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Friday 27 June 2014

Angus MacMillan’s Life Story – X [Marriage]

A previous blog offered a summary of Angus MacMillan’s life story. It may be divided into eleven sections of varying lengths. Here is offered the tenth part (NFC 1180, pp. 534–40) where MacMillan relates to Maclean how he met his wife. The opportunity has been taken to modernise the Gaelic orthography and also to offer a translation. A summary of this section may be given as follows;

10.    Marriage

MacMillan relates the background of how he came to marry his wife. The local priest persuaded him to marry his sweetheart before she had an opportunity to leave the island. MacMillan says that he greatly appreciated the advice that the priest gave him and that it had been a good decision to marry his sweetheart. MacMillan explained that she was also a MacMillan, Peigi nighean Aonghais Mhòir. They moved into MacMillan’s parents’ house. MacMillan relates that his own mother was a MacDonald who was from Benbecula and she died at seventy-five. MacMillan says that she was a good singer and had scores of old songs. His father belonged to Barra folk and never left Uist once he moved there. He died at the age of eighty-eight.

10.    Pòsadh

A’ bhean a bh’ agam an-diugh ann a sheo agus ’s e boireannach anabarrach fhèin gasda a bh’ ainnte na nighinn. Agus bha i glè òg air mo shon-sa. Cha robh i ach ceithir bliadhna fichead nuair a phòs mise i. Agus bha daoine a’ smaointinn nach pòsainn idir, a chionn nach robh annam ach duine aotrom nach robh a’ dol a phòsadh gu sìorraidh. Ach ghabh mi nòisean dhen nighinn a bha seo ach agus i glè, glè òg. Bhithinn a’ tarraing aiste an-dràsta is a-rithist ach mu dheireadh is mu dheoghaidh rinn sinn na cumhnannan airson pòsaidh. Agus ’s ann o dhaoine anabarrach fhèin math a bha i. Bha mi a’ smaointinn nach pòsainn i cho luath is a bha mi a’ smaointinn. Ach bha mi oidhche an dèidh a bhith a’ coimhead oirre air an rathad agus chuala mi fuaim bicycle a’ tighinn as mo dheaghaidh. Bhiodh e suas dìreach mu mheadhan-oidhche. Sheall mi is thug mi an aire dhan bhicycle math gu leòr a’ tighinn as mo dheaghaidh. Agus rug an seo am bicycle orm agus cò bha sin ach an sagart a bh’ againn as an àite.
“Seadh, Aonghais,” ors’ esan, “cò às mar seo?”
“O!” orsa mise, “bha mi air tighinn air cuairt.”
“O! seadh,” ors’ esan, “bha mi a’ cluinntinn gum bheil thu a’ tighinn air cuairt. Tha mi a’ cluinntinn,” ors’ esan, “gum bheil thu gu math tric air a’ chuairt sin cuideachd.”
“A bheil?” orsa mise.                                        
“Tha.”
Well, bha mi fhìn is an sagart gu math mòr aig a chèile, an sagart a bha seo agus: “Seadh,” ors’ esan, “a bheil dùil agad,” ors’ esan, “feum a dhèanamh dhan nighinn?”
Well,” orsa mi fhin, “athair,” orsa mi fhìn, “tha làn dhùil ’m feum a dhèanamh dhith.”
Well, tha làn chòir agad pòsadh as a’ mhionaid,” ors’ esan, “gun a bhith air an obair a tha sineach. Agus tha e a’ dèanamh marbhadh mòr ort,” ors’ esan, “gu nach eil thu a’ smaointinn sìon dheth agus mar is luaithe a nì thu e,” ors’ esan, “’s e dha do phrothaid e.”
“O!” ors’ mi fhìn, “tha mi a’ dol ga dhèanamh gun teagamh,” orsa mi fhìn, “ach chan eil dùil ’m a dhèanamh an-dràsta idir.”
“Cùine tha dùil agad a dhèanamh?”
Well,” orsa mi fhin, “tha e fainear dhomh,” orsa mi fhìn, “tha e fainear dhomh,” orsa mi fhìn, “bliadhna eile a leigeil leis an nighinn.”
“Chan eil i ach òg. Chan eil i,” orsa mi fhin, “ach ceithir bliadhna fichead. Nam biodh i còig air fhichead,” orsa mi fhin, “bhiodh i an uair sin,” orsa mi fhin, “aig gliocas math.”
Well,” ors’ esan, “gabh mo chomhairle,” ors’ esan, “agus pòs an nighean cho luath is a ghabhas dèanamh. Tha clann an latha an-diugh,” ors’ esan, “nuair a gheibh iad suas,” ors’ esan, “a dha is a trì is a ceithir is a còig air fhichead,” ors’ esan, “bi iad airson falbh às an seo,” ors’ esan. “Ach ma smaointich ise air falbh,” ors’ esan, “pòs thusa i agus chan fhalbh i idir.”
“An e sin ri ràdha,” orsa mi fhin, “gum pòs sinn as a’ mhionaid?”
Well,” ors’ esan, “pòs cho luath is a ghabhas dèanamh,” ors’ esan. “Na leig gu còig bliadhna fichead idir i,” ors’ esan.
Very well,” orsa mi fhìn, “tha mise ceart-a-coma,” orsa mi fhìn, “ged a dhèanamaid suas ar n-inntinn,” orsa mi fhìn, “air pòsadh, ar n-èigheach as an eaglais Didomhnaich-sa a’ tighinn,” orsa mise. “Agus,” orsa mise “bi ise deònach gu leòr,” orsa mi fhìn, “agus a cuideachd cuideachd.”
Seo mar a bha. Bha an sagart còmhla rium-sa riamh gus an tàine sinn an taigh.”
Well,” ors’ esan, “Aonghais,” ors’ esan, “bi a h-uile sìon ceart,” ors’ esan.
“Bi,” orsa mi fhìn. “Thèid mise far a bheil an nigean a-màireach, feasgar a-màireach,” orsa mi fhìn. “Innsidh mi dhith” orsa mise, “gum bi sinn a’ rèiteach rithe, mi fhìn is i fhèin, Dihaoine a tha gar nionnsaigh.”
Seo mar a bha. Chaidh mi a choimhead air an nighinn an làr-na-mhàireach, an tè a th’ agam an-diugh, agus dh’innis mi dhith gum biodh rèiteach ann Dihaoine a bha gar ionnsaigh. Dh’innis mi dhith facal air an fhacal mar a thuirt an sagart. Agus thachair sin. Phòs mi fhìn is an nighean agus gu dearbha cha robh aithreachas riamh orm. Cha tàinig facal riamh idir eadarainn on latha a phòs sinn gon an latha an-diugh. Agus tha mi glè thoilichte as a’ chomhairle a thug an sagart orm. ’S ann às an Uachdar a bha i agus ’s e an aon sloinneadh a bh’ oirre agus a bh’ orm fhin, NicGilleMhaoil. ’S e Peigi nighean Aonghais Mhòir às an Uachdar a chainte rithe.
Bha mo mhàthair an uair sin, nuair a phòs mi a-staigh. Bha iad anabarrach fhèin toilichte an tè a phòs mi. ’S e bana-Chrìosdaidh[1] a bha nam mhàthair, de bhoireannach beannaichte. Agus ’s e Crìosdaidh a bha nam athair cuideachd de dhuine math agus bha e anabarrach fhèin toilichte mar a thionndaidh mise suas. Cha b’ e siud a’ chiad tè a bh’ agam idir ach ’s e sin an tè a bh’ air a cuir a-mach dhomh. ’S e bana-Dòmhnallach a bha nam mhàthair an toiseach agus nuair a phòs i m’ athair, tha fhios agaibh, ’s e NicGilleMhaoil a bh’ innte. Agus ’s ann shuas mu dheas pìos mòr, ’s ann a phòs iad. Thàinig i a Bheinne na Faoghla agus rinn i dachaigh dhi fhèin agus dhà fhèin ann am Beinne na Faoghla. Cha do ghluais sinn riamh à Beinne na Faoghla fhathast is tha mi cinnteach nach gluais a h-aon againn. Bha mo mhàthair trì fichead is a còig deug a’ bàsachadh. Bha i cho fallain is a ghabhadh e a bhith fad na h-ùine riamh ach gun do ghabh i bochdainn ann a shiudach. Agus a’ bhochdainn a bh’ oirre ’s e tuiteam a rinn i agus leum an t-sròn aice agus chaill i mòran, mòran faladh ri linn an t-sròn aice a leum. Cha mhòr nach do thràigh i air fuil. Ach bha i bliadhnaichean beò as a dheaghaidh sin. Agus ’s ann innte a bha a’ bhana-òranaiche nach cuala sibh riamh a leithid, de sheann-òrain a bh’ ann a linn, chan ’il ’ios againne gu dè an linn a bha iad na m’ athair cuideachd. ’S ann a mhuinntir Bharraigh a bha m’ athair agus cha do ghluais e riamh à Uibhist aon uair is gun tàinig e a-nall ann. Agus bha e ceithir fichead agus a h-ochd deug a’ bàsachadh. Cha robh air m’ athair ach bàs nàdarra agus ’s e bàs nàdarra a fhuair mo mhàthair cuideachd.

10.   Marriage

The wife that I have today here is a very fine woman. And she was very young for me. She was only twenty-four years of age when I married her. And folk thought that I would not marry at all because I was only a giddy man that was never going to get married. But I took a fancy to this lassie and she was very, very young. I used to pull her leg now and again but latterly (and at last) we got engaged to get married. And she belonged to a very fine family. I thought I wouldn’t marry her quite as soon as I had first thought. But one night after I had been to see her I was on the highway and I heard the noise of a bicycle coming after me. It would’ve been nearly midnight. I looked and I noticed the bicycle well enough coming after me. And the bicycle reached me and who did it happen to be but the local priest.
“Aye, Angus,” he said, “where did you come from like this?”
“Oh!” I said, “I was going for a walk.”
“Oh! aye,” he said, “I had heard that you were going for a walk. I hear that you quite often go for a walk too.”
“I do?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Well, I and the priest were quite friendly, this priest that was there and:
“Aye,” he said, “do you expect that you’ll have a need for the lassie?”
“Well,” I said, “father, I fully expect that she’ll do.”
“Well, you have every right to marry this very minute,” he said, “without working on that. And it’s really killing you that that aren’t thinking anything of it and the quicker you do then the better off you’ll be.”
“Oh!” he said, “I’m going to do it without any doubt whatsoever but I don’t expect to do it just now at all.”
“When do you expect to do that?”
“Well,” I said, “it’s my intention to let a year go by courting the lassie.”
“She’s only young and she’s only twenty-four years of age. If she had been twenty-five,” I said, “she would then have reached good wisdom.”
“Well,” he said, “heed my advice and marry the lassie as quickly as you can. Children today when they reach about twenty two, three, four or five wish to leave this place and before she thinks of leaving you’ll marry her and she won’t leave at all.”
“Is that to say,” I asked, “that we should marry this very minute?”
“Well,” he said, “marry as quickly as you can. Don’t let her reach twenty-five years of age at all.”
“Very well,” I said, “I don’t mind at all that you have made up our minds to marry and the banns in the church were proclaimed for this coming Sunday,” I said, “and she’ll be willing enough and her relations to boot.”
This is how things turned out. The priest kept me company until we reached home.”
“Well, Angus” he said, “everything will be right.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll go to see the lassie tomorrow, tomorrow afternoon. I’ll tell her that we’ll get engaged, myself and herself, this Friday coming.”
This is how things turned out. I went to see the lassie the next day, the wife that I have today, and I told her that we’d be engaged this coming Friday. I told her word for word what priest has said. And that happened. I married the lassie and indeed I’ve never regretted it. Not one word has ever came between us since the day we married until this very day. And I am very pleased with the advice the priest gave me.
She was from Uachdar and she had the same surname as I have, MacMillan. She was called Peggie daughter of Big Angus from Uachdar.
My mother was then, when I married, still staying at home. They were very pleased with the woman whom I married. My mother was a woman who was a devout and upright. And my father was also an upright, good man and he was terribly pleased by the way I turned out. She was not the first woman that I had at all but she was the woman that was destined for me. My mother was a MacDonald at first but when she married my father, you know, she became MacMillan then. And it was down south a good bit where they were married. She came from Benbecula and she made a home for herself and himself in Benbecula. We have not moved away from Benbecula yet and I’m sure that not one of us ever will. My mother was seventy-five when she died. She was as healthy as could be all that time but she finally took ill. And the illness caused her to fall and she broke her nose and she lost a lot, a lot of blood as she had a broken nose. She almost lost all of her blood. But she was many years alive after that. And she was such a singer that you have never heard to like of, old songs from previous centuries and we don’t know where they were from, nor did my father know. My father belonged to Barra folk and he never moved out of Uist once he came over. And he was eighty-eight years of age when he died. My father died a natural death and my mother also died a natural death as well.

Reference:
NFC 1180, pp. 301–548

Image:
Angus MacMillan, Benbecula, 1930s.



[1] The literal meaning is, of course, a Christian but it means an upstanding, moral person of good character.

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