Old Houses in Rannoch

In conversation with a retired nurse called Maclaren, then aged eighty-eight, in Newtonmore on 27th July 1952, Maclean recorded some information about the types of old thatched houses that used to seen in Rannoch. Such houses would be typical for a great swathe of the Highlands and Islands during the nineteenth century and also into the early twentieth century. 

In my day a lot of the old houses in Rannoch were thatched. The fire was on a stone on the floor up against the gable end. Before my day the fire was in the middle of the floor. Behind the fire against the wall there was a sort of shelf – teinntean. We had an aunt who lived up in one of those houses. We were in a quite good house, a slated house, but she was in a thatched house and had a croft. And they made their own peats and took them home. The thatched houses were very clean inside, everything scrubbed white, the dresser and the “sgeilp” for the plates. The fire was on a flat stone and there was the teinntean behind that. Then they had crusies for the candles. They made their own candles. I have seen them making them. That was before the days of paraffin oil. In my aunt’s house up the lochside there was nothing but candles and the teinntean. The cows were next door, but over in Killin they told me that the cow and the people went in the same door. There was a partition wall between them, but they went in on the same door. I remember that there were bars of wood on the lower rim of the thatch to keep it down. There was something keeping them flat. Sometimes iron barns were used.

References:

Calum I. Maclean, The Highlands (Inbhir Nis: Club Leabhar, 1975)
SSS NB 14, pp. 1221–22

Image:
Inside a Croft House

Mary Cameron and the Haggis

 Since a lot of haggis has recently been consumed celebrating Burns Night in Scotland and beyond, it may not seem that inappropriate to offer a humorous anecdote recorded by Calum Maclean from the recitation of John MacDonald on 8 January 1951 about the Scottish national dish:
 

Bha cailleach a’ fuireach ann a Sròn na Bà, ris an abradh iad Màiri Chamaran. Agas bha a bràthair agas bean a bràthar a’ tighinn a choimhead oirre aig a’ Nollaig. A féisd a b' fhearr a bha i a’ smaoineach’ gum beireadh i dhaibh, gur h-e taigeis a dhèanadh i. Bha i uamhasach fhéin goirid ’s an t-sealladh. Agas bha i a’ cur air dòigh is a’ gréidheadh na taigeis ’n uair a bha gillean a staigh. Bha a bràthair a’ dol a chur tuthag air a’ bhriogais agas putain. Agas dh’fhàg e air a’ bhòrd iad agas dh’fhal^abh e a dh’ iarraidh na briogais. ’N uair a chaidh e a dh’ iarraidh na briogais as an t-sealladh, chan fhac(hc)a na gillean dad a b’ fhearr na na clùdan a bha seo agas na putain a chur anns an stuth anns am bitheadh an taigeis. Sgròb Màiri a chuile rud a bh’ ann a staigh do’n taigeis agas chaidh siod a chur air an teine. ’N uair a thainig bean a bràthar an àirde aig a’ Nollaig, an ath-oidhche, bha an taigeis aig Màiri deas dhaibh agas i a’ smaoineach’ gun robh ròic(hc) ghasda aic(hc)e. A’ chiad rud a thainig a mach as an taigeis ’n uair a dh’ fhosgail Màiri i, ’s e na clùdan a bha seo agas na putain. Agas chuir i air an truinnsear aig bean a bràthar e. Cha do dh’ich bean a bràthar dad dheth.  

“O,” thuir^st ise, “nach i bha tàireil ’n uair nach do dh’ich i an taigeas mhath a bha sin. Cha ruigeadh i a leas a bhith cho s(t)raoineiseach. Tha mi cinnteach gur h-iomadh taigeis agas rud eile a chunnaic i, ach chan fhac(hc)a i riamh taigeis móran na b’ fhearr na sin.”
 

And the translation goes something like this but it has to be admitted that the humour – gentle though it is – probably doesn’t come across too well: 
 

There was an old woman in Stronaba called Mary Cameron. Her brother and sister-in-law were coming to see her at Christmas time. The best meal she could think of giving them was haggis. She was terribly short-sighted. She was arranging it and dressing the victuals of the haggis when some lads came in. Her brother was going to put a patch and buttons on his trousers. He left them on the table and went to fetch the trousers. When he was out of sight fetching the trousers, these lads saw nothing better than to put the patch and the buttons in the mixture which was to make the haggis. Mary scraped together everything and put it all into the haggis and it was then put on the fire. When her sister-in-law arrived at Christmas, the next night, Mary had the haggis ready and she thought she had prepared a great feast. The first thing that came out of the haggis was the patch and the buttons. She then placed this on her sister-in-law’s plate. Her sister-in-law didn’t even touch it.

“Oh,” she said, “isn’t it insulting that she never ate that tasty haggis. She needn’t be so peevish as I’m sure that she has seen many haggises and other things besides but she’s never seen a haggis much better than that.”

References:

SSS NB 7, pp. 590–91

Image:

Haggis / Taigeis

Playing Shinty on a Frozen Loch

So keen were the Gaels of yesteryear with regard to playing shinty that they didn’t let severe weather conditions or religious observance get in their way. According to an anecdote recorded on 22nd of August 1952, by Calum Maclean from James MacDonald, then aged seventy, and who originally belonged to Balnain, Glen Urquhart, but at the time of recording was in Millton, Drumnadrochit, a local minister by the name of Grant had rather a hard time of stopping young lads from playing shinty on a frozen loch and who then made them attend the sermon in the local meeting house:

’S ann ma dhéidhinn na ministearan a tha an rud a bha seo. Tha e air aithris ma dhéidhinn na ministerean a bh’ ann ri latha “patronage” gun robh iad ’nar nàmhaid, mar a theireadh na bodaich. Ach co dhiubh a’ chiad fhear air an cuala mise sgiala dhiubh: bha seanair mo sheanmhar ag aithris gun robh cuimhne aice-se air. Tha mi a’ creidsinn gur h-e Granndach a bh’ ann anns a’ Chill Mhóir. Ach co dhiubh thigeadh e an air^sd. Bha e a’ cumail seirⁱbhis anns an taigh-choinni’ an Crasgag. Agas bha a’ chuile balach òg a bha ’sa Bhraighe a seo feasgar na Sàbaid a’ toir leis a’ chamag fo achlais. Thigeadh e dhe muin an eich. Bha e glé reòta aig an am agas bha a’ chluie bhall air Loch Muichdlaidh. Bhiodh e a’ fal^abh as an déidh agas a Bhioball fo achlais agas casag air – ’s e a bhiodh a’ dul air na ministerean an tràth sin. Bha e a rithist ’gan toir dha’n taigh-choinni’. Chan ’eil fhios agam-’s dé bha e a’ ràdha riutha – an robh iad a’ faighinn cronachdainn na nach robh. Ach bha a’ chlui(ch) bhall ann mus robh an t-sear^amaid ann.

And the translation goes something like this:

This anecdote is about ministers. It is said ministers in the days of patronage were our enemy, as the old men would say. But at any rate the first story that I heard about it was recalled by my grandmother about her own grandfather. I believe that he [the minister] was a Grant from Kilmore. But anyway he used to come up. They held a service in a meeting house in Crasgag [Kilmartin] and every young lad in the Braes on a Sabbath afternoon would carry their shinty stick under their oxters. He would dismount from the horse. It was very frosty at the time and they played shinty on Loch Muichdlaidh [Loch Meikle]. He would go after them wearing a cassock and he’d carry a Bible under his oxter and try and put a stop to it – that was how minsters behaved back then. He would then make them go to the meeting house. I’ve no idea what he said to them – whether they got a severe telling off or not. But they used to play shinty before the sermon was given.

In his book The Highlands, Maclean gives a brief summary of the above anecdote as follows:

There is little doubt that shinty was played on Sundays in Glen Urquhart over a century ago. James MacDonald of Balnain remembers that an older generation in the glen often spoke of a goodly minister who used to hold services in a church up the glen on Sunday afternoons. Whenever he arrived he found the young men and boys playing shinty in a field near the church. He caught hold of a club, rounded up the players and drove them into church. The young men whiled away the time playing shinty until the minister arrived. They had all come there to attend the service.

One wonders whether the young lads in the congregation whilst listening to the sermon didn’t let their imaginations let slip and wander to more entertaining pursuits. Given that this allegedly happened five generations previously then it would make the historical setting at some point in the early decades of the eighteenth century.

References:

Calum I. Maclean, The Highlands (Inbhir Nis: Club Leabhar, 1975)
SSS NB 17, pp. 1512–13

Image:

Loch Meikle / Loch Muichdlaidh

Shinty at New Year

It was common practice in the Highlands and Islands and wherever the Gaels happened to find themselves or meet to play a game of shinty in order to celebrate the New Year. On the 27th of July, 1952, Maclean recorded a short anecdote in English from Donald MacDonald, then aged seventy-five years of age, who stayed in Laggan, Badenoch about the ancient sport of shinty:

I remember the old ball play. There might be fifty playing at one time, playing all together perhaps. They would probably draw out a big team both sides. They played shinty something like what they do today, but it was a “ball gaoisid” that they had made of hair, not leather. Oh! I remember it well. It wouldn’t go very far when you hit it. It would be heavy. When I remember shinty first there was always sixteen men a side. It was cut down after that to twelve. They always played shinty on New Year’s day. You see there was various people that were well-to-do and they would give them a day at shinty. They would give them the whiskey anyway. They used to give them the whiskey. Perhaps one man would have Christmas day, another man would have New Year's day. Sometimes they played parish against parish. I believe they played here, Laggan and Newtonmore at one time, I remember one old story about a man. They were playing on the Eilean and he took the ball of the Eilean up over Calder Bridge, a Laggan man. He took the ball with him. This man took it home with him. He took it off the field all together and left them all there. He took the ball up over the bridge. Probably he was on his own territory by that time. He won the game. There would probably be twenty on a side. There were not so many rules and regulations. The fastest and strongest man was the best, one that would throw every other man about. There was no nets or anything on the goals in those days, just two posts. There was no fouls. That all stopped over sixty years ago. I was very, very young, when it stopped. They called it “cluich iomain” in Gaelic. The clubs were mostly birch. They were home-made. If they were seasoned, they wouldn’t be so bad. I had one myself made of willow. It was light. I had it for a long time. It was home-made, of course. It was my father that made it. I wasn’t very old, when the leather ball started. I would be something in my teens, when they started with the leather ball. Before that they had one of horse-hair and wool, of course. Perhaps it was drawn out of an old stocking for all I know. It was very heavy.

 

Being a shinty fan himself, Maclean mentions the popularity of the sport in his book The Highlands:

The villages of Newtonmore and Kingussie have long been nurseries of shinty teams and noted players. The Newtonmore club has won the Scottish shinty trophy more often than any other club. The last time I was in Newtonmore the Scottish Cup and several other trophies were displayed in a shop window on the main street. In many homes there pictures of noted teams of the past were proudly shown, in many cases teams dating back to the years 1905 and 1906 and the years immediately preceding the First World War, when the late Dr John Cattanach, subsequently killed on active service, was a member of the team. Over forty years have gone since Dr John Cattanach played for Newtonmore, but he is still remembered and will be as long as shinty is played in Badenoch. Shinty will be played in Badenoch for a long while yet, as I observed during my stay at Newtonmore. Although it is principally a winter game, I noticed youngsters who had hardly reached school age going about with their camain (clubs) during the long summer evenings. Matches between the rival adjacent villages of Kingussie and Newtonmore are attended with great enthusiasm.

References:

Calum I. Maclean, The Highlands (Inbhir Nis: Club Leabhar, 1975)
SSS NB 14, pp. 1217–19

Image:

Highlanders playing shinty

Making Shinty Sticks

Whilst visiting Badenoch in the summer of 1952, Calum Maclean gathered in a few details about what domestic life would have been like for previous generations. On the 25th of July, 1952, Maclean recorded a short anecdote in English from a Mrs Ferguson from Laggan (Lagan Choinnich) about how her father used to manufacture shinty sticks known in Gaelic as a caman.

My father used to make clubs. He would cut down a tree with the shape of a club, that had a bend in it, you know. He took it home. He would cut it again the size that the club ought to be the length, you know. The part that was to be in it had a sort of bend in it. And he would put that at the back of the fire for two or three days, not burning but on the fire in a way, but not letting it burn out but with the heat of the fire it made the wood bend. They could bend it with their hands, you know, with the heat of the fire. So they made their own clubs always. And very good clubs they were as far as strength was concerned, but I don't know if they were as good for playing as the bought ones, you know, but they could do it all right.
 

Maclean wrote of his visit to Mrs Ferguson on the 27th of July as follows:

After lunchtime, I went over to visit Mrs Ferguson, an old woman. I went over to see her about three o’clock in the afternoon. She’s a handsome old woman and is aged about ninety. She was brought up in Laggan and speaks Gaelic. I took down a short anecdote from her but I didn’t wish to do more than that on the first day at all. After I returned home I spent a while transcribing. After that I went over to visit Donald Finlayson. I was there until around midnight.

No mention is made by the informant about the type of wood that was used but traditionally the caman was made from ash, and, these days, hickory is also used. Maclean was an enthusiastic fan of shinty and its Irish equivalent hurley. Recalling Maclean’s last trip to Dublin, Seán Ó Súilleabháin (1903–1996), a colleague and close friend, wrote of how they spent their last week together:

In 1957 Calum lost his left arm in an operation. By that time too, his hearing had become still more impaired, but he bore these afflictions with stoic courage, and even his sense of humour survived. He wrote to me in the summer of 1958 to say that he wished to come to Dublin to see the All-Ireland Hurling Final at Croke Park. We went to the game together, and he spent a week with me, renewing old acquaintances, still gay and laughing as had been his wont.

References:

Calum I. Maclean, The Highlands (Inbhir Nis: Club Leabhar, 1975)
SSS NB 14, pp. 1225–26

Image:

Shinty sticks / Camain