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Waipu – sgeulachd iongantach (2)

Ann am Pàirt 1 ar sgeulachd, dh’fhàg sinn an t-Urr. Tormod MacLeòid a’ meòrachadh mu eilthireachd a-rithist, a-mach à Ceap Breatainn, is a’ bheatha an sin air fàs ro dhoirbh dhan tuineachadh aige leis a’ ghort air fàire is cùisean a’ dol am miosad san fharsaingeachd. Ach càit’ an rachadh iad?

Dìreach aig an àm sin, 1848, thàinig litir à Astràilia, far an robh Dòmhnall, am mac a bu shine aige, air tuineachadh, a’ moladh beatha, fearann is aimsir thall an sin, agus a’ brosnachadh an teaghlaich a thighinn ann cuideachd. Bha sin mar chomharra do Thormod is dhan treud dìleas aige, agus cha b’ fhada gus an robh iad a’ togail long a bhiodh freagarrach dhan t-siubhal fhada – a’ Margaret, ainm nighean Thormoid, dèanta à fiodh à fearann Thormoid fhèin. Lean iad orra le togail longan eile cuideachd. Anns an Dàmhair 1851 dh’fhàg Tormod is a’ chiad 135 tuinichean Baile Anna, agus ràinig iad Adelaide anns a’ Ghiblean 1852. Lean an Highland Lass orra sìa mìosan às dèidh sin. ‘S e neach-ghnìomhachais math a bh’ ann an Tormod – reic e am fearann aige airson prìs maith gus an t-siubhal a phàigheadh is an uair sin fhuair e prìs mhath eile airson a’ Margaret ann an Sydney, gus fearann is teachd an tìr thall an sin a mhaoineachadh dhan teaghlach ‘s dhan luchd-leantainn an toiseach.

Ach bha briseadh-dùil cruaidh a’ feitheamh orra – bha Dòmhnall air imrich a Melbourne, agus cha robh fearann gu leòr dha na h-eilthirich à Ceap Breatainn gus tuineachadh a stèidheachadh ann an sgìre Adelaide. Lean iad Dòmhnall is chaidh iad a Melbourne cuideachd. Ach san eadar-àm bha Astràilia air a glacadh le fiabhras an òir, agus cha robh fearann math ri fhaighinn ach airson phrìsean ana-mhòr. B’ fheudar dhaibh fuireach ann an teantaichean còmhla ris na mìltean eile a bha air tòir an òir. Chaidh cuid de na fir a lorg obair aig na “diggings”, oir bha airgead a dhìth orra. Chunnaic Tormod gun robh a threud a’ fàs sgapte am measg mì-mhoraltachd, misg is sainnt, fada nas miosa na bha ann am Pictou às dèidh a’ chiad eilthireachd. Agus an uair sin thàinig rud fiù ‘s na bu mhiosa –  am fiabhras breac. Chaochail trì de na mic aige fhèin an ceann sìa mìosan. Co-dhùin e agus a’ mhòr-chuid den treud Astràilia fhàgail.

Chuala iad gun robh fearann ri fhaighinn ann an Eilean a Tuath, Sealainn Nuadh – agus leis nach robh òr an sin, bhiodh cùisean na bu shàmhaiche, is na bu shaoire. Sgrìobh Tormod litir dhan Riaghladair agus fhuair iad cead tuineachadh an sin, agus fiù ‘s leis a h-uile duine ann an aon sgìre, gus am biodh an treud còmhla agus Gàidhlig ga bruidhinn.  Reic iad an Highland Lass agus cheannaich iad an Gazelle.  Ràinig iad Auckland an an 1853 agus às dèidh iomadh dàil is duilgheadas fhuair iad cead tuineachadh ann an sgìre Waipu, fearann air a cheannachd bho na Maoiri leis an Riaghaltas, an ceann a tuath Eilein a Tuath. Dh’fhuirich cuid à Alba Nuadh ann an Adelaide is Melbourne, cuid eile ann an Auckland, far an robh iomadh Gàidheal eile, ach bha deagh bhuidheann air fhàgail airson an tuineachaidh ùir ann an Waipu bho 1854 a-mach.

Leig iad fios gu Baile Anna dè cho freagarrach ‘s a bha an t-àite, agus thàinig ceithir longan eile à Ceap Breatainn a Waipu, is mu 900 daoine a’ fuireach an sin an ceann ùine ghoirid. Seo na longan mu dheireadh ar sgeulachd: Gertrude (1856), Spray (1857), Breadalbane (1858), agus Ellen Lewis (1860)

Shoirbhich le muinntir na h-Alba Nuaidh an sin le tuathanas, iasgach, togail bhàtaichean is malairt, fiù ‘s na b’ fheàrr na ann am Baile Anna an toiseach; b‘ ann mar gun do ràinig Tormod agus a threud am Fearann a’ Gheallaidh mu dheireadh thall. Chaochail Tormod ann an 1866, aig aois 85, fhathast athair a pharaiste. Agus ‘s e baile gu math “Albannach” a th’ ann an Waipu gus an latha an-diugh, le cuimhneachain is soidhnichean Gàidhealach is Gàidhlig air feadh an àite, is na Geamaichean Gàidhealach as motha ann an Sealainn Nuadh air an cumail an sin gach Latha na Bliadhn’ Ùire. Tha iad uabhasach moiteil às na tùsan aca, agus tha taigh-tasgaidh anabarrach math ann le sgeul Thormoid agus an sinnsearan, na h-eilthirich fhad-bheatha ghaisgeil seo.

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Waipu’s amazing story (2)

In Part 1 of our story, we left the Rev Norman McLeod pondering emigration again, away from Cape Breton, where life had become increasingly difficult for the settlement with famine on the horizon and the situation in general worsening. But where would they go?

Just at that time, in 1848, a letter arrived from Australia, where Norman’s eldest son Donald had settled, praising the life, land and climate there, and encouraging the family to come over too. That was like a sign to Norman and his faithful flock, and it wasn’t long before they were building a ship which would be suitable for the long voyage – the Margaret, called after Norman’s daughter, and made from timber from his own land. They carried on building further ships too. In October 1851 Norman and the first 135 settlers left St Ann’s, reaching Adelaide in April 1852. The Highland Lass followed them 6 months later. Norman was a good businessman – he sold his land for a good price to finance the voyage, and then got another good price for the Margaret in Sydney, to pay for land and initial subsistence for his family and followers.

But another bitter disappointment was awaiting them – Donald had meanwhile moved to Melbourne, and there wasn’t enough available land for the Cape Breton immigrants to found a settlement in the Adelaide region. So they followed Donald to Melbourne. But in the meantime Australia had been gripped by gold fever, and good land was only to be had for exorbitant prices. They had to live in tent towns along with the thousands who had come in search of gold. Some of the men set off to find work at the “diggings”, as they were short of money. Norman saw that his flock was beginning to break up in an environment of immorality, drunkenness and greed, far worse than in Pictou after their first emigration. And then came something even worse – typhoid. Three of his own sons died within 6 months. He and the majority of the flock decided to leave Australia.

They heard that there was land to be had in New Zealand’s North Island, and since there was no gold there, things would be calmer, and cheaper. Norman wrote to the Governor and they received permission to settle there – and even (unusually) all in one area, so that the community would remain together and be able to speak Gaelic. They sold the Highland Lass and bought the Gazelle. They reached Auckland in 1853, and after various delays and difficulties were permitted to settle in the Waipu area, on land bought by the government from the Maoris, in the north of North Island. Some of the Nova Scotians had stayed in Adelaide or Melbourne, and some in Auckland, where there were many other Gaels, but a sizeable group remained for the new settlement in Waipu from 1854 on.

They sent word to St Ann’s of how suitable this place was, and four other ships came to Waipu from Cape Breton, bringing the numbers up to 900 settlers within a fairly short time. These were the last ships in our story: Gertrude (1856), Spray (1857), Breadalbane (1858) and Ellen Lewis (1860).

The Nova Scotians prospered there with farming, fishing, boat-building and trade, even more so than they initially did in St Ann’s; it seemed as if Norman and his flock had finally reached their Promised Land. Norman died in 1866, aged 85, still the father of his parish. And Waipu has remained a very “Scottish” town to this day, with Highland and Gaelic memorials and signs, and the biggest Highland Gathering in New Zealand held there every New Year. They’re extremely proud of their roots and there’s an exceptionally good museum there with the story of Norman and their ancestors, those heroic lifelong emigrants.

Dealbhan eachdraidheil Taigh-tasgaidh Waipu, le taing. Historic photos Waipu Museum, with thanks.

Waipu – sgeulachd iongantach (1)

Às dèidh an t-siubhail agam a dh’Astràilia san t-Samhain, chaidh mi a Shealainn Nuadh, agus an sin ‘s e baile beag Waipu, Eilean a Tuath, a bha am measg nan ceann-uidhe a bu chudromaiche dhomh. Carson? Uill, ‘s e ceann-uidhe sònraichte a bh’ ann do Ghàidheil eile, mu 175 bliadhna air ais. Ach cha do ghabh iad idir an t-slighe dhìreach…   Agus mar sin, bidh mi a’ sgrìobhadh mun dèidhinn thairis air dà artaigil. Seo sgeulachd tarraingeach mu cheannardas cruaidh, dhaoine dàna agus na soithichean fiodha bunanta aca.

Feumaidh sinn a dhol air ais a dh’Ulapul aig toiseach den 19mh linn. Bha duine òg à Asainte ann, air an robh Tormod MacLeòid, a bha na thìdsear san sgòil-eaglais an sin mu 1815. Duine foghlaimte a bh’ ann, le MA à Obar Dheathain is Bonn Òr airson Feallsanachd Moralta, agus bha e air Diadhachd a thòiseachadh ann an Dùn Èideann cuideachd. Ach dh’fhàg e an cùrsa is e a’ creidsinn an dà chuid gun robh an eaglais cus fo bhuaidh nan uachdaranan, agus gun robh na ministeirean fhèin ro shaoghalta, chan ann diadhaidh gu leòr – bha esan airson tilleadh dha na prionnsapalan teann Calvin is Knox.

Agus san dreuchd mar thidsear ann an Ulapul cha robh e slaodach le càineadh den aon seòrsa, gu h-àraidh an aghaidh ministeir an àite. Aig an aon àm, bha MacLeòid a’ searmonachadh air a cheann fhèin, le a theachdaireachd làidir neo-strìochdail, agus coltas drùidteach air – bha e àrd, dèanta, le guth cumhachdach – agus a chliù a’ sìor fhàs am measg muinntir an àite, ged nach ann san eaglais stèidhichte. Às dèidh dha a bhith dà bhliadhna san sgòil, chaill e an obair, agus b’ fheudar dha obair mar iasgair a ghabhail ann an Inbhir Uige.

Thòisich e ri meòrachadh mu eilthireachd a Chanada, mar a rinn mòran eile sa Ghàidhealtachd aig an àm, san dòchas gum biodh cùisean na b’ fheàrr thall an sin. Bha an t-iasgach air a phàigheadh na b’ fheàrr na teagasg, agus ann an 1817 bha gu leòr de dh’airgead aige gus siubhal bho Ulapul gu Pictou, air costa tuath na h-Alba Nuaidh, air an long eilthireach Frances Ann, agus an teaghlach aige goirid às dèidh sin. Sin a chiad siubhal, is a’ chiad long nar sgeulachd.

Ann am Pictou cha robh am beatha thùsaireach gharbh cho furasda dhan teaghlach an toiseach, ach bha sgilean practaigeach gu leòr aca mar-thà agus bha Gàidheil eile ann cuideachd. Agus cha b’ fhada gus an robh MacLeòid ri searmonachadh a-rithist, mar as àbhaist an aghaidh mì-mhoraltachd sa bhaile ‘s san eaglais, mar a chunnaic e cùisean an sin cuideachd – fìor bhriseadh-dùil dha a bha sin. Ach bha mòran luchd-leantainn aige a-rithist, na “Normanites” mar a bha orra, agus nuair a phlanaig e a dh’fhalbh gus coimhearsnachd ùr a stèidheachadh, air a ruith air prionnsapalan a’ Bhìobaill, bha gu leòr de na Gàidheil deiseil is deònach a dhol leis an t-searmonaiche tarraingeach is ceannard comasach seo.

Tha coltas ann gun robh iad a’ smaoineachadh an toiseach mu Ohio, far an robh luchd-aithne aig MacLeòid, ach co-dhiù thog iad sgùinear, air ainmeachadh an Àirc le muinntir Phictou (an dàrna long is turas againn), agus dh’fhalbh a chiad bhuidheann ann an 1819, a’ seòladh timcheall air Ceap Breatainn, eilean mòr a tha na phàirt sear de Alba Nuadh, far an robh barrachd fearainn ri fhaighinn do thuinichean. Air sgàth stoirm, landaig iad ann am Bàgh St Ann’s, acarsaid mhath ann an linne air costa an ear an eilein, agus bha coltas freagarrach air, le rùm gu leòr is èisg am pailteas. Le sin, thog na Normanites ann am Pictou sia soithichean eile agus thàinig iadsan cuideachd ann an 1820.  Cha b’ fhada gus an tàinig eilthirich Ghàidhealach eile, cuid dìreach à Alba fhèin. A rèir coltais bha mu 700 tuinichean an sin aig a’ cheann thall.

‘S e tuineachadh gu math soirbheachail a bh’ ann am Baile Anna, is na Gàidheil dìcheallach is sgileil mar thuathanaich ‘s mar mharaichean, agus le bhith a’ togail bhàtaichean ‘s a’ malart. Bha fiodh gu leòr aca – craobhan am pailteas seach mar a bha air oir an iar na Gàidhealtachd is sna h-Eileanan. San eadar-àm dh’obair Tormod fhèin mar thidsear agus mar bhàillidh, agus nuair a chaidh aige air cead fhaighinn gu bhith na mhinistear oifigeil mu dheireadh thall (ann an Nuadh Eabhrac, fada air falbh bho bhuaidh Eaglais na h-Alba no Eaglais Cheap Bhreatainn), dh’fhaod e pòsaidhean is baistidhean a choileanadh na threud cuideachd.

Mar sin bha e na cheannard os cionn beatha shìobhalta is spioradail an tuineachaidh. Cha robh e airson tuarastal fhaighinn airson sin – san àite bha a h-uile dùil aige gum biodh na fir ag obair air an lot aige, fhad ‘s a rinn esan obair Dhè – foghlam is searmonachadh. Ruith a h-uile rud an sin tron Ghàidhlig cuideachd, is a’ chlann ag ionnsachadh leughadh tron Bhìoball Ghàidhlig agus ga leughadh aig an taigh dha na seann daoine aig nach robh comas leughaidh. Cha robh a h-uile duine toilichte leis an dòigh-bheatha cho riaghailte seo, ach mar às abhaist, dh’fhalbh iadsan a-rithist, agus tha coltas gun robh a’ mhòr-chuid riaraichte. A dh’aindeoin nan geamhraidhean cruaidh, leis an dèigh a’ glasadh nan slighean-mara gu tric, bha iad ann an àite sàbhailte, sìtheil, math eagraichte, agus gu ìre mhath soirbheachail, agus bha iad taingeil air a shon. 

Ach às dèidh mu 25 bliadhna, thòisich cùisean ri atharrachadh. Bha na bliadhnaichean mòr-phailteis seachad, agus na bliadhnaichean gorta a’ tighinn. ‘S ann gun robh malairt an fhiodha a’ dol an lughad, cha robh an t-iasgach cho prothaideach às dèidh aonta-malairt ùir le Ameireaga, agus cha robh fearann gu leòr tuilleadh is àireamh an t-sluaigh a’ sìor dol an àird. Agus an uair sin, ann an 1847, thàinig galaran a’ bhuntàta agus na cruithneachd dhan sgìre cuideachd. Cha robh sìol ùr ri fhaighinn, agus muinntir an tuineachaidh fo eagal na gorta. Cha tug athchuinge èiginneach dhan Riaghaltas an cuideachadh a bha a dhith. Agus thòisich an t-Urramach Tormod MacLeòid, aig aois 67, ri meòrachadh mu eilthireachd a-rithist….

Agus càite, an turas seo? Faigh a-mach ann am Pàirt 2! (Agus chan e Sealainn Nuadh a bh’ ann…)

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Waipu’s amazing story (1)

After my trip to Australia in November I went on to New Zealand, and one of my most important destinations there was the wee town of Waipu, North island. Why? Well, it was also the very particular destination of some other Highlanders, around 175 years ago. But they didn’t exactly take the direct route… And that’s why I’m spreading their story over two articles.  This is a fascinating story of iron leadership, intrepid people and their sturdy wooden vessels.

We have to go back first of all to Ullapool at the beginning of the 1800s. There was a young man from Assynt there, a Norman McLeod, who was the teacher in the church school around 1815. He was an educated man with an MA from Aberdeen and a Gold Medal in Moral Philosophy, and he’d also started a Divinity degree in Edinburgh. But he left the course as he believed both that the church was too much under the influence of the heritors (the landowners who funded the parishes and got to pick the ministers) and that the ministers themselves were too worldly and not godly enough – he wanted to return to the strict principles of Calvin and Knox.

And in his job as teacher in Ullapool he also didn’t hold back with criticism of the same sort, particularly against the local minister. At the same time McLeod was lay-preaching, and with his strong, uncompromising message, and imposing appearance – he was tall and well-built with a carrying voice – he won quite a reputation with the people of the area, if not exactly with the established church. After serving two years in the school he lost that job and had to take work as a fisherman in Wick.

He began to consider emigrating to Canada, as so many in the Highlands did at that time, in the hope that things would be better there. Fishing actually paid better than teaching, and by 1817 he had enough money to sail from Ullapool to Pictou, in northern Nova Scotia, in the emigrant ship the Frances Ann, with his family following shortly after. And that’s only the first of the voyages, and the first of the ships in our story.

In Pictou the rough pioneer life was hard for the family at first, but they had plenty of practical skills and there were other Gaels there too. And it wasn’t long before McLeod was at the preaching again, as usual ranting against immorality in the township and the church, as he saw it there too – a bitter disappointment to him. But he again acquired plenty of devotees, the so-called “Normanites”, and when he started planning to go off and found a new community, run on Biblical principles, there were enough Gaels who were ready and willing to go along with this charismatic preacher and capable leader.

It seems they first considered Ohio, as McLeod had contacts there, but in any case they built a schooner, dubbed the Ark by the Pictou folk (our second ship and voyage), and the first group set off in 1819 sailing round Cape Breton, the large island that forms the eastern part of Nova Scotia, where there was more land available for settlers.  A storm drove them to shelter in St Ann’s Bay, a good anchorage on an inlet in the east coast, and they decided it was a suitable place to settle, with plenty of space and abundant fishing. Hearing that, the Normanites in Pictou built 6 more boats and and they too arrived in 1820. It wasn’t long before other Highlanders followed, some straight from Scotland. Seemingly there were ultimately around 700 settlers over time.

St Ann’s (Baile Anna) became a very successful settlement, the Gaels being hard-working and skilled in farming and as seamen, and also in boat-building and trading. They had plenty of wood for that – trees in abundance, unlike on the west coast and the Western Isles back home. Meanwhile Norman McLeod was busy as the teacher and also the magistrate, and when he finally got his licence as a minister (in New York, far away from the influence of the church in Scotland and Cape Breton), he was also able to carry out marriages and baptisms in his flock.

He was therefore now in overall charge of the civil and spiritual life of the settlement. He didn’t want a salary for that – instead he expected the men to do the work on his piece of land, while he did the work of God – teaching and preaching.  Everything operated in Gaelic, the children learning to read via the Scriptures, and then reading them to the old folk at home who couldn’t read. Not everyone was happy with this highly regulated way of life, but such people usually left, and the majority seemed content enough. Despite the hard winters and the sea-ways often getting ice-bound, they saw the benefits of a secure, peaceful, well-ordered and largely prosperous place to live.

After about 25 years, however, things began to change. The years of plenty were past, and the lean years about to come. The timber trade had begun to decline, fishing became less profitable after a new trade agreement with America, and there wasn’t enough land for the ever-growing population. And to top it all, in 1847 both potato blight and wheat rust hit the area. There was no new seed to be had, and the population lived in fear of imminent famine. Desperate petitions to the government didn’t bring the much-needed help. And the Reverend Norman McLeod began, at the age of 67, to think once again about emigration….

And where to this time? Find out in Part 2!  (And it wasn’t New Zealand…)

Dealbhan bho Thaigh-tasgaidh Waipu, le taing/ Pictures from Waipu Museum, with thanks.

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Gwalia, Astràilia an Iar

Bha mi ann an Astràlia an Iar san t-Samhain, air cèilidh air mo bhràthair ann am Peairt, agus bha turas thairis air an Outback dha na Goldfields, na “Raointean Òir”, am measg nam fìor bhàrr-phuingean. Bha mi airson a dhol ann fad bliadhna no dhà, às dèidh dhomh dealbhan is aithrisean de bhaile Gwalia fhaicinn, is e aithichte mar “bhaile nan taibhsean”, dachaigh do mhèinneadairean na h-òr-mheinn “Sons of Gwalia” eadar 1896 agus 1963. ‘S e ainm litreachail air a’ Chuimrigh a th’ ann an Gwalia, is a’ chiad mhèinne bheag air a maoineachadh le dithis luchd-bùtha Cuimreach à Coolgardie. Tha am baile mu 830 mìle an ear air Peairt, ach fhuair mi a-mach gu bheil trèana sònraichte (is spaideil) ann eadar Peairt agus Kalgoorlie, am Prospector,  seachd uairean a thìde aon slighe, agus le càr air mhàl, mu thrì uairean a thìde eile gu Gwalia. Dh’impich mi mo bhràthair a thighinn còmhla rium, agus thàinig esan agus companach eile. Sgioba Gwalia deiseil!

An rud as drùidhtiche ma dheidhinn, ‘s e gun do thog na mèinneadairean na taighean (no bothagan) iad fhèin, is iad a’ cleachdadh an stuth a bu saoire sa ghabhadh, gu h-àraidh iarann preasach, ach cuideachd pìosan fiodha bhochd, no uèir, no meatailt, no pìosan breige, rud sam bith a bha air fhàgail no air thilgeadh a-mach às an obair-mhèinne. Mar sin dh’fhàs baile gu lèir, an ceann ùine le bùth is òsdal is garaids is sgoil bheag, agus seòrsa taigh-seinnse neo-oifigeil (an “sly grog shop”), agus fiù ‘s taigh-osda/talla bhaile, an State Hotel, air a thogail leis an riaghaltas ann an 1903 mar phàirt sreath leithid de ghnothach sna Goldfields, le sùil ri casg a chur air taighean-òil mì-laghail. (Rud nach do shoirbhich buileach…)

Chuir mi seachad ùine mhòr a’ dol a-steach dha na taighean is thog mi na ceudan de dhealbhan, a dh’aindeoin an teas is nan cuileagan. Chuir e drùidh orm dè cho innleachdach ‘s a bha iad, a’ cruthachadh taighean (gu tric do theaghlaich) à stuth cho bochd. Bha iad air an togail le beart simplidh fiodha is ballaichean is mullach à pìosan iarainn preasaich, le stòbha ann an aon seòmar, agus ‘s dòcha sacan heisean air am peantadh an àite pàipeir-balla. Reoth thu sa gheamhradh is ghoil thu as t-samhradh. Ach dh’fheuch iad ri am fàgail seasgair, snog, le plàideachan air am fighe, dealbhan à ìrisean, rudan beaga às an dachaighean fada air falbh. Chuir e iongantas orm gun do dh’fhuirich co-dhiù 500 daoine an sin, le ach glè bheag de leasachadh, gus dùnadh na mèinne ann an 1963. Daoine calma gu dearbh!

Bha baile eile na bu maireannaiche, Leonora, dà no trì mìle air falbh, far am biodh an luchd-rianachd na mèinne a’ fuireach, ach dha na mèinneadairean bha e na bu phractaigiche fuireach faisg air an obair. Ann an 1911 bha 1,114 daoine a’ fuireach ann an Gwalia. Chan e Breatannaich a-mhàin a bh’ annta (a’ phròifil in-imriche as luachmhoire) – bha eilthirich às an Roinn Eòrpa ann cuideachd, gu h-àraidh às an Eadailt is às an Iùgaslabh, far an robh an suidheachadh eaconamach sònraichte doirbh. Thàinig mòran dòchasaich à Sìona ann cuideachd ach rachadh leth-bhreith dhona a dhèanamh orra. Thill cuid de na h-in-imrichean dhachaigh, ach dh’fhuirich a’ mhòr-chuid fad ghinealach. M.e., b‘ e teaghlach Eadailteach nam Mazza a ruith a’ bhùth fad deicheadan.

Uaireannan chaidh luchd-obrach Eadailteach no Iùgaslabhach a thoirt a-steach leis na ceannardan le tuarasdal na b’ ìsle nuair a bha na mèinneadairean a‘ bagradh a dhol air stailc airson barrachd airgid no chumhaichean-obrach na b’ fheàrr. Sin a rinn Herbert Hoover (ceann-suidhe nan SA 1929-33), is e na mhanaidsear-mèinne ann an 1898; gheàrr e na chòraichean-obrach agus na tuarasdail gu geur. (Ach cha robh bail air chosg a thaobh a’ phlana aige airson an taigh aige fhèin, faic gu h-ìosal…)

‘S e beatha gu math doirbh a bh’ aca uile gu lèir, agus anns an 1890an thàinig trioblaid eile orra – am fiabhras breac. Bhàs na mìltean anns na Goldfields, le suidheachadh slainteachais cho dona agus cus daoine is beathaichean a’ fuireach air an dinneadh ri chèile ann an campaichean mòra salach, mar aig Kalgoorlie, air “Mìle an Òir”. Thadail mi air cladh faisg air làimh agus bha e uabahsach faicinn an uiread de bhàsan òga aig an uair sin. Cunnartan na mèinne dhaibh gu h-ìosal agus cunnartan eile gu h-àrd, agus tìr gu math neo-mhathach mar dhachaigh. Mar a thuirt Hoover fhèin: “A land of red dust, black flies and white heat.”

Tha taigh-tasgaidh na seann mhèinne faisg air a’ bhaile an diugh (tha a’ mhèinne air fhosgladh às ùr a-nis), agus dh’fheuch a’ choimhearsnachd mu thimcheall ri cuid de na taighean a dhìonadh is an àth-thogail. Fàgaidh mi sibh le cuid de na dealbhan – tha iad brònach, ach aig an aon àm àlainn (air an dòigh aca fhèin), ach barrachd is sin, tha na taighean nam fianais air nàdar is innleachdachd nan daoine fulangach sin sna bliadhnaichean tràth cruaidh.

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Gwalia, West Australia

I was in West Australia in November, visiting my brother in Perth, and a trip out over the Outback to the Goldfields was one of the real highlights. I’d been wanting to go there for quite a while after seeing pictures and reports about the township of Gwalia, famous as a ”ghost town”, which was home to the gold-miners at the pit “Sons of Gwalia” between 1896 and 1963. Gwalia is a poetic name for Wales, as the original small mine was funded by two Welsh storekeepers from Coolgardie. The town is about 830 miles from Perth, but I found out that there is a special, rather posh train called The Prospector that runs from Perth to Kalgoorlie, about 7 hours one-way, and you can hire a car for the remaining 3 hours or so up to Gwalia. I persuaded my brother to join me and he came along with a pal – Team Gwalia was ready to go!

The most impressive thing about it is that the miners themselves built the “cottages” (or huts), using the cheapest material possible, especially corrugated iron, but also pieces of poor-quality wood, or wire, or metal, or bits of bricks – anything discarded or left over from the mining work. This turned into a complete township, in the course of time with a store, a hostel, a garage, a small school, a sort of unofficial pub (the “sly grog shop”), and even a hotel/village hall, the State Hotel – that was built by the government in 1903 as part of a chain of such establishments, aimed at cutting out the illegal drinking-houses (something that didn’t entirely succeed…).

I spent many hours going into each house and taking hundreds of photos, despite the heat, and the flies. I was struck by how ingenious they were, creating homes (often for families) from such poor materials. The cottages were built with a simple wooden frame, and walls and roofs of scrap pieces of corrugated iron, with a stove in one room, and sometimes painted hessian sacks instead of wallpaper. People would freeze in winter and boil in summer. But they clearly tried to make things cosy and homely with knitted blankets, magazine pictures on the walls, and small mementoes of their distant homelands. It seemed amazing that at least 500 people were still living there, with very little development, till the mine closed in 1963. A tough lot indeed!

There was another more permanent settlement a couple of miles away, Leonora, where the mine administrators lived, but it was more practical for the miners to live near their work. In 1911 there were 1,114 people living in Gwalia. They weren’t all British (the preferred immigrant profile) – there were also immigrants from Europe, particularly Italy and Yugoslavia, where the economic situation was especially difficult. Many hopefuls came from China too, but they were heavily discriminated against. Some immigrants went home, but more stayed, through generations. For example the Mazza family from Italy ran the store for decades.

Sometimes Italian or Yugoslav workers would be brought in at lower wages by the mine bosses when the miners were threatening to strike for higher wages or better conditions. That’s what Herbert Hoover did (later US president 1929-33) when he was mine manager in Gwalia in 1898. He cut wages and workers’ rights drastically. (But not his own design for the manager’s house, see below…)

It was a pretty hard life altogether, but in the 1890s another plague fell on them – typhoid. Thousands died in the Goldfields, with the dreadfully unhygienic conditions, and too many people and animals crammed together in huge filthy camps, e.g. at Kalgoorlie, on the “Golden Mile”.  I visited a nearby cemetery and it was harrowing to see the number of young people who died then*. The dangers of the mine below, and more dangers above, and an unforgiving land as their home. As Hoover himself said,  “A land of red dust, black flies and white heat.”

The township now has a nearby museum to the old mine itself (which recently reopened), and the surrounding community has tried to protect and partially restore the homes. I’ll leave you with some of the pictures – sad, and at the same time beautiful (in their own way) , but more than that, the cottages stand witness to the character and resourcefulness of these resilient folk in the hard early years.

*Barrachd ma dheidhinn an seo / more about the cemetery here: https://www.facebook.com/kirkmichaeltrust/posts/pfbid02pPLTegQDk4wrGJrit9SHqg9jrKgFsdcTKAmA9jprxgwgoRDNu7omwYvjnhZmcLQMl

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Tha sneachd air Druim Uachdair

Seo òran àlainn dhuibh, freagarrach dhan Dùbhlachd, mun gheamhradh ‘s mun ghaol, sgeul duine òig, Fearchar MacIain Òig a bha ann an sgìre Dhruim Uachdair mar fhògarrach. Bha e air am maor fuathaichte a mharbhadh ann an Ceann an t-Sàil às dèidh dhasan an coire aig bhean Fhearchair a phùnndadh, nuair nach robh airgead aice airson a’ mhàil. Seo againn cuid de na cuspairean as cumanta ann an òrain Ghàidhlig – gaol, cianalas, nàdar. Tha an sneachd domhainn gun chrìoch san sgìre choigreach, is sin a’ nochdadh a-rithist ‘s a-rithist mar shèist, mar iomhaigh fhaireachdainn, a’ smaoineachadh air na tha e ag ionndrainn.

Ri chluinntinn air YouTube le Julie Fowlis: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4EMAXj_WlrY

No air Spotify le Kathleen Macinnes no James Graham. https://open.spotify.com/search/Sneachd%20air%20Druim%20Uachdair

No air Facebook le Raonaid Walker: https://www.facebook.com/watch?v=1294251945091806

Tha sneachd air Druim Uachdair

‘S gann nach gabhainn an t-eagal
Ro aon mhac breabadair beò
Mharbhainn feòil dhut is sitheann
Latha nach figheadh an clò.

Mharbhainn feòil dhuit is sitheann
Latha nach figheadh an clò
Bheirinn fèidh thar na monaidh
‘S bheirinn bric às na lòin.

Bheirinn fèidh thar na monaidh
‘S bheirinn bric as na lòin
Leis an t-sneachd bhiodh air m’ fheusaig
‘S gann gu lèir dhomh mo bhròg.

Leis an t-sneachd bhiodh air m’ fheusaig
‘S gann gu lèir dhomh mo bhròg
‘S gann gu lèir dhomh nas fhaisg orm
Na lorg a’ bhat’ tha nam dhòrn.

‘S gann gu lèir dhomh nas fhaisg orm
Na lorg a’ bhat’ tha nam dhòrn
Tha sneachd air Druim Uachdair
Far ‘n robh mi cualach nam bò.

Tha sneachd air Druim Uachdair
Far ‘n robh mi cualach nam bò
‘S ann do nighean fear Donnchaidh
A thug mi ‘n tromaghaol ‘s mi òg.

There’s snow on Dumochter

Here’s a lovely song for you, appropriate for December, about winter and love, the story of a young man, Fearchar MacIain Òig, who was in the Drumochter area as a fugitive. He had killed the hated factor in Kintail after he had confiscated Fearchar’s wife’s kettle when she didn’t have money for the rent. Here we have some of the most common themes in Gaelic song – love, longing and nature. The deep, endless snow in the strange district, repeated again and again like a chorus, is an image of his feelings, thinking of all that he’s missing.

Listen on YouTube to Julie Fowlis:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4EMAXj_WlrY

Or on Spotify to Kathleen MacInnes or James Graham. https://open.spotify.com/search/Sneachd%20air%20Druim%20Uachdair

Or on Facebook to Rachel Walker: https://www.facebook.com/watch?v=1294251945091806

Translation (without all the repetitions)

There’s snow on Drumochter

I would hardly fear one living son of a weaver –

I would kill meat for you, and venison,

On a day when the cloth would not be woven.

I would bring deer from the moor, and trout from the pools.

With the snow on my beard I can hardly see my shoe.

I can hardly see anything closer to me than the trace of the walking-stick in my fist.

There’s snow on Drumochter where I herded the cattle;

And it’s Duncan’s daughter I first fell heavily in love with when I was young.

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Dealbhan / Images

1. Stuart Meek, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
2. Russel Wills / The jaws of Drumochter Pass, CC BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Caorainn

An-diugh bidh mi a’ toirt sùil air aon de na craobhan dùthchasach as sine, as samhlachaile, agus as brèagha na Gàidhealtachd, an caorann. San earrach tha blàthan àlainn geala air, agus bhon Lùnasdal chun na Nollaig co-dhiù chì sinn na dearcan dearga boillsgeanta air feadh an àite, agus tha am pailteas dhiubh againn am bliadhna. Saoil am bi sinn a’ faighinn geamhradh sònraichte fad’ is fuar mar sin? Chì sinn…

‘S ann bhon fhacal “caor” a tha an t-ainm Gàidhlig a’ tighinn – tha sin a’ ciallachadh rudeigin a bheir dhuinn solas agus/neo teas sònraichte dian, mar èibhleag, agus nach sin a bheir dealbh làidir air dearc a’ chaorainn. Leis gu bheil na dearcan (na “caoran”) gu math searbh, cha bhi mòran daoine gan cruinneachadh, agus bidh fiù ‘s na h-eòin gam fàgail gus nach bi dearcan nas blasta ann tuilleadh. Mar sin tha iad rim faicinn air na craobhan fad mhìosan, am measg dhuilleagan donn no san t-sneachd, follaiseach, dràmadach. Is beag an t-iongnadh gun do chreid ar sinnsearan (agus cuid an-diugh fhèin) gur e craobh dhraoidheil a bh’ innte.

Tha beul-aithris na Gàidhealtachd (is cultaran eile) làn chleachdaidhean saobh-chràbhach ceangailte ris a’ chaorann. Tha fios againn uile gum bi craobh-chaorainn faisg air an dòras a’ dìon an taigh an aghaidh mì-fhortain, no droch-spioradan, no sìthichean. ‘S dòcha nach eil sinne cho cinnteach dheth tuilleadh, ach b‘ fheàrr dhuinn a bhith faiceallach… chuala mi mu luchd na coilltearachd a dh’fhàgas caorann na sheasamh nuair a bhios iad a’ leagail pìos coille mu thimcheall. Cha bhithinnse a’ geàrradh caorainn sìos co-dhiù! 

Ach tha seann chleachdaidhean inntinneach eile ann cuideachd, m.e. bhiodh daoine a’ dìon leanaibh le bad mheanganan-caorainn air a’ chreathail, no bò le meangan air fhighe san earball, an dà chuid gu tric air an ceangal le snàth dearg – bheireadh an dath dearg deagh-fhortan cuideachd. Chitheadh cuid dath fùil Chrìosda anns na caoran, ach cuid eile a’ mothachadh dhan phentagram bheag aig bun a’ chaorain, seann samhladh dìon eile.  Chì thu fiù ‘s craobhan-chaorainn fhathast ann an seann chladhan, gus an doras eadar beatha is bàs a dhìon. ‘S dòcha gur e sin an t-adhbhar air cùl nan iubharan ann an cladhan an-diugh, is dearcan ceart cho dearg acasan.

Ach draoidheachd ann no às, tha an caorann cudromach mar phàirt de choille àrsaidh na Gàidhealtachd, cuide ris a’ giuthas Albannach, a’ bheithe agus an aiteann. ‘S urrainn do na caorainn fàs gu 200 bliadhna a dh’aois, agus chì thu feadhainn sean carraigeach fhathast faisg air tobhtaichean nan taighean croitearachd sna gleanntan trèigte. Tha iad uabhasach seasmhach, a‘ fulang nan siantan, agus a’ fas ann an àiteachan iongantach cugallach, ann an sgoltadh sna creagan no air slios beinne lòm. Aon uair ‘s gum bi e air fàs fìor fhuar, bidh na h-eòin ag ithe na caoran, agus bidh fiù’ s sgaothan eun eile a’ tighinn à Lochlann no nas fhaide tuath gus biadh a lorg – lunnadh nan Lochlannach bliadhnail. Agus ‘s urrainn dhuinne an ithe cuideachd (ged a tha feum aca air siùcair gu leòr) m.e. mar shilidh còmhla ri sitheann.

Agus leis gu bheil ar seann chraobhan dùthchasach cho cudromach, tha fiù ‘s ceàrn cuimseach ùr ann am Baile Dhubhthaich leis an ainmean air na sràidean, nam measg Rowan Drive. An dòchas gum bi caorainn rim faicinn ri taobh dorais no dhà, latha air choireigin!

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Rowans

Today I’ll be having a look at one of the oldest, most characteristic and most beautiful of our native Highland trees – the rowan. In the spring it has lovely white blossoms, and from August to at least Christmas we can see the vivid red berries all over the place, and this year there’s an abundance of them. I wonder if we’re in for a particularly long cold winter? Wait and  see…

The Gaelic name, caorann, comes from “caor”, meaning something that gives off an especially intense heat and/or light, like an ember, and that’s certainly a powerful image for the rowan berry.  The Scots name rowan is thought to come from an old Germanic/Scandinavian word for red. Because the berries are so bitter, they’re not widely picked by people, and even the birds leave them till there are no tastier berries left. For that reason you can see them on the trees for months, among brown leaves or in the snow, conspicuous, dramatic. No wonder our ancestors (and some folk even today) believed that the rowan was a magic tree.

Highland folklore (and many other cultures) is full of superstitious customs connected to the rowan. We all know that a rowan tree beside the door protects the house from bad luck, or evil spirits, or fairies. Maybe we’re not entirely convinced, but better safe than sorry… I’ve heard of forestry workers who leave a rowan tree standing when they’re felling woodland round about it. I certainly wouldn’t be cutting down any rowans!

But there are other old practices too, e.g. people would protect an infant with a bunch of rowan twigs on the cradle, or a cow with a twig woven through the tail, both often tied with red thread – the colour red was also thought to bring good luck. Some people saw the red berries as the blood of Christ, others noticed the little pentagram on the bottom of the berry – another old symbol of protection. You’ll even still see rowan trees in old graveyards, protecting the door between life and death. That may also be the reason for all the yews we now see in graveyards, with their equally red berries.

But whether it’s magic or not, the rowan is important as a part of our ancient forests, along with the Scots pine, the birch and the juniper. Rowans can grow to 200 years of age, and you still see gnarled old specimens beside the ruins of croft houses in abandoned glens. They’re incredibly hardy, withstanding the elements and growing in astonishingly precarious places, in a fissure in the rocks or on a bare mountainside.  Once it gets really cold, the birds will eat the berries, and there are even flocks of birds that come from Scandinavia and further north to feed on them – the annual Viking invasion. And we can eat them too (though they need plenty of sugar), e.g. as rowan jelly with game dishes.

And because our ancient native trees are so important, there’s even a fairly new quarter of Tain that has them as street names, including Rowan Drive. Let’s hope that one day we’ll see rowans planted beside a few doors there!

Agus seo / And this: https://www.heraldscotland.com/life_style/24816473.many-scots-plant-rowan-trees-garden-ward-off-witches/

Taigh-staile Toulvaddie

Bha cothrom agam o chionn ghoirid tadhal air àite tarraingeach dìreach air cùl nam bailtean, meanbh-thaigh-staile ùr, Toulvaddie, faisg air Easter Airfield. Rinn mi agallamh leis an stèidheadair, agus fhuair mi a-mach gu bheil rudan annasach gu leòr a thaobh an taigh-staile seo.

Sa chiad àite, ‘s e boireannach a stèidhich e, Heather Nelson, bho theaghlach tuathanach às an sgìre – a chiad bhoireannach a rinn seo o chionn Helen Cumming ann an Cardhu ann an 1811. Bha Heather ag obair ann an dreuchd gu tur eile, mar cho-stèidheadair companaidh-riochdachaidh telebhisein còmhla ris an duine aice, Bobby, ach bha riamh aisling aice an t-uisge-beatha aice fhèin a chruthachadh. Mar a thuirt i, chuir e iongnadh oirre dè cho eadar-dhealaichte ‘s a tha blas gach uile uisge-beatha, ged nach eil ach na h-aon trì grìdheidean (uisge, eòrna is beirm) anns gach seòrsa. Bha i airson faighinn a-mach dè na cothroman a bhiodh aice sin a stiùireadh i fhèin.  Bha ceum aice ann an Ceimigeachd, ach san eadar-àm fhuair i teisteanasan ann an grùdaireachd is stailigeadh.

Tha boireannaich eile ag obair ann an saoghal uisge-beatha san latha an-diugh, ach chan eil tè eile ann a stiùireas am pròiseas gu lèir, mar a nì Heather, no a tha an sàs anns an obair phractaigeach aig gach ceum, bho ròghnachadh an eòrna gu cur leubailean air na botail.  Tha an dealas, an cùram agus a’ mhoit aice follaiseach.

An darna rud a tha cho inntinneach, ‘s e gun do thog Heather agus an teaghlach aice an taigh-staile gu ìre mhòr iad fhèin. Tha e air làrach HMS Owl, raon-adhair an nèibhidh san Darna Chogadh, far an robh uair tuathanas beag Toulvaddie a bha le ginealaichean na bu tràithe teaghlach Heather. (Thàinig an t-ainm às a’ Ghàidhlig toll a’ mhadaidh.) Air sgàth dàlach a thaobh cead-planaidh agus le clìoradh an làraich, agus dàlach a bharrachd le Covid a dh’adhbharaich trioblaidean le stuth-togail is call cheann-latha le companaidhean-togail, b’ fheudar dhan teaghlach an obair a dhèanamh iad fhèin – drèanaichean a chladhadh, ùrlaran a leagail, ballachan a thogail agus fiù ‘s mullach an togalaich-riochdachaidh a chur suas: ionnsachadh le bhith ga dhèanamh. Faodaidh sibh na ceumannan uile fhaicinn air làrach-lìn an taigh-staile. Euchd fìor dhrùidhteach – ach bha na tuathanaich (mar na h-iasgairean) riamh cleachte ri an làmh a chur ri obair sam bith.

A-nis tha an taigh-staile ag obair is fosgailte dhan phoball, is iad uile gan cumail a’ dol ann an dòighean eile. Tha an obair-riochdachaidh agus am bar beag san aon talla mhòr, air a dhealabhachadh gu grinn. Tha measgachadh stàillinn deàrrsaich, fiodha is copair fìor àlainn, agus tha cuimhneachain thlachdmhor nan làithean a dh’fhalbh ann, le deasg seann-fhasanta agus caibineat-taisbeanaidh fiodha. Tha Heather gu math mothachail air ar dualchas stailigidh agus an geall air na dòighean-obrach traidiseanta aithneachadh – le gach rud air a dhèanamh a làimh. Chan eil dad meacanaigeach an seo. Gheibh gach ceum ùine gu leòr cuideachd, gus leigeil leis an spiorad leasachadh gu buileach. ‘S e cridhe an taigh-staile a tha anns an dà stail copair, làmh-òrdairichte, beag ach àlainn.

Ged a bheir e ùine mhòr gus am bi a chiad mhac na braiche abaich is anns a’ bhotal, tha an spiorad ùr-dhèanta ri fhaighinn mar-thà. Tha na baraillean daraich, làn uisge-beatha braiche ag aoiseachadh, gan stòradh air an làrach agus faodar an ceannachd is glèidheadh ro làimh.

Bidh sibh a’ faighinn fiosrachadh mionaideach mu eachdraidh an taigh-staile agus mu mar a nithar an t-uisge-beatha nuair a bhucas sibh fear de na tursan fìor phearsanta aca – faodaidh mi am moladh. A bharrachd air am bar beag anns an talla, tha gàrradh snog agus beingean is bùird a-muigh. Tha e math gnothachas-teaghlaich traidiseanta den leithid fhaicinn san sgìre againn, am meadhan tìr òir an eòrna Rois an Ear.

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Toulvaddie Distillery

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I recently had the chance to visit a fascinating place right behind the Seaboard Villages, close to Easter Airfield – a new micro-distillery, Toulvaddie. I interviewed the founder and discovered there are quite a few unusual features about this distillery.

The first is that it was founded by a woman, Heather Nelson, from a farming family in the area – the first woman to do this since Helen Cumming of Cardhu in 1811. Heather was working in a different field altogether, as co-founder of a television production compamy with her husband Bobby, but she always dreamed of creating her own whisky. As she says, it fascinated her how different the taste of every single whisky is, although they all have only the same three ingredients – water, barley and yeast. She wanted to find out how she could influence this herself. She had already studied chemistry, but in the meantime she has gained qualifications in brewing and distilling.

There are other women working in the whisky industry nowadays, but none of them is in complete charge of the whole process, nor themselves doing the practical work at each stage as Heather is, everything from selecting the barley to labelling the bottles. Her passion, care and pride in her product are evident.

The second unusual thing is that Heather and her family basically built the distillery themselves. It’s on the site of the former naval airbase HMS Owl, and previously was on the small farm of Toulvaddie owned by earlier generations of Heather’s family.  (The name comes from Gaelic toll a’ mhadaidh, and means hound’s, or possibly wolf’s, den.) Due to delays in planning permission and clearing the site, and then Covid meaning further delays with materials, and lost slots with contractors, the family ended up digging drains, laying floors, putting up the walls and even roofing the production building, learning on the job. You can follow the various stages on their website. An impressive achievement – but then farming (and fishing) folk are used to turning their hand to anything.

Now the distillery is in full operation and open to the public, still keeping them all busy. The production, along with a small bar, is all in the one big hall, and is beautifully laid out. The mixture of gleaming steel, wood, and copper is  very attractive, and there are charming reminders of the past in the old desk and the wooden display cabinet. Heather is very aware of tradition and keen to do things in a way that pays tribute to the old days of distilling, everything done by hand. Nothing here is mechanical. Each stage is also given plenty of time, allowing the spirit to develop fully. The two hand-hammered copper pot stills are the heart of the distillery, small but beautiful.

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Although it will take time to mature and bottle the first bottles of malt, the new-make spirit is available to buy already. The oak casks with the maturing malt are being stored on site and can themselves be bought in advance.

You’ll get the full details of the story of the distillery and how the whisky is made during one of their very personal tours – I can highly recommend them. As well as the small bar on site, there’s a lovely garden and seating area outside. It’s good to see a family business in this traditional industry established in our own local area, surrounded by the golden Easter Ross barley fields.

www.toulvaddiedistillery.com   Tel. 01862 808138.

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Gàrraidhean Caisteal Chaladair / Cawdor Castle Gardens

Tha mi cho fortanach ‘s gum bi mi a’ tadhail air Caisteal Chaladair iomadh uair gach seusan turasachd, leis gun toir mi tursan-bus ann bho na loidhnearan ann an Inbhir Ghòrdain. ‘S dòcha gun sgrìobh mi mun chaisteal fhèin ann an eagran eile, ach am mìos seo tha mi airson na gàrraidhean aige a mholadh; tha mi an dòchas gum bi na dealbhan cuideachd a’ bruidhinn air an son fhèin.

Tha gàrraidhean eadar-dhealaichte ann, agus gach aon na thlachd dhuinn. Am fear as fheàrr leam fhìn, ‘s e sin Gàrradh nam Flùraichean, am fear as fhaisge air a’ chaisteal, air a dhìon le seann bhalla àrd, le geadagan is ceumannan dathach de gach seòrsa, preasan is craobhan fo bhlàth, oiseanan brèagha air cùl challaidean a lorgas tu gun dùil, agus an-còmhnaidh an caisteal fhèin mar dhealbh-chùil. Tha e làn obrach-snaidhidh nuaidh drùidhtich cuideachd, freagarrach dhan t-suidheachadh aca. Nuair a thèid thu a-mach tro dhòras sa bhalla chì thu an Gàrradh Fiadhaich, coille le craobhan sequoia fuamhaireil ri taobh na h-aibhne ach cuideachd làn rhododendron is azalea, bhrogan na cuthaige is blàthan creamha, agus cheumannan lùbach togarrach, àlainn fhèin aig an àm seo.

Air taobh eile a’ chaisteil tha Gàrradh Cuairtichte eile ann, an turas seo le cuairtean mòr ceàrnagach is ìomhaigh a’ Mhinotaur sa teis-mheadhan. Timcheall air tha seòrsa tunail de laburnum òir-bhuidhe am measg dhìtheanan fiadhaich, dìreach drùidhteach. Air a chùlaibh tha an Gàrradh-Pàrrais beag, le callaidean ìosal is geadagan-luibhean, agus ìomhaigh snaidhte de dh’Àdhamh is Eubha a’ fàgail Èden. Agus an uair sin feumaidh tu an t-slighe a lorg a-steach dhan Ghàrradh Gheal chruinn, is e air a chuairteachadh le callaid àrd mhòr is làn fhlùraichean is phreasan geala – agus le fuaran simplidh ealanta sa mheadhan. Agus mu dhèireadh thall chì thu an t-Ubhal-ghort, cuideachd le ceapach mòr rùbraib – agus craobh mheatailt iongantach le grian no gealach mhòr anns na geugan.

Tha e ri fhaicinn gu bheil Ban-Iarla Chaladair, Lady Angelika, glè mheasail is eòlach air gàrraidhean, is i ag obair còmhla ri sgioba beag ghàirnealairean sgileil gus am bi dathan is caochladh anns gach ràith, agus tha an caisteal fhèin làn rèiteachaidhean-fhlùraichean às a’ ghàrradh.

Agus na gabh dragh – tha beingean gu leòr ann, agus cupa math tì a’ feitheamh ort sa chafaidh!

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I’m lucky enough to get to visit Cawdor Castle quite often each season as I take bus-tours there from the liners at Invergordon. I might write about the castle itself in another edition, but this month I wanted to recommend its gardens; and I hope the photos will also speak for themselves.

There are various gardens there, each one a delight. My favourite is the Flower Garden, the one nearest the castle, protected by a high old wall, with colourful flowerbeds and paths of all kinds, shrubs and trees in blossom, lovely corners you come upon unexpectedly behind hedges, and always the castle as backdrop. It’s also full of impressive, tasteful modern sculptures, appropriate to their surroundings. When you go through a door in the wall you see the Wild Garden, a woodland with giant sequoias by the river, and full of rhododendrons and azaleas, bluebells and wild garlic flowers, and inviting winding paths, just beautiful at this time of year.

On the other side of the castle there’s another Walled Garden, this time with a square maze, and a statue of the Minotaur in the centre. All around it there’s a kind of tunnel of golden laburnum among beds of wild flowers, just stunning. Behind it is the little Paradise Garden with low hedges and herb beds, and a small statue of Adam and Eve leaving Eden. Then you have to look for the way into the round White Garden, as it’s surrounded by huge high hedges, and is full of white flowers and shrubs – and has a simple but elegant fountain in the middle. And finally you’ll see the Orchard, which also has a large rhubarb bed, and an amazing metal tree with a big sun or moon in its branches.

It’s very evident that the Countess of Cawdor, Lady Angelika, is fond of gardens and very knowledgeable. She works with a small team of skilful gardeners so there’s colour and variety in every season, and the castle itself is also full of flower arrangements from the gardens.

But don’t worry – there are plenty of benches, and a nice cup of tea waiting for you in the cafe!

Further information: https://www.cawdorcastle.com/

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Sgrìobh mi an-uiridh mu Thaigh-solais a‘ Chinn Àird ann am Baile nam Frisealach. https://www.seaboardgaidhlig.com/2023/11/06/2023-an-t-samhain-an-ceann-ard-nov-kinnaird-head/  Dìreach ri thaobh tha Taigh-tasgaidh nan Taighean-solais Albannach, agus tha sin a-nis fosgailte a-rithist às dèidh obair is ùrachadh a’ gheamhraidh. Mar sin innsidh mi dhuibh beagan ma dheidhinn am mìos seo, agus mholainn tadhal air seo cuideachd, còmhla ri turas tron Taigh-solais a’ Chinn Àird fhèin. 

Tha an togalach làn stuth tarraingeach ceangailte ri taighean-solais agus cuideachd ri eachdraidh nan taighean-solais Albannach, gu h-àraidh cruinneachadh sònraichte de sholasan (“optics”) à iomadh taigh-solas air feadh na dùthcha, far an deach na stèiseanean sin ùrachadh. Tha cuid gu math mòr, àrd, agus faodaidh tu dol glè fhaisg orra fhad ‘s a bhios tu a’ coiseachd nam measg tron talla-thaisbeanaidh mhòr. Tha lionsaichean is lampaichean eile ann cuideachd, mòra is beaga, agus mìneachadh soilleir aig gach fear, m.e. tha solas taigh-solais Rubha na Cananaich ri fhaicinn an sin.

Tha storas an taighe-thasgaidh air a sgaoileadh thairis air dà ìre, le eachdraidh nan taighean-solais air a sealladh ‘s a mìneachadh sa phàirt suas an staidhre. An sin ionnsaichidh tu mu theaghlach ainmeil nan Stevensons, ach mu einseinnearan, dhèanadairean-lionsaichean, is luchd-togail cudromach eile cuideachd, a chluich pàirt mhòr, is mar as trice pàirt gu math dana, ann an cruthachadh sreath de thaighean-solais timcheall air costa carraigeach na h-Alba. Tha uidheam, cairtean, modailean ann, sgeulachdan mu mhi-shealbh is shàbhaladh, a h-uile rud a’ toirt beatha do sgeul tarraingeach nan togalaichean suaicheanta seo. Tha rudeigin inntinneach ann do gach neach, inbhich mar chlann. Chunnaic mi teaghlaichean gu lèir air am beò-ghlacadh leis na mìorbhailean an sin. As t-samradh tha geamaichean is cur-seachadan a bharrachd ann dhan chloinn cuideachd.

Tha aon rud sònraichte drùidhteach a chì thu thairis air an dà ìre, is sin solas taigh-solais Sanda à 1882 – tha feum air toll mòr eadar an dà làr gus a shealladh, is e cho àrd. Agus air a’ bhun-ùrlar tha barrachd ann mu na bàtaichean a dh’fhritheil na taighean-solais, agus na criuthaichean a sheòl iad tro na siantan – gaisgich gu leòr an sin cuideachd,  comhla ris na glèidheadairean-taigh-solais calma fhèin.

Fiù ‘s nach eil sibh uile nur luchd-leantainn taighean-solais mar a tha mise, tha mi cinnteach gur e sgrìob gu math tarraingeach a bhiodh ann do gach neach a bhuineas do choimhearsnachd na mara, gu sònraichte air a cho-cheangal ri tadhal air Taigh-solais a’ Chinn Àird.

Tha buth is cafaidh anns an taigh-tasgaidh, agus tha e fosgailte as t-samhradh gach latha 10m gu 5f.  Barrachd fiosrachaidh an seo: https://lighthousemuseum.org.uk/

Museum of Scottish Lighthouses

Last year I wrote about Kinnaird Head Lighthouse in Fraserburgh. https://www.seaboardgaidhlig.com/2023/11/06/2023-an-t-samhain-an-ceann-ard-nov-kinnaird-head/  Right beside it is the Museum of Scottish Lighthouses, and that’s open again now after its winter work and update, so I thought I’d tell you a bit about it this month. I can highly recommend a visit there too, along with a tour round Kinnaird Head Lighthouse itself.

The building is full of fascinating stuff connected to lighthouses and also to the history of Scottish lighthouses, especially the outstanding collection of the lights (“optics”) from the many lighthouses around the country that have now been modernised. Some are very large and tall, and you can get right up to them as you walk among them through the big exhibition hall. There are other lenses and lamps there too, large and small, with clear explanantions for each of them, e.g. you can see the Chanonry Point lighthouse optic there too.

The museum’s collections are spread over two levels, with the history of the lighthouses displayed and explained in the upstairs part. There you learn about the famous Stevenson dynasty of lighthouse-builders, but also about all the other engineers, lense-makers, and important builders who played a large part, and often a daring one, in the creation of the chain of lighthouses around the craggy coast of Scotland. They have equipment, charts, and models, tales of disaster and rescue, all bringing to life the fascinating story of these iconic structures. There’s something of interest for everyone, adults and children alike. I saw whole families captivated by the marvels on display. In the summer there are also extra activies for children.

There’s one very special item that you’ll see over the two levels – that’s the Sanda light from 1882; they had to make an opening between the two floors to display it, it’s so high. And on the ground floor there’s more about the boats that served the lighthouses and the crews who sailed them through the elements – plenty of heroes there too, along with the hardy keepers themselves.

Even if you’re not a lighthouse fan like me, I’m certain that this would be a great day out for anyone from a coastal community, especially when combined with a visit to the neighbouring Kinnaird Head Lighthouse. There’s  shop and a cafe too. Summer opening hours are daily 10am to 5pm. More information here:  https://lighthousemuseum.org.uk/

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Guest article by Anne Barclay of Golspie. Mòran taing, Anne!

A book and a film: East Sutherland Gaelic Heritage Night featured “Mar a Chunnaic Mise: Nancy Dorian is a’ Ghaidhlig “ – a documentary following linguist Nancy Dorian, who studied the last of the East Sutherland Gaelic speakers. What an interesting evening it turned out to be!

Aileen Ogilvie introduced Professor Neil Simco from the University of the Highlands and Islands, Dornoch Campus, who explained his own interest in the Gaelic language. He is an Englishman who studied Gaelic at Sabhal Mor Ostaig and is fluent in the language albeit with an English accent for which he apologised. He attained his fluency by using the Gaelic language at every opportunity. He told us how there is research going on at present into the crisis within the Gaelic language and the state of Gaelic in the Western Isles. At UHI, they try to make the student experience bilingual, corporate communication is also bilingual, and staff have the opportunity to learn Gaelic. Prof Simco switched easily from Gaelic to English right throughout.

Aileen Ogilvie, herself a Gaelic speaker, introduced the film which had been made some time ago, probably in the 1980’s, and featured Nancy Dorian, a Professor of Linguistics from the eastern seaboard of America who studied the last of the East Sutherland Gaelic speakers. East Sutherland Gaelic was spoken mainly in the fishing communities pf Brora, Golspie and Embo. Of the three villages only Embo was a totally fishing village. Brora’s fishing community was confined to Lower Brora beside the mouth of the river, while in Golspie it was the West End of the village. Gaelic was not spoken in the rest of Brora nor in the East End of Golspie. In the film we saw Nancy Dorian at work in her study in America, checking her pronunciation of Gaelic words over the telephone with the friends she had made in East Sutherland. She wanted to have the authentic East Sutherland accent and spelling of words and this she certainly achieved.

Her friendship with the last Gaelic speakers from East Sutherland lasted throughout their lives and the film is testament to the work she did over many years. Nancy Dorian also wrote a book called “The Tyranny of the Tide” where she documented the oral history of the fishing in East Sutherland, the stories of the people, the local fishing, the role of women in the family, religion, their beliefs and practices. This she wrote down largely in the words of the people she spoke to and lived among from time to time over many years.

There are numerous examples in the book where the stories are told by the people. One woman talking about her lack of education is quoted here. “I used to get rows Nancy, from the teachers….They thought I should be in school….my mother was very keen to send me when she could….sometimes she would keep my eldest brother off school but it was mostly me. Because I was handier in the house than a boy anyway.” When describing the decision of where to fish on any day, and she is talking about line fishing, it was supposed to be by common agreement, but the young men always deferred to the older men. “ If the older man says, ‘We’ll go here’ they never said yes or no, whether they thought otherwise or not…..they never mentioned it. They always gave “an t-urram do’n aois “(Honour to age).

Nancy Dorian had the ability to insert Gaelic words, still in use when she made her oral history recordings, to great effect throughout the book. “The Tyranny of the Tide” is a book I have read several times in the years I have spent in Golspie and I am always struck by the similarities there are to the Seaboard fishing villages. As in the Seaboard Gaelic has died out but words and phrases remain to remind us of our heritage.

This is a snatch of an old song that Nancy Dorian recorded from the Sutherland family she spent much time with in the 1970’s.

“S iomadh caileag bhoidheach

Eadar Dornach ’s a’ bhail’ seo

‘A do chuuir i treimh brog air

Bu bhoidhich’ na mo chaileagas. “

There’s many a bonny lass Between Dornoch and this village:

There didn’t step a foot (A girl) bonnier than my lass.

(Chaochail Nancy Dorian 24.04.24, aois 87, dìreach às dèidh foillseachadh an artaigil seo. Fìor bhana-ghaisgeach na Gàidhlig. Clach air a càrn. / Nancy Dorian died on 24.04.24, aged 87, just after the publication of this article. A true hero of Gaelic. May her memory live on.)

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Na h-uain a’s t-earrach, le Runrig

Seachdain sa chaidh bha mi aig Eden Court gus am fiolm The Last Dance fhaicinn, clàradh den chuirm-chiùil mu dheireadh a ghabh Runrig, ann an 2018 fo sgàil Caisteal Shruighlea. Tachartas làn faireachdainn a bh’ ann, leis gun robh fios againn uile mar-thà aig àm a’ chonsairt nach biodh iad a’ dèanamh turas eile no fiù’s cuirm-chiùil eile tuilleadh. Agus a-nis, a’ coimhead ‘s a’ cluinntinn a-rithist, thuig sinn gu h-obann is gu soilleir gun robh fios mar-thà aig an àm sin aig Bruce Guthro, prìomh sheinneadair den chòmhlan, fios nach robh againne idir, gun robh aillse air. Cha do sheall e sin, agus bha a ghuth cho brèagha ‘s cho làidir ’s a bha e riamh. Ach san eadar-àm chaochail e, ann an 2023, gun dùil againn ris, is call mòr a bha sin dhan choimearsnachd Riggie, gun ghuth air a theaghlach ‘s air a charaidean sa chòmhlan. Bha sinn uile a’ coimhead le sùilean is cluasan ùra, agus cha mhòr nach robh duine sam bith san taigh-dhealbh gun deur no dhà. Bha ar gaisgich bàsmhor.

Ach chan ann mar sin a chunnaic Ruairidh is Calum Dòmhnallach an saoghal ann an 1978, is iad dìreach air aon de na ciad òrain Ghàidhlig aca a sgrìobhadh – Na h-uain a’s t-earrach. Agus ‘s ann mun òran seo a tha mi airson bruidhinn am mìos seo. Bha an còmhlan dìreach a’ tòiseachadh ri bhith na b’ ainmeile, is a’ cleachdadh Gàidhlig na bu trice, rud nach robh cumanta airson chòmhlan-ciùil òga fhathast, agus a bha gu math connspaideach. Ach bha misneachd na h-òige aca, is iad a’ faireachdainn òg is làidir, deiseil is deònach an saoghal atharrachadh – agus taic a chumail ri Gàidhlig.

Dè math bhith suidhe fàs nas aosd
‘S làithean earraich a’ falbh bhuainn…

Chuir sinn ar cànan na’r chridhe.. ‘s le chèile togaidh sinn fonn.

Tha na sèistean làn iomraidhean air dè cho òg ‘s a tha iad (agus ‘s iad a bha!):

Òg tha sinn òg, òg na’r cridhe
Beatha na’r coinneamh, Coinneal na’r làimh
‘S ann againn tha neart, Is ann againn tha ‘n cothrom
Na’r cridhe gu bràth
Tha sinn òg, òg.

Agus a-nis tha na h-uain a’s t-earrach a’ nochdadh, agus an turas seo tha na Dòmhnallaich a’ gairm na Gàidheil òga eile – a’ cleachdadh “sibh” seach “sinn”:

Tha sibh mar na h-uain a’s t-earrach
Siubhal ‘s a leum, tapaidh, saor
Ach an fhaca sibh na caoraich aosd’
Nì aon dhiubh gluasad ‘s leanaidh ‘n corr.

Cha ann mu chaoraich a tha iad a bruidhinn.

Tha fios aca gum bi daoine a’ fàs sean, agus nach bi cùisean cho furasda an uair sin, ach sin dìreach carson a dh’fheumas na h-òganaich barrachd a dhèanamh cho fad ’s a bhios iad òg:

Nuair bhios na bliadhnaichean ‘dol bhuaibh
Làithean doirbh, làithean dorch’
Cùm do choinneal an àrd is laiste
‘S coisich an saoghal le cridhe òg.

Agus ‘s e sin a rinn Runrig, gun teagamh sam bith. Thug iad a’ Ghàidhlig ‘s an cultar Gàidhealach is Albannach thairis bhon niche folk gu rock, bhon talla-bhaile bheag gu lannan-cluiche mòra, leis an sgioba-ciùil teann is tàlantach a bh’ anns a’ chòmhlan. Chùm iad an coinneal ud an àrd fad an cùrsa-beatha, is bhrosnaich iad luchd-ciùil òg eile ar cànan ‘s ar cultar a thoirt air adhart ann an saoghal caochlaideach, ceòl ùr a chruthachadh leotha, agus pròiseactan ùra a stèidheachadh, mar iomairt nam Fèisean, no duaisean Na Trads, no tachartasan mar Bhlas.  Is iomadh seinneadair is còmhlan-ciùil cliùteach san latha an-diugh, mar Julie Fowlis, no Skipinnish, no Niteworks, a tha toilichte innse mar a bha Runrig na bhuaidh mhòr orra.

Thàinig Na h-uain a’s t-earrach a-mach air an album Highland Connection ann an 1979 agus bha e ri chluinntinn aig cuirmean-ciùil aig an àm sin. Seo an clàradh:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5KdT9m5gBiY

Leis an ùine dh’atharraich e bho òran air a sheinn gu pìos ionnsramaideach drùidhteach airson giotàr is drumaichean, mar an seo beò ann an 2015:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQ1h-YQgFzQ

‘S dòcha gun robh fios aca nach biodh “tha sinn òg, òg” cho freagarrach tuilleadh!

Ach 40 bliadhna air adhart on a sgrìobh iad an t-òran, bha an aon spiorad làidir, misneachail ri fhaicinn ‘s ri chluinntinn – is ri fhaireachdainn – aig a’ chuirm-chiùil mu dheireadh, àrd is soilleir. Thàinig na “làithean dorch’ “, gu dearbh, ach tha na coinnlean ud a’ lasadh fhathast, is na mìltean dhiubh. 

Agus tha sinn an dùil ‘s an dòchas gum bi na h-uain agus an t-earrach againn a-rithist cuideachd a dh’aithghearr!

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The lambs in springtime, by Runrig

Last week I went to Eden Court to see the film The Last Dance, a recording of Runrig’s last concert in the shadow of Stirling Castle in 2018. It was an emotional event, as we all knew already at the time of the concert that Runrig wouldn’t be doing another tour or even a concert any more. And now, watching and listening again, we suddenly and clearly were aware that the lead singer, Bruce Guthro, unlike us already knew at that time that he had cancer. He didn’t show it – his voice was as beautiful and powerful as ever. But he died in 2023, unexpectedly for us, a huge loss to the Riggie community, not to mention to his family and his bandmates. So we were all watching the film with new eyes and ears, and there was hardly anyone in the cinema who didn’t shed a tear or two. Our heroes were mortal.

But that’s not how Rory and Calum Macdonald saw the world back in 1978, when they wrote one of their first Gaelic songs – Na h-uain a’s t-earrach, The lambs in springtime. And that’s the song I’m going to look at this month. The band were just beginning to be better known, and singing in Gaelic more often, something that wasn’t common at the time for young bands, and was quite controversial. But they had the confidence of youth and felt young and strong, ready and keen to change the world – and to support Gaelic.

What’s the point in sitting, growing older

The days of springtime disappearing from us

We put our language in our hearts

We found a song and sung it

The chorus is full of references to how young they are (and they were!)

Young, we are young, young in our hearts

Life ahead of us, a candle in our hands

We have the enthusiasm, we have the opportunity

In your attitude forever stay young, stay young

And now the young lambs of spring of the title appear, and this time the Macdonalds are summoning other young Gaels to the standard – using “you” instead of “we”.

You are like the lambs in springtime

Running around, jumping and carefree

But have you ever noticed the older sheep

When one moves they all follow

It’s not sheep they’re talking about.

They know of course that people grow old, that things won’t be so easy then, but that’s precisely why young people have to do more as long as they are young:

And when the years start departing from you

The difficult days, the darker days

Keep your candle aloft and lit

Walk this world with a young heart

And that’s what Runrig did, no doubt about it. They kept that candle aloft throughout their musical career, and inspired other young musicians to carry our language and culture forward in a changing world, creating new music with them, and founding new projects like the Fèisean, the Na Trads awards, or the Blas Festival events. And there are countless celebrated singers and bands today, like Julie Fowlis, Skipinnish, or Niteworks, who are happy to tell us what a major influence Runrig has had on them.

The song Na h-uain a’s t-earrach / Lambs in springtime came out on the album Highland Connection in 1979, and was played at concerts then – here’s  the recording: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5KdT9m5gBiY

In the course of time it changed from a vocal to an impressive instrumental piece for guitar and drums, as heard here live in 2015: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQ1h-YQgFzQ

They probably realised that singing “we’re young, young” wasn’t quite so appropriate by that point!

But 40 years on from when they wrote the song, the same strong, confident spirit could be seen and heard – and felt – at that last concert, loud and clear.  The “darker days” did indeed come, but those candles are still burning bright, and in their thousands.

And we live in hope that the the lambs and the spring will be back with us again soon too!

Original lyrics and translation here: https://runrig.rocks/lyrics/the%20highland%20connection.html  

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