Back from the Grave



I've had quite a few questions about Tyrone Irish, as you can imagine, and here now is a bit of information about it.

And why does Tyrone Irish, or any other specific Irish dialect matter?

Because they are beautiful, complex, integrated systems of sound and meaning rooted in the specifics of place, and will bring you joy, as well, undoubtedly, as many enthusiastic members of the opposite sex, and loads of money.

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First, the bad news...

The native Irish population that remained in those parts of Ulster that were heavily colonized in the 17th and 18th centuries became a lower class of scattered families dependent on the new Lowland Scottish and English farmers for work as farm labourers. Their interactions were mainly with the incomers, and they were cut off from the rest of Irish society. Few achieved any kind of position. While in much of Ireland, a somewhat prosperous Catholic middle class of merchants, tradesmen, priests and professionals had come into being by the first decades of the 19th century, the height to which Catholics (native Irish) could aspire in many parts of Ulster was publican and shopkeeper. The Irish language was soon lost in the heavily-colonized areas.

Parts of Ulster were not heavily colonized, though. These parts included north Meath, much of Louth, south Armagh, much of Cavan, South Monaghan, a part of Down, the glens of Antrim, and north Tyrone. These were places where the Irish language was strong into the mid-19 century.

In Cavan and Monaghan, early 19th century Protestant proselytization through Irish supplied prayer books and Bible portions in Irish, and classes in reading Irish. This was the first opportunity people had had for education in their own language, and was hugely popular: so much so that the Catholic church whose priests dominated local society, forbade people to participate in even non-religious Irish language classes and reading, and waged war on those who championed the language. The language was lost in these counties in a generation. But there were still plenty of older people alive in Farney barony (Carrickmacross) in 1900,  and Seosamh Laoide published a lot of folktales from there in the early part of the 20th century, and there were native speakers there into the 1930s and beyond. Also, Glengevlin in far western Cavan continued to speak Irish, though that was really a Connacht dialect; it originally was part of Leitrim (See Seanchas Ghleann Ghaibhle, a volume published as an issue of Bealoideas.).



You can read about Irish in South Armagh and Louth (alright, mostly Omeath) in P. Ni Uallachain's book A Hidden Ulster. Homer published a phonological study in a Norse journal that is strictly that -- a phonological study. O Caiside's The Irish Language in County Down provides information on Down. There is a lot of information on Rathlin Island (Antrim) Irish, but that was really a Scottish Gaelic dialect. There is much less available on the Glens: mostly (as far as I know) Seanmas O Duilearga's notebooks.

Irish continued in two areas of Tyrone: the Sperrin Mountains; and in the mid-west, Castlederg area.
The Sperrins, which include neighboring parts of County Derry (Draperstown) is much better documented.




 Michael Murphy worked for the Irish Folkore Commission in the area in the 1950s. Here is a bit from his book Tyrone Folk Quest. He is describing meeting an important storyteller.

"That day, however, everyone seemed to have heard of a 'great ceili' to be held in our house that night. There was even some talk about 'invitations.'...I did not miss among some of the younger people a tone of amusement, even the supercilious in what they assumed to be the enlightened attitude to observe anything even dimly connected with the thing 'folk.'

'...The man hurried in a crouch into the crowded kitchen before anyone fully realised he was among them. In his run, he clawed an old grey cap from his head, wheeled this way and that in search of a seat like a scholar late for school and expecting rebuke while hoping to elude it. His head came up quickly like a cat's, then down, as Alice came in again. He flicked a similar glance at me, found a corner of a chair, ignored it, and instead squatted where he was with his back to us, trying to make talk to some man near him. I hadn't a notion who he was, but I was soon aware of the odd silence which slowly settled on the kitchen.

"...Francis MacBride quietly rose from the armchair nearest the fire...and crossed to the newcomer with his hand out. In a voice too hushed and solemn for Frances, he said, 'How are you, Patrick Phelimy?"

"...Then up on his feet again, he (Patrick Phelimy) limped noticebly as he thrust through the chairs towards me. His cap was off again, his hand out. His greeting was in Gaelic. His face burned with shyness, the grey eyes alive with excitement. His hand quivered with great nervous power...And then something else happened.

Every man was on his feet, shaking his hand. Some of them returned his greeting in Gaelic too. From his corner in slow measured strides, Francis Daniel came and welcomed the man. The man himself, speaking sometimes in English, sometimes in Gaelic, seemed to be genuinely surprised and moved by their obvious respect for him.

They talked in Gaelic for a time. I didn't know Gaelic...and had never heard such conversation in the native tongue since my grandmother and other Old Age Pensioners in the 1920s in South Armagh used to converse outside her house every Friday...'

I did not know it that night in Glenhull, but that had been the first time in many years that such a group of men had got together.

...It was almost 3.00 in the morning before he rose to go....He had come on a bicycle -- without any light -- and this he hauled from along the back wall and let t bounce down the steps to the road.  I offered to lend me a lamp, but he said he had been 'coming the road all his life' and didn't need a light.

I tried to fix up a future meeting -- at his own house if he wished  but he replied that 'Mickey John Katie" (as Michael Morris was known in familiar parlance) would let me know. He seemed to have become rather brusque so suddenly that I wondered if he had been disappointed and said so. His reply was swift as a rebuke.

'I'd go to the far end of the county on foot for a night like that in your school." (The early Gaelic League had conducted night schools for a time in Greencastle.)

Then he was gone on his bike into the darkness with a phrase of Gaelic floating back over his shoulder.'

The Sperrins were in the process of being abandoned, as many remote parts of Ireland were, and local society was collapsing. Murphy describes his meeting with another tradition-bearer, Jane MacRory:

'Only then did I notice a woman on a high dunghill across the street (farmyard) from the door. She began to shriek: 'There's no Irish here. Be off...we have no Irish and want no Irish.'

'She was in in a nondescript array of dress, worn and patched, layer upon layer, with the shortest outside. her grey hair loose and flying, a terrifying figure.'

'...The second woman, also poorly dressed and in tatters, seemed to trundle out of the doorway, through the smoke, then shoot or project herself across the street (farmyard), the smoke wafting behind her. She came up to me wraithed in smoke and stinking of the 'reek' even worse than the little dark man who now remained inside."

(It turned out that the 'shrieker' had spent years in America where she had been exposed to the derision and contempt of other Irish towards an Irish-speaker, and had come to loathe the language.)

The second woman was Jane MacRory, who had supplied songs to Eamonn O Tuathail, published in Sgealta Mhuintir Luanaigh, his collection of folk tales from the Sperrins published by the Irish Folklore Institute in 1933.

This book is the main source of information on Sperrins Irish, along with Gerard Stockman and Heinrich Wagner's Contributions to the Study of Tyrone Irish (which includes a hundred-page dictionary etc, published in the Scandinavian Celtic Studies periodical Lochlann III, 1965, pp. 43-236; and the Doegen records.

The Doegen records are recordings of Irish language dialects made in the 1920s by a German scholar under the auspices of the Irish government. They are online now at:

https://www.doegen.ie/LA_1212d3 and https://www.doegen.ie/LA_1209d2

 The Sperrins speakers recorded were Eoin O Cianain of Creggan, and Jane MacRory of Glenlark. There are transcriptions and translations on the site. The Linguistic Atlas and Survey of Irish dialects, Volume IV, Wagner and O Baoill, Dublin Institute 1969 also offer the same, with linguistic notes.

Seamas O Ceallaigh was from a Ballinascreen (County Derry) family, and learned the language there. He was primarily an Ulster historian, but translated two novels into Ballinascreen Irish. Or as the Ainm.ie site says:

D’aistrigh sé dhá leabhar: The Black Prophet (An Fáidh Dubh, 1940) le William Carleton agus The Pike Men le S. R. Keightley (Lucht pící a’s sleagh, 1936). Is deacair gan a mheas gur chun canúint Bhaile na Scríne a bhuanú ar phár a tharraing sé an saothar sin air féin.

Also useful is Padai Laidir Mac Culadh agus Gaeltacht Thir Eoghan, a 2009 book by a Donegal man who spent time in the area. This includes a cd with stories, and focuses a good bit on the storyteller described in the bit from Tyrone Folk Quest.

Breandan O Buachalla published an article, Notai ar Ghaeilge Dhoire agus Thir Eoghan in Eigse 13, 1970, pp. 249-278.  It is a grammatical analysis of the language of a long Protestant religious tract written in 1849 specifically for Counties Derry and Tyrone. There is also Sean Mac Airt's 'Sgealtai o Thir Eoghain', published in Bealoideas 20. These are stories collected in 1904. And A. J. Hughes' 'A Phonetic Glossary of Tyrone Irish' in Zeitschrift fur celtische Philologie 46 (1994), pp. 119-163. (I have not seen this last, so I can't tell you anything about it.)

And finally, Ciaran O Duibhin published online the results of his geneological and sociolinguistic research on the last twentieth century Irish speakers all through east Ulster. Great stuff.  http://www.smo.uhi.ac.uk/~oduibhin/doegen/ocianain_biog.htm

Here is one of his pages about another Sperrins storyteller.



Eóin Ó Cianáin (1857–1937) of Creggan, Carrickmore









According to the information recorded on the Doegen speaker questionnaire in September 1931, Eóin Ó Cianáin was born in Formil, near Greencastle in County Tyrone, and was aged 74 at the time of recording in 1931. His father was a farmer from Formil and his mother came from Greencastle. In response to questions, he stated that he spent all his childhood in Formil and attended primary school at Greencastle. His adult life was spent partly in Formil and partly in Creggan, where he was living in 1931. His occupation was given as a farmer. Irish was his mother language, and he could also speak English from the age of 10 years old. He could read and write English but not Irish.

The above information is supplemented by that given on pp xlvii–xlviii of Éamonn Ó Tuathail's Sgéalta Mhuintir Luinigh, 1933 — a book for which Eóin provided the greater part of the content. Eóin was born on 14/10/1857 at Aghascrebagh, the native place of his mother, Anna Nig Cuirc, who had "gone home" for the birth. Anna had "only a limited knowledge of English". His maternal grandfather, Eóin Mhag Cuirc, was "something of a poet" in Irish. On the other side of the family, the speaker's father knew Irish and English, and a near relative, Proinnsias Ó Cianáin, known as Frank John Tarry, was a noted story-teller. An uncle, Peter Keenan, is named as Eóin's source of a couple of the stories in Sgéalta Mhuintir Luinigh (pp 185, 196).

Some of Eóin's cylinder recordings for Éamonn Ó Tuathail are preserved in Cnuasach Bhéaloideas Éireann — see Cuach mo Lon Dubh Buí and Gabha an tSoic

Eóin Ó Cianáin was raised by his parents in Formil, which is a large rural townland between Greencastle and Creggan. It is remarkable how many of the late speakers of Tyrone Irish turn out to be natives of Formil, whatever part of the district they eventually settled in. One of them, Mrs Mary Anne Bradley, Crockanboy (1880–1953), née "Micky Hamish" McCullagh, Formil, told how Formil people were "the last in the parish who spoke Irish regularly among themselves" and how they used to gather outside Greencastle Chapel on Sunday.

Eóin married Mary Mallon or Mellon of Creggan at Carrickmore on 23/08/1898. Monica Haughey writes that Eóin had been hired in Mallon's. The family were living at Formil in 1901: Eóin's father, Thomas (75), Own (40), Mary (35) and daughter Alice (1); only Thomas was noted as speaking Irish. Eóin's mother Anna Nig Cuirc had died on 12/07/1899, reportedly aged 55. Alice had been born in 1900; two more daughters soon followed, Anne, born in 1901 and Mary, born in 1903. Thomas Keenan died on 13/07/1906. He was known as Tam Ruadh, whence our speaker was Oynie Tam.

At around this time, the family moved to the Mallon home in Creggan, where they joined Mary's unmarried brother James. They were found there in 1911: James Mallon (68), Owen Keenan (60), Mary (55), Alice (11), Anne (9), Mary (8). Only James Mallon was claimed to be an Irish-speaker — strange indeed, as Monica Haughey writes that "Irish was rarely spoken in this home and indeed James is remembered as having a good repertoire of stories in English". On the other hand, Ó Tuathail says that James sometimes assisted Eóin to recall his Irish stories. Nevertheless, this illustrates the dangers of giving credence to the census language responses on an individual basis. It may also be observed that Peadar Joe Haughey, another Irish speaker, lived close by.

The Mallons' two-storey house is now a ruin; it is located by the south side of the Barony Road (A505), with its gable to the road, about a mile east of An Creagán Centre, at the top of a small brae. A plaque was placed there on the roadside in 2017. The house has been unoccupied since a fire in which Owen's unmarried daughter Alice lost her life on 26/11/1985. The pictures of Eoin at the Keenan home in Sgéalta Mhuintir Luinigh (also reproduced here) are thought to be at the Formil house, not the Creggan one. No trace remains of the Formil house, but we show the field in which it was thought to have been situated.

Eóin's youngest daughter, Mary, married John McCullagh of Greencastle, Johnny Pat, on 20/11/1924. Their family consisted of Margaret (born 1925), Charlie (Armagh), Patsy (Formil) and Johnny (born 1927, died London 2010).

On 25/07/1937, Eóin Ó Cianáin, farmer, died at Creggan, at the age of 79. His grave at An Caisleán Glas is shown (his daughter Alice is buried at An Charraig Mh



Piper from County Waterford




To end with good news: there are three rural areas in Northern Ireland where Irish has been making a comeback in a big way as a family and community language, in a way that has never happened anywhere in the south. Two of them are centered on the Sperrins: Draperstown and Carntogher to the east of the Sperrins in County Derry, and Carrickmore, south of the Sperrins. (The third is South Armagh.)









Triple Distilled


Songs

I've decided to start blogging again, now that we've run out of crisps.

There are thousands of breathtakingly good songs in the Celtic languages that are also folk songs: songs made in a traditional idiom whose original maker is no longer know, and which have passed through many singers before being taken down in print. (Not as unsanitary a process as it may sound.) 

Most of them are Irish or Scottish Gaelic, with Vannetais Breton in second place.



(My translation of another song below.This is not Roisin Dubh, sung above.)

Every man thinks that it's him I’m in love with, when he begins to swear oaths,
and two-thirds of them drop away from me, when I remember your words;
the snow blows in drifts in the endless storm on Sliabh Ui Fhloinn;
my love’s hair is the color of the sloes that grow on the blackthorn tree

I never thought that my dearest love would haggle over my dowry
or that he would desert me afterwards, over a matter of wealth;
its my desperate despair that I’m not with the man who so troubled my heart
in a little mountain glen far away from them all, with the dew coming down.

I have a present from my first love down in my pocket
 and all the men of Ireland couldn’t cure my sorrow, alas; 
when I remember your ways and your lovely brown hair, 
I spend a while weeping softly and a while sighing heavily.

I wish I had a present on the fair day from my handsome lad,
and sweet conversation after, with the flower of the men:
it's my desperate despair that we’re not there with a priest in front of us,
to join our lives together, before he leaves and goes away.

No matter what they think of it, I’ll praise my dearest love;
no matter what they think of it, I’ll sit down by his side;
no matter what they think of it, a thousand arrows through his heart;
and oh shining star before the people, it's you who’s troubled my heart.

Oh dear God, what will I do if you should leave me?
I don’t know the way to your house, your fire or to your hearth.
My mother is frantic, my father’s in the grave,
my people are enraged with me, and my love’s far away.

There's a darkness on my eyes and I didn't sleep a wink, 
thinking about you, my first love, though the night is long. 
The way that you denied me in front of the world, 
and oh, fragrant branch, why would you bear false witness to me?

Its a foolish man who’d be scrambling up a wall that’s high,
when there’s a low wall beside it, on which he could put his hand;
though the rowan tree is tall, its crop it is sour,
while blackberries and strawberries grow on a low little branch.

I send you two hundred farewells, my thousand love, 
the gossipers have poisoned your mind against me. 
I have no little boat to send after your ship 
the sea’s rolling high in front of me and I don’t know how to swim.

            Take my blessing to that village there west among the trees,
towards the village to which I’m wandering, both early and late;
there’s many a wet muddy road and a twisting path
stretching between me and the village where my sweetheart dwells.     


England, France, Germany...Boring!

In most of Western Europe, peasant communities were integrated more and more into the hegemonic urban and “official” culture and language during the 19th century, so that their songs (as recorded mostly late 19th century and after) are really tin pan alley songs: pop songs written by urban professional songmakers and sold (as broadsheets) for a profit. These songs are mostly pretty bad, or at least pedestrian and boring. Many are pretty trivial ballads; most are hackneyed; almost none are heartfelt. They are interesting social history, and the ones that entered the tradition can tell us a lot about the concerns of peasants and industrial and other workers in this period of change, but as songs….





I once investigated the sources fairly thoroughly, and came up with about five good English folk songs (that can compare to ordinary Irish and Scottish Gaelic songs), and that includes Ireland. (Doesn’t include America or Lowland Scotland, where older ballads kept going, and more “folky” communities continued producing interesting songs.) 

I’m not sure if I could come up with even five good French ones. (There were more interesting songs in French dialects, and in the Occitan language.) German is slightly different: there, peasant communities were integrated very early into mainstream society, thus producing very boring music (except in a few fringe communities cut off from mainstream Germany, such as Lorraine). Composed and often “romantic” lieder entered the folk tradition, often, I think, through the very common village choirs that sang middle class music. Same with Denmark, except a little less so.  I don’t know Spanish or Italian songs at all -- what I've seen isn't anything all that interesting -- but once you get into Slavic, Baltic and Rumanian territory, you’re back into the good stuff.




Lithuania: the band Obelija, and a male group whose name I forget. Most of the band has now emigrated in order to earn a living, as most young Lithuanians must do.


Wales

The religious revival of the early 19th century convulsed Welsh society and reshaped it in a new form that was vital and vigorous until forty years ago, but if your eyes are on heaven and the Bible and respectability, you don’t have time for folk songs. The only places songs stayed vital were in north Pembrokeshire where the dialect was very aberrant, and where the Calvinistic Methodists never were strong; and in the mountains between Denbighshire and Merion. For the most part, the songs that survive are not that great, to be honest. The best most accessible collection is in in Kennedy’s Folksongs of Britain and Ireland.

Below: one of the great Welsh folk songs. From Morgannwg, of course.





Lliw’r Heulwen (The Color of the Sun)


 The gleam of the sun on the hillside,

the sheen of the lily on the mountain;
when I leave and go away from here,
my love, remember this.

Your form, your hand, your eye,
your fair ways, girl,
your dear quiet nature
have taken my love.

It's easy to know the squirrel
running along in his haste;
it's easy to know the partridge
when they rise in uproar;

it's very easy to know the oak
among the small clover:
alas for me, it's not so easy
to know a dear pretty girl’s heart.

The mill is obliged to grind
when the water turns it;
the smith is obliged to work
as long as the iron is hot;

the sheep is obliged to love
the little lamb while it's weak:
I am obliged to love
the one who is fated to me.

Penillion and Tribannau (in Morgannwg/Gwent) were the great folk lyrics of Wales. These were single stanzas, sung in apposition to stanzas from other singers, or strung together in longer forms. They were mostly a northern Welsh thing, though, and stopped in the religious revival. Modern concert pennillion are not the same, but are a light classical music exercise using stanzas of poetry sung in apposition to a different harp tune, usually played in a plodding piano-based style.






Isle of Man: Cornwall

See my blog entry on Manx for information on Manx songs. The situation there was similar to in England. There is one good love song (At the Fiddler’s), a Fenian ballad (Fionn Mac Cumhail, not O’Leary!), some good lullabies etc. and lots of ribald or obscene stuff. No Cornish songs were ever written down. Well, one was, but it's a translation of an English one.)



Brittany

Breton folk songs were generally ballads used for dancing, and they are often broadside ballads produced in the late 19th century These probably pushed out older ballads like those published in Barzaz Breiz in 1839. (This collection was assumed, up until thirty years ago, to have been modern romantic songs composed in the 19th century in order to meet a need for "old Breton ballads," but research shows them to be actual folk ballads taken down from old people in the early 19th century. Good collections are Luzel (lsate 19th century), and Pengwern (manuscript published only recently).

There is a tradition of lyrical song in Breton (at least in central Brittany in the late 20th century)  that is really not well known. It may mostly be modern. Very little has been published. I'm familiar with it from the "radio-cassettes" series produced in Bro-Plinn and Meneziou in the 1970s and 1980s. I wish I could say something more intelligent here, but…You see how it is.


Below is an old ballad.

The southeastern Breton province of Gwened/Vannes does have great lyrical songs. These were is a local tradition that is dying with the language and rest of the culture, and were so distinctive probably because of  the extremely aberrant Breton dialect and its culture. There was a lot of singing in groups while walking, working or just sitting around here, so there were more opportunities for non-dance song. Diberder is the main collection (also Herrieu), only actually published in the last few years. (The tradition belongs really only to “Upper” Gwened (i.e. Pontivy town to Vannes town to Lorient/Quimperle, and Baud; rather than to the Guemene area (Lower Gwened) which was a transition to the rest of Brittany.)

Below, are bits of two songs from Gwened, but not the ones I translate below that.





E Han Me Hoah ur Huiah...(I Will Go Once More)



I will go once more to the house of my love,

and if it brings sorrow, it is not the first time.


I will go once more in order to greet her,

and, if it brings sorrow, what then is sorrow?


“Come with me, my love, to walk under the trees,

and we will listen to the songs of the birds.”


On a deep green branch, that bird began to sing,

the girl listened to him, she began to weep.


She: “The little bird sings there, he says in his song

that your sorrow is at an end, my love.”


He: “Sooner will the wide sea want fishes,

than I will prove false to my promise, my love.”



Sung by Lisa Lucas from Carnac, 1912. I used the text published in Chansons Populaires Bretonnes.


Ireland

Irish songs (in Irish!) are great, but we all know that. I've written several blog posts on the topic. Please go there in order to be inspired. All you'll get here is the facts about collections.

The first collections were those made in 1796 by a County Down Irish scholar, O Loinsigh, who was employed by Bunting (harp music collector) to wander around and collect the songs sung to the harp tunes taken down by Bunting at the Belfast harp festival.  The portions of O Loinsigh’s notes for Counties Leitrim and Mayo survived, and were published as issues of the Journal of the Irish Folk Song Society. They have been republished recently, but I don’t have the details.


The only other 19th century collection was made by Charlotte Brooks (Reliques of Irish Poetry, 1789 ), and by Hardiman (Irish Minilstery, 1831 ). Both of these books include poems, as well as songs. Hardiman had songs collected that survive as manuscripts in the British Museum (Egerton 117: 105 songs entered by Philip Gibbons and another in phonetic script some time after 1814: Egerton 151; and Egerton 130, O’Donovan’s transliteration of the phonetic songs into regular Irish.)  There were some broadsides in Irish, mostly also in English-based phonetic script,  and a list was published in Eigse years ago, but I’m too lazy at find it right now.






The great Irish collections start with Hyde’s Love Songs of Connacht (1893), and keep going into the 1930s. They include O Maille’s Amhrain Chlainne Gael (Connacht); Ceol na nOilean, O Ceallaigh, (Conamara islands) 1931: Padraig Breathnach’s various Munster collections from Fuinn na Smol (1913) on into the 1920s; Freeman’s Ballyvourney (Cork) collection (Irish Folk Song Society, 1920-21):  Ni Annagain’s Londubh an Chairn, 1927 (mostly Waterford): and Costello’s Amhrain Muighe Seola, from the Tuam, Galway area, 1919.


Not forgetting of course the great Ulster collections: Cead de Cheolta Uladh, and Dha Chead de Cheoltaibh Uladh, both by O Muirgheasa. The first includes a lot of south Armagh, south Monaghan songs, and Meath, from 19th century manuscripts. Amhrain Chuige Uladh, by Muireadhach Meith is mostly from Omeath, County Louth, and should be read with P Ni Uallachain’s A Hidden Ulster, (2003) which publishes a lot of songs from the same area collected in the early 20th century.

Below is a great Ulster song from a great Ulster choir. Below that is a Scottish song.




Scottish Highlands


Is Luaineach Mo Chadal Anochd (My sleep Is Fitful Tonight)


I live, but I’ve lost every joy.
My heart in my breast has withered;
it has blackened now just like the coal.

Down in Earrach, down there yonder.
loveliest of women, fairest of body;
her teeth, they are white as chalk,
her voice is sweeter than string-music.

Like the foam of fair water,
like the swan on the flowing stream,
a precious jewel like falling snow,
my love for you grew all unnoticed.

Fair sapling of the golden hair,
your head glimmers like the gold.
your cheeks are like the rowan berry,
they are alight with the beauty of the rose.

White fingers and palms like ivory,
a shining breast of a fair color;
this love I have given you;
ochone, I’m in a desperate way.

I will not climb the hill or mountain,
there’s a heaviness in my step.
To ascend Iuchair na Cist’ is a struggle,
though that’s but a little lowly hill.

Like the topmost grain of the crop,
like a sapling in the verdant wood,
like the sun that conceals the stars,
beside you, all women fade away.
(Translation by me.)


Scottish Gaelic also has thousands of great songs, and they were recorded starting early, thanks to the fact that the people loved the songs (Scottish Gaelic literature is really a song/poetry literature), and to the fact that there was a Gaelic “middle class” (mostly clergymen and minor landlords/clan chiefs) in the late 18th century who had time and writing apparatus.

The MacLagan manuscript collection dates from the 1760s on. It has never been published, except for some songs in older issues of Gairm by Derick Thomson, but it is catalogued in MacKinnon’s Descriptive Catalogue of Gaelic Manuscripts. There are probably two hundred great lyrical songs in it, as well as Fenian ballads, and poems from poets like Ian Lom, Alasdair Mac Maighistear Alasdair, Robb Donn and so on. Versions of some of the folk songs show up in the recently-published MacDiarmid Ms. Anthology of 1790  (Thomson, 1992), and in the unpublished MacNicol collection. The first two collectors were from Perthshire; the last from Argyll.


There are many many collections in Gaelic published from about 1790 on into the 1930s: too many to list. They were aimed at the literate Gaelic society that existed in those times (thanks to religion) in the Highlands and in Glasgow and in Cape Breton. 






Aimed at a more general and/or English audience were the very dubious Songs of the Hebrides (Fraser); the wonderful Shaw’s Folksongs and Folklore of South Uist (1955); J.L Campbell’s three volumes of Hebridean Folksongs (actually all waulking songs); Francis Tolmie’s really fascinating collection from Skye, published in the Journal of the Folk Song Society in Volume, IV, 1910-14. (They are “Songs of Occupation”, which means a lot of spinning songs, lullabies, waulking songs, etc, but lots of great songs): Gaelic Songs from Nova Scotia (I think I have the title right), collected by MacLeod; Songs Remembered In Exile, from Cape Breton, edited by Shaw; and a few more recent volumes. 

The magazine Tochar published a lot over the years, and the School of Scottish Studies etc. collection of tapes is online at Tobar a Dualchais – an incredible resource of incredible songs that shames Ireland, Wales and Brittany...






No, I didn't provide lists of YouTube videos. I will do that next time.

Why do these songs even matter? I'll leave it to you to decide, or not, as you prefer. It's possible it's simply that I'm a spoiled librarian/archivist, and should go work in the garden instead.

Bird is the Word


So I was walking in the woods the other day, and I heard a bird singing this song despondently in Irish. The bird looked rather medieval, or perhaps Early Modern--it was difficult to say because of the mist. At any rate, I wrote down what he was singing as best I could.

I did have a chance to speak to the bird on another occasion when he admitted that this was not an original composition, but a song he had heard recited to the wire-strung harp in an Irish house 'quite a few years ago, I believe.'

'What were you doing in the house?' I asked the bird, but he then became reticent about the matter.



He was an honest-looking bird, and I tend to believe his story, as far as it goes. Here is a translation of what he sang.

A Bhean Atá Lán Dom Fhuath 


A bhean ata lan do'm fhuath,

(A Mhic Duach!) ni chuimhin leat

oiche ro bhamair ar-aon,

taobh ar thaobh, agus tu, a bhean.



Woman, you who hate me so much,

by Saint Mac Duach,

do you remember the night

that we were together you and I, side by side?



Da madh cumhain leatsa, a bhean,

an feadh rug a teas do'n ghrein,

do bhi me, la, agus sibh,

ca beag sin da chur a gceill?



 If you remembered, woman,

 that while the sun went down

 that you and I were once...

 but what need do I have to say more?



Do you remember, oh soft palm,

oh slender foot, oh graceful side,

oh red mouth, oh white breast,

that you put your arms around me?



Do you remember, oh dear shape,

the occasion that you told me that God,

who created heaven, had never made a man

dearer to you than I?



I remember that I once had your love,

as now I have your hate:

though I say it myself, oh skin like a flower--

hate goes as far as love.



Though the whole world were to be convinced 

that there was ever a woman who loved some man, 

(something that was never so and never will be so),

don’t let him believe it himself.




The original bird and I met accidentally on another occasion, as well, on which he did not appear any more chipper than the first time. He sang the following song.


Soraidh Slan

A passionate farewell to last night,
for all that it seems so far away now.
Though I were fated to be hung for it,
alas, that tonight is not its beginning.

 There are two inside here tonight
 whose eyes cannot hide their secret;
 though they are not mouth to mouth,
 their eyes flash a message vehement.

Alas, the gossipers won’t allow a word from my lips,
you with quiet eyes;
Understand then the message of my eyes,
you in the corner over there:

“Hold this night for us,
alas that we cannot be here forever;
do not let the morning inside,
get up and force back the day!

 Oh, Blessed Mary, graceful foster mother,
 since you are patron of every poet,
 come to my aid, take my hand,
--a passionate farewell to last night!”





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