Two Storytellers: Angus MacMillan and Duncan MacDonald

It could have only come as a shock when Calum Maclean heard the news that within three weeks of one another two of the greatest storytellers that he had meet had died. Angus MacMillan, styled Aonghas Barrach, from Griminish, Benbecula, and Duncan MacDonald, styled Donnchadh mac Dhòmhnaill ’ic Dhonnchaidh, from Snishival, South Uist, were considered by Maclean to have been superb exponents of the fine art of storytelling. Maclean wrote the following moving tribute to both men in an article that he wrote for the Gaelic periodical Gairm:

 

Aonghas agus Donnchadh

 

An samhradh seo chaidh thriall an dà sgeulaiche a b’ainmeile a bh’ againn an Albainn agus, math dh’fhaodte cuideachd, an taobh an iar na Roinn Eòrpa. Anns an àm chaidh facal no dhà a ràdh mun deidhinn anns na pàipeirean naidheachd. Dh’fhaodte sa Ghàidhealtachd gun cualas iomradh orra, ach cha d’rinneadh dhaibh an tuaiream a dhèante do chinn-cinnidhean mòra Gallda na Gàidhealtachd, no fiù is do sheinneadairean air bheagan Gàidhlig a bhuadhaich bonn òir a’ Chomuinn Ghàidhealaich. Chaidh Aonghas agus Donnchadh a chur fon ùir gun san làthaireachd ach dòrnan beag d’ an coimhearsnaich is an dlùth-chàirdean fhèin, a dh’iarr sìth d’ an anam agus a thill an uair sin dachaigh a bhuain na mòna, a chur an cliabh ghiomach, air neo a shaodachadh chruidh. Ach an dithis a thriall air slighe nam marbh, chuir iad barrachd ri litreachas nan Gàidheal Albannach na chuir aon dithis eile bho chionn còrr is ceud bliadhna. Cha robh ach trì seachdainean dìreach eatorra. Tha an cuirp nan tàmh sìorraidh an cladh Bhaile nan Cailleach am Beinn na Faoghla agus an Àird Mhìcheil an Uibhist a Deas. Bu mhòr an call an dithis sin a bhith a dhìth oirnn an-diugh. Dh’eug Aonghas MacGilleMhaoil air an t-seachdamh latha deug den Bhealltainn seo seachad agus Donnchadh MacDhòmhnaill air an t-seachdamh latha den Òg-mhìos. Bha Aonghas air leabaidh a bhàis còrr is ochd mìosan. Thàinig an t-àm gu h-allamh air Donnchadh: cha do mhair a thinneas deireannach ach trì latha. A-nis, tha e mar fhiachaibh orm clach a chur air an càrn. Bha iad coltach ri chèile air aon dòigh, ach air a h-uile dòigh eile bha iad eadar-dhealaichte gu tur. Ach nach iomchaidh gun cuimhnicheadh Clann nan Gàidheal orra a chionn is nach bi leithidean eile ann a-rithist.

’S ann an Snaoiseabhal an Uibhist a Deas a rugadh Donnchadh mac Dhòmhnaill ’ic Dhonnchadh. B’ e duine de chòignear teaghlaich. Na dhuine òg chaidh e ris a’ chlachaireachd mar chèird, agus thug e bliadhna na dhà a’ dol don mhailisidh as t-samhradh. Bha athair, Dòmhnall mac Dhonnchaidh na sgeulaiche ainmeil agus na dhuine làidir, foghainteach. Fhuair Donnchadh a chuid sgoile an t-Hogh Mòr, agus an dèidh bàs athar, b’ ann air a thuit am fearann am Peighinn nan Aoireann, fearann a dh’obraich e fad a bheatha còmhla ris a’ chlachaireachd. Phòs e Mairead, nighean Aonghais Ruaidh Mhic an t-Saoir. B’ ann bho dhaoine a bha sònraichte math air seann-eachdraidh, òrain is ceòl a thàinig ise, agus cha b’ iongnadh idir ged a chuirte ùidh air leth anns na nithean sin an taigh Dhonnchaidh am Peighinn nan Aoireann. B’ ann bho shliochd sgeulaiche is bhàrd a thàinig Donnchadh e fhèin. A shinn-seanair, Iain MacDhòmhnaill ’ic Thormaid, thàinig e a-nall as Uibhist a Tuath na thàillear agus phòs e nighean Fir a’ Ghearraidh Fhlich an Gèirinnis. B’ ann às an Eilean Sgitheanach a bha an dream bho thùs, oir b’ iad-san Clann ’ic Rùiridh a bha nam bàird aig Dòmhnallaich Dhùin Tuilm.

Dithis ghillean agus dithis nighean a bh’ aig Donnchadh is aig a mhnaoi. Chaill iad am mac bu shine anns a’ bhliadhna 1934, agus dh’eug cèile Dhonnchaidh i fhèin bho chionn dà bhliadhna. Chaidh Donnchadh a-mach gu ruige Glaschu air cuairt anns a’ bhliadhna 1909. Dà fhichead bliadhna an dèidh sin chaidh e a-mach a-rithist a chur cuid de na sgeulachdan aige air clàr don Third Programme. B’ esan an sgeulaiche a thagh David Thomson agus mi fhèin airson a’ chlàir Black House into White. B’ e cuideachd a’ chiad sgeulaiche ceart as Albainn a chualas riamh air an Third. Thug Oilthigh Ghlaschu e don Chòmhdhail Beul-aithris ann an Steòrnabhagh an uiridh, agus as a dhèidh sin don Mhòd san Òban agus cuireadh aige cho math bhon Chomann Ghàidhealach. B’ e a’ chiad Mhòd agus am Mòd mu dheireadh dhà-san e. An sealladh mu dheireadh a fhuair mi air, bha Alasdair, mo bhràthair, agus mise a’ dealachadh ris air machaire Pheighinn an Aoireann mu cheithir uairean sa mhadainn goirid an dèidh na Nollaig agus e air oidhche mhòr a thoirt air sgeulachdan. Thachair mi air a a-rithist agus mi air aonan den t-sianar fon chistidh ga ghiùlain air a’ mhachaire bho Hogh Beag gu Àird Mhìcheil air an deicheamh latha den Òg-mhìos seo chaidh.

Tha mi a’ smaointinn gur h-e Dòmhnall MacDhòmhnaill as Èirisgeidh a’ chiad fhear a sgrìobh sgeulachdan sìos bho Dhonnchadh. Feumar bàrr an urraim a thoirt do Mhgr. K. C. Craig a chionn is gur h-e a chuir am follais don t-saoghal Ghàidhealach cho barraichte, fileanta is a bha Donnchadh na fhear-sgeòil. Cha mhòr guth a bh’ air beul-aithris na a leithid an Albainn an latha earraich ud anns a’ bhliadhna 1947, nuair a thachair mi air Donnchadh an toiseach. Greis roimhe sin bha Mgr. Craig air na seachd sgeulachdan a b’ fheàrr agus a b’ fhaide a bh’ aig Donnchadh a sgrìobhadh sìos. Cha tàinig an leabhar a-mach as a’ chlò gu foghar 1950. Cha bu bheag saothair an duine a’ sgrìobhadh nan sgeulachdan mòr, fada sin facal air an fhacal. Bha e furasda gu leòir do dhaoine eile tighinn dìreach air a shàilean le innealan-deachdaidh agus cuilbheartan eile. Bha gach seòrsa sgeòil is naidheachd aig Donnchadh eadar eachdraidh na Fèinne, duain, naidheachdan mu Chloinn Raghnaill ’ic Ailein, Clann ’ic Mhuirich, mu chreideamh, mu shìthichean agus iomadach rud eile. Cha b’ fhiosrach e am b’ fhiach an aithris. A rèir is mar a bha an ùine a’ ruith bha nithean ùra a’ tighinn air ais thuige, nithean nach robh guth aige orra bho chionn fhada. Cuid dhiubh sin chuimhnich e orra is sinn a’ siubhal air a’ mhachaire Uibhisteach no air sràidean loma Ghlaschu is sinn ann còmhla seachdain. Cha b’ ann tric a chithinn Donnchadh. Bha gu leòir a bharrachd air m’ aire shuas am Beinne na Faoghla. Eadar an t-Samhain 1947 agus an t-Samhain 1949, chaidh agam air còrr is ceud naidheachd a thoirt bhuaithe, nithean nach do sgrìobh Mgr. Craig. An toiseach na bliadhna 1950 thòisich Fear Chanaigh agus Comann Beul-aithris na h-Albann air sgeulachdan agus òrain a thoirt bho Dhonnchadh. Mun àm seo bha an t-Uas. K. C. Craig air sia fichead òran a thoirt sìos bho Mhàiri Nighean Alasdair, piuthar màthar Dhonnchaidh cuideachd. Dh’fhalbh trì bliadhna eile mun do thachair mi air Donnchadh a-rithist. Chomhairlich mi do Dhòmhnall Iain, mac Dhonnachaidh fhèin, gach nì a chluinneadh e aig athair a chur air “tape” agus a sgrìobhadh. Cha d’ fhuair Dòmhnall Iain ach bliadhna ghoirid, ach sgrìobh e còrr is mìle gu leth duilleag de sheanchas bhon t-seann duine uasal. Gun aon teagamh, ’s e Dòmhnall Iain, mac Dhonnchaidh fhèin, am fear is fheàrr air cruinneachadh beul-aithris a thàinig nar measg an Albainn san linn seo. Bu mhòr an call nach do thòisich e air a chuid obrach bho chionn bhliadhnaichean: ach is beag a shaoileadh nach biodh dàil air Donnchadh na b’ fhaide na ’n samhradh seo seachad.

B’ ionnan Donnchadh mar sgeulaiche agus Pàdraig Òg MacCruimein mar phìobaire. Bha snas, dreach agus loinn air gach rud a thigeadh bhuapa. B’ ann aig Donnchadh a bha a’ Ghàidhlig a b’ fheàrr agus a’ b’ fhileanta, siùbhlach d’ an cuala mi fhathast. Chuireadh e dreach air gach rud a theireadh e.

’S ann air an dearbh latha a thachair mi air Donnchadh MacDhòmhnaill ’ic Dhonnchaidh a thachair air Aonghas MacGilleMhaoil. Cha robh sunnd uamhasach math air Aonghas bochd an latha sin. Bha fuachd aige, agus bha e air tuiteam agus asna a bhristeadh trì seachdainean roimhe sin. “Tha a’ Chrìosdachd de sgeulachdan agam-sa,” ors’ esan. Gun teagamh bha sin aige, agus b’ ann agam-sa bha fhios mun d’ fhuair mi an tè mu dheireadh dhiubh a sgrìobhadh. Thug mi còrr is trì bliadhna air sgeulachdan Aonghais leotha fhèin. Cha robh ann dhiubh ach ceud agus trì fichead is a còig, ach b’ fheudar dhomh deich mìle duilleag-sgrìobhaidh a chur tharam mun do ruith sinn ar cùrsa. An sgeulachd a b’ fhaide a bh’ aig Donnchadh, ‘Sgeulachd Mhànuis,’ thug i uair gu leth ga h-aithris. An tè b’ fhaide a bh’ aig Aonghas, an sgeul mu Alasdair mac a’ Chèaird, thug i naoi uairean an uaireadair ga h-innseadh. Bha dà fhichead ’s a trì eile aige a thug còrr is trì uairean an uaireadair.

Bha barrachd ùidh aig Donnchadh ann am fuirm agus cruth an sgeòil, an òirdheirceas agus an doimhne ùr-labhraidh, agus thaomadh e a-mach a chruaidh-Ghàidhlig dhomhainn mar phongan ciùil bho shionnsar airgid. Cha bu mhotha air Aonghas sin uile na builgean air allt-slèibhe. Cuspair an sgeòil an rud a ghreamaich inntinn Aonghais an còmhnaidh. Gun teagamh, dh’fheumte gach facal a bha ri ràdh a chur gu dòigheil na àite fhèin. Bhiodh còmhraidhean fada an siud ‘s an seo anns an sgeulachdan aige. Bhiodh rìghrean is prionnsaidhean a’ còmhradh is a’ cainnt r’a chèile aige air dhòigh is gu saoileadh tu gun robh Aonghas fhèin ag atharrachadh crutha is pearsa a rèir mar bha an còmhradh a’ dol bho bheul gu beul. Mhionnaicheadh duine gum faca Aonghas a h-uile rud a dh’aithris e riamh. Nuair a bhiodh Oisean a’ sealg aige, chitheadh tu na fèidh is na gadhair. Bha e h-uile dealbh a chuireadh e os còir na h-inntinne cho soilleir sin.

B’ e Aonghas an duine a b’ òige de sheachdnar teaghlaich. Bha athair, Calum Barrach mar theirte ris, na sgeulaiche ainmeil na latha. Tha cuimhne aig an t-seann fheadhainn Beinne na Faoghla air fhathast. Bha fearann aig Aonghas am baile Ghrìminis. Bhiodh e cuideachd a’ falbh le each is càrn a’ giùlain luchd-turais gu tric. Thug e fad shia bliadhna deug a’ dol don mhilisidh as t-samhradh. Bha e ann an Sasann agus an Èirinn. Theabas a chur a-mach gu Cogadh Afraga. Thug e fad bhliadhnaichean sa sgoil, ach dhìochuimhnich e gach lide a dh’ionnsaich e riamh. Cha do dhìochuimhnich e aon fhacal de sgeul sam bith a chuala e ged nach b’ ann ach aon uair riamh na bheatha. Duine, mòr, sgoinneil, làidir, calma, a bh’ ann. Bha e sia troighean is dà òirleach gu leth air a bhonnan.

Sgrìobh mi cunntas fada air a bheatha bho bheul Aonghais fhèin. Rinneadh an dearbh-rud do Dhonnchadh. Is tric a chaidh Aonghas seachad an Fhadhail a Tuath ri marbh-dhorchadas oidhche is ri stoirm is gailleann, an t-each aige fon chàrn a’ snàmh, am fear-turais air fras-mhullach a ghuaillean aige, agus sruth fuar na fadhlach suas gu ruige a smigead. Thionndaich tarbh fiadhaich air Aonghas latha. Thug Aonghas sgailc dha am bàrr na h-adhairce le cuaille bata. Thuit an tarbh na ghlag-phaiseanaidh. “Mharbh thu e,” thuirt coimhearsnach ris. “Mura mharbhainn-s’ e,” ors’ Aonghas, “bha mi fhèin marbh.” Bha trì chairteal na h-uarach ann mun tàinig an tarbh thuige fhèin a-rithist. Bha Aonghas latha eile a’ treabhadh le paidhir each. Chualas urchair agus ghabh na h-eich sgian. A-mach leotha air a’ chuthach leis a’ chrann. A-mach mo liadh às an dèidh, agus greim-bàis aige air a’ chrann, thar phollaichean, bhotaichean is ligidhean gus an robh na h-ainmidhean truagha air an sàrachadh. Is tric a thachair gun robh marbh-iarraidh air seann-bhodaich is cailleachan Bheinne Fhaoghla oidhcheannan dorcha geamhraidh gus an d’ fhuaradh iad mu dheireadh slàn, seasgair, sona an taigh-cèilidh air choreigin far an robh Aonghas air tòiseachadh air sgeulachd mhòir.

Bha Aonghas gu bhith ceithir fichead nuair a chaidh e an imrich dheireannach. Thug sinn oidhche gheamhraidh sa bhliadhna 1948 ag obair air sgeulachd fhada gus an do chrìochnaicheadh i mu cheithir uairean sa mhadainn. Bha an oidhche dorcha, fuar, fearthainneach le stoirm bhon iar-dheas. Thàinig Aonghas a-mach a dh’ionnsaigh an dorais mhòir còmhla rium is mi a’ falbh. Chì mi fhathast a sheann bhodhaig mhòir, thoirteil a’ toirt dhìom an t-solais a bha a-staigh.

“Thig tràth an ath-oidhch’, a ghràidhein. Chuimhnich mi air tè ’ile, tè mhòr, mhòr.”

 

And the translation goes something like this:

 

 

Angus MacMillan and Duncan MacDonald

 

The two most famous storytellers in Scotland and even, perhaps, in Western Europe died this summer gone. At the time a few brief notices appeared about them in the newspapers. Some, perhaps, have heard about them in the Highlands but they were never given the same respect they were due as say either Highland or Lowland chiefs or, indeed, even the singers who have but only a little Gaelic who win a gold medal at the Mod. Both Angus and Duncan were buried in the presence of only a few neighbours and close friends who paid their last respects and who then returned to either cut their peat, to place their lobster pots or to drive their cattle. Nevertheless, these two late storytellers have made a greater contribution to Scottish Gaelic literature than any other pair has done for more than a century.

They passed away within three weeks of one another. Their remains will have eternal rest in Nunton cemetery in Benbecula and Ardmichael in South Uist. We, at this time, suffer a great loss by their passing. Angus MacMillan died on the 17th of May just gone and Duncan MacDonald on the 7th of June. Angus was on his deathbed for more than eight months whereas Duncan died suddenly: his last illness only lasting three days. It is now my duty to say something about their legacy. They were alike in one way but completely different in every other way. It is fitting that Gaels should remember them for their like will never be seen again.

Duncan MacDonald was born in Snishival in South Uist. He was one of a family of five. As young man he took up his vocation as a stonemason and for one to two years during the summer he joined the militia. His father, Donald MacDonald, was a renowned storyteller as well as being a strong and powerfully built man. Duncan received his early education at Howmore. After his father’s death he inherited land at Peninerine that he went on to work for the rest of his life as well as keeping up his job as a stonemason. He married Margaret, daughter of Angus MacIntyre, who belonged to a family that were especially skilled in old lore, songs and music and it comes as no surprise that these were these very subjects that were of the greatest interest in Duncan’s Peninerine homestead. Duncan’s ancestors were able storytellers and poets: his grandfather, Iain MacDonald, a tailor, came from North Uist and married a daughter of the tacksman of Fir a’ Ghearraidh Fhlich in Gerinish. His ancestors, Clann ’ic Rùiridh, originally came from the Isle of Skye and were poets to the MacDonalds of Duntuilm.

Duncan and his wife had a family of two boys and two girls. They lost their eldest son in 1934, and Duncan’s wife passed away two years ago. Duncan first travelled to Glasgow in 1909 and, some forty years later, was to return to the city to record his stories to be aired on the Third Programme. David Thomson and I chose him as a storyteller for recording Black House into White. Duncan was the very first proper storyteller in Scotland to be broadcast on the Third. Last year, the University of Glasgow invited him to a Folklore conference in Stornoway and after that he was invited by An Comunn Gàidhealach (The Highland Society) to attend the Mod in Oban. This was to be his first and last Mod. My very last sight of him was on Peninerine machair when my brother, Alasdair, and myself, shortly after Christmas, were saying farewell to him at four o’ clock in the morning after a long night telling stories. The next time was on the 10th of June just gone by when I was one of six pallbearers that carried his remains along the machair from Howbeg to Ardmichael.

Donald MacDonald from Eriskay was, I had thought, the first person to record stories from Duncan but that honour must go to K[irkland] C[ameron] Craig for he was the first person to draw the Gaelic world’s attention to such an exceptional and fluent storyteller as Duncan. There was hardly a mention of oral tradition or its like made in Scotland in that Spring of 1947 when I first became acquainted with Duncan. Shortly before this, Craig had written down the best and longest stories contained in Duncan’s repertoire. This book did not appear in print until the Autumn of 1950. No small labour did this man undertake to record these big, long stories word by word. It was easy enough for anyone else to come along on his heels with recording machines and other devices. Duncan had a wealth of different stories and anecdotes about such things as the Fianna, ballads, the Clanranald, the MacMhuirichs, religion, fairy lore and many others besides. He knew everything that was worth recording. As time went on new material would come back to him – things that had not been recollected for a long time. Some of this he would remember as we walked along the Uist machair or on the busy streets of Glasgow when we were together there for a week. I did not see Duncan very often for there were other things on my mind that drew my attention away to Benbecula. Between September 1947 and September 1949, I recorded more than one hundred stories from him, items that had not been written down by Craig. At the beginning of 1950, John Lorne Campbell under the aegis of the Scotland’s Oral Tradition Society recorded stories and songs from Duncan. Shortly before this, K. C. Craig had taken down twenty-six songs from Màiri nighean Alasdair, Duncan’s maternal aunt. Three years were to pass before I met with Duncan again. I advised Duncan’s son, Donald John, to record and to transcribe his father’s repertoire. Donald John had only a short period in which to carry out his work but he managed to record over one and a half thousand pages of lore from this gentleman. Without any doubt, Donald John is the best folklore collector that has come amongst us in Scotland this century. More is the pity that he did not begin his work years before: but who would have thought that Duncan would survive no longer than the summer just gone.

Duncan as a storyteller was the equal of Patrick Òg MacCrimmon as a piper. Everything that he recited was polished, shapely and elegant. Duncan’s Gaelic was most eloquent and fluent: the best I have ever heard. Everything he recited was given both weight and due consideration.

On the very same day I first met Duncan MacDonald I also met Angus MacMillan. Poor Angus was not in a very good mood that day for he had a cold and a broken rib sustained from a fall three weeks earlier. He said: “I have a Christendom (i.e. a lot) of stories.” He certainly did and before long I knew this only too well when I had written down the very last of them. I spent over three years on Angus’s stories alone. Although they only amounted to one hundred and sixty-five items, I had to use ten thousand manuscript pages to write them all down before we had run our course. Duncan’s longest story Sgeulachd Mhànuis (The History of Manus) took one and half hours to tell whereas Angus’s longest story concerning Alasdair mac a’ Chèaird (Alasdair son of the Caird) took nine hours to tell. And there were some forty-three other such stories that took over three hours each to tell.

Duncan’s interest lay more in a story’s shape and form, and also in the splendour and depth of rhetorical language as deep, hard Gaelic flowed from him like grace notes played upon a silver chanter. Angus only gave thought to these things as if they were mere bubbles on a mountain burn. The story’s subject matter was always the uppermost aspect that caught Angus’s attention. Nevertheless, every single word had to be said and to be set in its own place. Long dialogues used to pepper his stories where kings and princes would speak and talk to one another in such a way as if to suppose that Angus himself imitated them through his own character as the conversation went on. People would swear that Angus actually saw everything he actually recited. When he had Ossian hunting, you could see the deer and hounds. Every mental picture he conjured up was as clear as that.

Angus was the youngest of a family of seven. Calum Barrach, as they called his father, was a famous storyteller in his own day. The old people of Benbecula still remember him to this day. Angus owned land in the township of Griminish. He also often used to taxi travellers in his horse and cart. He spent every summer for sixteen years in the militia when he travelled to both England and Ireland and he almost went to the Boer War. Although he spent many years in school he forgot everything he learnt there but he never forgot one word of any story that he heard even if it had only been told just once. He was a big, strong, brave, excellent man who was six feet and two and a half inches tall in his stockings.

I wrote a long biography straight from Angus’s mouth, and the same was done for Duncan also. Angus often crossed the North Ford in the dead of midnight in stormy weather with his horse under his cart swimming, a traveller on his shoulders, and with the ford’s cold current reaching up to his chin. One day a wild bull turned on Angus so that he had to hit it on its horn with his walking stick. The bull fell down unconscious. “You’ve killed it,” a neighbour said to him. “If I had not killed it,” Angus said, “then I would have been dead.” Three quarters of an hour passed before the bull regained consciousness. Another day Angus was ploughing with a pair of horses. A report of gunfire was heard which frightened the wits out of the horses so much so that they ran off with the plough still attached. Angus, still gripping the plough for dear life, was pulled through bog and mud until the poor beasts were eventually tired out. Often the old men and women of Benbecula would risk life and limb to journey on a dark winter’s night until they reached the safety of a sheltered, convivial ceilidh house in which Angus had already began to recite a long tale.

When he passed away Angus was nearly eighty years of age. In 1948 we spent one winter’s night recording a long story until completed around four o’ clock in the morning. That night was dark, cold and showery due to stormy weather coming in from the southwest. As I was leaving, Angus saw me to the big door. I can still recollect that large, burly frame of his that blocked the light from inside.

On parting, he said: “Come early tomorrow night, my dear laddie. I have remembered another long, long one.”

 

Calum Maclean also wrote an obituary for both of them. He wrote the one for Angus MacMillan when he was stationed in Morar and was, much to his regret, unable to make it back to Benbecula in time to make the funeral of not only one of his most important informants but also who became a close friend. Maclean relates in a diary entry for the 20th of May 1954 the following:

 

Did some writing after breakfast today. I phoned up to Morar Hotel about noon and asked for Calum MacKellaig. He was not in, but I was told that a message had come from Angus McIntosh in Edinburgh saying that Aonghas Barrach, Angus MacMillan, died on Tuesday and that the funeral was today. It was too late to go to the funeral. Poor Aonghas has gone at last – may God rest his soul. He would have been eighty years of age next July. I sent a telegram to Calum saying that I regretted not having had time to go to the funeral. Even if I had heard on Wednesday night it would have been too late to get out to Uist. Angus’s death was a bad blow. He was such a loveable old man. I thought of the years spent with him in Uist, of our long nights of storytelling and of the very long tales. I last saw him on New Year’s Eve last. He was asleep when I left his house last New Year’s morning. He did suffer a lot during the last years and it was probably a blessing that he did go. The heart-attacks became very frequently latterly. Benbecula will be a different place now without Aonghas Barrach and Angus MacLellan. Id est perfectum! Both have left much after them. I spent the greatest part of the afternoon writing appreciations of Angus for the papers. I sent off copies to three papers...

 

MacMillan’s obituary is here published in full:

 

The Late Angus MacMillan: An Appreciation

 

With the passing of Angus MacMillan of Griminish, Benbecula, an important link and long tradition of storytelling is severed. He was about the last of a type that has gone from our midst, the traditional Gaelic storyteller. Only about six of them still survive in the Gaelic-speaking areas. In many ways Angus was the most outstanding.

Formal education and modern ideas had little or no influence upon him. He lived to see the atomic age, but his word was peopled with heroes, giants, fairy princesses, and the sons of the Kings of Lochlann, the Land of Light, and the Green Isle at the World’s End. He was the perfect example of the untaught and unlettered but highly cultured and refined mind. The heroes and heroines of this stories are set for him a high standard of conduct, and he really did live up to that standard.

In him there was nothing petty, nothing mean, nothing ignoble. He knew that the son of the King of Greece acted in such a manner in a certain situation, and in a similar situation Angus himself would do only what befitted a king’s son. All that was added to the virtues and the grace that his Catholic faith had given him. To his neighbours he was always the true and warm-hearted friend, ever ready to lend a helping hand in time of need or trouble. His door was always open alike to friend or total stranger. Nationality, creed and social status made no difference to him.

Eminent scholars in several European countries are today proud to have numbered Angus MacMillan among their friends. To folklorists Angus was much more that a mere source of information. He was a phenomenon. His feats of storytelling are unequalled in the history of folklore recording. His tales took not hours, but sometimes several nights to narrate. In the archives of the Irish Folklore Commission in Dublin there are almost 10,000 MS. pages of tales recorded from the dictation of Angus MacMillan. The Irish Commission has presented a microfilm copy of the entire collection to the University of Edinburgh.

Slàn agus beannachd leibh, Aonghais. Cha bhi bhur leithid ann a-rithist. Requiescat in Pace.

 

References:

Calum I. MacGilleathain, ‘Aonghus agus Donnchadh’, Gairm, air. 10 (An Geamhradh, 1954), pp: 170–74

Calum I. Maclean. ‘The Late Angus MacMillan: An Appreciation’, The Scotsman, no. 34632 (27/05/1954.), p. 10(7)
NLS MS 29795 (Calum Maclean’s diaries covering 1951 to 1954)

Images:

Angus MacMillan, 1950s and Duncan MacDonald, 1953. Courtesy of the School of Scottish Studies Archives