Tog Blog

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!