{"id":651,"date":"2015-10-01T12:19:00","date_gmt":"2015-10-01T12:19:00","guid":{"rendered":""},"modified":"2023-10-24T16:12:50","modified_gmt":"2023-10-24T16:12:50","slug":"tha-mo-churam-nas-fheorr-na-mo-chuimhn-life-death-and-the-mighty-mackay-part-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/tha-mo-churam-nas-fheorr-na-mo-chuimhn-life-death-and-the-mighty-mackay-part-3","title":{"rendered":"THA MO CH\u00d9RAM NAS FHE\u00d2RR NA MO CHUIMHN: Life, Death and the Mighty MacKay PART 3"},"content":{"rendered":"


\nMIC THREUN’ AOIDH<\/span><\/b> THE MIGHTY
\nMACKAY<\/span><\/p>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n<\/div>\n

It was time to find out exactly what the state of the Gaelic language in
\nthe MacKay Country was. After all, that had been why I’d made the trip and
\nnot just gone back home to the bosom of my family to grieve there instead.
\nThere is nothing better than setting yourself a mission when thralled to the passage of a dismal, hopeless hour. It is one of the ways in which I have
\nmade life worth living despite the numerous less than hurried trips
\nthrough the Darkshire Downs.<\/span><\/div>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n
\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
D\u00f9thaich MhicAoidh<\/b><\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n<\/div>\n
\nIf you went from the top of Melness right down<\/span><\/i>, I ask, trying to ascertain whether Georgina MacLeod had been right enough
\nabout the lack of speakers, other than Nan of course.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nWell Georgina\u2019s 98 years old, <\/span><\/i>said Nellie, I would have expected her to be very fluent as she was
\nleaving school when I began and they wouldn\u2019t have spoken anything but Gaelic
\nin the family home, but I can\u2019t think of anyone else.<\/i> <\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI explained that when I presented the list of people in the dictionary from Tongue Parish to Tommy at the shop he had sent me off to Nan\u2019s.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nWe were in the shop today!<\/span><\/i> said Nellie. And it dawned on me. Nan and Nellie were the two ladies I had
\npassed on the road.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nWhat about Hugh MacLeod, Georgina\u2019s brother?<\/span><\/i> Nellie asked Nan. Did he not make a Gaelic poem?<\/i> displaying the
\ninfluence of the old language on her speech with use of the verb make<\/i>
\ninstead of write<\/i>.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nNan explained that it was about a man they thought was a spy. Nellie
\nwondered whether he really existed. Nan explained further: Oh no, I’m sure
\nhe did. He came to Melness and he went to Port Vasco at the other end of the
\ndistrict. He came on a bicycle but he was picked up in a boat. You see the
\nGermans could easily have landed here in the north of Scotland as they were
\nsending spies over. In the poem Hugh tells all about the people this fellow
\nspoke to when he came across on the ferry. And then he went down to Port Vasco
\nand they found the bicycle the next day, but no sign of him. And they think he
\nmight have been making signs to someone and a boat picked him up. Supposedly
\nthe people found money down a rabbit\u2019s hole or something<\/i> too, but I’m
\nnot altogether sure.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI have tried since to find both the tale and the song online, but with no
\nsuccess. I remembered having seen a program some years before featuring a lady
\nwho arrived back in her home island in a helicopter. It had been great because
\nthe lady spoke Sutherland Gaelic with Alick George.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nIs there anyone else left from <\/span><\/i>Eilean nan R\u00f2n<\/b><\/span> <\/span><\/i>(Island of the Seals)<\/span>?<\/span>
\n<\/span><\/i>I inquire <\/i>of Nan.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nThey all moved out in 1935 and they were just
\nchildren at the time. Willie John the Island would have been the last one. He
\nwas a very interesting man. <\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nDo you remember the people from there having
\nanything in the way of different words? <\/span><\/i>Unsurprisingly,
\nI wanted to know more about their Gaelic. <\/i>The language is nothing if not
\nvaried, and your experience of dialect can change just by walking between two villages not five miles apart.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nWell I didn\u2019t really know anyone from the island
\ntoo well. My sister went to work over in Tongue and the doctor had Hugh and
\nWillie John there as handymen. So my sister used to tell me about those two
\nfrom the island, but they\u2019re both away now. She would be quoting what they were
\nsaying but I can\u2019t remember if they had any special words.<\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI wondered if Nan could think of anybody else at all in Sutherland that has
\nthe local Gaelic. I was in Bettyhill and I went to see Billy Gordon but he
\nhad gone out just before I got there.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nBilly\u2019s very knowledgable, he\u2019s very good<\/span><\/i>, said Nellie. I can’t think of anyone in Durness though and we don’t
\nknow Kinlochbervie that well.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nThere\u2019s nobody in Tongue now either, <\/span><\/i>Nan continued. Even when we were young, the people of Tongue pretended
\nthat the people of Melness were the wild lot who spoke Gaelic and that they
\nwere civilised and didn’t!<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nWell it\u2019s good to know the Melness Gaelic\u2019s not
\ncompletely gone and that you\u2019re holding fast yet<\/span><\/i>. I said,
\ndespite everything, still genuinely relieved I’d managed to meet somebody. The
\nCD hummed away in the background, with lots of older residents of the area
\nspeaking in the local dialect.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI suppose I must be the only one then<\/span><\/i>, said Nan, a little forlornly, but it\u2019s very much alive in my head you
\nknow and it\u2019s great to have that CD. If I didn\u2019t have that it would disappear
\nout of me altogether. Alick George talks quite often on the radio and TV, but
\nat the end of the day, that\u2019s all we have.<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Cuid de na MicAoidh agam fh\u00e9in<\/b><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n<\/div>\n
\nIt really was a dire situation to be in. I felt very sorry that things had
\ngot to the stage where the founding culture of the world-wide brand that is
\nScotland now existed for the most part in sound archives. The Mighty MacKay laid low. Despite having tracked down a speaker of this noble dialect, the
\nsituation was nevertheless verging on the hopeless. While the natives of this
\nnorthern extremity of Scotland exude a physical strength, a resolute
\nstubbornness that is only thinly covered by their genuine smiles and cheery
\ndemeanor, they are beginning to melt into the background of bland Caucasian
\nhomogeneity. The ruddy cheeks and gnarled hands of the old men are just one
\nemblem of an ancient way of life that is grinding to its death. Their Gaelic
\nlanguage has evaporated to a mere dew on the moorland grasses under the heat of
\nthe angry British gaze; patronising, tempting, ridiculing the noble souls of
\nthis now desolate paradise into trading in everything that mattered for forty
\nsilver-tongued words of English. <\/i>Despite the eyeglass which channeled
\nthis hate having lost its focus somewhat over the years, it is difficult to
\nbelieve that this is for any other reason than that the job is done; the
\nlanguage has been all but extirpated, the establishment’s mission of cultural
\ngenocide accomplished. The Highlanders were never completely
\nbroken in battle despite suffering under desperately poor generalship; we had
\nto be broken sneakily using other means, attacked just for being who we were, for everything that made us distinct and under the banner of progress, rendering these measures palatable to the general public.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/span>
\n
\nAs Lewisman Murchadh MacPh\u00e0rlain<\/b> (Murdo MacFarlane) put it:<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nNa Hitler<\/i>an breun Breatannach<\/span><\/b> (those stinking British Hitlers)<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\nA mhurt mo th\u00ecr mu thuath<\/span><\/b> (who murdered my northern land)<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\nGu Lebensraum <\/i>do chaoraich<\/span><\/b> (to make a habitat for sheep)<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n‘S na daoine sgi\u00f9rs’ thar chuan<\/span><\/b> (and scourged the people across the ocean)<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/span>
\n
\nNellie then brought up something else, quite out of the blue, and something which among other things
\ncould be said to epitomise the future for me, the possibility of any kind of independence for
\npeople living on what central government still regards as the edge of
\ncivilisation. As we spoke, I realised that this was the ultimate metaphor for
\nwhat Gaelic needed to do at a local level in the years to come.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nAre they fighting over the windmills down your
\nway?<\/span><\/i> she asked me.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nWell you know I quite like them.<\/span><\/i> I answered honestly.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nThey could have had them way up in the hills
\nthere where nobody would see them<\/span><\/i>, added Nan, where we used
\nto have a peatbank. I thought that if you had them there it would be like a
\nmemorial to the peatbank.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nThe mood I had been in, I had been on the verge of throwing in the towel
\nand just getting the memorial put up to the whole lot; the language, culture,
\neverything. This was a lovely idea, a game-changer: It\u2019s just a different kind of fuel
\nreally, isn\u2019t it?<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nIt\u2019s a different kind of fuel, precisely.<\/span><\/i> Nan realised I knew exactly what she meant. And you see the peatbanks
\nare dead, they\u2019ve dried out. And they could have had the windmills way out in
\nthe distance…. but it caused a lot of consternation.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nAnd there you have it. The consternation. Just like the consternation when women first got the vote, when motorcars began to overtake carriages on the road, and when men turned up for work not having shaved.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Saorsa, Caoimhe ‘s muillean-gaoithe<\/b><\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n
\n\n\n\n\n
\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n
\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n
\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/b><\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

Let us just take a moment before we go on. A moment to imagine a different Highlands, without the Statutes of
\nIona, Union, Culloden, clearance, the complete ignorance of Gaelic in the
\nEducation Act, two world wars and many more besides and the savage beating,
\nbelittling and humiliating of children in Britain’s Highland schools for being
\nthemselves. Let us imagine a Scotland without the \u201cchoice\u201d to be Scots or
\nBrits, without the poisoned chalice that should never have been offered, let
\nalone accepted. Let us imagine something approaching a small-scale farming and
\nfishing culture in the Highlands, a people replete with home crafts selling
\nbeautifully on international markets and all manner of other imported skills and trades having been taken up by choice for the sake of variety and versatility and not dire necessity, a society whose language finds a constant
\nhome where it belongs and spreads to our cousins in the Lowlands who wish to
\nunderstand better their countryfolk. Let\u2019s imagine converted blackhouses with
\nmodern sewerage, central heating, hot water and decent bloody windows, each
\nwith one of those very wind turbines out back to generate electric power and the clear, pure water of Scotland flowing through its
\npipes. Let\u2019s imagine ultra-decentralised councils of Gaelic speakers taking to
\ndo with the running of everything that mattered in any given area and a living story-telling and musical tradition to rival any the world over. Let’s
\nimagine a concept of progress that doesn’t necessarily stem from the desolation
\nof empire scorching the earth before new growth out of the ashes is possible in a Highlands where the native human current flows both ways and not just in a constant deluge south, passed only by intrepid White Settlers in their expensive canoos. <\/span><\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\nLet\u2019s also accept that this concept is fanciful. However, we shouldn’t
\nforget one of the main reasons nothing remotely like that came to pass. This reason is that Gaelic culture
\nhas been running around like the hen less its head which was lopped off when
\nthe Lordship of the Isles found itself on the sharp end of the wrath of an
\nAnglicised monarchy. Hens can live for a surprising length of time
\nmissing their heads. So Gaelic culture has done because of the remoteness of
\ncommunities in the Highlands. The moment better road links were established,
\nthese communities capitulated culturally-speaking almost immediately, like
\nancient mummified remains crumbling to dust under the glare of the sun. With no
\ncentral nervous system, no central structure maintaining anything approaching
\nunity of purpose, it\u2019s actually quite surprising that Gaelic society lasted as long as it
\ndid.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n\n\n\n\n
\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n
\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/b><\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

And so the
\nscorched earth of the Scottish cultural landscape is indeed exactly what we
\nplough through in the earnest hope of return. In time perhaps these ashes will prove to
\nbe the most fertile soil possible. Once the history of what happened here is
\nfully understood, those of a mind will be filled with an unquenchable thirst
\nfor justice. Some of course, are already far down that first furrow, keeping
\ntheir heads low so as not to catch a glimpse of the gargantuan expanse of soil
\nthat is still left to sow. Some never left, keeping the faith of their elders
\nand showing us an admirable example. Others took a wrong turn and ended up in
\nill-fitting Brit-suits at desks in the belief that it’s better to be
\ncalling the shots in out of the rain than dealing with the consequences of these decisions on the ground.<\/span><\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\n\n\n\n\n
\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n
\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n
\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/b><\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

To an extent therefore, they’ve sown
\nour seeds into the ditch of the road to London, and more recently Edinburgh. An
\nabout turn and a relentless march back to where we come from is the only hope.
\nWhat then can the concept of local wind turbines teach us about language
\nrevival? Not all that much actually. But what they are
\nis a potential bid for independence, they are people’s chance to get off the grid. Just
\nas a turbine at the back of every croft would give it plenty of power
\nto survive off its own back, so local investments of pure passion, that golden fuel that drives
\nanything into which it is poured, are the only thing that can help the Gaelic
\nlanguage get off-grid, off life support, and plug back into the original vein that will
\nnourish her into the future and on her own terms. The peat-banks of old dialect speech have all but dried out, but with a smart new injection of passion technology, we might just be able to get up the right amount of momentum to fuel a genuine revival and lift the drought. <\/span>
\n<\/span><\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\n\n\n\n\n
\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

A model of
\nlanguage revitalisation based on learning directly and consistently from our elders is about the only hand
\nwe’ve not yet played. It’s the one which should have been employed in the first place and one which ought to cause little in the way of consternation. Given that it’s already working in communities all over the world, why are we not giving it a go? Tune in soon for our next blog in which I’ll head south into Assynt only to discover<\/span> yet another dialect balancing on a knife edge….<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\nSl\u00e0n leibh
\nair an \u00e0m…. <\/span><\/b><\/p>\n

\nMar chuimhneachan air Ruairidh MacCoinnich nach maireann…. <\/span><\/b><\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\n(disclaimer:
\nthe opinions expressed in this blog do not necessarily represent those of
\nanyone else mentioned or quoted in it. I paraphrase from memory what was said
\nin order to paint a picture of my experiences in the MacKay Country. My special
\nthanks to Nan and Nellie for a lovely afternoon and to Nan for subsequent
\ntune-ups of my information over the phone!)<\/span><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

MIC THREUN’ AOIDH THE MIGHTY MACKAY It was time to find out exactly what the state of the Gaelic language in the MacKay Country was. After all, that had been why I’d made the trip and not just gone back home to the bosom of my family to grieve there instead. There is nothing better […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_editorskit_title_hidden":false,"_editorskit_reading_time":0,"_editorskit_is_block_options_detached":false,"_editorskit_block_options_position":"{}","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-651","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-blog"],"blocksy_meta":{"styles_descriptor":{"styles":{"desktop":"","tablet":"","mobile":""},"google_fonts":[],"version":7}},"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t