Corporal MacKinnon at New Year

Bunacaimbe beach, Arisaig

The following story is yet another short historical anecdote recorded by Calum Maclean from John MacDonald of Highbridge and transcribed by him on 8 January 1951. Corporal Alasdair MacKinnon (1770–1814) was born at Bunacaimbe in Arisaig. Joining the army in 1794, he served in the 92nd Gordon Highlanders and also in the company raised by Captain Simon MacDonald of Morar. MacKinnon would later compose a lament for his military patron.

After being raised to the rank of corporal, MacKinnon saw action at the Battle of Egmont-op-Zee or Bergen in 1799. Two years later MacKinnon was serving in Egypt when he suffered severe wounds that were nearly fatal during the Battle of Alexandria in 1801. His seemingly lifeless corpse was found on the battlefield and if it were not for the intervention of his good friend, Sergeant MacLean, then being buried alive—however barely—would have been his fate.

MacKinnon was immediately conveyed to a hospital ship and recovered, though not fully, and on arrival back in Britain was discharged from the army with a pension. On eventually recovering from the effects of his wounds, MacKinnon joined the Royal Veteran Battalion some time afterwards at Fort William where he died in 1814 and was buried in “The Craigs” with full military honours.

Although MacKinnon only composed very few Gaelic songs they are nonetheless remarkable for their quality. He composed at least one other great Gaelic song, namely Blàr na h-Òlaind (The Battle of Holland). It seems that battles were the very thing that stirred his poetic imagination.

Judging from the following anecdote it would seem that MacKinnon’s poetic skill was very much to the fore from a very young age and it would also seem he had a taste for whisky:

Bha an Corpolair Mac Fhionghuin cha robh ann ach balach òg, glé òg. Agas rugadh e shìos am Bun na Caime an Àrasaig. Agas chaochail e anns na h-ochd ciad diag agas a ceithir diag. Agas ’n uair a bha e ’na bhalach òg dh’ fal^abh feadh na dùthcha aig oidhche Bliadhn’ Uire, thainig e chun taigh agas ’s e Taigh na Drochaid a theireadh iad ris. Bha drochaid goirid bhuaidh. Agas ’n uair a bhuail iad aig an dorus, thuir^st a’ fear.

“Chan fhaigh aon duine agaibh a staigh gus an gabh sibh ran.”

B’ e sin an dòigh a bh’ ac(hc)a aig a’ Bhliadhn’ Ùr.

“Agas an duine is fhearr a bheir rann seachad, gheibh e làn cuach a Cuach a’ phrionnsa de dh’ uisge-beatha." Agas ’s ann mar seo a bha. Bha an Corpolair mac Fhionghuin air an fhear ma dheireadh a chaidh a staigh chun an doruist.

“Dé th’ agat-sa ri ghràitinn, ’ille?”

“Chan eil móran ach

Raine mi taigh na Drochaid

Is cha b’ e ’m bodach a rinn mi dhùsgadh,

Dh' fhiadhaich e a staigh sinn le fàilte

Gu faigheamaid slàinte a Cuach a’ Phrionnsa.

Is rinn mi ciamhneach' air na h-àrmainn,

Is a liuthad blàr 's an do loisg iad fùdar.”

“’S e sin an rann is fhearr dhiubh. Thig a staigh agas gheibh thu deoch a Cuach a’ Phrionnsa"

This story concerns Corporal MacKinnon who was then a very young lad. He was born down by Bunacaimbe in Arisaig and he died in 1814. And when he was a young lad going about the district on Hogmanay he came to a house which they called Taigh na Drochaid (‘Bridgehouse’). There was a bridge nearby. When they knocked on the door, the man said.

“No one will get in until you sing a verse.”

That was the way of things at Hogmanay.

“The one who gives the best verse will get a full cupful of whisky from the Prince’s Quoich.”

And that was how things turned out.

Corporal MacKinon was the last one to come through the doorway.

“What have you got to say for youself, laddie?”

Only this:

“To Taigh na Drochaid I came

But the old man kept me not awake,

With a welcome he invited us

To toast the Prince’s Quoich

That recalled the warriors

Of many battles who fired gunpowder.”

“That’s the best verse out of all of them. Come in and you’ll get a stoup from the Prince’s Quoich”

References:
SSS NB 7, pp. 602–03

Image:

Bunacaimbe  beach, Arisaig / Àrasaig

Slàinte a’ Choigrich – The Stranger’s Toast

The following story was collected from John MacLeod from Glenfinnan by Calum Maclean around the 15 of January 1951. The moral–if indeed it can be described as such–of the story is that niggardliness was  always best avoided and that generosity to a stranger was customary in the Highlands.

Seo agaibh naidheachd a dh’ airich mise aig na seann-daoine. ’S ann ma dhéidhinn fear agas té a bha a’ fuireach ann am bothan àirigh. Agas bho’n is e am na Nollaig’ a bh’ ann, bha corra-dhram a’ dol. Agas bha bean an taighe a’ fàs car sgìth dhe na dramaichean. Thachair a’ latha a bha seo gun dàinig coigreach an rathad.

“O dram mosach!” thuir^st a’ bhean. “Is mise a tha sgìth dheth agas gun sònrui’ aig an am seo dhe’n bhliadhna.”

“Och, och,” thuir^st an coigreach, “an ann mar seo a tha?”

Agas seo agaibh mar a labhair e:

’S iomadh gloine a dh’ òl mi,

Agas stòp a lìon mi,
Agas tasdan a chur air bòr^st,
Bu chòir an diugh a bhith a’ cur riadh dheth.
A nall a’ chuach is lìon gu bàrr.
Is tràighidh sinn i gu h-iochdar,
Air tìr nam beann 's nan gleann 's an fireach,
Far an do chleachd na fir is na mrathan a bhith bàidheil.

And the translation of the above anecdote goes something like this: 

Here’s an anecdote that I heard from the old folk. It’s about a man and a woman who stayed in a sheiling bothy. And because it was Christmas time there were a few drams going around. And the goodwife of the house was getting pretty fed-up with the drams. It so happened that on this particular day a stranger came by the way.

“O vile dram!” said the wife. “I’m getting fed-up with this and especially at this time of year.

“Och, och,” said the stranger, “is that how it is?”

And here’s is what he spoke:

Many a glass I’ve drunk

And many a stoup I’ve filled

With a coin on the table,

This day it shall be paid with interest

Over with the quaich and fill it to the brim

And we’ll drain it to the bottom,

In the land of the hills, the glens and moors,

Where men and women used to be kindly.

In his book The Highlands, Calum Maclean affectionately recalls the narrator of the above anecdote: 

I shall always associate Kinlocheil with someone whom I have never seen, someone I shall never see. During my months in Lochaber I paid many visits to the late John MacLeod, a Fort William newsagent. John was a fine storyteller as well as being one of the very finest of Highland gentlemen. He was passionately devoted to the Gaelic language and Gaelic traditions. We spent many pleasant hours together. John always told me that his brother, Joseph, who was station-master at Kinlocheil, had scores and scores of old songs and other lore as well. The MacLeod brothers were natives of Glenfinnan and knew the whole history of that lovely, fateful glen. Joseph had songs that no living person knows now, songs that had been sung in Glenfinnan long before it ever saw Charles Edward Stuart, the last rightful prince of the Gael. Joseph was a comparatively young man. I left Lochaber in June 1951 and did not succeed in visiting him. I was away for over a year. When I returned Joseph MacLeod was dead. The recording of folk-songs has become quite fashionable in Scotland during the last few years. Certain singers have had their songs recorded by as many as a dozen collectors. All Joseph MacLeod’s songs went with him to the grave. His brother, John, died shortly afterwards. Two authentic Highland voices are now silenced for ever.

Such a scenario was not that uncommon as many of the folk from whom Maclean recorded so much material during the late 1940s and 1950s had passed away by the time his book was published. Perhaps this becomes even more relevant when one remembers that Maclean knew that he was dying of cancer when he was writing his book and it is at moments like these that makes his writing all the more poignant.

References:

SSS NB 8, pp. 763–64

Calum I. Maclean, The Highlands (Inbhirnis: Club Leabhar, 1975), 30–31

Image:

Glass of whisky /  Gloinne uisge-bheatha