Struileag: Shore to Shore E-Book

Struileag

• Herausgeber: Polygon
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Seitenzahl: 233

Beschreibung

The descendants of the Gaels are scattered far and wide across the world - a diaspora that is at once cherished and overlooked. This unique, heartfelt book brings vividly to life through raps, secular psalms, love poems and aphorisms the Gaelic experience as it was, as it is and as it might be. Shore to Shore/Cladach gu Cladach is a vital legacy of the multimedia project Struileag, at the heart of which lies poetry, and is a demonstration that inside every culture is to be found the whole human condition. This book contains contemporary poetry and text from all around the Gaelic diaspora commissioned over a three year period. Struileag has also delivered a 60 minute show Children of the Smoke which premiered during the Commonwealth Games 2014, a TV arts show, a CD of the show and an engaged, international, online community. Struileag is a La Banda project Artistic director - Jim Sutherland

Leseprobe

STRUILEAG: SHORE TO SHORE

Cladach gu Cladach

First published in Great Britain in 2015 by Polygon, an imprint of Birlinn Ltd.

West Newington House

10 Newington Road

Edinburgh

EH9 1QS

www.polygonbooks.co.uk

Introduction copyright © Kevin MacNeil, 2015

Text copyright © La Banda, 2015

All rights reserved.

ISBN 978 1 84697 317 8

eBook ISBN 978 0 85790 838 4

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library.

The publishers are grateful to the following organisations for their sponsorship, and acknowledge investment from Creative Scotland towards the publication of this volume.

Typeset by 3btype.com

Clàr-Innse / Contents

Foreword by Jim Sutherland

CAOIMHIN MACNÈILL

KEVIN MACNEIL

Ro-ràdh / Introduction

MAIREAD BENNETT

MARGARET BENNETT

Guthan tro na Linntean / Voices through the Ages

AONGHAS PÀDRAIG CAIMBEUL

ANGUS PETER CAMPBELL

A-mach às an Àirc / Out of the Ark

AONGHAS MACNEACAIL

Salm na Mara / Psalm of the Sea

NA FARPAISEAN BÀRDACHD / THE POETRY COMPETITIONS

GRIOGAIR LABHRUIDH

GREGOR LAWRIE

Coire a’ Mhorair / The Corrie of the Noble Chief

AONGHAS PÀDRAIG CAIMBEUL

ANGUS PETER CAMPBELL

Dia Leat / God Be With You

SEUMAS OLIVER

JAMES OLIVER

Aideachadh Peacaich Fìrinnichte / Confessions of a Justified Gael

ANNA FRATER

ANNE FRATER

A’ Buain / Cutting/Reaping

IAIN S. MAC A’ PHEARSAIN

IAIN S. MACPHERSON

Blasad nan Deur / Tasting Tears

ANNDRA DUNN

ANDREW DUNN

Conaltradh / Communication

RODY GORMAN

Lìon / Net

MARIA (MÀIRI ÒG) KOROLEVA

The Industrious Must Be on the Move: Migration through Gaelic Proverbs

MAOILIOS CAIMBEUL

MYLES CAMPBELL

Fiosaiche na Sioux / The Wise Man of the Sioux

CATRIONA LEXY CHAIMBEUL

CATRIONA LEXY CAMPBELL

Acrach ann an Canada / Hungry in Canada

MAOILIOS CAIMBEUL

MYLES CAMPBELL

Souwanaquenapeke / Souwanaquenapeke

MÌCHEAL KLEVENHAUS

‘’S muladach mi ’s mi air m’ aineol’ neo Wanderlust eadar Dà Shaoghal: Beachdan mu Dhearbh-aithne Ghàidhealach

IAIN S. MAC A’ PHEARSAIN

IAIN S. MACPHERSON

An Dachaigh Bhuainn / Our Missing Home

DÒMHNALL S. MOIREACH

DONALD S. MURRAY

Oran na Kookaburra / The Song of the Kookaburra

PÀDRAIG MACAOIDH

PETER MACKAY

O Mo Dhùthaich? / O My Country?

MONA NICLEÒID WAGNER

Fo Shneachd / Under Snow

MÌCHEAL NEWTON

MICHAEL NEWTON

Cò a Dhìthich Clann Ghàidheal? Cnuasachd air Ìmpireachd, Fèin-aithne is Ceartas Sòisealta ann am Fuadach nan Gàidheal

Bury My Heart at Culloden: Reflections on Empire, Identity and Social Justice in the Gaelic Diaspora

BABS NICGRIOGAIR

Clann a’ Cheò / Children of the Smoke

GILLEBRÌDE MAC’ILLEMHAOIL

GILLEBRIDE MACMILLAN

Duan an Fhògarraich / The Refugee’s Plea

RONA DHÒMHNALLACH

RONA MACDONALD

Cumha Loch Baghasdail / Lochboisdale’s Lament

PÀDRAIG MACAOIDH

PETER MACKAY

A-rithist / Again

BABS NICGRIOGAIR

Làn-Phuing / Bullet Points

MÀRTAINN MAC AN T-SAOIR

MARTIN MACINTYRE

Ceum o Cheum / Step by Step

AILEAN DÒMHNALLACH

ALLAN MACDONALD

An Cuan / The Ocean

IAIN MACAONGHUIS

JOHN MACINNES

Na Feàrna: Baile Fàs / Ferns: a Deserted Township

AONGHAS MACNEACAIL

Haibun / Haibun

Taing / Acknowledgements

Na Sgrìobhadairean / Contributors

Foreword

‘History isn’t a thing of the past – we’re making it now’

This forward-facing collection of new poetry and texts from the Gaelic diaspora captures a moment in time – a snapshot of the world. Be carried on an epic journey into the world of the Gael, a people who are scattered across the globe. Struileag: Shore to Shore/Cladach gu Cladach is a vital legacy of the La Banda project Struileag. This mammoth project delivers this book, a live show, a music CD, a TV programme and a large active online community. At the heart of Struileag lies poetry. Kevin MacNeil and our twenty-five commissioned poets have delivered a body of work that is as broad as the diaspora it celebrates.

Jim Sutherland

Artistic Director, Struileag

CAOIMHIN MACNÈILL

Ro-ràdh

Struileag, s. [noun] f. An imaginary boat used in a contest of wit or singing at a marriage or other gathering. When one has sung or otherwise contributed to the amusement of the party, he says ‘Cuiream struileag seachad orm gu –’, naming some other person, who makes the same remark when he has finished his share of entertaining.

Edward Dwelly, The Illustrated Gaelic–English Dictionary

Struileag

Rugadh sinn uile nar n-eilthireachd

Thogadh sinn ann an dùthaich chèin

Tìr ris an canar ‘Cianalas’, tìr ris an canar ‘Tìm’

Tha ’n cèilidh nas motha na ’n taigh-cèilidh

Chan eil an ceòl san ionnsramaid fhèin

Ann an cladh an-fhoiseil na mara, chan fhaigh am bàs bàs

Thar na sìorraidheachd tha ’m bàta geul-reultach

A’ seòladh o làmh gu làmh; cumaidh

an ceòl na seòladairean ’s na ceòladairean beò

Siuthad, a bhàta-chèilidh

’s tu seòladh o làmh

gu làmh air làn

na ceòlraidh

Tha fhios gu bheil fàire

eile air fàire

Siuthad, a Struileag,

’s tu seòladh le soirbheas

air cuan deàlrach

nan reultan marbh

Tha fhios gu bheil fàire

eile air fàire

Tha sliochd nan Gàidheal agus gu dearbh an fheadhainn aig nach eil ceangal ris a’ Ghàidhealtachd ach a tha air a’ Ghàidhlig ionnsachadh – na Gàidheil Ùra – a’ fuireach fad’ is farsaing air feadh an t-saoghail. Theirear ‘an diaspora Gàidhlig’ ris an t-sluagh sgapte a tha seo. Chaidh am pròiseact ‘Struileag’ a chur air bhog gus guth a thoirt dha na daoine seo, gus nàdar de Struileag a thoirt dhaibh. Aig an aon àm, saoilidh mi gu bheil sinn a’ toirt urraim dha ar sinnsirean – na h-eilthirich a dh’fhalbh thar nam bliadhnachan air bàtaichean nach robh idir cho mac-meanmnach ri struileag.

Bho thoiseach a’ ghnothaich, tha sinne aig sgioba Struileig air a bhith dhen bheachd gu bheil e fìor chudromach a bhith a’ cur ris an dualchas an àite a bhith an urra ris; chan eil eachdraidh air a fàgail san àm a dh’fhalbh – tha sinn ga dealbadh an-diugh. Tha sinn air obair ùr a choimiseanadh bho ghrunn math de sgrìobhadairean – bàird ainmeil, bàird thàlantach nach eil cho ainmeil (fhathast), agus luchd-acadaimigeach cliùiteach. Chuir an sgrìobhadair-ciùil Seumas Sutherland ceòl ri cuid dhe na dàin a tha seo agus nochd iad ann an cuirm mhòr a chaidh a chur air dòigh aig àm Geamaichean a’ Cho-Fhlaitheis ann an Glaschu. (Cluinnear na h-òrain seo air an CD Clann a’ Cheò/Children of the Smoke.) A bharrachd air sin, chaidh an consart fhilmeadh leis a’ BhBC agus chaidh a chraoladh aig àm na Bliadhn’ Ùire. Chuir sinn air dòigh farpaisean bàrdachd gus brosnachadh a thoirt dha sgoilearan òga is sgrìobhadairean ùra – tha na dàin shoirbeachail rin leughadh san leabhar seo. Mura h-eil sin gu leòr, faodaidh duine sam bith aig a bheil ùidh anns a’ chuspair cur ris a’ phròiseact tron làrach-lìn www.stories.struileag.com

Bha bàrdachd riamh aig fior chridhe cultar nan Gàidheal – mar sin, tha e freagarrach gu bheil nuadh-bhàrdachd mar bhun-stèidh a’ phròiseict. Am measg nan dàn ioma-chùiseach againn tha ‘rap’, ùrnaigh, haibun, salm saoghalta agus eile, agus na bàird a’ toirt sùil air cuspairean mora man fèin-aithneachadh, dachaigh, eilthireachd, cànan, creideamh, gaol, call, còmhstri agus sìth.

Thàinig aistean thugainn bho sgrìobhadairean iomraiteach ann an Alba, Moscow, Melbourne, Bonn agus Carolina a Tuath. Chanainn gu bheil na h-aistean coltach ris a’ bhàrdachd ann an dòigh: tha iad rèidh-labhrach, cumhachdach, smuaineachail – agus cuid dhiubh rud beag connspaideach.

Am broinn gach cultair gheibhear riochd slàn mhic an duine. ’S duilich nach eil barrachd dhaoine eòlach air cultar, eachdraidh is cànan nan Gàidheal. Tha saoghal nan Gàidheal a cheart cho farsaing, domhainn is luachmhor ris an t-saoghal fhèin, agus e fìor airidh air cùram is suimealachd.

Bha e na àrd-urram dhomh a bhith ann an suidheachadh far am b’ urrainn dhomh iarraidh air na sgrìobhadairean Gàidhlig as fheàrr leam rudeigin ùr a sgrìobhadh dhuinn. Tha beachdan – agus modhan-sgrìobhaidh – gu math eadar-dhealaichte aig na diofar sgrìobhadairean. Tha mi a’ smaoineachadh gur e deagh rud a tha seo. Tha a’ Ghàidhlig sean agus ùr, ionadail agus eadar-nàiseanta. Chan eil e furasta a bhith dha-rìribh eòlach air cuideigin, neo air cultar. Mar a sgrìobh David Shields (agus e a’ togail air rudeigin a thuirt David Foster Wallace ann an agallamh):

I don’t know what it’s like inside you and you don’t know what it’s like inside me. A great book allows me to leap over that wall: in a deep, significant conversation with another consciousness, I feel human and unalone.

Sin, nam bharail-sa, cnag na cùise: eòlas, tuigse, co-fhaireachdainn. Tha iad uile rim faighinn san leabhar seo.

Cuiream Struileag seachad orm gu Mairead Bennett . . .

KEVIN MACNEIL

Introduction

Struileag, s. [noun] f. An imaginary boat used in a contest of wit or singing at a marriage or other gathering. When one has sung or otherwise contributed to the amusement of the party, he says ‘Cuiream struileag seachad orm gu –’, naming some other person, who makes the same remark when he has finished his share of entertaining.

Edward Dwelly, The Illustrated Gaelic–English Dictionary

Struileag

We were born into exile

and raised in a foreign country,

a land called ‘Homesickness’, a land called ‘Time’

The ceilidh is bigger than the ceilidh-house

The music is not in the instrument itself

In the restless graveyard of the sea, death does not die

Across eternity the white-starred boat

sails steadily from hand to hand; the music

keeps the sailors and musicians alive

Go on, Struileag,

sail from hand to hand

on a full tide

of music

On the horizon there

is another horizon

Go on, ceilidh-boat,

sail under a fair wind

on a glittering ocean

of dead stars

On the horizon there

is another horizon

The descendants of the Gaels, and indeed those who have no direct connection with the Highlands but who have learned Gaelic – the New Gaels – reside far and wide around the world. This scattered people is often referred to as the Gaelic diaspora. The Struileag project was conceived in order to give voice to these people, to pass on to them this struileag, this little ceilidh boat. At the same time, I believe we are honouring our ancestors, those exiled over the years on boats that were anything but imaginary.

From the beginning, we at team Struileag have been of the opinion that it is vital to add to our heritage rather than simply to rely upon it: history is not a thing of the past but something we are shaping today. We have commissioned new work from a host of writers – renowned poets, talented poets who are not (yet) so well known, and pre-eminent academics. Composer Jim Sutherland set some of the poems to music and the resulting songs featured in a large concert that took place during the Commonwealth Games in Glasgow. (The songs appear on the CD Children of the Smoke.) The concert was filmed by the BBC and was broadcast on Hogmanay. We organised poetry competitions to encourage pupils and new writers; the successful poems are published in this book. As if that’s not enough, anyone with an interest in the subject can contribute to the project by visiting our website that connects people across the diaspora: www.stories.struileag.com

Poetry has always been at the heart of the culture of the Gaels and thus it is appropriate that new poetry forms the foundation of the project. Among the varied poems there’s rap, prayer, haibun, a secular psalm and many other forms, with the poets exploring the big subjects such as identity, home, exile, language, faith, love, loss, conflict and peace.

Essays were sent to us from esteemed writers in Scotland, Moscow, Melbourne, Bonn and North Carolina. I’d contend that the essays are like the poems in a way: they are eloquent, powerful, thoughtful and, in some cases, rather controversial.

Inside every culture is to be found the whole human condition. It is a shame that more people aren’t aware of the culture, history and language of the Gaels. The world of the Gaels is just as wide, deep and precious as the world itself and is wholly worthy of care and attention.

It was a great honour to be in a position where I could invite my favourite Gaelic writers to create something new. The authors have diverse perspectives and writing styles: in my opinion, a very good thing. Gaelic is ancient and fresh, local and international. It is not easy to know truly a person, or a culture. As David Shields wrote (building on something David Foster Wallace said in an interview):

I don’t know what it’s like inside you and you don’t know what it’s like inside me. A great book allows me to leap over that wall: in a deep, significant conversation with another consciousness, I feel human and unalone.

Here is, in my opinion, the essence of the thing: knowledge, understanding, empathy. They are all to be found in this book.

I pass the ceilidh boat on to Margaret Bennett . . .

MAIREAD BENNETT / MARGARET BENNETT

Guthan tro na Linntean / Voices through the Ages

’S e Peigi Iain Phàdraig a thoisich an còmhradh:

Tha cuimhn’ agam Peigi Ameireaga . . . Às dèidh a’ Chiad Chogaidh, nuair a bha mi glè òg, thàinig i dhachaigh agus thug i dhòmhsa paidirean. Sin an aon thuras a rinn i bhon latha a dh’fhalbh i. ’S e piuthar mo sheanmhar a bh’ innte – grand-aunt – agus chaidh i null thairis nuair a bha m’ athair gu math òg – dèireadh na naoidheamh linn deug. Tha mi cinnteach gun do dh’fhalbh tòrr às a’ Ghàidhealtachd san àm sin. Bha Peigi Ameireaga ann an New Jersey agus bhiodh parsail a’ tighinn thugainn gach bliadhn’– aodach dhomh fhèin ’s do mo pheathraichean.

Bhiodh do sheanair ’s na nàbaidhean an-còmhnaidh a’ bruidhinn sna taighean-cèilidh mu dheidhinn nan eilthireach. Bhiodh litir no parsail air tighinn dhachaigh, agus an uair sin bhiodh iad a’ faigheanach ciamar a fhuair iad air adhart. Cha robh sìon sgrìobhte mun deidhinn . . .

Mrs Traill (1836):

Never mind books . . . use your own reason . . . Never tell me of what is said in books, written very frequently by tarry-at-home travellers. Give me the facts. One honest, candid emigrant’s experience is worth all that has been written on the subject . . .

Ailig:

My grandfather was born on the way across, in 1851. Duine gun dùthaich, they used to call him – ‘a man without a country’.

Christie MacKenzie:

Thàinig iad à Scotland – rugadh m’ athair ann an Tolstadh a Thuath. Cha robh e ach ceithir latha a dh’aois . . . Thàinig e ann an 1852 agus thàinig mo mhàthair ann an 1856.

Ciorstaidh MacArthur:

Rugadh m’ athair ann an Eilean Leòdhais. Saoil gun robh e còig bliadhna deug dh’aois nuair a ràinig e Canada. Bha e na bhuachaille – sin mar a chuala mise – caoraich no crodh. Thugadh orra falbh dhan aindeoin.

Maryann Morrison:

We sailed in 1888 on a little steamer from Tarbert to Glasgow, and from Glasgow on a ship called the Siberia. There was my mother, father, sister and myself, and my grandfather, and my auntie with her three children. Her husband was dead. My grandfather came with us because he lost his wife when the children was young and he stayed with us. And lots of immigrants were coming over with us. And on the way across we slept on bunks.

Angus Morrison:

Bha feodhainn aca, dh’fhàs iad tinn, bha iad cho fad’ air an eathar. Thug iad trì no ceithir a sheachdainean a’ tighinn a-nall . . . is nuair a landadh iad ann an Cuibeac cha robh duine ann an Cuibeac a dh’aithnicheadh iad. Thàinig iad bho Bhaile Cuibeac gu Megantic air an trèan, ’s bha daoine an sin a dh’aithnicheadh iad agus thug iad iad gu Marsboro’s chaidh iad a dh’fhuireach còmhla ri bràthair mo sheanar, Aonghas Moireasdan . . .’S e log cabin anns an robh iad a’ fuireach.

Angus MacDonald:

Chuir Clann ’ic Nill uabhas dhaoine às eilean Chanaigh. Cha chreid mi nach d’ fhalbh trì fichead teaghlaichean às a seo ri linn m’ athair a bhith na dhuine òg. ’S e an rud bu mhiosa dheth, chan fhaigheadh iad fuireach as an rioghachd seo fhèin. Bha iad airson iad a dhol fairis co-dhiù. ’S ann a Chanada a chuireadh iad. Chuala mi gun deach iad air bòrd an Tobar Mhoire.

Allan MacArthur:

You can leave today and be home again tomorrow . . . but when my people came out from Moidart and Canna around 1830, the MacIsaacs and the MacArthurs, it took them seven weeks from the time . . . bhon deach iad air bàta ann an Tobar Mhoire, agus . . . landed on the Gut o’ Canso. Nuair a chunnaic mo sheanair ’s mo sheanmhair an t-àit, nam biodh long a’ dol a dh’Alba air ais cha tigeadh iad air tir. Ach bha ’m bàta dol do dh’Astrailia.

Judith O’Neill:

When my great-grandparents went to Australia there was a Gaelic school in Geelong and a Gaelic church too – they’re marked on the old map . . . The children of that generation would have gone to that school. My mother often spoke of this and in our family that came to Australia there were two Donalds, brothers – Dòmhnall Dubh is Dòmhnall Bàn.

Bob MacInnes, Sydney:

I’ve been in Australia since 1924 – never been back home. Oh, the snakes! I had to wear spats up to the knees because they’d bite you. I worked on a farm in Victoria so I could pay back my fare and one day I was having breakfast, and a little boy about two years old says, ‘Oh, Mam, there’s a big black thing outside the dairy-room door!’ She went out and a blooming snake about four or five feet went into the dairy. I said, ‘You put a kettle of water on to boil and I’ll get some sticks, six feet and ten feet long, and we’ll fix her!’

After breakfast I got the kettle of water and went out with the two sticks, and I poured it down and she came out half-scalded, and she was just going to spring on me and I jammed her with this stick against the wall and hit her over the head with the other one. And we measured her – four and a half feet she was! Snakes! Oh, terrible! Anyhow I worked on that farm for eight months till I paid my £33 fare to the government before I left there. That was a lot of money in 1924.

Ethel MacCallum:

In the 1950s they brought in the ten pound tickets to Australia. A lot went from the Islands but Archie MacIntyre, who was at school with me, went to New Zealand in the early Sixties. He eventually made it home to Tiree in 2007, so I made a song for him:

Seòl an iùbhrach gu tìr mo rùin-sa,

Seòl an iùbhrach gu tìr mo ghràidh,

Seòl an iùbhrach gu tìr mo rùin-sa,

Is cùm air chùrs’ i gu ’n ruig i ’m bàgh.

’S fhad on dh’fhàg mi Eilean m’ àraich

Gu taobh thall dhen t-saoghal do Invercargill,

Àite bòidheach is daoine càirdeil –

’S e tìr an eòrna sam bu mhiann leam tàmh.

Is tìm dhomh gluasad gu dèanamh seòladh

Gu Eilean m’ òige is càirdean gaolach:

Tha leum nam chrìdh’ nist tighinn gu cala

Aig ceidhe m’ eòlais an tìr mo ghràidh.

Tha sean is ùr a-nist tighinn dlùth orm,

Tha làithean m’ òige mar sgàthan òir dhomh,

A’ ruith air tràigh gun smuain air gruaimean

Ach ceòl is gàire an tìr mo ghaoil.

Tha eòin nan speuran a’ seinn gu ceòlmhor,

Tha crodh is caoraich a’ gabhail socair,

An fhaoileag bhàn sgiathadh mach thar Sòdhaigh,

’S O, Eilean m’ àraich tighinn beò nam chrìdh’.

And Archie was away from home for forty-three years.

Troy MacGillivray:

It’s nearly two hundred years since my family left Scotland, but to me it still feels like home! Both sides of my family are from Scotland and I’m the sixth generation. My Mom’s people, the MacDonalds, are from the Isle of Eigg, so I’ve been to Eigg a couple of times – it’s pretty cool, a great spot. I love coming here and I feel totally at home . . . I remember the first time I went to Uist – I was playing at Cèolas: it was just amazing because when you’d go to someone’s house it was like being at home. You could be in Cape Breton! You’d just walk in and there were the same kind of people in the kitchen and they’d even play the same tunes! And of course the kettle was on for the tea! And biscuits – you call them ‘scones’ – and jam. And the oatcakes – I just love oatcakes!

Russell MacIver:

My grandfather came from 14 Balallan around 1850 or ’52. They used to tell them a lot of stories, especially about the houses they had ready for them – ‘what a nice house it was’ – and there was no floor in it, and there was no glass in the windows, and you could pretty near walk out through the cracks – but it was a house! I never saw that house, but I saw the first log house they made – my grandfather’s house – and that’s where we lived, in the log house.

Miriam MacRae Holland:

I’ve got my grandfather’s broadaxe that he used to hew all the logs for the old log house – that’s where they lived till 1929. There’s nothing left of it today, just a family photograph.

Mrs Traill:

We raised a shanty which now serves as a shed for my young cattle; I would not pull it down, though often urged to do so, as it stands in the way of a pleasant prospect from the window; but I like to look on it, and recall to mind the first years I passed beneath its lowly roof. We need such mentions to remind us of our former state; but we grow proud, and cease to appreciate our present comforts.

Christie MacKenzie:

They didn’t have much when they came, just an axe, a saw and a Bible. But they kept family worship, no matter how busy they were, right after breakfast, before they’d go out to work. They opened with a beannachd, the adhrachail and they’d read the chapter, and sing a psalm too. And then everybody got on their knees and they closed with prayer. And then again before going to bed. John’s father, Murdo MacKenzie, who sailed on that boat, could read the Gaelic Bible and he was a precentor in the church for years and years. Murchadh they used to call him.

Donald Morrison:

My Uncle Murdo worked in Vermont and he said there were so many Murdo Morrisons there that every time you’d call out ‘Murdo’, fifty or sixty of them would look up! At that time you weren’t considered a man until you’d done either a stint in the woods, on the drive, or you’d worked a couple of years in the quarries in Vermont.

Russell MacIver:

We’d go in to the camp when the weather got cold, around October, and wouldn’t get out till April or May. Some would stay for the drive when the ice on the river broke. A first cousin of my grandfather, Donald MacIver, came over from Lewis in time to go on the drive in spring. He didn’t know anything at all about it and he got drowned. Thirty years old, a nice, strong, healthy fellow. He’s buried in the MacIver cemetery. But there’s quite a knack in handling them logs in the water. There’s some fellas could walk on them, and drive them, and ride them down the river. ‘Course there’s a lot of them got drowned too. And Tormod Matheson, he got killed by a tree – a young fella. Quite a few lost their lives . . .

Then in the summer, to make a bit of money, some used to walk from here to Vermont to do the hay – just the scythe and, boy, some of them were good! They’d walk back at the end of the summer. But I heard them talking about the time that Dave Nicolson’s grandfather went, and one hot day – oh, awful hot, terrible! – they got this ice-cold water and he drank so much it just killed him. That’d be July and his wife didn’t hear about his death until they walked back in September.

Muriel:

I remember Jean MacIver’s great-aunt, Peigi MacKenzie – she was a widow and I remember her hat. It was like a pillbox in style, but bigger, with lace around it, and covered with a black veil, gathered at the back, and it hung almost to her waist – a ‘widow’s veil’. And she wore this all her life and always dressed in black.

Ruth:

D’you remember old Danny Morrison’s father, Dòmhnall Sgoth? People would come to him if there was a wedding or party and say, ‘We’d like a song.’ And he used to curl up on the sofa and lie like he was asleep. Everyone knew not to bother him and when he’d get up in a few hours, he’d have the song made!

Duncan:

And there was Johnnie ‘Bard’ from Dell and Murchadh Buidhe – he made a lot of songs. There were characters like Iain Coinneach an t-Saighdeir. Norman Morrison was ‘The Stump’ and his son was ‘AD’; Donald Murray was ‘Big Dan’ on account of his smallness, and ‘The Buffalo’ got his name because he was the first to get a buffalo skin for his sleigh.

Alex ‘Bugler’:

They called my grandfather ‘The Bugler’ because he used to play the bugle in the army . . . That’s why they call me ‘Alex Bugler’. And the Bugler’s brothers were Iain a’ West, Breun, Suaine and ‘The Killer’.

Donald:

Over on the North Hill were the two bards, Finlay MacRitchie and ‘Osgar Dubh’ (Angus MacKay). He became quite famous after he went out west – he used to live near Anna Sheumais. Her son was Bob a Sheumais, and Donald MacLeod in Lingwick was ‘The Baw-baw’.

Harvey:

The woodchucks were digging in the cemetery – there were thousands of them there, digging holes! Peter Buchanan was the mayor, so the Baw-baw went to the council and asked them to buy some traps so he’d catch the woodchucks. And Peter Buchanan said, ‘No, we’re not going to buy traps.’

‘All right, then, we’ll let the woodchucks eat your father!’

Donald:

And there was another old wit on North Hill, ‘John nam Mogais’. He used to wear moccasins – do you remember him?

Harvey:

Well, he was going home one night and a bear came after him, started chasing him. And the old man was running as fast as he could – he used to wear moccasins. A rabbit ran out in his path, and he said to the rabbit, ‘Get out of the way, and let somebody run that knows how to run!’

Allan:

We used to make moccasins out of cowhide. You’d scrape the hair off it with a sharp knife or even with glass, then you’d tan it in birch bark and soak the hide in a great big puncheon. Leave it for a few days, then you’d throw the water away and all the bark. And then get fresh water and more birch bark to cover the hide and set it in again and the third time leave it about a fortnight and the leather would be tanned, stained leather-brown. Then you’d stretch the hide and nail it on the barn wall till it dried, ready to use. It’s twenty-five years since I did it . . . But my brother Murdoch made a song about it, ‘Òran nam Mogaisean’.

Tha fonn, fonn, fonn air,

Tha fonn air na mogaisean,

Tha fonn gun bhith trom,

Hog i ó air na mogaisean.

Thòisich Seumas Ryan

’S rinn e craiceann de mhogaisean,

Gun chairt e dhiubh na h-adhbrainn

’S cha robh iad craobhaidh fhathast air.

Thèid mi sìos don aifhreann

An coibhneas nan caileagan –

Cha ghabh iad facal ùrnaigh

Ach sùil air mo mhogaisean.

Fhuair mi craiceann caorach

’S dùil rium caol a ghearradh às;

Thilg mi ’n dara taobh e

Ach fhuair mi laoighcionn gamhnach.

Aonghas:

Bhiodh sinn a’ dol dhan sgoil air ar casan rùisgte. Ach Latha na Sàbaid bha sinn a’ coimhead glè mhath, le deise bhrèagha ’s brògan. ’S bhiodh sinn trì mìle coiseachd a dhol dhan eaglais. Bhiodh sinn a’ dol gu Sunday School mu dheich uairean, agus nuair a thigeadh sinn às a’ Sunday School dheigheadh sinn dhan a’ choinneamh Ghàidhlig, mu aon uair deug. Bha na ministearan a’ cumail na seirbheis glè fhada, uair a thìde is uair gu leth. Choisicheadh sinn dhachaigh a-rithist, agus anns an fheasgar choisicheadh sinn dhan eaglais a-rithist – chun na h-evening service mu sheachd uairean. Bha sin dà mhìle dheug anns an latha a’ coiseachd dhan eaglais.

Muriel Mayhew:

And na h-òrdaighean