Duncan MacDonald’s Life Story–V [After Marriage]

A previous blog offered a summary of Duncan MacDonald’s life story. It may be divided into a few sections of varying lengths. Here is offered the fifth part (NFC 1180, pp. 225–30) where MacDonald related to Calum Maclean about his marriage and thereafter. The opportunity has been taken to modernise the Gaelic orthography and also to offer a translation.

An Dèidh Pòsaidh

Nuair a phòs mi ann an 1913 thug mi a’ bhean dhachaigh a thaigh m’ athar a chionn bha mo mhàthair air fàs lapach. Bha i seachad air trì fichead bliadhna agus bha i fuathasach toilichte boireannach òg, làidir a’ tighinn còmhla rithe, a chionn bha i eòlach riamh air an tè a bh’ ann on a rugadh i. Bha i a’ còrdadh rithe glè mhath. Agus a-nist chan eil teagamh sam bith nach robh dùil agam-sa àite fhaighinn dhomh-fhìn cho luath is a ghabhadh dèanamh, ach bhrist an cogadh a-mach, a’ Chiad Chogadh Mòr, an ath-bhliadhna air mise a phòsadh. Agus bha mo dhà bhràthair a bha a-staigh còmhla rium – cha robh còmhla rium ach fear dhiubh, Niall agus bha am fear eile Dòmhnall Iain, bha e air pòsadh agus ’s e saor a bh’ ann agus bha e ann an taigheadas dha-fhèin ann an t-Hogha Beag agus e na shaor as an sgìreachd a bh’ ann a shin, agus dh’fhalbh an dithis aca. Agus bha mise an uair sin air m’ fhàgail a-staigh leam fhìn. Agus bha bràthair eile dhomh air falbh. ’S e a b’ òige air fad. Bha e fo fhichead bliadhna an uair sin agus bha e air falbh na attendant ann an Larbert Asylum. Agus ann an 1915 chaidh Dòmhnall Iain, mo bhràthair, a mharbhabh aig Loos ann an September, 25th. Agus ghabh mo bhràthair a b’ òige a bha na attendant  ann an Larbert Asylum, ghabh e cho dona a’ chùis agus gun a liostaig e-fhèin airson dioghaltas a dhèanamh. Agus nuair a chaidh e ron trèineadh chaidh a chàradh a-null dhan Fhraing agus bha e san Fhraing gus a robh an Armistice air a signigeadh. 

Agus fhuair mi-fhìn cruit eile an uair sin mun tàinig an cogadh gu crìch agus bha dùil ’m a dhol innte cuideachd nuair a thigeadh an cogadh gu crich agus a thigeadh mo bhràthair dhaghaidh. Ach a-nist cha robh a’ chruit a bh’ ann an sin ro fhada o chruit m’ athar agus ’s ann a chunnaic iad iomchaidh dhomh fuireach far an robh mi gun chabhag na caonnag a bhith orm a’ falbh aiste. Agus ’s ann mar seo a bha. Dh’ fhan mi far an robh mi cuideachd.

Agus bha an teaghlach a’ tighinn air aghaidh agus nuair a bha a’ chiad mhac a bh’ agam a-mach às an sgoil choisinn e bursary agus chaidh a chur an uair sin gu secondary school agus chaidh e às an sin gu ruige Fort William agus gu mì-fhortanach fhuair e an-shocair ann a shin às an àite-loidsidh às an robh e nach do dhealaich riamh ris gus an tug i am bàs dha aig aois fichead bliadhna, ann an 1934 air an 3rd August. Dh’ eug e ann an Invergarry agus thug mi fhìn dhachaigh e. Agus a-nist dh’ eug m’ athair ann an ciad mhios ’n fhoghar ann an 1919 agus cha robh bochdainne na galair air na sìon ach dìreach an latha a bh’ ann an seo ach nuair a bha e an dèis a bhreaiceast a ghabhail bhuail an stroke e dìreach aig taobh an teine agus e a’ lasadh na pìobadh agus thog sinn sìos dhan leabaidh e, mi fhìn agus a’ bhean. Agus ’s ann air Didomhnaich a bh’ ann agus bha an còrr a mhuinntir an taighe às an eaglais agus bha dùil againn a-nist gun tigeadh a’ bhruidhinn ’uige air ais, ach cha tàinig agus bha e Didomhnaich fad an latha gun chainnt agus Diluain agus gu dà uair feasgar Dimàirt ’s ann a dh’ eug e. Agus bha e ceithir fichead bliadhna agus a còig gu leth an uair sin agus cha do dh’ airich e criod de bhochdainne riamh ach na rheumatics. Agus bha e na chlachair agus bha e na dhuine ainmeil làidir. Cha robh strì aige uair sam bith – tha mi fhìn ga chluinntinn sin, dà chiad punnd a chur air an scaile nuair a bhiodh iad a’ tomhas cheilpeadh. Agus b’ aithnte dhomh ultach eile a bhiodh e fhèin agus gillean eile a’ togail, clach mhòr agus bha i cho grinn agus cho sleamhainn. Cha robh greim oirre thall na a-bhos. Agus chunna mi ri mo linn fhìn aon ghille sgairteil agus thogadh e i ach ’s ann air a h-oir a bha e ga togail suas. Ach mar a bha m’ athair ga togail ’s ann far a’ chomhnard a bha i agus cha robh e a’ faighinn foipe ach a bhasan, agus am fear a bha còmhla ris bha e ga togail agus dà chloich air a muin agus bha m’ athair ga togail agus a trì cnapan math air a muin. Agus bha e air a chunntais air dhuine cho làidir agus a bha san sgìreachd againn. Bha còig troighean is deich òirlich a dh’ àirde ann am m’ athair agus bha dà fhichead òirleach agus a h-ochd às a’ chom aige. Agus cha robh e trom ann am feòl idir. Agus cha robh m’ athair uair sam bith an stad fad na h-oidhche a ghabhail òran. An uair nach biodh a-staigh ach e fhèin is mo mhàthair gun chèilichean a bhith a-staigh na rachadh sibh dlùth dhan taigh chluinneadh sibh an t-òran ron doras agus langan aige air agus aig an aon àm a’ snìomh fhraoich air neo a’ snìomh mhurain. Cha bhiodh e na thàmh uair sam bith. Agus nan tigeadh feadhainn dhachaigh bhathar a’ teannadh ri bruidhinn is ri sheanchas agus air a’ cheann fo dheireadh ’s e sgeulachd a dh’ fheumte a ghabhail. Agus ghabhadh m’ athair an uair sin sgeulachd agus air neo-ar-thaing nach biodh an sgeulachd a’ còrdadh ris na daoine a bh’ air chèilidh agus bha sinne nar cnapaich bheaga a’ togail a a h-uile facal dhith. Agus bha toil mhòr againn a bhith a’ cluinntinn na sgeulachd agus nam bìte a’ toirt oirnn rud sam bith a dhèanamh, bhìte a’ gealltainn dhuinn sgeulachd a ghabhail a-nochd dhuinn air a shon. Agus seo an dòigh san d’ fhuair sinne na sgeulachdan sinn fhìn. Agus bha m’ athair ag innseadh dhomh nach robh an darna leth aige dhe na sgeulachdan is a bh’ aig athair fhèin. Ach bha tonn mhath aige dhiubh air a shon sin. Agus bha na seann-òrain aige. O! bha a’ chuid bu mhutha dhiubh. Cha robh uair sam bith aige ach na seann-òran ga seinn agus ’s e glè bheag dhe na seann-òrain nach cuala mise e a bhith a’ seinn mar sin.

After Marriage 

When I married in 1913 I took the wife back home to my father’s house for my mother’s was getting infirm. She was by then over sixty-years of age and she was terribly pleased that a young, strong woman was with her that she had known since she was born. She liked her very well. And now there was no doubt at all that I was going to get a place for myself as quickly as could possibly be managed, but the war broke out, the First World War, the year after I got married. And my two brothers were staying with me – there was only one left of them along with me, Neil and the other one Donald John, who had married and he was a joiner and he had his own house in Howbeg and he was a joiner in that locality, and the both of them left to go to the war. And I was left then by myself. And I had another brother who had gone. He was the youngest of all. He was under twenty years of age then and he left to be an attendant at the Larbert Asylum. And in 1915 Donald John, my brother, was killed at Loos in September, on the 25^th. And my youngest brother, the attendant at Larbert Asylum, took it so badly that he enlisted himself in order to be avenged. And when he went through training he was shipped over to France and he was in France until the Armistice was signed. 

And I got another croft then before the war ended and I had expected to take it over as well when the war would come to an end and when my brother would come home. But now the croft that was there was not too far from my father’s croft and they saw it fitting for me to stay where I was without any rush or reluctance to leave it. And this is how thing turned out. I stayed where I was too.

And the family were growing up and when my first son was out of school he won a bursary and he was sent then to a secondary school and he went from there to Fort William and unfortunately he got uneasy there in the lodgings where he was from which he did not leave until he died at twenty years of age, in 1934 on the 3^rd of August. He died in Invergarry and I took him home. And now my father died in the first month of autumn in 1919 and he didn’t suffer ill health or disease or anything but on that day but after he ate his breakfast he suffered a stroke just beside the fire as he was lighting his pipe and we took him down to the bed, myself and the wife. And it was on Sunday and the rest of the household was attending church and we expected his speech to return to him, but it didn’t and he was all day Sunday unable to speak and likewise from Monday until Tuesday afternoon when he died. And he was eighty-five and a half year of age then and he never suffered any kind of illness but rheumatics. And he was a mason and he was a man renowned for his strength. He never had to struggle at any time – I heard myself that he put two hundred pounds on a scale when he’d be weighing kelp. And I know of another lad that he and other lads would lift, a big boulder and it was well-shaped and slippy. There was no way to grip either here or there. And I saw myself in my own time only one strong lad and he lifted it up but it was on its side that he managed to lift it up. But the way in which my father lifted it was where it was flat and he only getting his palms underneath it, and the man who was along with him was lifting it and he had two stones on his back and my father was lifting it and he had three big lumps on his back. And he was reckoned to be the strongest man in our district. My father was five feet ten inches in height and he was forty-eight inches in his chest. He was not heavy in the flesh at all. And my father did not stop singing songs all night long. When he was in by himself with only my mother without any visitor in and if you had gone near to the house you’d hear the songs at the door and hear his voice and he’d be making heather ropes or spinning marram grass. He’d never take a rest at any time. And if a few came to the house then there’d be talking and conversing going on but at the end of this he’d have to tell a story. And my father would then tell a story and thankfully the people who had come on a house visit would enjoy the story and we as little children were picking up every word. And we greatly enjoyed listening to the story and if we were asked to do anything, it was promised that a story would be told to us for it. And this is the way in which we picked up stories for ourselves. And my father told me that he did not have one half of the stories that his own father had. But he had a good measure of them even at that. And he had the old songs. Oh! he had a great store of them. There was no time when he was not singing songs and there’s not many of the old songs that I did not hear him sing like that.

Reference:

NFC 1180, pp. 111–256

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

Angus MacMillan’s Life Story – X [Marriage]

A previous blog offered a summary of Angus MacMillan’s life story. It may be divided into eleven sections of varying lengths. Here is offered the tenth part (NFC 1180, pp. 534–40) where MacMillan relates to Maclean how he met his wife. 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;

10.    Marriage

MacMillan relates the background of how he came to marry his wife. The local priest persuaded him to marry his sweetheart before she had an opportunity to leave the island. MacMillan says that he greatly appreciated the advice that the priest gave him and that it had been a good decision to marry his sweetheart. MacMillan explained that she was also a MacMillan, Peigi nighean Aonghais Mhòir. They moved into MacMillan’s parents’ house. MacMillan relates that his own mother was a MacDonald who was from Benbecula and she died at seventy-five. MacMillan says that she was a good singer and had scores of old songs. His father belonged to Barra folk and never left Uist once he moved there. He died at the age of eighty-eight.

10.    Pòsadh

A’ bhean a bh’ agam an-diugh ann a sheo agus ’s e boireannach anabarrach fhèin gasda a bh’ ainnte na nighinn. Agus bha i glè òg air mo shon-sa. Cha robh i ach ceithir bliadhna fichead nuair a phòs mise i. Agus bha daoine a’ smaointinn nach pòsainn idir, a chionn nach robh annam ach duine aotrom nach robh a’ dol a phòsadh gu sìorraidh. Ach ghabh mi nòisean dhen nighinn a bha seo ach agus i glè, glè òg. Bhithinn a’ tarraing aiste an-dràsta is a-rithist ach mu dheireadh is mu dheoghaidh rinn sinn na cumhnannan airson pòsaidh. Agus ’s ann o dhaoine anabarrach fhèin math a bha i. Bha mi a’ smaointinn nach pòsainn i cho luath is a bha mi a’ smaointinn. Ach bha mi oidhche an dèidh a bhith a’ coimhead oirre air an rathad agus chuala mi fuaim bicycle a’ tighinn as mo dheaghaidh. Bhiodh e suas dìreach mu mheadhan-oidhche. Sheall mi is thug mi an aire dhan bhicycle math gu leòr a’ tighinn as mo dheaghaidh. Agus rug an seo am bicycle orm agus cò bha sin ach an sagart a bh’ againn as an àite.

“Seadh, Aonghais,” ors’ esan, “cò às mar seo?”

“O!” orsa mise, “bha mi air tighinn air cuairt.”

“O! seadh,” ors’ esan, “bha mi a’ cluinntinn gum bheil thu a’ tighinn air cuairt. Tha mi a’ cluinntinn,” ors’ esan, “gum bheil thu gu math tric air a’ chuairt sin cuideachd.”

“A bheil?” orsa mise.                                        

“Tha.”

Well, bha mi fhìn is an sagart gu math mòr aig a chèile, an sagart a bha seo agus: “Seadh,” ors’ esan, “a bheil dùil agad,” ors’ esan, “feum a dhèanamh dhan nighinn?”

“Well,” orsa mi fhin, “athair,” orsa mi fhìn, “tha làn dhùil ’m feum a dhèanamh dhith.”

“Well, tha làn chòir agad pòsadh as a’ mhionaid,” ors’ esan, “gun a bhith air an obair a tha sineach. Agus tha e a’ dèanamh marbhadh mòr ort,” ors’ esan, “gu nach eil thu a’ smaointinn sìon dheth agus mar is luaithe a nì thu e,” ors’ esan, “’s e dha do phrothaid e.”

“O!” ors’ mi fhìn, “tha mi a’ dol ga dhèanamh gun teagamh,” orsa mi fhìn, “ach chan eil dùil ’m a dhèanamh an-dràsta idir.”

“Cùine tha dùil agad a dhèanamh?”

“Well,” orsa mi fhin, “tha e fainear dhomh,” orsa mi fhìn, “tha e fainear dhomh,” orsa mi fhìn, “bliadhna eile a leigeil leis an nighinn.”

“Chan eil i ach òg. Chan eil i,” orsa mi fhin, “ach ceithir bliadhna fichead. Nam biodh i còig air fhichead,” orsa mi fhin, “bhiodh i an uair sin,” orsa mi fhin, “aig gliocas math.”

“Well,” ors’ esan, “gabh mo chomhairle,” ors’ esan, “agus pòs an nighean cho luath is a ghabhas dèanamh. Tha clann an latha an-diugh,” ors’ esan, “nuair a gheibh iad suas,” ors’ esan, “a dha is a trì is a ceithir is a còig air fhichead,” ors’ esan, “bi iad airson falbh às an seo,” ors’ esan. “Ach ma smaointich ise air falbh,” ors’ esan, “pòs thusa i agus chan fhalbh i idir.”

“An e sin ri ràdha,” orsa mi fhin, “gum pòs sinn as a’ mhionaid?”

“Well,” ors’ esan, “pòs cho luath is a ghabhas dèanamh,” ors’ esan. “Na leig gu còig bliadhna fichead idir i,” ors’ esan.

“Very well,” orsa mi fhìn, “tha mise ceart-a-coma,” orsa mi fhìn, “ged a dhèanamaid suas ar n-inntinn,” orsa mi fhìn, “air pòsadh, ar n-èigheach as an eaglais Didomhnaich-sa a’ tighinn,” orsa mise. “Agus,” orsa mise “bi ise deònach gu leòr,” orsa mi fhìn, “agus a cuideachd cuideachd.”

Seo mar a bha. Bha an sagart còmhla rium-sa riamh gus an tàine sinn an taigh.”

“Well,” ors’ esan, “Aonghais,” ors’ esan, “bi a h-uile sìon ceart,” ors’ esan.

“Bi,” orsa mi fhìn. “Thèid mise far a bheil an nigean a-màireach, feasgar a-màireach,” orsa mi fhìn. “Innsidh mi dhith” orsa mise, “gum bi sinn a’ rèiteach rithe, mi fhìn is i fhèin, Dihaoine a tha gar nionnsaigh.”

Seo mar a bha. Chaidh mi a choimhead air an nighinn an làr-na-mhàireach, an tè a th’ agam an-diugh, agus dh’innis mi dhith gum biodh rèiteach ann Dihaoine a bha gar ionnsaigh. Dh’innis mi dhith facal air an fhacal mar a thuirt an sagart. Agus thachair sin. Phòs mi fhìn is an nighean agus gu dearbha cha robh aithreachas riamh orm. Cha tàinig facal riamh idir eadarainn on latha a phòs sinn gon an latha an-diugh. Agus tha mi glè thoilichte as a’ chomhairle a thug an sagart orm. ’S ann às an Uachdar a bha i agus ’s e an aon sloinneadh a bh’ oirre agus a bh’ orm fhin, NicGilleMhaoil. ’S e Peigi nighean Aonghais Mhòir às an Uachdar a chainte rithe.

Bha mo mhàthair an uair sin, nuair a phòs mi a-staigh. Bha iad anabarrach fhèin toilichte an tè a phòs mi. ’S e bana-Chrìosdaidh[1] a bha nam mhàthair, de bhoireannach beannaichte. Agus ’s e Crìosdaidh a bha nam athair cuideachd de dhuine math agus bha e anabarrach fhèin toilichte mar a thionndaidh mise suas. Cha b’ e siud a’ chiad tè a bh’ agam idir ach ’s e sin an tè a bh’ air a cuir a-mach dhomh. ’S e bana-Dòmhnallach a bha nam mhàthair an toiseach agus nuair a phòs i m’ athair, tha fhios agaibh, ’s e NicGilleMhaoil a bh’ innte. Agus ’s ann shuas mu dheas pìos mòr, ’s ann a phòs iad. Thàinig i a Bheinne na Faoghla agus rinn i dachaigh dhi fhèin agus dhà fhèin ann am Beinne na Faoghla. Cha do ghluais sinn riamh à Beinne na Faoghla fhathast is tha mi cinnteach nach gluais a h-aon againn. Bha mo mhàthair trì fichead is a còig deug a’ bàsachadh. Bha i cho fallain is a ghabhadh e a bhith fad na h-ùine riamh ach gun do ghabh i bochdainn ann a shiudach. Agus a’ bhochdainn a bh’ oirre ’s e tuiteam a rinn i agus leum an t-sròn aice agus chaill i mòran, mòran faladh ri linn an t-sròn aice a leum. Cha mhòr nach do thràigh i air fuil. Ach bha i bliadhnaichean beò as a dheaghaidh sin. Agus ’s ann innte a bha a’ bhana-òranaiche nach cuala sibh riamh a leithid, de sheann-òrain a bh’ ann a linn, chan ’il ’ios againne gu dè an linn a bha iad na m’ athair cuideachd. ’S ann a mhuinntir Bharraigh a bha m’ athair agus cha do ghluais e riamh à Uibhist aon uair is gun tàinig e a-nall ann. Agus bha e ceithir fichead agus a h-ochd deug a’ bàsachadh. Cha robh air m’ athair ach bàs nàdarra agus ’s e bàs nàdarra a fhuair mo mhàthair cuideachd.

10.   Marriage

The wife that I have today here is a very fine woman. And she was very young for me. She was only twenty-four years of age when I married her. And folk thought that I would not marry at all because I was only a giddy man that was never going to get married. But I took a fancy to this lassie and she was very, very young. I used to pull her leg now and again but latterly (and at last) we got engaged to get married. And she belonged to a very fine family. I thought I wouldn’t marry her quite as soon as I had first thought. But one night after I had been to see her I was on the highway and I heard the noise of a bicycle coming after me. It would’ve been nearly midnight. I looked and I noticed the bicycle well enough coming after me. And the bicycle reached me and who did it happen to be but the local priest.

“Aye, Angus,” he said, “where did you come from like this?”

“Oh!” I said, “I was going for a walk.”

“Oh! aye,” he said, “I had heard that you were going for a walk. I hear that you quite often go for a walk too.”

“I do?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Well, I and the priest were quite friendly, this priest that was there and:

“Aye,” he said, “do you expect that you’ll have a need for the lassie?”

“Well,” I said, “father, I fully expect that she’ll do.”

“Well, you have every right to marry this very minute,” he said, “without working on that. And it’s really killing you that that aren’t thinking anything of it and the quicker you do then the better off you’ll be.”

“Oh!” he said, “I’m going to do it without any doubt whatsoever but I don’t expect to do it just now at all.”

“When do you expect to do that?”

“Well,” I said, “it’s my intention to let a year go by courting the lassie.”

“She’s only young and she’s only twenty-four years of age. If she had been twenty-five,” I said, “she would then have reached good wisdom.”

“Well,” he said, “heed my advice and marry the lassie as quickly as you can. Children today when they reach about twenty two, three, four or five wish to leave this place and before she thinks of leaving you’ll marry her and she won’t leave at all.”

“Is that to say,” I asked, “that we should marry this very minute?”

“Well,” he said, “marry as quickly as you can. Don’t let her reach twenty-five years of age at all.”

“Very well,” I said, “I don’t mind at all that you have made up our minds to marry and the banns in the church were proclaimed for this coming Sunday,” I said, “and she’ll be willing enough and her relations to boot.”

This is how things turned out. The priest kept me company until we reached home.”

“Well, Angus” he said, “everything will be right.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll go to see the lassie tomorrow, tomorrow afternoon. I’ll tell her that we’ll get engaged, myself and herself, this Friday coming.”

This is how things turned out. I went to see the lassie the next day, the wife that I have today, and I told her that we’d be engaged this coming Friday. I told her word for word what priest has said. And that happened. I married the lassie and indeed I’ve never regretted it. Not one word has ever came between us since the day we married until this very day. And I am very pleased with the advice the priest gave me.

She was from Uachdar and she had the same surname as I have, MacMillan. She was called Peggie daughter of Big Angus from Uachdar.

My mother was then, when I married, still staying at home. They were very pleased with the woman whom I married. My mother was a woman who was a devout and upright. And my father was also an upright, good man and he was terribly pleased by the way I turned out. She was not the first woman that I had at all but she was the woman that was destined for me. My mother was a MacDonald at first but when she married my father, you know, she became MacMillan then. And it was down south a good bit where they were married. She came from Benbecula and she made a home for herself and himself in Benbecula. We have not moved away from Benbecula yet and I’m sure that not one of us ever will. My mother was seventy-five when she died. She was as healthy as could be all that time but she finally took ill. And the illness caused her to fall and she broke her nose and she lost a lot, a lot of blood as she had a broken nose. She almost lost all of her blood. But she was many years alive after that. And she was such a singer that you have never heard to like of, old songs from previous centuries and we don’t know where they were from, nor did my father know. My father belonged to Barra folk and he never moved out of Uist once he came over. And he was eighty-eight years of age when he died. My father died a natural death and my mother also died a natural death as well.

Reference:

NFC 1180, pp. 301–548

Image:

Angus MacMillan, Benbecula, 1930s.

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[1] The literal meaning is, of course, a Christian but it means an upstanding, moral person of good character.