a cuid slatan, Bha MacGhriogair anns na ruip Chuir e greim ris an acair. Fhuair sinn buill do chòcraich ùr Cruinn do ghiuthas dhubh bu taitneach, Eadar-chinn nach robh meanbh Sìoda dealradh ‘na bratach. Bha cuid ullagan gun mheang Mar sin a cuid ruip is acfhuinn; Darach nach tréigeadh a chaoidh Eadar druim agus aisnean.

20

25

30

Bha i astarach gun mheang Dìreadh bheann is ghleann le tapadh; Soilleir suaicheantas ‘na siùil Muir a’ crònan fo h-acfhuinn. Bha Mac’ilip air a’ stiùir Dh’ òrdaich e na siùil a phasgadh; Mac’ Illeain a’ dol suas Nuair bu chruaidhe na frasan. Théid i dh’Éirinn, théid i Fhraing, Thig i sgrìob ‘na deann do Shasann; Théid i dhachaigh thro na caoil Chuir i faoin Coire Bhreacain.

par_3-2.fm Page 151 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 151

sailing songs Eilidh Chuain Eilidh Chuain, a fleet craft Green and yellow in her standard Eilidh Chuain, a fleet craft.

5

10

15

When we set out from land Leaving England behind us, With MacKenzie and MacLeod, Our congenial companions. Black Neil and Red John’s son Were taking down her yards. MacGregor amongst the ropes, He secured the anchor. We got new-made hempen ropes Black pine masts straight and elegant; Heavy braces for her ribs[?] Shining silk in her standard. Her blocks were perfect, without fault As were her ropes and her rigging; Solid oak that never yields In her ribs and her keel.

20

25

30

Her course was speedy and unflawed, Agile over crests and troughs; A bright device on her sails, As water sang beneath her rigging. MacKillop at the helm Ordered sails to be folded; And MacLean would climb aloft In the hardest stormy showers. She’ll reach Ireland and France And she’ll go full speed to England; She’ll return home through the sounds; She made light of Corrievrechan.

par_3-2.fm Page 152 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

152

Òrain Sèolaidh

35

‘S e mo cheist-sa Màili Dhonn Thog a siùil ann am Port Ghlascho Ged a bhiodh a’ luchd air bòrd Gheobh an còmhlan ud thairis. Chunnacas soitheach mór a’ rìgh Caontag oirre ‘s i aig astar; Có bha siod ach Eilidh Dhonn Sgoltadh thonn ‘s gan cur seachad

par_3-2.fm Page 153 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 153

35

Brown-haired Màili is my girl, Who set sail in Port Glasgow; Though she had a load aboard She’ll take them all across safely. The king’s great frigate once appeared Making time, sailing swiftly; Who was there but Eilidh Dhonn – Cleft the waves and left them standing.

par_3-2.fm Page 154 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Òrain Sèolaidh / Sailing Songs

154

14 O Mo Chaochladh Mór a Thànaig (Oh, the Changes I’ve Endured)

Ú 72 1

refrain

& 24 œ

œ. œ œ J 3

O

5

&

j œ

3

œ J

mo chaoch-ladh

œ. œ J R

'Sfhad

j œ

mo

ghaoil

j r & œ . œ œj Jœ . Rœ

& Rœ

13

œ

œ

-

œ. J

Cha thuig

œ R -

e

œ œ œ œ

fifth position

form: 8 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: EFDE structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

a

œ. J

œ R

bh'air

œ. J

inn Beurl

scale: pentatonic

&˙

j œ

j œ

a thàn - aig

tha

j œ

r œ a

œ

˙

3

tha

Nuair

3

œ J

œ

?

a

œ R

chuir iad

j œ

a thàn

j œ.

œ. œ J R

r j œ œj œ .

œ R air

Mur dean - ainn

original pitch (verse)

œ 3 Jœ

mi smaoin - tinn

mór

j j j r œ œ œ œ Rœ Jœ

œ R

j œ

œ œ3 œ œ œ œrfine J

œ J

mo chaoch-ladh

na Dùits - each

compass : 9 degrees

j œ œ œ

3

j œ œj œ

œ

3 œ. œ œ J

O

mo chiùrr - adh

3

-

œ. J

mi

3

r j œ œ. œ J

'S e mo chaoch - ladh

œ œ œ œ . œ %œ R J R

verse 9

Gur - a mis

j œ

mór

œ. œ J R

bho thìr

r j œ œ.

œ œ œ œj . œr J 3

œ R

-

aig.

3

œ J

œ. œ J a'

stiùir

mi;

œ. J

œ. J Rœ Jœ . Rœ %

le

tùr

mo làmh

e.

par_3-2.fm Page 155 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 155

O Mo Chaochladh Mór a Thànaig O mo chaochladh mór a thànaig ‘S e mo chaochladh tha mi smaointinn ‘S fhad bho thìr mo ghaoil a tha mi O mo chaochladh mór a thànaig. 5

10

15

20

Gura mise bh’ air mo chiùrradh Nuair a chuir iad air a’stiùir mi; Cha thuiginn Beurla na Dùitseach Mur deanainn le tùr mo làmh e. Gura mis’ a bh’ air mo chiùrradh Sùil dhan tug mi air mo chùltaobh; Bha mo dheacaid ann ‘s mo thriùbhsair Air an sgùradh feadh an t-sàile. Bha mo dheacaid ann ‘s mo thriùbhsair, Bha ‘s mo phaidhear bhrògan ùra; Ge b’ e có dhiubh bheir an tiùrr ud ‘S mise chuir an crùn gam pàigheadh. Sin an uair a labhair Dùghall, “’Illean, na biodh oirbhse cùram: ’S math an saor a bha ga dlùthadh ’S tha mi ‘n dùil nach dean i bàthadh.” ‘S nuair a fhuair sinn i aig astar Ged a bha na siùil a’ sracadh, Fhuair sinn i a-staigh gu fasgadh Chun na h-acairsaid bu làmh rinn.

25

30

Mi coiseachd na sràid’ a b’ ìseal Dh’ amais orm duin’ uasal, sìobhalt’, ‘S dh’ fhoighneachd e mur rogh e mìobhail “’N e seo ‘n tìr ‘san d’ fhuair thu d’ àrach?” Thuirt e rium, “Mur a bheil thu eòlach Tiugainn ‘s falbhaidh mi còmhl’ riut”; Thug e gini dearg dhen òr dhomh Bharrachd air mo bhòrd a phàigheadh. Nam biodh fios aig bean mo rùin-sa Mise bhith dol dhachaigh rùisgt’,

par_3-2.fm Page 156 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

156

Òrain Sèolaidh

Oh, the Changes I’ve Endured Oh, the changes I’ve endured Things are changing as I ponder Far from my beloved country Oh, the changes I’ve endured. 5

10

15

20

Indeed it caused me great distress When they put me at the helm; I knew neither Dutch nor English Only what my hands could manage. And it was no less distressing When I turned to glance behind me And saw my jacket and my trousers Scoured about in the sea water. Along with my coat and trousers My new pair of shoes was ruined; Whichever the sea-wrack takes away, Has cost me a crown to purchase. Dougall chose that time to speak, saying, “My good lads, do not be worried: A good shipwright has built her tightly And I expect she will not founder.” When we got her up and running, Even though her sails were rending We piloted her into shelter, Took refuge in the nearest harbour.

25

30

As I walked the lower street A polite, well-spoken man approached me Inquiring, but not intruding, “Friend, is this your native country?” He said, “If you’re not acquainted, Come along, we’ll go together.” He gave to me a red gold guinea As well as paying my board expenses. If my beloved wife had known That I’d return without my clothing,

par_3-2.fm Page 157 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 157

35

40

Cha tigeadh cadal air a sùilean Ach cur sùrd air snìomh an t-snàth dhomh. “’Ille na biodh ortsa cùram Ged thigeadh thu dhachaigh rùisgte; Dheanainn deacaid dhut is triùbhsair Ged chuirinn mo ghùn dh’ am pàigheadh.”

par_3-2.fm Page 158 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

158

Òrain Sèolaidh

35

40

Her eyes would not be touched by sleep, So diligently she’d spin for me. “So, my lad, you need not worry Though you came home stripped of clothing; A coat and trousers I would make you Though it cost my gown to pay it.”

par_3-2.fm Page 159 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Òrain Sèolaidh / Sailing Songs 159

15 Beinn Lòmann (The Benlomond)

1

Ú 84± refrain & 24 œj . œr œr œj . Hù

5

ga

bhi

fir gheal - a,

sgeul

œ tha

a

3

& œ œ œj œ œ œj Air

muir sàil

scale: pentatonic (hexatonic)

&˙

a'

œ œ œ (œ) œ

fifth position

form: 8 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: ABCD structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

rìr - eadh

Air

-

eas;

ri

Slàn gu

inns - e

œ

˙

tìr

àrd

œ. J Rœ

j œ . œr

làid - ir

dhìon - ach

r œ

j r j œ œ . œ

œ œ

's gun

Beannt - ainn - ean

till

œ -

a

fine

Beinn Lòm - ann.

œ 3

j œ œ na

3

j œ

rìogh- achd;

% r j . r œj . j j r r œ œ œ œ œ œ œ œj œ . œ Gad

le innl - eachd,

compass: 10 degrees

bhàt - a

œ. œ œ œ. J R R J

j œ

j r j r œ . œ œj œ . œ snàmh

a'

r j r œ.œ œ œ œ

j r j r œ . œ œ. œ j

3 13

ga

chàird - eil, dhìl

% verse & œj œj . œr œj . œr an

r œ œj Jœ . Jœ . Rœ

j œ . œr

j r j r œ . œ œj œ . œ

3

'S mór

j r œ. œ

's hù

& œ œ œr œj œ Le

9

rà

j œ

œ

?

a

bhiodh na

j œ. J Rœ Rœ œ .

original pitch

mìll

a' bòc - adh.

par_3-2.fm Page 160 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

160

Òrain Sèolaidh

Beinn Lòmann Hù ga rà bhi ‘s hù ga rìreadh Air a’bhàta làidir, dhìonach Le fir gheala chàirdeil, dhìleas Slàn gu tìr ‘s gun till Beinn Lòmann. 5

10

15

20

‘S mór an sgeul a tha ri innse Beanntainnean àrda na rìoghachd; Air muir sàil a’snàmh le innleachd Gad a bhiodh na mìll a’bòcadh. Nuair a ghluaiseadh i bhon chala Chluinneadh gach cluas fuaim a daraich; Fairge m’ a guaillean ga gearradh ‘S meallan geal’ fo neart a sròineadh. Alasdair Friseal ga stiùireadh Dhen fhuil uasail, uaibhreach, chliùiteach, Dha’m bu dual bhith ’n Caisteal Dhùinidh A’ cumail na cùise ’n òrdugh. Iain ‘us Ailean, na Gàidheil ‘S Donnchadh MacMhathain an t-àrmann; ‘S buidhe dhan té a ghlac air làimh dhiubh Bhon lath’ fhuair i fàth air pòsadh. Gum bu slàn leat air gach slighe, ‘S ann riut a dh’ éireadh mo chridhe; B’ fheàrr liom gun cluinninn a-rithist Thu bhith tighinn thar Loch Lòchaidh.

25

Liom a b’annsa bhith gam dhùsgadh Le pìob mhór nam feadan siùbhlach; Uilleam Rothach nam meur lùthmhor Chuireadh sunnd fo ghillean òga.

par_3-2.fm Page 161 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 161

15 The Benlomond Hù ga rà bhi ‘s hù ga rìreadh On the sturdy, seaworthy vessel With men loyal, fair, and friendly May the Benlomond return safe to harbour. 5

10

15

20

There’s a tale that’s worth telling Among our kingdom’s highest mountains, As she steers her course adeptly Though the swells may surge around her. When she moved forth from the harbour All ears heard her oak resounding; The ocean cleft about her shoulders White foam ’neath her bowsprit surging. Alasdair Fraser was the helmsman Of noble, proud, and famous issue, Whose people hailed from Beaufort Castle, He kept her shipshape and in order. Ian and Allan, both Gaels, Duncan Matheson, a bold hero; Fortunate the lass who weds them From the day she was to marry. I wish you health on every journey, You would cause my heart to quicken; Most of all I’d like the tidings Of your arrival over Loch Lochy.

25

My joy it was to be awakened By the pipes’ sweet chanter music; Willie Munro with nimble fingers Could raise up the young lads’ spirits.

par_3-2.fm Page 162 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Òrain Sèolaidh / Sailing Songs

162

16 Hiù a ho hù ‘s Mi fo Mhìgein (Hiù a ho, I’m Downhearted)

Ú 76± refrain % & 24 œj Jœ .

1

Hiù

4

&

œ

œ J

a

ho

œ. 3

mhì

7

œ R

3

's mi

œ J

œ

a - mach aig

&˙

œ œ

first position

form: 5 phrases: verse: AB refrain: CDC' structure: 10 bar melody: verse: 4 refrain: 6

œ

œ

j œ

j œ.

mhìg

-

œ

Hiù

a

Rubh'

œ

˙

œ

ein

Òg

œ. J

ho

hù

œ. J

r œ 's mi

3

j œ œj œ œ œ œ J Thog

original pitch

?

j œ

3

an Fhàs - aich

compass: 9 degrees

r œ

r œ

j r œ. œ

j r j œ . œr j œ . œ œ J œ

r j & œ œ œ œ . œr

scale: pentatonic

fo

leann - an

verse

'S ann

j œ.

r œ

hù

œ R do

œ

#

j œ

sinn

œ. œ J R

na siùil

œ J

3

œ

œ J

œ J

aich

cha

j œ.

r œ

œ R -

an

j œ. fo

-

fine

mhìg - ein.

% j . r œj œj œ œ bhàn'

ri

crann - aibh.

par_3-2.fm Page 163 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 163

Hiù a ho hù ‘s Mi fo Mhìgein Hiù a ho hù ‘s mi fo mhìgein Òganaich cha mhì do leannan Hiù a ho hù ‘s mi fo mhìgein

5

An oidhche sin a rinn sinn gluasad A’ dol an taobh-tuath air mharachd. ‘S ann a-mach aig Rubh’ an Fhàsaich Thog sinn na siùil bhàn’ ri crannaibh. Nuair a chàirte rith’ a h-aodach Dh’ fhàs an caol ‘na chaoran geala.

10

Shil ‘s shéid i ‘s dh’ fhàs i duathar Thànaig i bho thuath le gaillinn. Bha muir a’ mire ri chéile ‘S i fhéin a’ reubadh na maradh.

15

Soirbheas gun iomrall gun fhabhtadh ‘S ann aige bha srannd ri crannaibh. Dol seachad air Ceap an Dòchais Thànaig a’mhuir mhòr ‘na deannaibh. Dol seachad air Beul Loch Aoineort Fhuair sinn boillsgeadh air a’ghealaich.

20

Dol seachad air Rubha an Dùnain. Bha ‘ n ceò dumhail air na beannan. Thog sinn Maighdeannan Mhic Leòid Am beul an Tòbha ‘s i ‘na deannaibh. ‘S ann an Loch nan Long a bha sinn Mun tànaig snàthainn bho a crannaibh.

25

Thilg sinn acair tar a guala ‘S gun tug am Fear Ruadh an drama.

par_3-2.fm Page 164 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

164

Òrain Sèolaidh

Hiù a ho hù, I’m Downhearted Hiù a ho hù, I’m downhearted Handsome youth, I’m not your sweetheart Hiù a ho hù, I’m downhearted.

5

On the night that we departed Sailing on a voyage northwards. When we were out off Rubha an Fhàsaich We raised aloft her snow-white sails. Once her sails were raised and spread The narrows became white and frothy.

10

It rained and blew, the sky grew darker From the north a gale approached us. The sea was playing against itself As the ship was tearing through it.

15

A steady constant breeze was blowing Against her masts it made a humming. Going past the Cape of Good Hope The seas ran high and strong against us. Sailing past Loch Eynort mouth We got a fleeting glimpse of moonlight.

20

As we sailed past Rubha an Dùnain The mist was thick about the mountains. MacLeod’s Maidens came into view At the head of Tobha as she surged forward.

25

And we had entered Loch nan Long Before we struck a thread of sail. We threw an anchor over her bow; The red-haired man passed the dram round.

par_3-2.fm Page 165 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 165

Dh’ òlainn deoch-shlàinte Rìgh Seumas Chuirinn mo léine ga cheannach.

30

Mar sin air slàinte na gruagach Tha thall an Suaineart a’bharraich.

par_3-2.fm Page 166 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

166

Òrain Sèolaidh

I would drink King James’s health And indeed I would sell my shirt for him. 30

Likewise the young girl’s health In Sunart where the birch woods flourish.

par_3-2.fm Page 167 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Òrain Sèolaidh / Sailing Songs 167

17 Gaol Fearainn, Gràdh Fuinn (Love of Land and the Home Ground)

opening & closing refrain

Ú276± œ &4 J

'S e

5

3

j r œ œ œj .

gaol

% & œ

œ

Bha

j œ

fuinn

sinn smear - ail

œ

Thug

j r r . œ . œ œ Jœ mar

bu

Thug dhomh suidh - e

r j j œ œ œ. œ

dhruim - fhinn duinn

j œ œr œj .

3

j œ.

r œ

j œ

gràdh

dual

j r œ . œj . œ

& œr Chuir

sinn

refrain (first line)

& œ

17

3

j œ

gaol

na

cist

r œ

j œ.

r œ -

&œ œ ˙ œ œ third position

form: 8 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: ABCD structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

an

tea

œ.

œ

fear - ainn

scale: pentatonic

each -

j œ

gràdh

œ

œ

œ.

j œ

j œ

-

e

làmh

sinn suas

Gu

h–ìs

na

r j œ œ. - eal

fon

œ

fuinn.

compass: (11) 9 degrees

( )

j œ

˙

œ

?

cuid - e

3

r œ œ. œ

œ

3

j œ œ œ œj . œr

œ 3œ œj œj œj . œr Chuir

j œ.

3

dhomh laigh

3

13

r œ œj .

œ. J Rœ

œ. œ

œ

fear - ainn,

& œr œj . r œj . œ luaidh do crodh

verse 9

œ

original pitch

b Jœ

œ 3 œ œ œj . J R

riut; Mo

œ

j œ

œ

riut.

3

j œ œ œ œ buid - eal

j œ

an;

j œ Jœ

œ

fhàr

-

-

adh.

'S e

par_3-2.fm Page 168 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

168

Òrain Sèolaidh

Gaol Fearainn, Gràdh Fuinn ‘S e gaol fearainn, gràdh fuinn Thug dhomh suidhe cuide riut; Mo luaidh do chrodh dhruim-fhinn duinn Thug dhomh laighe làmh riut. 5

10

15

20

Oidhche dhomh ‘s mi air a’chuan A’ seòladh gu cuireideach; Chunnacas an cutter fo sheòl A’ tighinn oirnn gu gàbhaidh. Bha tombac’ againn air bòrd Do gach seòrsa smuglaigeadh; Bha e shios an lùib nan seòl Staigh fo sgòd a’ bhàta. Bha sinn smearail mar bu dual Chuir sinn suas na buidealan; Chuir sinn na cisteachan tea Gu h-ìseal fon fhàradh. Dh’ fheuch iad shios, dh’ fheuch iad shuas Cha d’ fhuair iad na duilleagan; Bha iad anns a’ bhriogais ruaidh Gu h-ìseal fon chàbal. Gad a loisg thu oirnn dà uair Cha d’ fhuair thu ‘nar cuideachda; Mur tigeadh an jib anuas Cha d’ fhuair thu cho làmh rinn.

25

Nam faighinn à Leadag a’ Chaoil Sgaoilinn a cuid luideagan, An earalas gum faighinn gaoth An taobh a ghabh mo chàirdean.

par_3-2.fm Page 169 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 169

Love of Land and the Home Ground Love of land and the home ground Brought me to sit beside you; My praise for your brown, white-backed cattle Brought me to lie beside you. 5

10

15

20

One night as I was at sea Sailing a tricky course, The cutter was sighted under sail Bearing down upon us. We had tobacco on board Of every kind for smuggling Folded up inside the sails Down beneath the bowsprit. To be alert was our routine: We hid the bottles up above; The chests of tea we stowed below, Underneath the ladder. They searched above and then below But did not find the hidden leaves. We’d placed them in the red britches Underneath the cable. Though you fired on us twice You never came that close to us; And had our jib not fallen down You would not have approached us.

25

If I could clear Leadag a’ Chaoil I’d spread every scrap of sail In hopes that I would catch a breeze In the direction that my friends took.

par_3-2.fm Page 170 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Òrain Sèolaidh / Sailing Songs

170

18 Ochoin Nuair a dh’ Fhalbh Sinn (Ochoin As We Set Sail)

Ú 84± refrain r j. r & 24 œ œ œ Hi

rìth

-

ill

3 5

& œ

œ

j œ œ

-

ill

rìth

9

Sin

j & œ

nuair

r œ thuirt

œ do

chriù

scale: pentatonic (hexatonic)

&˙

3

j œ

j œ. mo

œ œ œ œ (œ)

-

's do

ó

-

j œ

ro

j œ

œ

bhàt

2nd position (Dorian-Aeolian with gap at 3)

Ho

œ J

O - choin

-

a

œ. J

j œ

j œ.

r œ

'S e 'n

original pitch

a

labhairt anns

œ

œ ? bb œ b R

hi rìth - ill

nuair

œ

'S i

3

ró

œ. J

lath

-

a

ó

dh'fhalbh

œ R

œ

a'

Ghàidhl

's fheàrr

gu

r œ

ro

j j œ. œ

r œ

j . œr œ

r œ œj .

œ œ œ œj . R

œ. œ J R

j œ

œ œ . œr œj œr

j r œ. œ

œ

compass: 9 degrees

œ ˙

ro

j œ œ . Rœ œ .

mhàth - air

j r œ. œ

3

13

math

éil - eadh

éil - eadh

% verse j & œ . œr

j œ ó

j r œ.œ

r œ

j œ.

œ

j œ . œr

Hi

‰

fine

sinn.

œ. J

œ -

j œ

œ

seòl

-

r œ

ig,

"Gad's

j œ

‰

adh".

%

par_3-2.fm Page 171 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 171

Ochoin Nuair a dh’ Fhalbh Sinn Hi rìthill éileadh ó-ro Ho ró hi rìthill ó-ro Hi rìthill éileadh ó-ro Ochoin nuair a dh’ fhalbh sinn. 5

10

15

20

An oidhche sin a bhà sinn Aig port an Ceann Loch Àlainn, Bha ‘n t-sìd’ againn a b’ àille ‘S i blàth gun deagh-shoirbheas. An oidhche sin a ghluais sinn Gu robh mun ghealaich buailidh; Bha cuid dhi gorm is uaine ‘S droch ghruaim oirre gu soirbheas. Sin nuair thuirt mo mhàthair ‘S i labhairt anns a’ Ghàidhlig, “Gad’s math do chriù ‘s do bhàta ‘S e ‘n latha ‘s fheàrr gu seòladh.” Nuair thog sinn rithe h-aodach Gu barraibh nan crann chaola, Ach gann a bha do ghaoth ann A ghluaiseadh taobh air falbh sinn. Dol seachad Rubha Léige ‘S ann thòisich i ri séideadh; ‘Illeasbuig, gu robh feum ort Nuair dh’ éirich an fhairge.

25

30

‘Illeasbuig, seas ri’ d chruadal Bi smearail mar bu dual dhut; Cloinn Nìll gur fhad bho’ n chualas Bhith cruadalach air fairge. Dol seachad Ceap an Dòchais Gun tug sinn troigh do sgòd dhith; A Rìgh bu fhliuch mo chòta Nuair chuir i sròn ‘san fhairge. Nuair chaidh i air an fhuaradh ‘S a thòisich i ri bualadh;

par_3-2.fm Page 172 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

172

Òrain Sèolaidh

Ochoin As We Set Sail Hi rìthill éileadh ó-ro Ho ró hi rìthill ó-ro Hi rìthill éileadh ó-ro Ochoin as we set sail. 5

10

15

20

That night as we were resting In port at Ceann Lochaline We had the best of weather: Warm without a strong breeze. That night as we departed The moon had a ring around it With blue and green in places, A gloomy sign of stormy winds. My mother then addressed us And said to us in Gaelic, “Though your crew and boat are able The daytime’s best for sailing.” When we hoisted up her sails To the summits of her slim masts There was scarce a wind to speak of To speed us on our journey. As we passed the Point of Léige The wind’s strength was increasing; Archie, you were needed When the sea began to rise.

25

30

Stand firm and hardy, Archie, Be brave as yours have always been; MacNeils have long been noted For hardihood in stormy seas. Going past the Cape of Good Hope A foot of sheet we gave her; And Lord, my coat was soaking When the sea came up around her bow. When she went to windward And began striking the waves;

par_3-2.fm Page 173 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 173

35

40

A’ sad bha tighinn fo gualainn Cho cruaidh ri frasan gainmheachadh. Bha m’ athair air a h-ùrlar Gilleasbuig ‘s e ga stiùireadh, Mi fhéin air sgòd an t-siùil ‘S bha mo shùil air an fhairge. Sin thuirt mac an Owner “Chan urrainn mi comanndadh; Tha ‘n soirbheas tighinn an ceann oirnn ‘S sinn teann air na Calmain.”

45

Nuair thug sinn air an tràigh i Cho fad ‘s a leigeadh làn leinn, Gun do ghabh sinn aice sàbhailt’ ‘S thug sinn làmh air gealbhan.

par_3-2.fm Page 174 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

174

Òrain Sèolaidh

35

40

The spray from under her shoulder Came forth as hard as driven sand. My father was on her floor And Archie was the helmsman; And I was on the sail-sheet With a sharp eye on the water. Then the owner’s son spoke, “I cannot keep control of her: The wind is in our faces And we’re close by Calman.”

45

When at last we beached her As far as tide allowed us, Once we’d secured her safely We built ourselves a blazing fire.

par_3-2.fm Page 175 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Òrain Sèolaidh / Sailing Songs 175

19 Tha M’ Inntinn Trom, Cha Thog Mi Fonn (My Heart Is Sad, I Cannot Sing)

Ú274 & 4 œj

j œ

Tha

4

7

j r œ. œ

m'innt

j & œ. thàbh

r œ -

achd

-

3

gèil

scale: pentatonic

&˙

œ œ œ œ

form: 5 phrases: verse: AB refrain: CDC strucutre: 10 bar melody: verse: 4 refrain: 6

do

r œ œ

cha

thog

% j œ.

œ

Tha

3

Dh'éir - ich

trom,

œ

ach

r œ

œ.

3

j œ -

œ

inn

& œj œ œj œ œ . œj verse

3

refrain

m'innt

œ

inn

œ.

trom,

3

3

fonn

A'

r œ cha

j r j œ œ . œ œ œ . œr œ œ . œj œ . œ ghaoth an iar 'S gur fiadh - aich liom a

compass: (9) 6 degrees

˙ (œ)

œ

?

3

œ. J

original pitch

b b Jœ

j œ

siubh - al

thonn

neo -

3

r œ -

œ

mi

r œj . œj . œr œ

j r œ. œ

3 œ œ œ. R

œ R

3

j œ

œ

thog

mi

œ

œ fonn.

3

r j œ œ. œ œ œ. œ 3

thàn

-

aig

e,

Tha

%

par_3-2.fm Page 176 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

176

Òrain Sèolaidh

Tha M’ Inntinn Trom, Cha Thog Mi Fonn Tha m’ inntinn trom, cha thog mi fonn A’siubhal thonn neo-thàbhachdach Tha m’ inntinn trom, cha thog mi fonn.

5

An tùs an ràithe rinn sinn seòladh A’ dol air bhòids’ a dh’ Africa. ‘S ann à Lìte a dh’ fhalbh an long Bu mhór a call mun tànaig i. Bha cóig ceud againn air bòrd Bha òl air fìon na Spàinn’ againn.

10

Bha cóig ceud againn air bòrd Do dh’ òigearan deas, tàbhachdach. Dh’ éirich caitein gaothach, greannach Dol seachad ‘na mhàmannan.

15

Dh’ éirich gèil do ghaoth an iar ‘S gur fiadhaich liom a thànaig e. Bhrist na cruinn, gun d’ shrac na siùil Gun d’ chaill an stiùir a tàth oirnn. Labhair an caiptean fos n-ìseal, ‹S bochd an sgrìob a thànaig oirnn.

20

“Ciamar theid na siùil ri cruinn? Gun d’ fhalbh na suinn a chàradh iad. “Ciamar theid mi tro Chaol Ìle? ‘S ann liom fhìn a dh’ fhàg iad mi.”

25

Eadar Di-màirt is Di-ciadain Chaill sinn trian dhen àireamh sin. Mun tànaig an ath-Dhi-ciadain Sianar a bha ‘n làthair dhiubh. ‘S iomadh maighdean bhanail, bheusach Bha deurach mun bhàthadh ud.

par_3-2.fm Page 177 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 177

My Heart Is Sad, I Cannot Sing My heart is sad, I cannot sing As pointlessly I sail the waves My heart is sad, I cannot sing.

5

In the season early we set sail On a voyage out to Africa. From the port of Leith the ship set forth, Her loss was great ere she returned. Five hundred of us were on board And we drank our share of Spanish wine.

10

Five hundred of us were on board All youthful, ready, competent. The wind sent up a stormy spray Flying past in fitful torrents.

15

Then a west wind gale arose; I felt its frenzied impact. The masts snapped and the sails tore, The rudder lost its fastenings. The captain spoke, his voice was low, “We’ve suffered a calamity.

20

“How can we hope to raise the sails With the lads gone who’d secure them? “How can I clear the Strait of Islay Now that they’ve left me on my own?”

25

Between Tuesday and Wednesday We lost the third part of our crew. And ere the following Wednesday dawned Six were all that remained of them. Many’s the womanly, virtuous maid That their drowning caused to shed her tears.

par_3-2.fm Page 178 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

178

Òrain Sèolaidh

30

‘S iomadh bean òg bha gun chéilidh ‘S té’ile bha gun bhràthair ann. ‘S iomadh màthair a bha dubhach A’ cumh’ a cuid àilleagan.

35

Thug sinn suas an iomall cuain An long a fhuair a sàrachadh.

par_3-2.fm Page 179 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 179

30

Many’s the young wife lost her spouse And many more left brotherless. Many’s the mother sorely grieved Mourning for her precious ones.

35

We abandoned at the ocean’s edge Our ship so cruelly battered.

par_3-2.fm Page 180 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Òrain Sèolaidh / Sailing Songs

180

20 Air faill ill ó ro, faill ill ó

Ú 76± refrain 1 j r j r & 24 œj œ . œ œj œ . œ Air

faill

ill

ó

ro,

3

j œ

3

rì -

thill

ù

thill

a - gus

r j r & œj œj . œ œj œ . œ -

e

tha

gu

mul - ad

3

scale: pentatonic

&˙ œ œ œ œ fifth position

form: 8 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: ABCD structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

a'

Faill

˙

œ -

œ

?

hug

Air

j œ

ì

ro

éil

-

m'uil

3

œ. J

ó

ro

-

inn

'us

mi

œ œ œr œr j . œ b'e

œ R

mo thog - airt

j œ

œ. J

œ R

œ œ

œ. J

eadh Hi

% verse j r œ. œ . œ fine

éil

j œr œj œj . œr œ.

j œ œ

j bbbb œ

original pitch

ó

r œ. œ

3

r j œ œ. ach,

ill

œ

j œ œ œ œ œ œr œ

gob - ach - adh, 'S cha

compass: 9 degrees

œ

ó

'S na

3

& Jœ œ œ œ œ œj ear

ó

j œ œ

13

Gaoth an

ill

3

j œ œ

9

mis

faill

j r j r œ . œ œj œ . œ

j œ

j r j r œ . œ œj œ . œ

& œ Jœ œ œ œj 5

j œ . œr œ

-

eadh. Gur

œ. œ

œ

'g éir -

œ.

igh,

% œ fhéin

œ. œ e.

par_3-2.fm Page 181 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 181

Air faill ill ó ro, faill ill ó Air faill ill ó ro, faill ill ó Faill ill ó ro éileadh Hi rìthill ù thill agus ó ‘S na hug ì ó ro éileadh. 5

10

Gur mise tha gu muladach Air m’ uilinn ‘us mi ‘g éirigh; Gaoth an ear a’ gobachadh ‘S cha b’e mo thogairt fhéin e. Gaoth an ear a’gobachadh ‘S cha b’ e mo thogairt fhéin e; Gaoth an iar a b’ aite leinn Is lasan oirr’ ag éirigh. Nan tigeadh am bàta Dha’ m b’ àbhaist a bhith treuna Tighearn’ òg na tìr oirre A Rìgh ma dh’ éireas beud dha

15

Uachdaran na dùthchadh Gu bheil mo dhùrachd fhéin dha Guidheam fallain dhachaigh dhut Gu d’aitreabh ann an Sléite

20

Fo na bi na fìdhlean ‘S na pìoban gan gleusadh Fo na bi na h-ìghneagan Bu bhinn leam bhith gan éisdeachd Fo na bi na gillean òg’ As bòidhche thig ‘nan éideadh

25

Cas as deis’ air ùrlar An am a’ chiùil a ghleusadh ‘S iomadh òigear furanach Glan fulangach le féileadh

par_3-2.fm Page 182 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

182

Òrain Sèolaidh

Air faill ill ó ro, faill ill ó Air faill ill ó ro, faill ill ó Faill ill ó ro éileadh Hi rìthill ù thill agus ó ‘S na hug ì ó ro éileadh. 5

10

How sad and sorrowful am I Rising in the morning; The east wind is picking up, Which was not what I had wished for. The east wind is picking up, Which was not what I had wished for; A west wind we would far prefer Rising up in anger. If only the boat would arrive Which used to be so sturdy Bearing the young ruler of the land O Lord, let nothing harm him

15

The lord over our country He has my every blessing I wish you a safe journey home To your great dwelling in Sleat

20

Where they tune the fiddles And pipes are put in order And where the young girls are Whose singing so pleased me And the most handsome youths To wear their Highland garb

25

The neatest dancers on the floor When they strike up the music Many’s the lad who’s courteous Kilted, clean, and hardy

par_3-2.fm Page 183 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 183

30

A dh’ éireadh leat, a Dhòmhnaill Nan tigeadh tòir air Seumas Dh’ éireadh Mac Mhic Ailein leat ‘S Gleann Garaidh leat le chéile Agus dh’ fhàgainn-sa mo dhùthaich Air chùmhntanan bhith réidh riut

35

‘S reachainn fada fada leat A Ghlaschu na Dhùn Éideann As a’sin a dh’ Uibhist leat ‘S gum biodh an turus eutrom.

par_3-2.fm Page 184 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

184

Òrain Sèolaidh

30

Would rise up with you, Donald Were James to be pursued Clanranald and Glengarry Would rise with you together And I would leave my country Provided we be reconciled

35

I’d go far afield with you To Edinburgh or Glasgow And afterwards to Uist Indeed a pleasant journey.

par_3-2.fm Page 185 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Òrain Sèolaidh / Sailing Songs 185

21 ’S Ann Di-luain Ghabh i ’n Cuan (Monday She Set Out to Sea)

Ú 72± refrain % œ œ & 24

1

'S ann

4

7

œ. J & -

œ R

œ J

3

ean

geal

-

œ. œ œ. & J R J Rœ verse j œ

'S ann

Di - luain

a

Dorian-Aeolian with gap at 6

form: 5 phrases: verse: AB refrain: CDC structure: 10 bar melody: verse: 4 refrain: 6

j œ.

r œ

j œ

ghabh

j #œ

œ

œ œ

œ

œ. œ J R

ghluais

am

cuan

œ R

'S ann

r œ

œ

i'n

œ

a

œ œ œ œ œ (# œ) œ ˙

scale: hexatonic (heptatonic)

&˙

œ.

œ

Di - luain

j œ

guaill

œ R

Té bhòidh

œ.

œ

œ

r œ

bàt

-

a,

œ ? original pitch œ œ bb

ghabh

œ. j r J œj œ . œ

œ R An

té

bhàn

a

œ R

œ

-

œ.

j œ

œ. J

each

nan

j œ.

œ

i'n

fine

cuan.

% œ œ œr œj Jœ dh'fhàg

compass: 11 degrees

œ R

œ. J

r œ

j œ

Di - luain

œ

œœœ

an

cal - a.

par_3-2.fm Page 186 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

186

Òrain Sèolaidh

’S Ann Di-luain Ghabh i ’n Cuan ‘S ann Di-luain ghabh i ‘n cuan Té bhòidheach nan guaillean geala ‘S ann Di-luain ghabh i ‘n cuan.

5

‘S ann Di-luain a ghluais am bàta, An té bhàn a dh’ fhàg an cala. Gura diombach mi dhan Ghranndach Thànaig oirnn a nall à Manaidh. Leig i feilms’ air feadh an àite; Ghluais gach bàta à tàmh o chala.

10

‘S ann Di-luain a ghluais an iùbhrach Mo dhùrachd gun till sibh fallain. Còmhlan oirr’ do dh’ fhearaibh ùra Thogadh sunnd os cionn an drama.

15

Chuir sinn Alasdair ga stiùireadh; Chuir iad e air chùrsa air Beinn na Hearadh. Nuair a chàirte fo chliabh ràmh i ‘S i nach sàradh a’ mhuir ghreannach.

par_3-2.fm Page 187 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:51 PM

Sailing Songs 187

Monday She Set Out to Sea Monday she set out to sea The beautiful, white-shouldered vessel Monday she set out to sea.

5

The boat departed on a Monday The white vessel left the harbour. Toward Grant I’m ill-disposed Who descended upon us from Manaidh. She released the tillers throughout the place Each boat remaining swiftly left its haven.

10

The ship departed on a Monday; I pray that you’ll come back safely. She had a youthful crew aboard, Cheerful when the drams were taken.

15

We sent Alasdair to steer her; They set his course for Beinn na Hearadh. When they raised the oar-stays on her In rough seas she would not falter.

par_3-3.fm Page 188 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

188

Òrain Luaidh / Waulking Songs

22 Nighean Dubh, Nighean Donn Dhut is Éibhinn (Happy You Are, Dark-Haired Girl)

1

Ú 60± introductoryjrefrain b & 24 œj . œr œj œ . œr É

5

&b

hó hì

&b

j œ.

refrain B j œ

r œ

Na

fir

12

&b

's na

hóir

% verse A r j r j œ œ. œ œ. Aig bruach

9

œ

œ

œ

hù

scale: heptatonic

do

leab

structure: 10 bar melody: verse: A,2 refrain: A,2 verse: B,2 refrain: B,2

j œr œj œj . r œ. œ

œ. œ

œ œ

eann ó

gu

É

œ. œ œ œ œ

œ -

œ

œ -

œ adh

'stu ´g éir

-

igh

3

j œ

gheal -

hó hì

j œ

's na

œ

œ œ

a

dol

œ.

j œr œj œj . r œ. œ

refrain A

É

œ

œ

œ

'nan

éid

-

j œ . Rœ

r œ

j œ

j r œ. œ

o

hì,

'S na

hao

compass: 10 degrees

˙

ri

œ

?

j œ . œr rì,

œ. œ

ho hi

'S na

j œ

's na

œ. œ

œ œ

j œ.

œ

j œ

eadh

É

hó

œ

œ

hóir

-

# # œj . œr œj œ . J

j r œ. œ gu

œ. œ

hóir - eann ó

r œ

original pitch (introductory refrain)

œ œ

hóir - eann ó

3

&b ˙ œ œ œ œ œ œ œ Aeolian form: 5 phrases: ABCDE

j œ

r œ

œ

j œ

j œ.

hì

gu

r œ 's na

% œ œ

eann ó

œ.

œ gu.

par_3-3.fm Page 189 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 189

ò r a i n l ua i d h Nighean Dubh, Nighean Donn Dhut is Éibhinn É ho hì ‘s na hóireann ó gu É ho hì ‘s na hù o hì ‘S na hao ri rì ‘s na hóireann ó gu É ho hì ‘s na hóireann ó gu É ho hì ‘s na hóireann ó gu Nighean dubh, nighean donn dhut is éibhinn É ho hì ‘s na hù o hì, ‘S na hao ri rì ‘s na hóireann ó gu.

5

10

15

20

25

Nighean dubh, nighean donn dhut is éibhinn É ho hì ‘s na hóireann ó gu Na bric ‘s na bradain a’ leum riut É ho hì ‘s na hù o hì, ‘S na hao ri rì ‘s na hóireann ó gu. Aig bruach do leabadh ‘s tu ‘g éirigh Na fir gheala dol ‘nan éideadh ‘S e maraich’ bha strì mo bhuanndachd Ma ‘s maraich’ e ‘s mac duin’ uasail ‘S e mo rùn an Gàidheal gasda Macraich’ an steud a bha ‘n Sasann Thug seachd bliadhna ‘n stàball glaiste Gun talamh gun adhar fhaicinn Chuir iad cruithneachd geal ‘sa phrasach ‘S thug iad fian dhi ‘na dheoch-mhaidneadh Chuir e srian dhen airgead ghlas innt’ Chuir e cruidhean òir fo casan Mar sin gun do leig e a-mach i Thug i muir is tìr fo casan Leum i geata nan seachd glasan ‘S an geata mór a bha faisg air Thill thu leath’ an ceann na seachdain Dh’òrdaich an rìgh làn na h-aideadh Dhen òr bu deirg’ a bha ‘n Sasann Chuir e ghlùn ri crùn na h-aideadh

par_3-3.fm Page 190 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

190

Òrain Luaidh

wau l k i n g s o n g s Happy You Are, Dark-Haired Girl É ho hì ‘s na hóireann ó gu É ho hì ‘s na hù o hì ‘S na hao ri rì ‘s na hóireann ó gu É ho hì ‘s na hóireann ó gu É ho hì ‘s na hóireann ó gu Happy you are, dark-haired girl É ho hì ‘s na hù o hì, ‘S na hao ri rì ‘s na hóireann ó gu.

5

10

15

20

25

Happy you are, dark-haired girl É ho hì ‘s na hóireann ó gu Trout and salmon leap to meet you É ho hì ‘s na hù o hì, ‘S na hao ri rì ‘s na hóireann ó gu. At your bedside, as you arise And fair-skinned men put on their raiment A seafaring man was trying to win me A seafarer and a gentleman’s son The splendid Gael is my darling The rider of the steed in England For seven years locked in its stable Without a glimpse of earth or sky They put white wheat into her manger And gave her wine to drink each morning He put on her a silver bridle And with shoes of gold he shod her Then he set her free And over land and sea she bolted She cleared the gate with its seven locks Along with the great gate nearby You brought her back there one week later The king’s command was for a hatful Of the reddest gold to be found in England But the rider struck the hat’s crown with his knee

par_3-3.fm Page 191 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 191

‘S sgaoil e siod air feadh an achadh Air eagal toirt do dh’Albainn masladh Nighean dubh, nighean donn dhut is éibhinn.

par_3-3.fm Page 192 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

192

Òrain Luaidh

30

And over the field the gold was scattered For fear of giving offence to Scotland Happy you are, black-haired, brown-haired girl.

par_3-3.fm Page 193 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Òrain Luaidh / Waulking Songs 193

23 A hiù a hó Ailein Duinn (A hiù a hó, Allan Donn)

Ú76 refrain 2 &4 œ

j jœ . œ

A

4

& œj

hiù

verse

3

œ -

3

j œ

a

3

bhòidh

7

r œ

œ ich

% j œ

œ

j œ œ

hó

Ail - ein

j jœ . œ

A

hiù

r œ

j œ

a

hó

3

& œ œ œj œj . œr Thàn

-

aig

scale: pentatonic

&˙ œ œ œ œ form: 5 phrases: verse: AB refrain: CDC structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 4 refrain: 6

3

œ

lit - ir

œ

nach b'éibh

compass: six degrees

œ

˙

œ

?

œ

j œ

-

inn

Duinn

Gu

j œ

œ

Ail

œ. J

-

do chéil -

œ R

j œ

œ

U œ

3

j œ

œ

œ

Ail - ein Duinn

œ

œ.

ein

r œj . œj œj . r œ œ

original pitch

bbb œ

œ.

œ. œ

3

r j œ œ. œ

idh

œ

fine

Duinn.

34 œ 'na

3

œ. œ

œ

seòmb - ar.

%

par_3-3.fm Page 194 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

194

Òrain Luaidh

A hiù a hó Ailein Duinn A hiù a hó Ailein Duinn Ailein Duinn bhòidhich A hiù a hó Ailein Duinn. 5

Thànaig litir nach b’éibhinn Gu do chéilidh ‘na seòmbar. ‘G iarraidh oirre bhith deiseil Feuch an seasadh i ’chòmhdhail. Rinn an Johnstanach fàbhar; Chuir e bàta fo sheòl dhi.

10

Chuir e bàta fo h-uidheam Ceathrar ghillean ga seòladh. Chuir e bàta air a’ chuan dhi Sgioba luath ghillean òg’ oirr’.

15

Coiseachd oidhch’ agus latha Gabhail rathad an Òbain. Nuair a rànaig i ‘m baile Bha thu paisgte ‘nad sheòmbar. Ann an ciste chaol chumhaing Air a dubhadh le ròiseid.

20

Ann an léine ghil anairt ‘S i gun bhannaibh ri dòrnaibh. Gun Bheurla gun Ghàidhlig; Chuir i fàilte le pòg ort:

25

“Ailein Duinn bho na tùraibh ‘S mór an diùbhail nach beò thu. “Gum bu mhath ‘san taigh-lagh thu Cha bu chladhair aig mòd thu.

par_3-3.fm Page 195 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 195

A hiù a hó, Allan Donn A hiù a hó Allan Donn Handsome brown-haired Allan A hiù a hó Allan Donn. 5

A letter bearing joyless news Came to your spouse in her chamber. Demanding that she be ready To keep the tryst. Johnston granted her a favour And put a boat under sail for her.

10

He made the boat ready With four lads to sail her. He put a boat to sea for her With a ready crew of young stalwarts.

15

A day and a night she spent walking Travelling the road to Oban. When she arrived at the steading You were enshrouded in your chamber. In a narrow, cramped coffin Its outside painted with black tar.

20

In a shroud of white linen Like a shirt without wrist cuffs. With neither English nor Gaelic She kissed you in greeting:

25

“Ailean Donn from the turrets Great the pity you’re not living. “You were an asset in the courthouse And no coward in the courts of law.

par_3-3.fm Page 196 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

196

Òrain Luaidh

“Faicinn ceartas dha’ d chàirdean ‘S do phàirt dha’ d luchd-eòlais. 30

“Ailein Duinn a’ chùil bhuidhe; ‘S e do chumh’ tha gam leònadh.”

par_3-3.fm Page 197 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 197

“Seeing to justice for your relations, Taking the part of your friends. 30

“Allan Donn, yellow-haired, It leaves me filled with grief to mourn you.”

par_3-3.fm Page 198 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

198

Òrain Luaidh / Waulking Songs

24 Ó Mo Leannan, é Mo Leannan (Ó My Darling, é My Darling)

1

Ú 80± opening & closing r refrainj 6 œ œ . œ œ œ &8 Ó

4

r & œ am

7

mo

2

œ œ

œ. J

fear

leann - an,

œ

ùr,

Ó

scale: pentatonic

&˙

mi

œ œ œ œ

fifth position

form: 5 phrases: verse: AB refrain: CDC structure: 10 bar melody verse: 4 refrain: 6

3

œ

nis

œ.

é

œ.

% verse 2 & 4 œj . œr œr œj . Faod - aidh

œ

mo

r œ

œ.

mo

j œ œ œ œj 3

siod chur suar

compass: 8 degrees

˙

r œ

œ

?

-

ach,

j œ

œ

leann - an

j œ

'S e

œ

r œ

œ œ

œ.

é

j œ. œ

Bho'n a

mo

œ

leann - an,

# # œ œ . œr œj œ

original pitch

j œ

œ.2 œ J R

fhuair

œ J

r œ. œ mi

œ.

leann - an

r œ mo

3

œ

fine

j œ

œ

leann - an

j3 œ œ

j œ

leann - an ùr

œ

par_3-3.fm Page 199 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 199

Ó Mo Leannan, é Mo Leannan Ó mo leannan, é mo leannan ‘S e mo leannan am fear ùr, Ó mo leannan, é mo leannan. 5

Dh’éirich mise moch ‘sa mhadainn Taobh na h-abhainn ghabh mi nunn. Chunna mi tighinn an còmhlan Iad a’ falbh an òrdugh triùir. Ach ma bha cha robh ‘sa chòmhlan An t-òigear thogadh mo shùil.

10

Their mi siod riut far mo ghualainn Cha robh mi ‘n uaigneas is thù. Faodaidh mi nis siod chur suarach Bho’n a fhuair mi leannan ùr.

15

‘S e mo leannan Gille Caluim Òigear is clannaiche cùl. ‘S e mo leannan am fear laghach ‘S tu mo roghainn, thaghainn thu. ‘S e mo leannan mac an tàilleir Chuireadh fàitheam air mo ghùn.

20

‘S e mo leannan mac a’ ghobha Bheireadh gleadhar air na h-ùird. Mo chion air cridhe na h-uaisle Cha bu ghruaman thu ‘sa bhùth.

25

Mo chion air cridhe an t-saighdeir Thug an daoimean dhomh le rùn.

par_3-3.fm Page 200 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

200

Òrain Luaidh

Ó My Darling, é My Darling Ó my darling, é my darling My darling is the handsome youth, Ó my darling, é my darling. 5

I arose one early morning To the river-side I went. I saw the company approaching Travelling in groups of three. Yet nowhere to be seen among them Was the youth who’d catch my eye.

10

And in parting I should mention I never did meet you secretly. But I hold this of no account Now I’ve found another beau.

15

Gille Caluim is my darling, With his luxuriant, curly hair. And I love the man most kindly You’re my favourite, I’d choose you. My darling is the tailor’s son Who knew how to hem my gown.

20

My darling is the blacksmith’s son Who could make the hammers ring. My love’s the essence of the noble In the tavern you weren’t dour.

25

I adore the soldier’s spirit Who gave me the diamond with his love.

par_3-3.fm Page 201 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Òrain Luaidh / Waulking Songs 201

25 Oidhche Dhomh air Àirigh Buaileadh (One Night at the Shieling Cattle Fold)

1

5

Ú 60 verse A % 3 2 & 4 œ œ œ œj œ

œ.

Dh'fhair - ich

crith,

j. j œ œ

verse B

& œr

refrain A

mi

r œ

Dh'fhair - ich

mi

&œ

œ

hi

j œ

r œ

hó

ro

scale: hexatonic

&˙ œœœœœ œ ˙ Ionian-Mixolydian with gap at 7

form: 5 phrases: ABCDB structure: 10 bar melody: verse A,2; refrain A,2 verse B, 2; refrain B,4

j œ.

O

r œ

làimh - eadh

j œ.

j œ.

r œ

hó

O

hó

compass: 8 degrees

œ

b'e fuachd i

j œ. fear

3 8

j r œ œ . œr œ . œ cha

U œ

3

3

œ œj œr œj œj . hó leibh o

3

fuair - eadh

r œ leibh

j œ o

œ

j œ

O

hó

r œ

j œ

leibh

o

j œ.

fine

j œ.

œ è

original pitch (refrain A)

3 j j œ ? œ œ œ œrœj œ . œ

hó,

è

refrain B

r œ

j œ.

œ

œ

j œ

œ

hó.

%

par_3-3.fm Page 202 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

202

Òrain Luaidh

Oidhche Dhomh air Àirigh Buaileadh O hó leibh o è hó Oidhche dhomh air àirigh buaileadh O hó leibh o hi hó ro hó O hó leibh o è hó. 5

Dh’fhairich mi crith, cha b’e fuachd i O hó leibh o è hó Dh’fhairich mi fear làimheadh fuaireadh O hó leibh o hi hó ro hó O hó leibh o è hó. Sgaoileadh a bhreacain mun cuairt dhomh; Chrath e a chriosan ‘s e gam fuasgladh.

10

Shaoil leam gur h-e bh’ann am buachaill’; Thug mi breab dha, thilg mi bhuam e. Chuir mi barradh dheth ‘sa luathaidh Bàrr eile ‘san amailt luath dheth. Nighean donn a’ bhreacain uaine Innis dhomhsa fàth do ghruamain.

15

‘S e maraich’ bha strì mo bhuanndachd Ma’ s maraich’ e is mac duin’ uasail. ‘S e bh’ann sàr-dhuin’ uasal: Mac an t-Saoir bho thaobh a’ Chruadail.

par_3-3.fm Page 203 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 203

One Night at the Shieling Cattle Fold O hó leibh o è hó One night at the shieling fold O hó leibh o hi hó ro hó O hó leibh o è hó. 5

I felt a shiver though not from cold O hó leibh o è hó And I felt the cold-handed man O hó leibh o hi hó ro hó O hó leibh o è hó. As he spread his plaid around me; His belt rustled as he undid it.

10

And I thought it was the cowherd; So I kicked him, threw him from me. Turning him over into the ashes; And then into the ash container. Brown-haired girl in the green plaid, Tell me the cause of your distress.

15

A seafaring man was trying to win me A seafarer and a gentleman’s son. A true aristocrat, in fact: A MacIntyre from the side of Cruadal.

par_3-3.fm Page 204 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

204

Òrain Luaidh / Waulking Songs

26 Moch ’sa Mhadainn Rinn Mi Éirigh (Early in the Morning I Arose)

1

Ú 70± & b 24

r œj . œj . œr œ

Hoir - eann

5

&b

%

3

œ

refrain

ò

hi

r œj . œj . œr œ

Hoir - eann

scale: pentatonic

&b œ ˙

second position

form: 4 phrases: verse: A refrain: BCB structure: 8 bar melody: verse: 2 refrain: 6

ò

j œ

hi

œ œ œ

rìth

j œ rìth

œ -

j œ -

œ

ill iù

œ

Ho

œ

fine verse j œ

ill

iù.

Moch

˙

rò

-

j œ . œr œj . œr

j œ

compass: 8 degrees

3

j œ œ œ œ œ. œ

œ

?

'sa

mhad - ainn

# # r j œj . œr œ œ.

original pitch

o

j œ hiù

œ

j œ

œ œ

o éil

-

j œ eadh

% r œ œ œ œj . r œ rinn

mi

éir - igh.

par_3-3.fm Page 205 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 205

Moch ’sa Mhadainn Rinn Mi Éirigh Hoireann ò hi rìthill iù Ho rò-o hiù o éileadh Hoireann ò hi rìthill iù. 5

10

Moch ‘sa mhadainn rinn mi éirigh. Dhìrich mi àirigh na spréidheadh. Fhuair mi a’ chruinneag dhonn gun éirigh. Ach ma fhuair cha d’fhuair mi réidh i. ‘S ann a bha i ‘n deaghaidh réiteach Le toil ministeir na cléireadh. Ghabh mi gaol air fios gun fhios ort.

par_3-3.fm Page 206 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

206

Òrain Luaidh

Early in the Morning I Arose Hoireann ò hi rithill iù Ho rò-o hiù o éileadh Hoireann ò hi rithill iù. 5

10

Early in the morning I arose And climbed up to the cattle shieling. I found the girl had not yet risen. But she was not inclined toward sporting For she had just made her betrothal Approved by a minister of the clergy. I loved you without knowing you.

par_3-3.fm Page 207 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Òrain Luaidh / Waulking Songs 207

27 Ò hao ho, Nighean Dubh, Nighean Donn (Ò hao ho, Dark-Haired Maiden)

1

4

Ú276± refrain j & 4 r œj . œ . œr œ O - o hao ho & œj

3

nighean

7

3

œ

œ

œ

donn

bhòidh

-

a'

mir - e

scale: hexatonic

&˙

ri'm

œ œ œ œ œ

Ionian-Mixolydian with gap at 4

form: 5 phrases: verse: AB refrain: CDC structure: 10 bar melody: verse: 4 refrain: 6

œ.

nighean

dubh,

r œ nighean

j œ each

ghruag

œ œ

-

aich

compass: (10) 9 degrees

œ ˙ (œ)

j œ.

j œ

donn

% j r œj . œ . œr œ O - o hao ho

r j œ œ œ R jœ œ

& œj œj . œr œj . œr verse

Fear

œ

Hao

r œ

œ

?

air

bhàrr

r j œ œ.

original pitch

œ

ri

nan

œ. J

œ stuadh

œ R

ho,

U j j œ œ .

r œ nighean

3

œ

r œ

œ

rì

j œœ .

nighean dubh,

j œ . œr œj . œr ´S mis'

j r œ. œ œ

donn.

j œ œ a´

fine

seòl

3

j œ- adh. œ

%

par_3-3.fm Page 208 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

208

Òrain Luaidh

Ò hao ho, Nighean Dubh, Nighean Donn Ò hao ho, nighean dubh, nighean donn Hao ri rì ho, nighean donn bhòidheach Ò hao ho, nighean dubh, nighean donn. 5

Ged ‘s nochd Oidhche na Bliadhn’ Ùireadh Rìgh gur beag mo shunnd ri òran. Fear a’ mire ri’m ghruagaich ‘S mis’ air bhàrr nan stuadh a’ seòladh. Fear a’ mire ri’m leannan ‘S beag a ghearaineas e dhomhs’ e.

10

Fear a’ mire ri’m nighinn; Thug i rùn a cridhe dhomhsa. Ach an cluinn thu mis’ a nigheanag? ‘S iomadh fear tha strì do phòsadh.

15

‘S e dhiubh Pàdraig agus Seumas, ‘S Iain Mac a’ Léigh na’ n còirneal. Shaoilinn nach pòsadh tu banntrach Fad’s bhiodh geall aig giullan òg ort. Ach nam feitheadh tu gu Bealltainn Chan fhaigheadh Caimbeulach tha beò thu.

20

Chan fhaigheadh Caimbeulach fon ghréin thu Fad ‘s a bhithinn fhéin an tòir ort. Nighean donn a’ chuailein chraobhaich ‘S e do ghaol a rinn mo leònadh.

25

Nighean donn a’ bhroillich shoilleir Dheanainn coinneamh riut ‘us còmhradh. Dheanainn coinneamh riut air uairibh Ach thu fhéin, a luaidh, bhith deònach.

par_3-3.fm Page 209 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 209

Ò hao ho, Dark-Haired Maiden Ò hao ho, dark-haired maiden Hao ri rì ho, pretty, dark-haired maiden Ò hao ho, dark-haired maiden. 5

Though tonight is New Year’s Eve I take little cheer in song. Someone’s sporting with the maiden Even as I sail on the wave crests. Someone’s sporting with my lover; Concerning that I’ll hear few protests.

10

Someone’s sporting with my girl; She gave to me her heart’s affection. Don’t you hear me, then, my maiden? Many’s the man who aspires to wed you. Among your suitors James and Patrick, Ian Livingstone, or the colonel.

15

I doubt you’d choose a widower to marry As long as you had a young lad’s interest. But should you delay until May Day There’s no Campbell alive would get you.

20

No Campbell under the sun would have you So long as I myself pursued you. Young girl with flowing tresses, Your love has left me sorely wounded. Young girl of the snow-white bosom, With you I would converse and tryst.

25

I would meet you on occasion If only, sweetheart, you were willing.

par_3-3.fm Page 210 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Òrain Luaidh / Waulking Songs

210

28 Gura Mis’ Tha fo Éislein (I’m Tormented with Sorrow)

introductory & closing refrain

1

Ú 69 & 24 œ

3

O

4

%7

&

œ œ ó

verse

& œ Gur

3

j œ

œ

ho

ró

œ

j œ

œ.

eil

-

œ

's na

hó

œ

j œ.

r œ

œ

e

O

ho

ró

œ -

j œ œr œj .

œ

j œ.

a

fo

éis -

mis´

œ œ œ œ

first position

form: 4 phrases: verse: A refrain: A'B'A''. Structure: 8 bar melody: verse: 2 refrain: 6

tha

r œ lein.

r œ

j œ

gù

Na

hì

œ.

refrain j œ

œ

O

r œ

œ

's na

hó

œ

?

b œ

3

œ

œ. J -

œ

aibh

fine

j œ gù.

j œ . œr

œ

ró

's na

hó

3 œ œ œ . œr J

r œ

hiùr

j œ

original pitch (refrain)

compass: 8 degrees

˙

j œ.

3

3

scale: pentatonic

&˙

œ.

r œ

j œ j œ. œ gù.

%

par_3-3.fm Page 211 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 211

Gura Mis’ Tha fo Éislein O ho ró ‘s na hó gù Na hì hiùraibh ó eile O ho ró ‘s na hó gù. 5

10

15

Gura mis’ tha fo éislein Anns a’ mhadainn ‘s mi ‘g éirigh. Chì mi eilid ‘s a céilidh Iad a’ mire ri chéile. Rìgh, gur buidhe dhaibh p-fhéin e. ‘S ionnan siod ‘s mar a dh’éirich ‘S ann dhomhsa ‘s dha’ m cheud-ghaol Ann an gleannan nan geugan. ‘S truagh nach robh mi fad seachdain An riochd a’ gheòidh neo na lacha. Shnàmhainn eutrom a Ghlascho, Ruiginn dorust do chaisteil Tha fo chìs ‘s fo ghlais ac’.

par_3-3.fm Page 212 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

212

Òrain Luaidh

I’m Tormented with Sorrow O ho ró ‘s na hó gù Na hì hiùraibh ó eile O ho ró ‘s na hó gù. 5

10

15

I’m tormented with sorrow As I rise in the morning. I see the hind and her mate As they frolic together. Lord, how fortunate they are! And indeed it happened thus With myself and my first love In the valley of the branches. If only for a week I were A wild goose, a wild duck, I could swim with ease to Glasgow, To the door of your castle, Which they’ve locked and taken over.

par_3-3.fm Page 213 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Òrain Luaidh / Waulking Songs 213

29 Moch ‘sa Mhadainn Rinn Mi Gluasad (I Arose This Morning Early)

1

& closing refrain Ú 60± opening j œ œœ œ 6 œ œ œj œj œ œj &8 œ J œ Hill - iù

hill - eó

& œ Jœ œ œ . iù

9

hill - eó

hó

-

j j & œ œ œ œ œ œ. Dhìr

-

ich

œ

œ

fifth position

form: 5 phrases: verse: AB refrain: CDC' structure: 10 bar melody: verse: 4 refrain: 6

ro éil - eadh

œ

œ

ro éil - eadh.

œ

mi mach

scale: pentatonic

&˙

-

Hill - iù

hill - eó

j r œ Jœ œj œj . œ 2

hi

hóir - eann

2 fine % verse j r j œ œ œ œj œ œj œj œ œ œ œj .

2

5

hó

r œ . œ Jœ œ œ

ri

j œ

j œ

Beinn Chruach - an.

compass: 8 degrees

˙

œ

Moch

œ

?

'sa

mhad - ainn

j œ œ œ œ Jœ œ

refrain (opening line)

Hill - iù

hill - eó

œ J

j œ

œ

Hill -

œ.2 œ œ .2 œ J R J R

rinn

mi gluas - ad

œ œ œj œ œ œj hó

-

ro

original pitch (opening refrain, slightly lower than written)

œ œœœ J

ó

éil

-

eadh.

par_3-3.fm Page 214 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

214

Òrain Luaidh

Moch ‘sa Mhadainn Rinn Mi Gluasad Hill-iù hill-eó hó-ro éileadh Hill-iù hill-eó hi hóireann ó Hill-iù hill-eó hó-ro éileadh. 5

10

15

20

25

30

Moch ‘sa mhadainn rinn mi gluasad Dhìrich mi mach ri Beinn Chruachan Dhìrich mi mach ri Beinn Chruachan Theirinn mi Lag an Fhraoich Uaine Shuidh mi aig Tobar an Fhuaraidh Chìr mi mo cheann, dh’fhàg mi ghruag ann Dh’fhàg is falt mo chinn ‘na dhualan Sùil dha’ n tug mi tar mo ghualainn Chunnaic mi tighinn na h-uaislean Iain is Eachann is Ruairidh Ach ma bha cha robh mo luaidh ann Fear a’ chinn duibh ‘s a’ chòt’ uaine Cha rogh, a ghaoil, gum b’fhada bhuam thu Bha té eil’ aig bàil gad bhuaireadh ‘S aithne dhomh fhìn dé chùm bhuam thu Tainead mo chrodh-laoigh air buailidh Lughad a bha dhubh ‘s a ruadh dhiubh Lughad a bha chais-fhionn ghuail-fhionn ‘S mithich dhomh tearnadh tar Beinn Chruachan Ailein, Ailein, ‘s fhada bhuam thu Nan tigeadh tu ‘s mi ‘sa bhuailidh Cha b’e do dheoch bùrn an fhuarain Leagainn bainne geal an cuaich dhut Chàirinn leaba nach biodh suarach Laighinn fhìn air taobh an fhuaraidh Sgaoilinn mo bhreacan mun cuairt dhut Air eagal ‘s gu ruig am fuachd thu ‘S mithich dhomh teàrnadh tar Beinn Chruachan.

par_3-3.fm Page 215 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 215

I Arose This Morning Early Hill-iù hill-eó hó-ro éileadh Hill-iù hill-eó hi hóireann ó Hill-iù hill-eó hó-ro éileadh. 5

10

15

20

25

30

I arose this morning early, I climbed up towards Beinn Chruachan I climbed up towards Beinn Chruachan And descended by Lag an Fhraoich Uaine I sat down by Tobar an Fhuaraidh And combed my hair, leaving some there I left my hair there in locks And as I glanced over my shoulder I saw the noblemen approaching There was Hector, Ian, and Rory Even so, my love was not among them The black-haired youth in the green coat You were absent, love, and far away At a dance another had enticed you I know full well what has kept you from me So few breeding-cattle in my fold How few there were of black or red And few white-footed or white-shouldered It’s time to descend over Beinn Chruachan Allan, Allan, you are far from me If only we could meet at the fold Not just for a drink of fresh spring water I’d draw for you a bowl of white milk And prepare a bed in no way trifling And lie down on the windward side And spread my own plaid around you For fear the cold should affect you Now it’s time to descend over Beinn Chruachan.

par_3-3.fm Page 216 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Òrain Luaidh / Waulking Songs

216

30 Mo Rùn an t-Uasal (My Darling the Nobleman)

1

5

Ú 76± jrefrainr & 24 œ . œ

j œ

Bheir

ó

mi

% & œr Bheir

8

&œ

œ

œ œ

œ

ro

œ

r j œ œœœ .

ho

le ló

j œ #œ œ .

œ

j œ

mi

ó

ro

œ

adh

j r œ. œ

œ R ri

scale: pentatonic

&œ œ ˙

òr

œ œ

Dorian-Aeolian with gaps at 4 & 6

form: 5 phrases: verse: AB refrain: CDC' structure: 10 bar melody verse: 4 refrain: 6

-

an

˙

œ

Hó

œ J

œ J ho

mo

le

ló.

œ R

Do

cheap

-

tain

original pitch

b b b Jœ .

j œ . œr œr œj œr

j œ.

j fine verse j œ. œ.

œ

?

r œ

r œ

œ

œ

œ œ œ ró

r œ

compass: 6 degrees

œ

œ œ œ œ

'S misd

rùn

j œ . œr

òg

a'

œ R

j œ

œ

t - uas - al

r œ

r œ

e

dhomh

-

j œ.

an

chùil

œ dual

j œ. teann

r œ

œ -

aich.

-

%

par_3-3.fm Page 217 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 217

Mo Rùn an t-Uasal Bheir mi ó ro ho le ló Hó ró mo rùn an t-uasal Bheir mi ó ro ho le ló. 5

‘S misde dhomh teannadh ri òran Do cheaptain òg a’ chùil dualaich. Nuair a reachadh tu ‘n taigh-òsda Cha bhiodh an stòp ort mar uallach. ‘S iad gan òl ‘s tu gam pàigheadh ‘S tu gun tàirneadh càch’ mun cuairt dhiot.

10

Cha b’iad na peighinnean brònach Thigeadh à pòc’ an duin’ uasail. Ach ginichean dearg’ is dhaite Gu caitheamh seachad na h-uair’ dhuinn.

15

‘S car thu do Fhrisealaich ùra A choisinn cliù air tùs a’ chruadail. Gad tha iad gann anns a’ cheàrn seo Tha iad làidir ‘san taobh tuath dhuinn. Bu mhath air thoiseach do dhaoine thu An am bhith smaoineachadh air gluasad.

20

Cridhe misneachail, neo-sgàthach An am dol sios gu blàr a’ chruadail. Pearsa dhìreach ‘s àille cumadh Bho bhonn gu mullach do ghuaillean.

25

Le d’ ghunna le d’ sgian ‘nad làimh ‘S bòidheach do ghabhail an uair sin. Sealgair sìthneadh air beinn na frìth thu Air cùl nan damh sìnte, ruadha. Bu tu sealgair damh a’ chabair Anns an lagan ‘m bi an duathar.

par_3-3.fm Page 218 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

218

Òrain Luaidh

My Darling the Nobleman Bheir mi ó ro ho le ló Hó ró my darling the nobleman Bheir mi ó ro ho le ló. 5

Now I must compose a song To the young, curly-haired captain. When you went into a tavern You wouldn’t hesitate to pay for the stoup. They would drink them as you bought them; You could draw the lads around you.

10

No mere pennies, mean or stingy Came forth from the noble’s pocket. But real guineas, red in colour For us to pass the hour in company.

15

Your relations are the gallant Frasers Who gained repute from facing danger. Though not numerous in this district, To the north of us they’re strong in numbers. For your men a great commander When it came time to think of moving.

20

A heart intrepid and courageous As you went down to the field of valour. Straight in body, well-proportioned From your soles up to your shoulders.

25

With your gun and knife in hand You cut an impressive figure. Venison hunter in mountain woodland Pursuing red stags stretched in flight. Hunter of the antlered stag In the hollow deeply shadowed.

par_3-3.fm Page 219 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 219

30

Sealgair na h-eal’ air an t-snàmh thu (’S) eòin mhollaich bhàin a’ chinn uaine. Gun do leig iad dhachaigh mo bhràthair Gad a chum an sàirdeant bhuainn e.

35

Cha do ghabh iad truas dha na pàisdean; Cha robh am màthair gun uallach.

par_3-3.fm Page 220 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

220

Òrain Luaidh

30

And you stalked the floating swan, And the white bird, shaggy and green-headed. They allowed my brother home Though the sergeant kept him from us.

35

They took no pity on the children; Their mother was not free from worries.

par_3-3.fm Page 221 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Òrain Luaidh / Waulking Songs 221

31 ’S Mithich Duinn Éirigh Mo Nighean Donn (Time That We Awaken, My Brown-Haired Girl)

1

Ú 82± refrain & 24 œr œj . œ œ œ Bheir mi

6

ó

verse

& œj . œr 'S misd - e

3

œ œ . œr œ

j œ

ro

'S mithich duinn

j r œ. œ

& œ ˙ œ œ œ œ Dorian-Aeolian with gap at 6

form: 5 phrases: verse: AB refrain: CDE structure: 9 bar melody: verse: 4 refrain: 5

j œ

œ

domhs' bhith

scale: hexatonic

bha hó

dol

˙

?

éir

% r œj . œ œ -

igh

Tha

mi

fad

air

original pitch (opening refrain) 3

## œ J

Mo

œ œ œj œ œ .

nigh - ean donn,

r œ œ œ œ

Mo

r œj . œj . œr 34 œ œ

dhach - aigh:

œ

œ œ. j œ

j œ

compass: 6 degrees

œ

œ

mo

nigh - ean

donn.

œ

œ

r œ

chéil

-

idh.

œ. œ œ œ Bheirmi ó

fine

%

par_3-3.fm Page 222 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

222

Òrain Luaidh

’S Mithich Duinn Éirigh Mo Nighean Donn ‘S mo nighean donn Bheir mi ó ro bha hó ‘S mithich duinn éirigh Mo nighean donn. 5

‘S misde dhomhs’ bhith dol dhachaigh: Tha mi fad air mo chéilidh. ‘S misde dhomhsa bhith gluasad Seachad buaile na spréidheadh.

10

Bheir mi m’aghaidh air Muile Gad as duilich liom fhéin e. Gad as duilich an-diugh e Bu ro-dhuilich an-dé e. A Dhòmhnaill ‘ic Lachlainn bhon Bhràighe Chuirinn fàilte roimh cheud ort.

15

Bu tu com an duin’ uasail Làmh chruaidh air chùl feuma. Bu tu ‘n companach botuil, Cha bhiodh sprochd ort mu dheidhinn.

20

Bu tu ‘n companach buideil Nuair chuirte mu dheidhinn. Ach ma chaidh do bhàthadh Bu tu ‘n snàmhadair glé mhath. Dol seachad air Sodha. ‘S liom bu bhòidheach fo bréid i.

25

‘S tric a shnàmhadh tu ‘n linne Eadar Canaigh ‘us Sléite. ‘S gura fad tha mi ‘n Sgalpaigh Fon nach cleachdar liom Beurla.

par_3-3.fm Page 223 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 223

Time That We Awaken, My Brown-Haired Girl My brown-haired girl Bheir mi ó ro bha hó Time that we awaken, My brown-haired girl. 5

It’s time I set out for home: I’ve overstayed my visit. And time for me to start out Past the cattle fold.

10

Then towards Mull I’ll make my way Though for me it’s not easy. And hard as it is today Yesterday was far harder. Donald, son of Lachlann of the Braes, I would welcome you before a hundred others.

15

You were the embodiment of a gentleman, And a firm hand to rely upon in need. For drinking, an ideal companion And not cheerless about it.

20

For drinking, an ideal companion When it was decided upon. And though you died of drowning You were an accomplished swimmer. On her course past Soay She looked splendid under sail.

25

Often you would swim the sound Separating Sleat from Canna. Long have I been in Scalpay Where I do not use English.

par_3-3.fm Page 224 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

224

Òrain Luaidh

30

‘S mór gum b’fheàrr a bhith ‘m Mòrair Fon ‘m bi òganaich ghleusda. Fon am bi na fir dhonna Tighinn an coinneimh a chéile. Fon am bi na mnathan òga Thig Di-dòmhnaich ‘nan éideadh.

par_3-3.fm Page 225 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 225

30

I would far prefer Morar With the young lads so clever. That is where the brown-haired stalwarts Congregate and meet together. And all the young women Arrive each Sunday in their raiment.

par_3-3.fm Page 226 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

226

Òrain Luaidh / Waulking Songs

32 Hó ro Mo Luaidh Ort (Hó ro My Beloved)

Ú 80± introductory & closing refrain j j & 24 œj . œ œ œ œ œ . Na

4

hì

& œj

rìth

7

% verse & œj . œr Gur

& 34

-

ort

Na

hì

j œ.

mis'

j œ

scale: hexatonic

&˙ œ œ œ œ œ Dorian-Aeolian with gap at 4

structure: 10 bar melody: verse: 4 refrain: 6

-

œ.

œ

j œ

j œ.

rìth

-

œ

r œ

tha

fo

mhul

j œ.

refrain

eadh

-

hì

œ

ill

lé

?

b b Jœ .

œœ

œ

j œ

j œ.

j œ

œ.

œ

ro

mo

œ.

-

œ. J

j œ.

r œ

œ

ill

lé

r œ

œ

œ œ ó

'S mi

rith

œ œ

fine

r œ

original pitch (opening refrain)

compass: 6 degrees

Hó

ad

j œ

œ.

œ

œ

j œ.

24 j œ œ

Na

œ œ ˙

œ œ ó

r œ

r œ

œ

Gleann Cuaich

form: 5 phrases: verse: AB complete refrain: CDC

lé

j œ

10

œ

ill

j œ

j œ

a

œ

j œ

j œ

luaidh

-

r œ

r œ

r œ

air

uil

œ.

j œ. -

inn

œ ó.

par_3-3.fm Page 227 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 227

Hó ro Mo Luaidh Ort Na hì rìthill lé ó Hó ro mo luaidh ort Na hì rìthill lé ó. 5

Gura mis’ tha fo mhulad ‘S mi air uilinn Gleann Cuaicheadh. ‘S mi ri cumha an fhleasgaich Nach tig feasgar dhan bhuailidh. Mi ri cumha nan gillean Thug an linne mu thuath orr’.

10

Leis a’ gheòlaidh chaol, bhiorach ‘S nach tilleadh an sguail i. Ach nam feumadh iad tilleadh Bhiodh an iomairt sin cruaidh orr’.

15

Gum biodh leòn air am basan Agus lasair ‘nan gruaidhidh. ‘S cha b’e uisge lòin shalaich Thug mo leannan far chuain bhuam. Ach uisge-beatha na Tòiseachd Chuireadh ròsan ‘nan gruaidhidh.

20

Uisge beatha nam feadan Air a tharraing trì uairean. Gur e Iain mac Iain Rùn cridhe nan gruagach.

25

Agus Iain mac Thearlaich Cùl fàinneagach, dualach. Gura buidhe dha’d chéilidh Ge b’e té nì do bhuanndachd. Gum bi nèipigin shìoda Cumail sgàil air do ghualainn.

par_3-3.fm Page 228 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

228

Òrain Luaidh

Hó ro My Beloved Na hì rìthill lé ó Hó ro my beloved Na hì rìthill lé ó. 5

I am feeling great sorrow At the crook of Glen Quoich. As I mourn the gallant youth He’ll not return to the fold tonight. And I mourn the young lads Who departed northwards over the sound.

10

In the narrow, pointed yawl Which the squall could not drive back. But if they were forced back It would go hard for them.

15

There would be wounds on their palms And their cheeks would be flaming. It was no dirty brook water My love took overseas from me. But Ferintosh whisky To make their cheeks glow like roses.

20

Whisky straight from the spout, Run through three times. It’s Ian, son of Ian, who’s The darling of the young girls’ hearts.

25

As is Ian, Charles’ son, With hair curly in ringlets. Lucky will be your spouse Whatever woman shall win you. And a kerchief fine and silken Will keep the sun from your shoulders.

par_3-3.fm Page 229 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Òrain Luaidh / Waulking Songs 229

33 O ho ró ’Ille Dhuinn (O ho ró Brown-Haired Lad)

1

Ú 76± jrefrain r & 24 œ . œ O

4

7

ho

& œ bhòidh

j œ

j œ

-

œ

ró

œ

j œ

-

r œ

-

'ill

ich

O

scale: pentatonic

&œ ˙

tha

œ œ œ

(Dorian-Aeolian with gap at 6)

form: 5 phrases: verse: AB refrain: CDC structure: 10 bar melody: verse: 4 refrain: 6

j œ.

j œ

e

j œ.

œ

dhuinn

r œ

œ

ho

ró

'ill

j œ

e

dhuinn

j œ #œ œ .

r œ

œ.

-

'ill

-

œ

œ R

fine

œ

e

dhuinn.

3

r œ

verse

Gur - a mis'

-

%j œ.

œ

j r & œ . œ œj Jœ . Rœ

œ #œ

œ fo

œ œ

œ. J

mhul - ad

'S

compass: 8 degrees

œ

œ œ . œr œ œ œj 34 J J œ 3

˙

mi

œ

fo

?

chul

-

# œ. œ J R

ars

Rìgh Deòrs

original pitch

j œ

œ

œ

œ. œ -

a.

œ.

%

par_3-3.fm Page 230 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

230

Òrain Luaidh

33 O ho ró ’Ille Dhuinn O ho ró ’ille dhuinn ’ille dhuinn bhòidhich O ho ró ’ille dhuinn. 5

Gura mis’ tha fo mhulad ‘S mi fo chulars Rìgh Deòrsa. Mi ri giùlain a’ghunna Ann an cuideachd a’ chòirneil. Luchd tìreadh ‘us maradh Gabhail sealladh dh’ar còmhdhail.

10

Luchd nan còtaichean ruadha Gan cur suas an deagh òrdugh. Luchd nan còtaichean gearra Gan cur tairis dhan Òlaind.

15

Gu sràid nan ceum socair Nach dochainn na brògan. ‘S ann air feasgar Di-sathurn’ Thug sinn baiteal bha brònach. ‘S iomadh fear bha ‘na shìneadh Nach innseadh a dhòrainn.

20

E ‘na shìneadh ‘sa luachair, Fhuil m’a ghuaillean ‘s i reòite. E ‘na shìneadh air uilinn Le gunn’ a’ bheòil bhòidhich.

25

E ‘na shìneadh gun chluasag ‘S e ri bruadalan neònach. ‘S iomadh té bha gun chéilidh An am dhi éirigh di-Dòmhnaich. ‘S iomadh nighean fir fearainn Bhios a’ laighe ‘na h-ònar.

par_3-3.fm Page 231 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 231

O ho ró Brown-Haired Lad O ho ró brown-haired lad Brown-haired lad so handsome O ho ró brown-haired lad. 5

How sad I am indeed Under King George’s banner. As I carry the gun In the company of the colonel. People on land and sea Viewing our mustering

10

Troops in their red coats Pulled up in smart array. Troops in their short coats Being sent over to Holland

15

To the street where the walking is easy And will not damage our footwear. On Saturday afternoon We engaged in a grievous battle. Many a man remained lying there Who could not tell of his pain.

20

Lying there in the rushes, Shoulders covered in frozen blood. Lying there propped on his elbow With his elegant muzzled gun.

25

Lying there with no pillow Dreaming of strange things. Many’s the woman was without a spouse On arising the next Sunday. And many’s the landowner’s daughter Who will lie alone,

par_3-3.fm Page 232 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

232

Òrain Luaidh

30

Gun a céilidh ri gualainn ‘S nach fhuasgaileadh òr e. Faod’ tu innse dha m’athair Nach fhaic e ri bheò mi.

35

Thoir mo shoraidh gu m’ mhàthair Bho’n ‘s i dh’àraich as m’òig’ mi. Soraidh eile gu m’ leannan Té nam meall-shùilean mòdhar. Thoir mo shoraidh tar ghrunnan Gu Muile nam mór-bheann.

par_3-3.fm Page 233 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 233

Without her spouse at her side, Whom gold could not release. You may inform my father That as long as he lives he’ll see me no more. 35

Take my greetings to my mother Since she raised me when I was young. And greetings to my lover, With her soft, tender eyes. Send my greetings over the deep To Mull of the great mountains.

par_3-3.fm Page 234 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

234

Òrain Luaidh / Waulking Songs

34 Chì Mi Thallad (I See Yonder)

Ú 69± refrain & 68 Jœ

1

'S hi

&œ

œ

œ J

j œ

him

œ

hill

œ

ù

verse 7

2

2

& œj œ . œ œr Chì

mi

na

œ œ

œ

œ

fifth position

form: 5 phrases: verse: AB refrain: CDC structure: 10 bar melody: verse: 4 refrain: 6

j œ.

féidh

scale: pentatonic

&˙

œ œj œj J

rì

4

ì

j œ

œ

j œ

œ

bó

hill

j œ

j œ

Hi

rì

j œ air

œ

4

œ

œ .2 œ œ J R R

œ

˙

j œ

j œ

o

Hi

rì

bho

2

him

bó

œ. J

œ R

œ

ro

4

j œ

œ J

a' bhearr - adh

compass: 9 degrees

j œ . œr œj œj œ j œ

œ

hill

2

œ œ œj œ œj

'S an gìom -

original pitch

?

hò

œ J

j œ

an - ach

j œ. o

%j œ

j œ œj œ

œ

him bó

r œ bho

j œ ro

hill

fine j œ hò.

œ.

j j œ œ œj œ œ fhéin

œ œ œj œ 4œ œ J J J

'nan deagh - aidh.

%

par_3-3.fm Page 235 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

Waulking Songs 235

Chì Mi Thallad Hi rì him bó hill o bho ro hò Hi rì him bó hill ì hill ù Hi rì him bó hill o bho ro hò. 5

10

15

20

25

Chì mi, chì mi, chì mi thallad Chì mi na féidh air a’ bhearradh Chì mi na féidh air a’ bhearradh ‘S an gìomanach fhéin ‘nan deaghaidh Le ghunna caol, le mhìol choin sheanga Dìreadh bheann ‘s a’ teàrnadh ghleannan Dh’fhàg thu an damh donn gun anail Anns an fhraoch a’ sileadh faladh Bha do mhìolchoin sgìth ga leanaid ‘S bha na gillean sgìth ga tharraing Beul an aonaich tighinn gu baile Fon am faighte biadh gun ghainne Òl is ceòl is òrain thairis Tha sgeul ùr air tighinn a bhaile Chan e sgeul ùr a th’ann ach naidheachd Gun do réitich mo cheud leannan Rìbhinn donn an òr-fhuilt chlannaich Air gun tig an gùn ri cheannach Aparan is daoir’ an anart Ribean air a chùl nach greannach Tha do shùil mar dhriùchd a’ bharraich ‘S fàileadh nan sùbh-chraobh dhe d’ anail ‘S cha b’e siod a bha mi leanaid Ach do chàirdeas ris na fearaibh Ri Sir Eóghann ‘s ri Sir Ailean ‘S car thu do Mhac Leòid na Hearadh ‘S do Mhac Dhomhnaill Duibh an Daraich.

par_3-3.fm Page 236 Friday, January 12, 2001 3:37 PM

236

Òrain Luaidh

I See Yonder Hi rì him bó hill o bho ro hò Hi rì him bó hill ì hill ù Hi rì him bó hill o bho ro hò. 5

10

15

20

25

I see, I see, I see yonder I see the deer on the high slope. I see the deer on the high slope And the hunter in close pursuit With his rifle and his lean hounds Up the mountains, down the glens You left the brown stag lifeless And bleeding in the heather Your hunting dogs were tired of pursuing it And the lads were tired of dragging it On the brow of the hill approaching home Where there was no lack of food to be had With drink, music, and songs overflowing It’s newly rumoured at the steading And it’s not gossip, but the news That my first lover is betrothed The young girl with golden, curly hair So becoming in a purchased gown And the most expensive linen apron With an elegant ribbon tied behind Your eyes like dew on the birch The fragrance of raspberries on your breath Yet that is not what I was after Rather your kinship to the worthies To Sir Ewen and Sir Allan You’re kinsman to MacLeod of Harris And to the son of Black Donald of Darach.

par_3-4.fm Page 237 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:52 PM

Òrain Ionadail / Local Songs 237

35 Òran nan Dòmhnallach à Eilean a’ Phrionnsa le Màiri Thearlaich (A Song for the MacDonalds of Prince Edward Island by Mary MacPherson)

1

Ú 68± refrain œ. . & 24 Jœ Rœ Rœ J Hug

5

& œr œj . Air

9

a

œ œ3 . œr œj . r J J œ

rà bhi

j œ

's gu

j œ

œ. œ J R

j œ

bhòidh- each, dhìon

œ. J

œ

Chan ìoghn - adh liom

13

& œ Fon

3

3

j j œ œ œ a

rogh

œ œ œ œ

scale: pentatonic

&˙

ar

second position

form: 8 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: ABCD structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

rìr - ibh

j r r œ . œ œ Jœ

j r œ. œ

Saint Marg - aret

% verse r & œ

ga

œ 3

sibh

a'

œ

˙

eil'

œ

oirre

r œ

j. r œ 3 j œ œ œ œ

na

hó

œ. œ œ. J R J Rœ

- ach,

Slàn gun

j œ

œ

j œ

j r œ. œ

bhith dubh - ach

Coimhead

air

taigh

œ

œ. œ J R

œ R

œ

'S nach tig

i

tuill

?

œ. b J

original pitch

œ œ œ. R R J

thìr

-

rì

o

a

h - eòl - ais.

j r r œ . œ œ œj . bàn

r œ

œ

hi

j œ . œr œr œj œr

i a

till

j j3 œ œ œ

fuir - each

compass: 10 degrees

Hug

œ R

j r r œ . œ œ Jœ . gràdh

r j œ œ. œ

e

nan

uinn - eag,

fine % j œj . œr œ. 'nar

còmhr - adh.

par_3-4.fm Page 238 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:52 PM

238

Òrain Ionadail

ò r a in i o nada i l Òran nan Dòmhnallach à Eilean a’ Phrionnsa le Màiri Thèarlaich Hug a rà bhi ‘s gu ga rìribh Hug eil’ oirre na hó hi rì o Air Saint Margaret bhòidheach, dhìonach Slàn gun till i a thìr a h-eòlais. 5

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[Sgeul a thug Seumas dha’ m ionnsaigh Anns a’ mhadainn an am dùsgadh, Gun tànaig na seòid dhan dùthaich Sliochd Iain Mhùideartaich nan ròiseal.] Chaidh mi sios gu leth-taobh Mhàrtainn Rinn mi nochdadh ris an t-sàile; ‘S ann a chunna mi ‘n té bhàn A-mach mu choinneimh tràigh nan Leòdach. Té bhòidheach nan guaillean geala Thànaig oirnn bho thìr an Eilein Air an robh luchd nan cùl donna; Shiod agaibh na gallain òga! Siod an iùbhrach seach a’ rubha, Falbh gu h-eutrom ‘sa chaol sruthach; Am bàta bòidheach fo làn-uidheam, ‘S ùr a’ bhuidheann tha ga seòladh. Chan ìoghnadh liom mar a thà sibh, Sibh bhith dubhach, deurach, cràiteach; Gu bheil bean uasal an deagh nàdair Anns a’ chìll gun chàil gun chòmhradh.

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Chan ìoghnadh liom sibh bhith dubhach Coimhead air taigh bàn nan uinneag, Fon a rogh ar gràdh a’ fuireach ‘S nach tig i tuille ‘nar còmhradh. Nuair a thog sibh na siùil suas rith’ Mach ri barraibh nan crann uaine,

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Local Songs 239

local songs A Song for the MacDonalds of Prince Edward Island by Mary MacPherson Hug a rà bhi ‘s gu ga rìribh Hug eil’ oirre na hó hi rì o On the Saint Margaret, fair and seaworthy May she return sound to her home port. 5

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[News was brought to me by Seumas In the morning as I awoke. The heroes have come to the country, John of Moidart of the Banners’ descendants.] I went down to Martin’s Shore And came in sight of the water; I saw the fair vessel there Lying off MacLeods’ Beach. She was beautiful, white-shouldered, She’d just reached us from the Island With the brown-haired crew aboard her; Handsome young men indeed! Now the boat goes past the point, Lightly skimming the sound’s currents; The splendid craft with all her sails And manned by a youthful crew. I do not wonder at your condition, Grieving, sorrowful, and tearful; That noble woman, so good-natured Lies lifeless, silent in the churchyard.

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No wonder too that you are saddened Seeing the white house with its windows, Where our loved one dwelt; No more she’ll come to talk with us. When you raised her sails higher Toward the tops of the green masts,

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240

Òrain Ionadail

Sgoltadh nan tonn sios ma guaillean, Iùbhrach Ruairidh, ‘s i bha bòidheach.

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Nuair a chàirte fo cuid bréid An iùbhrach a nì ‘n cuan a reubadh; Mar steud chruidheach, shunndach leumraich Sìor-chur réis air réidhlein còmhnard. Na biodh oirbh eagal na cùram Ga b’e ‘n taobh dha’ n tog i a cùrsa; Bithich an caiptean fhéin ga stiùireadh ‘S càch a’ cur nan siùil an òrdadh. ‘S na biodh cùram oirbh mu thilleadh Gad a bhiodh i garbh ‘sa linnidh; Stiùir an làimh fear àrd gun tioma Agus is’ a’ mire crònain.

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Nuair a chàirte na siùil suas rith’ Cloinn Dòmhnaill air bòrd na fuaradh Gu robh Dòmhnall innt’ ‘us Ruairidh Member a’ chùil dualaich, bhòidhich. Member smearail, fearail, rìomhach Do dhà shùil mar dhriùchd na mìn-lach Bu mhór do thlachd agus t’fhìrinn Measg nam mìltean, thug iad bhòt dhut. Ruairidh Donn as gile bràighe, Do dhà shùil mar dhriuchd ‘san fhàsach; ‘S buidhe dhan té ghlac air làimh thu Bho’n ‘s i fhuair ceann-fàth an t-sòlais. An iùbhrach fhìnealta, dheas, dhealbhach Thog bho thìr le sìoda balla-bhreac; Chìte soilleir am bàrr fairgidh Suaicheantas m’ainm do Chloinn Dòmhnaill. Sìol nam fear bho shrath nam fuar-bheann Bho thaobh Loch Seile nam fuar-bheann; B’iad mo rùn na h-àrmuinn uasal Dha’ m bu dual bhith ‘n dùthaich m’eòlais.

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Local Songs 241

Waves cleft down about her shoulders, Rory’s ship, a real beauty!

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When all the sails were set and in order On the sailing boat that cleaves the ocean, A well-shod steed, gaily leaping, Ceaselessly coursing a level meadow. You need not harbour fears or worries; Whatever way she sets her course The captain will be at the helm, While the rest are busy trimming the sails. Nor need you worry about returning, Though the gulf be rough and choppy, With the helm in the hands of the tall, fearless captain And the vessel playfully humming.

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When her sails were raised up high, The MacDonalds on the windward side, Donald was aboard, and Rory, Curly-haired, the handsome Member. A Member elegant, brave, and manly, Your eyes like dew on the finest grasses; Truthful and held in great esteem, And the masses voted for you. Brown-haired Rory, above so comely, Your eyes like dew lying on the desert; Fortunate the woman who gained your hand For she has found great cause for contentment. The finely wrought, neat, pretty vessel Left land with silken spotted banners; On the open ocean bright to view, My own clan’s coat of arms, Clan Donald. The progeny of the cold mountain strath From Loch Shiel side with its cold mountains; How I loved the noble heroes Who hailed from my own native country.

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242

Òrain Ionadail

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[‘S mi ri cuimhneachadh nan àrmainn A dh’fhalbh Di-haoine far na tràigh seo; Chaidh iad air bòrd na St Margaret ‘S gur bòidheach air sàile fo sheòl i.] Sguiridh mi nis, ‘s tha mi réidh dheth, Chur an òrain ùir ri chéile; ‘S toilichte ghabhainn dhaibh p-fhéin e Nam faighinn an treud ud còmhladh.

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Local Songs 243

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[Remembering the valiant heroes Who set out from this shore on Friday; Aboard their vessel the St Margaret A beauty sailing on the ocean.] I’ll stop now, my work is ended A new song’s made for the occasion; I would gladly sing it for you If I could bring the band together.

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244

Òrain Ionadail / Local Songs

36 Òran do Mhaighstir Dòmhnall Siosal (For Father Donald Chisholm)

1

Ú72± % U j r & 68 œ Jœ œ . œ œj Slàint' dhan àrm - ann a

5

faster 2

dh'fhàg

œ œ j r j & J Jœ J œ . œ œ 78 Bha 'm pob - all cràit - each thu

9

& 88

j œ

œ Jœ

œ. œ J

sheall - adh bàigh - eil

œ. œ

œ œ

j œ

an t–àit

's tu an

j j j j & 68 œ œ œ œ œ 98

œ œ &˙ œ œ œ Dorian-Aeolian with gap at 6

form: 4x 4-bar phrases: ABCD structure: 16 bar melody

-

e

'S ann moch Di - màirt

bhith gam fàg - ail, Bha 'n

6 œ œ J œ œœ 8

còmhn - aidh càird - eil,

13

scale: hexatonic

œ. œ

œ œ œr œ œ J J

œ œ

œ œ œ . œ Jœ J

chaidh

an gùn ort 'S gun

compass: 11 degrees

œ ˙

j œ

œ Jœ

j œ

j r j œ œ œr œ œj œ . bhuainn a

œ œ 9 J 8

sùil - ean bàit - e

œ J

rinn e triall;

œ œj œ ˙ j œ J

's an

nàd-ar

sios. Do

j œ œ 8 œ j j jU œ œ J 8 J œ œ œ œ œ Giomh na fàill-inn

cha robh 'nad mhiann;

108 œ œ œ œ œj œ d'rinn thu ghiùl - ain le

œ? b j r b uœ Jœ œ . œ œj original pitch

slower

2

œ œ œ œ œj œj 68 J

œ 7 œ J 8

mór - an cliù dhut bho'n

œ œ

2

j œ

2

Bha

U 88 œ œ œ ˙ fine cùr - am

dian.

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Local Songs 245

Òran do Mhaighstir Dòmhnall Siosal

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Slàint’ dhan àrmann a dh’fhàg an t-àite ‘S ann moch Di-màirt bhuainn a rinn e triall; Bha’ m poball cràiteach thu bhith gam fàgail, Bha ‘n sùilean bàite ‘s an nàdar sios. Do shealladh bàigheil ‘s tu an còmhnaidh càirdeil, Giomh na fàillinn cha robh ‘nad mhiann; Bha móran cliù dhut bho’n chaidh an gùn ort ‘S gun d’rinn thu ghiùlain le cùram dian. Bho’n chaidh do stiùireadh a nall an tùbh-sa ‘Nad shagart ùr ann an tùs do ghnìomh, Thug sinne rùn dhut nach téid air cultaobh Cho fad’s a lùbas a’ ghlùn dhuinn sios. Mar uan le ciùinead bha thu gar stiùireadh Gu fiosrach ionnsaicht’, làn tùir is ciall; Mar leòmhann cùirteil gu réiteach chùisean Gach trod is dùrad gam mùchadh sìos. Gad tha sinn truagh dheth gun tugadh bhuainn thu ‘S e ‘m fear a ghluais thu a b’àirde dreuchd ‘S e chì ‘sa ghluasad móran buanndachd Ged shaoileas fuathas nach dean e feum. Bu mhór am fàbhar dhuinn fhad’s a dh’fhàg e thu ‘Nad cheannard tàbhachdach air an treud; ‘Nad mheadhon àrd dhuinn gu faotainn ghràsan Is móran fàbhar an làthair Dhé. [Bu mhor do ghradh-sa do’n iobairt àird sin A dh’fhag ar Slanuighear ‘san Tiomnadh Nuadh, Le ‘tairgse lathair, le creideamh laidir Do Rìgh nan grasan air son an t-sluaigh. A theagasg drùiteach, ’bha snasail ionnsaicht’, Is tuille ‘ghiùlain bu chliù ri luaidh Cha teid air di-chuimhn’ air feadh nan criochan Fhad’s a ghluaiseas a’ ghrian mun cuairt.] Tha sinn riaraicht’ gun tig fear bàigheil A chur ‘nad àit’ gu grad le loinn; Fhuair bhon Àrd-Rìgh le naomhachd nàdair Comas sàcramaidean a thoirt dhuinn. Bidh sinne brònach ri iomadh Dòmhnach

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246

Òrain Ionadail

For Father Donald Chisholm

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Good health to the champion who has departed; Early Tuesday he took his leave. The congregation sorrowed as you left them With tearful eyes, their mood subdued. With your warm regard and friendly nature, Flawless and unblemished in your intent, You have gained in stature since you assumed the mantle And have worn it with unflagging dedication. Since you were directed to this district As a young priest early in your career, Our hearts warmed to you, and always will, As long as we go down on bended knee. With calmness like a lamb you guided us, Enlightened, knowing, with good sense and judgment; In settling disputes you were a courtly lion Suppressing all quarrels and obstinacy. Though we are sad that you should be taken from us He who moved you has the highest calling; And sees in this great gains to come Though many feel it accomplished little. It was a great boon for us so long as he left you As a competent shepherd over the flock; An exalted means toward attaining grace And great favour in God’s presence. [You showed great devotion to that highest of sacrifices, Our Savior’s legacy in the New Testament, With its present offering and sturdy faith To the King of Divine Grace for the people. His incisive teaching, well presented and learned, And his conduct, so commendable, Will not be forgotten in these districts As long as the sun continues on its course.] We are confident that a kindly man Will soon succeed you with distinction, One who by virtue of his own piety has been authorized By the King on High to give us the sacrament.

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Local Songs 247

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Gun Mhaighstir Dòmhnall nuair théid sinn cruinn; Do ghluasad rìomhach ‘s do nàdar rìoghail Chan fhaic an linn seo dol as an cuimhn’. Thu o fhine chalma bho thìr na h-Alba Bha ‘n còmhnaidh sealbhach anns gach tùrn; ‘S e fear dhan ainm sin a ghabh mar earbsa Am parraisd’ ainmeil seo air thùs. Ged ghabh e seilbh ann le dùrachd dhearbhte Cha robh a sheirbhis ach diombuain dhuinn; Ar creach ‘s ar cràdhadh gun deach a bhàthadh ‘S gu robh a chàirdean ‘san tràth sin ciùrrt’. Srath Ghlais an tìr anns an robh do shinnsreadh Gu sona sìtheil ri iomadh bliadhn’; A’ seasamh dìleas ri crùn na rìoghachd Anns gach strì anns a rogh iad riamh. ‘Nan ceannard làidir am measg nan Gàidheal An tùs batallion a’ màirdseadh sìos; An cluaran rìomhach ’nam bratach sìod’ Agus ceòl na pìobadh cur spìd ri ‘n gnìomh. Bha ‘n gibhtean àrda, bha ‘n creideamh làidir, Bha ‘m fòghlam làn ac’ gach taobh dhen chuan; Bha sagairt ghràdhach dhiubh measg nan Gàidheal Rinn móran tàrsainn thar na stuagh. Teagasg fìrinn le móran dìchill An iomadh rìoghachd do mhìltean sluaigh; Cha d’fhuaradh fàillinn dhaibh anns a’ Ghàradh ‘S mo dhòchas làidir gur h-àrd an duais.

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248

Òrain Ionadail

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Many’s the Sunday we’ll be despondent When we assemble without Father Donald; Your noble manner and stately bearing Will not be forgotten by this generation. You belong to a stalwart clan from Scotland Which has prospered at every turn; One of the same name was entrusted With this celebrated parish at the beginning. Though he took charge with great sincerity His service to us was but short-lived; To our grief and sorrow he was drowned And those close to him suffered anguish at the time. Strathglass is the land of your forebears, Happy and peaceful for many years; Loyally adhering to the Crown In every conflict in which they took part. Strong leaders amongst the Gaels Marching down in the vanguard of the batallion, With elegant thistle on their silken banner, And the music of the pipes stirring them to action. Their gifts were of a high order, their faith was strong With thorough learning on both shores; And devoted priests that they produced Achieved great things amongst the Gaels overseas, Teaching religious truth with great application In many lands to people in their thousands; No fault was found with them in the Garden And I sincerely wish them the highest reward.

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Òrain Ionadail / Local Songs 249

37 Òran nan Granndach (Lament for the Grants)

Ú 80± 1

% j j j r j & œ œ. œ œ œ / œ Bha

5

& œj œ Fon

9

j œ . œj œ

verse

òg - an - ach

Chloinn

'ac Leòid

j j r j r œ œ / œ œ œ

œ Jœ

a

do

rogh

e

òg

an

ath - ar

nach

3

œ œ

3

j & œj œ œ œj œ Jœ Jœ / e

fear eil

scale: hexatonic

&œ ˙

-

œ œ œ œ

Dorian-Aeolian with gap at 2

form: 8 phrases: ABA'CDEFG structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 16

e

fon

j œ

œ

fhòid

compass: 9 degrees

œ

ann,

Cha

˙

-

œ

3

œ . œ / œ œ œ 3œ œ J R R R J

œ J

robh m'eòl - as

-

sa

cho dlùth

3

j j j œ œ œ /

œ J

œ J

œ J

'S

iad

na

3

j œ.

œ

robh chòmh

13

Chuir

j œ

a' còmhn - aidh

3 j œ3 œ œ œ & J œ J J / Jœ

Mac

j œ

œ J

bheir

j j œ œ. œ / œ

3

œ

strì

h - eòl - aich

Fhuair

e

leòn

's bu

œ

j œ

œ J

j œ

œ

œ J

an cliù

3

mhór

3

air.

dha;

j œ œj œ an diùbh

œ -

ail,

fine % j j œ œ . j œ œ œ œ œ / œ œ œ 3

œ dhiubh

'S cha

robh siod cho

original pitch (opening verse)

œ? bb b œ b b

Tha

3

œ J

œ

lionn - dubh

œ J air

mór

ri chunnt

-

as.

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250

Òrain Ionadail

Òran nan Granndach

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[Moch Di-luain an am dhuinn gluasad, ‘S sinn gun smuairean oirnn, gun champar, Fhuair sinn naidheachd a bha cruaidh leinn, Na fir shuairc’ a bhith air chall oirnn, ‘N àite bhith a teachd gu h-uallach, Gur h-e an cuan a b’ionad taimh dhaibh. Dochas m’anm’ gun d’rinn sibh buannachd ‘Bheir dhuibh suaimhneas ‘measg nan ainglean.] Tha lionn-dubh air feadh an àite Mun dà bhràthair bhàthadh còmhla, Dòmhnallach bho Allt ‘ic Càra, ‘S an deagh nàbaidh bha ‘na chòmhdhail; Drongaireachd neo droch nàdar Cha do chàraich Dia ‘nur feòla, ‘S iomadh cridhe dh’fhàg siod cràiteach Bharrachd air na dh’àraich òg sibh. [Ged a theannainn-sa ri’r cùnntas Feadh na dùthcha ‘rinn ur n-àrach, C’àit am faicteadh na b’fhearr biuthas Na na fiurain ghearradh tràth bhuainn. ‘N Tì a ghairm sibh suas g’a ionnsaigh Ghabhail curaim agus baigh ruibh, Is gach neach theid air an glùinean A bhith ‘g uirnigh n’ur fàbhar.] Liom is duilich thus’ Iain Ghranndaich, Chaill thu a’ chlann sin a b’fheàrr beusan. Shaoileamaid gum biodh tu taingeil Mura biodh iad ann le chéile; Liath a’ bhliadhna seo ron am thu, Dh’fhàg i fann is mall ‘nad cheum thu; ‘S beag an t-ìoghnadh thu bhith ann: Gur mór do chall am measg nan ceudan. Nam b’e stoirm a chuireadh as dhuibh, Saoil an gearaineamaid cho mór e; Neo aimbeart am meadhon maradh Fon tric a chaillear na fir eòlach. ‘S ann a bha sibh taobh a’ chladaich

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Local Songs 251

Lament for the Grants

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[Early Monday as we prepared to depart Without a trace of dejection or sorrow, We received distressing tidings That our dear companions had been lost. There was no spirited homecoming; Instead the sea became their resting place. I hope with all my heart that you have attained Serenity among the angels.] There is sorrow throughout the district For the two brothers drowned together, A MacDonald from McAra’s Brook, And a good neighbour who was with them. Drunkenness or contrariness God never fixed within you; Many’s the heart suffering sorely on your account Besides those who raised you when you were young. [Even should I begin to give an account of you Throughout the district where you were raised, Where were men of greater repute to be seen Than the youths so prematurely sundered from us? May the Lord who has called you up to Him Receive you with love and caring, And may all who go down on their knees Say a prayer to support you.] Ian Grant, I pity you You have lost sons possessing the best qualities. One would have thought you thankful If both of them had not been there. The year has grizzled you prematurely And left your step slow and feeble And small wonder you should be thus, For among multitudes your loss is a great one. Would we have mourned so deeply Had a storm brought about your death? Or a mishap in the open sea Where [even] experienced men so often perish? But you were in close to the shore,

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252

Òrain Ionadail

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‘N déidh tighinn dhachaigh far na bhòidse: Sibh air sealap dhubh a’ challa ‘S i air acair oidhche Dhòmhnaich. [Ged a bhiodh a mhuir na ‘deannaibh Aig na fearaibh anns a bhàta ‘S gann gum faicteadh i dol thairis Mur a biodh an t-sealap làmh rith’. Nan robh siuil a suas ri crannaibh, ‘S i aig astar mar a b’àbhaist, ‘S cinnteach mi gun d’fhuair sibh cala Nan deanadh tapadh tigh’nn a gàbhadh.] Airson bhith cuimhneachadh ur coltas, Chan eil ann ach gnothach dìomhain. ‘S ann dhan ùir a theid a’ cholainn; Theid i a dholaidh ‘s beag as d’fhiach i. ‘S e bhith ‘g ùrnaigh ris na h-aingeil An nì a th’againne ri dheanadh; Dia thoirt fuasgladh air ur n-anam Agus lasachadh nam piantan. ‘S Ailein Bhàin, a charaid, ‘S fhada liom a tha thu ‘n dìochuimhn’. Bho thùs t’òig’ ‘s ann dhomhsa b’aithne, Do mhìothlachd chan fhacas riamh e. Cridhealas agus dibhearsain, Gur e chleachd thu ‘n àite mìothlachd; ‘S cha bu mhac thu mar an t-athair Nam biodh atharrachadh fiamh ort. Bha òganach do Chloinn ‘ac Leòid ann, Cha robh m’eòlas-sa cho dlùth air. Fon a rogh e òg a’ còmhnaidh ‘S iad na h-eòlaich bheir an cliù dha; Mac an athar nach robh chòmhstrì Fhuair e leòn ‘s bu mhór an diùbhail, Chuir e fear eile fon fhòid dhiubh ‘S cha robh siod cho mór ri chùnntas. Nuair a dh’fhalbh sibh air an turas Gun tighinn tuilleadh chon ur càirdean, Gun dean iad dheth galar-fulaing

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Local Songs 253

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Having returned home from your voyage On the black shallop of disaster At anchor on a Sunday night. [Even if the men in the boat Were confronted by high seas She would hardly have capsized Had the shallop not been beside her. Had she been making headway With sails raised as was her custom, Surely you would have made the harbour If quick thinking could evade danger.] It is no more than a fruitless exercise To remember what you looked like, For the body returns to the earth Only to perish: it is worthless. Our own task is to direct Our prayers up to the angels For God to release your souls And alleviate all suffering. Fair Allan, my good friend, Your memory seems long faded. From your earliest years I knew you And never saw you being unsociable; Gaiety and fun were your custom Instead of unpleasantness. For had your moods been fickle You would not have been your father’s son. There was also a MacLeod lad there Whom I did not know so well. Those who knew him where he lived when young Are the ones to sing his praises; The son of a man without quarrels Who suffered a blow and a great loss, He committed another of them to the earth And that was not the worst of it. When you set out upon the journey Never to return to your kinsmen They are were afflicted as by a painful malady

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254

Òrain Ionadail

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95

100

Rì, nam b’urrainn dhuinn ga àicheadh. ‘S cinneach sinn an saoghal uileadh Gu ‘eil gach duine dol ga fhàgail, ‘S mar gun tilgeadh craobh a duilleach Thus’ an-diugh ‘us mis’ am màireach. Tha lionn-dubh air feadh an àite Mu bhàthadh Chailein Ghranndaich; Beul a thoirt a-mach a’ghàire Nuair bhiodh càcha ris an aimhreit; ‘S liom is duilich e ri ràdhainn Do bhean ghràidh a bhith ‘na banntraich, Buaidh is piseach dha na bràithrean ‘S liom is tràth na chaidh air chall dhiubh. ‘S liom ‘s duilich thus’, Anna, Bhith trom, galach mar a tha thu: ‘S ann dha’d dhìth a tha na fearaibh Do dheagh chaidreabh ‘s do gheala-bhràithrean; Nuair a dhùisgeas tu ‘sa mhadainn ‘S fuar do leaba ‘s gura fàs i; Chuir siod sgian ‘nad chridhe sparradh Nach tig as ri beagan làithean. Chan ìoghnadh liom ise bhith truagh dheth ‘S a gruaidhean bhith sileadh siùbhlach, Mar an ionndrainn thugadh bhuaipe Measg an t-sluaigh bu mhór an diùbhail; An Rì a dh’òrdaich an toirt bhuaipe Gur h-e dh’fhuasgaileas gach cùis dhuinn, Dh’òrdaich dhaibh am bàs a fhuair iad: Sgrios a’ chuain ‘s an uaigh gun dùnadh.

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Local Songs 255

80

85

90

95

100

O Lord, if we could but deny it! We of this world are all certain That each one of us must leave it: Just as a tree casts off its leaves, Today it’s you, and me tomorrow. There is sorrow throughout the district Over the drowning of Colin Grant Whose mouth gave forth laughter When others were quarreling. It is hard for me to declare That your loving wife is now a widow. Victory and triumph to the brothers; To me it seems those who perished were too young to die. My condolences to you, Anna, Seeing you so downcast and tearful; How you must miss the men, Close acquaintances and your own dear brothers. When you awaken now in the morning Your bed is cold and empty; A knife has been plunged into your heart And cannot be withdrawn in just a matter of days. I do not wonder that she is sorrowful With tears flowing down her cheeks; Much like her own sense of privation Is the calamity felt by the people. The Lord who determined that they be taken from her Resolves every trouble for us; He decreed the death they suffered: A sea disaster and an open grave.

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Òrain Ionadail / Local Songs

256

38 [Bàta Ailein Bhàin] ([Allan Bàn’s Boat])

verse 1

b Ú370± %r j r j . r j r b & 4 œ œ . œ œ œ œ . œ œj . œr œj .œj œ Nuair ràn- aig i'n clad- ach

5

&

bb

&

Thog iad dhiubh an ad-an

's thug iad asd'

Hos-ah!

% 3 j r j j j j j j Uœ œ œ . œ Jœ œ œ . œj j j œj œ fine œ. œ œj œ œ œ œ œ . œ œ œ œ œ R J R J œ œ 3

Musg - aid mhòr

bb

'sa chaidh i air sàil

3 3 U œ Jœ . œj . œr Rœ œj. œ œj œj œ œj œj œ R J

scale: heptatonic

œ œ ˙ Aeolian

form: 4 phrases: ABCD structure: 8 bar melody: verse: 8

3

aig Ail - ean

œ œ œ œ

ga caith - eamh gun tàmh

œ

compass: 12 degrees

œ

˙

?

'S e 'na fhuil 's 'na fhall - as

r œj . œr œj . œr j . œ œ

original pitch (1st verse)

air mad-ainn Di- màirt.

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Local Songs 257

[Bàta Ailein Bhàin] Fhuair an saor na h-òrdain, thòisich e gun dàil, Chaidh i air na stocaibh mu thoiseach a’ Mhàirt; Thionndaich e ri cosnadh mar bu choltach dha, ‘S a’ chabhag a bh’oirre, bha i mach mu Chàisg. 5

10

15

20

Tha Peigi ‘na ban-fhighich, tha i math gu snìomh Nì i siùil an asgaidh air asgart ‘s ann an lìon; Bidh mi fhìn ‘nam chabhag a’ tarraing nan geug Cha tig ròp ri slat dhith fhad ‘s bhios gad ri shnìomh. Ged tha sgoil-mharadh ainneamh anns an tir, Tha Iain cho tapaidh nì e caiptean grinn; Ged a tha e beag cha cheil mi e air nì: ‘San t-sabaid mu dheireadh thug e teas dhomh fhìn. Nuair a bha i ullamh chaidh a cur ‘san allt Sios gu dàm a’ mhuilinn leis an t-sruth ‘na deann; Bha Donnchadh le bhuideal gan cuireadh gu dram, ‘S an t-ochradh fo chulars an slugan an dàim. Nuair rànaig i ‘n cladach ‘s a chaidh i air sàil Thog iad dhiubh an adan ‘s thug iad asd’ Hosah! Musgaid mhòr aig Ailean ga caitheamh gun tàmh ‘S e ‘na fhuil ‘s ‘na fhallas air madainn Di-màirt.

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258

Òrain Ionadail

[Allan Bàn’s Boat] The carpenter got his orders and promptly set to work, By early March she was raised up on the supports; He turned to his trade, as was his proper course, And with all the pressing forward, by Easter she was launched. 5

10

15

20

Peggy is a weaver, she knows how to spin, And she’ll make the sails for free from linen tow; I’ll be making haste pulling the branches And no rope will touch her yards as long as there is a withe to twist. Although maritime academies are rare in the land, Ian is so smart, a grand captain he’ll be. Although he is small, I won’t conceal the truth: In our last encounter he made things hot for me. When the boat was finished they launched her in the stream Speeding with the current down to the mill dam; Duncan with his bottle offering them a dram, And the craft on the mill pond with her banners raised. When she reached the shore and went out on the sea They all raised hats and gave forth a Hosah! Allan in a lather on that Tuesday morn, There with his big musket, blasting away.

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Local Songs 259

39 [Bàthadh Ailein Bhàin]

5

10

15

20

25

30

Air an naoidheamh latha fichead Dhen mhìos mheadhonach dhen t-samhradh, Thànaig sgeul thugainn le clisgeadh ‘S mór bu mhisde sinn ‘san am ud; Ailean Bàn thoirt bhuainn ‘san tiotadh ‘S mór bu mhisde sin ‘san am e; Sgeula cràiteach dha luchd-cinnidh, Sgeul bha trioblaideach dha bhanntrach. ‘S nuair a dh’éirich thu ‘sa mhadainn Thug thu sgairtein mar a b’àbhaist; Dh’fhalbh thu fhéin ‘s do ghillean tapaidh Le bàt’ acaire fo sheòlaibh. Ged bu mhath air stiùir ‘s air ràmh thu Mar a chleachd thu laithean t’òige, Mar a dh’òrdaich Rìgh nan Gràsan Fhuair thu ‘m bàs bha dhut an òrdadh. Dh’fhàg thu Dòmhnall Collins dubhach Agus Dùghall a’ Mhuilinn brònach, Mar sin ‘s Aonghus mac Sheumais ‘S Dòmhnall Raghnaill agus Tormad; Dh’fhàg thu Eóghann fhéin gu cianail Fhuair e reusan dha chuid òrain, Dithist eile bhrist thu ‘n cridhe Dòmhnall mac Iain ‘s Raghnall mac Dhòmhnaill. Gura duilich liom do phàisdean Rinn thu ‘m màthair fhàgail brònach; ‘S liom is duilich mar a tha i Fhuair i ‘n t-sràc a rinn a leònadh. Gura duilich liom a ràdhainn, Am beul do shlàint’ ‘s gun chàch ‘nad chòmhdhail; Liom is duilich do cheann bàn A bhith ga shràcadh anns an Dòrnaig.

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260

Òrain Ionadail

[The Drowning of Allan Bàn]

5

10

15

20

25

30

On the twenty-ninth day Of the middle month of summer, The news came to us as a shock And left us in a sorry state: That Allan Bàn was taken from us abruptly, And much the worse were we then for it. Sorrowful news to his relations And distressing tidings to his widow. When you arose in the morning You let forth your usual holler And set out with your agile lads In a boat with anchor under sail. Though skilled in handling helm and oar From long practice as a youngster, God in his Divine Grace decreed For you to meet the death foreordained for you. You left Dan Collins downhearted, And Dougall of the Mill was sorrowful, No less so was Angus Jim And Dan Ranald and Norman. You left Hugh himself dejected; For his songs there was good reason. And you broke two others’ hearts: Donald John and Ranald Donald. How I pity your poor children You left their mother filled with sorrow; For her I feel great compassion She received a blow that hurt her greatly. It is hard for me to say it: At the peak of health, and no one with you. I mourn to think of your fair head Being banged and buffeted at Dòrnag. [Air: see “Òran nan Granndach,” no. 37 above]

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Òrain Ionadail / Local Songs 261

40 Òran Anna Ruadh (Red Anna’s Song)

1

Ú 96± # refrain & 24 œ

3

j œ œ

Ann - a

5

&

# œ

œ

œ

j œ

3

Ruadh,

j r œ. œ

j œ a

ghaoil

j œ Jœ

'S neòn - ach

mo

r œ

chridh - e

r j œ J Jœ œ œ .

liom

mur - a

tig

j œ.

œ

thu

œ

j œ œœ œ J

'S gòr

-

ach

do

U3 j œœ œ œ œ

'S thu

cho

tric

œ J

j œ

U œ

bhruidh - inn liom;

r œ

a'

œ

3

œ

j œœ .

tigh'nn 'nam

j œ

U œ

fine

chuimhn'.

verse 9

&

#%

3

j œ

Saoil

13

&

#

j œ

œ

œ

j œ

sibh p–fhéin

j r j œ œ œ . Nach

do

scale: hexatonic

& ( # œ) œ ˙

r œ ghabh

structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

œ J nach

j œ. i

œ œ œ œ

Dorian-Aeolian with gap at 6

form: 8 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: EFAD

3

œ R

œ . œr œj . J

fuath - as - ach

œ

j œ

dhomh,

'Sa

compass: 10 degrees

œ

˙

r j j œ œ . œ œj

œ.

œ

cridh' cruaidh

j œ

œ.

truas

An

œ

œ œ œj œj chruad

original pitch 3

œ? œ

a

j œ

- al

3

œ

j œ

'sa

bh'aig Ann - a:

U % r œj . œ œ robh

mi

ann.

par_3-4.fm Page 262 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:52 PM

262

Òrain Ionadail

Òran Anna Ruadh Anna Ruadh, a ghaoil mo chridhe ‘S gòrach do bhruidhinn liom; ‘S neònach liom mura tig thu ‘S thu cho tric a’ tigh’nn ‘nam chuimhn’. 5

10

15

20

Saoil sibh p-fhéin nach fuathasach An cridh’ cruaidh a bh’aig Anna: Nach do ghabh i truas dhomh ‘Sa chruadal ‘sa robh mi ann. Gu robh mi fhéin an uair sin Gam chluaineadh le cion nan caileag; Mi liom fhìn a h-uile lath’ ‘S gun duin’ agam a nì rium cainnt. Nan ruigeadh tu shuas mi Ghabhainn mun cuairt leat am falach; ‘S dol a chlìoradh Iain Ruaidh ‘S tighinn mun cuairt an clìoradh thall. Air eagal do chuailein Buidhe dualach a bhith ga phealladh; ‘S ann aig fearaibh no aig balaich Bhiodh ag amas oirnn air lom. Ged bhiomaid air uaireabh A’ coiseachd luath, gun leig sinn anail; Bhuaileamaid air cluaineis Fo dhuathar fo sgàil nam beann.

25

30

Air lagan bòidheach uaigneach Aig Ìle Chuaich sinn fhìn am falach, Sinn gar suaineadh anns a’ rainich ‘S i cho pailt air feadh nam beann. ‘S bòidheach liom a dh’fhàs thu, Bha thu fìrinneach ‘nad ghealladh; Gruaidh mar ròs an gàradh Dà shùil mheallach ann ad cheann. T’aghaidh thana nàrach Beul as binne ‘s grinne chanas;

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Local Songs 263

Red Anna’s Song Red Anna, my heart’s desire, How foolish you sound to me; It’s curious that you don’t come to me For you so often come to mind. 5

10

15

20

Don’t you think it’s terrible That Anna was so hard-hearted And took no pity on me In my dire and grievous state? There I was, enticed, deceived With longing for comely girls; All alone day after day Without a soul to speak to me. If you were to approach me I’d conduct you to a private place, Making for Red Ian’s clearing And coming ‘round in a glade yonder. And for fear your tresses Blond and curly might be disheveled By mature men or younger boys Who might discover us in the open. And though at times we might walk quickly, We might stop to catch our breath, And in the shadow of the mountains Find a hidden, shady place.

25

30

And conceal ourselves at Ìle Chuaich In a lonely little hollow; We could nestle in the bracken Which grows so thick on mountains high. I watched as you became a beauty, Indeed you fulfilled your promise; Cheeks like roses in a garden And a face with alluring eyes. A visage spare and reticent, Mouth melodious and well spoken;

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264

Òrain Ionadail

35

40

Bha thu fialaidh ciallach banail Coibhneil carthanntach gun mheang. Nan ruigeadh tu shuas mi Dh’fheuchainn cruaidh ri’d chumail agam; Cha leiginn le neach fuadain Bhith tarraing suas riut anns an am. Gun reachainn fhìn mun cuairt ort Cho uallach ri h-aon a th’aca; Nuair a reachamaid a chadal Bhiodh cas fairis air an Ann’.

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Local Songs 265

35

40

You were generous, sensible, womanly, Kind and friendly without fault. If you finally came to me I’d strive with might and main to keep you; And I’d allow no stranger then To get alongside you. And I would strut around you As proud as any one of them; And when we went to sleep I’d sling a leg over my dear Anna.

par_3-4.fm Page 266 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:52 PM

Òrain Ionadail / Local Songs

266

41 Òran na h-Àthaidh (The Song of the Kiln)

1

Ú 82± j refrain & 24 œ . œr Hao

4

j &œ

gur

3

œ

3

j œ

j œ

'san

œ

œ àth

-

& œj . œr œj . œr

j œ aidh,

a

thòis - ich

r j & œ œ Jœ .

œ. J

11

Mar

a

r œ

dh'òrd - aich

scale: hexatonic

&œ œ œ ˙ œ œ Dorian-Aeolian with gap at 6

form: 7 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: EFE' structure: 14 bar melody: verse: 8 refraIn: 6

œ mi

j œ

œ

Hao

œ

fo

3

j œ

nan

gur

œ

r œ

œ. J

œ

mhìg -

ein

'S mi

leam

fhìn

3

œ

mis

-

j œ.

œ

e

tha

œ

j j œ œ œ

air m'ùrn-aigh,

Meòr

-

ach - adh dlùth

œ

?

A

œ. bb J

r œ

mhìg

-

original pitch

r œ œj . œ

3

œ . œr

h - uile brùid

r œ

j œ

3

j œ

a

3

j œ

œ

3

j #œ

œ

air gach

œ

j œ

fàbh - ar,

r j . œj . œr œ œ bhith

gun

fine

ein.

3

œ

Dùl

an

j j œ œ .

r œ fo

j œ

œ 3

3

r j r œ œ. œ

compass: 8 degrees

˙

r œ

j œ

j œ . # œr œj . œr Rìgh

j œ.

r œ

tha

%

verse

'S ann

j œ.

mis - e

3

seo

7

j œ

chàn - an.

%

par_3-4.fm Page 267 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:52 PM

Local Songs 267

Òran na h-Àthaidh Latha dhan bhàrd a dhol dh’ionnsaigh a’ mhuilinn-bhleith, cha rogh am muillear a-staigh aig an am: bha e gearradh connadh ‘sa choillidh. ‘S chaidh Dòmhnall suas ga choimhead agus thuirt am muillear ris, “Ma thogras tu fhéin,” thuirt e, “faodaidh tu teine a chur ‘san àthaidh agus cuir an cruithneachd air. Agus bidh mise aig an taigh aig meadhon a’ latha agus nì mi ‘m bleith dhut feasgar.” Seo mar a bh’ann. Chaidh Dòmhnall sios dh’ionnsaigh na h-àthaidh agus chuir e teine ‘san àthaidh, agus thug e a-staigh an làir leis gur e lath’ car fuar a bh’ann, agus cheangail e astaigh ann a’ sin i. Chaidh e ‘n sin suas gu taigh nàbaidh bha sin airson greim fhaighinn a dh’itheadh e. Fhuair e tea. Agus dal a thill e air ais bha ‘n làir an deaghaidh tionndachadh mun cuairt agus chaidh an t-earball aice … beagan do dhàthadh a dheanadh air. Chaidh e car ‘na theine. Cha robh ‘n còrr bhon bhàrd agus seo mar a chuir e’n gnothach sios: Hao gur mise tha fo mhìgein ‘S mi leam fhìn an seo ‘san àthaidh, Hao gur mise tha fo mhìgein.

5

10

15

Gura mise chaidh ‘nam chabhaig Nuair a chaidh mi ‘staigh dhan àthaidh; Nuair a sheall mi air a breamain Cha robh agam ach an cnàimh dheth. Shlìob mi sios le mo bhas e Dh’fhalbh e cho brist’ ris a’ chàthaich; ‘S e cho bruich gu faodainn ithe Mura bristinn air a’ Chàdadh. Hud mo bhradag, ‘s beag mo thruas dhut Airson do chruachann bhith dàite; Bidh tu fhathast aotrom uallach Le d’shearraich ruadha mar b’àbhaist. Chaidh mi a-rithist mun cuairt dhi Feuch an cumainn suas a nàdar; Ar leam gun cuala mi crònan Sios is suas an sròn na làireadh.

20

Thuirt i rium am briathran neònach, ‹S olc thu, Dhòmhnaill, dol gam chàineadh; Cha d’fhiosraich thu riamh mo dhòrainn Chan ann air do thòin a tha e.”

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268

Òrain Ionadail

The Song of the Kiln One day the bard went to the mill and the miller was not in at the time; he was in the woods cutting firewood. So Donald went up to see him and the miller said to him, “If you wish, you can build a fire in the kiln and put the wheat on it, and I’ll be home at midday and I’ll grind it for you in the afternoon.” And so it was. Donald went down to the kiln and built the fire in it. He brought the mare in with him, it being a cold day, and tied her inside. Then he went up to a neighbour’s house to get a bite to eat. He had his tea, and when he returned the mare had turned around and her tail … had been slightly singed. It pretty much caught fire. That was all the bard required and this is the way he described the event: Hao, how dejected I am All alone here in the kiln, Hao, how dejected I am.

5

10

15

I set out in a great hurry And when I came into the kiln And chanced to glance at her tail, There was nothing left of it but the bone. With my palm I smoothed it down And it came away like broken chaff, Cooked enough that I could eat it Except that I would break my season’s fast. You saucy girl, I pity you little, That your haunches have been scorched; You’ll be happy and cheerful yet With your chestnut foals as always. I circled round her once again Attempting to improve her humour; And thought I heard a murmur Rising and falling in her muzzle.

20

25

She spoke to me in words mysterious, ‹Tis mean of you to miscall me, Donald; You’ve never experienced my discomfort, For your own rump is not affected.” It frightened and astonished me When I heard the brute conversing;

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Local Songs 269

25

30

35

Ghabh mi eagal agus ìoghnadh Nuair chuala mi a’ bhrùid a’ cànan, ‘S nach b’fhiosrach leam thaobh na labhairt Ach an t-as a stad air Balaam. ‘S ann a thòisich mi air m’ùrnaigh, Meòrachadh dlùth air gach fàbhar, Mar a dh’òrdaich Rìgh nan Dùl A h-uile brùid a bhith gun chànan. “Hud a bhraidein, tog dhiot t’ùrnaigh, Thoir le sùrdagan Iain Bàn ort; Thoir mo bheannachd-sa dha ionnsaigh ‘S bheir e cungaidh dha mo mhàsan.” Dh’fhalbh mi an sin leis an t-sùrd, Thug mi mo chùl ris an àthaidh; ‘S nuair a chaidh mi a-staigh dhan bhùth Gun d’fhuair mi a’ chùis mar thuirt an làir rium.

40

45

50

Thill mi an sin ann am chabhaig Fallas a’ frasadh gu làr dhomh; Nuair sheall mi an ola-pheant dhi ‘S ann a rinn i seòrsa gàire. Chuir mi boslach dheth ma casan, Chuir mi splaidse dheth ma sàiltean; Chuir mi rithist suas ma clais e Gad nach math leam bhith ga ghràdhainn. Sguiridh mi gun dol na’s fhaide Bho nach eil tlachd ann am Ghàidhlig: Ach mar dh’inns’ mi a h-uile facal Mar a bh’againn anns an àthaidh.

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270

Òrain Ionadail

I did not know that speech was granted But to the ass that balked on Balaam.

30

35

I began some earnest praying, And pondered over every favour; How the King of All ordained That every brute be dumb and speechless. “You saucy male, cease your praying, Jump up and get to Iain Bàn’s store; Give him all my best regards And he’ll give you ointment for my backside.” I set out right smartly then And I put the kiln behind me; And when I went into the store I found things as the mare had told me.

40

45

50

In haste I hurried to the kiln The ground was sprinkled with my sweat; And when I showed her the “oil paint” She allowed herself a sort of smile. I applied a palmful to her legs And another splash around her heels; Then I put some further up Though it’s hardly delicate to say so. Now I’ll stop from going further Since there’s no pleasure in my Gaelic; It’s exactly as I’ve just recounted, Our conversation in the kiln.

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Òrain Ionadail / Local Songs 271

42 Bàta Iagain Cheanadaich (Iagan Kennedy’s Boat)

1

Ú2 80± refrain & 4 œr œj . œr œj . A bhean an

5

9

&

j r . œ œ Dh'òl - ainn

%verse & œj œ 'S gur

3

taigh - e,

3

j œ

œ œj deoch-slàint

Cean - ad

-

j œ -

& ˙ œ œ œ (œ) œ

refrain: pentatonic (hexatonic)

lòc

structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

Bot - ul làn

a

3

A

nan

œ

ach mo

gill - ean

œ.

air

œ

nàb - aidh

bœ œ ˙ œ œ œ verse: hexatonic

na

tàl

dh'im

'N saor

-

Ach

as fheàrr

tha

ich

œ spéic

œ? # r j œ œ.

sir - eadh

3

Di

-

fine

œ

luain

bhuainn.

œ œ3 . œr œj . œr

a

thog

-

as

bàt - a;

%

3

œ. œ -

mi

j œ œ

j r œ. œ

3

compass: 11 degrees original pitch

œ ˙

œ

r j œ œ œr œ œ .

j r œ . œ œj Jœ . Rœ

r j j œj . œr œ œ .œ -

œ. œ

e

Fifth position (Dorian with gap at 2) Aeolian with gap at 2

form: 8 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: EFGD

siol - a

œ œ

r j r j œ œ . œ œj œ .

3

r & œ œ œ œr œ œ e

an

œ. œ

j œ œ

bœ œ

13

Chan iarr

r j œ . œr œ œj Jœ .

fàg

j r œ œ œj . e'n

j œ

œ œ

œ. œ

ean làid

r œ œj .

-

ir,

j œ œ cruadh

-

œ ach.

par_3-4.fm Page 272 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:52 PM

272

Òrain Ionadail

Bàta Iagain Cheanadaich A bhean an taighe, fàg an siola Botul làn a tha mi sireadh Dh’òlainn deoch-slàinte nan gillean A dh’imich Di-luain bhuainn. 5

10

15

20

‘S gur e ‘n Ceanadach mo nàbaidh ‘N saor as fheàrr a thogas bàta; Chan iarr e lòcair na tàl Ach spéicean làidir, cruadhach. A’ cheud té thog e riamh ‘san àite Chaill e shuas aig drochaid Shàm i; Chìte fhathast ri muir-tràigh i ‘S na cruinn bhàn’ an uachdar. Tha té eil’ aige ga cur an òrdadh, Cha bhi a leithid anns a’ Phròbhans; Theid i fairis an Cuan Reòite ‘S an North Pole a bhuanndachd. ‘S gabhaidh sinn iongantas ‘us ìoghnadh Nach fhacas aon do chloinn daoine: An North Pole a bhith ri’r taobh ‘S an saoghal a’ dol mun cuairt dhuinn. ‘S gum bi sinn uile cho bòsdail An onair a bhith aig a’ phròbhans; Ma thilleas e dhachaigh beò ‘S am Pole aig’ air a ghualainn.

25

30

A’ bhliadhna a chaidh e a Labradòr A dh’iasgach an sgadain reòidht’, ‘S e MacCuithinn bha ’na chòcair’ ‘S reòite leis an fhuachd e. Nuair a thill iad far na bhòidse Gu robh sneachd agus gaoth reòit’ ann; Fhuair iad càball chur fo sròin Mun chròic a bh’aig an fhuaran.

par_3-4.fm Page 273 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:52 PM

Local Songs 273

Iagan Kennedy’s Boat Forget the gill, good serving lady, A full bottle’s what I require; For I would drink the lads’ health Who took leave of us on Monday. 5

10

15

20

The best shipwright to build a boat Is my neighbour Kennedy; He requires neither plane nor adze, Just strong spikes of steel. The first boat he ever built in the district He lost down at Sam’s Bridge; At low tide she could still be seen With her white masts jutting upwards. Now he’s fashioning another Whose like will not be seen in the province; She’ll traverse the Arctic Ocean And arrive at the North Pole. With awe and amazement we’ll all behold A sight as yet unseen by man: The North Pole there beside us, And the globe rotating round us. And we’ll all be extremely proud Of the honour accorded to the province, If he returns home alive With the North Pole on his shoulder.

25

30

The year he went to Labrador To fish for frozen herring, MacQueen, who was the cook on board, Was frozen solid by the cold. And when they returned from the voyage Accompanied by chilling wind and snow; They got a cable under her prow And around the hitching stump at the spring.

par_3-4.fm Page 274 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:52 PM

274

Òrain Ionadail

35

Tha i nist air a h-insiùradh Fhuair iad acarsaid as ùr dhi; Chuir iad suas i ’n sin ’nan triùir Fos cionn an ùrlair-bhualaidh.

par_3-4.fm Page 275 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:52 PM

Local Songs 275

35

And now that she has been insured They’ve found her a new anchorage: The three of them have raised her up To hang over the threshing floor.

par_3-4.fm Page 276 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:52 PM

276

Òrain Ionadail / Local Songs

43 Òran a’ Mhathain (The Bear’s Song)

1

%Ú 88± j . & œ Jœ Rœ Oidhch - e

5

&‰

œ . œ œj œ J R / J dhuinn an

j j œ œ œ

3

3

Gur

e

rinn

œ œ œ œ œ œ ˙

Dorian-Aeolian with a gap at 4

form: 4 phrases: AABC structure: 8 bar melody verse: 8

œ R

œ J

œ J

nam

Bòc

-

ain

j j œ3 œj œ œ /œ J J

Cléir - idh

scale: heptatonic

&˙

Gleann

œ R

an eu

œ -

3

‰

œ œj œ J

œ J 3

Fon

3

œ J

œ

coir;

Bha

an

œ J

. œ œ J / Jœ R

d'rinn sinn

3

œ

choir - e

pitch (verse 1) . œ ? b original œ œ œ œ. b b J J R J

compass: 9 degrees

3

mór - an

j œ / œj œ gu

œ R

léir

3

œ R

œ. J

call - a,

j r j% œ œ œ. ma

chas - an.

par_3-4.fm Page 277 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:52 PM

Local Songs 277

Òran a’ Mhathain Moch ‘sa mhadainn rinn mi triall Le cuilbhir gun fhiaradh agam; Chunnaic mi fear dubh nan spòg ‘Na ònrachd an taobh a’ rathainn. 5

10

15

20

Theann mi a-staigh air cho dlùth Mun d’fhuair e ùine air dol ‘na tharraing; Dh’inns’ e gach car a chuir e riamh dheth Bho ‘n a thriall e as a’ gharaidh. “Bha sinn ann ceathrar bhràithrean Ged nach eil pàirt againn maireann; ‘S e dhiubh Cléiridh agus Fearchar Fhuaradh marbh iad fo na maidean. “Chan fhios gu dé dh’éirich do dh’Fhionnlagh Mura ‘n deach e ‘n grunnd na maiseadh; Mise gan cumha ‘s gan caoineadh: Bràithrean mo ghaoil cha tig dhachaigh. “‘S tric mi cuimhneachadh ‘nam ònar Nuair a bha mi òg ‘nam bhalach: Cleasachd ann an còs craoibheadh ‘S càcha tarraing chaorach dhachaigh. “Gu robh leab’ againn bha grinn Dh’fhòghnadh dhan rìgh tha mi ‘m barail; ‘S e an tarrchall a bh’aig Seann Iehóbhaidh A bh’againn ‘na bhollstair gu cadal.

25

30

“Oidhche dhuinn an Gleann nam Bòcain Fon an d’rinn sinn móran calla, Gur e Cléiridh rinn an eucoir; Bha choire gu léir ma chasan. “Thuirt mi ris gu rogh e gòrach ‘S e gun dòigh aig’ air an sailleadh; ‘Cuiridh sinn co-dhiu ‘san fhaing iad Ged a tha sinn gann do shalann.’”

par_3-4.fm Page 278 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:52 PM

278

Òrain Ionadail

The Bear’s Song Early one morning as I sallied forth Taking my rifle straight and true, I saw the black bear, paws and all, On its own beside the road. 5

10

15

20

I closed in on him, got close Before he had time to gather himself; And he related everything he’d ever done Since he set forth from the den. “We were once four brothers Though only some of us have survived; There were Cleary and Farquhar Who were found lifeless under the deadfalls. “And no one knows what happened to Finlay Unless he sank to the bottom of the swamp; And now I’m lamenting and mourning them: My beloved brothers will not come home. “Often when I’m alone I remember When I was once a young lad, Playing in the hollow of the tree While others dragged sheep home to us. “Indeed we had a lovely bed Fit for a king, I would opine; And the hide from old Jehovah Served as our sleeping-bolster.

25

30

“One night in Gleann nam Bòcain Where we caused extensive damage, Cleary committed the wrong And the blunder was his own doing. “I said to him that he was silly Since he had no means to salt the sheep: ‘We’ll put them in the pen for now Though we are short of salt.’”

par_3-5.fm Page 279 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:53 PM

Òrain Cogaidh / War Songs

279

44 Òran an t-Saighdeir / Òran an t-Seathaich (The Soldier’s Song)

Ú 120± verse % j j j & 34 ˙ œ œ œ . œ œ 45 w œ Nam

6

biodh

duin - e 'nam

3 4 2 ˙ œ &4 J œ œ 4

sgeòil

& 45

12

j œ

˙ 4 &4

Chan

œ

j œ

œ

œ

dhan

arm

& 74

j œ

˙. Œ

cheò,

j œ

˙

'S e

œ œ œ œ œ

scale: hexatonic

&˙

first position

form: 8 bar phrases: AA'BA" structure: 32 bar melody: verse: 32

dh'éisd - eadh ri'm

air

œ

œ

le'm

cheart

34 œ

mo

œ

bharg - an

compass: 9 degrees

œ

˙

mòr air

éis - eil.

64

w

deòin

œ

44

nach

pitch œ ? original # # # 34 ˙

a

lìon

'S gad nach

j œ

œ

's mi

d'chòrd

'na

j œ

eil

mi ach

œ

iomr

œ

j œ

œ. œ œ3 œ J R J

˙

thréig - sinn;

34 œ

chaidh

œ

j œ

phròis mo

œ

˙.

- adh le

˙ œ œ. 4 ˙ 4

mhànr - an 's mo

j œ

eil mo bhun -

44 œ Œ œj œ . Jœ 24

œ

Rinn mo

Chan

3 j œ œ œ œj 5 w œ œ œ œ œ J 24 4 J

˙ Œ œ . Rœ 34 œ . Jœ Jœ Jœ J

ceòl,

œ

œ

˙

dòigh ach

j œ

ghlòir

m'aign - eadh cho

34 ˙ œ œ

ri

œ

& 34 ˙

24

Dol

mi

ear

˙ œ œ œ 5 œ œ ˙ . œj œ3 œ 2 œ 3 œ œ J J 4 J 4 J

Gu bheil

24 Rœ œ . œ 44 J -

j œ

œ œ œ . 34 œ

an;

eil

òg 's beag m'aigh

28

-

a

˙

œ œ

w œr œ 3 Jœ 24 Jœ Jœ œ

bròn,

18

gun reus

chòir

44

œ

œ

- all

'sa

˙

U ˙

dhéidh

rium.

fine

par_3-5.fm Page 280 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:53 PM

280

Òrain Cogaidh

òrain cogaidh Òran an t-Saighdeir / Òran an t-Seathaich

5

10

15

20

25

30

Nam biodh duine ‘nam chòir a dh’éisdeadh ri’m ghlòir Chan eil mo bhun-sgeòil gun reusan; Gu bheil m’aigneadh cho mòr air a lìonadh le bròn, Chan eil mi air dòigh ach éiseil. ‘S gad nach eil mi ach òg ‘s beag m’aighear ri ceòl, Rinn mo mhànran ‘s mo phròis mo thréigsinn; Dol dhan arm le m’ cheart deòin ‘s mi chaidh iomrall ‘sa cheò, ‘S e mo bhargan nach d’ chòrd ‘na dhéidh rium. Nuair a shuidh sinn mun bhòrd ‘s a ghlac mis’ an t-òr Gu robh dream nach robh còir gar n-éisdeachd; Gu robh danns agus ceòl cur na bainnseadh gu dòigh, B’e mo chall-sa bha mòr ‘na dhéidh sin. Fhuair mi gealltanas mór le bannd agus còir Agus nighean Rìgh Deòrs’ mar chéilidh; ‘S nan creidinn-s’ an glòir, cha b’éis dhomh ri’m bheò Ann an airgead na’n òr na’n éideadh. ‘S iomadh latha fliuch fuar thug mi marachd a’ chuain Bho’n a chinn an dath ruadh-s’ air m’éideadh; Thug mi turus dà uair gu Rìgh Lochlann mu thuath; ‘S ann dha rìoghachd bu chruaidh a’ sgeula. Cha robh seud ‘sa robh luach eadar luingeas is sluagh Nach do ghlac sinn an cluas a chéile. Chuir sinn aitreabh ‘na ghual agus gaiseadh ‘na sguab; Thug sinn creach orr’ le ruaig ‘s beum-sgéithe. ‘S ann am Portugal thall bha mì-fhortan dhuinn ann Nuair dh’fheuchadh có lann bu ghéire. Nuair a ghlac sinn an camp air sliochd-altruim na Fraing’ Cha robh [‘n] asgairt ach gann mun d’ghéill iad. Luaidhe ghlas dol ‘na deann air feadh ghlac agus bheann Gun aon fhacal comannd ga éisdeachd;

par_3-5.fm Page 281 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:53 PM

War Songs 281

wa r s o n g s The Soldier’s Song

5

10

15

20

25

30

Were someone here now to hear my account, They would find that it’s no trifling story; My mind is so filled with sorrow That I can only feel great sadness. Though I’m only young yet, I find little joy in music; My playful, cajoling talk and pride have deserted me. Since I volunteered for the army I’ve lost my bearings, For I entered into a bargain that I came to detest. We sat at the table and I accepted the gold As a motley crew looked on; It was like a wedding celebration with music and dance, And it later proved to be my undoing. I was given lavish promises, with all the rights and assurances Including King George’s daughter as my wife; And to believe their loud talk, as long as I lived I would not lack for gold, silver, or fine raiment. Many’s the cold, wet day I spent sailing the seas Since my clothing acquired its red hue. Twice I journeyed north to the King of Denmark Whose kingdom suffered great hardship. There was nothing of worth from armed troops to ships That we did not snatch up for ourselves; We reduced his dwelling to ashes and brought a plague on his sheaves, Pillaging and routing them in total victory. In faraway Portugal we encountered a setback When contesting whose blade was keenest. By the time we captured the camp from the French We had but little tow left before they surrendered. Grey lead flying fast amongst hills and hollows, And no word of command being heeded.

par_3-5.fm Page 282 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:53 PM

282

Òrain Cogaidh

Bu lìonar marcaich’ each seang ruith ‘na charcais gun cheann, Gur h-i ‘n aimhreit a bh’ann ‘s cha réite.

35

40

45

50

55

60

‘S iomadh fàrdach is fròg anns na ghabh mi ‘n tràth-neòin Bho’n a fhuair mi ‘n ceud chòt’ is léine. ‘S iomadh clàr agus bòrd air na chàireadh mo lòn ‘S air na phàigh mi dhaibh òr ‘na éirig. Chan eil ceàrn ‘sa Roinn-Eòrp’ eadar tràigh is tìr-mòr Nach eil làrach mo bhròg ‘s gach ceum dheth; Siubhal fhàsaichean feòir agus àrd-bheannan ceò Chuir sinn nàmhaid air fògradh ‘r éiginn. Cha do lasaich mo shàil gus na chuairtich mi ‘n Spàinn Teas is fuachd ann am pàirt dha chéile. Gu robh ‘n uair sin cho blàth mun do chuir sinn am blàr Chuir siod cuan ‘na sruth-bàite thro’m léine. Ged bha m’fhuil-s’ air a’ bhlàr cur na tuasaid gu làr, ‘S ann a fhuair mi mo chràdh ‘na dhéidh sin, Am measg sluagh air bheag bàigh, nach gabh truas ri fear-càis Ged a bhuaileadh am bàs e a’ cheud lath’. Chan eil fàsach neo gleann eadar a’ Ghearmailt ‘s a’ Fhraing Sasann, Albainn gun taing is Éirinn, Nach do leag mi mo cheann fo sgàil chreag agus bheann Fon nach freagradh bhith mall ag éirigh. Fear le fheadan ‘sa champ, e ga spreigeadh gu teann Gura beag bha dhe m’ shannd ri éisdeachd. B’annsa geum aig mart seang tighinn gu eadradh dhan ghleann, Bean ga leagail aig fang ‘sa Chéitein. Gad is neònitheach a’ chainnt, mar a their iad ‘sa rann, “Cha dean aithreachas mall bonn feum dhomh”; ‘S mi gu faodadh a’ chainnt sin àireamh gu teann: Chan eil urram fear ann dha chéile. Chan aithnichear ‘san Fhraing có e ‘n Gàidheal na ‘n Gall Nuair thig e le pheann mar chléireach.

par_3-5.fm Page 283 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:53 PM

War Songs 283

Many’s the man on a lean horse became a mounted headless carcass; It was all conflict and no reconciliation.

35

40

45

50

55

Many’s the dwelling and nook where I took my midday meal Since I was issued my first coat and shirt; And many’s the board and table where my repast was set Which I paid the price for in gold. There is no region in Europe between mainland and shore That the sole of my shoe has not left its print on; Walking grassy plains or high misty mountains We expelled the enemy, but barely. I did not cool my heels before making the circuit of Spain Where the heat alternated with the cold; Where it was so hot on the eve of battle That oceans of sweat streamed through my shirt. Though my blood was on the field as we crushed the opposition, More torment awaited me thereafter Among people barely human, with no sympathy for a distressed man; Though he should meet his death on the first day. There’s no wild place or valley in Germany, France, England, or Ireland – not to mention Scotland – Where I did not lay down my head beside mountain or cliff; And it was best not to be slow in rising. The piper in the camp, sounding it shrilly – How little I wanted to hear it; Better the lowing of a lean cow coming to the glen to be milked, And a woman milking her at the pen in May. Though words may be cheap, still they say in the rhyme “Regrets based on hindsight are useless”; I can sum it all up in a very few words:

par_3-5.fm Page 284 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:53 PM

284

Òrain Cogaidh

Nuair a gheobh e ‘n comannd tha e coma dhe m’ chall; ‘S gu bheil mis’ air mo shnaoim bhon cheud lath’. 65

70

Fhir ud shiuibhleas mun cuairt thoir an t-soiridh seo bhuam, Bho nach d’fhàg mi fear fuath ‘nam dhéidh ann. Thoir an aire gu luath nuair a chluinneas tu’n duan, Ma’s math leat a bhith buan, dean éisdeachd. Gur h-e ‘n t-sentry bhith cruaidh agus lughad na duais A dh’fhàg bealach mo ghruaig’ air béigeadh; Chuir i’n tainead mo ghruaidh agus moill’ air mo luas, Chaill mi earrann dhe na fhuair mi ‘léirsinn.

par_3-5.fm Page 285 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:53 PM

War Songs 285

60

A man has no regard for his fellows. In France a Gael cannot be told apart from a stranger Coming around as a regimental clerk with his pen. Once he gets his orders he cares nothing for my loss; I’ve been ensnared from the very first day.

65

So whoever would range afar, take my best wishes with you; I have left no enemies behind me. Be swift to take heed when you hear my verse, And if you intend to survive listen closely: It was the hardship of sentry duty and the paltry reward That caused my hair to recede; It hollowed my cheeks and slowed up my step; And I even lost some of the sight I was born with.

70

par_3-6.fm Page 286 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:53 PM

Òrain Sìdh / Fairy Songs

286

45 A’ Sealg anns a’ Choire Bhuidhe (Hunting in the Yellow Corrie)

1

Ú 72± jinitial refrain j & 68 œ œj œ œj œ Hoir - eann

5

œ œ œj œj œ .

is hao

ri

j & œj œj . œr œ œj œ

j œ

œ

ri

ó

Hoir - eann

9

j œ

refrain A

& œj œ . O

is hao

ró

12

& œ Choir

œ -

na

hiù

ra

r œ

fifth position

form: initial refrain: 3 phrases: ABA structure: 8 bar melody: verse A: 2 refrain A: 2 verse B: 2 refrain B: 2

is

hao

j œ.

compass: 9 degrees

j œ œj œ .

Gur

j œ

œ

bhi

hiù

œ ˙

Hoir - eann

-

a mis

j œ

-

verse B

j œ

o

is

œ J

j œ

e

œ

œ

hi ri

œ J fo

œ J

œ J

j œ

œ

ri

ó

œ

o

œ

mhul - ad,

œ

j œ

air

a'

2

68 j r œ. œ sealg

hao

j œ

œ

tha

'S mi

original pitch (initial refrain)

œ J

ó

2

j j j œ œ œ œ

œ ? Jœ

ri

j r j œ.2 œ œ . œ œJ R j œ

verse A

refrain B

2

Bhuidh - e,

œ œ œ œ

j r j œ . œ œ œ œj œ œ œj œj œ œj

Hoir - eann

ro hò.

œ R

scale: pentatonic

&˙

œ

œ J

j œ e

ro hò

78 œ . J

œ

j œ

ó

j œ

j œ œj œ . ro hò.

par_3-6.fm Page 287 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:53 PM

Fairy Songs 287

òrain sìdh A’ Sealg anns a’ Choire Bhuidhe Hoireann is hao ri ó ro hò Hoireann is hao ri ó hi ri o Hoireann is hao ri ó ro hò

5

Gura mise tha fo mhulad O ró na hiù ra bhi hiù o ‘S mi sealg air a’ Choire Bhuidhe Hoireann is hao ri ó ro hò. Mi sealg air a’ Choire Bhuidhe ‘S mise a chuala ‘s cha d’chuir umhail

10

Gus an cualas guth an fhithich Thu ‘nad shìneadh anns a’ mhunadh

par_3-6.fm Page 288 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:53 PM

288

Òrain Sìdh

fa i r y s o n g s Hunting in the Yellow Corrie Hoireann is hao ri ó ro hò Hoireann is hao ri ó hi ri o Hoireann is hao ri ó ro hò

5

I am greatly saddened O ró na hiù ra bhi hiù o Hunting in the yellow corrie Hoireann is hao ri ó ro hò. Hunting in the yellow corrie I heard, but paid no heed

10

Until the raven’s cry revealed That you were lying on the mountain.

par_3-7.fm Page 289 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:54 PM

Òrain Botuil / Drinking Songs

289

46 A Bhean an Taighe, Ghaoil an Fhortain (Woman of the House, Dear and Precious)

Ú282± r% 1 & 4 œ œr

refrain

A

5

œ #œ

bhean

j & œ . Rœ

j œ

an

œ. r J œ

Òl - aidh sinn

& œr

verse

A

9

j œ.

gu

r œ

œ #œ

bhean

r j j œ. r & œ œ Rœ œ J œ

13

Nuair

a thill - eas

scale: hexatonic

&œ ˙

form: 8 phrases: verse: ABCD refrain: ABCD structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 8 refrain: 8

taighe,

ghaoil

œ . œr œj . œr J an fhort - ain

œ . œr œj . œr

œ sunnd

-

ach deoch dheth

taighe,

lìon

Chur na

an càrt dhuinn,

am màir - each

compass: 9 degrees

œ

˙

œ

Thoir a - nuas

r j . Jœ . œr œ œ Na biodh cùr - am

Seo mo

j œ

original pitch

?

làmh

gum

r j œ œœœ .œ

j œ

œ. œ . r J R Jœ œ

thug - ainn bot - ul;

bochd - ainn

r œ œj . œj . Rœ œ œ

œ œ œr œj . œr mis'

r j r œ. œ œ .œ J

r j j œ œ œj œ . œ . R

r j œ œ œ œ . œr

œ

œ œ œ œ

Dorian-Aeolian with gap at 6

j œ

3

j œ.

an

œ

œ R

Uj . œ J œ.

as

ar cuimhn'.

œ œ ort

œ. œ J R

fine

œ. œ . r J R Jœ œ mu phàigh-eadh;

œ

pàigh mi'n t–suim.

% œ

par_3-7.fm Page 290 Thursday, January 11, 2001 1:54 PM

290

Òrain Botuil

òrain botuil A Bhean an Taighe, Ghaoil an Fhortain A bhean an taighe, ghaoil an fhortain Thoir anuas thugainn botul; Òlaidh sinn gu sunndach deoch dheth Chur na bochdainn as ar cuimhn’. 5

10

15

20

A bhean an taighe, lìon an càrt dhuinn, Na biodh cùram ort mu phàigheadh; Nuair a thilleas mis’ am màireach Seo mo làmh gum pàigh mi ‘n t-suim. Gad a dh’fhalbhainn-sa le m’ bhràthair Dol a dh’iarraidh bean am màireach, Thaghainn i, ‘s i bean deagh mhàthair Gad bhiodh stoc a’ bhlàir dha dìth. Caileag leadanach a’ chuailein Theid gu luinneagach dhan bhuailidh; ‘S mór gum b’annsa bhith ri’d ghualainn Na bean uasal ‘g am biodh maoin. [Am] fear as motha crodh air buailidh Bidh e strì ri tuilleadh bhuanndachd; Nuair a shaoileas e bhith ‘n uachdar Bidh e ‘n grunnd a’ chuain fon tuinn. ‘S math am beairteas liom an òige, Pearsa dhìreach, gruaidhean bòidheach, Agus càirdeas dhaoine còire Gad bhiodh i gun òr a chaoidh.

25

Gad a bhiodh ar pòca falamh Dheanainn stòras air gach bealach; Lìonaibh suas ar cuachan gleannach Chumas fuachd an earraich dhìnn.

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Drinking Songs 291

drinking songs Woman of the House, Dear and Precious Woman of the house, dear and precious Bring a bottle over to us; We will cheerfully drink from it To forget our life of poverty. 5

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Woman of the house, fill the quart for us And don’t worry yourself about payment; When I return here tomorrow Here’s my hand on it I’ll pay the bill. Though I would set out with my brother To seek a wife tomorrow, I would pick her out, a good wife like her mother, Though she might lack livestock on the field. Young girl with the curly locks Who goes singing to the cattle fold, Far rather would I be at your side Than with a noble lady possessing wealth. The man with the most cattle in the fold Constantly strives to obtain more; And just when he thinks himself on top of it He finds himself on the sea floor under the waves. I hold youth to be a great asset [in a spouse], An upright form and pretty cheeks, And kinship ties with kindly folk Though she never possess wealth in gold.

25

Though our pockets be empty I could make wealth on every mountain pass; So fill up our fluted drinking cups And they’ll keep the spring cold at bay.

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Òrain Botuil / Drinking Songs

292

47 Air faill ill éileadh o hu gù

Ú & 24

opening & closing refrain 80±

1

r œ

j œ

Air

5

& œ

faill

r œ

œ

b'aill

8

-

j œ

j œ.

r œ

œ

ill

éil

-

eadh

o

j œ.

i

Air

œ

œ taigh

r œ

& œj .

11

r œ

r œ

leibh

% verse & j r œ . anœ Seo

thàn

j œ.

aig

scale: pentatonic

&˙ œ œ œ œ fifth position

form: 5 phrases: verse: AB refrain: CDC structure: 10 bar melody: verse: 4 refrain: 6

j œ. sinn.

œ

éil

-

eadh

o

r œ

j œ.

j œ

'sam

bheil

an

t - òl

r œ

refrain (first line)

compass: 11 degrees

œ

r œ

j œ

ill

éil

original pitch

b b b b œr

j œ.

j œ

œ. J

r œ

j œ

'S ann

air

j œ. -

œ R

eadh

o

œ. J

œ R

hó

r œ

œ

œ

nam

gù.

r œ

œ

thòir

œ

fine

œ

j œ

hu

a

œ

j œ

a

j r œ. œ

r œ

j œ . œr

œ. J Rœ

hiù

œ

r œ

faill

A

r œ

ill

j œ.

j œ

œ

faill

Air

œ ˙

hu gù

j r j œ . œ œ .

j œ

r j r œ œj œ . œ

œ

a

r œ hu

j œ

œ

gù.

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Drinking Songs 293

Air faill ill éileadh o hu gù Air faill ill éileadh o hu gù A hiù a hó nam b’àill leibh i Air faill ill éileadh o hu gù.

5

Seo an taigh ‘sam bheil an t-òl ‘S ann air a thòir a thànaig sinn. Sgioba cridheil ghillean òga Dh’òladh i ‘s a phàigheadh i. Shaoil leam nach robh poll no eabar An Eige gun tànaig mi.

10

Shaoil leam gur e clachan daoimein Bha soillseadh nan sràidean dhaibh. Shaoil leam gur e clachan siùcair Bha dùnadh an gàraidhean.

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294

Òrain Botuil

Air faill ill éileadh o hu gù Air faill ill éileadh o hu gù A hiù a hó if you desire it Air faill ill éileadh o hu gù.

5

This is the house where drink is consumed And we have come in search of it. A congenial company of young lads Who could drink and pay for it. I thought there was no mud nor mire In Eigg before I arrived.

10

To me their streets appeared To be lit by diamond stones. And their gardens seemed to me To be enclosed by stones of sugar.

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Òrain Botuil / Drinking Songs

295

48 Cuach Mhic’Ill’Anndrainn (The Quaich of Gillander)

1

Ú 116 % 3 j & 24 œ œ Lath - a

5

j & œ

j œ

Dh'am - ais

9

mi

3 13

& œ

j œ

chud - throm

dhomh

air

m'all - ab

œ J

œ J

j œ

œ

3

fear

3

œ

-

an

œ J

œ J

rium

'S e

œ J Jœ Jœ Jœ

null

gu

far - asd - a

air

a

œ œ œ œ œ (œ)

Dorian-Aeolian with gap at 6

form: 4 bar phrases: ABCB' structure: 16 bar melody: verse: 16

œ

chùl

-

Gu

œ. J

œ J

pàirt - each - adh

œ

œ. œ J

aibh

'S e

giùl

-

œ? b b œ

3

an

j œ œ

original pitch (second verse) 3

j œ

a

ròp

œ

an

-

ich;

œ -

chòmhr - adh;

j œ

œ

ain.

j œ.

œ

œ . œr J

œ

œ

mhòint

j œ

'na

Mhic

œ

a'

r j j œ œ œ

œ J

˙

as

teann - ach - adh

œ J

compass: 10 degrees

œ

œ J

j œ

œ J

œ J

œ R

j œ

œ. œ J R

dach - aigh

œ. J

j œ.

j œ

Tigh'nn

eall - ach

r œ

j œ

j œ

le

scale: hexatonic

&˙

j œ

œ

j r & œ. œ Theann

j œ

œ

Bha

U œ

œ

Tòis

r œ

-

ich.

%

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296

Òrain Botuil

Cuach Mhic’Ill’Anndrainn

5

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35

Gura mise ghabh an t-suaineach À cuacha Mhic ’Ill’ Anndrainn; ‘S iomadh h-aon a chualas Gun d’fhuaireadh aig mo cheann i. A liuthad briuthas suaineach Gun d’fhuair deoch is dram dheth; Chan fhaca mi cho luaineach Ri cuacha Mhic ’Ill’ Anndrainn. Latha dhomh air m’allaban Tigh’nn dachaigh as a’ mhòintich; Dh’amais fear le eallach rium ‘S e teannachadh a ròpain. Theann mi null gu farasda Gu pàirteachadh ‘na chòmhradh; Bha chudthrom air a chùlaibh ‘S e giùlan Mhic an Tòisich. ‘S ann thuirt e rium, “’S ann shuidheas sinn Is teannaidh sinn ri seanchas; Bheir mi làn mo ghealladh dhut A charachd dhut mum falbh sinn. Fosglaidh sinn ar cuisle Gu furtachd thoirt dh’ar n-anfhadh; Gheobh thu làn na slige dheth ‘S cha mhisd’ thu e ‘san anmoch.” Nuair a shuidh sinn aig a’ bhuideal Cha robh guth air luchd na bainnseadh; Ged bhiodh iad an oidhche sin Gun choinnlean no gun dannsa. Rìgh, gur truagh an t-sìde bh’ann An tìmeannan a’ gheamhraidh; ‘S nuair thànaig oirnn gluasad Bu luaithe linn bha ’n t-am ann. Sin nuair a thuirt am buideal, “Cuiribh cuireadh dh’ionnsaigh nan searbhantan; Innsidh mi mo chuideachd Agus sloinnidh mi mo sheanmhair: ‘S mise mac na poite duibheadh

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Drinking Songs 297

The Quaich of Gillander

5

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20

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35

I drank the soporific From the quaich of Gillander And many people heard How it was found beside my head. Many the numbing brew Was taken in a drink or dram, But there was never one so fickle As the quaich of Gillander. One day as I returned home From roaming on the moorland, I met a man securing the ropes On the load that he was carrrying. I approached him quietly To engage in conversation, And the burden on his back Was the one and only “MacIntosh.” He addressed me saying, “We’ll sit down here And start our conversation; I’ll give you my full promise Of a wrestling match before we leave. We’ll share what we have generously To rest and catch our breath; You’ll have a shellful of it, And be none the worse for it when it grows late.” When we sat down with the cask There was no word of the wedding party, Even had they been there that night Without candles or dancing. The weather was indeed gloomy In that winter season; But by the time we had to move It seemed to have passed more quickly. Then the cask spoke, saying, “Send an invitation to the maidservants; I’ll tell about my people And recount my grandmother’s ancestry: I’m the son of the black pot

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298

Òrain Botuil

40

45

50

55

60

‘S mi ‘nam shuidhe ‘m bun nan gealbhan: ‘S e ‘n t-eòrna buidhe a b’athair dhomh ‘S e an atharnach mo sheanmhair.” Sin nuair rinn mi carachadh Gur gann a dheanainn gluasad; Cha deanainn fhìn ach sgrìobadh ‘Us m’ìnean chur ‘s na bruachan. Gu robh mo cheann is eallach air A bharrachd air an tuaineal; Nuair thuit mi ann am chadal Theab gun d’ lapadh leis an fhuachd mi. Bha m’aodach air a shalachadh ‘S bha m’aodann air a sgròbadh; Mo ghlùinean làn do ghearraidhean Le carachd Mhic an Tòisich. Cha deanainn fhìn ach claparsaich ‘S mo chaisbheairt air a sròiceadh; Gur gann a dheanainn aithneachdainn An t-aineolas no ‘n t-eòlas. Gur mise ghabh an t-iongantas, Cha lugha ghabh mi dh’ìoghnadh; Bha ‘n dreathan donn ‘s i feadartaich ‘S gun d’shaoil mi gu robh triùir ann. Bu mhór an t-aobhar iongantais An car a ghabh mo shùilean; ‘S gun fios a’m co-dhiùbh chunnaic mi, Cù Chulainn no Mac Crùslaig.

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Drinking Songs 299

40

45

50

55

60

Sitting at the fire; Yellow barley was my father And the barley-plot my grandmother.” Upon which I bestirred myself And could hardly move at all; I could only manage to scrabble, Fixing my fingernails in the sloping ground. There was a weight on my head To complement my dizziness, And when I fell asleep I was nearly numb with cold. My clothing was soiled and dirty And my face scraped raw; My knees were full of cuts From the wrestling match with MacIntosh. I could only wobble about, My footwear was in tatters; And I could barely distinguish Ignorance from knowledge. Indeed I was surprised, And no less was my amazement: For when the wren was whistling It sounded to me like a trio. And great was my wonder At what my eyes took in; With no idea which one I was seeing: Cù Chulainn or Mac Crùslaig.

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P a r t Fo u r Na Sgeulachdan The Tales “O, Dhia seall oirnn, mar a bha leithid dhiubh aige (Lord look upon us, he had so many of them); if I had him here now for one day I’d get him to go through all [of them]. I’d eat every one of them.” Lauchie on the story repertoire of his grandfather, Neil MacLellan

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302

1 a n s i o n nac h ’ s a’ c h o r r a - g h r i t h e ac h Bho chionna fhad an t-saoghail an cian ann an ceàrn iomallach dhen domhain bha dithis a’ cumail taighe: a’ sionnach agus a’ chorraghritheach. Fhuair a’ chorra-ghritheach, air dòigh air choireiginn fhuair i cuach ime, agus chuir i a’ chuach ime am falach. Bha i a’ gràdhainn gum biodh an t-ìm math a-nunn deireadh an earraich. Ach bha a’ sionnach a’ cumail a shùil oirre agus chunnaic e fon a chuir i a’ chuach ime am falach. Ach air latha dhe na lathaichean thug e éibheach uamhasach as. “Gu dé sin ort, gu dé sin ort?” thuirt a’ chorra-ghritheach. “Thà,” thuirt a’ sionnach, “tha iad gam iarraidh a-nunn dh’ionnsaigh a’ bhail’ ud thall a bhaisteadh cloinneadh.” “O, siuthad, siuthad,” thuirt ise. “Falbh thusa agus dean sin.” Dh’fhalbh e ‘s c’àit’ an deachaidh a’ sionnach ach dh’ionnsaigh na cuach ime agus dh’ith e làn a bhronn dheth sin. Thill e sin dhachaigh feasgar ‘s dh’fhoighneachd a’ chorra-ghritheach dha, “Ciamar a chaidh dhuibh a-nise ‘n diugh?” “Glé mhath,” thuirt esan. “Na bhaist sibh a’ leanabh?” “Bhaist,” thuirt e. “C’ainm thug sibh air?” “Bi ‘na Mhullach,” thuirt e. “Bi ‘na Mhullach,” thuirt ise. “’S e ainm car iongantach tha sin.” Ach co-dhiubh an ceann beagan ùine thug a’ sionnach éibheach eil’ as latha bha seo. “Gu dé tha ceàrr ort an-diugh?” thuirt a’ chorra-ghritheach. “Tha iad ‘g éibheach orm dha’ n bhail’ ud thall a bhaisteadh cloinneadh.” “O, hud, hud,” thuirt ise. “Tha e a chearta cho math dhut falbh.” Dh’fhalbh an sionnach agus rànaig e a’ chuach ime agus dh’ith e uiread ‘s thigeadh aig’ air dheth sin agus thill e sin dhachaigh feasgar. Dh’fhoighneachd a’ chorra-ghritheach ‘s i car claon co-dhiubh, dh’fhoighneachd i dha, “Ciamar a chaidh dhut an-diugh?” “Glé mhath,” thuirt e. “Bhaist sibh a’ leanabh.” “Bhaist.” “C’ainm thug sibh air?” “Bi ‘na Mheadhon,” thuirt e. “An dà, ‘s e ainm glé neònach tha sin cuideachd,” thuirt ise. Ach cha robh an ùine glé fhada gus an do leig e glaodh a-rithist. “Dé sin ort, dé sin ort?” thuirt a’ chorra-ghritheach.

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303

1 the fox and the heron A very long time ago in a remote part of the world, there were two keeping house together: the fox and the heron. Now, the heron somehow obtained a vessel of butter, and she concealed it, saying to herself that the butter would be good come the end of spring. But the fox kept an eye on her and saw where she hid the vessel of butter. One day he gave a great cry. “What ails you, what ails you?” said the heron. “They want me to go over to the steading yonder to baptize children.” “Oh, go ahead, then,” she replied. “Go and do that.” The fox departed and where did he go but to the vessel of butter and he ate his fill of it. That evening he returned home and the heron asked him, “How did you fare today?” “Very well,” the fox answered. “Did you baptize the baby?” “I did.” “What name did you give it?” “Be at the Brim.” “Be at the Brim,” she said. “That’s an unusual name.” Anyway, one day after some time had passed, the fox gave another cry. “What’s wrong with you today?” said the heron. “They’re calling for me at the steading over there to baptize children.” “Oh, tut-tut,” said she. “Then you may as well go.” The fox went off and came to the vessel of butter and ate as much of it as he could manage. In the evening he returned home. The heron inquired in her own obtuse way, asking him, “How did you fare today?” “Oh, very well,” he replied. “You baptized the baby?” “I did.” “What did you name it?” “Be in the Middle.” “Oh, that’s a very strange name as well,” she said. It was not very long before the fox cried out again. “What ails you, what ails you?” “I have been called to the steading yonder to baptize children.” He departed and reached the vessel of butter and ate all that remained. He returned home that evening and the heron asked him, “How did you fare today?” “Very well,” he replied. “And did you baptize the baby?” “I did.”

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304

An Sionnach ’s a’ Chorra-Ghritheach

“Thà,” thuirt esan, “gam ainm dhan bhail’ ud thall a bhaisteadh cloinneadh.” Dh’fhalbh e agus rànaig e a’ chuach ime agus dh’ith e an còrr a bh’air fhàgail. Thill e dhachaigh feasgar agus dh’fhoighneachd a’ chorraghritheach dha, “Ciamar chaidh dhut an-diugh?” “Glé mhath,” thuirt e. “Agus na bhaist sibh a’ leanabh?” “Bhaist.” “C’ainm thug sibh air?” “Sgrìob a Thòn,” thuirt a’ sionnach. “Sgrìob a Thòn: ’s e ainm glé neònach tha sin.” “An dà, ’s e,” thuirt a’ sionnach. “Ach chan eil an còrr air fhàgail.”

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The Fox and the Heron 305

“What did you name it?” “Scrape the Bottom of It,” replied the fox. “Scrape the Bottom of It: that’s a strange name indeed.” “Yes, it is,” said the fox, “but there is no more left.”

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2 an gadaiche dubh Chan eil naidheachd ùr agam, ach bho nach eil naidheachd ùr agam innsidh mi seann naidheachd. An naidheachd a tha mise dol a dh’innse, thachair i bho chionn iomadh bliadhna.1 Thachair i nuair a bhruidhneadh na cearcan agus na coilich agus a dh’innseadh a’ chòmhchag sgeulachd, agus cha b’ann an dé a bha sin. Tha mi dol a dh’innse naidheachd air rìgh a bha a’ fuireach ann an ceàrn iomallach dhen domhain aig an robh oighreachd mhór, bheairteach. Agus bha a’ rìgh ‘na dhuine glé mheasail. Bha meas mór aig a chuid sheirbhisich air agus bha meas aig a’ rìoghachd uile air. Ach ma bha a’ rìgh ‘na dhuine math, onorach, fiachail, ‘s i a’ bhan-rìgh a b’fheàrr uileadh. Bha i ‘na boireannach fìor mhaiseach agus i a cheart cho fialaidh ris fhéin agus math dha cuid sheirbhiseach. Agus bha iad a’ faighinn air adhart gu ro mhath. Ach air feasgar dhan rìgh a’ tighinn as a’ bheinn sheilg, e fhéin agus a ghillean, fhuair e a’ bhan-rìghinn gu tinn. Glé thinn. Agus chaidh fios a chur air a h-uile lighiche a b’fheàrr na chéile ach a dh’aindeoin an cuid sgil, dh’eug a’ bhan-rìghinn. Bha a’ rìgh an uair sin fo imcheist throm agus fo dhubh-bhròn. Reachadh2 e dhan bheinn sheilg, e fhéin ‘s a chuid ghillean,3 ach ged a reachadh cha robh sin a’ deanadh sian do dh’fheum dha. Ach air feasgar dhe na feasgraichean nuair a thànaig e dhachaigh, e fhéin ‘s a chuid ghillean, smaointich e gum bu chòir dha pòsadh a-rithist. Leig e fios a-mach air feadh na sgìreachd gu léir gu robh dùil aige pòsadh, agus a h-uile maighdean òg, mhaiseach a bh’anns an tìr a thighinn a choimhead air. Agus ‘s ann mar sin a bh’ann. Thànaig iad uile agus thagh e maighdean bhòidheach, bhanail agus phòs e i. Bha iad a’ faighinn air adhart cuimseach glé mhath, ach a’ fuireach glé fhaisg air caisteal a’ rìgh bha boireannach, bana-bhuidseach, ris an canadh iad an Eachrais Ùrlair. ‘S e fìor dhroch-bhoireannach a bh’anns an Eachrais Ùrlair.4 Ach co-dhiubh no dheth aig a’ rìgh bha triùir ghillean bhon cheud bhean, agus smaointich e gun cuireadh e dhan sgoil iad. ‘S chuir e dhan sgoil na triùir ghillean dhan ghrianan àlainn iomchaidh air chùl ghaoth ghairbh na gréine, fon am faiceadh iadsan gach nì ‘s fo nach fhaiceadh nì iad.5 Ach bha iad seo a’ dol air adhart, ach air feasgar dhe na feasgraichean có choisich a-staigh do chaisteal a’ rìgh ach an Eachrais Ùrlair, a’ bhana-bhuidseach. Agus thòisich i ri bruidhinn ris a’ bhanrìghinn agus thuirt i rith’, “Tha thusa,” thuirt ise, “ann a’ sin, òinseach bhochd [a’ deanadh dheth]6 nuair a dh’eugas a’ rìgh gum bi an oighreachd agad fhéin agus gum bi an t-airgead agus an t-òr agus a h-uile sian agad dhut fhéin. Ach chan ann mar sin a bhitheas ann. Na triùir ghillean a tha aig a’ rìgh ‘sa ghrianan àlainn iomchaidh air chùl gaoth ‘s air aghaidh gréineadh fon am faic iadsan gach duine ‘s fo nach faic duine

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2 the black thief I don’t have a new story to tell, and since I don’t have a new story, I’ll tell you an old one. The story that I’m about to relate happened many years ago.1 It happened when the roosters and the hens could talk and the owl told tales, and that was hardly yesterday. I’m going to tell a tale of a king living in a remote quarter of the world who possessed a large and wealthy estate. The king was a very respected man, held in great esteem by his servants; and the whole kingdom regarded him highly. But if the king was a good, honest, and worthy man, the queen was even better. She was a truly handsome woman, every bit as generous as the king himself, and kind to her servants. They were both faring very well until one evening when the king returned from the hunting hill with his servant lads to find the queen ill – gravely ill. All the doctors were sent for, each better than the last, but in spite of their skills, the queen died. The king suffered sore distress, and black sorrow. He continued going out2 on the hunting hill with his servant lads, but though he did, it was no use. But one evening as he and his servant lads3 came home, he decided that he ought to marry again. He sent word throughout the region that he intended to marry, and that all the young, fair maidens in the land were to come and see him. And so it happened. They all came, and he chose a pretty, comely maiden and married her. Now, they were getting along pretty well, but living very near to the king’s castle was a woman, a witch whom they called the Eachrais Ùrlair;4 the Eachrais Ùrlair was truly an evil woman. But anyway the king had three sons by his first wife, and he decided to send them to school. So he sent the three boys to school in the fine, splendid, beautiful sun-dwelling5 at the back of the rough wind and facing the sun, where they could see everything and nothing could see them. But in the meantime, who walked into the king’s castle one evening but the Eachrais Ùrlair, the witch. She began talking to the queen, saying to her, “There you are, [expecting]6 like a poor silly fool that when the king dies you will inherit the estate and have the silver and the gold and everything else all to yourself. But that’s not the way it’s going to be. The three lads who are in the fine, splendid sundwelling at the back of the rough wind and facing the sun are the ones who will inherit the estate. And you’ll end up being put into the street.”7 “Well, what can I possibly do about it?” “I’ll tell you,” said the witch. “I’ll give you an enchanted wand and you’ll pretend that you’re in bed and very ill. Send for the king to come quickly, and tell him that there is nothing in the world that can help you except to have his three sons brought home. And when the three lads arrive home, strike them with this enchanted wand and say the following words:

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iad, sin agad an fheadhainn a gheobh an oighreachd agus thig thusa chur a-mach air a’ rathad.”7 “Uill, gu dé theid agam air a dheanadh?” “Innsidh mise dhut,” thuirt a’ bhana-bhuidseach. “Bheir mi dhut slacan draoidheachd agus gabhaidh tu ort gu bheil thu glé thinn anns a’ leabaidh agus cuiridh tu fios air a’ rìgh e thighinn gu h-ealamh, agus their thu ris nach eil sian air an t-saoghal a nì feum dhut-sa ach na triùir ghillean aigesan a thoirt dhachaigh. Agus nuair a thig na triùir ghillean dhachaigh buailidh tusa an slacan draoidheachd seo orra agus their thu na briathran seo: Neul an fheòir a’ tighinn thron talamh,8 Crith na duilleig air a’ chraoibh Gus na faigh sibh na trì fàlairean blàra, buidhe Aig Baran Àrd nam Baran an iomall an domhain thoir.9

“Agus théid10 mis’ an urras,” thuirt i, “nach fhaigh iad gu bràch na trì fàlairean blàra, buidhe aig Baran Àrd nam Baran.” [Ach dh’fhoighneachd i dhan bhana-bhuidseach, “Dé bhios thu ‘g iarraidh airson sin a dheanadh dhomhsa?” “O, cha bhi e mór,” thuirt i. “Nam faighinn trì làn na sgalla duibhe do lite, agus na thanaicheadh e do dh’ìm, agus làn lagadan mo dhà chluaise do chlòimh.” “Dé na bhios a’ sin?” “Innsidh mi sin dhut: na thigeadh far seachd acraichean do choirce ann a’ seachd bliadhna do mhin; na thigeadh far seachd buailtean do chrodh ann a’ seachd bliadhna do dh’ìm; agus na thigeadh far seachd cròithean chaorach ann a’ seachd bliadhna do chlòimh.” Thuirt a’ bhanrìghinn rithe, “’S e poile tha sin,” thuirt is’, “ach bheir mise sin dhut.] Ma’s ann mar sin a bhitheas ann, thig mise dhan leabaidh agus gabhaidh mi orm gu bheil mi tinn.” Seo mar a bh’ann. Feasgar dhe na feasgraichean a thànaig a’ rìgh dhachaigh as a’ bheinn sheilg fhuair e a’ bhan-rìgh anns a’ leabaidh gu tinn. Thuirt e rith’, “Tha mi dol a dh’fhoighneach a h-uile lighiche as fheàrr na chéile feuch an dean iad feum dhut.” “Cha ruig thu leas,” thuirt ise. “Thoir dhachaigh na triùir ghillean as a’ ghrianan àlainn iomchaidh agus tha mi deanadh dheth,” thuirt i, “gun dean iad feum dhomh. Bu toil leam am faicinn.” “Nì mi sin,” thuirt a’ rìgh. Chaidh teachdaire a chuir gu h-ealamh dhan ghrianan àlainn iomchaidh a dh’iarraidh nan gillean agus thànaig iad dhachaigh. Ach air madainn, air dhan rìgh falbh a-mach as a’ chaisteal, bha na triùir ghillean ‘nan suidhe a’ gabhail am biadh-madainne. Agus thànaig an droch bhan-

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The Black Thief The hue of grass coming through the ground,8 The trembling of leaves on a tree, Until you get the three yellow blaze-faced steeds Belonging to the High Baron of Barons at the end of the Eastern World.9

“And I will bet,”10 she said, “that they will never get the three yellow blaze-faced steeds belonging to the High Baron of Barons.” [Then the queen asked the witch, “What will you ask from me in return for doing me this service?” “Nothing excessive,” the witch replied. “If I were to receive three times the contents of the black wooden dish in gruel, and whatever butter it takes to thin that, and the fill of my two ears of wool.” “And how much will that be?” “I’ll tell you: the meal produced by seven acres of oats over seven years; the butter produced by seven folds of cattle in seven years; and the wool produced by seven sheep enclosures over seven years.” The queen said to her, “That’s a lot indeed to ask. But,” said she, “I’ll give it to you.] “If that is so,” said the queen, “I’ll go to bed and pretend that I’m ill.” And so it was. One evening when the king came home from the hunting hill, he found the queen sick in bed. He said to her, “I’m going to ask every doctor, each one better than the last, to see if they can help you.” “Don’t bother,” said she. “Bring home the three lads from the fine sundwelling and I have an idea that they will help me. I would like to see them.” “I will,” said the king. A messenger was sent out in haste to the fine, splendid sun-dwelling to fetch the lads, and they came home. Now, in the morning, when the king had departed from the castle and the three lads were sitting having their breakfast, the evil queen approached them, holding an enchanted wand

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rìghinn a nall agus an slacan draoidheachd aice air a cùlaibh agus bhuail i na triùir ghillean. Thuirt i, “Tha mi cur croisean ‘s geasan oirbh”: Neul an fheòir a’ tighinn thron talamh, Crith na duilleig air a’ chraoibh Gus na faigh sibh na trì fàlairean blàra, buidhe Aig Baran Àrd nam Baran an iomall an domhain thoir.

Cha luaithe a thuirt i na briathran sin na thànaig neul an fheòir air na gillean. Chaidh iad air chrith mar dhuilleach na craoibhe. Ach thug am fear a b’òige dhiubh leum as agus spìon e bhuaipe an slacan draoidheachd agus bhuail e i agus thuirt e, “Tha sinn a’ falbh. Ach feumaidh tusa, cho fad’s a bhitheas sinn air falbh, a bhith ‘nad sheasamh air mullach a’ chaisteil, cas air an taigh bheag agus cas air an taigh mhór, t’aghaidh ris a h-uile gaoth a shéideas gus a’ latha a thilleas sinne.”11 Cha robh aig na gillean bochd’ an uair sin ach biadh a chur ann am màileid agus falbh. Cha robh fios aca dé a’ rathad a rachadh iad, air an ear no’n iar, ach dh’fhalbh iad a’ rathad a bha a’ ghaoth a’ séideadh. Bha iad a’ falbh oidhche an deaghaidh oidhche, latha an deaghaidh latha. Bhitheadh na h-eòin bheaga aig beul na h-oidhcheadh a’ dol fo sgàil nan duilleach a chadal, ach ma bha, cha robh na gillean a’ dol a chadal.12 Bha iad a’ coiseachd a dh’oidhche agus a latha. Ach air oidhche sin a bha iad a’ coiseachd agus iad a’ dol thro mhonadh mór, smaointich iad gu rachadh iad a laighe fo chraobh mhór a bha sin agus chaidh iad a laighe. Cha robh ùine glé fhada gus am fac’ iad duine mór a’ tighinn: duine mór, àrd dorcha a’ tighinn dha chois. Agus stad e agus thug e sùil air na gillean. “Tha sibh ann, ‘illean bochda, fo chroisean ‘s fo gheasan na droch bhan-righinn.” “Thà,” thuirt na gillean. “Uill,” thuirt esan, “ma dh’fhaoidte gun tig agamsa air cuideachadh a dheanadh leibh. Tha sibh a’ dol a dh’iarraidh nan trì fàlairean blàra, buidhe aig Baran Àrd nam Baran an iomall an domhain thoir.” “Thà. Sin agad fon a bheil sinn a’ dol. Chan eil fhios againn fon a bheil an domhain thoir.” “Uill,” thuirt an duine bha seo, “tha fhios agamsa far a bheil i, bho’n a tha i anns a cheart àite a tha toil agam a dhol. Ach,” thuirt e, “bheir e latha agus bliadhna dhuinn faighinn ann.” Seo mar a bh’ann. “C’ainm their iad riutsa?” thuirt iad ris an duine mhór a bha seo. ‹S e an Gadaiche Dubh a theireadh iad riumsa,” thuirt e. “Ro mhath. Bithidh sinn a’ falbh anns a’ mhadainn.” Agus dh’fhalbh na gillean.

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behind her back. She struck the three lads, saying, “I’m putting you under crosses and spells”: The hue of grass coming through the ground, The trembling of leaves on a tree, Until you get the three yellow blaze-faced steeds Belonging to the High Baron of Barons at the end of the Eastern World.

No sooner had she said these words than the hue of grass came over the lads and they began to tremble like leaves on a tree. But the youngest one took a leap and snatched the enchanted wand from her and struck her with it, saying, “We are going, but as long as we are gone, you must stand on the roof of the castle, one foot on the little house and one foot on the big house and your face turned toward every wind that blows, until the day we return.”11 The poor lads had no choice then but to put food in their pouches and go on their way. They did not know which direction they should take, east or west, so they set off in whatever direction the wind was blowing. They travelled night after night and day after day. At nightfall the little birds would go to sleep in the shadow of the leaves, but even so, the boys did not go to sleep.12 They walked day and night. One night as they were crossing a large moor they decided to rest under a big tree. They went and lay down and it was not long before they saw a big man coming – a tall, large, dark man approaching on foot. He stopped and looked the lads over. “Here you are, you poor lads,” he said, “under the crosses and spells of the evil queen.” “Yes, we are,” said the boys. “Well,” said he, “perhaps I can be of some assistance to you. You are on your way to fetch the three yellow blaze-faced steeds belonging to the High Baron of Barons at the end of the Eastern World.” “Indeed,” said they, “that’s where we’re going, but we don’t know where the Eastern World is.” “Well,” said the man, “I do know where it is, since it is in the very place that I wish to go. But,” said he, “it will take us a year and a day to get there.” So it was. “By what name are you called?” they asked the big man. “They call me the Black Thief,” he replied. “Very well, we’ll be going in the morning.” And the lads departed.

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Ach fàgaidh sinn na gillean agus an Gadaiche Dubh air ceann a’ rathaid agus tillidh sinn air ais tacan beag gu pàileas a’ rìgh. Nuair a thànaig a’ rìgh dhachaigh feasgar as a’ bheinn sheilg thug e dha ìoghnadh mór a’ bhan-righinn a bhith ‘na seasamh shuas air mullach a’ chaisteil, cas air an taigh bheag agus cas air an taigh mhór, agus i cumail a h-aghaidh ris a h- uile gaoth a bha séideadh. “Gu dé tha thu a’ deanadh shuas a’ sin?” thuirt a’ rìgh. Dh’inns’ a’ bhan-righinn dha mar a thachair agus mar a rinn i. Bha a’ rìgh bochd an uair sin fo lionn dubh ‘s fo bhròn ‘s chaidh e a-staigh dha sheòmbar. Shuidh e ‘san t-seidhir. Thuit e ann an trom-chadal agus cha ghabhadh e dùsgadh. Bha na lathaichean a’ dol seachad ach bha a’ rìgh ‘na chadal anns a’ chathair. Tillidh sinn a-nise air ais a dh’ionnsaigh nan gillean agus an Gadaiche Dubh. Bha iad a’ coiseachd a dh’oidhche agus do lath’ gus mu dheireadh agus mu dheireadh thall thuirt an Gadaiche Dubh, “Tha sinn glé fhaisg air an àit’, ’illean,” thuirt e. “Caidlidh sinn ann an toman choilleadh a tha seo an nochd,” thuirt e, “agus cha chreid mi, aig feasgar a’ la’r-na-mhàireach, nach bi sinn aig àite Barain Àrd nam Baran.” Seo mar a b’ann. Choisich iad fad a’ la’r-na-mhàireach gu beul na h-oidhcheadh agus thuirt e riu’, “A-niste, siod agaibh am pàileas aige shios fodhainn ann a’ seo. Agus nuair a dhorchaicheas an oidhche tha sinn a’ dol sios cho teann air a’ phàileas agus as urrainn dhuinn a dhol. Agus aig meadhon-oidhche thig sinn a-staigh dhan stàball feuch an tig againn air na trì fàlairean a ghoid.” Seo mar a bh’ann. Aig meadhon-oidhche chaidh iad suas a dh’ionnsaigh a’ stàbaill ‘s chaidh iad a-staigh ‘s chuir fear dhiubh a làmh air té dhe na fàlairean blàra buidhe. Ach ma chuir, thòisich i breabadh is thòisich i sgiamhadh ‘s thòisich i fuaim nach cualas riamh a leithid. Cha robh ùine aca air teicheadh ach dol suas dhan fheur agus feitheamh am falach fon fheur. Chuala Baran Àrd nam Baran am fuaim a bha anns an stàball is dh’éibh e ri chuid sheirbhisich [‘s] thuirt e, “Tha feadhainn air choireiginn a’ feuchainn ris na trì fàlairean blàra, buidhe a ghoid,” thuirt e, “agus bithibh a-mach agus bithibh a-mach gu h-ealamh agus thugaibh a-staigh dhomhsa iad.” Chaidh na seirbhisich a-mach. Choimhead iad a-nunn ‘s choimhead iad a nall. Choimhead iad sios ‘s choimhead iad suas ‘s cha d’fhuair iad duine. Thill iad a-staigh. Chaidh an t-àite gu tàmh a-rithist. “Uill,” thuirt an Gadaiche Dubh ris na gillean, “feuchaidh sinn a-rithist. Feuchaidh sinn té eile dhiubh.” Chaidh fear dhe na gillean a-nunn ‘s chuir e a làmh air an dala fàlair’ agus thachair an tomhas ceudna. Chaidh iad am falach fon fheur far an robh iad roimhe. Ach a dh’aindeoin an siubhail agus a dh’aindeoin gach àite an coimheadadh na seirbhisich, cha do dh’amais iad air an

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But we’ll leave the lads and the Black Thief at the head of the road, and we’ll return for a little while to the king’s palace. When the king came home in the evening from the hunting hill, it caused him great astonishment to see the queen standing up on the roof of the castle, one foot on the little house and the other foot on the big house, turning her face toward every wind that blew. “What are you doing up there?” said the king. The queen told him what had happened and what she had done. This plunged the poor king into a deep depression and sorrow, and he went into his room, sat down in his chair, and fell into a heavy slumber from which he could not be roused. Days and days passed and the king still remained asleep in the chair. Now let us return to the lads and the Black Thief. They continued walking day and night, until at last and at long last the Black Thief spoke: “We are very near to our destination, lads. We’ll sleep in this forest thicket tonight, and I reckon that by tomorrow evening we’ll be at the place of the High Baron of Barons.” And so it was. They walked all the following day until nightfall and the Black Thief said to them, “Now, his palace is down there below us. When the night grows dark we’ll approach it as close as possible and at midnight we’ll go into the stable and see if we can manage to steal the three steeds.” So it happened. At midnight they went up toward the stable and they went inside. One of the lads put his hand on one of the yellow blaze-faced steeds, but when he did, she began kicking and squealing and making a racket whose like was never heard before. They did not have time to flee, and only just managed to climb up into the hayloft and remain concealed under the hay. The High Baron of Barons heard the noise in the stable and called to his servants, saying, “Some people are trying to steal the three yellow blaze-faced steeds, so go out, hurry out quickly, and bring the thieves in to me.” Out went the servants and they looked here and they looked there, they looked above and they looked below, and they didn’t find anyone. They returned inside and the place settled down again. “Well,” said the Black Thief to the lads, “we’ll make another attempt and we’ll try another one.” One of the lads went over and put his hand on the second steed and the same thing happened. They went and concealed themselves in the hay where they had been before, but in spite of their walking around and all the places they looked, the servants could not find the people

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fheadhainn a bha am falach fon fheur. Chaidh iad a-staigh a-rithist. Thuirt Baran Àrd nam Baran riu’, thuirt e, “Tha mi cinneach gu bheil cuideiginn ann,” thuirt e, “ach leigibh13 leo’ aon uair eile.” Seo mar a bh’ann. Nuair a chaidh an t-àite gu tàmh, chaidh an treas gille agus chaidh e a-staigh dhan stàball ‘s chuir e a làmh air an treas fàlair’ ‘s ma bha fuaim aig càch a bh’ann bha e seo na bu mhiosa uile gu léir. Chaidh iad am falach a-rithist, ach an uair sin dh’éirich Baran Àrd nam Baran e fhéin agus chaidh e a-mach còmhla ris na gillean. Agus bha iad a-nunn agus bha iad a-nall agus thòisich iad air togail a h-uile sian agus mu dheireadh dh’amais iad air fear dhe na gillean. Thug Baran Àrd nam Baran sùil air a’ ghille agus cha do dh’aithnich e e ’s cha robh fhios aige có bh’ann. “Thugaibh leibh am mèairleach,” thuirt esan. “A bheil duin’ eile còmhla ribh?” “Thà,” thuirt an gille. “Tha triùir eile.” Cha robh aca ach iad-fhéin a thoirt suas agus dh’fhalbhadh14 leo’ a-staigh dhan a’ chaisteal aig Baran Àrd nam Baran. Agus chaidh a h-uile pioc aodaich a bh’orra a thoirt dhiubh, an ceangal, an casan agus an lamhan, agus chaidh an cur fo shileadh nan coinnlichean céireadh. 15 Bha iad fo shileadh nan coinnlichean céireadh oidhche agus latha. Ach feasgar a bha sin thànaig Baran Àrd nam Baran a-staigh dhan rùm ‘sa robh iad agus thug e sùil. “An tusa a th’ann,” thuirt e, “a Ghadaiche Dhuibh? ’S fhada bho’n a bha dùil a’m gun tigeadh tu a’ rathad,” thuirt e. “’S mi,” thuirt e. “Tha mi ann a’ seo is tha mi fo shileadh do choinnlean céire.” “Thà,” thuirt Baran Àrd nam Baran, “agus bidh sibh fo shileadh mo choinnlean céireadh-sa fad iomadh latha.” “Ma dh’fhaoidte gum bi,” thuirt an Gadaiche Dubh. “Ma dh’fhaoidte gum bi.” “Uill,” thuirt Baran Àrd nam Baran, “an robh thu ann an càs riamh cho cruaidh ‘s a tha thu an nochd?” “O bhà,” thuirt an Gadaiche Dubh. “Bha mi ann an càs móran na bu chruaidhe na seo.” “Uill, inns’ dhomh ciamar a bha sin.” “Innsidh mi sin dhut ma dh’fhuasgaileas tu mi fhìn agus am fear as òige dhe na gillean, agus gu faigh sinn ar n-éideadh a chur oirnn.” Seo mar a bh’ann. Shuidh an Gadaiche Dubh agus thòisich e air an naidheachd a leanas ri innseadh do Bharan Àrd nam Baran: Bha mi,16 oidhche a’ dol thro mhonadh mór agus dh’fhàs i glé fhiadhaich. Agus smaointich mi gu rachainn a laighe fo dharaig mhór a bha taobh a’ rathaid. Agus rinn mi sin. Ach cha luaithe a chaidh mise ‘nam shìneadh – agus bha mi glé sgìth

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hiding under the hay. They went inside again and the High Baron of Barons said to them, “I’m certain that someone is there, but let them alone once more.”13 So it was. When quiet returned to the place, the third lad went and entered the stable and put his hand on the third steed, and if the other two had raised confusion before, this time was the worst of all. They went and hid again, but that time the High Baron of Barons himself arose and went out with the serving-lads. They searched back and forth and proceeded to lift up everything until finally they discovered one of the lads. The High Baron of Barons took a look at the lad, but he did not recognize him; nor did he know who he was. “Take the scoundrel with you,” he said. “Is anyone else with you?” “Yes,” said the lad, “there are three others.” They had no choice but to surrender themselves, and they were escorted14 into the castle of the High Baron of Barons. Every bit of clothing that they were wearing was stripped off, and they were bound hand and foot and put under the hot drippings of wax candles.15 They remained under the dripping wax candles for a night and a day, but that evening the High Baron of Barons came into the room where they were, and he regarded them. “Is that you, Black Thief?” he asked. “I have been expecting you to come this way for some time.” “It is I,” said the Black Thief, “and here I am under the hot drippings of your wax candles.” “Yes, you are,” said the High Baron of Barons, “and so you will be for many a day.” “Maybe so,” said the Black Thief. “Maybe so.” “Well,” said the High Baron of Barons, “were you ever in a predicament as bad as the one you’re in tonight?” “Oh yes,” said the Black Thief, “I was in a far worse predicament than this.” “Well, tell me how that came to be.” “I’ll tell you,” said the Black Thief, “if you release me and the youngest of the lads, and if we are allowed to put on our clothes.” So it happened. The Black Thief sat up and began telling the following tale to the High Baron of Barons: One night,16 I was going over a large, wild moor and it became very dark, so I thought I’d go and lie down under a big oak tree beside the road. I did that, but no sooner had I stretched out – and I was very tired after walking a great distance

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An Gadaiche Dubh an deaghaidh astar mór a choiseachd a’ latha sin – [na] dh’fhairich mi fuaim is farum a’ tighinn nach cualas iomradh riamh air a leithid, agus thug mi sùil. Agus chunna mi dròbh do chait dhiollaidh a’ tighinn: dà chat dheug agus cat cam. Cha robh fhios a’m gu dé dheanainn, ach chaidh mi suas ‘sa chraoibh agus sheas mi air a’ cheud mheur a bha làidir gu leòr gus mo chumail agus thug mi a-mach a’ bhiodag. Cha luaithe a ràna mise shuas a’ sin na suas a bha cat, agus an deaghaidh dhasan roinn do sgrìobadh a dheanadh orm fhuair mi a’ bhiodag a chur ann agus thuit e; mar sin, gus an deachaidh na dhà dheug dhiubh suas agus gun tug iad dhiom am beagan aodaich a bh’orm. Ach bha mi ann a’ sin ‘s mi ‘m dhuine truagh ‘s mi sgìth, fann, cadalach agus mi sileadh faladh. Bha fhios a’m nach b’urrainn dhomh fuireach shuas a’ chraobh tuillidh is fada airneo gun tuitinn an uair sin ‘nam chadal agus gum faigheadh an cat cam mi, chionn ‘s e bu mhotha dhiubh uileadh agus ‘s e bu ghràinde dhiubh. Cha b’urrainn dha a’ chraobh a dhìreadh a chionn ‘s gu robh e cam. Dh’fheum mi m’inntinn a dheanadh suas airson rudeiginn a dheanadh agus mu dheireadh thall thuirt mi agam fhìn, “Tha mi dol a leum sios ‘s tha mi dol a shabaid ris a’ chat cham. Agus ma nì e ‘n gnothach orm ‘s e sin deireadh a’ Ghadaiche Dhuibh.” Ach leum mi sios agus ‘s ann am bhad a bha an cat cam. Uair bhiodh an Gadaiche Dubh gu h-ìseal agus an cat cam gu h-àrd. Uair eile a bhiodh an cat cam gu h-ìseal agus an Gadaiche Dubh gu h-àrd. Bha sinn air an iorram sin gus nach mór nach robh mi marbh ‘s mu dheireadh ‘s mu dheireadh thall fhuair mi a’ bhiodag a chur ann agus mharbh mi e.

“’S e sin càs móran na bu chruaidhe na bhith fo shileadh nan coinnlichean céireadh.” “’S e,” thuirt Baran Àrd nam Baran. “’S e sin càs bu mhiosa na bhith fo shileadh nan coinnlichean céireadh. Ach,” thuirt e, “thig mi a-staigh gad choimhead feasgar am màireach,” thuirt e. “Agus faodaidh tusa agus an gille òg sin,” thuirt e, “fuireach fon a bheil sibh ann a’ seo. Ach feumaidh na gillean eile fuireach fon a bheil iad fo shileadh nan coinnlean céireadh.” Seo mar a bh’ann. Air feasgar a’ la’r-na-mhàireach thànaig e a-staigh dhan t-seòmbar agus thionndaidh e ris a’ Ghadaiche Dhubh. “A Ghadaiche Dhuibh,” thuirt e, “dh’inns’ thu dhomh mun chàs chruaidh ‘sa robh thu. A robh thu riamh ann an càs na bu chruaidhe na sin?” “O bhà,” thuirt an Gadaiche Dubh. “Bha mi ann an càs na bu chruaidhe na sin.” “Uill, innis sin. Innis dhomhs’ e.” “Innsidh mi dhut e,” thuirt e, “ma dh’fhuasgaileas tu na dithis ghillean17 òg’ eile ‘s gum faigh iad an éideadh a chur orra.” Chaidh sin a dheanadh agus shuidh iad mun cuairt agus aig a cheart àm dh’fhosgail dorast an t-seòmbair agus choisich seann bhoireannach a-staigh agus shuidh i air seidhir ann an oisinn an t-seòmbair.

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The Black Thief that day – than I heard the approach of a sound and a tramping unlike any I had ever heard before. I looked and saw a whole drove of diabolical cats coming: twelve cats and one one-eyed cat. I did not know what to do, so I climbed the tree and stood on the first branch strong enough to hold me and drew my dirk. No sooner had I climbed up there than up came a cat, and after he had given me a good scratching, I managed to drive the dirk into him and down he fell. That continued until all twelve of them had come up and torn off the little clothing I was wearing. I was a miserable man then – tired, faint, and growing drowsy from loss of blood. I knew that I could not remain up in the tree too long or I would fall asleep and the one-eyed cat would get me, for he was the biggest and the ugliest of them all. He could not climb the tree because he was one-eyed, but I had to make up my mind to do something. At last and at long last I said to myself, “I’m going to jump down and I’m going to fight the one-eyed cat, and if he finishes me, that’s the end of the Black Thief.” I leapt down and the one-eyed cat was upon me. Sometimes the Black Thief was down and the one-eyed cat was on top, and other times the one-eyed cat was down and the Black Thief was on top. We were at that game until I was nearly dead and at long last I managed to drive the dirk into him and kill him.

That was a much worse predicament than being under the hot drippings of wax candles.” “Yes,” said the High Baron of Barons, “that was indeed a worse predicament than being under dripping wax candles, but,” he said, “I’ll come in to see you tomorrow evening, and you and the youngest lad can stay right where you are. But the other lads must stay where they are under the dripping wax candles.” So it happened. On the evening of the following day he came into the room, and turning to the Black Thief he said, “You told me, Black Thief, about the hard straits you were in before. Were you ever in a worse predicament than that?” “Oh, yes,” said the Black Thief, “I have been in worse straits.” “Well, tell me about it.” “I will tell you,” said the Black Thief, “if you release the other two young lads17 and let them put on their clothes.” That was done and at the very moment when they were all sitting around the Black Thief, the door to the room opened and an old woman walked in and sat on a corner chair.

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An Gadaiche Dubh

“Ciamar a bh’ann?” thuirt Baran Àrd nam Baran. “Innsidh mi dhut,” thuirt an Gadaiche Dubh: Bha mi latha eile a’ coiseachd tro mhonadh mór, fiadhaich,18 agus rug an oidhche orm. Cha robh àite cadail agam ‘s bha mi air bheag ri ithe. Bha mi coiseachd air rathad a bha beag, caol, ‘s chunnaic mi solast romham. Choisich mi suas agus bha taigh mór, fada, dubh ann a’ sin taobh a’ rathaid. Agus ‘s e sin a’ cheud rud a chuir ìoghnadh orm, a’ mheudachd a bh’anns an dorast. Bha e dusan troigh a dh’àird agus seachd troighean a leud. Chaidh mi an sin a null far a robh reulag sholaist a’ tighinn a-mach agus bha toll ann a’ sin taobh an taighe agus thòisich mi air coimhead a-staigh. Bha boireannach òg ‘na seasamh astaigh ann a’ sin cho briagh ‘s cho maiseach ‘s a leig mise sùil riamh agus leanabh gille aice. Chuireadh i an leanabh gille sios air leac an teinntein agus thàirneadh i corc mhór, fhada as a pòc’ agus thogadh i a’ chorc mar gum biodh i a’ dol ga spàrradh anns a’ ghille òg a bha seo – anns a’ leanabh. Choimheadadh an leanabh suas agus dheanadh e gàire. Thilgeadh i bhuaipe a’ chorc, thogadh i an leanabh agus thòisicheadh i ri gal agus ri caoineadh. Bha i air an iorram sin gus mu dheireadh choisich mi a-staigh ‘s thug i sùil orm ‘s thuirt i, “A bheil thusa an seo, a dhuine mhì-fhortanaich?” “Tha mi an seo co-dhiubh,” thuirt mise. “Gu dé chuir thusa an seo?” “Innsidh mi sin dhut,” thuirt ise. “Rug am famhair mór ormsa agus air mo leanabh ann a’ seo agus thug e leis mi. Fhad’s a bha gu leòr aige a dh’itheadh e cha robh e deanadh sian ceàrr, ach mu dheireadh thuirt e rium madainn an-diugh gum feumadh fear dhe na cuirp a chì thu thall ann an oisinn an t-seòmbair ann a’ siod a bhith air a ròsladh an nochd agamsa deiseil dha, agus a’ leanabh seo a bhith air a ròsladh agus air a chur anns a’ phoit òir a chì thu thall ann a’ siod.” “Cha dean thu a leithid do rud,” ors’ mise. “Chan eil ùine againn ri feitheamh. Feumaidh sinne rudeiginn a dheanamh dìreach air an nochd-làraich.”19 Fhuair mi pìos do phlaide agus phaisg mi a’ leanabh ann agus cheangail mi air a druim e. Choisich mi a-mach leath’ ’s chuir mi air ceann a’ rathaid i ’s aig an am a bh’ann dh’fhairich mi fuaim an fhamhair a’ tighinn ’s cha robh dòigh agam fhìn air teicheadh ’s thuirt mi rithe, “Cum thusa romhad, thu fhéin agus a’ leanabh. Lean a’ rathad seo is bheir e a-mach thu a dh’àite a bheir iad an aire dhut.” B’fheudar dhomh fhìn an uair sin tilleadh a-staigh agus feuchainn ris an fhamhair mhór a chumail air ais cho math ‘s a b’urrainn dhomh gus an tugainn ùine dhan bhoireannach a bha seo air mìltean a chur eadar i fhéin agus am famhair mór. Thànaig a’ chulaidh-uamhais a bha seo a dh’ionnsaigh an dorais agus leag e as poca mór air an talamh. Bha clachan beaga dol an ìochdar ‘s bha clachan móra tighinn an uachdar ‘s cha chualas a leithid sin do dh’fhuaim riamh.20 Mu dheireadh thànaig am famhair mór a-staigh – nan sia ceann ‘s nan seachd muineal, claidheamh anns a robh seachd troighean a dh’fhad aige ‘na làimh – agus thug e sùil a-nunn agus thug e sùil a-nall.

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The Black Thief

“Now, how did it happen?” said the High Baron of Barons. “Let me tell you,” said the Black Thief: Another day I was walking through a great wild moor,18 and night descended on me. I had no place to sleep and very little to eat. I was tired, but as I was walking along a little narrow road, I saw a light before me. I walked up to it and there was a big long black house there beside the road. The first thing that astonished me was the size of the door: it was a dozen feet high and seven feet wide. I went over to where there was a little shaft of light coming out through a hole at the side of the house and looked in. Inside was a young woman standing, as fine and comely as I ever set eyes on, and a baby boy with her. She would put the child down on the hearth-flag, pull a great long knife from her pocket and raise the knife as if she were going to plunge it into the child, and the child would look up and laugh. Then she would throw away the knife and lift up the child and begin crying and weeping. She continued at that game until at last I walked inside. She looked at me and said, “Are you here, you unfortunate man?” “Yes, I’m here anyway. What brought you here?” “I’ll tell you,” she said, “the big giant captured me and my child here and took me with him. As long as he had enough to eat, he did nothing wrong, but finally he said to me this morning that I was to have one of the corpses you see over there in the corner of the room roasted and prepared for him tonight, and that this child was to be roasted too and put into the gold pot that you see over there.” “You will do no such thing,” I said, “but there is no time for us to wait around. We must do something right away.”19 I found a piece from a blanket and wrapped the child in it and tied him on her back. I walked out with her and put her at the head of the road, and at that moment I heard the sound of the giant coming. I had no way of escaping, so I said to her, “Keep straight on, you and the child. Follow this road and it will take you out to a place where they will take care of you.” I had to return inside and try to detain the big giant as best I could until I had given the woman enough time to put some miles between them. That terror of a giant came up to the door and he let a large sack down onto the ground, making the little stones go to the bottom and the big stones go to the top, and such a noise was never heard before.20 At last the big giant came inside. He had six heads and seven necks and held in his hand a sword seven feet long. He looked this way and that way:

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An Gadaiche Dubh “Haoi, haoi,” thuirt e, “tha fàileadh an fharbhalaich a-staigh a’ seo ach ma tha chan fhad a bhios.” Thog e ‘n claidheamh ‘s thug e sùil a-nunn is sùil a-nall. “Is bha mise an uair sin21 … cha robh fhios a’m gu dé dheanainn. Cha d’rinn mi ach mo chuid aodaich a thoirt dhiom agus mi-fhìn a thilgeil a-staigh còmhla ris na cuirp eile bha seo. Chaidh e a-nunn agus rug e air fear dhe na cuirp a bha seo agus thug e seachad os cionn a chinn ‘s chuir e fairis air an ùrlar e. Roladh corp ‘na phìosan air feadh an àit’ ’s thuirt esan, “Cha d’fhiach am fear ud.” Thuirt mise agam fhìn, “Tha mi creidsinn gur e mis’ an ath-fhear.” Ach chan e. Rug e air corp a bha ri’m thaobh ‘s rinn e ‘n tomhas ceudna air. Dh’fhuirich an corp sin ri chéile is thuirt am famhair, “Tha ‘m fear seo math gu leòr. Ròslaidh mi am fear seo.” Bha teine mór aig’ ann a’ sin agus chuir e an corp ann ‘s ròslaidh e suas an sin agus dh’ith e a h-uile greim dhe a chnamhan ‘s bhrist e uile suas ‘na phìosan e. Nuair a bha sin réidh thug e corc mhór as a phòc’ ‘s thug e sùil a-nunn ‘s thug e sùil a-nall agus chunnaic e an corp eile bha seo ‘na shìneadh agus thug e leis a’ sgian,22 ’s gheàrr e stiall mór à bac mo thòineadh agus thug e leis ploc mo thòineadh uile. Dh’ith e sin sios, agus an sin,23 thug e sùil a-nunn ‘s sùil a-nall.” “Dh’fhalbh an òinseach bhochd,” ars’ esan, “ach cha tig i fada. Beiridh mise oirre,” ars’ esan, “ro shoilleireachadh an latha. Ach tha mi dol a dheanamh beagan do chadal.” Shìn e e-fhéin mu choinneamh an teine. Bha e tarraing nan éibhleagan móra, dearga bha a-staigh ‘san teine ‘s bheireadh e leis sios ‘na amhaich agus suas ‘na shròin agus shéideadh e an sin a-mach a-rithist iad. Agus tharraing e srann a bha a’ togail an taighe ‘s ga chrathadh. Bha mi fàs lag, ach fhuair mi éirigh ‘nam sheasamh agus chaidh mi a-nunn agus rug mi air a’ chlaidheamh mhór a bha seo agus thog mi suas os cionn mo chinn e agus leig mi sios e agus gheàrr mi ‘n ceann far an fhamhair.

“’S e sin càs bu chruaidhe na bhith fo shileadh nan coinnlean céireadh.” “’S e gu dearbh,” thuirt Baran Àrd nam Baran. “’S e sin càs móran na bu chruaidhe.” Ach aig a cheart àm dh’éirich an seann bhoireannach agus choisich i a-nall agus rug i air làimh air a’ Ghadaiche Dhubh. “An tusa,” ars’ ise, “a bha sin a Ghadaiche Dhuibh?” “’S mi,” thuirt esan. “Uill, ’s mise am boireannach a bha sin. Agus sin agad a’ leanabh gille a bh’agams’ ’nam achlais an oidhche a bha mi a’ gal ’s a’ caoineadh mu choinneamh an teallach theine, ’na shuidhe ann a’ sin.” Chaidh an ceòl air feadh na fìdhleadh24 an uair sin. Dh’inns’ an Gadaiche Dubh dha Bharan Àrd nam Baran ceann-aobhair a thurais – chuir an droch bhan-righinn na triùir ghillean òg’ a bha seo fo chroisean ‘s fo gheasaibh:

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The Black Thief “Haoi, haoi,” he said, “there is the smell of a stranger in here, but if there is, there won’t be for long!” He raised the sword and he looked this way and that way. “And there I was21 … I didn’t know what to do, so I just took off my clothes and threw myself in among the other bodies. The giant went over and grabbed one of the corpses. He raised it over his head and threw it across the floor. Pieces of a corpse would roll all over the place and he would say, “That one’s no good.” I said to myself, “I believe I’m next.” But no – he seized the corpse beside me and did the same thing with it. That corpse stayed together, however, and the giant said, “This is good enough. I’ll roast this one.” He had a big fire there, so he put the corpse in it. He roasted it up, devoured every bit of its bones and broke it all up into pieces. When that was finished he took a big knife out of his pocket. He looked this way and he looked that way, and he saw the other corpse stretched out there. He took the knife with him,22 and he cut a large strip from my haunch and took the whole side of my buttock away with him. He devoured it, and then23 he looked this way and he looked that way. “That poor fool of a woman has left,” he said, “but she’ll not get far. I’ll catch her before daybreak. But now I’m going get a little sleep.” So he stretched himself out across from the fire. He sucked up the the big red embers that were in the fire, drawing them up into his nose and down into his throat and blowing them out again, raising a snore that lifted up the house and shook it. I was growing weak then, but I managed to rise to a standing position. I went over and grasped the big sword that was there and I lifted it up above my head and brought it down and cut the head off the giant.

That was a worse predicament than being under hot drippings of wax candles.” “Indeed it was,” said the High Baron of Barons. “A much harder predicament.” But at that very moment the old woman stood up and walked over and took the Black Thief’s hand. “Were you the one who was there, Black Thief?” “I was,” said he. “Well, I’m the woman who was there, and here is the boy child who was at my breast the night I was crying and weeping across from the fireplace – he’s sitting right there.” Well, the cat was out of the bag then.24 The Black Thief related to the High Baron of Barons the reason for his journey, and how the evil queen had put the three young lads under crosses and spells:

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An Gadaiche Dubh Neul an fheòir a’ tighinn tron talamh, Crith nan duilleag air a’ chraoibh Gus na faigheadh iad na trì fàlairean blàra, buidhe Aig Baran Àrd nam Baran an iomall an domhain thoir.

“Gheobh iad sin,” thuirt Baran Àrd nam Baran. “Gheobh iad sin agus barrachd is sin. Shàbhail thusa,” thuirt esan, “mo bheatha agus tha e beag gu leòr dhomhsa rudeiginn a dheanamh dhutsa.” Cho luath ‘s a thuirt e na facail, dh’fhalbh neul an fheòir far nan gillean. Cha robh iad tuilleadh air chrith mar dhuilleach na craoibhe ‘s bha iad ‘nan triùir ghillean cho briagh ‘sa robh ann an rosg sùil duine riamh. Aig Baran Àrd nam Baran bha triùir nighean aige, ‘nan triùir nigheanan cho maiseach ‘s a bha anns an dùthaich. ‘S thuirt e ris a’ Ghadaiche Dhubh, “Tha mise dol a thoirt nighean an t-aon dha na gillean. Bheir mi poc’ òir agus bheir mi poc’ airgid an t-aon dhaibh, ‘s faodaidh fàlaire blàr, buidhe a bhith aig gach aon dhiubh. Agus dhut fhéin tha mi dol a thoirt poc’ òir eile, agus bheir mi dhut stallan glas25 nan sùil biorach ‘s théid26 mi ‘n urras” thuirt e, “nach eil sian air an t-saoghal a bheireas air. Cha bheir,” thuirt e, “cha bheir a’ ghaoth luath Mhàirt air.” Ach seo mar a bh’ann. Chaidh cuirm mhór a chur an òrdadh agus chaidh tòiseachadh air feasda ri dheanadh. Ach fàgaidh sinn iad fhéin fon a bheil iad agus tillidh sinn air ais tacan beag gu pàileas a’ rìgh. Air feasgar bha sin, ghluais a’ rìgh is dh’fhosgail e a shùilean agus bhruidhinn e. “Tha bliadhna agus latha bho’n a dh’fhalbh na gillean,” thuirt e, “agus tha mi air mhór-bharail gu bheil iad air a’ rathad dhachaigh.” Agus chruinnich na seirbhisich mun cuairt dha uile agus dh’éirich e ‘na sheasamh agus thuirt e riu’, “Tha mi deimhinn,” thuirt e, “gu bheil iad air a’ rathad dhachaigh. Agus thigeadh a h-uile h-aon agaibhse dhan bheinn mhór a tha shuas os cionn na beinn’ bheag agus sgaraibh a h-uile craobh bheithe agus a h-uile craobh mheabail a gheobh sibh shuas air a’ bheinn sin agus thugaibh dhachaigh iad agus cuiribh ‘san t-sloc ud gu h-ìseal ann a’ siod iad.” Seo mar a bh’ann. Cha robh fhios aca bhon Fhortan Mhór gu dé a b’aobhar dha seo ach bha iadsan a’ gearradh na coilleadh ‘s ga slaodadh anuas fairis na beinn big, sios a’ bheinn mhór gus an d’fhuair iad ‘san tsloc i. Agus nuair a bha a’ sloc dìreach mu bhith làn thug iad sùil a-mach agus chunnaic iad ceithir marcaichean27 a’ tighinn: na triùir ghillean is na triùir mhnathan le’n cuid òir ‘s le’n cuid airgid. Agus ceum ‘nan déidh bha stallan glas nan sùil bhiorach agus an Gadaiche Dubh a’ tighinn. Chaidh cuirm mhór a chur an òrdadh, chaidh bainis mhór a chur an òrdadh. Ach thuirt a’ rìgh.

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The Black Thief The hue of grass coming through the ground, The trembling of leaves on a tree, Until they would get the three yellow blaze-faced steeds, Belonging to the High Baron of Barons at the end of the Eastern World.

“They will have that,” said the High Baron of Barons, “they will have that and more. You saved my life, so it is little enough for me to do something for you.” As soon as he uttered those words, the hue of grass vanished from the boys. They no longer trembled like leaves on a tree and they were the three finest-looking lads a man ever saw. Now, the High Baron of Barons had three daughters – three daughters as fair as any in the land – and he said to the Black Thief, “I’m going to give a daughter to each of the sons. I’ll give them each a sack of gold and a sack of silver, and every one of them may have a yellow blaze-faced steed. As for you, I’ll give you another sack of gold and the grey keeneyed stallion,25 and I’ll warrant,”26 said he, “that there is nothing in the world that will catch him. Even the swift March wind can’t catch him.” And so it came to be. A great celebration was arranged and a feast was prepared. But let us leave them where they are and return for a moment to the king’s palace. That evening the king stirred, opened his eyes, and spoke: “It’s a year and a day since the boys departed, and I have a strong feeling that they are on their way home.” All the servants gathered around him as he rose to his feet, and he said to them, “Now I’m positive that they’re on their way home. Each one of you is to go to the big mountain above the little mountain, and separate out all the birch and maple trees that you find up there. Bring them home then and put them in that pit down below.” And so they did. They had no idea what on earth was the reason for this, but they began cutting down the woods and dragging the trees over the little mountain and down the big mountain until they had them in the pit. Just when the pit was about to be filled, they looked up and saw four riders27 coming: the three boys and their three wives with their gold and their silver, and a short pace behind them came the grey keen-eyed stallion and the Black Thief. A great celebration was set out, and a big wedding was arranged. But the king spoke then, saying,

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An Gadaiche Dubh

“Tha aon rud eile agam ri dheanamh,” thuirt esan, “agus tha mi dol a thoirt leam mo chuid sheirbhisich agus bithidh mi air ais ann an ceann na h-uair.” Dh’fhalbh e, e fhéin ‘s a chuid sheirbhisich agus rànaig iad taigh na h-Eachrais Ùrlair. Rug iad air an Eachrais Ùrlair agus cheangail iad a lamhan agus cheangail iad a casan. Thuirt e an sin ris na gillean, “Cuiribh teine,” thuirt e, “ris an fhiodh: ris a’ bheithe agus ris a’ mheabail.” Agus nuair a bha an teine a’ gabhail suas ‘na bhuidealaich chaidh breith air an Eachrais Ùrlair agus a tilgeadh ann an teis-meadhon an teine. Agus aig a cheart àm bha a’ bhan-righinn a bha ‘na seasamh le cas air and taigh bheag is cas air an taigh mhór a’ cluinntinn na h-ùpraid agus an fhuaim a bh’ aig luchd na bainnseadh agus aig an fheadhainn a bha cur teine ris an Eachrais Ùrlair. Thionndaidh i mun cuairt agus bha i an deaghaidh fàs cho rag, thuit i anuas ‘na closach air cùl a’ chaisteil. Thuirt a’ rìgh ris na gillean, “Tilgibh a’ chlosach seo còmhla ris an Eachrais Ùrlair agus bithidh sinn cuidhteas iad an còrr dhe’r beatha.” Agus cho fad ‘s a tha fhios agamsa tha a’ rìgh, a thriùir ghillean agus am mnathan, an Gadaiche Dubh le chuid òir is airgid agus stallan glas nan sùil bhiorach a’ fuireach gu saidhbhir, socair a’ sin fhathast.

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The Black Thief

“I have one more thing to do. I’m going to take my servants with me and I’ll be back within the hour.” He departed with his servants and they arrived at the house of the Eachrais Ùrlair. They seized her and bound her hand and foot. Then he said to the servant lads, “Set fire to the wood: the birch and the maple.” And when the fire was going up in a good strong blaze, they grabbed the Eachrais Ùrlair and threw her into the very middle of it. At the same moment the queen, who was standing with a foot on the little house, and a foot on the big house, heard the noise and the commotion coming from the wedding guests and from those setting fire to the Eachrais Ùrlair. She turned around, but she had grown so stiff that she fell down – a corpse behind the castle. Then the king said to the servant lads, “Throw that carcass together with the Eachrais Ùrlair and we’ll be rid of them for the rest of our lives.” And as far as I know, the king, the three lads and their wives, the Black Thief with his gold and silver, and the grey, keen-eyed stallion are all still living there in peace and plenty.

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3 aisling chadail lachlainn Air feasgar ciùin samhraidh, ‘s a’ ghrian a’ teàrnadh gu blàth, séimh, socrach dhan àird an iar, ghabh mi sgrìob sios chun a’ chladaich. Bha craobh mhór leamhain goirid do bheing a’ chladaich. Shìn mi mi-fhìn fo bhonn na craoibh’ agus a réir mo sgeula thànaig plothadh do chadal orm. Thug mi sùil a-mach air a’ chuan agus chunnaic mi long mhór, bhriagh air acaire a-mach pìosan bhon chladach agus bàta a’ tighinn gu tìr le dithisd sheòladairean air na ràimh agus coltas boireannach ‘na suidhe ‘n toiseach a’ bhàta. Thànaig iad gu tìr agus choisich nighean òg, bhòidheach, air leth maiseach, le cuailein òr-bhuidhe sios m’a guaillean suas fon a robh mi. Chuir i fàilte bhlàth orm. Thug sinn tacan a’ seanchas. Thuirt mise, “Nach ann agaibhse a tha an long bhriagh!” “Tha sin againn,” thuirt ise. “A robh thu riamh air bòrd long mar a chì thu a-mach mu’d choinneamh?” “Cha robh,” thuirt mise. “Ma tha, their mise a-mach thu air bòrd agus seallaidh mi dhut a h-uile sian a th’ air bòrd.” “Falbhaidh mise còmhla ribh.” Agus chaidh sinn air bòrd. Bha ìoghnadh mór agamsa dhan h-uile sian a bha mi a’ faicinn air bòrd. Agus nuair a dh’fhàs mi sgìth a choimhead mun cuairt air a h-uile sian a bha cho luachmhor agus cho eireachdail ri coimhead air, smaoinich mi gu robh an t-am agam a bhith fàgail beannachd aca uileadh agus a bhith falbh. Ach nuair a chaidh mise suas air a’ chlàr a b’àirde agus a choimhead mi mun cuairt orm, cha robh sian ri fhaicinn ach an cuan gorm. Thug mi sùil mun cuairt feuch am faicinn sealladh air an nighinn a thug air bòrd an t-soithich mi, ach cha robh sgeul ri fhaicinn oirre thall no bhos. Thuig mi ‘n uair sin gun d’rinn mi an eucoir agus rud ceàrr a dhol air bòrd an t-soithich gun faighinn a-mach có i, no có as a thànaig i. Agus thuig mi aig a’ cheart àm nach deanadh e feum dhomh guth a ràdha, agus gu robh mi ‘nam rag-phrìosanach. Bha na lathaichean a’ dol seachad agus bha na seòladairean glé laghach rium. Ach air latha bha sin smaoinich mi gu gabhainn sgrìob sios gu ceann eil’ an t-soithich feuch gu dé a chithinn. Chaidh mi sios gu h-ìseal. Chunnaic mi dorast a bha fosgladh a-staigh do sheòmbar. Cha robh an dorast buileach dùinte. Bhuail mi aig an dorast agus chuala mi guth beag, fann ag iarraidh orm a dhol a-steach. Chaidh mi a-staigh air mo shocair. Cha robh an seòmbar mór, agus bha e car dorcha. Chunna mi cailleach ‘na suidhe air pìos do chnàimh-droma muc-mharadh. Bha dà shùil bhioracha, dhubha an clàr a h-aodainn agus i air leth grànnda. Thug i sùil ormsa agus thuirt i, “Thànaig thu mu dheireadh.” Bha mis’ an uair sin glé dhona leis an eagal leis a’ choltas uamhasach a bh’oirre. Thuirt mi gun tànaig.

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3 l au c h i e ’ s d r e a m One peaceful summer afternoon, as the warm sun was quietly descending toward the west, I took a walk down to the shore. There was a large elm tree close to the edge of the shore, so I stretched out, but at the foot of the tree and as the story has it I was overcome with drowsiness. I looked out seawards and saw a fine big ship at anchor a short distance out from the beach. A boat was coming toward land with two sailors at the oars and the figure of a woman seated at the prow. They landed and a young, pretty, strikingly attractive girl with golden yellow curls down around her shoulders walked up to where I was. She greeted me warmly and we talked for a while. Said I, “Don’t you have a fine ship there!” “We have indeed,” said she. “Were you ever aboard a ship like the one you see out there before you?” “No,” I said, “I was not.” “Well then, I’ll take you on board and show you everything that’s aboard her.” “I’ll go with you,” I said, and we went aboard the ship. I was greatly astonished by everything that I saw on board. When I grew tired of looking around at all the things that were so valuable and fine to behold, I decided that it was time to take leave of them all and go on my way. But when I went up to the uppermost deck and looked around me, there was nothing to be seen but the blue sea. I glanced around trying to catch sight of the girl who took me aboard the ship, but there was no sign of her anywhere. I understood then that I had made a grave error in going aboard the ship without finding out who she was or where she came from. And at that very moment I saw that talking was of no avail, for I was being held fast as an unwilling prisoner. Days passed, and the sailors were very kind to me. But one day I determined to visit the other end of the ship to see what there was to see there. I went below and saw a door opening into a room. The door was not completely closed, so I knocked on the door and heard a small faint voice asking me to enter. I entered quietly; the room was not large and it was fairly dark. Inside I saw an old woman seated on a piece of a whale’s backbone. Two sharp black eyes were set into her face and she was outstandingly ugly. She looked at me and said, “You have come at last.” I was in a bad state from fear of her horrible appearance, but I replied that I had come.

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“Tha mi creidsinn gu bheil e a’ cur móran ìoghnadh ort carson a tha thu an seo, ach innsidh mise sin dhut. ‘S mise nighean Rìgh nan Tulach Uaine agus tha sin fada, fada as a’ seo. Tha iomadh latha bho’n a dh’fhàg mise oighreachd m’athar. Chaidh mise a chur fo gheasaibh agus is mise an nighean a thug air bòrd an t-soithich thu. Ach innsidh mi dhut ciamar a thachair sin.” Bha mis’ an uair sin mu ochd bliadhn’ deug a dh’aois agus thuit mi ann an tromaghaol le oifigeach òg a bha anns an arm. ‘S e Raghnall a bha mar ainm air. Thànaig e fon a robh mise air feasgar a bha an sin agus thuirt e, “Tha mise dol air sgrìob mun cuairt air feadh an airm a choimhead feuch a bheil a h-uile sian an òrdadh. Bithidh mi air ais feasgar am màireach. Tha fàinne-pòsaidh agam ‘nam phòca agus pòsaidh mi fhìn agus thu fhéin feasgar am màireach.” Ach mo chreach: cha do thill Raghnall bochd. Ge b’e dé dh’éirich dha, cha d’fhuair mise a-mach riamh. Bha oighreachd mhór, bheairteach aig m’athair. Chaochail mo mhàthair bho nach robh mise ach trì bliadhn’ deug a dh’aois. Phòs m’athaír dà bhliadhn’ an déidh sin. Bha mo mhuime ‘na boireannach glé sgileil agus fòghlaimte ach bha meas mór aice air maoin an t-saoghail. Bu thoil leath’ gu bitheadh oighreachd m’athar aice uileadh. A’ fuireach beagan mhìltean bho chaisteal m’athar bha banabhuidseach ris an canadh íad Cailleach Pòin nam Màgan. Bha i air leth dona gu buidseachd. Theireadh daoine nach robh aice – aig a’ chailleach – ach dileag dhen uisge a thoirt as a’ phòn ann an cupan cloicheadh agus gu deanadh i biadh dhi fhéin dhe sheòrsa sam bith. ‘S e fìor dhroch bhoireannach a bh’innte. Air latha dhe na lathaichean, thànaig Cailleach Pòin nam Màgan gu caisteal m’athar agus thuirt i ri’m mhuime: “Tha thusa; òinseach bhochd, a’ deanamh a-mach gum bi an oighreachd seo agad fhéin nuair a dh’eugas a’ rìgh. Ach chan ann mar sin a bhitheas an gnothach. Bithidh e aig Corra Chriostag.”1 “Gu dé ni mi?” orsa mo mhuime. “Bheir mise dhut drùdhag do dh’uisge Pòin nam Màgan agus cuiridh tu anns an deoch aig Corra Chriostag e agus their thu na briathran seo: Tha mi gad chur fo chroisibh ‘s fo gheasaibh, Gum bi thu ‘nad chailleach ghrànnda, Mì-chneasda agus mì-mheasail, Mar a tha Cailleach Pòin nam Màgan, Gus an faigh thu an duine a rugadh air an aon lath’, Agus air an aon uair agus air an aon mhionad riut fhéin. “Gheobh thu e ‘na shìneadh fo chraoibh air taobh cladach ann an ceàrn iomallach dhen domhain; agus gu toir thu leat e gus am faigh sibh anam an fhamhair a tha ann am meadhon na creig’ uaine air sgeirean creagach’ Eilean an Fhamhair. Tha mult dubh am meadhon na creigeadh. Tha lacha am broinn a’ mhuilt. Tha ugh am broinn na lacha. Tha anam an fhamhair am broinn an uigh.”

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“I think that you must be wondering greatly why you are here, so I’ll tell you why. I’m the daughter of the King of the Green Hillocks, and that is far, far from here. It is many days since I left my father’s estate. I have been put under spells and I’m the girl who brought you aboard the ship. But I’ll tell you how all that happened.” When I was around eighteen I fell deeply in love with an officer in the army. His name was Ranald. He came to me one afternoon and said, “I’m going on a tour around the army to see if everything is in order. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. I have a wedding ring in my pocket and you and I will be married then.” But, to my sorrow, poor Ranald did not return, and I never found out what happened to him. My father had a large and wealthy estate. My mother died when I was only thirteen years of age, and my father remarried a year later. My stepmother was a very educated and accomplished woman, but she was extremely fond of worldly wealth and she wanted my father’s entire inheritance for herself. A few miles from my father’s castle dwelt a witch who was called the Hag of Toad Pond, and she was a particularly evil sorceress. People used to say that she – the old hag – had only to take a drop of water out of the pond in a stone cup and she could turn it into any sort of food for herself. She was truly a wicked woman. One day the Hag of Toad Pond came to my father’s castle and spoke to my stepmother: “You poor silly fool, you expect that you will come into this estate when the king dies. But that is not how things will be. Corra Chriostag will have it.”1 “What shall I do?” asked my stepmother. ‘I’ll give you a little sip of water from the Toad Pond, and you will put it into Corra Chriostag’s drink and say these words: I’m putting you under crosses and spells So that you will be an ugly old hag Disagreeable and contemptible, Like the Hag of Toad Pond, Until you find the man born on the same day And at the same hour and the same minute as yourself. “You will find him stretched out under a tree beside a shore in a far-off quarter of the world. And you are to take him with you until you find the soul of the giant which is in the middle of the green rock on the rocky cliffs of the Island of the Giant. In the middle of the rock is a black wether. Inside the wether is a wild duck, inside the duck is an egg, and the giant’s soul is inside the egg.”

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Aisling Chadail Lachlainn An uair a chuir mo mhuime na geasan sin ormsa, cha robh fios agam gu dé dheanainn. Thug m’athair dhomh long agus sgioba agus thuirt e rium, “Bithidh thusa, mo ghaoil, a’ falbh feuch an amais thu air a’ chladach fon a bheil an duine ‘na chadal fo chraoibh. Mo bheannachd bhlàth leat agus turas math leat.”

“Sin a’s coireach thusa a bhith ‘seo. A-nist, a’ cheud rud a th’againn ri dheanamh; tilleadh dhachaigh gu dùthaich m’athar. Tha ann an ceàrn iomallach dhen dùthaich sin bana-bhuidseach eile ris an canadh iad Cailleach an t-Sluic: leth-phiuthar do Chailleach Pòin nam Màgan. Tha gamhlas mór aca dha chéile. Cha d’fhuair iad air adhart riamh còmhla agus ‘s e mo dhùrachd ‘s mo ghuidhe gu cuidich i leinn.” Thuirt mise gu falbhainn còmhla rithe. Seo mar a bh’ann. Chaidh na siùil a thogail agus fairge a ghearradh gus mu dheireadh rànaig sinn ar ceann-uidhe. Chuir sinn an t-acair’ a-mach. Chaidh mi fhìn agus Corra Chriostag ann am bàta le dithis ghillean sgairteil air na ràimh agus rinn sinn dìreach air geòdh’ beag a bha dol a-staigh dhan eilean agus chaidh sinn air tìr. Bha beinn mhór air gach taobh dhuinn. Bha beinn mhór eile beagan mhìltean bhuainn m’ar coinneamh. Choisich sinn a-staigh eadar an dà bheinn. Bha coille mhór throm mun cuairt oirnn ach bha sinn a’ deanamh ar rathad cho math ‘s a dh’fhaodamaid gus mu dheireadh fhuair sinn sinn-fhìn ann an sloc mór, fàsachail. Thuirt Corra Chriostag, “Seo agad Sloc na Caillicheadh.” Cha deachaidh sinn air adhart ach astar goirid gus an faca sinn bothan beag, dubh aig bonn creigeadh. Choisich sinn a-nunn chun an taighe agus bhuail Corra Chriostag aig an doras. Dh’fhosgail an doras. Bha sgràbach mhór do chailleach ‘na seasamh mu’r coinneamh. Bha pait do dh’fhalt mór, glas sios air a druim. Bha beul mór, leathan oirre agus an uair a rinn i plaosg2 do ghàire cha tugadh e ‘nad chuimhne ach crann-deilbhe: 3 cnag do dh’fhiacail an siud ‘s an seo. “Tha thu ann, a Chorra Chriostag, ged nach ro mhaiseach do ghnùis. Chuir mo leth-phiuthar fo gheasaibh thu. Thigibh4 a-staigh agus innsibh ceann-fàth ur gnothach don t-sloc.” Dh’innis Corra Chriostag a h-uile car mar a dh’éirich dhi agus gu feumadh i anam an fhamhair a bha ann am meadhon na creig’ uaine air sgeirean creagach’ Eilein an Fhamhair fhaighinn airneo ciamar a gheobhadh i greim air a’ mhult anns a’ robh an lacha aig a’ robh an t-ubh. “Innsidh mise sin dhutsa,” ors’ Cailleach an t-Sloc. “An ceann a h-uile ràidh tha ’m mult a’ tighinn a-mach as a’ chreig. Tha e a’ fuireach a-muigh trì latha a’ dol mun cuairt air a’ chreig mun till e a-staigh. Chan eil ach aona chreutair air an t-saoghal a bheireas air agus ‘s e sin Cù Seang na Coill’ Uaine, agus cuiridh e ris cho garbh agus gu feum e dhol a-staigh dhan chreig. Agus chì sibh an uair sin ciamar a rinn e sin. Chan eil fios aig duine air thalamh ciamar a tha e a’ tighinn a-mach no a’ dol a-staigh.

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Lauchie’s Dream When my stepmother put those spells on me, I did not know what to do. My father gave me a ship with a crew and said to me, “You are departing, my love, to see if you can discover the shore where the man sleeps under a tree. My warmest blessings be with you and I wish you a good journey.”

“That is why you are here now. The first thing that we must do is to return here to my father’s country. In an out-of-the-way part of the country lives another witch whom they call the Old Hag of the Hollow. She’s a half-sister to the Hag of Toad Pond, and there is a great deal of spite between them – they never got along. I hope and pray that she will help us.” I said would go with her, and so I did. The sails were raised and we cleft the sea until at last we reached our destination. We put out the anchor. Corra Chriostag and I set out in a boat with two lively lads at the oars, and we made straight for a small inlet leading into the island where we landed. There was a big mountain on each side of us and another big mountain a few miles in front of us. We started walking inland between the two mountains. There was a great thick forest surrounding us, but we made our way as best we could until at last we found ourselves in a large desolate hollow. “This is the Old Hag’s Hollow,” said Corra Chriostag. We had only gone a short distance before we saw a little black hut at the foot of a cliff. We walked over to the dwelling and Corra Chriostag knocked on the door. The door opened and there was a big scraggy old hag standing before us. There was a big grey mat of hair down her back. She had a large wide mouth and when she grinned in laughter,2 it reminded you of nothing as much as the pins on a warping-frame3 – a stump of a tooth here and there. “You’re here, Corra Chriostag, though your face is not exactly fetching. My half-sister has put you under spells. Come in4 and tell me the reason for your business in the hollow.” Corra Chriostag related all the events that had befallen her and told the Old Hag about having to find the soul of the giant that was in the middle of the green rock on the rocky cliffs of the Island of the Giant. And how would she get hold of the wether containing the wild duck with the egg? “I will tell you,” said the Hag of the Hollow. “At the end of every season the wether comes out of the rock and stays outside for three days, wandering around before it goes back inside. There is only one creature in the world that can catch it, and that’s the Lean Hound of the Green Wood. He will go after the wether so fiercely that it will have to go back into the rock, and then you’ll see how it did that. No one on earth knows how it manages to leave or enter. When you see how it got in, you must follow it

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Nuair a chì sibh ciamar a fhuair e a-staigh, feumaidh sibh a leanaid a-staigh. Tha farsuingeachd mhór am broinn na creigeadh le frògan agus àiteachan-falachaidh. Cha ghabh greim a dheanadh air an sin. Ach am broinn na creigeadh tha pòn do dh’uisge. Thig am mult aon uair ‘sa latha a dh’òl deoch a chionn ‘s gu feum e e-fhéin a chumail làn do dh’uisge airson an lach’ a chumail beò. Ach bheir mise dhut trì sìleinean peasrach agus cuiridh tu a h-aon dhiubh anns a’ phòn. Agus an uair a dh’òlas am mult a dheoch, tuitidh e ‘na throm-chadal. Faodaidh sibh an uair sin am mult a riachadh agus fosgladh air. Feumaidh sibh a bhith glé fhurachail nach fhaigh an lacha air falbh oirbh. Ma gheobh, chan fhaigh sibh greim oirr’ am feasda. Agus a-niste, innsidh mi dhuibh c’àite am faigh sibh Cù Seang na Coill’ Uaine. Nuair a thig sibh air bòrd na luinge agus a thogas sibh na siùil, bheir sibh ur n-aghaidh air an àird an ear. Agus cumaidh sibh a’ seòladh agus a’ gearradh fairge gus a’ ruig sibh cladach mór, farsaing, gainmheachail air a chòmhdach bho cheann gu ceann le faoileagan dubha. Agus mu choinneamh a’ chladaich chì sibh beinn mhór, bhriagh air a còmhdach le coille bhòidheach, uaine. Sin agaibh fon a faigh sibh Cù Seang na Coill’ Uaine. Coisichidh sibh suas ri aodann na beinneadh agus coinnichidh an cù oirbh aig taobh sruthain bhig do dh’alltan. Coimheadaidh e oirbh ann an clàr an aodainn agus a’ cheud rud a nì sibh: gun ghuth a ràdha, ach bheir sibh dha a h-aon do na sìleinean peasrach. An uair a dh’itheas e sin agus a dh’òlas e deoch do dh’uisge bruidhnidh e ribh an uair sin. Innsidh e dhuibh c’àite bheil Eilean an Fhamhair agus ciamar a gheobh sibh dha ionnsaigh.” Seo mar a bh’ann. Dh’fhàg sinn beannachd aig Cailleach an t-Sloc agus thill sinn air ais air bòrd na luinge. Thog sinn na siùil agus bha a’ long aig astar ann an tiotadh agus i deanadh dìreach air an àird an ear agus air Beinn na Coill’ Uaine. Ach air latha dhe na lathaichean, a’ ghrian an àird an adhair, chunna sinn a’ tighinn fo chomhair ar sùl’ coltas beinn mhór uaine. Agus ann am priobadh na sùl’ bha sinn a’ tighinn a-staigh gu cladach mór, farsuing gainmheachail agus na mìltean agus na mìltean do dh’fhaoileagan dubha gam clòmhradh5 fhéin anns a’ ghainmhich. Thuirt Corra Chriostag, “Seo Beinn Cù Seang na Coill’ Uaine.” Chaidh sinn air tìr am measg nam faoileagan agus thug sinn ar n-aghaidh air a’ bheinn. Bha rathad beag, caol, cam a’ dol suas ri aodann na beinneadh. Bha sinn a’ deanamh cho math ‘s a dh’fhaodamaid ged a bha an creutair a bha còmhla riumsa glé dhuilich a choimhead oirre leis cho cam, carrach, grànnda, mì-chneasda ‘s a bha i, agus mise ann an dùthaich air m aineòl. Bha mi ann an iomadh àite a b’fheàrr leam a bhith aig an àm na fon a robh mi, ach cha deanadh e feum tilleadh. Chum sinn ceum suas ri aodann na beinneadh. Nuair a bha sinn mu leitheach na beinneadh chunna mise rudeiginn a’ gluasad air cùl craoibhe agus air a’ mhionaid choisich Cù Seang na Coill’ Uaine a-mach m’ar coinneamh.

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inside. There is a large space inside the rock with hollows and hiding places, and it cannot be caught there. But there is a pond of water inside the rock. The wether comes there once a day to drink, because it must keep itself full of water in order to keep the duck alive. Now, I’ll give you three peas and you must put one of them in the pond. When the wether takes its drink, it will fall into a deep sleep, and you can make an incision in it and open it up. But you must be very watchful that the wild duck does not get away on you for if it does you’ll never lay a hand on it. But now I’ll tell you where you’ll find the Lean Hound of the Green Wood. When you go on board the ship and raise the sails, make for the east and continue sailing and cleaving the ocean until you reach a large wide sandy shore covered from one end to the other with black seagulls. Opposite the shore you will see a fine big mountain covered with a beautiful green forest. That is where you’ll find the Lean Hound of the Green Wood. Walk up the face of the mountain and the hound will meet you beside a little trickle of a brook. He will look you full in the face, and the first thing you’ll do is not to say anything, but give him one of the peas. When he eats that and takes a drink of water, he will speak to you. He will tell you then where the Island of the Giant is and how you will get to it.” So it happened. We took leave of the Old Hag of the Hollow and returned on board the ship. We raised the sails and the ship was in motion in no time, making straight toward the east and the mountain with the green forest. And one day, as the sun was high in the sky, we saw coming into our line of vision what looked like a big green mountain. In the wink of an eye we were coming in toward a large wide sandy shore with thousands and thousands of seagulls taking their dust baths in the sand.5 “This is the mountain of the Lean Hound of the Green Wood,” said Corra Chriostag. We went ashore among the seagulls and set off toward the mountain. There was a little narrow twisting path leading up the face of the mountain, and we made the best we could of it, even though the creature with me was hard to look at, being crooked, rough skinned, deformed, and ugly as she was, and I lost in a strange land. I had been in many places that I would have preferred at that time to where I was now, but it was no use turning back. We continued up the face of the mountain, and when we were about halfway I saw something moving behind a tree, and at that moment the Lean Hound of the Green Wood walked out to meet us.

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Bha an Cù Seang fad-chasach, fad-chluasach, geur-shùileach agus glé sheang ‘na chom mar gu bitheadh snàthlainn-siachaidh.6 Choimhead e oirnn ann an clàr an aodainn. Chuir Corra Chriostag a làmh ‘na pòca agus shìn i dha sìlean peasrach. Thug e leis sin air a theanga agus chaidh e a-null a dh’ionnsaigh an t-sruthlaig uisge agus ghabh e deoch. Thionndaidh e mun cuairt agus thuirt e, “Thànaig sibh mu dheireadh. ‘S iomadh latha bha mise a’ feitheamh airson cuideiginn a thigeadh an rathad airson ma dh’fhaoidte a dheanamh cuideachadh leam. Innsibh dhomhsa ceann-fàth ur turas dhan Choill’ Uaine.” Dh’innis Corra Chriostag dha a h-uile car mar a dh’éirich a-mach – gu feumadh i anam an fhamhair fhaighinn agus nach robh fios aice c’àite robh Eilean an Fhamhair airneo an deanadh e cuideachadh sam bith dhuinn. “Nì mi sin,” thuirt Cù Seang na Coill’ Uaine. “Tha fios agamsa c’àite bheil Eilean an Fhamhair. Falbhaidh mise còmhla ribh agus ma chì mise sealladh dhen mhult, bheir mis’ air gun tig e a-staigh dhan chreig agus gu faic sinn ciamar a tha e a’ deanamh sin. Falbhaidh sinn.” Cha tug e a shùil riamh far Corra Criostag fad an t-siubhail. Thill sinn air ais sios gus an d’rànaig sinn an cladach. Nuair a rànaig sinn am bàta bha na gillean gar feitheamh. Stad an cù agus rinn e fead cruaidh, agus ann an tiotadh bha faoileag mhór, dhubh ‘na seasamh ri ‘thaobh. “Thig thusa còmhla riumsa,” thuirt an cù, agus chaidh sinn uile anns a’ bhàta agus chaidh sinn a-mach air bòrd na luinge. Thuirt an Cù, “Bheir mise leam an stiùir. Cumadh na gillean a h-uile slat aodach rith’ agus cha toir e glé fhada dhuinn gu Eilean an Fhamhair.” Air feasgar mùgach, dorcha – na neòil dhubha os ar cionn, cha robh grian no gealach no reul ri fhaicinn – thuirt an Cù, “Thugaibh bhuaipe a h-aodach. Cuiribh a-mach an t-acaire. Fuirichidh sinn an seo gus an dorchaich an oidhche. Thig sinn an sin air tìr.” Seo mar a bh’ann. Nuair a dhorchaich an oidhche, chaidh sinn air tìr. Thuirt an Cù, “Leanaibh sibhse mise agus gheobh sinn suas air mullach na creigeadh.” Rinn sinn mar a dh’iarr e oirnn, agus fhuair sinn suas le bhith glé dhìcheallach agus an aire a thoirt nach tuiteamaid. Thug sinn fad na h-oidhcheadh am falach fo sgeir do chreig. Shoilleirich an latha. Bha sinn a’ cumail sùil gheur mun cuairt fad an t-siubhail feuch am faiceamaid sealladh air a’ mhult. Cha robh sinn buileach cinnteach am b’e seo an t-àm dha a bhith a-muigh. ‘S e an fhaoileag dhubh a chunnaic a’ cheud shealladh dhen mhult. Bha e ‘n déidh faighinn suas air mullach na creigeadh air rathad beag a bh’aige fhéin suas taobh aodainn na creigeadh. Cha do ghluais an cù gus na fac’ e gu robh am mult suas gu math air còmhnard na creigeadh. Cha robh boillsgeadh dealanaich riamh na bu luaithe na bha an leum a thug Cù Seang na

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The Lean Hound was long legged, long eared, sharp eyed, and very lean bodied, like a thread used to cure a sprain.6 He looked us full in the face. Corra Chriostag put her hand into her pocket and passed him a pea. He took it on his tongue, went over to the streamlet of water, and drank. Then he turned around and said, “You have come at last. Many’s the day I’ve waited for someone to come this way who might help me. Tell me the purpose of your journey to the Green Wood.” Corra Chriostag related all the events that had come to pass – how she had to find the soul of the giant, and without knowing where the Island of the Giant was, or whether the Lean Hound would give us any help at all. “Oh, I will,” said the Lean Hound of the Green Wood. “I know where the Island of the Giant is and I’ll go there with you. If I catch sight of the wether, I’ll make him go into the rock so that we can see how he does it. Let us go.” The Lean Hound’s eye never left Corra Chriostag the whole time. We went back down until we reached the shore. When we arrived at the boat, the lads were waiting for us. The Lean Hound stopped and gave a loud whistle, and in an instant there was a big black seagull standing beside him. “You come along with me,” said the Lean Hound, and we all got into the boat and went out onto the ship. “I’ll take the tiller,” said the Lean Hound. “Let the lads keep every yard of sail raised and we won’t take long reaching the Island of the Giant.” One dark, sultry evening, with black clouds above us and no sight of sun, moon, or stars, the Lean Hound said, “Lower the sails and put out the anchor. We will wait here until nightfall and then we’ll go ashore.” And so we did. When night fell we went ashore and the Lean Hound said, “Follow me and we’ll climb up on top of the rock.” We did as he told us, and we made it up by being very careful and taking care not to fall. We spent the whole night concealed under a ledge of rock. The day dawned, and we kept a constant, sharp lookout to see if we could catch sight of the wether, though we were not entirely certain that this was the time for it to be outside. The black seagull was the first to sight the wether, which had just climbed up to the top of the rock on a little path of its own that went up the side of the rock face. The Lean Hound did not move until he saw that the wether was well up on the level part of the rock, but no lightning flash was ever faster than the lunge that the Lean Hound of the Green Wood made then after the wether. They went

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Coill’ Uaine as as deaghaidh a’ mhuilt. Chaidh iad mun cuairt air a’ chreig trì no ceithir a thursan. Bha an Cù Seang gu sìor a’ toirt a-staigh a’ mhuilt, ga dhubhadh agus ga theannadh7 gus mu dheireadh b’fheudar dhan mhult leum sios far na creigeadh air an rathad air an tànaig e anuas. Leum an Cù Seang sios as a dhéidh air a’ rathad bheag, chaol agus rànaig iad bonn na creigeadh. Bha sruthladh mór do dh’alltan a’ tighinn a-mach as a’ chreig mu cheithir troighean os cionn an talmhainn agus a’ sgaoileadh mar bhrata sios gu bonn na creigeadh. A-staigh fon sgàladh uisge bha tuiteam ghabh am mult. ’Na dhéidh ghabh an Cù. Bha mise agus Corra Chriostag agus an fhaoileag an sin a’ teàrnadh sios air a’ rathad bheag, chaol, cham cho luath ‘s a b’urrainn dhuinn. Bha an Cù gar feitheamh aig bonn na creigeadh. Dh’inns’ e dhuinn gu deachaidh am mult a-staigh tron uisge agus gu robh farsuingeachd mhór am broinn na creigeadh. Chaidh sinn a-staigh tron uisge bha seo. Bha. Bha farsuingeachd mhór am broinn na creigeadh agus bha an t-àite glé dhorcha. Chunna sinn am pòn uisge. Chuir Corra Chriostag a h-aon de na sìleinean peasrach anns a’ phòn agus chaidh sinn am falach ann an oisinn dhorcha. Air madainn air la’r-na-mhàireach chunna sinn am mult a’ tighinn a dh’òl a dheoch. Dh’fheumadh e a dheoch a ghabhail airson an lacha a chumail beò. Cho luath ‘s a ghabh e deoch chaidh e ann an trom-thuaineal agus thuit e ‘na chlosach taobh a’ phòin. Leum an Cù Seang a-nunn fon a robh e agus le ionga chaol, bhiorach riachd e ‘m mult bho cheann gu ceann. Chaidh sinn uile mun cuairt air a’ mhult agus leis an ionga bhiorach dh’fhosgail an Cù air. Cho luath ris an t-sradaig, a-mach a bha an lacha, agus cho luath rith’ fhéin bha an fhaoileag dhubh as a déidh. Ann an tiotadh bha iad air ais agus an lacha aic’ air amhaich. Thug an Cù Seang leis an lacha agus choisich sinn a-mach as an uamha. Nuair a fhuair sinn a-mach anns an t-soilleireachd dh’fhuasgail an Cù air a’ lacha, fhuair e an t-ugh agus shìn e e do Chorra Chriostag. Cho luath ‘s a rinn e seo, thòisich meall uamhasach do dh’uisge air tighinn a-mach as a’ chreig. “Seo agaibh uisge a’ phòin a’ tighinn a-mach,” thuirt an Cù Seang. Air a’ cheart mhionaid, thòisich an t-uisge air fàs salach, dorcha agus fìor dhroch fhàileadh dheth. “Seo agaibh uisge Pòin nam Màgan,” thuirt an Cù Seang, “Chan urrainn Cailleach Pòin nam Màgan an còrr buidseachd a dheanadh. ‘S cha mhoth’ a thig aice air biadh a dheanadh dhi fhéin agus bithidh i marbh ann an ùine ghoirid.” Agus aig a’ cheart àm am meadhon an uisge shalaich, ghrod thànaig closach a’ mhuilt. Ann am priobadh nan rosg thionndaidh e ‘na dhuine mór, uamhasach le aon sùil mhór ann an clàr a bhathaiseadh. Bha e cho mór, agus a’ fàs na bu mhotha a h-uile mionaid. Thug e duibh-leum as gu

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around the rock three or four times. The Lean Hound gained steadily on the wether, dogging its tracks and gaining on it7 until the wether was forced to leap down the rock on the path that it had used to come up. The Lean Hound leapt down the narrow little path in pursuit, and they reached the base of the rock. There was a large gushing stream coming out of the rock about four feet above the ground, spreading out like a cloak toward the rock’s base. Under that curtain of falling water rushed the wether, and the Lean Hound after him. Corra Chriostag, the black seagull, and I descended on the little narrow twisting path as fast as we could. The Lean Hound was waiting for us at the bottom of the rock. He told us that the wether had gone inside through the water, and that there was a large expanse inside the rock. We entered through the water, and indeed there was a large space inside and it was very dark. Corra Chriostag put one of the peas in the pond and we went and concealed ourselves in a dark corner. On the morning of the next day we saw the wether coming to have its drink, the drink that it needed in order to keep the wild duck alive. No sooner had it taken a drink than it went into a deep stupor and collapsed beside the pond. The Lean Hound bounded over to it and with his sharp, thin nail he cut the wether from one end to the other. We all gathered around the wether, and the Lean Hound opened it up with the sharp nail. Quick as a shooting spark, out came the wild duck, and just as swiftly the black seagull was after her. In a moment she returned, holding the wild duck by the neck. The Lean Hound took the wild duck and we came out of the cave. When we emerged into the light of day, the Lean Hound opened up the wild duck, found the egg, and extended it to Corra Chriostag. As soon as he did that, a terrible force of water started swelling out of the rock. “That’s water from the pond coming out,” said the Lean Hound. At that very instant the water began to grow dark and filthy and to give off an awful stench. “That’s the water from the Toad Pond,” said the Lean Hound, “and now the Hag of Toad Pond will no longer be able to indulge in her sorcery; nor will she be able to make food for herself. Soon she will be dead.” And at that moment in the middle of that filthy, putrid water the carcass of the wether appeared. In the wink of an eye he changed into a big man with a single large eye in the middle of his forehead. He was huge, and every moment he grew bigger. He made a bounding leap so

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ar smàladh gu talamh. Spìon mise an t-ugh à làimh Corra Chriostaig agus bhrist mi e ‘na phìosan ris a’ chreig. Cho luath ‘s a rinn mi sin, thuit am famhair mór marbh sios am measg nan creagan. Cha luaith’ a thuit a’ bhéist sin na thionndaidh Cù Seang na Coill’ Uaine ‘na òganach cho dreachmhor, briagh ‘s air a rosg sùil duine riamh ann an éideadh oifigeach airm. Dh’fhairich mi guth air mo chùlaibh: “A Raghnaill, a Raghnaill, an tusa a th’agam?” Thionndaidh mise mun cuairt agus bha Corra Chriostag air tionndadh ‘na h-ighean òg, bhòidheach le cuailein bhòidheach òrbhuidhe sios m’a guaillibh dìreach mar a bha i an latha a thug i mise air bòrd an t-soithich. Bha iad ann an glacaibh a’ chéile. Thuirt Raghnall, “An lath’ a dh’fhàg mis’ thu ‘s a thuirt mi riut gu bithinn air ais an ath-latha, choinnich mi air Cailleach Pòin nam Màgan. Thilg i cupa do dh’uisg’ a’ phòin ‘nam aodann agus thuirt i rium, ‘Bithidh tusa ’nad chù seang ’sa Choill’ Uaine leat fhéin gus an tig cuideiginn a bheir ort bruidhinn agus cha chreid mi gun tachair sin.› Niste, bha na geasan air falbh dhiubh le chéile, agus rinn sinn suas gu robh an t-àm a bhith falbh. Chaidh sinn sios air bòrd a’ bhàta agus dh’fhalbh sinn a-mach a dh’ionnsaigh na luinge. Chaidh sinn air bòrd. Chaidh na siùil a thogail agus bha sinn aig astar le soirbheas fàbharach. Cha chumadh gaoth luath Mhàirt rinn. Thuirt Raghnall ri Corra Chriostag, “An latha mu dheireadh a bha mi a’ bruidhinn riutsa bha fàinne-pòsaidh agam ’nam phòca airson gu pòsamaid air la’r-namhàireach nuair a thillinn far mo thuras. Chan eil sgeul air a-nist, gu b’e dé a dh’éirich dha. Nam bitheadh e againn an dràsda, phòsadh ceaptan an t-soithich sinn air an nochd-làraich.” Sheall Corra Chriostag gu ciùin agus thuirt i, “Nach truagh nach robh e againn an dràsda.” Thuirt mise an uair sin ri Corra Chriostag, “Nach tug Cailleach an t-Sloc trì sìleinean peasrach dhutsa?” “Thug,” thuirt Corra Chriostag. “Thug thu a h-aon dhiubh do Chù Seang na Coill’ Uaine; a h-aon eile anns a’ phòn a bha am mult ag òl as. C’àite bheil an treas sìlean?” “Tha i agam ’nam phòca,” thuirt Corra Chriostag, agus i ’cur a làimh’ ’na pòca. Agus gu dé a thug i a-mach as a pòca ach fàinne òir cho eireachdail air na leig duine sùil riamh. “Sin agaibh am fàinne agamsa,” thuirt Raghnall, “ge b’e ciamar a fhuair Cailleach an t-Sloc greim air.” Chaidh an ceaptan fhaighinn gu h-ealamh. Thuirt Raghnall riumsa, “A bi thusa ’nad fhleasgach dhomhsa?” Agus aig a’ cheart àm thionndaidh an fhaoileag dhubh ’na h-ighean òg, bhòidheach le dreas-bainnseadh dhen chuid a b’fheàrr dhen t-sìoda. Thuirt i, “’S mis’ an creutair ris an can iad Dòbhran Donn an t-Sàile. Tha

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as to dash us against the ground, but I snatched the egg from Corra Chriostag’s hand and smashed it against the rock. As soon as I did that, the big giant fell down dead among the boulders. No sooner had that monster fallen than the Lean Hound of the Green Wood was transformed into a youth as fine and handsome as ever a man beheld, dressed in an army officer’s uniform. I heard a voice behind me: “Ranald, Ranald, is it really you?” I turned around and Corra Chriostag had changed into a beautiful young girl with pretty, golden-yellow curls down around her shoulders, just as she was on the day she took me on board the ship. They embraced and Ranald said, “On the day that I left you, saying that I would return the next day, I met the Hag of Toad Pond. She threw a cupful of pond water in my face and she said to me, ‘You will be a lean hound alone in the Green Wood until someone comes who will give you back your speech, and I doubt that that will happen.› Since the two of them were now freed from their spells, we decided that it was time to depart. We went down, boarded the boat, and rowed out to the ship. We went aboard, the sails were raised, and we were soon underway with a fair wind. The swift March wind could not keep up with us. Ranald spoke to Corra Chriostag, “The last day that I was talking with you, I had a wedding ring in my pocket in order that we might marry on the following day, when I returned from my journey. But there is no sign of it now, whatever happened to it. If we had it right now, the captain of the ship could marry us right away.” Corra Chriostag looked at him quietly and said, “What a pity that we do not have it now.” Then I said to Corra Chriostag, “Didn’t the Hag of the Hollow give you three peas?” “Yes,” said Corra Chriostag. “You gave one to the Lean Hound of the Green Wood, and another went into the pond that the wether was drinking from. Where is the third pea?” “I have it in my pocket,” said Corra Chriostag, putting her hand in her pocket. And what did she take out of her pocket but a gold ring as handsome as a man ever laid eyes on. “That’s my ring,” said Ranald. “However in the world the Hag of the Hollow may have gotten hold of it.” The captain was fetched there quickly and Ranald asked me, “Will you be my best man?” At that very moment the black seagull was transformed into a beautiful young girl with a wedding dress of the choicest silk. Said she, “I’m the creature they call the Otter of the Sea. I’m constantly assisting people un-

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mi daonnan a’ deanamh cuideachadh le feadhainn a tha fo gheasaibh agus le seòladairean. Bithidh mise ’nam mhaighdeann do Chorra Chriostag.” Chaidh am pòsadh air adhart gun an còrr dàil. ’S nuair a bha am pòsadh seachad thuirt Dòbhran Donn an t-Sàile, “Chan eil an còrr feum agaibh ormsa. Bithidh mis’ a-nist ’gur fàgail le beannachd bhlàth. Agus uair sam bith a bhitheas feum agaibh orm, chan eil agaibh ach m’ainm a thoirt agus bithidh mi còmhla ribh.” Dh’fhalbh i an uair sin a-mach gu na speuran agus chaill sinn i anns na neòil. Thòisich a’ bhainis – na seòladairean uile gu dannsadh. Fian is féisd is coinnlean céire. Dhanns mise agus bean a’ cheaptain, Corra Chriostag agus Raghnall ruidhleadh – fear do na seòladairean a’ cluich feadain òir. Bha mise an uair sin car ann an tuaineal. Thug mi sùil mun cuairt agus chunnaic mi gu robh mi mu choinneamh an taighe agam fhìn agus iad a’ leagail an acaire. Thànaig Raghnall fon a robh mi agus rug e air làimh orm agus thuirt e, “Tha mi ’toirt taing mhór dhut airson cho math ’s a rinn thu ar cuideachadh.” Thuirt Corra Chriostag, ’s i a’ beirid air mo làimh eile, “Tha sinn glé fhada ’nad chomaine airson mar a rinn thu. Thig an latha a thig mise agus Raghnall gad choimhead.” Agus leis a’ sin dh’fhàg mise beannachd aca agus chaidh mi sios anns a’ bhàta. Chaidh mi gu tìr. Choisich mi suas a dh’ionnsaigh na craoibhe leamhain. Leis gu robh am feasgar cho blàth, leig mi mi-fhìn ’nam shìneadh fon chraoibh. Cha d’rinn mi ach mi-fhìn a shochrachadh nuair a chuala mi a bhith ‘g éigheach orm. Leum mi ‘nam sheasamh agus bha a’ bhean a’ coiseachd anuas fon a robh mi agus thuirt i, “Tha trì uairean an uaireadair bho’n a thànaig thu anuas agus a shìn thu thu-fhéin fon chraoibh. Tha obair an fheasgair ri dheanamh agus tha gille òg do choigreach a-staigh gad fheitheamh agus toil aige t’fhaicinn.” Choisich sinn suas chun an taighe agus chaidh sinn a-staigh. Có bha a-staigh gam fheitheamh ach Iain.8 Tha e air ùr-thighinn dhan dùthaich. Agus an deaghaidh fàilt’ a chur air agus breith air làimh air agus tacan a thoirt a’ seanchas ris, dh’fhoighneachd e dhomh a robh naidheachd sam bith agam a dh’innsinn dha. Thuirt mi gu robh, agus dh’inns’ mi dha an naidheachd a thug mi dhuibh ann a’ seo. Chan eil mi cinnteach co-dhiubh chreid e mi, is no nach do chreid – cha tuirt e guth. ‘S e mo bharail gu bi pàirt againn nach creid an naidheachd seo a chionn bithidh mi fhìn an dala h-uair fo imcheisd co-dhiubh a chreideas mi i no nach creid. Sin agaibh an naidheachd agam.

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der enchantments as well as sailors. I will be Corra Chriostag’s bridesmaid.” The marriage was performed without further delay, and when it was over the Otter of the Sea said, “You have no more need of me, so I will take leave of you now with my warmest blessings. And any time you should need me, all you have to do is call my name and I’ll be with you.” She departed then into the skies, and we lost sight of her in the clouds. The wedding began – all the sailors dancing – with wine and feasting and wax candles. The captain’s wife and I and Corra Chriostag and Ranald all danced a reel while one of the sailors played on a gold whistle. By then my head was spinning. I looked around and I saw that I was opposite my own house, and the others were lowering the anchor. Ranald came over to me and took my hand, saying, “I thank you most gratefully for helping us so much.” Taking my other hand, Corra Chriostag said, “We are very much obliged to you for what you have done. One day Ranald and I will come to see you.” And with that I bade them farewell and went down into the boat. I went ashore and walked up toward the elm tree. Owing to the warmth of the afternoon, I stretched out under the tree, but I had scarcely settled myself when I heard someone calling for me. I leapt to my feet and there was my wife walking down toward me. “It’s three hours by the clock since you came down and stretched out under the tree,” she said. “The afternoon’s work is still to be done and there is a young lad – a stranger – inside waiting to see you.” We walked up to the house and we went inside, and who was waiting for me inside but Ian,8 just recently come to this country. After I greeted him, shook his hand, and had spent a while talking to him, he asked me if I had any stories to tell him. I said that I did, and recited the story that I have given you here. I’m not certain whether he believed me or not – he did not say a word. And I suppose that some of you will not believe this story, since I myself am sometimes doubtful whether or not I believe it. There you have my story.

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4 hige-haige is ràthag Bha Hige-Haige agus Ràthag, bha iad a’ fuireach ann an ceàrn iomallach dhen domhain. Bha triùir nighean aca. Bha Hige-Haige, cha robh dad sam bith aige mu dheidhinn latha-obrach a dheanadh. B’fheàrr leis gu mór suidhe suas aig an taigh gu dìomhain. Ach air latha dhe na làithean có thànaig dh’ionnsaigh an taighe ach Boc nan Adhaircean Cnuacach, agus dh’iarr Boc nan Adhaircean Cnuacach air Hige-Haige am faigheadh e an nighean bu shine aige ri phòsadh. Thuirt Hige-Haige, “Bheirinn-sa dha na geòidh ghlas’ i,” thuirt esan, “nan gabhadh iad bhuam i.” Agus ‘s e bh’ann gun do phòs Boc nan Adhaircean Cnuacach agus an nighean bu shine aig Hige-Haige agus aig Ràthag. Ach bha ‘n ùine a’ dol seachad. Latha dhe na lathaichean chunnaic iad coigreach a’ tighinn agus có bha seo ach Bodach na Leòbaigeadh. Agus dh’inns’ Bodach na Leòbaigeadh gu robh toil aige an dala nighean bu shine a bh’aig Hige-Haige fhaighinn ri phòsadh. “An dà,” thuirt Hige-Haige, “bheirinn-sa dha na geòidh ghlas’ i nan gabhadh iad bhuam i.” ’S e bh’ann gun do phòs an nighean aig Hige-Haige agus Bodach na Leòbaigeadh. Bha ‘n ùine dol seachad bho latha gu latha agus có mu dheireadh a thànaig ach a’ seillein. Thànaig a’ seillein mór agus dh’iarr e an nighean a b’òige aig Hige-Haige ri phòsadh. Thuirt Hige-Haige, “Gheobh thu sin,” thuirt esan, “’s bheirinn-sa dha na geòidh ghlas’ i nan gabhadh iad bhuam i.” Agus phòs i fhéin agus a’ seillein. Ach bha ‘n ùine a’ dol seachad agus air madainn a bha sin dh’éirich Hige-Haige agus thuirt e ris a’ bhean, “An dà,” thuirt e, “tha bliadhna is latha,” thuirt esan, “bho’n a phòs a’ cheud nighean, agus tha mise dol ga coimhead.” “An dà,” thuirt a bhean, “tha mise leagte ris a’ sin.” Agus fhuair i làn bucaid do rudeiginn ri itheadh is thug i seo do Hige-Haige ‘s dh’fhalbh e. Rànaig e àite Boc nan Adhaircean Cnuacach ‘s bha a nighean glé thoilicht’ fhaicinn. Neo-’r-thaing nach robh dachaigh bhriagh aige agus dal a thànaig i sin gu àm bidhidh thuirt Boc nan Adhaircean Cnuacach ris a’ bhean i chur a bhòrd ann an òrdadh. Rinn a’ bhean sin: chuir i truinnsearan ‘s a h-uile sian air a’ bhòrd. Bha posta mór ‘na sheasamh taobh an tsimileir. Thug Boc nan Adhaircean Cnuacach crathadh air a cheann agus thànaig e le roid air a’ phosta agus bhuail e ‘m posta le té dhe adhaircean agus leum a h-uile sian na b’fheàrr na chéile air a’ bhòrd: gach ìm is càise ‘s feòil – gach nì a bhiodh bho dhuine sam bith airson ithe. Ach ghabh iad am biadh co-dhiubh agus an sin nunn ré an fheasgair thuirt Hige-Haige gum b’fheudar dha bhith falbh dhachaigh. Agus dha h-uile sian a bha

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4 hige-haige and ràthag Hige-Haige and Ràthag lived in a faraway part of the world. They had three daughters. Now, Hige-Haige wanted nothing to do with doing a day’s work; he much preferred sitting idly at home. But one day, who came to the house but the Buck with the Knobbly Horns. And the Buck with the Knobbly Horns asked Hige-Haige for his oldest daughter in marriage. Said Hige-Haige, “I’d give her to the grey geese if they’d take her off my hands.” So it came about that the Buck with the Knobbly Horns and the eldest daughter of Hige-Haige and Ràthag were married. Time passed, until one day they saw a stranger coming, and who was it but the Old Man of the Tatters. And the Old Man of the Tatters told them that he would like Hige-Haige’s second eldest daughter in marriage. “Well,” said Hige-Haige, “I’d give her to the grey geese if they’d take her off my hands.” So it came about that Hige-Haige’s daughter and the Old Man of the Tatters were married. Time passed day by day, and who arrived at last but the Bee. The Big Bee came and he asked for Hige-Haige’s youngest daughter in marriage. Said Hige-Haige, “You shall have that,” he said, “and I’d give her to the grey geese if they’d take her off my hands.” So she and the Bee were married. More time passed, and one morning Hige-Haige arose and said to his wife, “Well, it is a year and a day since the first daughter married, so I’m going to visit her.” “Indeed,” said the wife, “I’m all for it.” She fetched a bucket full of victuals, gave it to him, and he set off. He reached the dwelling of the Buck with the Knobbly Horns, and his daughter was most pleased to see him. The Buck had a fine house and, when mealtime came around, the Buck with the Knobbly Horns told his wife to set the table. This she did, putting the dishes and everything else on it. Now, there was a big post standing beside the chimney. The Buck with the Knobbly Horns gave a shake of his head, took a run at the post, and struck it with one of his horns, and every single thing, each thing better than the last, landed on the table – all the butter and cheese and meat and anything else anyone would want to eat. So they had their meal and sometime in the course of the evening Hige-Haige said that he had to re-

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‘chòrr – agus cha b’e sin am beag – chuir an nighean ann am poc’ e agus thug i seo do Hige-Haige. “Thoir seo dhachaigh do Ràthag,” thuirt ise. “Nì mi sin,” thuirt Hige-Haige agus dh’fhalbh e. Bha pìos mór aige ri choiseachd ach nuair a thànaig e gu fradhrarc an taighe shuidh e taobh a’ rathaid ‘s thug e sùil suas air an taigh. Thuirt e ris fhéin, “Tha thusa sin, a Ràthag bhochd, ‘s smùid chaol, cham agad ‘s ma tha biodh e agad ‘s biodh aig Hige-Haige na bheil aige fhéin.” Agus shuidh e agus dh’ith e a h-uile greim riamh a bh’anns a’ phoca agus chaidh e sin dhachaigh ’s neo-’r-thaing nach do dh’inns’ e ’n naidheachd mar a thachair dha. Ach thuirt esan, “Bidh biadh gu leòr agad-s’ am màireach,” thuirt esan. Ach do-dhiubh nuair a thànaig a’ la’r-na-mhàireach thuirt e ris a’ bhean am bòrd bidh a chur ann an òrdadh agus rinn i sin. Chaidh e fhèin ‘s thug e crathadh air a cheann agus thànaig e le roid air a’ phosta bha seo taobh an t-simileir le cheann. Bhuail e a cheann air a’ phosta agus thuit e ‘na bhrag air an ùrlar. Thug e ùine mhór dha faighinn seachad air a’ seo co-dhiubh; cha do leum sian air a’ bhòrd ‘s bha iad mar a bha iad roimhe – bochd. Ach latha dhe na lathaichean dh’éirich e ‘sa mhadainn agus thuirt e ris a’ bhean gu robh bliadhna agus latha bho’n a thànaig Bodach na Leòbaigeadh a dh’iarraidh na h-ighinneadh airson a pòsadh agus gu robh an t-àm aige dhol a choimhead oirre. Thuirt i gu robh sin ceart gu leòr agus chuir i biadh an òrdadh do Hige-Haige agus dh’fhalbh e. Nuair a rànaig e àite Bodach na Leòbaigeadh chaidh sùrd mór a dheanadh ris agus thuirt Bodach na Leòbaigeadh ris a’ bhean i chur a bhòrd bhidhidh ann an òrdadh agus gun gabhadh iad an dinneir. Chaidh e fhéin a-mach. Chuir e poit do dh’uisge air teine agus chaidh e a-mach agus thànaig e a-staigh an ceann tacan. Seann mhogaisean, seann stocainnean, seann triubhsairean, seann chinn mhairt, seann chlaiginn chaorach, làn a lamhan dheth seo aige ‘s chaidh sin a chur ‘sa phoit. Cha robh ‘n ùine glé fhada gus na thòisich fàilidhean eireachdail air tighinn as a’ phoit. Agus dal a bha an gnothach réidh chuir a’ bhean seo air a’ bhòrd; bha feòil ‘s buntàta ‘s a h-uile sian a dh’iarradh duine ri ithe air a’ bhòrd. Ach a’ sin a-nunn ré an fheasgair thuirt Hige-Haige gu robh an t-àm aigesan a bhith falbh agus thuirt an nighean, “Tha mi dol a chur dhachaigh,” thuirt ise, “gum mhàthair na tha a chòrr ann a’ seo.” Agus lìon i poca do HigeHaige. Chuir Hige-Haige sin air a ghualainn ‘s dh’fhalbh e dhachaigh. Nuair a thànaig a ‘m fradhrarc an taighe thug e sùil agus chunnaic e an taigh aige fhéin ‘s thuirt e ris fhéin, “Tha thu ann a’ sin,” thuirt esan, “a Ràthag bhochd, ‘s smùid chaol cham agad ‘s ma tha, biodh e agad ‘s biodh aig Hige-Haige na bheil aige fhéin.” Agus shuidh e ‘s dh’ith e a h-uile sian a bh’anns a’ phoca. Chaidh e a’ sin dhachaigh.

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turn home. The daughter put everything that was left over – and that was not trifling – into a sack and gave it to Hige-Haige. “Take this home to Ràthag,” she said. “I will,” said Hige-Haige, and off he went. He had a great distance to walk, but when he came within sight of the house, he sat down at the roadside and looked up at the house, saying to himself, “There you are, poor old Ràthag, with your crooked, thin wisp of smoke. And if that’s where you are, you can have it, and let Hige-Haige have what he’s got.” So he sat down and ate every single morsel of food in the sack, and went home and recounted what had happened to him, saying, “You’ll have plenty of food tomorrow.” And when the morrow arrived he told his wife to set the dining table for them, and she did. He went off and gave a shake of his head and took a run at the post that was beside the chimney, struck it with his head, and landed in a heap on the floor. It took him a long time to recover from this: nothing landed on the table and they remained as poor as before. But one day he arose in the morning and said to his wife that it was a year and a day since the Old Man of the Tatters had come to ask for his daughter in marriage, and that it was high time to go and see her. His wife agreed to this, prepared food for him, and Hige-Haige set out. When he arrived at the dwelling of the Old Man of the Tatters, he was greeted with much cheer and the Old Man of the Tatters told his wife to set his dining table for them to have dinner. The Old Man himself went out; he put a pot of water on the fire and went outside. After a short time he returned, his arms full of old moccasins, old socks, old trousers, cows’ heads, and sheeps’ skulls, which he dumped into the pot. In no time the pot began to give forth an appetizing aroma, and when it was ready the wife placed the food on the table. There was meat and potatoes and everything one could wish to eat there. Sometime later during the evening, Hige-Haige said that it was time for him to be on his way and his daughter said, “I’m going to send the leftovers here home to my mother.” So she filled a sack for Hige-Haige. He slung the sack over his shoulder and set out for home. When he came within view of the house, he looked, catching sight of it, and said to himself, “There you are, poor old Ràthag, with your crooked, thin wisp of smoke. And if that’s where you are, you can have it, and let Hige-Haige have what he’s got.” So he sat down and ate every single morsel of food in the sack, and returned home.

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Bha a’ bhean a’ foighneachd dha ciamar a chaidh dha ‘s bha e ‘g innse. Thuirt e, “Stad thusa gus am màireach,” thuirt esan, “agus bidh do bhòrd-sa a cheart cho làn ris a’ bhòrd aig Bodach na Leòbaigeadh.” Ach co-dhiubh air a’ la’r-na-mhàireach dh’iarr e air a’ bhean – air Ràthag – i chur a bhòrd ann an òrdadh agus gun gabhadh iad an dinneir ‘s choisich e a-mach. Thruis e seann mhogaisean ‘s seann chlaiginn chaorach, seann chinn – a h-uile sian a thigeadh aig’ air amas air. Thug e seo astaigh agus chuir e seo ann am poit do dh’uisge ‘s chuir e air teine e. O, cha robh ‘n ùine glé fhada gus na thòisich fàileadh a bha gàbhaidh air tighinn far na poiteadh ‘s cha b’urrainn do dhuine fuireach a-staigh. Cha robh ann ach beirid air a’ phoit agus a taomadh a-mach i fhéin agus a h-uile sian grod a bha ‘na broinn. Ach co-dhiubh bha’ n ùine dol seachad. Latha dhe na lathaichean thuirt Hige-Haige gu robh an t-àm aige a dhol a choimhead air an nighean a b’òige a phòs a’ seillein. “Nì sinn sin,” thuirt e. “Tha mi falbh.” Agus chaidh biadh a chur an òrdadh dha ‘s thug e leis biadh agus dh’fhalbh e. Rànaig e àit’ an t-seillein. Neo’r-thaing nach robh àite briagha aig an t-seillein agus dal a thànaig e gu àm bidhidh dh’iarr e air a’ bhean am bòrd a chur an òrdadh agus gun gabhadh iad an dinneir. ‘S dal a bha ‘m bòrd air dòigh chaidh e fhéin suas anns a’ chrean agus chuir e poit an toiseachd air an teine. Agus chaidh e suas dhan chrean e fhéin agus leig e steall do mhil sios anns a’ phoit. Agus cha robh an ùine fada gus na thòisich fàilidhean briagha air tighinn as a’ phoit: a’ chuid a b’fheàrr dhen ghnothach. Agus chaidh seo a chur air a’ bhòrd agus chan fhacas a leithid do bhiadh riamh. ‘S nuair a thànaig an t-àm aig HigeHaige falbh dhachaigh chaidh an còrr a bha seo chur ‘sa phoca agus dh’fhalbh Hige-Haige dhachaigh. ‘S nuair a thànaig e ‘m fradhrarc an taighe thug e sùil air an taigh agus thuirt e, “Tha thu ann a’ sin, a Ràthag bhochd, ‘s smùid chaol, cham agad agus ma tha biodh e agad agus biodh aig Hige-Haige na bheil aige fhéin.” Ach co-dhiubh na dhéidh, nuair a dh’inns’ e a sgeul ‘s a naidheachd do Ràthag thuirt e ris fhéin, “Bidh biadh againn am màireach,” thuirt esan. Agus dal a thànaig a’ la’r-na-mhàireach ‘s dal thànaig àm bidhidh thuirt e ris a’ bhean i chur a bhòrd ann an òrdadh agus gun gabhadh iad an dinneir. ‘S dal a bha an t-uisge goil gu math chaidh e suas anns a’ chrean. Leig e sios a bhriogais agus leig e steall sios anns a’ phoit agus thànaig e sin anuas. Agus ma bha fàileadh gàbhaidh ann a roimhe ‘s ann an uair sin a bha fàileadh uamhasach ann. ‘S cha robh ann ach falbh leis a’ phoit a-mach agus rudeiginn tilgeadh a-mach. Uill, thuirt e ris fhéin, “Ma dh’fhaoidte … cha tug mi stràc dh’fhaoidte mór gu leòr dhan phosta. Tha mi dol a dh’fheuchainn a-rithist mar a rinn Boc nan Adhaircean Cnuacach.”

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His wife asked how he had fared, and he told her, saying, “Wait until tomorrow and your table will be every bit as well covered as that of the Old Man of the Tatters.” The next day he asked his wife Ràthag to set the table for their dinner and out he went. He gathered up old moccasins and sheeps’ skulls, old heads – everything he managed to come across. He brought it all inside and put it in a pot of water and placed it over the fire. Oh, it was no time at all before the most frightful stench began to issue from the pot so that no one could remain inside. There was nothing to do but grab the pot and empty it out along with all its rotten contents. Time passed, and one day Hige-Haige declared that the time had come to see his youngest daughter who had married the Bee. “That’s what we’ll do,” he said, “I’m on my way.” Some food was prepared for him, so he took it and set out. He arrived at the Bee’s dwelling and the Bee had a fine place indeed. When mealtime came around, the Bee asked his wife to set the table for their dinner. And when the table was set he went up on the crane, first placing a pot over the fire. Then he climbed up on the crane and sent a stream of honey down into the pot. And it was no time at all before the pot began to give forth an appetizing aroma, the very best of everything. It was placed on the table and such food was never seen before. And when the time came for Hige-Haige to return home, the leftovers were put into a sack, and he set out. When he came within view of the house, he looked at it and said, “There you are, poor old Ràthag, with your crooked, thin wisp of smoke. And if that’s where you are, you can have it, and let Hige-Haige have what he’s got.” In any case, when he had given Ràthag the news and the story, he said to himself, “We’ll have food tomorrow.” And when the next day arrived and mealtime came around, he told his wife to set his table for their dinner. And when the water was boiling vigorously, up he went on the crane, took down his trousers, let forth a stream into the pot, and came back down. And if there had been a stench before, this time it was truly awful. There was nothing for it but to take the pot outside and throw out the contents. Well, he said to himself, “Perhaps I didn’t give the post enough of a wallop. I’m going to try again, like the Buck with the Knobbly Horns.”

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‘S dh’iarr e oirr’ am bòrd a chur an òrdadh a-rithist agus chaidh e air ais gu ceann eil’ an t-seòmbair ‘s thug e dà chrathadh air a cheann agus thànaig e le roid air a’ phost’ an uair sin. Bhuail e mullach a chinn air a’ phosta; thuit e ‘na bhraga marbh air an ùrlar. Agus cha robh mis’ air an tòrradh: cha robh mi mun cuairt aig an am. Tha seansa gur e sin an deireadh a thànaig air Hige-Haige bochd.

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He asked her to set the table once more and he backed up to the other end of the room. He gave two shakes of his head and then took a run at the post, striking the top of his head against the post, and he fell dead in a heap on the floor. I did not attend the funeral – I was not around at the time – but it seems that was the end of poor Hige-Haige.

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5 cro m a’ g h i l l e c ro m a i d h ag u s d o n n a’ g h i l l e d o n na i d h Bha Crom a’ Ghille Cromaidh, bha e latha a’ coiseachd sios taobh na tràghadh agus thànaig fairge a-staigh m’a chasan, agus ghabh e ‘n teagal. Agus thog e rith’ gus an d’rànaig e Donn a’ Ghille Donnaidh. Dh’fhoighneachd Donn a’ Ghille Donnaidh, “Gu dé tha ceàrr?” “Tha,” ors’ esan, “am bràth a’ tighinn.” “Có chunnaic ‘s a dh’fhairich e?” thuirt Donn a’ Ghille Donnaidh. “’S mis’ a chunnaic ‘s a dh’fhairich e. Nach ann fo’m bhonnaibh a thànaig e?” A-mach a ghabh iad gus an d’rànaig iad Sagart Ghleann an Fhàsaich. Dh’fhoighneachd Sagart Ghleann an Fhàsaich dhaibh gu dé bha ceàrr. O, Crom an a’ Ghille Cromaidh, thuirt esan, “Tha am bràth a’ tighinn.” “Có chunnaic na dh’fhairich e?” arsa Sagart Ghleann an Fhàsaich. “’S mis’ a chunnaic ‘s a dh’fhairich e. Nach ann fo’m bhonnaibh a thànaig e?” Agus thog an sagart rith’ còmhla riu gus an d’rànaig iad a’ fiadh a bh’anns an t-sloc agus an earb a bh’air a’ chnoc. Dh’fhoighneachd a’ fiadh a bh’anns an t-sloc agus an earb a bh’air a’ chnoc dhaibh gu dé bha ceàrr. “Tha am bràth a’ tighinn, agus ‘s fheàrr dhuibh falbh còmhla rinn.” “Có chunnaic ‘s a dh’fhairich e?” thuirt a’ fiadh. “’S mis’ a chunnaic ‘s a dh’fhairich e,” os’ Crom a’ Ghille Cromaidh. “Nach ann fo’m bhonnaibh a thànaig e?” A-mach a ghabh iad gus an d’rànaig iad a’ Chliath ‘sa Chruit Fear Liath ‘s a mhac. Dh’fhoighneachd Fear Liath ‘s a mhac, dh’fhoighneachd iad dhaibh dé bha ceàrr. O, thuirt Crom a’ Ghille Cromaidh, “Tha am bràth a’ tighinn,” thuirt e. “A bheil am bràth a’ tighinn? Có chunnaic na dh’fhairich e?” “’S mis’ a chunnaic ‘s a dh’fhairich e bho nach ann fo’m bhonnaibh a thànaig e?” Thog iad rithe còmhla gus an d’rànaig iad Fionn Mór Mac Crùslaig agus e a’ sgaoileadh innearach. Agus dh’inns’ e do dh’Fhionn Mór – dh’fhoighneachd e dhaibh gu dé bha ceàrr agus thuirt Crom a’ Ghille Cromaidh gu robh am bràth a’ tighinn. “Có chunnaic no dh’fhairich e?” thuirt Fionn Mór. “’S mis’ a chunnaic ‘s a dh’fhairich e. Nach ann fo’m bhonnaibh a thànaig e?” “A-nist,” thuirt Fionn Mór, “innsidh mi dhuibh gu dé nì sinn. Fuirghidh sinn ann a’ seo còmhladh uileadh,” thuirt e, “agus ‘s e mo mhórbharail ma thig am bràth, bheir sinne an aire dha.1 Agus ‘s e mo bharail nach tig e idir,” thuirt e.

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5 c ro m a’ g h i l l e c ro m a i d h a n d d o n n a’ g h i l l e d o n na i d h Crom a’ Ghille Cromaidh was walking one day along the seashore and the sea came in about his feet and he became frightened. So off he ran until he reached Donn a’ Ghille Donnaidh, and Donn a’ Ghille Donnaidh asked, “What is wrong?” “The day of doom is coming,” he replied. “Who saw and heard it?” said Donn a’ Ghille Donnaidh. “I saw and heard it. Didn’t it come from beneath the soles of my feet?” So away they went until they reached the Priest of the Desolate Glen, and the Priest of the Desolate Glen asked them what was wrong. Oh, Crom a’ Ghille Cromaidh said, “The day of doom is coming.” “Who saw or heard it?” said the Priest of the Desolate Glen. “I saw and heard it. Didn’t it come from beneath the soles of my feet?” And the priest went off with them until they reached the deer in the hollow and the hind on the hill. The deer in the hollow and the hind on the hill asked them what was wrong. “The day of doom is coming, and you had better come along with us.” “Who saw or heard it?” said the deer. “I saw and heard it,” said Crom a’ Ghille Cromaidh. “Didn’t it come from beneath the soles of my feet?” So away they went until they reached a’ Chliath ’sa Chruit Fear Liath and his son. Fear Liath and his son asked what was wrong and Crom a’ Ghille Cromaidh replied, “The day of doom is coming,” he said. “Is the day of doom coming? Who saw or heard it?” “I saw and heard it, for didn’t it come from beneath the soles of my feet?” They all set out together until they reached Big Fionn Mac Crùslaig, who was spreading manure. And he told Big Fionn – Big Fionn asked them what was wrong and Crom a’ Ghille Cromaidh said that the day of doom was coming. “Who saw or heard it?” said Big Fionn. “I saw and heard it. Didn’t it come from beneath the soles of my feet?” “Now,” said Big Finn, “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll all stay here together, and it’s my strong opinion that if the day of doom comes, we’ll certainly notice it.1 But I believe it will not arrive at all.”

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6 eadar an stiorap ’s an làr Airson innse dhuibh cho beag fios ‘s a th’againne air tròcair agus air mathas Dé: bha uair dha robh saoghal, bha mèirleach – murtair, no ge b’e dé tha toil agaibh a chanaid ris. Bha e h-uile latha a’ marbhadh ‘s a’ goid, ach air feasgar dhe na feasgraichean airneo ma dh’fhaoidte oidhche dhe na h-oidhcheannan [a] bha e falbh, e fhéin agus an t-each, thuit e as an dìollaid agus mun do bhuail an ceann aige an talamh dh’iarr e mathanas air Dia: mathanas thoirt dha airson a h- uile h-eucoir a rinn e air. Ach air feasgar dhe na feasgraichean bha dithist ‘nan suidhe taobh an rathaid agus bha iad a’ bruidhinn mu dheidhinn a’ mhurtair agus a’ mhèirleach a bha seo a chaidh a mharbhadh. ’S thuirt fear dhiubh, “Chan urrainn,” thuirt esan, “nach eil greim aig Sàtan air.” Agus thànaig guth air an cùlaibh agus thuirt e, “Gheobh an t-anam mathanas eadar an stiorap agus an làr.”

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6 between the stirrup and the ground In order to relate to you how little we know concerning God’s mercy and goodness, once there was a robber – a murderer, or whatever you may choose to call him. Every day he was out killing and robbing, but one particular evening (or perhaps one night) as he was travelling, he and his horse, he fell out of the saddle, and before his head struck the ground he asked God for forgiveness – to forgive him for every wrong he had done against him. And one evening two people were sitting alongside the road discussing this murderer and robber who had been killed. And one of them said, “It can only be that Satan has a hold on him.” And a voice emanated from behind them saying, “The soul can be granted forgiveness between the stirrup and the ground.”

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7 nighean a’ chùba ir Uair dha robh saoghal bha cùbair ann. Bha e deanadh a bheòshlaint air cùbaireachd agus bha aon nighean aige. Agus bha ‘n nighean a bha seo, bha i air leth maiseach. Ach bha triùir do ghillean a’ tighinn a choimhead oirre. Agus bha aon fhear dhiubh a b’fheàrr leath’ na càcha. Ach thuirt a h-athair rith’ latha a bha seo, “Tha iad seo a-nist – na gillean seo – tighinn a choimhead ort agus tha mise a’ dol a dh’fhaighinn an triùir dhiubh ann a’ seo air oidhche àraide. Agus am fear as fheàrr dhiubh a chuireas cearcall air cuman, ‘s e gheobh do làmh-sa ri phòsadh.” Ach co-dhiubh, seo mar a bh’ann. Rànaig na gillean, agus fhuair ise cogar a chur an cluais a’ ghille seo. “’S tus’ a’ fear mu dheireadh,” thuirt ise, “a chuireas an cearcall air.” Agus thuirt e gun deanadh e sin. A’ cheud fhear, chuir e air an cearcall ‘s chum e ga bhualadh mun cuairt, mun cuairt leis an òrd gus mu dheireadh bhrist an cearcall. Uill, bha esan a-mach as a’ ghnothach co-dhiubh an uair sin agus thug an dala fear leis e. Thòisich esan air cearcall a chur air agus cha do chuir esan an cearcall air cho math ‘s bu chòir dha, agus cha do chuir e sios e mar a chòrdadh ris an t-seann fhear. An treas fear, chuir i facal ‘na chluais. Thuirt i, “Cuir thus’ air an cearcall ‘s nuair a sguireas an cearcall a dhol sguiridh m’athair dha chur.” Seo mar a bh’ann. Bha esan a’ cur a’ chearcaill gus am fac’ e nach robh e dol pioc na b’fhaide, agus sguir e agus fhuair e ‘n nighean.

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7 t h e c o o p e r ’ s d au g h t e r Once upon a time there was a cooper. He made his living through coopering, and he had one daughter who was strikingly beautiful. Now, three lads used to call on her, and there was one she preferred to the others. One day her father said to her, “Now they – the lads – are coming to call on you and I’m going to get the three of them in here on a certain night. And the one who is best at putting a hoop on a milking vessel will have your hand in marriage.” And so it happened. The lads arrived, but she managed to whisper into the ear of this certain one. “You’ll be the last,” she said, “to place the hoop.” And he agreed to that. The first one placed the hoop and kept on striking it with the hammer round and round until at last the hoop burst. Well, he was out of the running, so the second one took it up. He started installing the hoop, but he did not do it as well as he should have, and he did not drive it down in a way which earned the older man’s approval. As for the third one, she put the word in his ear, saying, “Put the hoop on, and when the hoop stops going down my father stops driving it.” And so it was. He drove the hoop down until he saw that it would not go one bit farther, so he stopped then and he got the girl.

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8 brogan an t-sagairt Tha mi dol a dh’innse dhut sgeul bheag ann a’ seo [bho] Eóghann Dhòmhnaill ‘ic Aonghuis, sàr-charaide dhomh fhìn, air duine bha fuireach a-mach air Cùl Chreiginis. Agus bha e ‘na dhuine bochd; cha robh dad sam bith dhen t-saoghal aige. Ach bhiodh e coiseachd mun cuairt air feadh na dùthchadh agus mar bu trice bhiodh e tagairt air àit’ an t-sagairt. Agus gheobhadh e cuid na h-oidhche agus ma dh’fhaoidte ‘sa mhadainn gum faigheadh e léine, airneo triubhsair … Ach co-dhiubh air trup dhe na trupan a bha e a’ coimhead air seann Mhaighstir Eairdsidh a bha ‘n Siudaig bha e falbh ‘sa mhadainn ‘s thug e an aire gu robh trì no ceithir do phaidhrichean bhròg aig Maighstir Eairdsidh. Agus thuirt e ris fhéin, “Chan ionndrainn e paidhir dhiubh seo,” ’s thug e leis a’ phaidhir bhròg. Co-dhiubh, thòisich seo air cur air inntinne agus bha e cur roinn do thrioblaid air. Ach mu dheireadh thuirt e ris fhéin, “Chan eil ann ach aon dòigh air am faigh mi cuidht’ as seo.” Agus chaidh e gu éisdeachd gu Maighstir Eairdsidh agus dh’inns’ e do Mhaighstir Eairdsidh gun do ghoid e paidhir bhrògan. “O,” thuirt Maighstir Eairdsidh, “’s e rud uamhasach a bha sin a-nise. Iain,” thuirt esan, “feumaidh tu na brògan sin a chuir air ais.” “Uill,” thuirt Iain, “chan eil fhios a’ m gu dé nì mi … ach an gabh sibh p-fhéin iad?” “O, cha ghabh,” thuirt Maighstir Eairdsidh, “chan eil feum agam orra.” “Uill,” thuirt Iain, “innsidh mise mar a th’ann, a Mhaighstir Eairdsidh. Ghoid mise na brògan ‘s chaidh mi air ais a choimhead air an duine agus thuirt mi ris gun tugainn na brògan dha air ais. Thairg mi na brògan dha air ais agus thuirt e rium nach gabhadh e idir iad.” “Ooo, ma tha sin mar sin,” thuirt Maighstir Eairdsidh, “chan eil coire sam bith ‘sa ghnothach.” Agus bha Iain gu socarach, saidhbhir agus cha robh ‘n gnothach a’ cur sian do thrioblaid air as deaghaidh sin.

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8 the priest’s shoes I’m going to tell you a short story that came from Hugh MacLellan, a great friend of mine, about a man who lived in Creignish Rear. Now, he was a poor man without a thing in the world. But he used to to walk through the countryside and often as not he would ask to stay at the priest’s place. There he would receive a night’s lodging and perhaps in the morning he would be given a shirt, or a pair of trousers … On one of these occasions when he had gone to visit old Father Archie in Judique, and as he was leaving in the morning, he noticed three or four pairs of shoes belonging to Father Archie. He said to himself, “He won’t miss a pair of these shoes,” so he took the pair with him. Now this began to bother him and cause him considerable distress, and finally he said to himself, “There is only one way for me to get clear of this.” So he went to Father Archie to confession and told him that he had stolen a pair of shoes. “Oh,” said Father Archie, “that was a terrible thing to do. And now, John, you must return those shoes.” “Well,” said John, “I don’t know what to do … will you take them yourself?” “Oh, no,” replied Father Archie, “I don’t need them.” “Well,” said John, “I’ll tell you how it is, Father Archie. I stole the shoes, but I returned to confront the man and told him that I would give them back. I offered him the shoes back and he replied that he would not take them at all.” “Ooh, if that’s how it is,” said Father Archie, “there’s no further blame in this matter.” And John was comfortable and well off, and from that time on the matter caused him no further distress.

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9 na i d h e ac h d a’ b h ò c a i n a s a’ c h a m a s l e at h a n Bidh sinn uileadh a’ bruidhinn air bòcain a’ siod ‘s a’ seo agus bha ‘n Camas Leathan – no Broad Cove – bha an cuid bhòcan fhéin aca ‘n sin cuideachd. Ach ‘s e bòcain ghasda a bh’aca ann am Broad Cove: cha chuala mi gun d’rinn iad eucoir riamh air duine, ach neo-ar-thaing nach do chuir iad eagal orra. Ach tha mi dol a dh’innse dhuibh naidheachd bheag ann a’ seo agus ‘s e ‘n fhìrinn a th’ann. Bheir sinn Iain air an duine seo. Bha e fuireach a-mach cùl Broad Cove. ’S e duine mór, làidir, socrach, ciùin a bh’ann an Iain agus ‘s e duine glé shocharach a bh’ann: cha robh dad do chur a-mach aige air fhéin air dòigh air an t-saoghal. Ach nuair a bhiodh obair bùidearachd no a leithid sin ri dheanadh, gheobhadh e Eachann airson sin a dheanadh dha, agus bha e fhéin a’ falbh – cha robh e fuireach mun cuairt idir. Ach co-dhiubh na dheth bha dròbh mhath do chaoraich aige. Agus foghar a bha sin smaoinich e gum faigheadh e reithe ùr dhachaigh à Truro, no ceann shuas1 an àite co-dhiubh. Agus rinn e sin ‘s fhuair e reithe briagha ‘s bha e aige ‘san t-sabhal ‘s dal a thànaig an t-àm a’ reithe a ligeil as nunn as t-fhoghar bha e air a dheagh-bhiadhadh. Ach madainn dhe na madainnean chaidh Iain a-mach agus chunnaic e beathach caorach ‘na shìneadh thall ann am pàirce agus chaidh e nunn agus gu dé bha sin ach a’ reithe air na phàigh e lethcheud dolar spadte anns a’ phàirce. Agus thug e a’ sin sùil am measg nan caorach agus bha culaidh-uamhais do reithe mór, dubh measg nan caorach agus adhaircean air. Cha robh fhios aige có às a thànaig e ach thuirt e ris fhéin, “Chan eil ann ach aon dòigh air a’ seo. Feumaidh mi Eachann fhaighinn agus an gunna agus cur as dhan reithe dhubh.” Am feasgar sin fhéin chaidh e sios a choimhead air Eachann. Bha Eachann an deaghaidh tighinn dhachaigh as a’ bhaile agus e an deaghaidh searrag na dhà a ghabhail. Agus bha feasgar beag ann: cha robh dad do dh’ùin’ aca. Ach thuirt Eachann ris, “Dal a nì mi obair an t-sabhail,” thuirt e, “bheir mi leam an gunna agus theid mi suas. Cuiridh sinn as dha.” Ach co-dhiubh na dheth, tha seansa gun do ghabh Eachann, gun do ghabh e searrag na dhà eile agus O, dìreach beul na h-oidhcheadh cha mhór rànaig e shuas ‘s an gunn’ aige agus chaidh e nunn dhan phàirce. Uill, thuirt Iain, “Chan eil mise dol a dh’fhuireach mun cuairt idir,” thuirt e. “Tha mi dol a ghabhail sgrìob suas,” thuirt esan, “a choimhead air Flòraidh Mhór. Agus cuiridh tusa as dhan reithe.” Seo mar a bh’ann. Chaidh Eachann a-nunn am measg nan caorach agus thog e ‘n gunna. Nuair a thog e ‘n gunn ‘s a chaog e ‘n t-sùil bha e faicinn aon reithe mór, dubh agus adhaircean air agus reith’ eile ‘na sheasamh ri thaobh ‘s gun adhaircean idir air ‘s e fhéin dubh. Cha robh fhios aige an

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9 t h e g h o s t o f b r oa d c o v e We all talk of ghosts here and there, and in Broad Cove too they had their share of them. But Broad Cove’s ghosts were the friendly kind who did no harm to anyone, though they certainly frightened people. So I’m going to tell you a short story now, and it’s the truth. We’ll call the man John. He lived out at the rear of Broad Cove. He was a big man, strong, quiet, shy, and peaceful; in no earthly way would he assert himself. Now when there was butchering or anything of the kind to be done, he would call on Hector to do it for him and he himself would go somewhere else – he didn’t stay around at all. Now John had a good flock of sheep, and one autumn he thought he might get a new ram in from Truro or somewhere up there.1 So he went ahead and got a fine ram, which he kept in the barn, and when it came time to let the ram loose in the autumn, it was well fed. One morning John went out and he saw a sheep lying over in a field, so he went over and what did he find but the ram that had cost him fifty dollars knocked dead in the field. He looked over at the flock of sheep and in their midst was a monster of a big black ram with horns. John had no idea where it had come from, but he said to himself, “There is only one way to settle this. I must go get Hector and his gun and do away with the black ram.” That very evening he went down to see Hector. Hector had just returned home from town and had had a drink or two. By then it was twilight and they had no time to spare, so Hector said to John, “When I’ve finished the barn work, I’ll take the gun and go up, and we’ll put him down.” But it seems Hector had another nip or two, so it was nearly nightfall when he arrived there with the gun and crossed over to the field. “Well,” said John, “I won’t stay around at all. I’ll go up on a visit to see Big Flora while you do away with the ram.” And so it was. Hector went over among the sheep and raised the gun, but as he did, squinting to take aim, he saw one big black ram with horns and another ram, also black, standing beside him with no horns at all. He didn’t know what was wrong.

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uair sin gu dé bha ceàrr. Ach, “O, Dhia,” thuirt e ris fhéin, “feumaidh mi rudeiginn a dheanadh.” Chaidh e sios air a leth-ghlùin. ‘S nuair a chaidh e sios an uair sin air a leth-ghlùin chunnaic e trì reithichean dubha agus adhaircean air a h-uile fear dhiubh. Cha robh fhios aige gu dé dheanadh e co-dhiubh, ach aig an am seo tha sinn dol a dh’fhàgail Eachann ann a’ sin, anns a’ bhrionglaid sin. Ghabh Iain air a shocar a-nunn thron choillidh; bha frith-rathad beag a-nunn thron choillidh gu baile Flòraidh Mhór. Bha Flòraidh Mhór agus a mac a’ fuireach shuas gu h-àrd car mu bhun na beinneadh. Agus ‘s e feasgar briagha a bh’ann agus bha Flòraidh Mhór an deaghaidh nighe mhór a chur a-mach. Chaidh i sios dh’ionnsaigh an uillt is thog i teine ‘s bha neoar-thaing siabunn ‘s a h-uile sian ‘s plaideachan ‘s bha i dìreach mu bhith réidh. Ach co-dhiubh na dheth ‘s e boireannach fìor mhór, làidir a bh’ann am Flòraidh Ruadh, agus a’ bhliadhna roimhidh sin bha i thall air tìr-mór agus bha teine an deaghaidh bhith ann an tìr-mór thall agus stòr mór a’ sin a bha làn bathar agus aodaichean agus chaidh e ‘na theine agus gheobhadh tu sian sam bith a bha mun cuairt air leth-prìs. Agus bha Flòraidh coimhead mun cuairt agus chunnaic i pasg ann a’ sin air sgeilpidh agus bha dà phaidhir do bhloomers mhór a’ sin. Agus bha e glé dhuilich do Fhlòraidh riamh bloomers mhór fhaighinn a bhiodh mór gu leòr dhi. Agus bha paidhir dhiubh sin car ciar-ghlas, paidhir eile dhiubh car dearg; agus bho’n a bha iad mór gu leòr thug i leath’ an dà phaidhir ‘s phàigh i ge b’e bhathas a’ sireadh orra. Agus bha sin aice ‘s gu dé a thachair a’ latha sin ach gu robh iad anns an nigheadaireachd. Agus nuair a chuir i paidhir dhiubh seo ann – agus bha e anns an uisge theth agus an t-siabunn – nuair a thug i as e cha robh iad ach beagan is troigh a dh’fhad agus na bu lugha na sin a’ rathad eile. Cha rachadh iad air a’ chois aice. Cha robh fhios aice dé dheanadh i ‘s cha robh toil aice bhith a-mach an t-airgead a phàigh i air an son ach rug i orra ‘s chunnaic i gun tigeadh ac’ air tighinn a-mach – gun tàirneadh tu a-mach iad – ach chan fhuirgheadh iad ann. Chan fhuirgheadh iad a-muigh idir. “By gosh,” thuirt i rith’ fhéin, “tha fhios a’ m gu dé nì mi a-niste.” Chaidh i suas dhan t-sabhal ‘s thug i anuas ultach mór do dh’fhodar agus lìon i na bloomers cho làn ‘s a ghabhadh iad cur gus an tug i a-mach iad dìreach anns a’ mheudachd cheart. Agus bha iad ann a’ sin. Bha iad aice ‘s cha robh fhios aice bhon fhortan gu dé dheanadh i – cha robh toil aice an cur air an fheansaidh shuas aig an taigh mum biodh feadhainn gam faicinn. Ach smaoinich i gun crochadh i an àite air choireiginn iad shios mun allt. Ach mar a thuirt mi roimhe, a’ frith-rathad a bha eadar àite Iain agus àite Fhlòraidh, chaidh i sios a’ sin agus chroch i ri craoibh iad – cnapach do chraobh a bha sin ‘s chroch i ann a’ sin iad.

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“Oh my God,” he said to himself, “I have to do something.” So he went down on one knee, and as he did he saw three black rams, all of them with horns. He didn’t know what to do then, but we’ll leave Hector in his predicament for the time being. John took his time going through the woods – there was a footpath through to Big Flora’s place. Big Flora and her son lived farther up near the foot of the mountain. It was a fine evening and Big Flora had just put out a large wash. She went over to the stream and lit a fire, and of course there was soap and blankets and everything else and she was just about finished. Now Big Flora (or Red Flora, as she was also known) was a giant of a woman, and strong. The year before she had been over on the mainland where there had been a fire and a large store full of merchandise and clothes had burned, and you could get anything there half-price. Big Flora had looked around and on a shelf spied a package containing two pairs of large bloomers. Now it had always been difficult for Big Flora to find bloomers large enough to fit her. One pair was a dark grey, the other was a bright red, and since they were large enough she took them and paid whatever they wanted for them. So she had them and it happened on that particular day that they were in the laundry. When she put a pair in – into the hot, soapy water – and took them out they were only a little more than a foot long and less than that in the other direction: they wouldn’t fit on her foot. She had no idea what to do and she hated to lose the money she had spent on them, so she took hold of them and then realized that they could be stretched out – you could pull them out – but they wouldn’t stay that way. They wouldn’t stay out at all. “By gosh,” she said to herself, “now I know what I’ll do.” She went up to the barn and took out a big armful of straw and stuffed the bloomers to their full capacity until she had brought them out to their proper size. And there they were; she had them there but she didn’t know what in the world to do with them. She certainly did not want to put them on the fence up at the house, lest people should see them. But then she thought of hanging them up somewhere near the stream. But I mentioned, before, the woods road that ran between John’s and Big Flora’s farms, so she went down there and hung them in a tree; a little bit of a tree there is where she put them.

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Tillidh sinn a-nise air ais gu Eachann. Nuair a chaidh Eachann sios air a leth-ghlùin agus a chunnaic e na trì reitheachan agus adhaircean air a huile fear dhiubh, uill thuirt e ris fhéin, “Tha mi dol a dh’fheuchainn an fhear a th’anns a’ mheadhon.” Agus leig e air falbh an urchair. Uill, chan eil fhios aig duine sam bith gu dé cho teann ‘s a chaidh am peilear air a’ reithe, ach tha seansa gun deach e cho teann air ‘s gun do chuir e eagal a’ bhàis air. Dh’fhalbh e. Cha robh feans’ a’ siod na seo nach robh e leum seachad oirre, agus gu dé a’ rathad a ghabh e ach suas mun cuairt an clìoradh a’ dol suas gu àite Fhlòraidh Mhór. Agus bha Flòraidh an uair sin ‘s i dìreach a’ dol a dh’fhalbh dhachaigh. Agus bha cù mór, glas aice do chulaidh-eagail agus chunnaic iad a’ reithe tighinn ‘s cha robh fhios aice bho Dhia gu dé a bh’ann ach fhuair i sgonn mór do mhaide agus chaidh i fhéin ‘s an cù sios a choinneamh ge b’e dé bha tighinn. Nuair a chunnaic a’ reithe a’ réisimeid a bha seo a’ tighinn agus meudachd Flòraidh chuir seo tuilleadh spionnadh ann agus dh’fhalbh e – chan eil fhios bhon Àigh gu dé cho luath ‘s a bha e falbh – agus ghabh e sios air cùl an t-sabhail. Agus ghabh e staigh air a’ frith-rathad a bha seo agus gu dé bha roimhidh ach na bloomers mhóra aig Flòraidh. Agus bha e falbh cho luath ‘s cha robh dòigh aig’ air an seachnadh ‘s thug e leis air adhaircean iad. Agus bha Iain an uair sin ‘s e an deaghaidh suidhe socrach treis ‘s smog a ghabhail. Bha e dìreach ag éirigh ‘na sheasamh ‘s e dìreach mu bhith dorch’ an uair sin ‘s e cur na pìob ‘na phòca. Agus dh’fhairich e am fuaim a bha seo a’ tighinn agus thug e sùil. Bha culaidh uamhais do bheathach mór a’ tighinn: earball mór, fada, dubh air, e falbh cho luath ris an dealanach agus coltas an dala leth do chreubhachd duine aige air adhaircean. Agus ‘s e an deamhan a bh’ann gu cinneach ‘s e falbh a dh’ifhreann leis a’ seo. Agus nuair chunnaic a’ reithe Iain ag éirigh ‘na sheasamh thug e beuc uamhasach as agus thug e leum-taoibh as, ‘s nuair a thug e ‘n leum-taoibh bha seo as dh’fhalbh poile dhen mholl agus dhen fhodar ‘nan sradagan measg na coilleadh, agus cha robh teagamh nach e teine bha seo. Thug Iain a-mach ‘s sios a ghabh e gu àit’ Eachainn agus dh’inns’ e do dh’Eachann a’ rud a chunnaic e. Thuirt e, “Bha an donas ann,” thuirt esan, “earball mór, fad’ air, adhaircean air agus cochall duine aige air adhaircean. Agus nuair a chaidh e seachad orms’ thug e leum uamhasach as,” thuirt esan, “’s thug e beuc as a chionn ‘s bha meadail orm-as ‘s tha mi deanadh dheth gur e sin a chuir an dunaidh uileadh air. Agus dh’fhalbh a h-uile sian,” thuirt esan, “’na shradagan teine feadh na coilleadh.” Agus bha Iain beò roinn mhór bhliadhnachan an deaghaidh sin agus chaidh e dhan ùir gu deimhinnte gum fac’ e an deamhan a’ falbh a dh’ifhreann le cochall duine aig’ air adhaircean. Sin agad pàirt dhe na bòcain a bha ‘m Broad Cove.

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We’ll return now to Hector. When Hector went down on his knee and saw the three rams, all of them with horns, he said to himself, “I’ll try the one in the middle.” And he fired the shot. Now, no one knows how close the bullet came to the ram, but likely it passed by so close as to put it in fear of its life. The ram took off and there was not a fence here nor there that it did not clear. And what direction did it take but up around the clearing on the way to Big Flora’s farm. At that moment Big Flora was just about to return home. Now she had one monster of a huge grey dog and they saw the ram coming; she had no idea on earth what it was, so she found a good heavy stick and she and the dog went down to confront whatever it was that was approaching. The sight of this regiment bearing down and the size of Flora lent the ram additional strength and it took off – I don’t know in the world how fast it was travelling – and headed down behind the barn and onto the path. And what appeared in front of it but Flora’s giant bloomers, but the ram was moving so fast it had no way of avoiding them so it took them along on its horns. Meanwhile John had just finished sitting quietly for a while enjoying a smoke. He was just standing up – it was just about dark by then – and putting his pipe away in his pocket when he heard the sound of something approaching and looked to see what it was. And there was a great fearsome beast approaching with a large long black tail, moving swift as lightning with what appeared to be half of the outer cover of a man on its horns. It was the devil for sure, taking this thing back to hell. When the ram saw John stand up, it gave forth a frightful bellow and bounded sideways. And when it did, quantities of chaff and straw were scattered through the woods like sparks, and John did not doubt for a moment that this was fire. He tore out of there and down to Hector’s farm where he told Hector what he had just seen. “The devil was there,” he said, “with a big long tail, horns, and the outer part of a man on its horns. And when he passed by me, he took a tremendous leap and let loose a bellow, because I was wearing a medal, and I believe that was what undid him entirely. And then everything in the woods went up in fiery sparks!” John lived for many years after that and went to his grave convinced that he had seen the devil going to hell with a human form on his horns. And there you have some of the ghosts in Broad Cove.

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Notes

The following abbreviations have been used in the notes. Full references are given in Sources. Field recordings made by the editor and held in the Gaelic Folklore Project Tape Collection at St Francis Xavier University, Antigonish, Nova Scotia, are indicated by numbers and dates. Others made by the editor are preceded by J. Shaw Coll. Those preceded by sa refer to the sound archive of the School of Scottish Studies at the University of Edinburgh. Numbers preceded by at and followed by a title correspond to the Aarne-Thompson folktale classification system as given in Antti Aarne and Stith Thompson, The Types of the Folktale. Béal. bh c.b. mag. Coisir dil Duanaire d w. ffsu Gesto Coll.

Béaloideas Fergusson, Donald A. Beyond the Hebrides Cape Breton’s Magazine Coisir a’ Mhòid Dictionary of the Irish Language MacPherson, Donald. An Duanaire Dwelly, Edward. The Illustrated Gaelic-English Dictionary Shaw, Margaret Fay. Folksongs and Folklore of South Uist MacDonald, Keith Norman. The Gesto Collection of Highland Music gwsu MacDonald, Fr Allan. Gaelic Words from South Uist and Eriskay hf Campbell, John Lorne. Hebridean Folksongs kcc Craig, K.C., ed. Òrain Luaidh Màiri Nighean Alasdair lm Lauchie MacLellan MacDonald Coll. Angus J. MacDonald and Archibald MacDonald. The MacDonald Collection of Gaelic Poetry Mac-Talla mt mwht Campbell, John Francis. More West Highland Tales Òranaiche Sinclair, Archibald. An t-Òranaiche sa Sound Archive, School of Scottish Studies, University of Edinburgh

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366

Notes to pages xx–xxvi sgl sh sre ss tgsi wht

MacNeil, Joe Neil. Sgeul gu Latha / Tales until Dawn Kennedy-Fraser, Marjory and Kenneth MacLeod. Songs of the Hebrides. Campbell, John Lorne. Songs Remembered in Exile Scottish Studies Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness Campbell, John Francis. Popular Tales of the West Highlands

introduction 1 The storyteller was Hughie Dan MacDonnell, of nearby Deepdale, who was related to the Kennedys through marriage (see sgl, xxviii, xxxi). 2 For early song collections where words and airs are both given, see Matheson 1955, 72–4. 3 For the theoretical importance to ethnomusicology of looking beyond the verbal text to aspects of cultural values, meaning formation, and power relations, see Porter and Gower 1995, 301–2. 4 See Hammersley and Atkinson 1995, 6–10. “Seeing things from the native’s point of view” and the hermeneutic method in anthropology are discussed in Geertz 1977. A similar approach was adopted in Ireland from the 1940s (D.A. MacDonald 1972, 410). 5 For reasons of length a category not represented is puirt-à-beul (mouth music) of which Lauchie recorded a good number. 6 For Gaelic song classification, see Ross 1956–57. 7 Lauchie tends instead to draw out a word while preparing the following section (e.g., “Ach dé thachair aig Bliadhn’ Ù——ir” in part 2, “Dòmhnall Thormaid”) 8 Square brackets are also used to indicate additional material from other sources. In the composite passages in the autobiographical section (part 2) such a use of brackets would have been impracticable. 9 For issues to be confronted and choices to be made in transcription, see Halpert and Widdowson 1996, liv–lxv; Finnegan 1992, 194–9. 10 In the majority of field recordings Lauchie sang alone and would usually begin and end the song with a full version of the refrain. The practice was also noted by Francis Collinson for Hebridean singers (J.L. Campbell 1969–81, 1:218). 11 The uses of variation permitted in Gaelic singing as prescribed by local aesthetics is a subject worthy of detailed study (cf. J. Shaw 1992–93, 52). 12 “The shimmer sounds like a very brief microtonal trill or burst of a tight vibrato” (Ornstein 1990, 2). Examples occur in nos. 30 (refrain) and 44. 13 For example, nos. 8, 35, and the large number of all categories of variation in the recording of no. 13. 14 For example, no. 12 where there are “certain sections of the melody which are

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Notes to pages xxvi–8 subject to intense variation while others are stable” (Ornstein 1990). 15 Larger intervals are possible, however (e.g., no. 15, m. 10, where the interval is a sixth). 16 No. 44 with its clear narrative progression is the example given by Ornstein (1990).

pa r t o n e g a e l i c s i n g i n g a n d b r oa d c o v e pa r i s h 1 “In the logging camps the hegemony in song belonged to the Irish” (Rickaby 1926, xxv, quoted in Ives 1964, 170). 2 Dunn 1953, ch. 3; for Inverness County see Campbell and MacLean 1974, 65–70. 3 The settler was Angus Campbell, b. 1795 in Applecross, Wester Ross; mt 6, 39 25/3/98. 4 Jonathan G. MacKinnon’s 1903 history is translated in bh, 85–8. 5 See J. Shaw 1996, 344–45 for the story of Fionnlagh Mór Beaton of Lochaber, who settled close to Mabou. Settlers from North Morar in Nova Scotia were not entirely out of contact with their home parishes, as witnessed by a letter dated December 15 1817 to Rev. Ranald MacDonell, parish priest in North Morar, from Rev. Angus MacDonald, Barra, relaying news along with the settlers’ enquiries after relatives (Blairs Papers ol 1: 2/16). 6 For a Lochaber immigrant bard’s view of living under the old system, see J. Shaw 1994, 393; MacDonell 1982, 88–93. 7 S. Johnson 1971, 95 from his observations on the practice during his visit to the Hebrides in 1773, quoted in Foster 1988, 6. Cf. sgl, 429 regarding settlement around Middle Cape, Cape Breton County. 8 c26 5/4/89. The only other account of settlement in Broad Cove by Morar immigrants to survive in any detail was recorded from Flora MacLellan (c26 3/8/88). 9 mt 5, 11:73 (19/9/96). The preponderance of Morar families in that area is borne out by later research (Hornsby 1992, 76–7). 10 Dan N. (Donald) is listed as twenty-four years in the 1891 census and was one of eleven children. He was married twice, the second time as a widower to Catherine A. Kennedy, age twenty-seven, on 3 February 1903 (register no. 16537). Catherine (Katie) Kennedy was descended from Murdoch Kennedy, one of six brothers who left the Isle of Canna in the Inner Hebrides in 1791 and settled in Parrsboro, Nova Scotia. Two of his brothers settled in Broad Cove in 1808. Four years later Murdoch took up a 200-acre lot at Loch Ban (MacDougall 1972, 338–9). 11 c24 20/4/88 12 c24 20/4/88 13 c24 3/8/88; c26 6/11/88 14 c26 5/4/89

367

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368 Notes to pages 8–11 15 c26 6/1/88 16 c35 6/3/90. The Old Statistical Account (Sinclair 1971–99, vol. 20:293), enumerating the slated houses built in Arisaig and surrounding South Morar before 1780, remarks, “Including Mor’ir House, which, with every hut they could discover, was burnt by the troops in 1746; who also plundered and destroyed almost all the stock of cattle, &c.” 17 Lauchie’s claim may well have been through his maternal relations, descended from another branch of Morar MacLellans from Black Glen, Inverness County (see MacDougall 1972, 317, 338–9). 18 c35 6/3/90 19 More likely than not it was a reflection of such circumstances that prompted Fr Gaulin upon visiting the Highland settlements in Cape Breton to observe in a letter to Bishop Plessis, “I have found, I say, all over these settlements the most consummate ignorance of even the first rudiments of religion” (13 October 1817). 20 Apparently not all students attended with the intention of joining the priesthood (MacWilliam ms, 237). 21 Sinclair 1791–99, vol. 20:290–3, 296. In the other districts the emigration rates appear to fall according to the decreasing proportion of the population recorded as belonging to the Catholic faith. 22 Presumably Beòraid Mhór at the beginning of part 2 is for Beòraid Àrd (Upper Beòraid). 23 c26 6/11/88 from lm 24 MacDougall (1972, 369) lists five brothers (Archibald, John, Alexander, John, and Ronald) styled Cloinn Fhearchair who settled in Broad Cove Marsh. No additional details are given. 25 Printed in St Margaret’s Church 1857–1982, 51, from an article published in The Casket (19/2/1891). The epithet is also attached to a member of the minor Clanranald aristocracy in Moidart (Charles Macdonald 1989, 202); see also I. MacKay 1964–66, 70, 75. 26 See Neil (Niall Ruadh) MacLellan Sr’s obituary in The Casket 70, (28/2/22). According to Lauchie, Neil Sr was the first son; he gives Archibald’s wife as Anna Nic’IlleMhaoil (Anna MacMillan) from Arisaig. The 1891 census lists both of Neil Sr’s parents as being born in Scotland. However, there is an 1895 obituary for one “Ann MacEachern [of Judique] w. of the late Archie MacLellan at sw Margarie road,” who died at age eighty-eight. (The Casket 44, 39:5 (6/10/1895). 27 He is very likely the “McLellan Archibald, sen., farmer” in Broad Cove Marsh listed in Lovell’s Canadian Directory ([1871], 1,555). 28 She lived ca 1831–1916. See obituary in The Casket 64 (1916): 11,5. 29 See The Casket 49 (1900): 39,5. There his dates are given as 8 May 1805 to 8 July 1900. 30 The Casket 70, 8:5 (28/2/22).

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Notes to pages 13–17 369 31 c26 6/11/88 32 c27 3/4/89 33 Ibid. There is no memory of singing being associated with sheep shearing or ploughing, however. 34 Cf. Cregeen and MacKenzie 1978, 12–13 for close parallels in the Gaelic communities of Tiree. 35 Information volunteered by a singer from the North Shore (c33b2 28/8/90) 36 c29 4/3/89 37 c28 5/4/89 38 The preference for songs was also found among the Presbyterians on the North Shore (J. Shaw Coll. c33 24/8/90). 39 c28 5/4/89; c29 17/5/89. Cf. M. Shaw 1955, 72 40 See McKean 1997, 98–100 for the main references and a description of a twentieth-century Skye céilidh. 41 The story with “Òran na h-Àthaidh” (The Song of the Kiln, part 3, no. 41) is one of the best examples of the genre recorded in Cape Breton. Regarding the singer John MacDonald (Seanaidh an Dòmhnallaich) from Boisdale, Cape Breton County, “He had a phenomenal repertory of Gaelic songs, and needed no coaxing to sing them. You’d also get the history of the song before the singing began” (MacMillan 1986, 221). The traveller singer-storyteller Duncan Williamson in his singing tries “to bring the listener’s mind to the place and time when the thing really happened” (Linda Williamson, quoted in Porter and Gower 1995, 301). Accompanying narratives were also an important characteristic of Irish songs, although there the commentary could come from the audience as well as the singer and could occur during the performance (Ó Madagáin 1985, 173–5; cf. Shields 1993, 77). Scottish travellers also inserted prose narrative into a song at various points (Porter and Gower 1995, 300). One Cape Breton singer mentions that in small communities the accompanying stories were generally reserved for occasions where it was necessary to explain the background to an outsider (c31 b7 21/4/90). Cf. Carmichael’s céilidh description (1928–71, 1:xxii), which mentions accounts given of poets as part of the entertainment. 42 For example, the song “An Corra-Ghiullan Glas,” discussed in part 1. 43 c29 3/4/89 44 c24 3/8/88 45 c32 21/4/90 46 c28 5/4/89 47 Hardly a recent practice; cf. notes to “Hó ro Mo Nighean Donn Bhòidheach nan Gorm-Shùil Meallach,” part 3, no. 1. 48 c29 3/4/89 49 c25 11/10/88 50 c23 28/3/88 51 Translated from lines notes of a recording made in 1976 (Gaelic Tradition 1978, 1, with permission). Waulking the cloth continued in Morar well into the

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370

Notes to pages 17–19 nineteenth century, as witnessed by the following description noted down in 1906 from a Mrs Angus MacLellan of Achnaluinbeg (North Morar): “This is a song they will be singing for working on their clothes (cloths) for men. The women will be gathered together. Three women will be on one side of the table, and three women on the other side, and they will be working on the clothes so” (beating with her fists first on one side and then the other on the table of her parlour, where we were sitting). “It will make the clothes thicker; Highland clothes that we are wearing. I have myself many times made it and sung. First we will be washing the clothes and then thicken them. The words [of no. 19 in Broadwood collection] are about working on the boys’ clothes to make them thicker. There is the Chorus.” (Broadwood 1927–31, 281).

52 53 54

55

56 57 58 59 60 61

62

For detailed accounts of waulking in Scotland from various periods see hf 1:3–16 with the accompanying references. For a partial but useful classification of the range of musical activity from a cross-cultural perspective, see Merriam 1964, 217–18. c29 3/4/89; c28 5/4/89 c29 3/4/89, 17/5/89; 8a2 13/12/77. Within living memory on the North Shore one person was heard singing prayers (seinn nan ùrnaigh) (c33b5 28/8/ 90; cf. Amy Murray 1936, 36). c29 3/4/89. Humorous stories or anything to cause laughter were also excluded. In Presbyterian communities on the North Shore it was a former practice to sing hymns while a body was waked at the house (c33b4 28/8/90). c27 3/7/89 c31 b6 21/4/90 c29 3/4/89 17/5/89 c28 5/4/89 c29 3/4/89 Cf. Donald Campbell 1862, 275. C.M. Bowra (1962, 281–2) suggests that song “in primitive life” has an additional function that we can regard as cognitive: “Because he is able to put his thoughts, no matter how perplexed or excited or troubling, into order, he is not quite lost in his world … Song enables him in the first place to clear his mind, to come to decisions which affect his whole outlook, to secure for himself a position where he feels at home … The control and the discipline which he exerts bring their reward in helping him understand more clearly his condition and his nature.” For cognitive aspects of oral traditions see Finnegan 1992, 129–30. Alan Lomax and Joan Halifax (1971, 235) suggest that “folk song texts yield normative information [concerning a given culture] more readily than folk tales” because the former contain more redundancy.

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Notes to pages 20–5 371 63 c29 3/4/89; c28 5/4/89. Whether or not such a practice existed earlier and disappeared from living memory is an open question. The sole affirmative response came from a singer on the North Shore (c33b8 28/8/90). 64 c29 17/5/89 65 c24 7/6/88 66 c26 5/4/89. For the role and characteristics of a strong tradition bearer see Niles 1995, 235–6. 67 c32 21/4/90 68 c29 17/5/89. The last line is a well-known Gaelic proverb. 69 c29 17/5/89; c28 5/4/89 70 For local aesthetics and Gaelic instrumental music in Cape Breton see J. Shaw 1992–93. 71 c28 5/4/89 72 c29 3/4/89. Cf. c31b9 21/4/90, where guth (voice [quality]) and cànail ([use of] language) are identified. 73 c29 3/4/89 74 c29 17/5/89. Waulking songs were the recent favourites on the North Shore. Apparently they had superseded the òrain mhóra (big songs) brought over from Scotland containing 8-line stanzas that were preferred by earlier generations (c33a35 28/8/90). 75 c29 17/5/89, 3/4/89 76 c29 3/4/89 77 c28 5/4/89. Cf. sean-nós singing: “the more gifted singer will often shape both words and music to fit his concept of what the song means” (Ó Canainn 1978, 73). The expression has an exact counterpart in Mod. Ir. “brí an amhráin” (Shields 1993, 63). 78 c29 3/4/89 79 c28 5/4/89 80 c29 17/5/89 81 Nettl 1977, 21; c29 3/4/89. Amy Murray (1936, 96–7) describes how singing the air of a song was perceived: “A great deal of these people’s singing is nothing more to them than just a way of doing it. … That is, of doing the words. Quite often when you ask your singer for a phrase again, he’ll speak it for you.” 82 c29 3/4/89. A knowledge of genealogy among song composers was widespread, and was essential to the earlier professional bards (Matheson 1938, 280–1). 83 Cf. sre, 1. For a parallel from Newfoundland’s Great Northern Peninsula see Halpert and Widdowson 1996, xxxix. 84 From Johnny Williams, Melford, Inverness County, ca 1983 85 Gaelic audiences in Ireland were known to comment during a song on the action and to voice encouragement between verses (Ó Canainn 1978, 78–9).

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372

Notes to pages 25–8 86 Cf. D. Campbell 1862, 163. 87 c29 3/4/89, 17/5/89. Individual assessments expressed after a performance could occasionally be cutting in either language: for example, “mar thodhar chaorach a’ tuiteam gu talamh” (like [the sound of] sheep droppings striking the ground); “He brays like a donkey. He bellows like a bull.” 88 c28 5/4/89 89 c29 17/5/89. An interesting parallel to singers’ lack of interest in open competition is the failure over the past two decades for organizers to establish a successful Scottish fiddling competition in an area with a tradition unparalleled in North America. 90 3/2/78. Recordings from the session with Lauchie, John Shaw, and Malcolm Angus MacLeod of Skir Dhu are listed as 23ca2–27ca2. Nearly a decade and a half earlier, when the parish priest in Glendale, Inverness County learned that I had made initial contact with Malcolm Angus MacLeod, a presbyterian, on the North Shore, he took me aside and questioned me closely as to what manner of people these were. Within a few days, dressed in his collar and suit, he set out alone to see for himself, returning that evening to tell us with great enthusiasm about the songs shared in common and the warm reception he had received. 91 c28 5/4/89 92 sre, 29–30; 247a5, 6 31/1/80; 254a3 15/2/80 93 The lounge, a feature of Cape Breton kitchens, is a padded couch for reclining, with no back and a raised headrest at one end. 94 In the singing of sean nós in Ireland, “the singer may attain the detachment that was discussed earlier by closing his eyes during the performance, emphasising as it were that the only contact between himself and his audience is that of the song itself” (Ó Canainn 1978, 79). 95 c27 3/4/89 96 Cf. Porter and Gower 1995, 298. In Ireland “one of the audience often comes forward to hold the hand of the singer at some high point in the song and will even emphasise either the rhythm of the song or an important sentiment by grasping the hand more firmly and moving it up and down. One cannot help feeling, on such occasions, that this one person speaks for the whole audience and is conveying to the singer the sense of participation in the song they all feel” (Ó Canainn 1978, 79). 97 Cf. “The verse was first sung by the professional vocalist, or the best amateur singer present, and then by the audience, who usually stood in a circle, their hands joined by means of bonnets and scarfs, which they kept waving in accordance with the time and spirit of the melody” (D. Campbell 1862, 153). 98 Alan Lomax (1959) has drawn comparisons in vocal technique, body attitudes, and cultural contexts between singing traditions. In his classification of musical styles the Hebrides are included in the Old European area, where “singing

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Notes to pages 29–31 373

99 100

101

102

103

104

105

106 107 108 109

and dancing are basically choral and cooperative” (936). Many of the characteristics of Gaelic singing described above (“solo songs in harsh, hard voices … a stronger interest in text than in tune”) could equally apply to the area termed Modern European, from which derived the singing styles in European settlements in the Americas (937). The Cape Breton English term for it, based on a perception of rhythm, is “swing.” The summer parish concerts, beginning at Broad Cove in 1958 and extending to other areas throughout the island, have played an important role in promoting an awareness of the variety of styles and fostering contacts between traditional singers. This number includes items such as distinctive airs and shorter items (e.g. mouth music). Most songs recorded, however, are of some length. From our past experience it is likely that Lauchie did know some additional songs that he simply did not recall through lack of practice, but it is unlikely that any of these were of major importance to his own repertoire, or for outside comparison. “A singer’s preferences in repertoire are shaped by basic factors: learning, taste, and the learned ability to read different audiences in differing situations” (Porter and Gower 1995, 283) Songs in English have been present in the Margaree Gaelic singers’ repertoires since before 1900: “Nuair a bha’n dannsa seachad, theann iad ri gabhail òrain. Tha luchd-gabhail orain anns a’ chearn seo cho math ‘sa tha ri fhaighinn ann an aite sam bith, tha iad aca gu pailt ann an Gàidhlig ‘s am Béurla” (When the dance was over they began singing songs. The singers in the district are as good as are to be found anywhere, with plenty [of songs] in Gaelic and English.) (mt 4, 18:1 9/11/95). The categories of songs from Ross’s classification not represented on tape or in print (macaronics and ritual songs) were very likely present, since they have been recorded in surrounding localities in Inverness County. Songs are listed according to author, which may well have influenced their selection (more than half are from a single bard, Malcolm Gillis of Margaree). Nevertheless fieldwork indicates that the general pattern of preferences holds for districts that have not produced printed collections. c26 5/4/89 J. Shaw Coll. 2a23 8/63; Angus MacLeod 1952, 374–7 The social validation role of song is shared by fiddle music on the island and in the many urban expatriate communities. John Lorne Campbell notes that “abrupt changes in subject” are characteristic of waulking songs (hf 1:19), producing texts that to an outsider seem incoherent. To Gaels fully aware of the context and the allusions made, the effect may have been more like viewing a cross-section of a familiar organism.

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374

Notes to pages 31–6 110 Merriam (1964, 201, 205) discusses the use of song texts and the freedom of expression associated with them as a means for understanding the “ethos” of a culture along with its psychological preoccupations. Research along such lines with Nova Scotia Gaels and comparisons with results of similar work in other Gàidhealtachds would be of great value in identifying what distinguishes Gaelic culture(s) from all others. 111 The same has been observed for storytelling in medieval Ireland and its association with yearly cycles. See Rees and Rees 1990, 210–11. 112 Lauchie Gillis of Grand Mira in the 1980s 113 49a5 29/3/78 114 For the use of the format of a love song as a vehicle for satire, see Finnegan 1977, 242. 115 Songs from a similar friendly exchange were recorded in an area of Inverness County peopled by settlers from Skye (183a5–6 8/12/78). For Skye traditions of flyting persisting into modern times, see McKean 1997, 137. Song competitions and duels have also been observed in Africa, Asia, and Polynesia (Finnegan 1977, 158). 116 Printed in mt 2, 42:7 (12/5/94). 117 Songs as a means of attempting to deal with thieves occur elsewhere (e.g., Merriam 1964, 197). 118 Beaton ms, 117–18 gives the most complete text. See also MacDougall 1972; 91–2, 205–6. For parallel genres associated with land disputes in nineteenthcentury Scotland, see Meek 1995, 16. 119 The circumstances surrounding a further satire from Inverness County are outlined in J. Shaw 1988b, 82–3. Traditions of satire were by no means confined to Cape Breton, being well represented throughout the Maritimes in Nova Scotia, P.E.I and Newfoundland (Ives 1964, 167–79). 120 Regarding the word mìbhog (no. 35, line 50), Lauchie confessed that he had puzzled over it for years. 121 Cf. McKean 1997, 176. Below the level of conceptual formulas, “stock phrases” would perhaps be a more appropriate term. 122 Cf. the opening phrase “nighean dubh, nighean donn” in no. 22, and phrases like “nighean donn a’ chùil bhàin” (brown-haired girl of the fair hair) (Ross 1959, 3). For Gaelic song and oral-formulaic theory, see Ross 1959, 1–2, and hf 2:2 for the large number of formulaic expressions available for improvisation in waulking songs. 123 c24 20/4/88 124 c31b27 21/4/90 125 The Beaton ms, for example. 126 c28 5/4/89; c29 3/4/89 127 c28 5/4/89. Informal exposure to a tradition seems to be a practice widely distributed throughout the world. (See Merriam 1964, 147–8.) 128 For education as opposed to schooling see Merriam 1964, 146.

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Notes to pages 37–42 375 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136

137 138

139 140 141

142

143 144 145

146

Cf. Finnegan 1977, 194 for a Yugoslavian parallel. c26 3/8/88 c26 22/8/88 c32 21/4/90 c27 3/4/89 c24 20/4/88 The prime example is the Rig-Veda, a body of sacred Hindu texts (Finnegan 1977, 151–2). Francis Collinson observes for waulking songs in Uist and Barra, “all in all, however, we have found that in the case of good traditional singers … surprisingly little has been lost between their versions and those taken down by Father Allan McDonald, Donald MacLachlan, and Donald MacCormick fifty years earlier” (hf 2:255–6). 337a11 24/2/82. (Cf. hf 2:120; Finnegan 1977, 193 for Central Asian parallels.) 342a4 22/4/82. Morag MacLeod of the School of Scottish Studies informs me that the belief is known in Presbyterian areas of Gaelic Scotland. The belief in bardic ability being accompanied from an early age by distinguishing physical and mental characteristics is evidently an old one (Ó hÓgáin 1982, 92). c32 21/4/90. For beliefs in other cultures concerning the inheritance of musical ability see Merriam 1964, 68. Certain individuals in a community were openly recognized, on account of their abilities, as being bards (c33a37 28/8/90). One of the rare examples of an intact song said to be of fairy origin is “’S Olc an Obair do Theachdairean Cadal” (Sleep Is Ill Work for Messengers) (Tocher 3 [1975–76]: 244–5). Nic Iain Fhinn, a woman bard from Barra, was said to have received her poetic gifts from a fairy lover (hf 1:120–1). Also under this category is the fragment belonging to the widely distributed folktale at 503 The Gifts of the Little People (Tocher 4 [1977–78]: 107–9; sgl, 220–4). See Ó hÓgáin 1982, 111, 127. John MacInnes (1968, 41) suggests that traces of the poet-seer may have survived in traditions concerning the seventeenthand early-eighteenth-century female bards Mary MacLeod and Maighread Nì Lachainn. A tradition attached to a lullaby fragment from South Uist recounts how it was sung by a mother to her child after both had died in childbirth and appeared to another woman in a dream (D.J. MacDonald ms 2:346). Close parallels exist from nineteenth-century Ireland and earlier (cf. Ó Madagáin 1985, 162). Temperance was a public issue evidently perceived by bards as worthy of comment. (See V. MacLellan 1891, 17–18; A. M. Sinclair 1881, 149–55). His work is printed in the following: The Casket 43, 23:3 (14/6/1894); 48, 44:7 (2/11/1899); 60, 46:7 (14/11/1912); 69, 43:11 (27/10/1921); 77, 12:8 (25/4/ 1929); 71, 10:9; 77:10 (18/7/1929); Mac-Talla 5, 14:104 (10/10/96). The Casket 49, 31:5 (19/7/1900).

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376 Notes to pages 43–5 147 MacDhùghaill places his birth somewhat earlier: “Donald MacDonald did not spend a single day in school but learned without much assistance to read Gaelic and English with ease. His poetic output demonstrates that he possessed exceptional abilities. He died on 1 July 1910, age 80. His people came from Moidart. He was styled Dòmhnall Thormaid ‘ic Ruairidh ‘ic Mhìcheil” (1939, x; my translation). 148 22a8 3/2/78 149 According to one source the disagreement concerned identifying the culprit in a theft that occurred in Donald’s own house (J. Shaw 1988b, 82). Lauchie mentioned while recording the above verses that the song itself led to the falling out with the priest. 150 c24 24/4/88 151 The word ciallach is unclear on tape. 152 c28 5/4/89. Also given in c24 24/4/88. Edward D. Ives (1964, 171–2) mentions a song maker from New Brunswick’s Miramichi River who wrote down his satires in school tablets, and though offered money for them decided instead to “take them with him” when he died. The implied association between bardic activity and behaviour deemed, at least in certain quarters, to be unacceptable is well known elsewhere in Gaelic tradition and deserves further investigation. According to modern folk tradition, Jane (Sìne Mhór) MacLeod – a bard and colourful personality from Caledonia, P.E.I. who contributed over 600 lines of song poetry to Alexander Maclean Sinclair’s collections toward the end of the nineteenth century (A. M. Sinclair 1910, 261) – chose to expose herself publicly on at least one occasion. A risqué story much along the same lines was written down in Uist in 1895 by Alexander Carmichael concerning the Cliar Sheanchain, an itinerant band of poetsatirists who since medieval times had exacted hospitality from often unwilling hosts throughout Gaelic Scotland. (See Carmichael-Watson Coll. mss). A Cape Breton variant (337a12 24/2/82), which apparently originated in Uist and features the bardic skills of the seventeenth-century Harris poet Mary MacLeod (Màiri nighean Alasdair Ruaidh), was recorded from Joe Neil MacNeil. For disruptive and obscene behaviour in medieval times, see Alan Harrison on Mac Conglinne (1989, 25). 153 For example, the twentieth-century Skye bard Iain MacNeacail: “As can be seen from Iain’s use of loan-words in discussing his songs, these concepts are probably not ones that he has articulated before, even to himself. His exposure to this kind of analysis has been through the medium of English, so that he needs to borrow the terms” (McKean 1997, 120). 154 J. Shaw Coll. 14b1 2/76 155 For the same anecdotes in twentieth-century Scotland see McKean 1997, 135, 140. 156 c28 5/4/89. For recent parallels in Scotland see John MacInnes (1968, 40), who observes that the extemporized verses were “not conspicuously formulaic.” There is some evidence of more lengthy extempore songs composed in

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157

158 159

160

161

162 163

164

165 166

Cape Breton (see Creighton and MacLeod 1964, 228–31 = Gairm 28 (1959): 351–3. One Irish bard from Kerry was reputed to have composed a song of twenty-seven verses on the spot (Ó hÓgáin 1982, 11). Francis Collinson (1966, 69n2) was skeptical that airs could be extemporized by bards as words are. (Cf. Flower 1947, 96–7 on impromptu composition in the medieval bardic schools in Ireland.) c27 3/4/89. Vincent MacLellan, editor of Failte Cheap Breatuinn, was the son of the bard Donald (Dòmhnall Gobha) MacLellan, born in Glenelg, who settled near the Margaree River and eventually relocated to Grand Mira in 1868. Angus Y. MacLellan, mentioned above, filled such a role in Broad Cove (c28 5/4/89). Beaton ms, 46. Those supplying the verses are listed as Big Allan, son of Angus MacDonald, Allan Mirimichi, Allan “The Ridge,” Donald “The Ridge.” It is likely the song was made before Allan “The Ridge” left Mabou Ridge for South River, Antigonish County, in 1847 (J. Shaw 1996, 347). Something like communal composing in a New Brunswick lumber camp is mentioned by Ives (1964, 1). c29 17/5/89; cf. c31b16 21/4/90; J.L. Campbell 1956–57, 87; sh 1:xxi. Campbell and Collinson remark: “However, in the case of waulking songs, the words of the songs are so intimately linked with the tunes that it can be said that any variation in the prosody of the verse lines is likely to produce a variation in the tune” (hf 1:223). The advantages of composing to a familiar air should also be considered. “The object of the Gaelic chorus … was to make the audience realise the emotions the song was meant to excite, by making them take part in the singing. The songs intended for public singing were therefore generally adapted to airs carried down by tradition, and which were already known to, and favourites with the people” (D. Campbell 1862, 153). c27 3/4/89 The relationship between words and melody seems to be paralleled in modern Irish tradition: “True enough, for the traditional singer it is the words which are the ‘song,’ the ‘air’ is somehow accessory” (Shields 1993, 113). The practice of setting new words to pre-existing melodies is frequently met with across cultures, and there is considerable evidence to suggest that the words are often more important than the sound structure (Merriam 1964, 181). 233a7–234a1 14/9/79. While composing both air and words is rare, the North Uist storyteller Pàdruig Moireasdan composed both the words and air of a song in 1962 (Moireasdan 1977, 102–3). c27 3/4/89 MacKenzie was followed in this practice by his son, also Archibald, who observed, “Mura cuirinn-sa sios na faclan ’sa mhionaid cha bhi cuimhn’ agam orra an ath-latha” (If I failed to write down the words, I would not remember them the following day.) c29 17/5/89. The same dependence on writing

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Notes to pages 47–52

167 168

169 170 171 172

173 174 175 176

177 178

179 180

during composition is mentioned by the modern South Uist bard Donald John (Dòmhnall Iain Dhunnchaidh) MacDonald (D.A. MacDonald 1996, 93–4). According to an authoritative nineteenth-century record from Sliabh Luachra in Ireland, writing down stanzas as a part of composing was “the more usual thing” (Ó Madagáin 1985, 140n31.) For cross-cultural studies in “ethnoaesthetics” see Finnegan (1992, 131–4), who remarks that the study is still in its infancy. Such an event was the Balranald Elopement, which took place in the Outer Isles nearly a century and a half ago and, with its aspects of high romance and class conflict, gave rise to a body of legends and songs (see D.A. MacDonald 1990–92). Merriam (1964, 174) provides examples of the formal / informal acceptance of songs in various cultures. 195a6 7/3/79 48a4 27/3/78. According to Lauchie the composer was one Rod Y. MacKenzie, from Big Interval. mt 4, 18:1 (9/11/95) sa 1954/56/b15 recorded by Calum Maclean from Donald MacEachan (see notes to part 4, no. 5). All other examples of this tale recorded in Cape Breton or Scotland belong to Outer Hebridean or Islay variants. For a Broad Cove / Morar variant of at 613 The Two Travellers, recorded from Flora MacLellan see J. Shaw 1991. In spite of the fieldwork carried out from the ’50s by a collector of Calum Maclean’s stature, the body of tales recorded in Morar and held in the School of Scottish Studies archive or surviving in print is not large, particularly with regard to the longer, more elaborate tales. The Cape Breton evidence indicates a more extensive and varied repertoire for Morar than recent fieldwork in the district alone would suggest. Possibly a version of at 650a Strong John, which has been recorded elsewhere in Cape Breton (cf. sgl, 140–60, 461–2). J. Shaw Coll. c13a10 2/76. For the sea run (c14a8 2/76), see Bruford 1969, 192. In recorded versions from Cape Breton: at 1600 The Fool as Murderer and at 1381b The Sausage Rain (fieldnotes 1/11/75 and sgl, 168–75, 463) J. Shaw Coll. c15a3 2/76. Sightings of the dog among descendants of the branch of MacDonalds in Cape Breton have continued into living memory (297a4 24/10/80; c27a12 29/1/89), as has one complete version of the Morar legend (c27a11 24/2/89). See also C. Maclean 1975, 67. J. Shaw Coll. c13b1 2/76 Over the last fifty years the impact of local mods held The Gaelic College of Celtic Arts and Crafts, St Ann’s, and the promoting of mod-style Gaelic singing on the Gaelic traditions of the region has been negligible. mt 3, 31:7 (2/2/95) (my translation). See also mt 3, 21:6 (24/11/94). Likewise a letter from South West Margaree printed in Mac-Talla (5, 11:73 [19/9/96]) states, “Good English-language schools are plentiful in our area,

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Notes to pages 52–61 379

181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188

but I’m not aware that a single one of them undervalues Gaelic in any way. Each one is keen that the language maintain its place among the other languages and there are few families to be found in which there is not someone who can read Gaelic” (my translation). c26 9/88 c31b4 21/4/90 c27 3/7/89 c27 3/4/89 c28 5/4/89 “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” and “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” were among those tried. c29 3/4/89 c28 5/4/89

pa r t t w o : a i r r é i r m o s g e u l a as my story has it Notes apply to both Gaelic and English text.

mórair agus an t-seann fheadhainn morar and the old people 201a1 17/3/79; 350a7 30/9/82; 354b1 19/2/87; 354b2 19/2/87; 354b3 19/2/87; 354b4 19/2/87; Video.85 6/4/85; c15a7 4/76 1 In 1975 Lauchie gave his patronymic as Lachlann mac Dhòmhnaill Nìll ‘ic ‘Illeasbuig ‘ic Fhearchair ‘ic Eóghainn ‘ic Dhòmhnaill ‘ic Iain ‘ic ‘Illeasbuig ‘ic Lachlainn. 2 It is possible on the basis of the foregoing that Farquhar MacLellan was a ground officer for the estate. 3 6/11/88. “Tha mi creidsinn gu robh càirdean rompa – dithis dhiubh – eadar a’ seo ‘s Abhainn Mhargrìdh.” (I believe that some relatives arrived before them – two of them – settling between here and the Margaree River.) 4 The Gaelic form indicates that Archibald’s father was a tailor.

Niall Ruadh Mo Sheanair / My Grandfather Red Neil 5 lub (pool, dub) 6 Probably refers to Margaree Island, easily visible from Broad Cove 7 According to an earlier account by Lauchie, his grandfather Neil MacLellan was born in 1826 (sgl, xxxvii). This closely approximates the dates (9 February 1827 to 29 January 1922) given in the obituary printed in The Casket 28/2/22).

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Notes to pages 61–7

An Caitheamh-Beatha a Bh’Againn / How We Lived 8 Alec S. MacLellan’s father, from MacLellan’s Mountain (Beinn ‘Illeasbuig an Tàilleir) 9 sonn (fishing bait). For the form sonnd, compare peann: peannd. 10 Geangach (