There won’t be any grammar lessons. All you have to do is listen and get used to how it sounds. You don’t need to work at memorising anything and you don’t even need to really read the text, unless you want to.

I’ll be using the “comprehensible input” method, but to establish a good base, I’ll also be speaking in English. You might know Michel Thomas and his audio lessons, I like that approach.

This one covers the basics - meeting and greeting.

(A1 on the Gaelic CEFR scale which is called FICE.)

Saying Hello

Before asking how someone how they are, you’d say “haló“. Or you could say “Tha thu sin“ - there you are. Or very informally “haidh-aidh“.

Saying “How are you?”

When learning, a lot of people start out with “Ciamar a tha thu?” - How are you.

This is the mid-Minch way of doing it. “Ciamar” is how. “Tha thu” is literally “you are.”

“Tha mi “- I am. “Tha thu” - you are.

In Lewis, we’d say “Dè man a tha thu?” “Dè” is what.

More informal “Dè do chor? - What’s your condition.

And of course, you need to reply.

Replying to “Ciamar a tha thu?”

“Tha (mi) gu math” - I am well, is one of the standard responses.

“Chan eil dona.” Not bad. There are different ways to get across where on the scale you are (easier to listen to the audio for this.)

“Chan eil càil ri ràdh” - There’s not much to speak about.

“Ag èirigh ‘s a’ gearain” - I am getting up an complaining.

Sin agad e! There you are.

People have many different reasons for learning Scottish Gaelic - connection to place, a love of the music, an interest in place-names, they love learning languages, it gives you an excuse to visit the Isle of Lewis…

The Family Connection

Many people around the world have a connection to the Gaelic language through the Gaelic diaspora. Some people maybe have had Gaelic in their family, and they want to get in touch with that side of their history.

You might be interested in clan history, or belong to a clan (like Clan Macleod, ideally. I hear there are other ones, though. Am joking!)

One of the best writers on the Gaelic diaspora is Michael Newton and his ‘Virtual Gael’ blog. He uncovers fascinating stories and unpacks complex strands of history in an accessible way.

An interesting fact, you can only find certain songs and styles of dancing in places like Canada (Viva Cape Breton), after the emigrants took them with them. They have been re-introduced back to Scotland from North America.

Scottish Gaelic Music and Song

Gaelic music has been an in for many people into the language. In fact, a number of the most revered folklore collectors and musicologists learnt Gaelic.

A singer called Marjorie Kennedy-Fraser had a large influence, she did settings of Gaelic songs (with piano accompaniment, for example) and introduced them to a wider audience.

Margaret Fay Shaw, one of the greatest folklore collectors in the language - made from Pennsylvania steel - cited Kennedy-Fraser as a key influence.

Or of course, Run Rig. I’ll take the… High Road? Low Road? Let’s agree to differ.

If you like singing in a choir, Gaelic is for you.

Gaelic songs are an absolute treasure, and because of the use of vocables, if you like singing, it’s an easy in. Because there are a large number of work songs, it can be a communal activity. There are too many singers to recommend. But here are six - Kathleen MacInnes, Julie Fowlis, Cathie Ann MacPhee, Flòraidh MacNeill, Màiri Smith, Karen Matheson….

And you don’t have to be a singer. If you’re interested in playing tunes on an instrument, the language helps with your “blas”. The word blas means “accent”, you have a speaking one, but you also have a musical one. A good number of tunes come from songs (and vice-versa as in the case of port-a-beul or mouth music) and so learning Gaelic can help with your musical phrasing.

The Joy of Language Learning

A lot of people learn Gaelic because they want the benefits of bilingualism for their own children and take the Gaelic-medium route in school. And then they get into learning it themselves, to support their children, or just because they find it interesting.

Prof. Antonella Sorace has some very interesting writing about this, she is the Director of Bilingualism Matters at the University of Edinburgh.

Does having more than one language help with learning others? People say it does. In my experience, you still have to do the work, but I’m comfortable being in different language settings and giving it a go. On the other hand, I know people who didn’t grow up bilingually and have reached very high levels of fluency, so it’s probably more about how engaged you are and the time you want to spend on it. And these are factors in your control.

Something to be mindful of - some people have had experiences which lead them to having self-limiting behaviours about languages. “I’m no good at languages,” some people say. The fact is, if you had a good route into a language, you’d be as good as anyone.

Being a Part of the Scottish Gaelic Community

Sometimes people use the number of speakers of a language as a reason not to learn it. However, when it comes down to the community you’re part of - I feel learning any language is a worthwhile experience.

There’s a great, active and creative community of Gaelic learners. The Gaelic speaking community is a well connected one, so if you get involved in it, you can make friends easily, and it is geographically widespread. There are poets, singers, writers all expressing themselves in the language.

There’s a YouTuber called Xiaomanyc - he’s from the USA. He learns different languages and travels to where they are spoken. The welcome he gets, even when he knows just a little of the language is phenomenal. He did one video in Sicily and another with the Maasai Mara, which are really great.

Experiencing Scottish Gaelic Culture

This is a many faceted and rich part of learning the language. A lot of hill-walkers, for example, want to learn about the place-names of the places they visit. Some of the place-names on Lewis are older than the settlement of Iceland, so there’s plenty to study. And they contain lots of stories and information about the landscape. There’s an organisation - Ainmean-Àite na h-Alba (Gaelic Place-Names of Scotland) which is the place to go to learn more about this subject.

Places have layers of history that it’s really interesting to dig into - Vikings - Neolithic sites…. speaking even a little of the language allows you to really engage deeply with these places.

In the next post, I’ll be looking at the question - is Scottish Gaelic difficult to learn.

Thanks for reading/mòran taing.

If you’re interested in hearing some Gaelic and some simple greetings - here is an audio clip. No grammar needed.

Ways to Greet People in Scottish Gaelic.

Credits - photo courtesy of VisitScotland.

“We, this people, on a small and lonely planet.” — Maya Angelou

I have been thinking of the island and deep time. The Isle of Lewis.

My personal experience of time doesn’t allow me to comprehend it well. It is like looking at the night sky.

As the writer Frank Rennie said. Geology is a subject that gets very complicated very fast. But I had questions like, where did the moor come from? Where did the machair come from?

When you cut peat, after you’ve cut the lowest level, you hit a hard layer - an cruas, we call it in Gaelic. It made a different sound to metal hitting solid rock. It was like the door of a tiny Volkswagen closing. Thwunk.

I always wondered what was it, that layer?

When you look across the water to Assynt, the mountains rise out of the ground. Lonely little islands of sandstone. They weren’t worn down by time or glaciers because of the quartzite caps they had which protected them.

But most of the Isle of Lewis was scoured by glaciers down to the bedrock. Although, interestingly! there were about 16km of coastline at the very north of Lewis which remained ice-free even at the peak of the last glaciation. Isn’t that amazing? They carbon dated an organic deposit at Toa Galson which gave dates older than 47,000 years old.

The bedrock is Lewisian Gneiss. It is around three billion years old in places. It began as different kinds of rock deep within the Earth’s crust — some originally molten, others laid down as sediments. Over deep time, pressure and heat worked on these rocks and transformed them. The minerals reorganised into bands of light and dark, giving gneiss its striped appearance. It’s estimated this happened around 60 kilometres underground.

Later mountain-building events lifted these deep rocks upward, then hundreds of millions of years of erosion — capped by the grinding of glaciers — eventually stripped everything above them away, leaving the gneiss exposed at the surface.

And the ‘cruas’ is what is left over from when the final great cold ended and the glaciers began to melt about twelve thousand years ago on the island. When the glaciers melted, they left behind the till which formed this layer. The pulverised remains of what rock there once was on the island as well as whatever gneiss the ice had managed to prise off the bedrock, mixed with silt and clay.

The great weight of the hundreds of metres of ice compacted it as well, meaning water couldn’t drain through it. So it filled up like an enormous pail. The waterlogged conditions mean that plants didn’t decompose, instead it accumulated, fractions of a millimetre a year. The moor.

What is the machair? The white sand of Lewis is made up of the shells of sea creatures, crushed to sand. The wind moves the sand into the interior where plants and grasses stabilise it.

Imagine the scale of that.

The machair was good for growing food. The peat was fuel. The stone for building.

I used to get £20 a day for cutting peats with Aonghas Iain Thàbaidh when I was in school. We got a lunch break and two tea breaks. But sometimes there would be a big squad out, there would be a fire on to make tea. After the war there were much bigger squads going out, with a massive tent and a three course meal for lunch.

You measure the amount of peats cut by the tairsgeir. Two “tairsgeirs”. Two people cutting peat for two days. Cutting peats, you have your head down a lot, bent over. Stuck in one version of time, the island in another entirely. The young me, with no thought for time and with no way to change it if I did. The time passes under our feet. But at times, it is also sweet.

Gaelic Version.

Tha mi air a bhith a’ smaoineachadh air an eilean agus tìm. Eilean Leòdhais. ’S e cuspair a th’ ann a tha uaireannan duilich greumachadh air. Coltach ri coimhead air na speuran.

Mar a thuirt an sgrìobhadair Frank Rennie, ’s e cuspair a th’ ann an geòlas a tha a‘ fàs gu math toinnte, gu math luath. Ach bha ceistean agam man - “co às a’ thàinig a’ mhòinteach?” agus “Cò às a thàinig a’ mhachair?”

Nuair a tha thu a’ buain ma mònach, nuair a tha thu sa bhroinn, tha an tairsgeir a’ bualadh a’ chruais. Chan eil e coltach ri bhith a’ bualadh clach idir. Tha e coltach ris an fhuaim a nì doras Volkswagen nuair a dhùnas e. Thwunk.

Bha mi a-riamh a’ wondraigeadh dè bh’ ann an sin.

Nuair a choimheadas tu thar a’ chuain gu Asaint, chì thu na beanntann, a tha air an dèanamh a-mach à gainmheach-chlach. Eileanan beaga. Cha deach an sgùradh sìos gu neoni air sgàth ’s na mullaichean quartzite a bh’ orra.

Ach bha a’ mhòr chuid dhen eilean air a sgùradh sìos dhan fo-chreig - Gneiss Leòdhasach. Ach! Agus tha seo inntinneach, tha pàirt dhen costa - mu 16km - anns nach do sruc na h-aibhnichean-deighe. Nach eil sin annasach! Lorg iad tasgadh organach ann an Toa Ghabhsainn a bha nas aosta na 47,000 bliadhna a dh’aois.

Tha Gneiss Leòdhasach, an fo-chreag, timcheall air trì billean bliadhna a dh’aois ann an àiteachan. Thòisich e mar chlach de dh’iomadh seòrsa air an amaladh ri chèile am broinn rùsg na talmhainn. Feadhainn dhiubh air an leaghadh, feadhainn dhuibh, clach-grùideil.

Thairis air ùine nan creach, dh’obraich teas agus cuideam air na clachan sin, mu 60-70 km shìos am broinn na talmhainn, agus dh’adhbhraich sin atharrachadh. Chaidh talmhionaich a chruthachadh, striopan soillear agus dorcha.

An uair sin, ghluais na clachan sin suas tro tachartasan togail-bheanntan. An uair sin, milleanan de bhliadhnaichean de bhleith-thalmhainn. An uair sin, chaidh an sgùradh le deigh - a’ fàgail an gneiss a chì sinn air a chùlaibh.

’S e th’ anns a’ chruas, na tha air fhàgail às dèidh dha na h-aibhnichen-deighe an talamh a sgùradh timcheall air 12,000 bliadhna air ais air an eilean. Nuair a leagh iad dh’fhàg iad clachan, dust mìn, crèadh air an amaladh le chèile air an cùlaibh. ’S e ‘till’ a th’ aca air seo sa Bheurla.

Le cho trom ‘s a bha an deigh, dh’adhbhraich seo gun robh an till cho cruaidh ’s nach traoghadh bùrn troimhe. Mar sin, lìon e, coltach ri peile mòr. Bha sin a’ ciallachadh nach robh lusan a’ lobhadh gu luath. Chàrn sin an àirde, milimeatair an dèidh milimeatair. A’ mhòinteach

Dè th’ anns a’ mhachair agus cò às a thàinig na tràighean? ’S e sligean a th’ annta, air an pronnadh gu pùdar.

Tha a’ ghaoth ga ghluasad agus tha lusan agus glasach a’ fas ą’ mhachair airson biadh. Mòine airson teas. Clach airson taighean a thogail.

Chleachd mise a bhith a’ faighinn £20 san latha airson mòine a bhuain le Aonghas Iain Thàbaidh, nuair a bha mi san sgoil. Stadadh sinn dà thuras san latha airson teatha, agus aon turas (nas fhaide), airson na sandwiches againn.

Bidh thu a’ tomhais na tha thu air buain ann an tairsgeirean. Dà neach a’ buain airson dà latha - dà thàirsgeir de mhòine

Uaireannan bhiodh squad a’ dol a-mach agus bhiodh teine air airson coire. Às dèidh a’ Chogaidh, bha squads nas motha ann, le teantaichean agus biadh cheart.

Nuair a tha thu a’ buain, crom, tha do cheann shìos tòrr. Air an tairsgeir le Aonghas Iain, luibte. Mise steigte ann ann aon sruth, an eilean, ann an sruth thìm eile. Cha bhithinn a’ smaoineachadh cus mu dheidhinn tìm agus mar a bha e a’ gluasad fo na casan againn. Agus a’ dol seachad, ged a tha e milis uaireannan anns an dol seachad sin.

Angus MacPhee was an artist, weaving objects out of grass, wool and beech leaves. His work is moving, intricate, connected to the place he came from. Horse collars. Pouches for sowing. Ropes.

Born in Iochdar, South Uist, he was in the Lovat Scouts as a young man, stationed in the Faroe Islands, where mental illness became increasingly debilitating. He spent most of his life, about fifty years, in Craig Dunain Mental Hospital. He died in 1997 at the age of 81.

As a young man in South Uist, he loved horses. He would make harnesses for horses out of marram grass when he was young. He always loved horses, people said.

I still remember clearly when I found one of his pieces in the grounds of the hospital. We were filming a short documentary piece about him and were talking to people who knew him at Craig Dunain.

It was covered by leaves and earth, they fell off it as soon as it was moved. The dust of leaves losing purchase and slipping to the ground, And then, a rope. About a metre, woven from grass.

We started looking in earnest in the long grass then and the pieces started to appear. He used what he found to hand, grass, wool, beech leaves. It is a long time now, but they made a certain sound as they were unearthed.

When he was a young man, he signed up and served in the Lovat Scouts. He was posted to the Faroe Islands, and it was there that his schizophrenia started to reveal itself. It led him to becoming silent, with some saying he didn’t speak for decades, except possibly to some close friends in the hospital in Gaelic.

The art therapist Joyce Laing was central in bringing his work to light. She was researching artists in a medical setting with the playwright Tom McGrath when she met MacPhee. She framed art found in this setting as a neglected creative practice. Joyce Laing wrote a book about Angus called ‘Weaver of Grass.’

Laing defined Art Extraordinary as work that:

...possesses that powerful quality which impinges itself on the memory, for nothing quite like it will have been seen before. It is arresting.

Laing wrote that every day, whatever the weather, Angus would make things out of grass.

Once Angus had fashioned a length of plaited grass rope, usually about two metres long, he would commence on another and only when he had made sufficient of these to meet the needs of the garment in mind, would he begin to work on the actual garment. According to the nursing staff, he never possessed any form of implement to assist his creations, using only his fingers to weave and graft his lengths of rope into the shape of a coat, or trousers, or boots. (Laing, 2000).

Laing said the number of items was "immense" – coats, jackets, trousers, gloves, boots, waders, hats, there was even a lost swallow-tailed coat.

There were hats of such variety to make a milliner die for; caps with a peaked front in the style of a police hat; caps that had earflaps, fit for an arctic explorer and the unforgettable first time I met Angus when he was wearing a grass cap which had a smart peak to the front and fitted his head perfectly, while the crown had worn a little thin. (Laing, 2000)

Some use the term ‘Outsider Art’ for art which was made by people who were self-taught, outside the mainstream art world. I prefer the term used in Scotland for this kind of art - ‘Art Extraordinary’.

‘Outsider Art’ was coined by Roger Cardinal as the English version of the term ‘Art Brut’ - which Jean Dubuffet wrote about in a manifesto-essay in 1949 called “L’Art brut préféré aux Arts Culturels”. Dubuffet collected, classified, and exhibited Art Brut—creating a new canon. This is from that essay:

We mean by this works executed by people untouched by artistic culture, in whom imitation—unlike what occurs among intellectuals—plays little or no part, so that their authors derive everything (subjects, choice of materials, means of transposition, rhythms, ways of writing, etc.) from their own resources rather than from the clichés of classical art or fashionable art.

The term is debated nowadays and the edges of meaning eroded from it. If an artist who is called as an outsider artist has an exhibition of their work in a gallery, what does the term mean? By the 1990s and 2000s, Cardinal himself said there were problems with the term. Other art critics such as Foster and Pollock discussed the notion of being ‘outside’ as a fiction.

Foster said that there is no simple outside to culture, no position of purity from which to oppose it. (The Return of the Real, 1996) He says that it is a myth that people can create art completely free of cultural influence.

The German artist Joseph Beuys used to say that everyone is an artist, that the impulse to make art is part of the human condition.

The artist Will Maclean has also builds on objects with a tie to work, to the sea. In a conversation with Sandy Moffat, he said that “Often… the narrative reveals itself through the found object or the process of making” and that “The creative process is still the same whatever the media.”

There are multiple examples in the material culture of an area like the Scottish Highlands which show how far cultural transmission of objects and techniques can reach. One example is Barvasware, from the Isle of Lewis. It is earthenware which was copied from mass-produced Staffordshire and Clyde pottery tableware from the late 19th century. So yes, no position of purity.

I wrote a play called ‘I was a Beautiful Day’ at the Traverse Theatre in Edinburgh in 2005 which was initially inspired by Angus MacPhee’s story and finding his work in the grounds of the hospital. The main character in the play, however, made maps. I was always taken by Tim Robinson’s maps of the Aran Isles and Connemara in Ireland, walking the land and finding stories connected to places.

I come from a place which similarly is rich in placenames and I thought that the character could be doing this, making a map of the island he came from but on a scale of one-to-one to be able to represent these stories. I’ve since found the term for this was creating ‘deep maps’, with levels of information and story.

MacPhee’s work is a deep map. His world was physically confined to the grounds of the hospital. But nothing held back his imagination and the gift of his hands.

Many thanks to Norman Macleod, Taigh Chearsabhagh, for his help sourcing photographs. There are two other main places to see Angus MacPhee’s work online - the collections of Am Baile and Glasgow Life.

MacPhee’s work has inspired many artists. The Mackenzie Sisters recorded a song ‘Fighe le Feur - Weaving with Grass’ (Spotify Link). Horse and Bamboo Theatre Company did a show about him. Singer Donnie Munro recorded a song on his album Fields of the Young called “Weaver of Grass.“ (Spotify link.) Poet Chrys Salt has written a number of poems about Angus MacPhee. Roger Hutcheson wrote a book about McPhee called - The Silent Weaver: The Extraordinary Life and Work of Angus MacPhee (Published by Birlinn in 2011.)

OTHER WEAVINGS

If you are interested in Angus’ art, you might also get a lot out of the work of these other artists:

Ruth Asawa - She makes incredible spiral sculptures, woven out of wire. In Toluca, Mexico, she came across a wire basket in a market and learnt the technique. She was a farm worker, so knew wire, fencing, baling wire. Here is a video on the Museum of Modern Art Channel about Ruth Asawa’s life and work.

Nnena Kalu - Here is a video of artist Nnena Kalu creating work. It’s amazing to see how she so fluently works with materials, weaving and binding them together. She won the Turner Prize (2025).

Here is a recording on Tobar an Dualchais/Kist o’ Riches about making a rope from heather - (Siomain-fraoich.)

FURTHER READING

Bateman, M. and Purser, J. (2020) Window to the West: Culture and Environment in the Scottish Gàidhealtachd. Sleat: Clò Ostaig, Sabhal Mòr Ostaig. A PDF of Window to the West is available on the Sabhal Mòr Ostaig Website.

Foster, H. (1996) The Return of the Real: The Avant-Garde at the End of the Century. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

Laing, J. (2000) Angus McPhee: Weaver of Grass. Lochmaddy: Taigh Chearsabhagh Trust.

Maclean, W. and Moffat, S. (2011) ‘Will Maclean in conversation with Sandy Moffat’, in Will Maclean: Collected Works 1970–2010. London: The Fleming-Wyfold Art Foundation.

English Version

The press-gang existed because at times of war, there were never enough men to man the ships of the Navy. And so, the Navy took people by force. It was “second only to African slavery in the number of forced workers it ensnared.” (Brunsman, 2013).

It affected communities the length and breadth of Britain, especially during the Napoleonic Wars:

The press net was cast wider and wider, until at length… practically every class of the population of these islands was subjected to its merciless inroads. (Hutchinson, 1914)

But as the Impressment service especially needed men who were used to the sea - island and coastal communities were especially affected,

The Western Isles were one of the places where ‘the Press’ took place. There are references to it in oral tradition, from Ness to Tiree, and also in documents such as those in the National Archives, where sailors from Stornoway are named.

Impressment was a crown prerogative, it’s documented back to Medieval times. According to Finlay (2022), the legal basis rested on “crown prerogative, parliamentary statute, and the common law… an ancient, legal, prerogative of the crown, coeval with our constitution, as being necessary for its defence.”

The livelihoods of the islands were closely tied to the sea, and that meant the Navy’s Impressment Service had a particular impact on the Western Isles. We can look at an account of the parish of Lochs in Lewis to see how dependent such a place was on occupations connected to the sea.

The whole amount of the population in this parish is 1768 persons, of which number, 845 are males, and 923 are females…The number of families is 306. Most of the inhabitants are fishers and netmakers. There are 38 kelp-makers, 76 weavers of coarse cloth, (and) 2 boat-carpenters. (Simson, 1797)

There would have been a particular impact, then, on the economy of these districts when they were losing men who were working in these trades.

According to Macdonald (1978), life in the Navy was not attractive to the young lads of the island:

What they knew of the balaich-ghorma, the boys in blue, due to the press-gang system, abolished in 1812, they regarded with horror. Very few were prepared to enlist in a service where criminals abounded, conditions were harsh, food meagre, and floggings frequent. (Macdonald, 1978, p. 121)

According to Macdonald (1978), at the time of the Napoleonic War, around 500 people went to the Army and 80 to the Navy from the Isle of Lewis. That’s without counting those the press-gang took. And Seaforth’s press-gang was vicious.

The press-gang is remembered in the oral tradition of the Isle of Lewis. There are accounts of the press-gang taking islanders – up to 32 people on one occasion in Keose. It affected townships and settlement patterns. For example, it’s said that the village of Coll was moved inland from the coast because of the Press Gang. (Stiùbhart, 2026, pers. comm.)

Regarding the Navy’s press-gang, there is an account of an incident from Lochs in Lewis, which took place at Leac nan Gillean, in the bay of Swordale, Keose. According to oral tradition, 32 young men were seized after they had gone to the church there.

“… (the) young men were lured into a trap under false pretences by causing them to enter the old Parish Church building at Swordale where the hated press-gang were lying in wait for them, either within the Church or nearby, ready to pounce on them and carry them away and enlist them in one of the armed services, probably the Navy, seeing a warship was used.” (Macleod, n.d.)

The ship was hiding behind Eilean Thàbaidh at the mouth of Loch Erisort. It seems that a dozen returned, but twenty of them were never seen again.

There was another example of the press-gang taking people in Lewis when a press-gang appeared at Knockaird in Ness. All the healthy men between sixteen and thirty years of age were taken away:

… in spite of the repeated attempts by their women-folk to free them, attempts which were foiled by bayonets being held at their breasts. These “volunteers” were marched across the moors by Muirneag (mountain) to Stornoway, from where they were immediately shipped to the mainland. Years later, the sole survivor of these Balaich a’ Chruic Aird, Lads of Knockaird, John MacDonald, Iain Buidhe, returned, to find his old father had been evicted … He had to go and live on Cuile Toitair, south of Cellar Head, miles from any other habitation. (Macdonald, 1978, p. 118)

It wasn’t just on the island itself that people were taken – the Press could take people and vessels in ports and cities too. Island people were also at sea on commercial vessels, both as fishermen and on cargo ships. There are several documents in the National Archives about sailors from Lewis who were taken in cities like Liverpool, where they were at sea on commercial vessels.

There is an account of one man, Murchadh Dòmhnallach (Murdoch McDonald) from Lewis, who was taken while he was warping a vessel out of Belfast. The sailor wouldn’t answer any questions put to him, saying he only spoke Gaelic.

Richard Williams, Belfast. Reports that Murdoch McDonald who was impressed by Lieutenant Howden, was caught warping a sloop down the Channel. Murdoch McDonald is about 22 years of age, 5ft 6in tall, a stout well-formed young man. The master of another sloop claimed that McDonald was his apprentice but had no indentures to show for him. McDonald would not answer any questions as he only spoke Gaelic and was from Stornoway, Isle of Lewis. (The National Archives, ADM 1/2697/71, fols. 190–191)

The Press also affected vessels that were out of Stornoway.

Letter dated 21 May, 1808 from Colin McEver, Liverpool, to the Admiralty. Seeks the discharge of his apprentice Collin Murray, who was impressed and sent aboard HMS Princess shortly after his vessel the Sir Sydney Smith of Stornoway arrived in Liverpool to take on cargo for Sweden. (The National Archives, ADM 1/2173/63, fols. 419–420)

These sources give us a glimpse of the impact the Navy’s Impressment Service had on the Western Isles. Because people’s livelihoods depended so much on work connected to the sea, the Press had a huge impact on the islands by taking people into the Service against their will. By taking men who worked at the fishing and on the kelp, it had a damaging effect on the employment and livelihoods of the people. But it wasn’t just that – impressment was terrible in every way, taking people’s freedom and making them fight and die in distant lands.

The writer and academic Michael Newton has written a piece on the press-gang on his Substack - the Virtual Gael. One would think there would be some reactions to the press in Gaelic song, but there is not much to found. Thankfully, Michael has found one Gaelic song written by a man who was pressed in Greenock, and he talks about it in the post.

Gaelic version

‘S e na h-Eileannan an Iar aon de na h-àiteachan far an robh ‘am Press’ a’ gabhail àite. Tha iomraidhean mu dheidhinn ann am beul-aithris, agus cuideachd ann an sgrìobhainnean leithid na National Archives. Ann an seo, tha seòladairean à Steòrnabhadh air an ainmeachadh.

‘S e ‘crown prerogative’ a bh’ ann – a rèir Finlay (2022), bha bun-stèidh laghail na cùise stèidhichte air “crown prerogative, parliamentary statute, and the common law… an ancient, legal, prerogative of the crown, coeval with our constitution, as being necessary for its defence.”

Bha beo-shlàint nan eileannan ceangailte gu dlùth ris a’ mhuir, agus bha sin a’ ciallachadh gun robh Seirbheis Impressment an Nèibhidh a’ toirt buaidh shònraichte air na h-eileannan. Gu h-àraidh leis gun robh an Nèibhidh a’ sireadh dhaoine a bha cleachte ris a’ mhuir.

Faodaidh sinn coimhead air iomradh air sgìre nan Lochan ann an Leòdhas a dh’fhaicinn mar a bha leithid a dh’àite a’ crochadh air dreuchdan a bha ceangailte ris a’ mhuir.

The whole amount of the population in this parish is 1768 persons, of which number, 845 are males, and 923 are females…The number of families is 306. Most of the inhabitants are fishers and netmakers. There are 38 kelp-makers, 76 weavers of coarse cloth, (and) 2 boat-carpenters. (Simson, 1797)

Bhiodh buaidh shònraichte ma-thà, a thaobh eaconomaidh nan sgìrean nuair a bhiodh iad a’ call fireannaich a bh’ anns na h-obraichean seo.

A rèir Macdonald (1978), cha robh beatha anns an Nèibhidh tarraingeach dha balaich òga an eilein:

What they knew of the balaich-ghorma, the boys in blue, due to the press-gang system, abolished in 1812, they regarded with horror. Very few were prepared to enlist in a service where criminals abounded, conditions were harsh, food meagre, and floggings frequent. (Macdonald, 1978, p. 121)

A rèir Macdonald (1978), aig àm Cogadh Napoleon, chaidh timcheall air 500 neach dhan Arm agus 80 dhan Nèibhidh. Tha sin gun chunntadh na dh’fhalbh am press-gang leis.

Tha cuimhne air am Press-gang ann am beul-aithris Eilean Leòdhais. Tha iomraidhean ann mu dheidhinn am press-gang a falbh le eileanaich – suas gu 32 neach, aon turas ann an Ceòs. Thug e buaidh air bailtean is iomairean. Mar eiseimplair, thathas ag ràdh gun deach baile Chuil a ghluasad a-steach bhon chosta air sgàths am Press Gang. (Stiùbhart, 2026, pers. comm.)

A thaobh press-gang an Nèibhidh, tha iomradh air tachartas (Macleod, n.d.) bho na Lochan ann an Leòdhas, a thachair aig Leac nan Gillean, ann am bàgh Shuairdail, Ceòs. A rèir beul-aithis, chaidh 32 fireannaich òga an glacadh agus iad air a dhol dhan eaglais an sin.

“… (the) young men were lured into a trap under false pretences by causing them to enter the old Parish Church building at Swordale where the hated press-gang were lying in wait for them, either within the Church or nearby, ready to pounce on them and carry them away and enlist them in one of the armed services, probably the Navy, seeing a warship was used.” (Macleod, n.d.)

Bha an t-soitheach a’ falachd air chùlaibh Eilean Thàbaidh aig beul Loch Eireasort. Tha coltach gun do thill dusan neach, ach chan fhacas a-rithist fichead dhiubh.

Bha eiseimplair eile dhen phress-gang a’ falbh le daoine ann Leòdhas nuair a nochd press-gang anns a’ Chnoc Àrd ann an Nis, Leòdhas. Chaidh na fireannaich a bha falainn eadar sia deug agus trichead bliadhna a dh’aois gu lèir a thoirt air falbh:

… in spite of the repeated attempts by their women-folk to free them, attempts which were foiled by bayonets being held at their breasts. These “volunteers” were marched across the moors by Muirneag (mountain) to Stornoway, from where they were immediately shipped to the mainland. Years later, the sole survivor of these Balaich a’ Chruic Aird, Lads of Knockaird, John MacDonald, Iain Buidhe, returned, to find his old father had been evicted … He had to go and live on Cuile Toitair, south of Cellar Head, miles from any other habitation. (Macdonald, 1978, p. 118)

Cha b’ ann dìreach air an eilean a bhathas a’ falbh le daoine – dh’fhaodadh am Press falbh le daoine agus soithichean anns na Puirt is bailtean mòra cuideachd. Bha muinntir an eilein aig muir cuideachd air soithichean coimearsalta, an dà chuid mar iasgairean agus air soithichean cargu. Tha grunn sgrìobhainnean anns na National Archives a-mach air seòladairean à Leòdhas air an togail ann am bailtean mòra leithid Liverpool, far an robh iad aig muir air soithichean choimearsalta.

Tha iomradh ann mu dheidhinn fear, Murchadh Dòmhnallach à Leòdhas a chaidh a thogail nuair a bha e a’ warpeadh soitheach a-mach à Beal Feirste. Chan eil an seòladair a’ freagairt cheistean sam bith a thathas a’ cur air, ag ràdh nach eil ach Gàidhlig aige.

Richard Williams, Belfast. Reports that Murdoch McDonald who was impressed by Lieutenant Howden, was caught warping a sloop down the Channel. Murdoch McDonald is about 22 years of age, 5ft 6in tall, a stout well-formed young man. The master of another sloop claimed that McDonald was his apprentice but had no indentures to show for him. McDonald would not answer any questions as he only spoke Gaelic and was from Stornoway, Isle of Lewis. (The National Archives, ADM 1/2697/71, fols. 190–191)

Bha am Press cuideachd a’ toirt buaidh air soithichean a bha a-mach à Steòrnabhagh.

Letter dated 21 May, 1808 from Colin McEver, Liverpool, to the Admiralty. Seeks the discharge of his apprentice Collin Murray, who was impressed and sent aboard HMS Princess shortly after his vessel the Sir Sydney Smith of Stornoway arrived in Liverpool to take on cargo for Sweden. (The National Archives, ADM 1/2173/63, fols. 419–420)

Chìthear bho na tùsan seo sealladh air a’ bhuaidh a bha aig Seirbheis Impressment an Nèibhidh air na h-Eileannan an Iar. Seach gun robh beò-shlàinte nan daoine a’ crochadh cho mòr air obair ceangailte ris a’ mhuir, thug am Press buaidh mòr air na h-Eileannan le bhith a’ toirt dhaoine dhan t-Seirbheis an aghaidh an cuid toil. Le bhith a’ falbh le fireannaich a bha ag obair ag iasgach agus air a’ cheilp, thug e droch bhuaidh air cosnadh agus bith-bheò nan daoine. Ach chan e sin a-mhàin, ach cho olc ’s a bha Impressment sa h-uile dòigh, a’ falbh le saorsa dhaoine agus a’ toirt orra sabaid agus bàsachadh ann an tìrean cèin.

Further Reading

Here are some books and resources on the subject, if you'd like to read further.

Bolster, W.J. (2014) Review of The Evil Necessity: British Naval Impressment in the Eighteenth-Century Atlantic World, by D. Brunsman. The Journal of American History, 100(4), pp. 1182–1183. Available at: https://www.jstor.org.

Brunsman, D. (2013) The Evil Necessity: British Naval Impressment in the Eighteenth-Century Atlantic World. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press.

Finlay, J. (2022) ‘“Inter arma enim silent leges?”: Impressment and the Scottish courts in the later eighteenth century’, Edinburgh Law Review, 26(1), pp. 1–24.

Hutchinson, J.R. (1914) The Press-Gang Afloat and Ashore. London: T. Werner Laurie.

MacDonald, D. (1978) Lewis: A History of the Island. Stornoway: Acair.

Mackillop, A. (1995) Military Recruiting in the Scottish Highlands, 1739–1815: The Political, Social and Economic Context. PhD thesis. University of Glasgow.

MacLeod, D. J. (2015) The Highland Clearances on the Isles of Lewis and Harris: Some writings of Donald J. MacLeod of Uig. Unpublished manuscript.

Macleod, Angus “Ease”, NRAS 4336/1/9/1 “The Seaforth Press Gang”. Available at: www.angusmacleodarchive.org.uk

Magra, C. (2016) Poseidon’s Curse: British Naval Impressment and Atlantic Origins of the American Revolution. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

National Records of Scotland (NRS), Papers of the Gillanders Family of Highfield, GD427.

Simson, A. (1797) ‘Parish of Lochs’, in Sinclair, J. The Statistical Account of Scotland. Vol. 19. Edinburgh: William Creech, pp. 274–279. Available at: Statistical Accounts of Scotland website.

The National Archives (n.d.) Richard Williams, Belfast, reporting on Murdoch McDonald. ADM 1/2697/71, fols. 190–191. London: The National Archives.

The National Archives (1808) Letter from Colin McEver, Liverpool, to the Admiralty seeking the discharge of his apprentice Collin Murray, impressed into HMS Princess after the Sir Sydney Smith of Stornoway arrived in Liverpool. ADM 1/2173/63, fols. 419–420. London: The National Archives.

The National Archives (1813) Letter from Donald M’Leod, Regulating Officer, Liverpool. ADM 1/2173/63, fols. 184–185. London: The National Archives.

In this post :

• Read the Gaelic version of this post - Tàlaidhean

• Scottish Gaelic Lullabies - “A picture that is far from idyllic”

• Griogal Cridhe - A Gaelic Clockwork orange

• Extracts from lullabies collected by Margaret Fay Shaw

• Frances Tolmie - Collector of Gaelic lullabies

• Òran tàlaidh na Mnà-sìthe - The Song of the Fairy Woman

• BBC ALBA documentary on Gaelic lullabies - trailer

Scottish Gaelic Lullabies - “A picture that is far from idyllic”

I was reading Margaret Fay Shaw’s book Folksongs and Folklore of South Uist, and I saw a lovely wee lullaby, one of many she collected.

O bà, o bà, o bà o ì
I won’t rock you to sleep,
as you’ve completely done my head in.

Gaelic lullabies can be raw. They were a way for women to talk to each other, they were a way to make statements, talk abut politics, share emotions, share hopes and fears. Tàlaidhean were also a child’s introduction to social norms and what was desirable in the culture.

The Gaelic poet Anne Frater told me that they let women deal with subjects and styles of song that they weren’t ‘officially’ supposed to. It was expected that they would compose laments, work songs and lullabies. They weren’t allowed near panegyric or political poems. That was reserved for male poets.

But if it were in a tàladh, a lullaby, they could praise a family. They could hope for a child’s future, they could make it political. They could say what they wanted, but staying within the rules.

Anne said that these songs would only be heard amongst women, and it was women who kept them going, as well as keeping them private from those who might not agree with their views.

Barbara Hillers’ paper in Rannsachadh na Gàidhlig - Dialogue or Monologue? Lullabies in Scottish Gaelic tradition is very worth a read. She says:

If we examine the traditional folk lullaby… we encounter a picture that is far from idyllic. Many oral-traditional lullabies deal with unhappiness, loss, violence, and death. The singers often give vent to feelings that are less than loving: frustration, anger and aggression. The phenomenon of violent subject matter in the lullaby should come as no surprise to anyone familiar with Scottish Gaelic tradition.

Although “most lullabies are marked by lavish expressions of affection”, Hillers has examples from other languages showing similar feelings. Here is one in Italian:

Rock-a-bye rock-a-bye
What patience it takes
I’m going to knock you against the dresser!

To balance this out, the Italian version of inch-wincy spider has the spider running back to its mother at the end. Which a screenwriter would call ‘on the nose’. But one thing I love is that the wee spider is called ‘whisky ragnetto’.

Griogal Cridhe - A Gaelic Clockwork Orange

Let’s look at Griogal Chridhe - Gregor of my Heart - which was written in 1570 and is still extremely popular. It was a woman talking to her baby about her husband Gregor MacGregor, who was executed by the Campbells. (This one doesn’t appear in Fay Shaw’s collection.)

My heart is sore, darling
your father won’t hear our crying
They put his head on an oak stake
And they spilled his blood
If I had had a cup
I would have drunk my fill of it.

Songs were powerful. The poet Màiri Nighean Alasdair Ruaidh showed that, banished for praising a chief’s brother too much. In the 16th and 17th century, it was an oral culture. As Ann Frater put it, a song would spread quicker than a letter. Some were used as a message. They could be decoded.

The fact that a poem could be transmitted, kept alive and still be a popular song today, shows how strong the transmission of them was.

Extracts from lullabies collected by Margaret Fay Shaw

Hillers talks about lullabies as being an unusual genre, and “an unusual performance context”.

While it is often classed with children’s songs, it cannot be stressed
enough that the lullaby is an adult composition, a song for. not by, a child. In
fact, as we shall argue, it may well be composed for the mother as much as
the child.

Plenty of the lullabies collected by Margaret Faye Shaw hold true to this statement. For example O Bà, mo leanabh, o bà, o bà contains the line “My child unbaptised and myself in want.”

Here are other extracts:

Bà, bà, mo leanabh beag - Sleep my little child

What, my love, will I do for you,
For I have no milk for you?
I am worried you will get the croup
the potatoes have rotted

Another called Dèan Cadalan (Try and sleep)

Try and sleep love of mine
Although I find it hard to sing you to sleep,
your father says that you aren’t his.

Frances Tolmie - Collector of Gaelic lullabies

Frances Tolmie was the other great collector of Gaelic lullabies. She was born in 1840 on the Isle of Skye.

She collected a great many lullabies on the island. They came to her ‘gun sireadh, gun iarradh’ - ‘without looking them out, without asking.’ They were in the air. (Acair Books have published a book about her using the same phrase.)

It was probably much the same for Margaret Faye Shaw. She collected the songs which were around her, songs connected to work, rituals and children. And they are a fascinating, live and revealing body of work.

As Anne Frater put it, without these two collectors, many of them would have been lost. Barbara Hillers confirmed this. Whilst helping me during the research period of the documentary, she aid :

The remarkable fact is that at least as far as published material is concerned, the material published by those two formidable musicologists comprises the lion’s share of what can be considered as authentic Gaelic folk lullabies. It is even more remarkable that this may hold true even if we look at Gaelic lullabies in Ireland as well.

Barara also highlighted how very underserved this style of song was, and in an Irish context, how few were collected. We are lucky Margaret Fay Shaw fell in love with Gaelic music, and that we have a musicologist of the stature of Tolmie.

I’ll leave you with a treat.

Òran tàlaidh na Mnà-sìthe - The Song of the Fairy Woman

Here is one I really like - Òran tàlaidh na Mnà-sìthe, The Song of the Fairy Woman. It is connected to the Macleods of Dunvegan.

The singer Kathleen MacInnes said that if you were to work in domestic service at the Dunvegan Castle you had to learn it. The Macleods of Dunvegan were crazy for stories about the sìthe - and they of course had their ‘fairy flag’ which would always guarantee them winning a scrap.

Here is an extract (on Spotify) of Kathleen singing Òran na Mnà-sìthe, a beautiful rendition.

BBC ALBA documentary on Gaelic lullabies - trailer

The documentary isn’t available on BBC iPlayer at the moment, but there is a one minute trailer which is nice to watch again.

BBC iPlayer - Tålaidhean (Gaelic Lullabies) - Trailer

Thanks for reading.

Gaelic Version - Tàlaidhean

Bha mi a’ leughadh an leabhair aig Margaret Fay Shaw agus thàinig mi tarsainn air na tàlaidhean a chruinnich i. Seo aon dhiubh a ghlac mo shùil.

O bà, o bà, o bà o ì
Cha bhith mi gad thàladh
Bhon shàraich thu mi.

Mụ Thàlaidhean

Rinn mi prògram telebhisean aon turas mu dheidhinn tàlaidhean agus tha’ d inntinneach sa Ghàidhlig oir chan eil iad idir dìreach airson clann a chur a chadal.

‘S e dòigh-conaltraidh àraidh a bh’ annta. Bha boireannaich gan cleachdadh airson bruidhinn mu dheidhinn chuspairean fad is farseeing, agus cuideachd airson oideas de dhiofar sheòrsaichean a thoirt dha clann.

Thuirt am bàrd Anne Frater rium gun robh tàlaidhean a’ leigeil dha boireannaich sgrìobhadh mu dheidhinn cuspairean air nach robh ‘còir’ aca. Bhathas an dùil gum biodh iad a sgrìobhadh chumhaidhean, òrain luaidh agus tàlaidhean. Ach cha robhas an dùil gum biodh iad a’ dol faisg air cuspairean phoilitigeach no panygeric.

Ach mas e tàladh a bh’ ann, dh’fhaodadh boireannach moladh a thoirt dha teaghlach no neach. Dh’fhaodadh iad a bhith cho poilitigeach ‘s a bha iad ag iarraidh.

Thuirt Anne gur ann am measg bhoireannaich a bhitear gan cluinntinn. Agus ‘s e boireannaich a chum iad a’ dol agus a sgaoil na h-òrain sin fad is farsaing. ‘S e dòigh cuideachd a bh’ ann diofar bheachdan a chumail dìomhair, ‘s nach cluinneadh ‘s mathaid feadhainn nach robh ag aontachadh iad sin.

Sgrìobh Barbara Hillers pàipear a tha air leth math mun chuspair - Rannsachadh na Gàidhlig - Dialogue or Monologue? Lullabies in Scottish Gaelic tradition. Tha Hillers ag ràdh

If we examine the traditional folk lullaby… we encounter a picture that is far from idyllic. Many oral-traditional lullabies deal with unhappiness, loss, violence, and death. The singers often give vent to feelings that are less than loving: frustration, anger and aggression. The phenomenon of violent subject matter in the lullaby should come as no surprise to anyone familiar with Scottish Gaelic tradition.

Thuirt i cuideachd : “although most lullabies are marked by lavish expressions of affection”, agus thug I dhuinn eiseimplairean bho chànanan eile nach eil aon-coltach ris an fheadhainn sa Ghàidhlig. Seo fear ann an Eadailtis :

Rock-a-bye rock-a-bye
What patience it takes
I’m going to knock you against the dresser!

Airson an taobh eile a thoirt dhuibh, bha cuideachd tionndadh ann an Eadailtis de ‘inch-wincy spider’ - ‘s e ‘whisky ragnetto’ a th’ air! Ann an sin, tha an damhan-allaidh, a’ ruith air ais gu mhàthair nuair a tha e ann an trioblaid.

Griogal Cridhe - cha chluinn d’ athair ar caoidh

Nach coimead sinn air Griogal Chridhe. Chaidh seo a sgrìobhadh ann an 1570 agus fhathast cluinnidh tu iomadach seinneadair ga ghabhail . ‘S e màthair a th’ ann, a’ seinn ri cuid pàisde mu dheidhinn na thachair ris an duine aice. B’ e esan Griogair MacGriogair, a chaidh a chur gu bàs le na Caimbeulaich. Shìorraidh tha e dorch.

Ochain, ochain, ochain uiridh
Is goirt mo chridhe, a laoigh,
Ochain, ochain, ochain uiridh
Cha chluinn d’ athair ar caoidh...

Chuir iad a cheann air ploc daraich
Is dhòirt iad fhuil mu làr
Nam biodh agam-sa an sin cupan
Dh’ òlainn dheth mo shàth.

Bha leithid a dh’òrain cumhachdach. Sheall Màiri Nighean Alasdair Ruaidh sin dhuinn, agus aice ri cùl a shealltainn gu dachaigh agus i air an duine cheàrr a mholadh.

Anns an 16mh agus 17mh linn, thuirt Anne Frater, seach gur e cultur beul-oideas a bh’ ann, dh’fhaodadh òrain sgapadh nas luaithe na litir. Bha feadhainn dhiubh air an cleachdadh dìreach anns an t-aon dhòigh - mar theachdaireachd.

Gu bheil òrain ann a tha barrachd air 450 bliadhna agus fhathast beò ann an inntinn dhaoine, tha sin a sealltainn dìreach mar a tha iad a’ sgapadh agus cho cumhachdadh ‘s a tha iad.

Tàlaidhean a chruinnich Margaret Fay Shaw

Tha Hillers ag ràdh gur e genre annasach a th’ann an tàlaidhean, ‘s gun robh iad gan gabhail “(in)... an unusual performance context”.

While it is often classed with children’s songs, it cannot be stressed enough that the lullaby is an adult composition, a song for not by a child. In fact, as we shall argue, it may well be composed for the mother as much as the child.

Tha gu leòr dhe na tàlaidhean a chruinnich Margaret Faye Shaw a’ dol le seo. Mar eiseimplair - ann an O Bà, mo leanabh, o bà, o bà tha loidhne ann “Mo leanabh gun bhaisteadh, s mi fhin fon uireas.”

Seo dhà eile:

Bà, bà, mo leanabh beag

Dè a ghaoil a nì mi dhut
Gun bhainne cìche agam dhut?
Eagal orm gun ghabh thu crup
le buigead a’ bhuntàta.

Fear eile leis an ainm Dèan Cadalan

Dèan cadalan, a shùgh mo chèile
‘S fhaide liom bhith gad thàladh
D’ athair ag ràdh nach leis fhèin thu,

Frances Tolmie

Chan eil neach eile cho cudromach ri Frances Tolmie ann a bhith a’ cumail na h-òrain seo beò. Rudadh i ann an 1840 air en Eilean Sgiathanach.

Chruinnich i grunn thàlaidhean air an eilean. Thàinig iad thuice ‘gun sireadh, gun iarraidh’. Bha iad dìreach mun cuairt oirre. (Tha Acair Books air leabhar fhoillseachadh leis an aon ainm , ‘Gun Sireadh, Gun Iarraidh’.

Tha fhios gur ann mar sin a bha e dha Margaret Faye Shaw cuideachd. Sgrìobh i sìos na h-òrain a bha mun cuairt oirre, òrain luaidh, cumhaidhean, tàlaidean... Agus nach sinn a tha fortanach gun do rinn i sin. Thuirt Anne Frater, às aonais an dithis seo, bhiodh an t-uabhas dhiubh air a bhith air chall.

Thuirt Barbara Hillers an t-aon rud rium. Nuair a bha mi a’ rannsachadh a’ phrògraim, thuirt i :

The remarkable fact is that at least as far as published material is concerned, the material published by those two formidable musicologists comprises the lion’s share of what can be considered as authentic Gaelic folk lullabies. It is even more remarkable that this may hold true even if we look at Gaelic lullabies in Ireland as well.

Thuirt Barbara cuideachd nach robh faisg air gu leòr cuideam air na h-òrain seo a chruinneachadh ‘s a bu chòir. Cuideachd, nach deach mòran idir a chruinneachadh ann an Eirinn.

Nach sinn a bha fortanach gun robh na dithis sin againn.

Òran tàlaidh na Mnà-sìthe

Seo tàladh breagha dha-rìribh a th’ ann an Òran tàlaidh na Mnà-sìthe. Tha ceangal aige gu Sliochd MhìcLeòid ann an Dun Bheagan.

Thuirt Kathleen NicAonghais gun robh agad ris an t-òran ionnsachadh nan robh thu a dol a dh’obair sa chaisteal. Bha’ d às an ciall airson na sìthe, leis a fairy flags aca ‘s a leithid.

Tha seo ri lorg air Spotify, aeo criomag dha Kathleen a’ seinn Òran na Mnà-sìthe. Dìreach àlainn.

Tàlaidhean - prògram air BBC ALBA (boillsgeadh)

Chan eil a’ phrògam seo air BBC iPlayer an-dràsta, ach tha boillsgeadh beag dheth ann, fad mionaid.

BBC iPlayer - Tålaidhean (Gaelic Lullabies) - Trailer

Taing airson leughadh.

And how a North Sea diver called Julian Chisholm started off smuggling drugs, using Gruinard Island and its history of anthrax testing, as cover. To organising the biggest drugs bust in the UK at the time - £100 million in cocaine. And it all went wrong because of a wee orange van…

Audio is in Gaelic, text is in English.

In this post :

The Ullapool Klondyke

The story of Gruinard Island

Operation Klondyke

Listen to Klondykers Ulapuil on Apple Podcasts (Gaelic Audio)

The Ullapool Klondyke

I remember them, the big mother ships, as the Lewis ferry made its way through them.

In the middle of the Cold War, a massive fleet of Russian ships would anchor every autumn and winter in the small west coast village of Ullapool. They were after mackerel. In 1985, at its height, 150,000 metric tonnes of mackerel was landed in Ullapool. It was at that time as well that the largest drugs bust in the UK at the time happened, landed at Clashnessie Bay north of Ullapool.

At the time you could get Pravda and caviar in the local shops. Locals liked when they would visit and they rubbed along well in the main, although supposedly there were both KGB and CID undercover officers in the village keeping an eye on who was coming and going.

I was told a story that, one night in the pub, they were having a ceilidh and they put on the ship to shore radio so that the lads on the boats could hear the singing. And then some of the Russians joined in, singing their own songs. They decided to play a football match together. The two communities grew closer after that.

Once, they had a raft full of classical musicians, who went around the bay playing to the ships. Some people wouldn’t get to land, you see, they just worked on the ships for months.

This was the time that the biggest drugs bust in Britain also happened in the area, £100 million worth of cocaine. It’s a little bit Greek tragedy, a little bit Oor Wullie. I’ll tell you the story.

The man behind it was Julian Chisholm. He was from Perthshire originally. Nobody knows where he is now. A North Sea Driver. He started off smuggling drugs, marijuana, using the Island of Gruinard as a base.

The story of Gruinard Island

I’ll tell you a little bit about Gruinard and why people avoided going there then.

So the Government had an idea during the war that they would drop linseed cakes in the German countryside with anthrax in them. Mainly to kill animals and starve people. It was called ‘Operation Vegetarian’.

They tested it on sheep on the island, letting off bombs and tracking the effects. But they didn’t carry through with it. But afterward, no-one could land on the island because it was infected with anthrax.

In 1981 a group called Dark Harvest Commando demanded that the island be decontaminated. They left samples of infected soil from Gruinard at Porton Down and (sold which wasn't infected) at Blackpool, where the Conservative Party were having their conference. In 1986 the cleanup started, removing topsoil and spraying the island with formaldehyde. In 1990 it was declared clear of anthrax and sold back to the original owners for £500.

The Piper Alpha disaster was in 1988. The Berlin Wall fell in 1989.

The Ullapool Klondyke came to an end in the late eighties or so, not just because of the changes to the Soviet Union. The mackerel went elsewhere, further north.

Meanwhile, the Police were closing the net around Julian Chisholm and his gang.

Operation Klondyke

Julian Chisholm had moved onto much more serious business by then, getting involved with the Colombian Cali Cartel. Chisholm’s plan, which he carried out, was to smuggle £100 million worth of cocaine into the UK. He did this, a squad of them landing the drugs in a small bay, Clashnessie near Ullapool.

But the police had been tracking Chisholm for a long time, since he had been in Spain. They had enough information to know something like this was planned. The operation to catch Chisholm and the others working with him was called ‘Operation Klondyke’.

And it almost worked for Chisholm. But. It was near Christmas, and so Chisholm’s crew left the drugs hidden for two weeks on the beach so they could have a Christmas holiday. And then when they met in a hotel in Bonar Bridge, the staff at the hotel noticed very strange patterns of comings and goings. For example, leaving to make the drive south (with the drugs) at three in the morning.

But it wasn’t this that caught them out. They had hired a van in Forfar and it was bright orange. A Policeman saw the van and thought it…. that’s a bit strange. And that is how they caught them.

If they’d only hired a white van they would probably have been ok. They were stopped in Newtonmore, maybe stopping off for a scone to break up the journey, and five members of the gang were jailed at the High Court in Glasgow.

But not Chisholm. And nobody knows where he is, or whether he’s alive or dead.

Listen to Klondykers Ulapuil on Apple Podcasts (Gaelic Audio)

The podcast episode is available on Apple Pod casts - Klondykers Ulapuil. The audio is in Scottish Gaelic and follows the above text. I’ve changed the name of the podcast it was formerly An Duilleag Bhàn.

Another Highland story involving drugs (this time opium) is the story of Indigo, check out this post about the Isle of Skye and its connection to the Indigo industry.

END.

In this post I will look at the origins of the church, a site consecrated in the 6th century and rebuilt by the Vikings. We’ll look at rituals connected to the site, from tying oneself to the altar in search of healing, to an ancient fertility festival.

In this post:

• Gaelic Version - Teampall Mholuaidh ann an Nis

• The search for healing at St. Moluag’s

• St. Moluag’s - a 6th century Christian site

• Pre-Reformation chapels of Lewis

• An ancient fertility festival connected to the site

• Healing wells of Ness

• How to visit St. Moluag’s and more information

The search for healing at St. Moluag’s

There is a board opposite the door, when you go in, where people write down what they need help with. Or they ask for help for a friend or a family member. People go through a lot.

In the past, people thought that severe mental illness could be cured if they slept for a night in the precinct of the church. But they would have to sleep. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t recover.

Some would tie themselves to the altar for the night. They would also leave replica wooden body parts on the altar, in hope of a cure.

It was also a site of other rituals, very interesting ones, which I will tell you about.

St. Moluag’s - a 6th century Christian site

The site was consecrated in the sixth century. Archaeologists are united, within a few hundred years anyway, as to when the current building was built - sometime between the 12th to 14th centuries. Traditionally considered to be a church of the Macleods, it is similar in layout to the church in Rodel, Harris.

There is a Viking connection, of course. Miers et al (2008) believed it was built under Norse patronage on an earlier Celtic site. On a plaque in the Church itself, there is mention of Olaf the Black. And apparently the plan of the church is very similar to the Gardr Cathedral in Greenland.

Pre-reformation chapels of Lewis

There are about thirty one chapel sites on Lewis, and six on outlying islands - Rona, Sùlaisgeir, the Flannans and the Shiants. Three for Peter, three Columbas, two for Mary, one for Bridget and many others.

It is the only pre-Reformation church on the Isle of Lewis still standing and with a roof. It was being used as a shelter for sheep until money was raised to renovate it in 1912.

It also has some other interesting stories connected to it.

An ancient fertility festival connected to the site

When Martin Martin visited Ness in 1695, he wrote that within living memory, it was the site of a fertility festival on All Saints’ Day (1st November). The festival was for the sea-god Shony.

Someone would wade out into the sea and pour ale into the water, as an offering. And then they’d all take a dram. Captain John Dymes wrote this in 1630:

Their custom was to eat and drink until they were drunk, and then, after much dancing and flirting together, they entered the chapel at night with lights in their hands and stayed there until the next morning in devotion.

For a long time, there was a stone cross in the church which had originally come from the island of Rona - one of only two such Christian Norse pieces found on Lewis. It’s pretty special. (The Episcopalian Church took it away from the island until a concerted campaign to have it reinstated managed to have it returned, and it is now at the local historical society.)

The cross is also connected to fertility. Let’s just say there’s a very excited man carved on it.

Dymes also says :

Inside the chapel there is a sanctum sanctorum which is considered so holy that none of their women are allowed to enter it. Any pregnant woman does not dare to enter the chapel at all, but instead goes to certain places outside to say her prayers.

Given that the site was so connected to fertility, to make pregnant women sit outside is pretty harsh. Like a Mediaeval Ryanair.

Healing wells of Ness

A nearby well, St. Rònan’s well, was also known as a place to go for a cure from mental distress. St Rònan’s Chapel - Teampull Rònain - is nearby and can be seen from St Moluag’s. Grass covered now.

Different wells were for different ailments and there were different ways to behave at different wells - whether that was to walk around it sunwise, to drink the water in a certain way or to leave an offering.

The Hill of Blessings is nearby, as are three other similar chapels. And if for some reason you cannot visit, I have taken a couple of photographs for you.

How to visit St. Moluag’s and more information

Here is a Google Maps link to find the location of St. Moluag’s.

For a great piece of writing on the subject, there is the Lewis Coastal Chapel-sites Survey (LCCS) by Rachel C. Barrowman (2020).

And also Dr Finlay Macleod’s book - The Chapels and Healing Wells of the Western Isles.

Thanks for reading and look after yourselves.

Gaelic Version - Teampall Mholuaidh ann an Nis

Tha daoine air a bhith a’ tighinn an seo - Teampall Mholuaidh ann an Nis - bho ùine nan creach airson leighis a lorg.

Tha àite air a’ bhalla làn pìosan beaga pàipear, mun coinneimh an dorais nuair a thig thu a-steach. Bidh daoine a’ sgrìobhadh an sin, na tha a’ cur orra. No, bidh iad a’ faighneachd as leth caraid no teaghlach. Tha daoine a’ dol tron an t-uabhas.

Anns na seann làithean, bhathas an dùil gum faigheadh tu faochadh bho galair-inntinn, nan caidleadh tu oidhche am broinn crìochan na -eaglaise. (Bha aig dine ri cadal, no chan obraicheadh e.)

Bhiodh cuid a dhaoine gan ceangal fhèin chun na h-altair airson na h-oidhche. Dh’fhàgadh cuid eile samhail ann am fiodh airson am pìos dhen bhodhaig a bha a’ cur dragh orra air an altair - agus iad an dòchas gun slànaicheadh sin iad.

Tha eachdraidh eile a tha garbh inntinneach ceangailte ris an àite, innsidh mi dhut mu dheidhinn.

Chaidh an làrach a dhèanamh coisrigte anns an siatheamh linn (mu 560 C.E, thathas an dùil). ‘S ann le sliochd MhicLeòid a bha e, gu traidiseanta, agus tha cruth air coltach ris an eaglais ann an Roghadal, sna Hearadh.

Tha airc-eòlaichean ag aontachadh gu ìre (am broinn dà cheud bliadhna co-dhiù), air cuin a chaidh an togalach (mar a tha e) a thogail.

Bha ceangal ri na Lochlannaich - le Miers at al (2008) an dùil gun deach a togail le na Lochlannaich air làrach Cheilteach. Sgrìobhte san eaglais fhèin, tha teacsa ag ainmeachadh Olaf Dubh. Agus tha làrach na h-eaglaise gu math coltach ri t’ èile anns a’ Ghraonlainn - Àrd-Eaglais Gardr.

Tha timcheall air trichead ‘s a h-aon làrach seann teampaill air Eilean Leòdhais, agus sia eile eadar Rònaidh, Sùlaisgeir, na h-Eileannan Flannach agus na h-Eileannan Mòra. Tha iad air an ainmeachadh às dèidh diofar Naomhan - tha trì ann airson Peadar, trì airson Colmcille, dhà airson Màiri agus mar sin air adhart.

‘S i an aon eaglais a tha air fhàgail le mullach, bho ro àm an Ath-Leasachaidh ann an Leòdhas. Bho dheireadh thall bhathas ga cleachdadh mar fasgadh airson caoraich gus an do thog iad airgead ann an 1912 airson a dhèanamh an àirde.

Tha gu leòr sgeulachdan inntinneach eile ceangailte ris an àite.

Nuair a thadhal Màrtainn Màrtainn air an àite ann an 1695, sgrìobh e gun robh nàdar fèill ann ceangailte ri torrachas air Là nan Naomh Uile. Bha e seo ceangailte ri Shony, seann Dia na mara.

Bhidh cuideigin a’ coiseachd a-mach dhan mhuir, suas chun an cuid meadhain, agus a’ dòrtadh leann air an uisge. An uair sin, ghabhadh iad drama. Thuirt an Capitein John Dymes ann an 1630:

Their custom was to eat and drink until they were drunk, and then, after much dancing and flirting together, they entered the chapel at night with lights in their hands and stayed there until the next morning in devotion.

Airson ùine mhòr, bha crois shnìomhte uabhasach breagha ann, a thàinig à Eilean Rònaidh. Cha deach ach aon eile coltach rithe a lorg air an eilean, bho àm nan Lochlannach. Tha i sònraichte dha-rìribh. (Thug an Eaglais Easbaigeach air falbh bhon eilean i, ach tha i a-nis ann an Comann Eachdraidh Nis, an dèidh iomairt a faighinn air ais.)

Tha a’ chrois seo cuideachd ceangailte ri torrachas. Tha fear ri fhaicinn air a’ chrois a tha gu math toilichte leis fhèin. Cha chan mi an còrr.

Cuideach thuirt Dymes:

Inside the chapel there is a sanctum sanctorum which is considered so holy that none of their women are allowed to enter it. Any pregnant woman does not dare to enter the chapel at all, but instead goes to certain places outside to say her prayers.

Leis gu bheil an làrach cho ceangailte ri torrachas, tha e rudeigin diobhalta gun robh iad a’ toirt air boireannaich bhochda a bha trom suidhe a-muigh, coltach ri Ryanair nam Meadhan Aoisean.

Tha tobar faisg air làimh cuideachd, Tobar Rònain, far am biodh daoine cuideachd a’ dol airson leighis airson tinneas-inntinn. Chì thu à Teampall Mholuaidh i.

Tha Cnoc a’ Bheannaich meadhanach faisg, agus ann an Nis, tha trì teampaill eile. ‘S fhiach e thadhal orra. Agus mura bheil sin comasach, tha mi air dealbh no dhà a thogail dhuibh.

Tapadh leibh airson leughadh agus thoirt an aire oirbh fhèin.

Airson sgrìobhadh air leth a leughadh mun chuspair, bhithinn a’ moladh an Lewis Coastal Chapel-sites Survey (LCCS)” le Barrowman, R C (2020).

Agus cuideachd an leabhar aig Dr Fionnlagh Macleòid - The Chapels and Healing Wells of the Western Isles.

Rinn mi cuideachd bhideo mu làrach sònraichte eile - Eilean Chaluim Chille air an Eilean Sgiathanach.

Tha daoine air a bhith a’ tighinn an seo - Teampall Mholuaidh ann an Nis - bho ùine nan creach airson leighis a lorg.

Tha àite air a’ bhalla làn pìosan beaga pàipear, mun coinneimh an dorais nuair a thig thu a-steach. Bidh daoine a’ sgrìobhadh an sin, na tha a’ cur orra. No, bidh iad a’ faighneachd as leth caraid no teaghlach. Tha daoine a’ dol tron an t-uabhas.

Anns na seann làithean, bhathas an dùil gum faigheadh tu faochadh bho galair-inntinn, nan caidleadh tu oidhche am broinn crìochan na -eaglaise. (Bha aig dine ri cadal, no chan obraicheadh e.)

Bhiodh cuid a dhaoine gan ceangal fhèin chun na h-altair airson na h-oidhche. Dh’fhàgadh cuid eile samhail ann am fiodh airson am pìos dhen bhodhaig a bha a’ cur dragh orra air an altair - agus iad an dòchas gun slànaicheadh sin iad.

Tha eachdraidh eile a tha garbh inntinneach ceangailte ris an àite, innsidh mi dhut mu dheidhinn.

Chaidh an làrach a dhèanamh coisrigte anns an siatheamh linn (mu 560 C.E, thathas an dùil). ‘S ann le sliochd MhicLeòid a bha e, gu traidiseanta, agus tha cruth air coltach ris an eaglais ann an Roghadal, sna Hearadh.

Tha airc-eòlaichean ag aontachadh gu ìre (am broinn dà cheud bliadhna co-dhiù), air cuin a chaidh an togalach (mar a tha e) a thogail.

Bha ceangal ri na Lochlannaich - le Miers at al (2008) an dùil gun deach a togail le na Lochlannaich air làrach Cheilteach. Sgrìobhte san eaglais fhèin, tha teacsa ag ainmeachadh Olaf Dubh. Agus tha làrach na h-eaglaise gu math coltach ri t’ èile anns a’ Ghraonlainn - Àrd-Eaglais Gardr.

Tha timcheall air trichead ‘s a h-aon làrach seann teampaill air Eilean Leòdhais, agus sia eile eadar Rònaidh, Sùlaisgeir, na h-Eileannan Flannach agus na h-Eileannan Mòra. Tha iad air an ainmeachadh às dèidh diofar Naomhan - tha trì ann airson Peadar, trì airson Colmcille, dhà airson Màiri agus mar sin air adhart.

‘S i an aon eaglais a tha air fhàgail le mullach, bho ro àm an Ath-Leasachaidh ann an Leòdhas. Bho dheireadh thall bhathas ga cleachdadh mar fasgadh airson caoraich gus an do thog iad airgead ann an 1912 airson a dhèanamh an àirde.

Tha gu leòr sgeulachdan inntinneach eile ceangailte ris an àite.

Nuair a thadhal Màrtainn Màrtainn air an àite ann an 1695, sgrìobh e gun robh nàdar fèill ann ceangailte ri torrachas air Là nan Naomh Uile. Bha e seo ceangailte ri Shony, seann Dia na mara.

Bhidh cuideigin a’ coiseachd a-mach dhan mhuir, suas chun an cuid meadhain, agus a’ dòrtadh leann air an uisge. An uair sin, ghabhadh iad drama. Thuirt an Capitein John Dymes ann an 1630:

Their custom was to eat and drink until they were drunk, and then, after much dancing and flirting together, they entered the chapel at night with lights in their hands and stayed there until the next morning in devotion.

Airson ùine mhòr, bha crois shnìomhte uabhasach breagha ann, a thàinig à Eilean Rònaidh. Cha deach ach aon eile coltach rithe a lorg air an eilean, bho àm nan Lochlannach. Tha i sònraichte dha-rìribh. (Thug an Eaglais Easbaigeach air falbh bhon eilean i, ach tha i a-nis ann an Comann Eachdraidh Nis, an dèidh iomairt a faighinn air ais.)

Tha a’ chrois seo cuideachd ceangailte ri torrachas. Tha fear ri fhaicinn air a’ chrois a tha gu math toilichte leis fhèin. Cha chan mi an còrr.

Cuideach thuirt Dymes:

Inside the chapel there is a sanctum sanctorum which is considered so holy that none of their women are allowed to enter it. Any pregnant woman does not dare to enter the chapel at all, but instead goes to certain places outside to say her prayers.

Leis gu bheil an làrach cho ceangailte ri torrachas, tha e rudeigin diobhalta gun robh iad a’ toirt air boireannaich bhochda a bha trom suidhe a-muigh, coltach ri Ryanair nam Meadhan Aoisean.

Tha tobar faisg air làimh cuideachd, Tobar Rònain, far am biodh daoine cuideachd a’ dol airson leighis airson tinneas-inntinn. Chì thu à Teampall Mholuaidh i.

Tha Cnoc a’ Bheannaich meadhanach faisg, agus ann an Nis, tha trì teampaill eile. ‘S fhiach e thadhal orra. Agus mura bheil sin comasach, tha mi air dealbh no dhà a thogail dhuibh.

Tapadh leibh airson leughadh agus thoirt an aire oirbh fhèin.

Airson sgrìobhadh air leth a leughadh mun chuspair, bhithinn a’ moladh an “Lewis Coastal Chapel-sites Survey (LCCS)” le Barrowman, R C (2020).

Agus cuideachd an leabhar aig Dr Finlay Macleòid - “The Chapels and Healing Wells of the Western Isles”.

Rinn mi cuideachd bhideo mu làrach sònraichte eile - Eilean Chaluim Chille air an Eilean Sgiathanach.

Reading Margaret Faye Shaw’s book ‘Folksongs and Folklore of South Uist’, I came across ‘Duan na Ceàrdaich’ - the Song of the Smith. It’s a tale about Finn and the Fèinne.

It reminded me of spending time with an amazing man in South Uist, called Iain Sheonaidh Smith. He was ninety five when we spent time with him, filming a documentary.

Iain had a hidden world of story inside him. He had learnt Duan na Ceàrdaich and many other pieces, in the taigh cèilidh - the cèilidh house. He had learnt them orally, rather than from the written word. When we met him, he didn’t have much chance to tell his stories and it weighed on him, I think.

The reason I know this, is because of how he reacted to sharing them with us. Iain was hardy. He and his brother, who was no longer alive, lived together in a blackhouse for a relatively long time.

His brother had been in the war and he didn’t want to hear any of Iain’s stories. And he wouldn’t talk of what he’d seen in the war either, although Iain mentioned one thing he witnessed, too dark to write here.

And so Iain kept the stories alive in his memory, at night, by playing them in his mind, ‘as if I was watching them on a screen’, he said. He did that over decades.

The first day we spent with him, you could see his memory of these stories waking up. At the end of that day, I thought it was maybe too much for him. He was very tired and I wasn’t sure he’d want to film the next day.

But the next day, when I went into his house, he was sitting on a chair in the middle of the sitting room, waiting for us. We spent the week with him. We’d sometimes take him places, and we also set up for people to come to his house, singers and story-tellers. And sometimes we all just sat around talking.

One of the singers sang a song about the S.S. Politician, a cargo ship that ran aground off Eriskay in 1941. On board, 264,000 bottles of whisky. Plenty of people sailed over to her from South Uist as well and Iain was among them.

Sitting on the shore in Eriskay, I asked him if it felt like a long time ago and he said no. No, it was like yesterday. It all went by so quickly, he said.

The first time he recited ‘Duan na Ceàrdaich’ was when singer Màiri Smith was with us. Here are some lines from it in English.

“One day the Fiann were on the plain of rushes, four brave members of the band. Myself and Oscar and Daorghlas, and Fionn himself, the son of Cumhal.

We saw coming from the hillside, a tall, dark, one-legged man. A black hood made from animal skin, and an apron of the same material.

Fionn, who was in the company, spoke to him, “To what land does your people belong?”

“Son of Liobhann is my name. Once I used to herd goats for the King of Norway in Gealbhain. But I am putting you under a spell. You are people used to smithy work. You will follow me to a dark glen at the west of the world.”

As time passed, more and more songs, stories and fragments came to Iain. We recorded them all, little jewels.

At the end of the filming, I was still worried it had been too tiring for him. I asked him if he had enjoyed himself alright. Had he enjoyed sharing his stories with us.

“It was the best time of my life,” he said.

That’s how important stories are.

A’ leughadh an leabhair le Margaret Fay Shaw, thàinig mi tarsainn air Duan na Ceàrdaich, duan mu na Fèinne.

Chuir e nam chuimhne, a bhith a’ coinneachadh Iain Sheonaidh Smith nach maireann ann am Baghasdail, Uibhist a Deas. Duine air leth. Bha e 95 bliadhna a dh’aois nuair a choinnich mi e, agus sinn a’ cur seachad seachdainn leis, ga chlàradh.

Bha Iain air Duan na Ceardaich, agus iomadach sgeulachd agus dàn eile, ionnsachadh anns an taigh cèilidh. Nuair a choinnich sinn e, cha robh e a’ faighinn mòran chothroman na sgeulachdan sin innse, agus bha sin gu math duilich dha, tha mi a’ smaoineachadh. Tha mi cinnteach dhen seo, leis cho cudromach ‘s a bha e dha gun robh ùidh againn annta. ‘S e nàdar faochadh a bh’ ann dha, cothrom fhaighinn na sgeulachdan sin innse.

Bha Iain a’ fuireach le bhrathàir (nach eil a-nis beò) ann an taigh-dubh airson iomadach bliadhna. Bha e sin anns a’ chogadh agus cha robh ùidh sam bith aige anns na sgeulachdan aig Iain a chluinntinn. Bhiodh e a’ cur stad air. Cha bhruidhneadh e mòran nas motha, mu na chunnaic e sa chogadh, ged a dh’innis Iain dhuinn rud no dhà a chaidh e troimhe a bha robh dhorcha sgrìobhadh mu dheidhinn an seo.

Mar sin, chum Iain am beul-aithris sin beò na inntinn, gach oidhche a’ dol thairis air na dàin agus eile mus robh e a’ tuiteam na chadal. “Mar gun robh mi gan coimhead air sgrìon air a’ bhalla,” thuirt e. Rinn e sin airson bliadhnaichean.

A’ chiad latha a chur sinn seachad leis, chìtheadh tu iad sin a’ tighinn air ais thuige. Aig deireadh an latha, bha mi an dùil gun robh an obair air a shàrachadh, Bha e claoidhte agus cha robh mi idir cinnteach am biodh e airson filmeadh an ath latha.

Ach an ath latha nuair a nochd sinn, bha e na shuidhe air seathair, deiseil agus deònach, a sheacaid air.

Chuir sinn seachad seachdainn leis, uaireannan ga thoirt a dh’àiteachan, agus uaireannan bhiodh sinn a’ cur air dòigh gum biodh daoine a’ tighinn a chèilidh, seinneadairean agus bàird. Uaireannan bhiodh sinn dìreach a’ suidhe còmhla, a’ gabhail cupan teatha agus a’ cabadaich a-null ‘s a-nall.

Sheinn aon dhe na seinneadairean òran mun Pholitician, an t-soitheach ainmeil sin air an robh mìlltean de bhotail uisge-beatha. Chaidh gu leòr a-null bho Uibhist a Deas a thadhal oirre cuideachd, agus bha Iain nam measg.

A’ gabhail fois air bàrr na cladaich ann an Eirisgeidh, dh’fhaighnich mi dha an robh an latha sin a’ faireachdainn fad às. Thuirt e... cha robh. Bha e mar an-dè fhèin. Chaidh e uileag seachad cho luath, thuirt e. 95 bliadhna. Ann am priobadh na sùla, thuirt e.

A’ chiad turas a ghabh e Duan na Ceàrdaich, ‘s ann dhan t-seinneadair Màiri Smith a bha e. Seo beagan loidhnichean bhon Duan.

Latha dhan Fhinn air luachair leobhair

A’ cheathrar chrodha dhan bhuidhinn

Mi fhìn is Osgar is Daorghlas

Bha Fionn fhèin ann, ‘s b’ e Mac Cumhail.

Chunnacas a’ tighinn on mhonadh

Fear fada dubh ‘s e air aona-chois

Le bharran dubh ciardhubh chraicinn

Le aparan dhan èideadh cheudna

Labhair Fionn a bha sa chuideachd

Ris an urra a bha a’ dol seachad -

“Cò i an tìr dha’ m bheil do chuideachd?”

...

Mac a’ Lìobhainn m’ ainm baistidh

Nam biodh agaibh orm beachd sgeula

Bha mi uair ag uallach ghobhar

Aig Rìgh Lochlainn às a’ Ghealbain.

...

Ach tha mi ga ur cur fo gheasaibh

O’ s sibh luchd-freasdail na ceàrdaich

Ann an gleannan dubh siar an domhain

‘S cian o dhoras mo cheàrdaich.

Mar a chaidh na làithean seachad, ‘s ann a thàinig barrachd is barrachd pìosan beul-aithirs am bàrr. Chlàr sinn iad uile, na seudan sin.

Aig deireadh am filmeadh, bha iomagain orm gun robh e air a bhith cus dha Iain. Chuir mi a’ cheist air, an robh e air a bhith ceart gu leòr, an robh e air còrdadh ris na sgeulachdan aige a chom-pàirteachadh leinn. Fhreagair e sa Bheurla.

“It was the best time of my life,” thuirt e.

Sin cho cudromach ‘s a tha sgeulachdan.

DEIREADH.

Advisory: Contains themes of family difficulty and adolescent risk-taking.

Bho chionn trì bliadhnna deug nochd Alexander Salamander le BRAG! Bha e fortanach gun do shabhail a’ bhean-glùine e (’s i bha math air rugbaidh) bho bhith a’ landaigeadh air a cheann.

Ged a bha iomadach tàlant aig Alexander Salamander, a bhith a’ hypnotaisigeadh chearcan nam measg, cha robh mòran dhaoine a’ cur meas air na tàlantan sin ach a charaid Joan.

Nuair a tha Teacher Sur (droch dhuine!) a’ cur an càirdeas sin ann an cunnart, tha Alexander a’ cur roimhe na tàlantan aige a chleachdadh gus rudeigin a dhèanamh mu dheidhinn.

Tha Alexander Salamander air a chluich le Iain MacRath agus air a sgrìobhadh le Iain Fionnlagh Macleòid.
Fuaim le Rob MacNeacail.

Air stiùireadh le Iain MacRath.
Air a mhaoineachadh le Bòrd an Gàidhlig agus air a chlàradh aig Stiùideo Ostaig.

Alexander Salamander arrived unexpectedly thirteen years ago, saved by the rugby playing midwife from landing on his head. In his younger days, his talent for hynoptising chickens came to the fore, but was not widely appreciated. The only saving grace of his time in school was his friendship with Joan. But when his nemesis, Teacher Sur, escalates their vendetta, Alexander decides to use his talents to get back at him, with unintended consequences.

Alexander Salamander is played by Iain MacRae and is written by Iain Finlay Macleod.
Sound by Rob MacNeacail.
Direction by Iain MacRae.
Alexander Salamander is funded by Bòrd na Gàidhlig and was recorded at Studio Ostaig.

I met Margaret Fay Shaw in Canna just after her hundredth birthday. We were filming her for a television programme. We spent three days together with her, filming and talking, with Aonghas Pàdraig Campbell asking the questions. It was one of the things I most enjoyed doing.

She was born in 1903 in Pennsylvania to a family with money. She was orphaned and in the 20s she travelled to attend school in Scotland, in Helensburgh. Then she came across the work of Marjory Kennedy-Fraser, who had collected and arranged Gaelic songs.

Margaret Fay Shaw went to the source. She travelled to South Uist in the 1920s. She lived in Lochboisdale for a while but found:

…there was not the opportunity for a beginner to speak Gaelic and observe crofting life. But not long after my arrival I was invited to dinner where my host... asked two sisters, cousins of his, to sing to his guests. Their voices were clear and true and their songs were golden.

She asked one of the sister to teach her a Gaelic air, and the reply was that she would, if she would come to their house in Glendale.

On a sharp, cold January morning with the land white with frost, I crossed Loch Boisdale in a sail-boat and walked the path to the cottage of Peigi and Màiri MacRae, where I was soon to make my home for the rest of my years in South Uist.”She talked about when she was young, her family in Pennsylvania, her moving to Scotland and how she became interested in Gaelic song. Eventually, in the 1920s, she moved to South Uist to learn Gaelic and the songs. She lived with two sisters, Màiri and Peigi Anndra, who shared their songs with her.

Her book “Folksongs and Folklore of South Uist” is an amazing collection of songs, folklore, traditions and stories which came out of that.

We would film a little, then she would get up and play the piano for a while. Or she would stop for a little smoke. At eleven o’clock each day, she would leave, and return with a tray full of glasses of whisky. The soundman cretainly didn’t ‘put them to his ear’.

Margaret would also spend some time each day on the typewriter, writing letters. It was an ‘Imperial’ typewriter, I think, that she had got from Compton Mackenzie in 1962. She would type just the way she played the piano. I said that to her and she replied, “Yes… and I spell by ear extremely well.”

She had a beautiful piano upstairs and I said to her, I like that piano. ‘Broadwood’ was written on it. She said, “Yes, it used to belong to Beethoven.” Oh yes, I said... Beethoven....

There were many things like that, around every corner in the house. I asked about some unusual mirrors that were there, and she said the frames had been made by French POWs from beef bones, around the time of the Napoleonic War.

She was an incredible collector. Here is a post about some of the Gaelic lullabies she collected - and why these songs weren’t just for putting babies to sleep.

I was working on something about St Kilda at the time, and she said she had photographs. She brought out these photographs from the day in 1930 when the St Kildans left the island. She was there. There are more than nine thousand negatives in her archive. I think she should be better known as a photographer.

But it was just how much she loved life, and how much she loved being amongst people, that has stayed with me most. She said she was as hard as Pennsylvania steel, and she had to be, to do what she did.

The book ‘Folksongs and Folklore of South Uist” is a jewel. But I can imagine that it wasn’t an easy journey. I imagine that plenty of people questioned what she was doing. A young woman from Pennsylvania, from a family with money, living in a blackhouse, using her hard won musical talent to notate Gaelic songs. Luckily for us, she was “made of Pennsylvania steel.”

Margaret Fay Shaw knew the true value of it. We are lucky she did, or so much more would have been lost. I have written more in another post about this called Gaelic Lullabies. Margaret was one of two musicologists, the other being Frances Tolmie, without whom so many of these songs would have been lost. And Gaelic lullabies are decidedly interesting… As the academic Barbara Hillers put it :

If we examine the traditional folk lullaby… we encounter a picture that is far from idyllic. Many oral-traditional lullabiesdeal with unhappiness, loss, violence, and death.

It is something I have been thinking of. Documenting and recording people who are here now. I have done enough of it to realise that over time, the voices of these people also become golden.

This is the last thing she said to me:

“Life. Wonderful life. But you’ve got to do it yourself. You’ve got to do it all the way yourself.”

Here is a photograph of the tradition bearers Màiri and Peigi Anndra with Margaret’s book. Isn’t it wonderful.

GAELIC VERSION

Choinnich mi ri Margaret Fay Shaw ann an Canaidh nuair a bha i ceud bliadhna a dh’aois. Bha sinn ga filmeadh airson prògram telebhisean. Chuir sinn seachad trì latha còmhla rithe a’ filmeadh agus a’ còmhradh, Aonghas Pàdraig Caimbeul a’ cur nan ceist. ‘S e aon de na rudan as motha a chòrd rium a rinn mi.

Bhruidhinn i mu dheidhin làithean a cuid òige, an teaghlach aice ann am Pennsylvania, mar a ghluais i a dh’Alba agus mar a dhùisg a cuid ùidh ann ann òrain Ghàidhlig. Anns na ficheadan, ghluais i a dh’Uibhist a Deas. Tha an leabhar aice “Folksongs and Folklore of South Uist” làn dhe na h-òrain sin, beul-aithris, sgeulachdan agus fios mun chultar.

Bhiodh sinn a’ filmeadh beagan, an uair sin, bhiodh e ag èirigh agus a’ cluich a’ phiana airson dreis. No bhiodh i a’ stad airson smoke bheag. Aig aon uair deug gach latha, dh’fhalbhadh i, agus thilleadh i le tray làn gloinnichean uisge beatha. Chan ann gu chluais a bha am fear air fuaim ga chur.

Bhiodh i dreis gach latha air typewriter, a’ sgrìobhadh litrichean. ‘S e typewriter ‘Imperial’ a bh’ ann, tha mi a’ smaoineachadh, a fhuair i bho Compton Mackenzie ann an 1962. Bhiodh i a’ typeadh dìreach mar a bhiodh i a’ cluich a’ phiana. Thuirt mi sin rithe agus thuirt i, “ yes... and I spell by ear extremely well.”

Bha piana breagha aice shuas an staidhre agus thuirt mi rithe, ‘s toil leam am piana sin. Bha ‘Broadwood’ sgrìobhte air. Thuirt i, “yes, it used to belong to Beethoven.” Beethoven, cho nàdarrach.

Bha iomadach rud eile mar sin, timcheall gach còrnair san taigh. Dh’fhaighnich mi mu dheidhinn sgàthannan annasach a bh’ ann, agus thuirt i gun deach an dèanamh le POWs Frangach mu àm Cogadh Napoleon.

Bha mi ag obair air rud mu dheidhinn Hiort aig an àm, agus thuirt i gun robb dealbhan aice. Thug i a-mach na dealbhan bha seo, bhon an latha ann an 1930 nuair a dh’fhàg na Hiortaich an t-eilean. Bha i ann. Tha barrachd air còig mìle negative dhe na dealbhan a tharraing i anns an tasglann aice.

Ach ‘s e dìreach cho dòigheil ‘s a bha i agus cho dèidheil a bhith am-measg dhaoine, a tha air fuireach leam as motha. Thuirt i gun robh aice a bhith cho cruaidh ri stàilinn Pennsylvania , agus bha aice ri bhith airson dèanamh na rinn i.

Seo an rud bho dheireadh a thuirt i rium.

“Life. Wonderful life. But you’ve got to do it yourself. You’ve got to do it all the way yourself.”

Seo Màiri agus Peigi Anndra, nuair a chunnaic iad an leabhar aig Margaret. Nach eil an dealbh seo snog.

DEIREADH.

But they’re often not that distant from us. My own grandfather was born in the late 1800s. If you’re aged 63 or more, you were born closer to 1899 than to today.

I’ve written part two of the Indigo story. The first part is about the Skye connection to the industry and how it grew to become “one of the principal articles in the export trade of our Eastern Dominions (The Economic Journal).”

The second part explores the human cost of this – the Blue Rebellion by the indigo workers, land ownership systems which would make any 19^th century Highland landowner nod in approval, and the first political campaign by a young man called Mahatma Gandhi.

It’s a story which feels distant in some ways, but it is very much still with us. Here’s one example.

The growing season of indigo was complimentary to that of another crop – opium. And so, indigo plantations would often grow opium, sending it to China where people like James Matheson made a lot of money selling it. Let’s take a look at this quote from Jardine Matheson’s 2024 Annual Report where they “deliver superior, long-term returns to shareholders” from businesses “focused on Asia” with revenue of $35 billion in 2024 and profit attributable to shareholders of $1.47 billion. Other household names, such as Mitsubishi in Japan, also got their start in the opium trade.

Matheson bought the Isle of Lewis of course from the Seaforths in 1844. And although even the great academic Alexander Fenton talked of his ‘paternalistic’ approach to land ownership, first person accounts of the Clearances of Uig give a rather different picture. Even now, try to put a salmon net in the sea off the coast of Lewis and see what happens to you.

And so it goes.

Read Indigo & the Island Part Two.

Gaelic version / English version.

The photographs of James MacGeoch

James MacGeoch had a singular determination to get to Sùlaisgeir to photograph the fowling tradition there, after the Second World War. It was a time of great change in a centuries old tradition. A generation of men had returned from the war, and soon all sorts of inventions were appearing on the island, like blondin cable ropeways and chutes powered by a motor purloined from some poor weaver who had been using it for winding pirns.

I was lucky enough to get permission to use some of MacGeoch’s photographs from his daughter Catriona MacGeoch in this five minute film. It’s in English, and there is a Gaelic version of the article here.

The photographs are copyright the Estate of James MacGeoch.

Thanks for reading.

Iain F

In part one, I wrote about the growth of the Indigo industry in Bihar, India and especially the Skye connection to the industry.

In this second post I will look at just how much profit there was in indigo and the land-owning practices which were implemented in the region of Bihar. Practices which would have made any Highland Laird nod in approval.

I’ll also look at what led to the demise of the indigo industry. That part of the story involves industrial espionage, the outbreak of World War One, and the first political campaign by a young man called Mahatma Gandhi, for the rights of indigo workers.

MORE PROFIT THAN WARREN BUFFETT

That the work was financially successful is in no doubt. One of my informants talked of a letter the family received from a young family member in India who had got a new job as a plantation manager. The job paid £5000 a year, which was the equivalent of “landing a job as a banker in those days”

Money from indigo brought about seismic changes in Scotland’s social hierarchy and landowning landscape. One example – the Duke of Sutherland sold a large part of his estates to a man from Alexandria, near Glasgow, who made his fortune in indigo dyeing.

In the book European indigo factories in Lower Provinces of Bengal, 1831, the profitability of Bengal indigo was “23 percent on total investment”. This is very high indeed. To put that into context, Warren Buffet, the Seer of Omaha, considered the greatest investor who ever lived, managed annualised gains of around 20 percent.

Let’s look at how long it would take an investor to double their money, using the Rule of 72. Dividing 72 by the interest rate gives you 3.1. So an investor would have doubled their money in just three years.

GROWING CONCERNS

With increasing wealth, plantation managers often developed or bought into their own indigo concerns. This diversified into an involvement in sugar production and tea.

One might also bear in mind that many indigo plantations also planted opium, as the growing seasons complemented one another.

This was another lucrative crop, but at an enormous human cost.

LAND USE IN THE INDIGO LANDS OF BIHAR

The arcane and exploitative nature of land use in the indigo lands of Bengal would have made any Highland Chief nod in approval.

“Planters in Bihar organized the cultivation of indigo on land under their direct control on what were called the zirat lands. The ownership of land was usually acquired through the purchase of leases over entire villages from the landlords.

Such leases gave planters access to the traditional power of the landlords in the Bihar countryside. So even if the planters did not “own” the land in any absolute legal sense, they had sufficiently strong rights over the land in their possession. This system of indigo cultivation was different from the prior practice in Bengal, where the indigo was largely grown by giving out contracts to Indian peasants.”(Indigo Plantations and Science, p134)

The Lieutenant- Governor of Bengal J.P. Grant, for the better understanding of the British people, said that:

“One-sixteenth of his whole land is a common portion which, it is insisted, an indigo ryot shall sow in indigo. This is as though a farmer in Great Britain, farming under a long lease of 160 acres of land, at a rent of 21 an acre, were, by some sort of pressure, forced to cultivate 10 acres, say in flax, which he was compelled to sell to a certain neighbouring manufacturer at a dead loss of 140/ a year.

This is worth restating, that the tenant farmers, or ryots (who worked the land but did not own it), made a dead loss working in indigo.

Grant compares this to a new English landlord forcing a loss on several thousand Irish cottars.

“If one remembers that these ryots are not Carolina slaves, but the free yeomanry of this country, and, indeed, strictly speaking, the virtual owners of the greater part of the land in the old cultivated parts of Bengal, so heavy a loss as this will fully account to us for the strength of the opposition to indigo cultivation which we have just experienced. (Bengal Industries and the British Industrial Revolution (1757–1857) by Indrajit Ray (2011)

THE BLUE REBELLION – NIL VIDROHA (1859-60)

The Blue Rebellion (or Nil Vidroha) in1859-60 was the “strength of opposition” to which he referred. This was the beginning of the end for the indigo industry, which became an increasingly widespread campaign against its practices.

It was indeed a violent reflection of people’s attitude towards indigo cultivation. Referring to the rebellion, C. Wood, the Secretary of State for India, agreed with the view put forward by the Lieutenant Governor of Bengal:

“… that the cultivation was unprofitable to the ryot, who was required to furnish the plant at a price which, with the extra charges to which he was subjected, did not reimburse him for the cost of production.” (Ray, 2011)

ARGUMENTS AT THE TIME IN FAVOUR OF INDIGO PLANTATIONS

There were, of course, opposing arguments in favour of the economic activity that indigo cultivation brought to certain areas. Although, I think it might be fair enough to point out that improvements would have been rather more considerable had the ryots not been making a financial loss on the work.

One comment put on record by Raja Rammohan Roy:

“As to the indigo planters, I beg to observe, that I have travelled through several districts in Bengal and Bihar, and I found, the natives residing in the neighbourhood of indigo plantations, evidently better clothed and better conditioned than those who lived at a distance from such stations” (Roy, 2011)

Likewise, the Governor General of India, Lord William Bentinck, minuted:

“every factory is in its degree the centre of a circle of improvement, raising the persons employed in it and the inhabitants of the immediate vicinity above the general level.” (Ray, 2011)

Not everyone agreed with this. Especially the indigo workers themselves.

THE DEMISE OF THE INDIGO INDUSTRY

The Indigo industry was one of the key points of conflict between the British Government and the nascent Indian Independence movement.

It was in Bihar, supporting indigo workers, that Mahatma Ghandi launched one of the first major campaigns for Indian Independence, the “Champaran Satyagraha” campaign in 1917.

But in the end, this was just one of the factors which caused the end of the Indigo industry. Because in 1880 a chemist in Germany called Adolf von Baeyer was to bring a new product to market through his new company. A new chemically produced dye.

The company’s name – BASF.

The third part of the story will explore how a range of factors came together to bring an end to the large-scale indigo industry in India. Scientific breakthroughs in synthetic dyes, the disruptions caused by the First World War, and episodes of industrial espionage all played a role—alongside a growing wave of resistance in the Champaran indigo districts.

GAELIC VERSION

OS-SEALLADH

Sa chiad alt san sreath seo, sgrìobh mi mu dheidhinn mar a dh’fhàs gnìomhachas an Indigo anns an 19mh linn. Cuideachd an ceangal a bh’ aig an Eilean Sgiathanach ris, gu h-àraidh ann am Bihar, sna h-Innseachan.

Anns an dàrna alt seo, bheir sinn sùil air an airgead a bha na chois, mar a dh’fhàs e agus mar a chaidh e a-mach à bith. Cuideachd, mar a chaidh fearann a roinn agus a chleachdadh anns na sgìrean far an robh indigo ga fhàs.

AN T-AIRGEAD A BH’ ANN AN INDIGO

Chan eil teagamh ann nach robh gu leòr dhe na manaidsearan-planntachaidh a’ dèanamh beag-fortan a-mach às an obair. Bhruidhinn mi ri aon neach, bha sgeulachd anns an teaghlach aca mu fhear a sgrìobh dhachaigh leis an naidheachd gun d’ fhuair e obair le tuarasdal luach £5000 sa bhliadhna. Bha sin coltach ri “obair fhaghinn mar bhancair, anns na làithean ud.”

Anns an leabhar European indigo factories in Lower Provinces of Bengal, 1831. Tha an t-ùghdar ag ràdh “the profitability of Bengal indigo was ~23 per cent on total investment”.

Tha seo àrd. Ma choimheadas sinn ri Warren Buffet (the Seer of Omaha), aon de na manaidsearan-airgid as fheàrr a bh’ ann a-riamh. Rinn esan “managed annualised gains of around ~20 percent.” Tha an S&P 500 timcheall ait ~10%, bho thòisich e ann an 1926.

Nan cleachdadh tu ‘Riaghailt 72 ‘(The Rule of 72) – 72 air a roinn le 23, tha sin a’ toirt dhut cia mheud bliadhna a dh’fheumadh tu airson d’ argead a dhùblachadh. Sin ~3 bliadhna a bheireadh e.

Bha prothaid uabhasach àrd ri fhaighinn ann an indigo.

Dh’abhraich an t-airgead a thàinig à indigo atharrachaidhean mòra cuideachd air structar sòisealta agus seilbh fearainn ann an Alba.

Eisimpleir dhen seo – reic Diùc Chataibh pàirt mhòr dhen oighreachd aige ri fear à Alexandria, faisg air Glaschu, a rinn a fhortan le dathadh indigo. Agus anns a’ chad alt, sheall sinn air an àireamh de ‘thaighean mòra’ anns an Eilean Sgiathanach a chaidh a thogail le airgead bho indigo.

Bhiodh manaidsearan cuideachd a’ cleachdadh an airgid a bha’ d a’ cosnadh airson cuibhreann a cheannachd ann an ‘concerns’ eile. Ann an indigo, ach cuideachd ann an siùcar agus teatha,.

Bha cuideachd, planntrais eile ann a bha ag obair math dhaibh – seach gun robh e a’ fàs aig àm diofraichte ri indigo agus ‘ e sin – opium.

Mar a tha fios againn, chaidh fortanan a dhèanamh a-mach à opium. Agus chaidh iomadach beatha a mhilleadh air a sgàth.

CLEACHDAIDHEAN FEARAINN ANN AM BIHAR

Bhiodh uachdaran aig an robh fearann air a Ghàidhealtachd san 19mh linn gu math eòlach air na cleachdaidhean fearainn ann am Bihar aig an àm.

“Planters in Bihar organized the cultivation of indigo on land under their direct control on what were called the zirat lands. The ownership of land was usually acquired through the purchase of leases over entire villages from the landlords. Such leases gave planters access to the traditional power of the landlords in the Bihar countryside.

So even if the planters did not “own” the land in any absolute legal sense, they had sufficiently strong rights over the land in their possession.

This system of indigo cultivation was different from the prior practice in Bengal, where the indigo was largely grown by giving out contracts to Indian peasants.”(Indigo Plantations and Science p 134)

Seo a thuirt an Lieutenant Governor (Bengal), J.P. Grant, a’ mìneachadh mar a bha na ryots (na tuathaniach) a’ call airgead le bhith a’ cur indigo:

“One-sixteenth of his whole land is a common portion which, it is insisted, an indigo ryot shall sow in indigo.

This is as though a farmer in Great Britain, farming under a long lease of 160 acres of land, at a rent of 21 an acre, were, by some sort of pressure, forced to cultivate 10 acres, say in flax, which he was compelled to sell to a certain neighbouring manufacturer at a dead loss of 140/ a year.

If one remembers that these ryots are not Carolina slaves, but the free yeomanry of this country, and, indeed, strictly speaking, the virtual owners of the greater part of the land in the old cultivated parts of Bengal, so heavy a loss as this will fully account to us for the strength of the opposition to indigo cultivation which we have just experienced. (Ray, 2011)

AN ‘T-AR A-MACH GORM’ NO ‘THE BLUE REBELLION'

‘S e an ‘Nil Vidroha’ no ‘The Blue Rebellion’ ann an 1859-60 eisemplair dhen sin. Dh’fhàs e a-mach à cho mì-chothromach ‘s a bha obair an indigo dha muinntir an àite.

Seo a thuirt C. Wood, Rùnaire Stàite aig an àm airson nan Innseachan:

“.. the evidence…is conclusive as to the fact that the cultivation was unprofitable to the ryot, who was required to furnish the plant at a price which, with the extra charges to which he was subjected, did not reimburse him for the cost of production.” (Ray, 2011)

Bha an Governor General aig an àm, Lord William Bentinck, ag argumaid gun robh obair an Indigo a’ toirt piseach air na sgìrean anns an robh e a’ gabhail àite:

“…every factory is in its degree the centre of a circle of improvement, raising the persons employed in it and the inhabitants of the immediate vicinity above the general level.” (Ray, 2011)

Ach, tha e dulich faicinn mar a bha seo fìor nuair nach robh na ryots a’ dèanamh airgead sam bith à obair a bha cho garbh cruaidh, agus gun robhas a’ feuchainn ri toirt orra indigo fhàs an àite an talamh sin a chleachdadh gus biadh fhàs dhaibh pèin.

A’ CHIAD IOMAIRT LE MAHATMA GANDHI

B’ e gnìomhachas an indigo aon de na prìomh adhbharan-còmhstri eadar Riaghaltas Bhreatainn agus a’ ghluasad airson neo-eisimeileachd anns na h-Innseachan.

‘S ann ann am Bihar, a’ toirt taic do luchd-obrach an indigo, a chuir Mahatma Gandhi air bhog a’ chiad iomairt mhòr anns an robh a an sàs airson neo-eisimeileachd nan Innseachan – iomairt “Champaran Satyagraha” ann an 1917.

Ach aig a’ cheann thall, cha b’ e seo ach aon de na rudan a thug crìoch air gnìomhachas an indigo. Oir ann an 1880, bha ceimigear anns a’ Ghearmailt, Adolf von Baeyer, ag obair air dath ùr’ gorma tron chompanaidh fhèin.

B’ e ainm na companaidh – BASF.

Anns an treas phàirt dhen sgeulachd, bheir sinn sùil air na chur às dha obair an Indigo. Eadar WW1, adhartas ann an siadheans dhathan. agus strì eadar Breatainn agus a’ Ghearmailt às dèidh a’ Chogaidh.

DEIREADH.

This short film (in English) is based on interviews I did thirty years ago with three men who went to Sùlaisgeir during that time.

The tradition of seabird fowling is centuries old in the North Atlantic, stretching from Norway to Scotland and Ireland, and is still practiced in the Faroe Islands and in the Hebrides of Scotland. These amazing photographs were taken by James MacGeoch. (Copyright the Estate of James MacGeoch.)

A new period of change is upon us, this time ecological change. This is an effort to catch a tradition at a point in time, and how a generation who had been through the war lived it.

Tha sealg eòin-mhara airson biadh no adhbharan eaconamaigeach ri lorg ann an diofar àiteachachan air feadh raoin chultural a’ Chuain Shiair, agus tha bho linn nan creach. Tha cruth na h-obrach diofraichte ann an diofar àiteachan, a rèir cruth na talmhainn. Tha dòighean-obrach cuideachd ag atharrachadh thairis air ùine airson diofar adhbharan – ge bith a bheil iad cultarail, eaconomaigeach no fiù ‘s an dèidh tubaistean. Tha am film seo a’ coimhead air leithid a dh’atharrachadh ann an aon thradisean thairis air beagan bhliadhnaichean às dèidh an Dàrna Chogaidh - Sùlaisgeir ann an Leòdhas.

You can read the article in English here. No leugh e sa Ghàidhlig an seo.

LITTLE WING

When I was young I was able to fly. I remember it clear.

But no-one believed me. And the worst thing, when I told people close to me about what I was able to do, they made me feel stupid.

Before then, when I still remembered how to do it, I’d find every chance to go out alone. I’d fly around the cliffs by the lighthouse, which was near my house.

Sometimes there would be people there. I’d wait until they looked the other direction and then I’d take a step into the air. Down with me, the sea coming closer, and then I would stretch my arms out. The wind would catch me.

I would travel through the caves at the bottom of the cliffs, through them and out, the sun high alone flying.

One time I went high. I didn’t know how high I could go and what I could do. Even then I didn’t find the edges of the thing. I wouldn’t, until something terrible happened.

Read more

SHOW NOTES

Writing a short story about the Iolaire Disaster affected me in unexpected ways. Māori writer Tihini Grant, calls it ‘the deeply saddening burden’.

This podcast episode looks at writing from Gaelic poets such as Murchadh MacPhàrlain and Ann Frater, and how they wrote about the Iolaire. And also the questions that a class of young people in Italy had about the Iolaire Disaster, after studying the work of different artists about it.

Thank you for listening.

Sgrìobh mi sgeulachd ghoirid mun Iolaire agus thug e buaidh orm. Bha mi airson coimhead air mar a bha sgrìobhadairean eile a’ làimhseachadh a’ chuspair. Bhruidhinn mi ri clas dhaoine òga san Ròimh mun Iolaire, agus bha na ceistean aca garbh inntinneach, an dèidh dhaibh coimhead air obair ealain sa Ghàidhlig a chaidh a dhèanamh mu dheidhinn.

Tapadh leibh airson èisteachd.

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Saint Columba is believed to have visited the Isle of Skye twice and established five religious sites. This short film shows what remains of Snizort Cathedral which was the most important Christian site between the Butt of Lewis and the Isle of Man from the 11th century until power shifted to Iona in the late 15th century.

On the island, there's also the “Burial Place of the Nicolsons,” where 28 clan chiefs from Clan MhicNeacail are buried.

That’s just a glimpse of the story of this precious island. It’s a place which makes you think.

GAELIC VERSION

Tha coltach gun do thadhal Colmcille air an Eilean Sgiathanach dà thuras, agus gun do stèidhich e còig làraich - agus ’s e seo na th’ air fhàgail de dh’àrd-eaglais Snìosort - an làrach Chrìosdaidh as cudromaiche eadar Ruba Robhanis agus Eilean Mhannain bhon an t-aonamh linn deug, gus an do ghluais a’ chumachd sin gu Eilean I, aig deireadh na còigeamh lìnn deug.

Air an eilean tha cuideachd ‘Àite Amhlaic MhicNeacail’ - agus tha ochd air fhichead ceann-cinnidh, bho chlann ‘IcNeacail, air an amhlaiceadh an seo.

Sin dìreach beagan dhen sgeulachd dhen eilean phrìseal seo. ‘S e àite a th’ ann a tha toirt air duine smaoineachadh.

Other interesting Pre-Reformation Religious sites on the islands

If you’d like to read about another fascinating religious site on the island, check out this post about St. Moluag’s Chapel in Ness, on the Isle of Lewis. Consecrated in the 6th century, it gas a fascinating history.

Na tha air aigeann d' inntinn. Leigidh fuachd a' bhùirn dhut dìochuimhneachadh. No leigidh e dhut cuimhneachadh. Ge bith na tha a dhìth ort. Tha àiteachan ann, far a bheil na cuimhneachain agad a’ a’ còmhnaidh.

Short film - Duration 1 min 40s. Gaelic with English and Italian subtitles.

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One day, I was up in the loft and found interviews I had done twenty years ago with three men who went to Sùlaisgeir shortly after the Second World War. I thought the interviews were lost. I was so glad to find them.

I’ll write down what I remember – with An Gaisean and Murchadh Ruadh from Port, Eve from Skigersta, and Murchadh a’ Ghladstoin “Jellicoe” from Adabrock. If I get anything wrong, please tell me.

Thank you to Catriona McGeoch for letting her use photographs her father James McGeoch took at the time. The photographs are copyright the Estate of James MacGeoch.

Sùlaisgeir is about 70 nautical miles north of Ness. The people of Ness go there to take part in fowling (The Guga Hunt). In 1549, Donald Munro wrote that men from Ness would sail there in their open boats “”to fetche hame thair boatful of dry wild fowls with wild fowl fedderi”.

After the war, I was told only one man had been there before – An Diùc. He passed on what he knew to others who started going out – in small boats (sgothan), villages racing each other out to the island to see who could come home with a catch first.

Fionnlagh MacLeod wrote in his book Sùlaisgeir that these years brought big changes to how the hunt was done. The changes have remained to this day.

This was no fixed tradition. They tried different ways and new equipment to see what worked best to serve their purpose. The started using blondins (a blondin cableway installation) and chutes, to make the work quicker. They even changed the equipment they used for fowling.

Back then, before fishing boats took people out, men from Ness rowed or sailed there in open boats called sgothan. By 1947, three boats were going, though not all were ready for the journey. These short trips were called “The Raids.” It was a race – who would get there first, who would bring the birds back first. An Gaisean told me, “We were kind of bored after the war.”

They went to kill the birds and bring them back as soon as possible. The women would pluck the birds at home, on the breakwater. They used the old style of open Ness boats, with sail and oars – the sgoth Niseach. Boats like An Catriona and Am Mayflower were in use at that time.

But things changed after the First World War and the sgothan were used less and less. The war in 1914 had affected the fishing. The new boats had engines (something for which the sgoth wasn’t well suited) and few new ones were built after 1914. They were hard to maintain and hard to use.

Murchadh Ruadh said that the iron nails were the main problem. After two years, you had to re-nail the boat. Any longer, and it was too far gone. When going to deep sea, the boat had to be in good shape.

One reason for the switch was safety. Open boats were dangerous. The Catriona was lost. So was the boat from Adabrock, the Mayflower.

I heard a story from many people – about Murchadh a’ Ghladstoin gold watch and the loss of the Mayflower. Murchadh a’ Ghladstoin (Jellicoe) told it to me, but he didn’t want to be recorded that day.

The Adabrock boat went out. A storm hit and they were stuck on the island for days. I doubt if they even had a sandwich between them. They hadn’t taken much water, either. They tried to save the Mayflower but the swell was too much and she was sunk.

Eachainn Chaluim Eachainn drank from a small pool and got sick, breaking out in boils. (When I asked Eachainn what it was like to go to Sùlaisgeir, he said, “It was hellish.”)

In the end, they saw the Stornoway lifeboat. The sea was still terribly rough. The captain said, “We’re going in, but I don’t think we’ll be coming out.” The lifeboat couldn’t get close enough so they threw a rope. Each man had to jump into the sea and be pulled aboard. That was the plan.

Eachainn was in such a rush he threw off his jacket. They found it a year later, where he had thrown it. Murchadh a’ Ghladstoin told him, as the lifeboat crew were about to pull him through the waves, “Careful, Eachainn, don’t get your feet wet.”

Then it was Murchadh a’ Ghladstoin’s turn. He remembered the gold watch from America he had brought as no one else on the crew had one. He didn’t want to lose it, so he stuck it under his chin and tied it fast. He grabbed the rope and jumped. They pulled him aboard so fast, the watch didn’t even get wet.

Three years earlier, there had been another bad storm. A passing tanker gave them a tow home. But the tanker was too fast. The boat creaked like it was breathing. But they got home. Calum a’ Bhodaich worked the pump. Murchadh a’ Ghladstoib steering. The pier at Skigersta was packed with people waiting. Calum a’ Bhodaich crouched by the engine and told his mate, ashamed they had been towed: “I’d rather have drowned!”

The races ended after that and they started to use fishing boats, staying as one crew on the island with the fishing boat taking them on and off. Maybe that was just as well. It was a dangerous thing and a miracle the crews of these boats survived.

As Murchadh Ruadh put it, when someone asked him who made up the crew of an open boat that they were both watching leave for Sùlaisgeir, he said, “Five fools and the Creator.”

END.

GAELIC VERSION

Bha mi anns an lobht’ an latha eile agus thàinig mi tarsainn air agallamhan a rinn mi bho chionn deich air fhichead bliadhna, le triùir a bh’ ann an Sùlaisgeir às dèidh an Dàrna Chogaidh. Bha mi an dùil gun robh mi air an call. Bha mi cho dòigheil am faicinn.

‘S mathaid gun cuir mi sìos an seo beagan dhe na dh’fhuirich leam bho bhith a’ bruidhinn riutha – An Gaisean agus Murchadh Ruadh às a’ Phort, Eve à Sgiogarstaigh agus Murchadh a’ Ghladstoin (Jellicoe) à Adabrock. Ma tha càil ceàrr agam an seo, nach cuir sibh ceart mi.

Tha Sùlaisgeir mu 70 mìle mara gu tuath air Nis. ‘S ann ann a bhios muinntir Nis a’ dol airson a’ ghuga. Sgrìobh an Deathainn Munro mu dheidhinn Sùlaisgeir ann an 1549, agus thuirt e gun robh feadhainn à Nis a’ dol ann, ann an sgothan "to fetche hame thair boatful of dry wild fowls with wild fowl fedderi".

Às dèidh a’ Chogaidh, chaidh innse dhomh, cha robh ach aon duine air fhàgail a bha air a bhith ann, An Diùc. Thug esan oideachadh dhan sgioba ùr a chaidh a-mach dhan eilean leis. Tha Fionnlagh MacLeòid ag ràdh anns an leabhar aige Sùlaisgeir, “B’ iad sin na bliadhnaichean anns an tàinig atharrachadh nach bu bheag air an dòigh anns an robhas a’ dol ann – atharrachadh a lean gus an là an-diugh.” (Macleod, 2010)

Chan e traidisean stèidhichte a bh’ ann – dh’fheuch iad a h-uile seòrsa rud a dh’fhaicinn dè as fheàrr a bhiodh ag obair. Mar eiseimplair – dh’fheuch iad am biodh e nas fheàrr a bhith cas-rùisgte no ann am brògan, dh’fheuch iad brògan tacaideach agus dh’fheuch iad stocainnean bobain. Thòisich iad a’ toirt blondins leotha agus chutes airson na h-obrach a dhèanamh nas èifeachdaiche agus dh’atharraich iad fiù ‘ s mar a bhite a’ breith nan eun.

Aig an àm sin, mus do thòisich bàtaichean-iasgaich dhan toirt a-mach, bhiodh sgothan Niseach bho diofar bhailtean a’ dèanamh an cuid slighe a-mach gu Sùlaisgeir air tòir a’ ghuga. Bho 1947 “bha trì eathraichean a’ dol ann, co-dhiù airson greis; cuid nach robh ro uidheamaichte airson an turais.” (Macleod, 2010)

‘S e ’na raids’ an t-ainm a bh’ air na tursan seo, tursan luath airson latha no dhà. ‘S e nàdar rèis a bh’ ann, cò gheibheadh ann an toiseach, cò bheireadh air ais gugannan an toiseach. Thuirt an Gaisean rium ‘bha sinn rudeigin bored às dèidh a’ Chogaidh.’

Seo mar a bha Murchadh Gillies às a’ Phort ann an Nis, no ‘Murchadh Ruadh’ ga mhìneachadh:

Oh na raids… nuair a bha’ d a’ dèanamh na raids cha robhas a’ dol… a’ dèanamh càil ach am marbhadh ‘s a toirt na cinn dhiubh ‘s an toirt dhachaigh. Bhathas gan dèanamh aig an taigh an uair sin… bhathas gan dèanamh air a’ bhreakwater, shìos ann an seo… bhiodh boireannaich a’ spionnadh an uair sin.

‘S e an sgoth Niseach an eathar fhosgailte a bhathas a’ cleachdadh ann an Nis, gu traidiseanta. B’ iadsan eathraichean fosgailte, mar bu trice le seòl agus rèimh. Bha sgothan Niseach fhathast gan cleachdadh aig àm ‘na raids’, leithid ‘An Catriona’ agus ‘Am Mayflower’.

Thòisich an atharrachadh bho bhith a’ cleachdadh sgothan gu bhith a’ dol ann air bàtaichean-iasgaich airson diofar adhbharan. Bha obair an iasgaich air gaiseach agus air stad buileach an uair a thàinig an Cogadh ann an 1914. Bha einnsean ga chleachdadh anns na h-eathraichean ùra, agus cha robh na sgothan Niseach cho math leis a’ mhotor. Cha robh uiread a sgothan air an togail às dèidh 1914 agus bha iad duilich an cumail a’ dol, an dà chuid a’ faighinn obair dhaibh agus a thaobh sructur a’ bhàta fhèin.

‘S e na tarraigean a bha a’ cur às dhan an sgoth, tarraigean iarunn. Bha dà bhliadhna ann gum feumadh tu fuaigheal a-rithist, às dèidh sin bha e ro fhada. Nuair a bha iad a’ dol a chuan dhomhainn leatha, dh’fheumadh i bhith cho math ‘s a ghabhas.

‘S mathaid aon de na rudan a thugad air an atharrachadh seo, ‘s e cho cunnartach ‘s a bha e a dhol ann, ann an eathraichean fosgailte. A bharrachd air An Catriona, chaillear cuideachd eathar Adabrock, Am Mayflower.

Bha aon sgeulachd ann a chuala mi bho diofar dhaoine – mu dheidhinn watch òr Jellicoe agus mar a chailleadh Am Mayflower. Chaidh bàta Adabrock a-mach agus nuair a bha iad ann bha gèile uabhasach ann. Bha iad stèigte air an eilean airson grunn làithean, agus chan eil fios agam an robh fiù ‘s poca sandwiches aca eatorra. Cha robh mòran bùrn aca, tha coltach, a bharrachd.

Dh’òl Eachainn Chaluim Eachainn bùrn à lòn bheag air an eilean agus rinn e cron uabhasach air, bhris e a-mach ann an niosgaidean. Nuair a dh’fhaighnich mi dha Eachainn, cò ris a bha e coltach a dhol a Shùlaisgeir thuirt e, “ bha e fèir diobhalt.”

Bho dheireadh thall, chunnaic iad an bàta-teasairginn Steòrnabhaigh air fàire. Cha robh an gèile air fas càil nas fheàrr agus bha fhathast suaibhle uabhasach ann. Bho dheireadh thall, rinn an Sgiobair an àirde a chuid inntinn. Tha coltach gun tuirt e ‘we’re going in, but I don’t think we’ll be coming out.’

Chan fhaigheadh iad faisg gu leòr air tìr, mar sin shad muinntir a’ bhàta-theasairginn ròpa a-null. Bha aig gach neach ri leumail dhan mhuir agus dheidheadh iad an uair sin an tarraing air bòrd. Sin am plana co-dhiù.

Bha Eachainn ann an uiread cabhaig, shad a dheth a sheacaid, agus lorg iad i am bliadhna às dèidh sin, dìreach far na shad e i. Thuirt Murchadh a’ Ghladstoin ris, is muinntir a’ bhàta-teasairginn a’ dol dha tharraig bhon chreig a-mach tro na tuinn air ceann feist: ‘An aire Eachainn, mus fliuch thu do chasan.”

An uair sin, ‘s e turna Mhurchaidh a bh’ ann. Chuimhnich e air an watch òr à Ameireagaidh le Dòmhnall Tharmoid Sheumais a bha e air toirt leis (cha robh watch aig duine eile, cha coltach). Cha robh e airson a chur na phòcaid, gun fhios nach cailleadh e e. Mar sin, chuir e bhon smugaid aige e, ghabh e greum air an ròpa agus leum e. Tha coltach gun do tharraing iad air bòrd cho luath e, nach deach spriotag uisge air an watch.

Bha turas eile ann, mu thrì bliadhna roimhe sin, agus bha droch aimsir ann. Ach an turas seo, ‘s ann a fhuair iad tobha dhachaigh bho tancair a bha a’ dol seachad air Sùlaisgeir. Ach bha an tancair a’ dol fada ro luath. Tha coltach gun robh asnaichean an eathair a’ gluasad a-mach agus a-steach mar gun robh i a’ gabhail anail. Ach a-rithist, fhuair iad dhachaigh. Bha dithis innte, Calum a’ Bhodaich ga pumpadh agus Murchadh a’ Ghladstoin aig an stiùir. Bha “Cidhe Sgiogarstaigh dubh le daoine ga feitheamh a’ tighinn a-steach: Calum a’ Bhodaich na chrùban air cùl an einnsean, ‘s e ag ràdh ri fear dhe chompanaich, oir bha masladh gur ann le tobha a fhuair iad dhachaigh: “’S b’ fheàrr leam gu robh mi air mo bhàthadh!” (Macleod : 2020)

‘S mathaid nach robh iad buileach cho dàna às dèidh leithid a thursan, agus ‘s ann an uair sin a stad na raids le na sgothan, na rèisdan eadar na bailtean, agus thòisich iad a’ dol a-mach ann am bàta-iasgaich mar aon chriubha, agus a’ fuireach air an eilean gun eathar sam bith aca. ‘S mathaid gun robh sin a’ cheart cho math, leis cho cunnartach ‘s a bha e.

No mar a thuirt Murchadh Ruadh aon turas nuair a chaidh faighneachd dha cò an sgioba a bha a’ fàgail airson a dhol ann, ann an eatha fosgailte “Tha,” arsa esan “còignear amadan agus an Cruthaighear”.

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Dealbhan le James McGeoch, le cead bho Chatriona McGeoch. Tapadh leat, a Chatriona!

Gheibh sigh an leabhar ‘Sùlaisgeir’ aig Acair Books (https://acairbooks.com)

Tapadh leibh airson leughadh.