Duncan MacDonald’s Life Story–I [His Family and Relations]

A previous blog offered a summary of Duncan MacDonald’s life story. It may be divided into quite a few sections of varying lengths. Here is offered the first part (NFC 1180, pp. 112–29) where MacDonald related to Calum Maclean a little about his own family history and background. The opportunity has been taken to modernise the Gaelic orthography and also to offer a translation.

A-nist ’s ann anns a’ Cheann a Tuath a chaidh mo shin-sheanair a bhreith agus ’s e, a bheirte ris, Iain Mac Dhòmhnaill ’ic Tharmaid. Agus dh’ionnsaich e an tàilleireachd. Bha bràithrean eile aige cuideachd ach a thaobh na ceàirde a dh’ionnsaich esan bhiodh e air falbh on taigh daonnan ag obair agus thàinig e mu dheireadh gu ruige an Ceann a Deas a thàilleireachd gu Fear a’ Ghearraidh Fhliuch, gu ruige Geirinis, air neo na Gearraichean – ’s e bu bhicheanta a bheirte ris an aite an uair sin. Agus gu dè ach a theann e ri dèanamh suas ri nighean Fir a’ Ghearraidh Fhliuch, nigean air an robh Catrìona mar ainm. Agus nuair a chuala a h-athair seo ghabh e fearg mhòr a thaobh carson, bha e ag ràdha a bha de dh’ aghaidh aig an tàillear na dh’ fheuchadh ri dèanamh suas ri an nighinn-sa. Agus ’s e an rud a bh’ ann chuir e gille air falbh air each marcrachd dhan Cheann à Tuath, far a robh am ministear a bh’ ann a dh’fhaighneachd dè na daoine bhon tàinig an tàillear agus fios a chuideachda air fad. Dh’fhalbh an gille agus ràinig e an Ceann a Tuath far an robh am ministear. Agus thug am ministear dhà cunntas air na daoine on tàinig an tàillear agus nuair a thill an gille leis a’ bhrath a bh’ ann an sineach gu Fear a’ Ghearraidh Fhliuch agus a chunnaic e sgrìobhte ma choinneimh e eachdraidh sinnsireadh an tàilleir.

“A-nist,” os e fhèin ris an tàillear, “ged a bhiodh mo nighean-sa air tighinn dhachaigh ’ugam an ceartair à Dùn Èideann air a h-ionnsachadh,” os e fhèin, “mura bha còir aig a leithidean a bhith, gheobha’ tu bhuam air làimh i,” os esan, “airson fear sam bith eile a dh’ iarradh i a chionn,” os e fhèin, “’s ann a tha annad mo dhearbh charaid fhìn.”

Agus ’s ann mar seo a bha. Phòs an tàillear agus Nighean Fir a’ Ghearraidh Fhliuch, mar a bheirte rithe Catrìona a’ Ghearraidh Fhliuch. Agus thog iad teaghlach cuideachd.

Mo Sheanair

Agus thog iad teaghlach cuideachd. Bha tiùir ghillean ann, fear dhiubh a bha Donnchadh mar ainm air agus fear eile air a robh Tarmad agus fear air an robh Dòmhnall. Agus bha dithis nighean anns an teaghlach a bharrachd air an triùir ghillean. Agus chaidh Dòmhnall gu ruige Èirinn. Agus phòs Donnchadh – sin mo sheanair às a’ Ghearradh Fhliuch. Agus bha Tarmad pòsda cuideachd. Ach chan eil sgeul an-diugh na fada ron diugh air duine a thàinig bhuaithe.

Ach, co-dhiù, bha Donnchadh seo, mo sheanair fhìn agus a’ chiad phòsadh a rinn e – Agus chaidh Domhnall gu ruige Èirinn agus cha robhar a’ cluinntinn guth air. Agus chualas an sin gun a phòs e. Agus cò an tè a phòs e ach nighean do Seumas Flanagan, a bha na shaor geal. Agus nuair a rinneadh forfhais fhuaradh a-mach gur h-ann air an t-sràid chùil ann an Èireann a bha iad a’ fuireach. Agus na daoine a bh’ ann san àm bha iad riaraichte gu leòr sin a chluinntinn. Cha tug iad fainear idir gura h-iomadh stràid chùil a bh’ ann an Èirinn agus gum biodh e glè dhoirbh an duine a lorg ann leis na bha do dh’ fhiosrachadh an siud ma dheidhinn. Agus a-nist mo sheanair fhìn, Donnchadh, fear dhen triùir ghillean, phòs e glè òg agus bha dithis nighean aige on chiad mhnaoidh, agus an tè, a phòs e ’s e nighean le Maol Domhnaich ann am Beinne na Faoghla a bh’ ann. Agus bha dithis nighean aige on phòsadh a bh’ ann an sin agus dh’eug a’ bhean air. Agus ann an ceann ùine às a dheaghaidh sin phòs e an dàrna h-uair agus ’s e an tè a phòs e an-dràst’, nighean Dhòmhnaill Ruaidh Òig ’ic an t-Saoir, a bha a’ còmhnaidh san àm air an Druim Mhòr, àite ris an can iad a’ Bhuaill’ Bhuidhe, far a bheil an-dràsta far an Droma air a thogail le clachan nan tobhtaichean as an robh na daoine nuair a bha iad a’ fuireach ann. Agus cha robh e an uair sin nuair a phòs e an darna h-uair ach còig bliadhn’ deug air fhichead a dh’ aois, agus ’s e m’ athair fhìn a dh’innis sin dhomh-sa agus bha dithis nighean aige as an teaghlach a bh’ ann a shineach, dà Chatrìona a bh’ ann mar ainm orra agus bha triùir ghillean aige, dà Iain agus Dòmhnall agus b’e Dòmhnall, m’ athair fhìn. Agus a-nist ’s e a’ màl a bh’ air mo sheanair ann an Gàirinis – bha fear a’ Ghearraidh Fhliuch an uair sin marbh fada roimhe sin agus bha an Siosalach air tighinn agus air Gèirinis a ghabhail na thac agus bha an oighreachd air a creic ris a’ Ghòrdanach agus ’s e am màl a bh’ air mo sheanair agus air a h-uile fear eile a bha as na Gearraichean an uair sin, air fearann an t-Siosalaich, leith-obair. Tha sin a’ ciallachadh nuair a bheireadh tu trì latha ag obair do dh’ fhear a’ bhaile, bhiodh trì latha eile dhen t-seachdain agad dhut fhèin agus bha sin mar sin a cheann gu ceann na bliadhna. Agus ’s e Iain a bh’ air a’ mhac bu shine a bh’ aig Donnchadh agus thòisich e ri obair sa bhaile nuair a thàinig e gu ìre. Bhiodh e trì latha ag obair aig fear a’ bhaile agus trì latha eile a-staigh agus bhuail e seo bochdainne e gu math òg agus lean gun a dh’eug e leithe agus cha robh e ach bliadhna air fhichead nuair a dh’eug e. Agus bha mo sheanair an uair sin a’ freastail an fheadhainn a b’ òige ach bha Iain eile ag obair aig a’ mhuillear ann an Togha Mòr agus ’s ann a dh’fheumadh e Iain a bh’ ann a thoirt dhachaigh. Agus cha robh am muillear airson gu falbhadh Iain bhuaithe idir, ach ’s e an rud a dhèanadh e ri mo sheanair, bheireadh e dha leth-cruiteadh a bh’ aige ann an Snaoiseabhal agus an imprig a dhèanamh à Gèirinis aige ’uige sin. Agus ’s ann mar seo a bha. Dheònaich mo sheanair falbh à Gèirinis an uair sin agus a dhol suas gu deas gu ruige Snaoiseabhal. Ach cha robh robh am fearann ach beag agus bha e fada on chladach agus bha e doirbh do dhuine beò-shlaint’ a dhèanamh ann. Agus cha robh m’ athair fhìn an uair sin ach deich bliadhna a dh’ aois. Bhiodh sineach ann an 1844. Agus dh’fhalbh Iain a bh’ air a’ mhuillear agus a fhuaradh a leth-cruiteadh a bh’ ann a Snaoiseabhal air a shàilleamh, bha e a’ falbh aig gach duine ag obair. Agus bha m’ athair an sin air tighinn gu ìre agus ’s e a dh’fhan as a leth-cruiteadh còmhla ri mo sheanair. Agus bhiodh tè dhe na h-ingheannan air falbh ga cosnadh as gach àite agus phòs tè eile dhiubh. Phòs tè dhiubh agus an tè a phòs, cò phòs i ach fear ris an cainte Alasdair mac Dhòmhnaill ’ic Dhòmhnaill ’ic Iain, fear dhe na Dòmhnallaich agus dlùth-charaide do dh’ Fhear Bhòrnais agus ’s e sin màthair Màiri sin a tha a’ toirt seachad nan òran agus nan naidheachdan air Snaoiseabhal agus bha i a-niste seachad air ceithir fichead bliadhna. Agus Iain seo a bhruidhinn mi air agus a fhuaradh a leth-cruiteadh air a shàilleamh nuair a thàinig e gu aois pòsaidh phòs e fhèin. Agus ’s ann à Loch Baghasdal a chuir e suas taigheadas agus bha mac leis beò fhathast agus teaghlach mòr ghillean aige ann an Dalbrog agus bha iad nan deagh sgoileirean a h-uile duine dhiubh. ’S e sin clann Dhòmhnaill ’ic Iain ’ic Dhonnchaidh ann an Dalbrog. Agus phòs e sin m’ athair nuair a thàinig e fhèin gu aois pòsaidh agus cò an tè a phòs e ach nighean Nìll ’ic Iain Bhàin, tè a Chlann Eachainn a mhuinntir Shnaoiseabhal. Agus rugadh an teaglach dhaibh uile gu lèir air Snaoiseabhal. Agus nuair a thàinig iad air aghaidh bha iad a’ gearain air an fhearann a bhith beag, agus bha fearann beag aig iomadach duine as an àm. Ach an seoach nuair a bha mi fhìn suas a sia bliadhna fichead dè ach a chaidh tac Pheighinn nan Aoireann a bhristreadh agus cruitean a dhèanamh air. Agus bha sinn deònach gu leòr tè dhe na cruitean fhaotainn. Agus dh’eug mo sheanair mu thuairme 1866. Cha robh mo sheanair na dhuine cho àrd agus gun canadh duine gun robh e cho foghainteach ri m’ athair idir. Ach bha e na dhuine iseal, garbh. Agus bha m’ athair fhìn ag innseadh dhomh gun cuireadh e a-mach na h-ochd foidean deag mònadh o treisgeir, gu sgoradh e an darna fear ann an earball an fhir eile far a’ phuill mhònadh. Agus is minig a chunna mi daoine a’ feuchainn air an sin agus cha rachadh iad an t-seacha(?) ris na h-ochd foidean deug. Bha gu leòr a naoidh na a deich. Agus bha e na chlachair cuideachd, ach ’s e clach thiorm a bha a’ dol san àm. Agus sin an dòigh san robh m’ athair fhìn na chlachair às a dheaghaidh. Agus bha mo sheanair fuathasach, fuathasach math air na sgeulachdan. Bha mòran sgeulachd aige agus bha sgeulachdan aige nach do dh’ionnsaich m’ athair idir cuideachd agus roinn mhòr de dh’ òrain nach do dh’ionnsaich e agus nam biodh e air an ionnsachadh, bhiodh iad againn ann an seo an-dràsta. Agus ’s ann aig mo shin-seanair a chuala mo sheanair a h-uile facal cruthaichte dheth na bh’ aige. Bha a-nist na h-òrain agus na sgeulachdan a’ leantail a-nuas a ghlùin gu glùin san teaghlach chon an latha an-diugh.

A-nist nuair a dh’eug mo sheanair bha m’ athair air fhàgail ann a shiud leis fhèin. Bha a bhràthair eile pòsda ann an Loch Baghasdal. Agus nuair a thàinig sinn air aghaidh – bha mi dìreach suas an sin bliadhna fichead san àm an deach Fearann Phèighinn nan Aoireann a-mach is a rinneadh cruitean air. Agus bha sinn ann de theaghlach còignear, mise agus fear air an robh Niall, ’s e bu ghiorra dhomh ann an aois agus fear eile air an robh Iain agus dh’eug e agus bha an ath fhear air an robh Dòmhnall Iain agus dh’ionnsaich am fear sin an t-saoirsneachd agus phòs e cuideachd an Uibhist agus nuair a bhrist a’ chiad chogadh a-mach thogadh air falbh e agus chaidh a mharbhadh aig Loos agus am fear a b’òige ’s e Iain a bh’ air cuideachd agus chaidh am fear sin e fhèin dhan chiad chogadh agus thug e galair às a thug am bàs dha ann an 1946. Agus a-nist nuair a chuir m’ athair airson na cruiteadh ann an Peighinn nan Aoireann bha mòran ainmeannan a-staigh air a son agus nuair a chuireadh croinn orra cha tàinig cruit air m’ athair idir agus am fear air an tàinig a’ chruit, a fhuair sinn a-rithist, dh’ eug e aig a’ cheart am an Glaschu le cancer a bh’ air a’ bheul aige. Agus fhuair an uair sin fear eile a mhuinntir Shnaoiseabhal aig an robh teaghlach, fear Donnchadh Seonston, fhuair e a’ chuirt a bh’ ann an sin. Agus chaidh e sìos agus theann e ri togail taighe agus thog e taigh beag, cnapach, ann a dhèanadh an gnothach dha fhèin is dhan teaghlach gus am faigheadh iad taigh ceart a thogail. Ach tha a h-uile coltas gun robh sealladh aige nach robh aig duine eile, gum faicheadh e taidhbhs’. Agus chunnaic e dà chistidh-laighe air muin a chèile ann an ceann na tobhtadh agus ghabh e an t-eagal gur h-e a theaghlach fhèin a bha a’ dol a bhàsachadh agus thuirt e nach tigeadh esan dhan àite idir airson a theaghlach a chall mar seo ann agus san spot uarach chàirich e a’ chruirt dhachaigh chon a’ bhàillaidh. Agus ghabh am bàillidh an rud cho dona an uair sin agus dh’fhalbh e agus sgrìobh e gu m’ athair on a bha teaghlach ghillean aige fhèin agus chomhairlich mise agus mo bhràithrean eile a dhol far an robh e agus còradh ris mun chuirt agus a gabhail agus seo a rud a chaidh a dhèanamh agus chaidh sinn an uair sin gu ruige Peighinn nan Aoireann. Agus chuir sinn ceann air an tobhtaidh a rinn am fear eile agus thog sinn taigh eile ann cuideachd an uair sin. Agus a thaobh a-nist agus gun robh Dòmhnall Iain mo bhràthair na shaor, bhiodh e ag obair air saoirsneachd san taigh a bh’ ann a shin agus tha beachd agam glè mhath air an dà chiste-laighe fhaicinn aon fheasgar sonraichte ann an ceann na tobhta a’ feitheamh ri falbh an làr-na-mhàireach agus sin agad an taidhbhse a chunnaic am fear a fhuair a’ chruit romhainn. Bha i air tighinn air a cois. Bha sinn a-nist ann am Peighinn nan Aoireann air a’ chruit agus theann sinn air togail an uair sin taigh ceart agus ann an 1910 bha an taigh ullamh againn agus sinn na bhroinn agus taighean a-muigh cuideachd deiseil againn agus bha sinn comhladh ann an sin.

Rugadh mise ann an 1882 ann a Snaoisbeabhal aig bruaich Abhainn Ghèadaraidh, faoda’ mi a ràdha. Agus nuair a bha mi a’ freasdal còig bliadhna na glè bheag a barrachd chaidh mo thoirt a sgoil gu ruige Staoinibrig. Agus bha an sin dà mhìle mòintich againn ri choiseachd eadar an dachaigh againn is an taigh-sgoile. Cha robh aon cheum de rathad for cois agus a bharrachd air cion an rathaid, bha Abhainn Ghèadaraidh agus cha bu bheag i a’ ruith, eadar sinne agus an taigh-sgoile agus iomadach uair bhiodh i làn tuil agus cha ghabhadh i tighinn tarsaing oirre gu h-àraid aig cloinn agus cha ghabhadh aig fireannaich mhòra iomadach uair leis an tuil agus nuair a bhitheamaid a’ tighinn dachaigh feasgar às an sgoil dh’fheumadh ar n-athair ar coinneachadh daonnan aig an abhainn agus nuair a bhiodh an tuil ro-mhòr bheireadh e oirnn cumail a-mach air an taobh air an robh sinn agus esan air an taobh eile mar coinneamh gus a ruigeamaid an rathad mòr mile eile on taigh. Sin far am faigheamaid tarsaing air an abhainn aig drochaid an rathaid mhòir agus m’ athair mar coinneamh fad an t-siùbhail air an taobh aige fhèin eagal agus gu feuchamaid tarsaing oirre na gu rachadh ar bàthadh. Agus a’ bhana-sgoilear a bha san sgoil nuair a chaidh mise innte ’s e tè Miss MacColl, NicColla, tè a mhuinntir Pheairt agus Gàidhlig gu leòr aice. Agus ’s ann ann an Gàidhlig daonnan a bhiodh i a’ bruidhinn ris a’ chloinn. Agus bhiodh i gar cur chon an teine cuideachd gar garadh. Agus ’s e bana-Phròsdanach a bh’ innte cuideachd agus cha robh latha nach toireadh i oirnn a bhith a’ gabhail ar n-ùrnaigh ann am Beurla a bha sinn a’ gabhail ar n-ùrnaigh daonnan “Our Father”. Agus seo nuair a bha mi suas an sineach air an treas leabhar dh’fhalbh NicColla. Bha i air fàs na boireannach sean, lapach co-dhiù agus mun d’fhuireas an sin an ath-bhana-sgoilear ’s e nighean a mhuinntir Bheinne na Faoghla a thàinig agus a bha gar n-ionnsachadh, nighean Dhòmhnaill Bhàin a’ Ghriosaiche a bheirte rithe. Tha mi a’ smaoineachadh gur h-e Nic a’ Phearsain a bheirte rithe. Agus bha i sin ann treis gus an d’fhuaradh tè eile. Agus ’s e bana-Èireannach a thàinig an uair sin, tè Miss Mulcahay. Agus cha robh facal aice sin ach Beurla agus sin a’ bhana-sgoilear a bha gam ionnsachadh-sa riamh tuilleadh fhad ’s a bha mi às an sgoil gus an robh mi ceithir bliadhna deug cha d’fhuair mise an còrr ionnsachaidh tuilleadh. Dh’fhàg mi an sgoil. Agus ’s e a bhana-sgoilear a bh’ ann a shin a thug orm tòiseachadh ri dol dhan Aifrinn agus ’s i thug fainear dhomh tòiseachadh air ionnsachadh nan ceist agus a neo-ar-thaing nach robh mi glè mhath air ionnsachadh nan ceist. Bha mi cho math agus gum bithinn a’ faighinn duaisean airson a h-uile sìon a bhith agam air mo theangaidh. Leughainn agus sgrìobhainn Beurla nuair a dh’fhàg mi an sgoil. Ach ’s ann bhon uair sin a dh’ionnsaich mi leughadh Gàidhlig agus roinn dhìth a sgrìobhadh cuideachd. Agus fhad ’s a bha mi a’ dol dhan sgoil cha robh peansail sgliat is cha robh peansail riùlaidh, cha robh pàipear air an dèante sgrìobhadh, cha robh leabhar a dh’ fheumte a leughadh, cha robh sgliat nach fheumte a cheannach. Agus mura biodh bonna-sia aig duine airson dà shlat peansail sgliat a cheannach dh’fheumadh e ugh circe a bhith aige. Agus cha robh biadh na deoch ri fhaighinn ann an taigh-sgoil an uair sin. Dh’fheumadh am pìos a bhith nad phòca agad a’ falbh agus cha b’ e an càs e ach a’ fàs mòna ann nad achlais a h-uile latha. Agus cha dèanadh am fàd beag an gnothach. Bha feadhainn ann uaireannan a bhiodh a’ dèanamh dà leth air an fhàd, ach cha dèanadh sin feum idir ach am fàd a bhith slàn gu ruige agus gu feumte iomadach latha sa mhadainn am fàd a chur ar a bheulaibh air an trustaidh aig a h-uile duine agus gum faiceadh a’ bhana-sgoilear gun robh am fàd aca. Agus cha robh bròg, cha robh stocainn ma chas duine a bha a’ dol innte fad na h-ùine a bha mise innte na mam chasan-sa na bu mhutha ach ron bhoglaich agus ron mhòintich agus nuair a thigeadh an reòdhadh a’ falbh cas-ruisgte air uachdar agus a h-uile clach a ruigte a’ toirt treis air dannsa air a h-uachdar gus an gabhadh na casan blàths agus ag amharc feuch dè cho goirid is a bha an ath-chlach dhuinn agus a’ ruith is a’ ruaig ga h-ionnsaigh gus treis eile a thoirt oirre. Agus nuair a ruigte an taigh-sgoile is a rachte na bhroinn, bhiodh na casan blàth gu leòr air an lobhtaidh an uair sin. ’S ann ann an èibhleadh a bha a’ chuid bu mhutha dhe na sgoileirean air an còmhdach an uair sin agus bha gu leòr dhiubh a bha seann-seacaid le n-athair orra agus bha i a’ dèanamh seacaid agus èibhleadh dhaibh agus gu leòr air an robh seacaid le am màthraichean. Agus glè bheag a bha san sgoil air an robh ceap na bròg. An fheadhainn a bha goirid dha na taighean an taobh shuas dhen taigh-sgoile rachadh iad dhachaigh gu dìnnear ach cha tàine sinne riamh dhachaigh gu Snaoiseabhal gar dinnear, a chionn bha na t-astar ro fhada agus dh’fheumamaid an gnothach a dhèanamh leis a’ phìos a bhiodh nar pòca agus mar bu trice pìos de dh’ aran eòrna agus nam biodh gu leòr dheth ann bhiodh a’ chùis math gu leòr dheth ann bhiodh a’ chùis math gu leòr agus nuair a rachamaid dhachaigh air an oidhche gheibheamaid biadh agus ghabhamaid an uair sin gu toilichte e. Ach tha mi a’ smaointinn gur h-e glè bheag a bha sinn a’ gabhail mu falbhamaid sa mhadainn. Cha bhiodh dad a chàileachd againn dhà. Agus a-nist aig àm a’ phlèidhe san sgoil nuair a bhiodh muinntir nam bàiltean mun cuairt a’ buain mhònadh, bitheamaide a’ buain mhònadh, fear agus pìos sgliat aige a’ gearradh mhònadh agus fear ga caitheamh a-mach bhuaithe. Agus ann an àm an treabhaidh bhìte a’ tionndadh an talamhaine le pìos de sgliat a’ dèanamh treabhadh air an aon rud. Agus bhiodh an sineach sinn ag iomain a-null toiseach a’ gheamhraidh le camain agus le buill agus bhìte a’ faighinn nan caman as an tom-eala ’s e a bheirte riutha conas agus cha bhiodh duine uair sam bith gun chaman agus bhìte a’ cladhach riamhaichean a’ chaoil duibh agus gheibhte uaireannan deagh chamain às na riamhaichean a bh’ ann a sin, ga chlachadh às le spaid. Agus bhìte, na gillean bu mhutha a bha san sgoil bhiodh iad a’ dol nan ceann-stiuc agus a’ roinn nan sgoileirean eile uiread is uiread air gach taobh agus bhìte ris an sin fada a’ phlèidhe agus uaireannan eile bhìte a’ dèanamh cluichd ris an cainte Milleadh nam Fiadh agus bhathar a’ roinn nan sgoileirean air gach taobh is dà cheann-stoc a cheart cho math. Agus bhìte uaireannan eile ri spèileadh le ball agus le draibhear agus bhiodh na daoine air an roinn air gach taobh a cheart cho math. Agus an sin as an àm as an robh an Land League ag obair, bha sgoileirean a’ tighinn à Ormaicleit, clann a’ mhanaidseir a bh’ ann agus clann eile le grèidhear a bh’ ann. Agus a thaobh agus gun robh tacksman ann an Ormaicleit, bha muinntir nam bailtean againne gu math diumbach dheth agus ’s e an rud a bhiodh ann bhathar a’ dèanamh blàr phloc agus bha muinntir Ormaicleit agus muinntir nam bailtean tuathach an aghaidh a chèile agus bha iad a’ gabhail dhà chèile ann a shin leis na pluic agus iomadach uair a chuirte muinntir Ormaicleit, ma rachadh am plèidhe a-staigh, an ìre a bhith aig na dachaighean leis na pluic. Agus bhìte an uair sin a’ tilleadh dhan sgoil agus O! bhiteadh a’ bhana-sgoileir fuathasach, fuathasach diumbach cho salach is a bhìte a’ tighinn, daoine air an gannrachadh le poll ga shradadh air a chèile, agus bhìte a’ dochann roinn dhiubh cuideachd ach ged a bhiteadh cha robh sin a’ dol a bhacail a’ blàireadh a-màireach a-rithist.

 Bhitheamaid iomadach uair a’ dol a thaighean a bha goirid dhan taigh-sgoile gar garadh fhèin fad a’ phlèidhe agus tha deagh bheachd agam air seana-bhoireannach a bha dlùth dhan taigh-sgoile ann a shiud agus O! a dhuine ’s ann aice a bha an seann-seanchas. Bhiodh i a’ bruidhinn air daonnan agus ga brith ciamar a dh’èirich do dh’ iomadach duine eile a bh’ ann bha mise ag èisdeachd math gu leòr ris agus tha cuimhne agam air roinn dheth chon an latha an-diugh cuideachd. Peinidh Mhòr a chainte ris a’ chaillich. Bha i pòsda aig Alasdair mac Dhòmhnaill ’ic Aonghais Ruaidh. 

And the translation goes something like the following:

Now, my great-grandfather, Iain mac Dhòmhnaill ’ic Tharmaid (John son of Donald, son of Norman), was born in North Uist. He learnt to be a tailor. He had other brothers as well. Regarding his trade he was always moving from house to house in order to find work and, eventually, he came to South Uist and found tailoring work from the tacksman of Gearraidh Fliuch, in Gerinish, or na Gearraichean as it was commonly called back then. He got very close to the tacksman of Gearraidh Fliuch’s daughter, called Catriona. Her father was greatly angered when he heard about this as he thought the tailor had such a nerve to try and court his daughter. It so happened that he sent a servant on horseback to North Uist where there was a minister there and to ask about from which folk the tailor came from and everything else about his kin. The servant set off and reached North Uist where the minister was. And the minister gave him an account of the folk from whom the tailor was descended and when the servant returned with the message to the tacksman of Gearraidh Fliuch and he saw it written down before him the history of the tailor’s ancestry.

“Now,” he said to the tailor, “though my daughter has come home to me soon enough from Edinburgh after being educated as it was the right thing to do, you would get her hand (in marriage) from me rather than any other man who would want her for you are my true friend indeed.”

And this is how it was. The tailor married the daughter of the tacksman of Gearraidh Fliuch, as she was called Catriona Gearraidh Fliuch. And they brought up a family as well.

My Grandfather

And they brought up a family as well. There were three lads, and one of them was called Duncan and another was called Norman, and there was another called Donald. There were two girls in the family in addition to the three boys. Donald went to Ireland. Duncan married – that’s my grandfather from Gearradh Fliuch. Norman was also married. There’s no sign nowadays or even before this about any of his offspring.

At any rate Duncan was here, my own grandfather and he had his first marriage – but Donald went to Ireland and no word was heard about him until he got married. And his wife was the daughter of James Flanagan, who was a carpenter. It was found out that he was staying in a back street in Ireland. Those who were alive at the time were happy to hear this. They had no idea that there were many such back streets in Ireland and it would be very difficult to find anyone with only a little knowledge over there about them. And now my own grandfather, Duncan, one of the three boys, married very young and had two daughters with his first wife, one of the daughters of Ludovick from Benbecula. And he had another two daughters from another marriage after his first wife died.

He remarried after this for the second time and the woman he married was a daughter of Young Donald Ruadh Macintyre who stayed at that time in Druim Mhòr, in a place called a’ Bhuaill’ Bhuidhe. He was only thirty-five years of age when he married for the second time, and my own father told me that he had two daughters from this marriage, so in all he had two daughters both called Catriona, and three boys, two Johns and one called Donald and Donald was my own father. And, now, the rent my own grandfather had to pay in Gerinish – the tacksman of Gearraidh Fliuch was long dead and by then the Chisholm had come and taken over the tack of Gerinish and the estate was sold to a Gordon and my grandfather’s rental, as was all the others in na Gearraichean then, was on Chisholm’s land, half-work. That means that you worked three days for the tacksman you then three days of the week to work for yourself and that’s how it was from one end of the year to the other. Duncan’s eldest son was called John and when he came of age he started to work in the township.  He’d work three days for the tacksman and then another three and he was struck down by illness when he was quite young and it persisted and he died of it when he was only twenty-one years of age. And my grandfather then looked after the youngest ones and the other John was working for the miller at Howmore and the other John had to be brought back home. And the miller didn’t want John to go at all, and so what he was prepared to do for my grandfather was that he’d give him half a croft in Snishival so that he’d move from Gerinish to him. And that was what happened. My grandfather was willing to move out of Gerinish then to go up to the south of Snishival. But there wasn’t much land and it was far away from the shore and it was difficult to make a living there. My father was only ten years of age then which would have been in 1844. And so John left the miller and got the half-croft in Snishival for that and he was going to everyone for work. And my father was then growing up and he stayed along with my grandfather on the half-croft. And one of the daughters would go to earn in any place and another one of them married. One of them married and who did she marry but a man called called Alasdair son of Donald son of Donald son of John [Alexander MacDonald – father of Donald MacDonald, a child prodigy], one of the MacDonalds who was closely related to the Tacksman of Bornish and that was Mary’s mother who gave the songs and stories about Snishival and she is now more than eighty years old. And this John, whom I was speaking of, got the half-croft because he came of marriageable age and so he got married. He built a house in Lochboisdale and he had a son who is still alive and he has a large family of boys in Daliburgh and they are all good scholars. The family in Daliburgh are called (clann Dhòmhnaill ’ic Iain ’ic Dhonnchaidh) the children of Donald son of John son of Duncan. And my father married, when he came of age, a daughter of Niall son of Fair-haired John, one of the MacEachens who belonged to Snishival. All their family was born in Snishival. And as they flourished, they complained that the amount of land they had was too little though many people had only a little land in those days. That was when I was about sixteen years of age and the tack of Peninerine was broken up and made into crofts. We were willing enough to get one of these crofts. My grandfather died around 1866. My grandfather was not a tall man and people said that he was not as powerful as my own father at all. He was, in fact, a small, stout man. My own father told me that he would throw out eighteen peats sods from a foot-plough, and that he would split the second one at the tail-end of another from the peat bank. And there’s many a time I’ve seen men trying to do that but they couldn’t manage up to eighteen peats. It was enough for them to manage nine or ten. He was a stonemason as well, and in those days they used dry stones. And likewise my own father followed him and became a stonemason. My grandfather was very, very good at telling stories. He had lots of stories and some of these my father never learnt at all as well as great many songs that he never learnt and if he had done so we would now have them. It was from my great-grandfather that my grandfather heard every single word that he had in his repertoire. The songs and stories in the family went from generation to generation to the present day.

When my grandfather died my father was left there alone. His other brother was married in Lochboisdale. And as time went on, when I was only twenty-one years of age, the Peninerine lands were made into crofts. And there was five of a family, myself and another called Neil who was nearest in age with me and another called John who died and there was another one called Donald John who learnt to be a joiner and who was married in Uist and when the First World War broke out he enlisted and was killed at Loos and the youngest one was called John too and he went to fight in the first world war and the disease which he caught then eventually killed him in 1946. And when my father went for a croft in Peninerine there were a lot of names put down for it and when a plough was put on it and so the croft did not come to my father at all and the one who got the croft, that we got already, died at the same time in Glasgow from cancer of the mouth. And then another man from Snishival who had a family, Duncan Johnston, got the croft. And he went down and he began to build a house and he built a small, sturdy one that would do for him and his family until they got a proper house built. And it appears that he could see things [second sight] that nobody else could see; he could see ghosts. And he saw two coffins lying on top of one another at the end of the ruin and he took such a fright that he thought his own family was going to die. He said that he was not going to take the place for he would lose his family and he immediately gave the croft back home to the bailiff. And the bailiff took the affair so badly that he went and wrote to my father as he had a family of boys and he advised me and my other brothers to go and broker some agreement about taking over the croft and this was done and we went over to Peninerine. And we finished off the ruin that the other man had begun and we also built another house then. And because my brother Donald John was a joiner he used to work at carpentry in the house and I firmly believe that the two coffins that had been seen on that particular evening at the end of the ruin were awaiting to be shifted the following day and that was the vision that the man had seen before we had got the croft. It had come in connection with this event. We were now in Peninerine on the croft and we started then to build a proper house and by 1910 the house was finished and we were living in it and the house outwith was also finished and so we were all together.

I was born in 1882 in Snishival at the bank of the Geadarry river, I may say. And when I was around five years of age or a little older I was taken to school at Stoneybridge. And we had two miles over the moor to walk between our house and the schoolhouse. There was not one step of way that had a road and in addition to the lack of a road there was the Geadarry river and it was not a small running river, between us and the schoolhouse there were many times it was in full spate and it could not be crossed over especially by a child and many time a big men couldn’t cross over with such a spate and when we came home from school in the afternoon our father would have to always meet us at the river and when the spate was too big he would make us keep going out on the side on which were and he would be on the other side opposite us until we’d reach the highway another mile from the house. That is where we would get across the river at the bridge on the highway and my father was opposite all the way on his own side for fear that we would try and go across or that we would drown. And the schoolmistress in the school when I went there was a Miss MacColl and she belonged to Perthshire folk and she had plenty of Gaelic. And she used to always speak Gaelic to the children. And she used to put us by the fire as well to warm us. And although she was a Protestant there was not a day that went by when she did make us say our prayers and we always used to recite the “Our Father” in English. And it was when I was up to my third book that MacColl left. She had grown into an old, weak woman in any case and before the next schoolmistress was a lassie from who belonged to Benbecula folk who came and taught us, she was called nighean Dhòmhnaill Bhàin a’ Ghriosaiche (daughter of Fair-haired Donald the Cobbler). I think she was called MacPherson. And she was there for a while before another woman replaced her. And she was an Irish woman who arrived then, Miss Mulcahay. And she only spoke English and she was the schoolmistress who taught me thereafter while I was still attending school until I was fourteen years of age when I didn’t receive any more education. I then left school. And it was that schoolmistress who made me start to attend Mass and she made start to learn the Catechism and thankfully I was very good at learning the Catechism. I was so good that I’d get prizes for everything that I had learnt by heart. I could read and write English by the time I left school. And it was after that that I learnt to read Gaelic and a bit of writing as well. And while I was going to school there was no slate pencil, no ruler pencil, no writing paper, there was no book that had to be read, and there was no slate that had to be bought. And if no one had six pence to buy slate pencils then they would have to have a hen’s egg. There was neither food nor drink at the school back then. You’d have to a have a piece in your pocket and it was no hardship that you had to have a piece of peat in your oxter every day. And a little bit of piece would not do. There were a few who sometimes would divide a peat in two but that would be no use at all as it has to be full and every day in the morning the peat were gathered together at the front that everyone had to take so that the schoolmistress could see their peat. And no one had shoes or stockings who went to school all the time that I was there and neither did I have any either but through bogs and manure and when the frost would come leaving bare-footed on top of it and every stone that was reached dancing a while on top until the feet were warmed and looking to see how near the next stone was near us and running and getting on it and staying a while on it. And when the schoolhouse was reached and entered inside, the feet would be warm enough on the floor then. Most of the scholars wore the kilt then and enough of them wore their old fathers’ coats and they made a jacket and kilts from them and many of them had their mothers’ jackets. And there were very few in the school had either a cap or shoes. Those who where near the houses on the upper side of the schoolhouse would go home for dinner but we never went home for our dinner to Snishival because it was too distant and so we had to make do with a piece that would have in our pockets and usually this was oatcake and if there was enough it would do well enough and when we’d go home at night we’d get good food and we’d eat it happily then. But I think it was very little we were taking before we’d leave in the morning. We wouldn’t have had the appetite. And now at playtime in the school when township folk would be around cutting the peat, we’d cut peat, a man who had a piece of slate and he’d cut peat while the other threw it from him. And at ploughing time when the earth was turned with a piece of slate which would plough in just the same way. And then there we’d be playing shinty at the start of the winter with a shinty stick and a ball and the shinty sticks were got from the tom-eala(?) and it was called conas [perhaps referring to struggle or conflict, i.e. play] and no one would be without a shinty stick and the thing black roots were dug up and sometimes good shinty sticks were made out of these roots, digging it out with a spade. And the biggest lads in the school they would go in a headstock and the scholars were divided equally on each side and we would be playing that for long enough and sometimes we used to play a game called Milleadh nam Fiadh (‘Destroying the Deer’) and the scholars were divided on each side of the two headstocks likewise. And some other times there was sliding with a ball and drive and people were divided on each side likewise. And at the time the Land League were working, the scholars coming from Ormiclete, the manager’s children and the grieve’s children. And because the tacksman was in Ormiclete, the folk of our townships were annoyed about it and the thing that used to be done was a peat fight – and the Ormiclete folk and the folk of the northern townships were rivals – and they used to fight one another with peats and many times Ormiclete folk were put back, if the play went in, nearly to their own homes with the peats. And we would then return to school and Oh! the schoolmistress would be terribly, terribly annoyed with how dirty we were coming in, folk who had been wallowing in mud and throwing peat on one another, and some of them would have been punished as well, and although they were, that didn’t put a stop to a fight on the morrow again.

We would often times go to the houses near the schoolhouse to warm ourselves during playtime and have a good opinion of an old woman that lived close to the schoolhouse there and Oh! man she had may old traditions. She always used to talk and whatever happened to many of the other people I was listening attentively enough and I remember some of it to this very day as well. The old woman was called Big Penny. She was married to Alasdair mac Dhòmhnaill ’ic Aonghais Ruaidh (‘Alexander son of Donald, son of Red-haired Angus’).

Reference:

NFC 1180, pp. 111–256

Image: 
Duncan MacDonald, 1951, Peninerine, South Uist, taken by Dr Werner Kissling. By courtesy of the School of Scottish Studies Archives, University of Edinburgh