Angus MacMillan’s Life Story – III & IV [School Days and After]

A previous blog offered a summary of Angus MacMillan’s life story. It may be divided into eleven sections of varying lengths. Here are offered the third and fourth parts (NFC 1180, pp. 314–23) where MacMillan relates his brief formal education and his formative years as a young man working around Benbecula and later joining the Militia in Inverness. Despite not having much of a formal schooling did not put a stop to MacMillan gaining a phenomenal memory with an outstanding ability to memorise fully a story within two recitations. Perhaps it was due to this so-called lack of education that MacMillan was so successful as a storyteller. Indeed, Calum Maclean remarked in 1950 of James MacKinnon from Northbay, Barra, the first practiced storyteller that he had encountered in Scotland, that: “He was fortunate, I think, to have escaped one of the terrors of the age, the so-called Scottish education system.” 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:

3.    School Days and After School

School Days

Angus MacMillan first went to school before he was five years of age. His first teacher was a Miss Laing. MacMillan admits that he did not enjoy school and it was made even worse when an Aberdonian arrived by the name of Fyfe. One winter’s day MacMillan and his friend, a policeman’s son, kept all the rest of the children playing outside sliding on the ice. The schoolmaster demanded to know why they had not returned when the bell had rang. It was a rhetorical question for he later blamed MacMillan and his friend. He was going to give them the strap when MacMillan and the other boy decided that they would give him a beating. MacMillan never returned to school after that though the policeman’s son did.

After School

On leaving school, Angus MacMillan worked for his father on the croft. A while afterwards he decided to join the Militia. He was seventeen years of age at the time. He spent ten weeks in Inverness before returning home. He was going to enlist again but could not as there was no one else around to help out with the croft work. He spent all day cutting peat for six shillings. Afterwards he got a job in Nunton working on a tack for eighteen pennies a day. He also did scythe work for which he was paid two schillings a day.

4. Aonghas Barrach san Sgoil

A’ chiad latha a chaidh mise dhan sgoil, dh’fhalbh mi às an taigh agus thug mi leam leabhar mòr sgeulachd a bh’ aig mo bhràthair. Cha robh mi idir còig bliadhna na faisg air. ’S e ban-sgoilear a bh’ ann, tè ris an canadh iad Miss Laing. Chaidh mi a-staigh dhan school-room far an robh an fheadhainn mhòra. Bha mo dithis bhràithrean ann an sin agus piuthar dhomh. Theab mi tuiteam ann an laigse leis an naire leis a’ start a ghabh iad nuair a chaidh mise a-staigh is an leabhar mòr sgeulachd agam nam achlais. ’S e leabhar Gàidhlig a bh’ ann. Ghabh mi suas far an robh a’ bhan-sgoilear. Dh’fhaighneachd i dhiom dè an leabhar a bha sin. Thuirt mise gur h-e leabhar leam fhìn a bh’ ann:

“Agus a leugh thu e?”

“Cha leugh,” ors’ mise, “ach leughaidh Dòmhnall, mo bhràthair e.”

Leabhar sgeulachd a th’ ann.

“À,” ors’ ise, “is fheàrr dhomh fhìn leabhar a thoir’ dhut na àite. Bi e nas freagarraiche ort na an leabhar a th’ agad.”

Chaidh i nall gu ruige preasa a bh’ ann a shin agus thug i a-mach leabhar beag air an fheadhainn bheaga.

“Nach e siud leabhar is fheàrr dhut,” ors’ ise, “na an leabhar a th’ agad?”

“Glè mhath,” ors’ mi fhìn.

“Theirg a-niste a-staigh dhan chidsin agus gheibh thu biadh.”

“Chan ’il ’ios agam-sa,” ors’ mise, “cà bheil an cidsin ann.”

“O, sealla’ mi fhìn dhut.”

Dh’fhalbh i leam dhan chidsin. Fhuair mi deagh bhiadh ann a shin:

“Chan eil agad a-niste ach bi a’ leaghadh an leabhair agus bi ag ionnsachadh mun a tha do bhràithrean is do pheathraichean.

“An-dà,” ors’ mise, “feumaidh mi an leabhar eile fhaighinn.”

“O,” ors’ ise, “cuma’ mi fhìn an leabhar eile.”

“Siud an leabhar agaibh-se. Bheir mise leam an leabhar agam fhìn.”

Rinn i laugh a bha cianail leis cho tapaidh is a bha mi airson nach robh mi airson dealachadh ris an leabhar a thug mi ann. Ach fhuair mi an leabhar agam fhìn agus fhuair mi an leabhar beag. Sin agaibh a’ chiad turas a chaidh mise riamh dhan sgoil. Bha Gàidhlig aig a’ bhan-sgoilear seo.

Cha robh mi fad sam bith san sgoil. Cha robh i a’ còrdadh rium ann. Cha robh an saoghal cho cruaidh is a tha e an-diugh ann. Nam biodh, bhiodh sgoil gu leòr agam. Chan e a’ bhan-sgoilear a bha agam idir fad an t-siubhail. Dh’fhalbh i sin agus thàinig maighstir-sgoile. ’S e duine cruaidh a bha anns a’ mhaighstir-sgoile, fear Gallda, fear a mhuinntir Obar Dheadhain. ’S e Foichean an t-ainm a bh’ agam-sa air, far-ainm a bh’ air, Fyfe a bh’ air. Dhochainn mi am fear sin gu tight. Nam biodh cron ga dhèanamh as an sgoil ’s ann orm-sa a bhiodh e agus air gille eile a bh’ aig a’ pholiceman. An latha a bh’ ann a seo bha reòdhadh mòr ann. Rinn sinn suas gu rachamaid a dh’àite sìos ìseal a shlideadh agus gan toireamaid ann na sgoileirean. Well, dh’fhalbh sinn agus thug sinn leinn na sgoileirean uile gu lèir. Ràinig sinn shìos agus bha sinn a’ slideadh ann a shin. Bha càch a-muigh uile gu lèir. Ringeadh am bell. Ma ringeadh, chan fhaigheadh à-san a-staigh. Theann rànaich aca. Thuirt sinne nach robh a chridhe aca faighinn a-staigh. Bha lige mòr ann agus bha sinn a’ muidheadh orra gan cuireamaid dhan lige iad. Bha an lige fosgailte. Chum sinn ann a shin iad gus an robh e gus a bhith ceithir uairean agus leig sinn an uair sin suas dhan sgoile iad:
“Bi dochann an seo,” ors’ mi fhìn, “nach robh riamh roimhe ann.” 
“An rud a nì sinn,” ors’ am fear eile, “feucha’ sinn air. Seo an t-aon teans a th’ againn. Mas ann oiribh-sa a dh’fheuchas e an toiseach, bidh mise aig leis an dòrn agus ma leagas sinne, bidh sinn all right.”
Seo mar a bha. Dh’fhalbh sinn. Leig sinn a-staigh na sgoileirean uile gu lèir agus chaidh sinne a-staigh mu dheireadh. Ghlas am maighstir-sgoile an doras. Chuir e an iuchair a bh’ aige air mantelpiece a bha as an taigh-sgoile. Dh’fhaighneachd e dhaibh dè bu choireach nach tàinig e nuair ring e am bell an toiseach. Cha tuirt iad guth:

“Cha ruig mi a leas,” ors’ esan “fhaighneachd dhuibh. Tha fhios ’m taghta math cò is coireach.”

Agus thugadh a-mach sinne le chèile. Ach, co-dhiù, thuirt e rium-sa mo làimh a shìnteil a-mach agus chaidh esan suas air stand agus thug e dheth a sheacaid agus thruis e a ghaoirdeinean. Dh’iarr e orm-sa mo làmh a chuir a-mach. Dh’fhalbh mise an uair sin agus rug mi air an t-seacaid agus thug mi a-nuas mu mo dhòrn i agus shìn mi a-mach i. Dh’iarr e orm a sìneadh a-mach ceart. Cha dèanainn-sa sin a-muigh na a-mach:

“Coma leat,” ors’ esan, “bidh e nas miosa dhut.”

Dh’fheuch e orm an uair sin agus chaidh an strap timcheall air an dòrn agam agus rug mi air agus tharraing mi a-nuas e. Agus bha am fear eile a’ tighinn leis an dòrn agus thug e dhà an dòrn eadar an dà shuil cho math is a b’ urrainn dà agus thuit e. Thuit e car air a chliathaich. Bha sinn air a mhuin an uair sin agus dhall sinn air. Bha e a’ feuchainn èirigh oirnn agus dh’fhairtlich air. Bha càch a’ rànaich, na sgoileirean eile is iad nan seasamh air na trustachan. Dhall sinn air gus mu dheireadh nach robh diog aige. Bha feusasg mhòr fhada air. Spìon sinn às an fheusag agus dh’fhàg sinn rag ann a shin e. Chuala an nighean aige is i shìos as an rum eile an èigheach agus chlisg i gun robh a’ chlann air a murt aig a h-athair. Thàinig i a-nuas. Dh’fhosgail i an doras agus chunnaic i gur h-e a h-athair a bha gu h-ìseal air an lotaidh agus mi fhìn agus an gille eile air a mhuin. Leum i a-mach as an rum as a robh i airson beireachdainn air an fhear a b’ fhaisge dhith, agus ’s e mac a’ phoilismein a b’ fhaisge dhith agus thug e an aire dhith a’ tighinn agus dh’èirich e na sheasamh agus thug e dhi a’ smèileag ad agus dh’fhalbh i na cnap suas fo bhòrd a bh’ ann a shin agus bha i rag ann a shin fhèin. Theannadh a dh’ ionnsaidh a’ mhaighstir-sgoile an uair sin agus fhuair e an còrr. Thug e air mionnan nach innseadh e do dhuine beò an gnothach no gum b’e sin a’ mhionaid mu dheireadh dhà shaoghal, nam faigheadh sinne greim air. Dh’fhalbh sinn agus ghabh sinn a dh’ ionnsaigh na h-uichreach. Dh’fhàgadh ann a shin e marbh air an lotaidh agus an nighean fhèin còmhla ris fon bhòrd. Ghabhadh a dh’ ionnsaigh an dorais is dh’fhosgladh an doras agus dh’fhalbh sinn. Cha deach mise riamh tuilleadh dhan sgoil ach chaidh mac a’ phoilismein an làr-na-mhàireach dhan sgoil agus ged a leagadh e an taigh sgoile o cheann gu cheann cha chanadh am maighstir-sgoile guth ris ach bha e uine mhòr air leabaidh as aonais na sgoileadh. An fheusag mhòr, bhrèagha a bh’ air roimhe siud, ’s e cut an Riogh a thug e air às a dheaghaidh sin. Cha robh feusag tuilleadh air is dhealaich mise rithe.

5. An Dèidh na Sgoile

Nuair a dh’ fhàg mise an sgoil ’s e fìor dhuine aotrom a bh’ annam agus ’s e an reusan a thug orm an sgoil fhàgail, cha robh sìon a bhiodh ceàrr air a dhèanamh às an sgoil nach robhar ga fhàgail orm. Agus leis a sin smaointich mi nach bithinn na b’ fhaide innte agus dh’fhalbh mi aiste. Cha robh an lagh idir cho cruaidh an uair sin agus a tha e an-diugh. Nam biodh bha m’ athair air fhineadh gu trom. Ach co-dhiù bha mi ag obair còmh’ ri m’ athair air an fhearann agus bha an obair a’ còrdadh rium anabarrach fhèin math. Bha mi ùine ris an obair sin agus bhiodh daoine an uair sin a’ dol do rud ris an canadh iad a’ Mhailisidh. ’S ann a studaig mi gu rachainn dhan Mhailisidh. Bha mi seachd bliadhn’ deug an uair sin. Bha mi seachd bliadhn’ deug agus bha mi a cheart uibhir is a bha mi an-diugh. Ach, co-dhiù, chaidh mi gu fear bha a’ liostaigeadh ghillean airson a dhol dhan Mhailisidh agus liostaig mi. Dh’fhaighneachd e dhiom gu dè an aois a bha mi agus dh’innis mi dha gun robh mi seachd bliadhn’ deug:

“Well, can gum bheil thu a h-ochd deug agus gheibh thu paidheadh slàn, ach ma chumas tu aig a seachd deug, chan fhaigh thu ach leth paighidh.” 
“Well,” orsa mise, “nach fhaod sibh a ràdh, “gum bheil [agus] thug a h-ochd deug agus cuiribh sìos sin.” 
Chuireadh sìos sin. Agus dh’fhalbh Aonghas an uair sin dhan Mhailisidh agus phassaig mi a-muigh ann an Inbhir Nis. Bha mi deich seachdainean ann a shin ann an Inbhir Nis mun d’fhuair sinn dhachaigh. Ach, co-dhiù, bha iad anabarrach fhèin coibhneil rium agus thog mi drill anabarrach fhèin math agus bha mi anabarrach toilichte as a’ Mhailisidh. Thàinig an uair sin sergeant mun cuairt airson gu liostaigte feadhainn dhe na gillean as an arm, as an arm cheangailte agus chuireadh fhios orm fhìn an robh mi airson liostaigeadh:

“Chan eil,” orsa mise, “cha liostaig mi idir. Chan eil a chuideachadh aig m’ athair ach mi fhìn agus chan eil dùil ’m gu liostaig mi idir.”

Ach ’s iomadh latha a bha aithreachas orm nach do rinn mi e. Bhiodh deagh phension agam an-diugh, nam biodh sin mar sin. Ach chan eil mi buileach dona mar a tha mi. Thàine mi an uair sin dhachaigh às a’ Mhailisidh agus bha punnd thombaca agam gu m’ athair agus bha mo mhàthair ri snaoisean agus bha leth-phunnd snaoisean agam gu mo mhàthair agus grothaichean eile agus bha iad glè thoilichte. Ma nach (sic ?) biodh obair ri dhèanamh a-staigh trang, bhithinn a’ dol gu feadhainn eile a dh’ obair agus bha mi a’ cumail a’ dol mar sineach agus bha mi a’ faighinn beagan airgid nam làimh daonnan. Cha robh ach tasdan sa latha a thuarastal agus a’ chiad sgillinn a fhuair mi riamh ’s ann a buain mhònadh a bha e. Bha mi fad buan latha a’ buain mhònadh airson sia sgillinn agus ’s mi bha toilichte a’ dol dhachaigh am beul na h-oidhcheadh agus an t-sia sgillinn agam. Sin a’ chiad sgillinn a fhuair mi riamh de phàigheadh an toiseach, ged tha pàigheadh math an-diugh ann. Thug mi dha m’ mhàthair an t-sia sgillinn agus bha i glè thoilichte dhith. Agus bha na sia sgillinnean an uair sin gu math gann ri fhaighinn. Ach às a dheaghaidh sin bha sinn a’ faighinn tasdan nuair a dh’fhàs sinn suas, tasdan san latha. Bha mi ag obair ann am Baile nan Cailleach – ’S e tack a bha sin, fad foghair airson ochd sgillinn deug às an latha, deich uairean an uaireadair. Bha agam ri dhol còrr is dà mhìle coiseachd às a’ mhadainn airson a bhith ann aig an uair agus an dà mhìle sin a choiseachd feasgar an dèidh na h-uarach. Bha mi grunn mòr bhlianaichean an àm an fhoghair ann a shin ag obair. Bha iad anabarrach fhèin gasda rium cuideachd, na daoine a bh’ ann. Fhuair mi a sin spealadh. Nuair a fhuair mi spealadh fhuair mi dà thasdan às an latha Agus ’s e airgead mòr a bh’ ann an dà thasdan. An-diugh feuma’ tu not a phàigheadh na faigh thu duine a nì sìon dhut as an latha a bharrachd air a bheathachadh. Cha robh beathachadh ann an uair sin. Dh’fheumainn-sa biadh a thoir’ leam as an taigh ga nach biodh ann ach na bhiodh ann air aon mo chumail a’ dol. Cha robh sinn a’ faighinn ar paigheadh gu Fhèill Martainn agus bha a h-uile sgillinn riamh ris an t-saoghal. Cha robh mise a’ cumail aon sgillinn agam fhìn ach ’ga thoir’ dha m’ athair agus bha m’ athair glè thoilichte nuair a gheibheadh e e.

Angus Barrach MacMillan at School

The very first day I went to school, I left home and took my brother’s big book of stories. I was not even five years of age or anything near that. The teacher was called Miss Laing. I entered the schoolroom where the older children were. My two brothers and sister were there. I almost fainted with embarrassment by the start they took when I went in carrying a big book of stories under my oxter. It was a Gaelic book.

I went up to where the teacher was and she asked me what book I had. I said to her that it was my own book.

“Have you read it?”

“No, but my brother Donald will read it.”

It was a story book.

“Oh, I’d prefer to give you another book instead as it will be more suitable for you than the book you have already.”

She went over to a press and took out a small book.

“Isn’t that a better book for you,” she said, “than the one you have?”

“Very well,” I said.

“Go over to the kitchen now and you’ll get food.”

“I don’t know where the kitchen is.”

“Oh, I’ll show you.”

She took me to the kitchen and I got good food there:

“You only need to read the book and you’ll learn just as your brothers and sisters.”

“Oh, well,” I said, “I’ll need to get the other book.”

“Oh,” she said, “I’ll keep the other book.”

“That’s your book and I’ll keep my own book.”

She gave such a laugh as I had been so cheeky that I didn’t wish to part with the book that I had brought with me. But I got my own book and also another small book. That was my very first time at school and the teacher spoke Gaelic.

I didn’t attend school for long as I didn’t enjoy it. The world then wasn’t as tough as it is nowadays. If it had been then I would have had enough schooling. I didn’t have the same teacher all the time. She left and a schoolmaster took her place. The new schoolmaster was a harsh man, a Lowlander, from Aberdeen. I had a nick-name for him: Foichean as his name was Fyfe. I injured this man very badly. If any mischief was done at the school it was either me or the policeman’s son who got the blame. One day it was very frosty and we made up our minds that we would go down to a place to go sliding and we took the other children along with us. Well, we went and took all the other pupils. We went down and we were sliding down there. Everyone else was outside. The bell rang, and if it did, they couldn’t get back in. They started to cry. We said that they didn’t have the guts to go back in. There was a big muddy pool and we threatened them that we’d throw them in. The pond hadn’t been iced over. We kept them there until it was four o’ clock and then we let them go back up to the school:

“There’ll be trouble,” I said, “like there has never been before.”

“The thing that we’ll do,” said the other one, “we’ll go for him. It’s our only chance. If he tries it on you at first, I’ll go for him with my fist and if we drop him then we’ll be all right.”

That’s what happened. We went and let all the other pupils back in and we followed in right behind them. The schoolmaster had locked the door. He put the key he had on the mantelpiece. He asked them why they had not come when the bell had rang.

They didn’t say a word.

“I needn’t ask them,” he said, “because I know fine well who is to blame.”

We were both marked out. In any event, he told me to hold out my hand while he got onto a stand and took off his jacket and pulled up his sleeves. He asked me to hold out my hand. I then went and got hold of jacket and wrapped it around my fist and held it out.

“Never mind,” he said, “but you’ll be worse off.”

He then gave me a go and the strap went round my fist and I caught it and pulled him down. The other lad came with his fist and punched him straight between the eyes as best he could and he fell. He fell on his side and we went on top of him and we belted into him. He tried to get up but failed to do so. All the pupils were crying as they stood on their desks [?]. We belted him until at last he didn’t make a peep.

He had a long, bushy beard. We pulled out his beard and left him lying stiff there. His daughter heard this and she was in the other room and she was frightened that the children had been murdered by her father. She came down, opened the door and saw that her father was lying on the floor with myself and the other boy on top of him. She leapt out of the room in order to get hold of the boy nearest her who happened to be the policeman’s son and he noticed her coming across and he rose up and he hit her and she fell like a lump under the table and she was left like a stiff there. He turned to the schoolmaster and he got the rest. He swore that he wouldn’t tell anyone alive or else it would his last minute in this world, if we got a hold of him. We went and got the key. We left him for dead on the floor along with his daughter under the table. We went to the door, opened it and left. I never returned to school but the policeman’s son went the next day and although he was let in the schoolmaster didn’t say a word to him even though he had been a long time in bed recovering without school. He shaved off his big, handsome beard and he never wore a beard and that was that. 

After School

When I left school I was a very foolish boy indeed and the reason why I left school was that there was no wroing-doing going on in the school that I wouldn’t get blamed for. Because of this I couldn’t stay any longer and I so left. The law wasn’t as strong then as it is nowadays but if it had been my father would have been heavily fined. But at any rate I was working along with my father on the land and I enjoyed this type of work very much. I spent a while at this work and the men at this time used to go to a thing called the Militia. So then I thought I would go into the Militia. I was seventeen years of age at this time and I was just as big then as I am nowadays. But at any rate I went to a man who was enlisting lads into the Militia and he enlisted me. He asked me how old I was and I told him that I was seventeen years of age.
“Well, say that you are eighteen years of age and you will get full pay but if you say that you are seventeen years of age then you’ll only get half-pay.”

“Well,” I said, “can’t you tell them that I’m eighteen years of age by writing that down.” 
That was written down. And Angus was then enlisted into the Militia and I passed out over in Inverness. I spent ten weeks in Inverness before I got back home. But anyway they were very kind and I learnt the drill well and indeed I was very happy in the Militia. The sergeant then came around to enlist a few of the lads into the army and I was given word whether I wished to enlist.

“No,” I said, “I’ll not enlist. There’s only me to help my father out and I don’t think that I’ll enlist at all.”

Many a day I regretted that I didn’t join up. I would have had a I good pension today If I had done so. But I’m not so bad off as things stand. I returned home from the Militia with a pound of tobacco for my father and half a pound of snuff for my mother with other bits and bobs and they were very pleased. If I did not have any work to do indoors in order to keep me busy, then I would do work for others and I always got a bit of money in hand. I only got paid a penny per day and the first penny I got was for cutting peats. I spent all day cutting peats for six shillings and I was pleased to go home at nightfall with six shillings. That was the first shilling I got for paid work at first, although the pay is better nowadays. I gave my mother the six shillings and she was very pleased indeed. It was hard to get six schillings in those days. But after that we got a shilling when we were grown up, a shilling per day. I was then working on a tack in Nunton all autumn for eighteen pennies per day, ten hours all tolled. I had to walk more than two miles in the morning to get there at the right time and two miles back in the evening. I spent a good number of years working there each autumn. The people there were very good indeed to me. I then began to scythe and when I did this type of work I was paid two schillings per day. Two shillings was very good pay. These days you have to pay someone a pound (in addition to feeding them) before you can get anything done. You didn’t get fed at that time and so you had to take food with you and that was all you had to keep you going. We didn’t get our pay until Martinmas and that was all the pay we had in the world. I never kept one schilling to myself but gave it to my father and my father was very pleased when he’d get some money.

Reference:

NFC 1180, pp. 301–548

Image:
Angus MacMillan, Benbcula, 1930s.