Cometh the Hour But Not the Man

In conversation with his namesake the Rev. Malcolm Maclean (1896–1961) along with Alasdair Frazer, then in Conon Bridge, Easter Ross, Calum Maclean, on 11 June 1952, got on record a rather interesting migratory legend known as ‘Cometh the Hour But Not the Man.’ The Rev. Malcolm (or Calum) Maclean originally came from Scarp, Harris and was minister at Conon Bridge for many years.

“Thàinig an uair ’s cha tàinig an duine”

Nuair a bha sinn a’ bruidhinn air an t-seanchas ud air mulamhàgain a bha a’ leanmhainn Mac mhic Ailein, tha e a’ toirt na mo chuimhne seanchas a th’ ann an seo air Logaidh Bhrìghde. ’S e Logaidh Brìghde a th’ air…a bh’ air an t-seann eaglais a bha seo agus tha an cladh ann an siud fhathast an Conan. Agus bha seanchas ann air fear, ma b’ fhìor, a thug e fhèin don Abharsair. Agus chaidh leis gu math airson gràinn’ bhliadhnaichean, ach mu dheireadh latha foghair, ma b’ fhìor, is iad ris a’ bhuain chualas glaodh as an abhainn. Agus thàinig an cuthach air an fhear airson gun d’ reagh e gu bhàthadh fhèin as an abhainn, agus dh’fhalbh na coimhearsnaich agus cheangail iad e is thug iad a-staigh dhan eaglais e.

Agus bha dùil aca gun robh e tèaraint’ ann an sin. Ghlas iad an doras agus dh’fhàg iad a-staigh e, agus chaidh iad air ais a bhuain an arbhair. Ach nuair a thàinig iad air ais a-rithist, a’ chùis chianalais; ’s ann a bha am fear bochd air e fhèin a bhàthadh as an amar bhaistidh. ’S e sin an naidheachd a bh’ aca air sin ann an Conan an seo.

Tha fhios agaibh, nuair a ghlas iad an duine a-staigh agus e gun chothrom aige a dhol ga bhàthadh fhèin agus chaidh iad air ais chon an arbhair, chuala iad an glaodh as an abhainn ag ràdh:

“Thàinig an uair is cha tàinig an duine.”

Calum MacGilleathain – “Tha an naidheachd sin iomraiteach gu h-àraidh anns na dùthchannan Lochlannach, naidheachd mar sin.”

An t-Urramach Calum – “A bheil i sin aca? Bha na Lochlannaich a ruigheachd suas gu Abhainn na Manachainn. Tha na h-ainmeanan Lochlannach a’ ruith air na crìochan-sa gu ruig thu a’ Mhanachainn, ach chan eil iad a’ dol nas fhaide deas na a’ Mhanachainn. Agus bha na Lochlannaich an seo aon uair ceart gu leòr. Agus ’s e Drochaid Sguideal a chanadh iad ris a’ bhaile a tha seo, agus ’s cinnteach gur h-e ainm Lochlannach a th’ ann an Sguideal agus ann an Scatwell shuas nas fhaide shuas as an abhainn.

Alasdair Friseal – “Tha e coltach ris gur h-e na bàtaichean a bh’ aca air an abhainn; bàta gun dhruim ’s e scut na scat a theireadh iad ris as a’ chainnt Lochlannach”

An t-Urramach Calum MacGhilleEathain – “Agus Loch an Sgùda ann an Leòdhas – sgùda. Tha sgùda aca. ’S e an aon fhacal a bhios ann, sgùda, sguideal. ’S e Drochaid Sguideal a bh’ aca air an àite seo.”

Calum MacGilleathain – “Sgudabor.”

An t-Urram. Calum – “Tha, Sgudabor. Ach bha na Lochlannaich an seo ceart gu leòr agus chan eil fhios nach iad a dh’fhàg a’ chuid sin dhen t-seanchas an seo.”

Calum MacGilleathain – “Thachair i rium ann am Beinne na Faoghla cuideachd. Tha i cumanta gu leòr thall san t-Suain agus an Lochlann.”

An t-Urramach Calum – “Nach eil e neònach mar a tha na naidheachdan coitcheann agus mar a thèid aca air am baisteadh air àite agus air bliadhna agus air duine agus air muinntir. Nach neònach mar a tha iad sa h0uile h-àite.”

Calum MacGilleathain – “Bidh i air a h-ainmeachadh air àite eile agus duine eile.”

And the tranlsation may be rendered as follows:

“Cometh the Hour But Not the Man”

When we were talking about thon story about the toad that used to follow MacDonald of Clanranald, that reminded me of at story here at Loggie Bridge. Loggie Bridge is and was the name of the old church here and the cemetery is over there at Conon Bridge. And there is a story about a man, if true, who sold his soul to the Evil One. And he got on well for many years but on this particualry day in autumn, if true, they were busy harvesting when a cry was heard from the river. And the man became so insane that he tried to drown himself in the river, and so his neighbours went to get him and tied him up and held him in the church,

They thought that he’d be safe there. The locked the door and left him inside so that they could get back to harvesting. But when they returned, it’s such a horribe thing to relate, they found the poor man had drowned himself in the baptismal font. That’s the story that they have in Conon here.

You know, when the locked the man inside so that he couldn’t drown himself and they went back to harvesting, they heard a voice in the river saying:

“Cometh the hour but not the man.”

Calum Maclean – That story is especially well known in the Scandinavian countries, stories like that.

The Rev. Malcolm – “They have that? The Vikings reached as far up as Beauly River. The Viking names run up right to the borders as far as you can go to Beauly, but they don’t go any further south than Beauly. And the Vikings were once around here right enough. And they call this place [Conon Bridge] Drochaid Sguideal and for sure it’s a Viking name in Sguideal as well as Scatwell the river up there.”

Alasdair Frazer – “It’s quite like the boats they have on the river, a boat without a keel and they’d call it a scut or a cat from the Norse language.”

The Rev. Malcolm Maclean – “And Loch an Sgùda in Lewis – sgùda. They have the word sgùda. Sgùda and sguideal must be the same word. They call this place [Conon Bridge] Drocaid Sguideal.

Calum Maclean – “Sgudabor.”

The Rev. Malcolm – “Yes, Sgudabor. But the Vikings were here right enough and who knows if they didn’t leave behind some of their stories here.”

Calum Maclean – “I came across the same in Benbeucla too. And it’s common enough over in Sweden and Scadinavia.”

The Rev. Malcom – Isn’t it strange how these universal stories travel and how they take on the aspects of the time, the person and the people. Isn’t it strange that they are everywhere.”

Calum Maclean – They are named in different places and other people.”

The Norwegian folklorist Reidar Th. Christiansen in his Migratory Legends classifies the above story as ML 4050 and, as noted by Maclean, such a tale was common in the Scandinavian countries where various versions have been collected. The main difference being that the Devil rather than a kelpie or water-horse is named as the supernatural agent in the above version of the legend,

A similar version of the above supernatural legend is given in Katherine Brigg’s The Vanishing People:

There is one kelpie story, which is a version of ML 4050, ‘The Hour is come but not the Man.’ The setting is on the banks of the River Conon in Ross-shire, and it seems here, though it is not explicitly said that the kelpie took a female form, like a water nymph. Many years ago, when the little church by the ford was still standing, a party of reapers were cutting the corn on a sunny autumn day just near the false ford where the water ripples over seeming shallows before sweeping down into the deep lynn just below All looked fair and still when they heard a voice crying out, ‘The hour is come, but not the man!’ and looking at the river they saw the figure of the kelpie standing in the false ford. Then she cried once again, and plunged like a drake diving into the great deep pool below. As she vanished they heard the sound of drumming hoofs and a rider came full-pelt down towards the false ford. Half a dozen of the men jumped out of the corn and ran to catch hold of him. They told him what the kelpie said, they explained the dangers of the ford, but he seemed neither to hear nor heed, and spurred on like a madman. They were determined to save him against his will, so they pulled him off his horse, and carried him, struggling and shouting to the little church where they locked him up, telling him that they would let him out when the hour of dangers was past. He shouted and kicked at the door at first but he soon fell silent and they went on with their work and waited for the slow hour to pass. It was over at length, and they unlocked the door. ‘You can go on now sir,’ the called. ‘The Ill Hour is past.’ There was no answer, and they called again and again, and went into the church. There was an old stone trough near the door filled with water and the traveller was lying with his head in it. He had fallen in a fit and drowned there while they waited for the hour to go by. So the river had its victim in spite of them.

A more literary Scots version (which the above summary of the supernatural legend seems to have derived) of the tale entitled ‘The Doomed Rider’ may also be given as reproduced from Folk-Lore and Legends: Scotland as follows:

The Conan is as bonny a river as we hae in a’ the north country. There’s mony a sweet sunny spot on its banks, an’ mony a time an’ aft hae I waded through its shallows, whan a boy, to set my little scautling-line for the trouts an’ the eels, or to gather the big pearl-mussels that lie sae thick in the fords. But its bonny wooded banks are places for enjoying the day in ― no for passing the nicht. I kenna how it is; it’s nane o’ your wild streams that wander desolate through a desert country, like the Aven, or that come rushing down in foam and thunder, ower broken rocks, like the Foyers, or that wallow in darkness, deep, deep in the bowels o’ the earth, like the fearfu’ Auldgraunt; an’ yet no ane o’ these rivers has mair or frightfuller stories connected wi’ it than the Conan. Ane can hardly saunter ower half-a-mile in its course, frae where it leaves Coutin till where it enters the sea, without passing ower the scene o’ some frightful auld legend o’ the kelpie or the waterwraith.

And ane o’ the most frightful looking o’ these places is to be found among the woods of Conan House. Ye enter a swampy meadow that waves wi’ flags an’ rushes like a corn-field in harvest, an’ see a hillock covered wi’ willows rising like an island in the midst. There are thick mirk-woods on ilka side; the river, dark an’ awesome, an’ whirling round an’ round in mossy eddies, sweeps away behind it; an’ there is an auld burying-ground, wi’ the broken ruins o’ an auld Papist kirk, on the tap. Ane can see amang the rougher stanes the rose-wrought mullions of an arched window, an’ the trough that ance held the holy water. About twa hunder years ago ― a wee mair maybe, or a wee less, for ane canna be very sure o’ the date o’ thae old stories ― the building was entire; an’ a spot near it, whar the wood now grows thickest, was laid out in a corn-field. The marks o’ the furrows may still be seen amang the trees.

A party o’ Highlanders were busily engaged, ae day in harvest, in cutting down the corn o’ that field; an’ just aboot noon, when the sun shone brightest an’ they were busiest in the work, they heard a voice frae the river exclaim, “The hour but not the man has come.”

Sure enough, on looking round, there was the kelpie stan’in’ in what they ca’ a fause ford, just foment the auld kirk. There is a deep black pool baith aboon an’ below, but I’ the ford there’s a bonny ripple, that shows, as ane might think, but little depth o’ water; an’ just i’ the middle o’ that, in a place where a horse might swim, stood the kelpie. An’ it again repeated its words, “The hour but not the man has come,” an’ then flashing through the water like a drake, it disappeared in the lower pool.

When the folk stood wondering what the creature might mean, they saw a man on horseback come spurring down the hill in hot haste, making straight for the fause ford. They could then understand her words at ance; an’ four o’ the stoutest o’ them sprang oot frae amang the corn to warn him o’ his danger, an’ keep him back. An’ sae they tauld him what they had seen an’ heard, an’ urged him either to turn back an’ tak’ anither road, or stay for an hour or sae where he was. But he just wadna hear them, for he was baith unbelieving an’ in haste, an wauld hae taen the ford for a’ they could say, hadna the Highlanders, determined on saving him whether he would or no, gathered round him an’ pulled him frae his horse, an’ then, to mak’ sure o’ him, locked him up in the auld kirk.

Weel, when the hour had gone by ― the fatal hour o’ the kelpie ― they flung open the door, an’ cried to him that he might noo gang on his journey. Ah! but there was nae answer, though; an’ sae they cried a second time, an’ there was nae answer still; an’ then they went in, an’ found him lying stiff an’ cauld on the floor, wi’ his face buried in the water o’ the very stone trough that we may still see amang the ruins. His hour had come, an’ he had fallen in a fit, as ’twould seem, head-foremost amang the water o’ the trough, where he had been smothered, ― an’ sae ye see, the prophecy o’ the kelpie availed naething.

It could well be that the legend subsequently contextualised into a Highland environment may have had its origins from a Norse variant or variants. This should not be at all surprising given the essence of migratory legends tends to take on the shape and form of the culture to which they are exposed and thus making it a challenging process, indeed perhaps an impossible one, to disentangle their true origins.

References:

Anon., ‘An t-Urr. Calum MacGilleathain’, An Gaidheal, leabh. LVI, àir. 2 (An Gearran, 1961), p. 18

Briggs, Katherine, The Vanishing People: A Study of Traditional Fairy Beliefs (London: Batsford, 1978), pp. 68–70

Christiansen, Reidar Th. The Migratory Legends: A Proposed List of Types with a Systematic Catalogue of the Norwegian Variants (Helsinki: Academia Scientiarum, 1992)

Douglas, (Sir) George Brisbane, Scottish Fairy and Folk Tales (London: Walter Scott Publishing Co., 1890), pp. 147–49

Gibbings, W. W., Folk-Lore and Legends: Scotland (London: W. W. Gibbings, 1889), pp. 39–42

MacDonald, Donald A., ‘Migratory Legends of the Supernatural in Scotland: A General Survey’, Béaloideas, vols. 62/63 (1994/95), pp. 29–78

NB SSS 21, pp. 1694–97

Image:

Conon Bridge, Easter Ross. 

The Rev. Norman MacDonald

Of all the Gaelic prose writers of the twentieth century the Rev. Norman MacDonald (1904–1978) can make a claim to be one of the most accomplished. He belonged to Valtos, Trotternish, Isle of Skye and was the son of Donald MacDonald, a crofter, from Valtos, and Ann MacDonald. After gaining his early education in the schools of Valtos and then Portree, MacDonald went to Glasgow where he attended Celtic studies at the university there under the tutelage of the Rev. George Calder. He then later trained to become a minister. To Gairm and An Gàidheal Òg as well as other periodicals and journals besides, MacDonald regularly contributed material especially about themes or topics mainly but not exclusively based on oral tradition. He did not restrict himself only to this subject, a long-held interest of his, for he possessed a seemingly inexhaustible curiosity with regard to all aspects of Gaelic tradition, poetry and song as well as an abiding interest in comparative religion, mythology and the occult. Prolific though he was, his ability as a writer of elegant prose is easily discernible whether in English or Gaelic. Little wonder then that he should attract the attention of Calum Maclean who fortunately took the time to record details from him in 1953 talking about his life and the writing that he was then undertaking. It is perhaps testimony to his training as a minister that he had clear diction and was an excellent communicator in his native tongue. The transcription may be listened to (and read along) at the link to the Tobar an Dualchais website:

Rugadh mise ann am baile beag Bhaltois―’s e ainm Lochlannach a th’ ann an sin―air taobh sear an Eilein Sgitheanaich na mar ’s còir dhomh a ràidhtinn a-nist Tròndairinis―ainm eile a tha glè Lochlannach―anns a’ bhliadhna 1904 [nineteen-four]. Agus tha mi ga mo mheas fhìn an-diugh glè fhortanach dha-rìreamh gun robh na seann-chleachdaidhean Gàidhealach beò agus air an cumail air adhart mar a bha iad riamh anns a’ chiad chuid dhe mo bheatha ann am Bhaltos. Nar a bha mi ma shia bliadhna, chaidh mi gu ruige sgoil, bha mi ann an sin fad an latha ach an sgoil na b’ fheàrr ann nar a bha sgoiltean a sgaoileadh mu àm an fheasgair ’s e an a dh’ràidhtinn an cèilidh agus glè bhitheantas anns an dachaigh againn fhìn a bhiodh an cèilidh. ’S chruinnich na bodaich an fhìor sheann seòrsa agus bhiodh iad a’ chèilidh ann an sin agus fhuair mi mòran dhe m’ eòlas bho na seann daoine a bha cromadh ris a’ cheithir fichead ann an toiseach mo latha. A’ chuid bu mhotha dhiubh, cha robh dad de Bheurla aca. Cha robh lide idir de Bheurla aig na boireannaich. Dh’fhàg sin gun robh ’Ghàidhlig aca gu math agus gu sàr-mhath. Agus fhuair mi eòlas farsaing air saobh-chràbhadh agus air cleachdaidhean nan Gàidheal anns na linntean a dh’fhalbh. Bha ùidh mhòr agam bhon is cuimhne leam idir bha ùidh mhòr agam anns na gnothaichean a bh’ ann an sin anns na sgeulalchdan, anns na h-òrain, anns na geasreagain, agus anns a h-uile nì a bhoineadh a shaobh…Fhuair mi mar sin, mar a dh’ainmich mi, eòlas farsaing air saobh-chràbhadh, geasreagan, òrain agus beul-aithris bho na daoine aig an robh e ann am pailteas aig an robh gu leòr dheth. Agus tha cuimhn’ a’m fhathast nar nach robh ach ma ochd bliadhna do dh’aois a bhith ’g ràidhtinn rium fhìn nar a bhithinn a’ buachailleachd gur mi bhiodh toilichte nan tigeadh an t-àm anns am bithinn comasach air a h-uile càil a chuala mi a chur cruinn ann an aon leabhar. Oir nach beag a bha a dhùil agam an uair sin gun tigeadh an t-àm as am bithinn comasach air seo a dhèanamh. Tha cuimhn’ agam gun robh mi anabarrach eudmhor as leth na Gàidhlig agus rinn mi…chaidh mi gu uchd mo dhìcheall airson a bhith comasach air a’ Ghàidhlig a leughadh. Bhithinn a’ toirt leam leabhar Gàidhlig nar a bhithinn a’ dol a bhuachailleachd agus le cuideachadh leabhar òrain. bha mi comasach air Gàidhlig dhoirbh a leughadh. Agus bhuaithe sin, chaidh mi gu Gàidhlig na bu doirbhe ’s na bu doimhne, fhuair mi Caraide nan Gàidheal agus rinn sin air m’ ionnsachasdh gu math agus gu ro-mhath. An dèidh dhomh an sgoil fhàgail ann am Bhaltos, chaidh mi gu ruige sgoil Phort Rìgheadh. Bha mi sia bliadhna deug aig an àm ’s shaoil duine an-diugh gun robh sin gu math sean agus bha e sean cuideachd. Ach anns an latha ud cha robh e air a mheas sin bha cuid bu mhotha ceithir deug nar a bha iad a’ dol don sgoil Phort Rìgheadh. Cuid dhiubh beagan na bu shine. Bha mi ann an sin agus a’ chiad bheagan bhliadhnaichean bha mi a’ faotainn eòlais air cànanan mar a tha Fraingis, ’s Laidinn, a’ Bheurla. Ach anns a’ bhliadhna mu dheireadh, bha mi glè thaingeil gun tàinig maighstir-sgoile Gàidhlig a thug leasanan Gàidhlig dhuinn. Cha robh mi ach trì bliadhna ann an sgoil Phort Rìgheadh nar a dh’fhàg mi agus chaidh mi gu ruige Ghlascho. Ann an sin bha mi ag uallachadh airson an oilthigh agus thug mi geamhradh bho theagaisg ministeir a tha na sgoilear Gàidhlig sònraichte ann an Glascho. Agus rinn esan m’ ullachadh airson a dhol gu ruige an oilthigh. Chan e nach robh mo cheann fhìn luma-làn Gàidhlig ach an dèidh sin gu lèir dh’fheumainn beagan eòlais fhaotainn air Gàidhlig a sgrìobhadh agus air Gàidhlig Èireannach. Chaidh mi gu ruige Oilthigh Ghlascho agus bha an t-Urramach an t-Ollamh Caldair mar a tha fios againn a’ teagaisg ann an sin. Agus bha mi fo theagaisg-san. Fhuair mi ann an sin, fhuair mi àrd-eòlais air a’ Ghàidhlig Albannach agus air a’ Ghàidhlig Èireannach cuideachd. Agus nar a chaidh mi a-staigh gu ruige Talla na Diadhachd fhuair mi nam fhear-cuideachaidh ann an Eaglais Chaluim Chille ann an Glascho agus bha sin feumail dhomh. Bha mi comasach air feum a dhèanamh dhe mo Ghàidhlig agus air a bhith ga searmonachadh agus a h-uile Sàbaid bha an t-Ollamh Urramach gam èisdeachd agus ’s iomadh latha crìdheanach a bha mi ’teagasg, chan e idir gun robh eagal orm gun dèanainn mearachd a thaobh na Diadhachd ach ’s e a bha cur a’ chùraim orm uile gun dèanainn a’ mhearachd bu lugha a thaobh litearchais. Bha a leithid a’ chluas gheur aige ga chumail fosgailte ris a’ chùbaid. Agus nan rachadh duine leud na roinneag ceàrr ann an litreachas dhèanadh sin dragh dha. Dh’aithneachadh sibh e. Ach bha mi bruidhinn ris a-rithist agus tha mi glè thaingeil nach d’fhuair e riamh cearb air m’ theagasg.

Agus tha…bha miann mòr agam air a dhol a-null gu ruige dùthaich Chanada. Bha mi a’ cur romham nam b’urrainn mi idir a dhèanamh gun toirinn sgrìobh a-null air feadh na tìreadh agus gun cuirinn seachad bliadhna no dhà ann. ’S e seo an rud a rinn mi anns a’ bhliadhna 1930 [nineteen-thirty]. Chaidh mi a-null gu ruige Chanada. Thug mi a’ chiad gheamhradh ann an Quebec a-measg nan Gàidheal ann an sin ann an an cridhe mòr-roinn Quebec. Fhuair mi an uair sin fios airson a dhol gu ruige Ceap Breatainn ann an earrach…anns an earrach 1931 [nineteen-thirty-one]. Chaidh mi gu ruige Baile Sydney ’s e ceanna-bhaile Eilein Cheap Breatainn. ’S nar a ràinig mi sin, fhuair mi a-mach gun robh e ceart cho Gàidhealach ris an dùthaich a dh’fhàg mi as mo dhèoidhinn agus ann an seagh gun robh iad mòran, mòran na b’ eudmhoire as leth na Gàidhlig na bha iad air feadh Gàidhealtachd na h-Alba agus mòran na bu chùramaiche nar a bhruidhneadh iad Gàidhlig nach cuireadh iad faclan Beurla a feum agus nach dèanadh iad idir idir facal Beurla le earball Gàidhlig a chleachdadh. Bha mi an sin a-measg Ghàidheil Cheap Breatainn airson an earraich, ’s fad an t-samhraidh, agus criomag mhath dhe an fhoghair. Thill mi an uair sin gu ruige Montréal agus ghabh mi beagan gheamhra’ anns an a’ cholaisde…anns an oilithigh mhòr a tha sin ceangailte ri McGill agus an ath shamhradh a-rithist…tha…chaidh mi a chur gu ruige Ceap Breatainn ’s bha mi ann an sin agus thug mi ann an samhradh agus thug mi ann am foghar. Agus chuir mi romham gun rachainn gu ruige Eilean a’ Phrionnsa airson gum faicinn mo dhaoine, mo chàirdean agus mo chuideachd. Bha fios agam gun robh na h-uireid de mo dhlùth chàirdean thall ann an Eilean a’ Phrionnsa a dh’fhàg an taobh sear eadhon anns na làithean sin air an robh cuimhne glè mhath aig mo sheanmhair. Chaidh mi ann an sin. Agus bha e anabarrach freagarrach dhomh…sgrìobh mi an toiseach gu ministear a bha ann an Eilean a’ Phrionnsa agus dh’fhoighneachd mi dheth an robh sgìr’ ann a bha bàn a bha e ag iarraidh fear-teagaisg airson beagan mhìosan agus le tionndadh a’ phuist nach ann a fhuair mi litir bhuaithe ag ràidhtinn tha mi glè thoilichte airson do litir fhaotainn. Tha mi fhìn dìreach a’ dol a-null gu ruige Sasann, mi fhìn agus mo bhean, airson mìosan a’ gheamhraidh agus mi a’ gabhail gu math airson duine a ghabhas m’ àite. Agus bidh mi ro-thoilichte ma thig thu agus gu gabhaibh thu m’ àite. ’S e seo an rud a rinn mi. Dh’fhag mi Eilean Cheap Breatainn agus rinn mi air Pictou, sin agaibh am baile-puirt ann an Alba Nuadh airson Eilean a’ Phrionnsa. Bha e glè iomraiteach ann an làithean nan eilthireach cha chluinnte guth ach Pictou…Bha Pictou an uair ud cho iomraiteach ’s tha Montréal an-diugh na Quebec―baile-puirt ainmeil. Ghabh mi air a’ bhàta a-nall an sin, ’s e Hochelaga a theireadh iad rithe, ainm Innseanach. ’S ràine mi Charlottetown, ceanna-bhaile an t-àite. Ach feumaidh mi a ràidhtinn nar a chadh mi air bòrd cò a bha cuide rium air bòrd ach ministearan Eilean a’ Phrionnsa, bha iad aig coinneamh dhe an t-Ionad [Synod] ann am Pictou. ’S bha iad a’ tilleadh chun gu ruige an t-àite, fhuair mi eòlas orm ann an seasamh nam bonn. Cò bha nam measg ach ministear na sgìre a dh’ionnsaidh air an robh mi dol. Co-dhiù, cha tug sinn fada ruigheachd ceanna-bhaile an t-àite. Agus bha càr aige fhèin ann an sin. Cha robh sìon ann ach leum na bhroinn dèanamh air Mountague. Nuair a ràine mise Montague bha e dìreach mar gu’ ruiginn tu an Taobh an Sear bha Gàidhlig aig gach duine agus bha mi ann an sin air mo chuairteachadh le càirdean feadhainn a thàinig às a h-uile baile air clàr an taobh sear agus An Gleann Mòr, Ùige, Cille Mhoire agus Cille Mo Luag agus Rathairsear agus Rònaigh. Agus dh’fhuirich mi cuide riutha fad an…deireadh an fhoghair, ’s fad an t-samhraidh ’s fad an earraich. Agus nar a thàinig toiseach an t-samhraidh, thill am ministear air ais à Sasann agus dh’fhàg mi an uair sin Eilean a’ Phrionnsa. Agus chaidh mi gu mòr-roinn Ontario, fhuair mi an sin àite dhomh fhìn…gairm dhomh fhìn. Agus ghabh mi mo chiad sgìreachd oir gun robh mi faireachadh an uair sin gun an tide agam àite a ghabhail dhomh fhìn.

Ach feumaidh mi nise a’ tilleadh air n-ais beagan. Anns a’ bhliadhna 1931, bha mi dèanamh beagan às leth…às leth na Gàidhlig a’ toirt corra òraid seachad mu dheidhinn beul-aithris agus saobh-chràbhadh brèagha nan Gàidheal. Anns a’ bhliadhna 1932, mar a dh’ainmich mi, chaidh mi gu ruige gu Ceap Breatainn. Agus bha mi latha ann an sin a-staigh ann am bùth leabhraichean agus sheall mi…chunnaic mi na uireid de na mìosachan ann an sin, mìosachan Beurla air a’ bhòrd air mo bheulaibh bha e lùma-lan dhiubh ach thug mi sùil agus gu dè bha air mo bheulaibh ach mìosachan ann an Gàidhlig Teachdaire nan Gàidheal. ’S mi a rinn mi an sòlas ris agus sheall mi suas cò am fear a bha ga chur a-mach. Agus fhuair mi an t-ainm aige, fear Seumas MacNèill ann am Baile Shudnaidh. Anns a’ mhionaid, chaidh mi far an robh agus dh’òrduich mi a tha...am pàipear airson bliadhna. Agus ’s ann a dh’iarr e orm an uair sin beagan a thoirt dha ann an rosg, na bàrdachd na rud sam bith. Rinn mi seo ’s e saobh-chràbhadh a thug mi dha agus ’s e chiad òraid a thug mi seachad anns ’se ‘Eòin Shealbhach Agus Mì-Shealbhach ann an Saobh-Chràbhadh nan Gàidheal’ a bh’ ann. Tha sin dìreach anns an t-samhradh ann an 1932 [nineteen-thirty-two]. Agus chan fhaigheadh e gu lèor bhuam an dèidh sin cha robh mi ach a’ cur òraid air muin òraid agus bàrdachd ga ionnsaidh ’s bha sinn a’ faighinn air adhart mar sin. Agus sinn le chèile…tha…a’ sgrìobhadh na Gàidhlig anns a’ phàipear a bh’ ann an seo am mìosachan. ’S e duine gasda air leth a bh’ ann ’s bha e anabarrach eudmhor airson na Gàidhlig a chumail suas ’s bha e glè mhath aige fhèin thoireadh ’s ann à Barraigh a dh’fhalbh a shinnsearachd. Agus bha mise tuilleadh a’ sìor sgrìobhadh saobh-chràbhadh, ga sgrìobhadh airson a’ mhìosachan a bha ann an seo. Agus mar sin tha mi a’ cumail suas an t-adhbhair. Agus ’s ann an uair sin a thòisich daoine air gabhail suim ann an saobh-chràbhadh…’s a’ cur meas air agus tha mi glè thoilichte gum bheil a leithid an-diugh ga dhèanamh airson a’ chuspair a tha ann an sin, obair mhòr agus obair ro-luachmhor an-diugh ga dheànamh saobh-chràbhabh ’s am beul-aithris an-diugh ga thrusadh agus ga chruinneachadh man tèid am bàs buileach mun dùin an uaighe aig an duine mu deireadh aig a bheil e.

Tha mi air a leithid a’ sgrìobhadh mu dheidhinn agus nar a chruinnich mi a h-uile càil a chuir mi ann an clò ’s ann a thug mi fainear gu mòr an cnap leabhar a dhèanadh dheth. ’S e seo a rinn mi. Chuir mi a h-uile h-òraid cuideachd, agus a h-uile sgeulachd. Agus an uair sin rinn mi eadar-theangachadh air na th’ agam ann an Gàidhlig gu ruige ’Bheurla. Agus tha mi a-nise leabhar agam a tha deis airson a’ chlò-bhualadh agus tha an dàrna duilleig dheth anns a’ chiad chainnt anns an deach a sgrìobhadh agus an duilleag eile mu choinneamh ann am Beurla. Tha mi an dòchas gum faigh mi uaireigineach a chlò-bhualadh.

Thàinig mi an uair sin a-nall gu ruige an dùthaich seo anns an t-fhoghar anns a’ 1939 [ninteeten-thirty-nine]. Bha mi greiseag anns na h-Eileanan ga ùrachadh m’ eòlas agus a’ faighinn beagan a bharrachd air na bh’ agam agus fhuair mi an uair sin gairm gu ruige sgìre Ghlinn Eilge far a bheil mi fhathast. Tha mi air a’ dol ann nise…tha mi ann airson naodh bliadhna mar mhinistear ann an Gleann Eilge.

And the translation may be given as follows:

I was born in the little township of Valtos―a Norse place-name located on the eastern side of the Isle of Skye or as I should say now Totternish―another very Norse name―in the year 1904. And today I consider myself very fortunate indeed that the old Highland ways were kept going as they have always been in the first part of my life in Valtos. I began attending school when I was around six years of age and I would spend all day there but the best education after the school-day had ended in the late afternoon I should say was the ceilidh [house visit] and very often such social gatherings were held in our own home. The old men would gather―those of the good old kind―and they’d hold a ceilidh there and I got much of what I know from my early days from these old folk who were nearly eighty years of age. Many of them couldn’t speak English; none of the women could speak a word of English. That meant they could speak Gaelic well and indeed very well. And I received a wide knowledge of superstations and the old Highland ways from bygone generations. It had a great effect upon me and if memory serves I’ve maintained a great interest in such things as in stories, songs, and in superstition and everything else of that kind…I received, as I said, a wide knowledge of superstitions, magic, songs and oral tradition from those who had it in plenty and indeed had more than enough. And I can still recall that when I was only eight years of age that I used think that when I was herding that I’d be happy when the time came that I’d be able to put all that I had heard collected into one book. For I had not at all expected that the time would come when I’d be able to do such a thing. I recalled that I was exceptionally zealous to the cause of Gaelic and I tried my very best to be able to read Gaelic. I used to carry a Gaelic book when I was herding and with the help of a songbook I was eventually able to read difficult Gaelic. And from then on I focussed on yet more difficult and far deeper Gaelic. I got the writings of Caraid nan Gàidheal [The Rev. Norman MacLeod] and I got on well if not even better with my learning. Once I left the local school in Valtos, I then went to Portree school. I was then sixteen years of age and everyone today thinks this is quite old and, yes, it was quite old. But in those days it was not considered so and many were fourteen years of age when they went to Portree school. Some of them were even older. I was there and for the first few years I was learning different languages such as French, Latin and English. But in the final year I was very thankful that a schoolmaster came to give us lessons in Gaelic. I only attended Portree school for three years and then I left and went to Glasgow. When I was there I was preparing to enter university and I spent a winter there being taught by a minster who was an exceptional Gaelic scholar in Glasgow. And he prepared me to enter university. It was not that my head wasn’t full of Gaelic but after all I had to gain a bit more knowledge of how to write Gaelic as well as Irish. I attended the University of Glasgow and, as we know, the Rev. Dr Calder taught there. I was under his tutelage. And there I got a truly good knowledge of Scottish as well as Irish Gaelic. And then when I entered Divinity Hall I became a lay-preacher in St Columba’s in Glasgow and that was a great boon to me. I was able to use my Gaelic and to delver sermons every Sunday where the Rev. Dr would listen to me and many a nervous day I spent there teaching. It wasn’t that I was afraid that I was going to make a mistake with regard to theology but I was very concerned that I’d make even the smallest mistakes in literary terms. He had such sharp hearing and he lent an ear to the pulpit. And if anyone should make a mistake in literary terms that would annoy him. You’d see that. But I spoke with him again and I’m very thankful that he never spotted any mistakes in my teaching. And I had a great wish to go over to Canada. I spent the first winter in Quebec among the Gaels there in the very heart of Quebec Province. I then received word to go to Cape Breton in the spring of 1931. I went to Sydney, the capital of Cape Breton. When I got there I found out that it was just as Highland as the country which I left after me and in a many ways it was more zealous of the Gaelic cause than then they were back in the Highlands of Scotland and were far more careful speakers of Gaelic so that they didn’t use English words and that they didn’t use an English word with a Gaelic ending. I was among the Gaels of Cape Breton for the spring, all that summer and good part of the autumn. I then returned to Montréal and I spent a bit of witter in the college at the University connected with McGill and then the next summer…I went back to Cape Breton. I spent a summer and an autumn there. And I then decided that I’d go to Prince Edward Island so that I could visit my people, mo friends, and my relations. I knew fine well that there were quite an amount of my near relations over in Prince Edward Island that had left the eastern side [of the Isle of Skye] which my grandmother remembered well. I went over there. It was extremely favourable for me to write to a minister in Prince Edward Island that I asked if there were any vacant parishes and if they wanted a preacher for a few months and by the return of post I received a letter saying that he was very please to have got my letter. I’m just about to depart to England, myself and my wife, for the winter months and I take it well to have someone to take my place. And I’d be very pleased if you came to replace me. That’s what I did. I left Cape Breton and made for Pictou, a port in Nova Scotia for Prince Edward Island. It was very famous at the time of the emigrants and all you’d hear was Pictou…Pictou was as famous as Montreal and Quebec are these days. I arrived in Charlottetown, the island’s capital. But I must say that when I went on board who was in my company on board but the ministers from Prince Edward Island who had been attending a meeting of the Synod in Pictou. And they were on their way back and they got to know me there and then. Who was among them but the very minister of the parish to where I was headed. We didn’t take long on reaching the main town. And he had had car with him so there was nothing but to jump in and to head for Montague. When I arrived in Montague it was just as if I had landed on the eastern side [of the Isle of Skye] as everyone spoke Gaelic and I was surrounded by my relations a few of whom had arrived from the eastern side such as Glenmore, Uig, Kilmuir, Kilmoluag, Raasay and Rona. And I stayed with them until the end of autumn….all summer and all spring. When at the outset of winter the minister returned from England and so I then left Prince Edward Island and I went to Morine in Ontario where I got a place of my own…I was called there. I was settled into my first place for I then felt that it was high time to have a place of my own.

But I must now go back a bit. In 1931 I was doing a bit for the Gaelic cause and was presenting lectures about traditions and those fine superstitions of the Gaels. In 1932, as I said before, I went over to Cape Breton. And I was on day in a bookshop and I saw so many periodicals there, those in English right in front of me on the table and it was just full of them but I took another look and what was there in front of me but the Gaelic periodical Teachdaire nan Gàidheal. I was very glad indeed to see it and so I looked up to see who published it. And I found out his name, a man called James MacNeil from Sydney. At once I went to see him and paid for an annual subscription. And he then asked me for something to give him whether in prose or poetry or anything like that. I did so and it the first lecture I gave him was about superstation and it was entitled ‘Eòin Shealbhach Agus Mhi-Shealbhach ann an Saobh-Chràbhadh nan Gàidheal / [Lucky and Unlucky Birds in the Superstition of the Gael].’ That was in the summer of 1932. And he couldn’t get enough from me after that as I was sending lecture after lecture as well as poetry to him and we were getting on like that. And we were both writing Gaelic for this paper, this periodical. He was an exceptional individual and he was extremely zealous to keep up the Gaelic cause and he spoke excellent Gaelic for his ancestors hailed from the Isle of Barra. And I was from then on always writing about superstations, writing it for this periodical. And so I was keeping up the cause. And it was then that folk began to take an interest in superstations…and beginning to appreciate it and I’m very happy indeed that today that much is being doing for this topic, great and worthy work it being done for superstitions and oral traditions to gather and collect them before they entirely die out and before the grave closes on the last person to have it.

I have written such an amount about it and when I gathered everything together to put into print it was then that I realised that I could put a big book together. That’s what I’ve done. I put together all the lectures and every single story. And then I translated all that had in Gaelic into English. And now my book is ready for publishing and the opposite page is in the language in which it was written and the opposite page is in English. I hope that I’ll be able to get it into print at some point.

I then returned to this country in 1939. I spent a while over in the Western Isles renewing as well as gaining a bit more knowledge of what I had and then I got the call to go to Glenelg where I still am. I’ve been here as minister in Glenelg for nine years,

The Rev. Norman MacDonald was minister at Catalone, Cape Breton, and in Prince Edward Island as well as at Priceville, Ontatrio, between 1933 and 1942. In 1942 he was minister at the United Free Church on Berneray between 1942 and 1944. Whilst living on Berneray he lodged at Trealigarry in Ruisgarry. He transferred to Glenelg, also serving at Islay, Glenelg, Stratherrick and Boleskine. He was minister at Carinish between 1966 and 1972. After a long and distinguished career as a minister and perhaps more important as a writer, MacDonald passed away in 1978. An obituary notice appeared in the West Highland Free Press which neatly sums up all that was best about the man and his character:

The following tribute was paid to the late Rev Norman MacDonald―who died recently―by Rev R M MacKinnon, clerk to the presbytery of Uist.

The death occurred at hospital in Kirkcaldy earlier this month of the Rev Norman MacDonald, lately minister of Carinish, North Uist. Mr MacDonald had been admitted to hospital three weeks previously and although he had been in indifferent health his death was unexpected.

Mr MacDonald was born in Valtos, Staffin, Skye, on August 15, 1904. He was educated at Valtos Public School, Portree Higher Grade School and the University of Glasgow. While a student at Glasgow, he assisted at Glasgow St Columba Gaelic Church.

He was licensed to preach the Gospel by the Presbytery of Cape Breton, Canada, on September 22, 1932. He was ordained and inducted to the pastoral charge of Princeville, Ontario, by the Presbytery of Orangeville, Ontario, on December 26, 1933. He subsequently served in the congregation of Appin and Melbourne, Ontario, from January 1937 until he returned to Scotland and was inducted by the Presbytery of Uist to the charge of Berneray and Lochportan on March 3, 1942.

Mr MacDonald was inducted by the Presbytery of Lochcarron to the charge of Glenelg on December 27, 1944. He was inducted to the charge of Killarrow by the Presbytery of Isla; on September 2, 1953, and by the Presbytery of Inverness to the congregation of Stratherrick and Boleskine on January 13, 1960. His last charge was at Carinish, North Uist, where he was inducted on December 22, 1966. He began and ended his service in the Church of Scotland in the Presbytery of Uist. He retired from Carinish on April 30, 1972, and made his home in Glenrothes.

Mr MacDonald was a quiet man who carried out his duties faithfully. He was a gentleman who had a kindly word to say to all he met. He was a man of whimsical humour which was reinforced by the large fund of anecdotes which he drew out of his well stored mind.

He had a great love for all things Highland and Gaelic and did much research into the byways of Highland literature both sacred and secular in English and Gaelic. He was a lover of books ancient and modern and had before his retirement amassed a considerable library. He not only loved books, he wrote books. He h[a]d the pen of a ready writer, and we are all indebted to him for his monograph on the late Rev D T MacKay at Tiree. a native of Plockton who was a much respected and popular evangelist in the Highlands In the inter-war years. Mr MacDonald also wrote a booklet on Trinity Temple, Carinish, which was well received when published in 1972. He was a regular contributor to the Gaelic Supplement or Life and Work, writing on such varied topics as the early Celtic church in Europe and the lives of St Columba and St Patrick. His work on Gaelic words and allied topics is well-known by readers of Gairm and Sruth and of the now-defunct Gaidheal.

Mr MacDonald’s enquiring mind went beyond the study of what was visible and tangible to the twilight world of the occult. He was a corresponding member of the Royal Gustavus Adolphus Academy, and had work on the occult published in Upsalla, Sweden. Among his many publications on the occult are such titles as “The Occult Elements Common to Celtic and Oriental Folklore” and “The After Life in Celtic and Oriental Folklore”. He had an abiding interest in all kinds of folklore, but that did not hinder him from writing on more mundane subjects such as “The History of the Parish of Glenelg”.

From what I have written, it can be seen that Mr MacDonald was a man of wide interests. He had within his life combined, in a unique way, a warm affection for the evangelical pieties of his childhood upbringing with an acquaintance with an interest in the most radical of modem theology.

His congregation will remember him with affection, for he was warmhearted by nature, wide in his sympathies, kindly in his judgements, generous and charming as host in his own home.

Mr MacDonald, despite or because of his wide reading, could enthuse over tales of rustic piety and muscular faith. He had heard most of the famous preachers of the twenties, and his judgement of them was perceptive and generous. He could discourse eloquently on the superstitions and credulities of simple folk of a bygone age and could view with interest the reappearance of these superstitions in the so-called sophisticated society of our generation, while remaining unshakeable in his conviction of the authenticity of the faith he had to proclaim.

References:

Alan Bruford & Donald A. MacDonald, Scottish Traditional Tales (Edinburgh: Polygon, 1994), pp. 205–07, 457

Norman Macdonald and Cailean Maclean, The Great Book of Skye, vol. 1 (Portree: Great Book Publishing, 2014)

Rev. R. M. MacKinnon, ‘The Rev. Norman MacDonald,’ West Highland Free Press, no. 334 (1 Dec., 1978), p. 7

Eachdraidh-beatha an Urramaich Tormod Dòmhnallach

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Acknowledgement:

Many thanks to Dr Tiber Falzett in assisting with the transcription.

Image:

Valtos, Staffin, Isle of Skye