Air ais anns a’ Chuimrigh

By Simon

Thàinig mi air ais dhan a’ Chuimrigh oidhche Shathairne an déidh seachdain math dha rìreabh ann an Sabhal Mòr Ostaig. Rinn mi cùrsa Òrain Ghàidhlig ri Christine Primrose, agus bu mhór a chòrd e rium. Bha tri duine deug anns a’ chlas à Alba, ‘nam Ghearmailt, às na Stàitean Aonaichte, agus à Sasann. Chan robh Gàidhlig ag na mór-chuid aca, agus bha i doirbh dhaibh na faclan a fhuaimneachadh mar bu chòir. Dh’ionnsaich sinn naoi òrain ar fhichead ré cóig latha, no timcheall sia gach latha. Anns an oidhche bha sinn a’ seinn, a’ dannsa, a’ bruidhinn agus bha sinn gu sona sunndach.

I got back to Wales on Saturday night after a great week at Sabhal Mòr Ostaig. I did the Gaelic Song course with Christine Primrose and really enjoyed it. There were thirteen of us in the class from Scotland, Germany, the USA and England. Most of the others did not speak Gaelic, and it was difficult for them to pronounce the words correctly. We learnt 29 songs in five days, or about six a day. In the evening we sang, made music, danced, chatted and had a wonderful time.

Here are recordings from the cèilidh on Thursday night when we sang a some of the songs we learnt:

E ho leagain (Hi ho my pet one) – a milking song which praises a long-haired heifer who gives plenty of milk and never kicks.

Horo mo bhobagan dram (My friend is the dram) – a song in praise of whisky,

Tha Sneachd air Druim Uachdair (There is Snow on Druim Uachdair) – a song from the 17th century by Fearchair Mac Iain Oig from Kintail about a man who is on the run from the law and is hiding out in the hills where it’s cold and lonely. I sang solo for parts of this.

Carson a’ bhios sinn muladach (Why should we be down-hearted) – a song about young men going off to war together, and how they’re worried, but hope things will turn out well and that they’ll return.

Siud mar chaidh an càl a dholaidh & Cuir a nall Mor-a-Bhitheag (That is how the kale was ruined & Send on over Marion-a-Bhitheag) – two puirt à beul or pieces of mouth music, the first of which tells how the kale was ruined by the lowland men and the emperor of France, and the second concerns Marion-a-Bhitheag – the meaning of Bhitheag in this context is uncertain.

Waulking and Walking

By Simon

My Gaelic Song course is going well and I’m really enjoying it. There are thirteen of us in the class – most are from Scotland or of Scottish origin, and there are also a few from other countries like the USA and Germany. Some speak Gaelic well, others know a bit, and those without any Gaelic are finding the pronunciation somewhat tricky.

One type of song we’ve learnt is the waulking song. The word waulking refers to the practise of fulling or milling tweed cloth, or pounding the cloth against a board with the hands or trampling it with the feet in order to shrink it and make it water proof. In Scotland, and among Scottish settlers in Nova Scotia, waulking was accompanied by rhythmic songs known as waulking songs (òrain luaidh) which helped people to coordinate their work. Traditionally it was women who did this work – men also did it in Nova Scotia – and one person would sing verses, and everybody who sing the vocables – nonsense syllables that fit the tune. The verses were often improvised.

There are some examples of waulking songs in the songs section of Omniglot.

The word waulking comes from the Old English word wealcan (to roll, toss); from the Proto-Germanic *walkaną (to twist, turn, move); from the Proto-Indo-European *wolg- < *wel- (to bend, twist, run, roll), which is also the root of walk, and of the Latin word valgus (bent, bow-legged).

Sabhal Mòr Ostaig

By Simon

I’m off to Sabhal Mòr Ostaig, the Gaelic college on the Isle of Skye, later today to do a course in Scottish Gaelic song (Òrain Ghàidhlig) with Christine Primrose. This is the third time I’ve done the course with Christine, and the fourth time I’ve been to the college – last year I was there later in August for a Gaelic song course with Mary-Ann Kennedy.

I’m looking forward to it very much as I love singing, especially in Gaelic, and will have plenty of opportunities to speak Gaelic, and maybe other languages, while I’m there. The place itself is also very beautiful with spectacular views across the Sound of Sleat.

A view of the Sabhal Mòr Ostaig campus

So I’m going to Glasgow by train today, staying there tonight, then continuing my journey by train up to Mallaig, and by ferry to Armadale, then I’ll walk or get a taxi to the college, depending on the weather.

Cigire or Cigydd? Cross-language confusion

By Simon

Last week in Ireland on the last night of the course each class played some tunes, did a sketch, sang songs, and/or did some other party piece. One of the Irish language classes did a sketch about a bunch of unruly school kids whose class was being visited by an inspector, played by Paul Kavanagh, Irish Ambassador to China. When the inspector turned up and he introduced himself as a “cigire scoile” (school inspector), and I processed the word cig in cigire as the Welsh word for meat. So at first I thought he was the school butcher, which would be cigydd ysgol in Welsh, though that made no sense in the context. I soon realised that he was an inspector, but it took a while for my mind to accept that word cigire had nothing to do with meat.

Incidentally, the Irish word for butcher is búistéir or feolaire, and feoil is meat.

Do you ever suffer from cross-language confusion?

Cruite, cláirseacha a chrythau

By Simon

Cláirseach / Clàrsach / Claasagh / Telyn / Telenn, & Crwth

I discovered last week in Ireland that one word for the harp in Irish is cruit [krutʲ], which sounds similar to the Welsh word crwth [kruːθ], a type of bowed lyre that was once popular in Wales and in other parts of Europe, but which was largely displayed by the fiddle during the 18th century.

The word crwth from a Proto-Celtic word *krotto- (round object) and refers to a swelling or bulging out, of pregnant appearance, or a protuberance. The Irish word cruit comes from the same root and refers to small harps or lyres. The equivalent English word, which was borrowed from Welsh is crowd, which is also written crwd, crout or crouth, and in Medieval Latin such an instrument was called a chorus or crotta. The English surnames Crowder and Crowther, which mean a crowd player, and the Scottish names MacWhirter and MacWhorter also come from the same root [source].

The more common word for harp in Irish is cláirseach. In Scottish Gaelic the words cruit and clàrsach are used, with the latter being the most common, and in Manx we have claasagh and cruitçh. The Welsh word for harp is telyn, which has an equivalent in Manx – tellyn (Welsh harp). The Cornish word for harp is the same as the Welsh, and the Breton word is telenn.

Oideas Gael

By Simon

I’m having a wonderful time in Gleann Cholm Cille learning to play the harp and speaking plenty of Irish. The course is going really well – we started with basic techniques, and have learnt a number of tunes, including some from the Bóroimhe / Brian Boru suite by Michael Rooney.

I’ve videoed our teacher, Oisín Morrison, playing all the pieces we’ve learnt so far, and he’s going to give us some more pieces to learn at home.

People come here from all over the world on holiday and to do courses at Oideas Gael – this week you can do Irish language classes, harp playing, or hill walking – so there are opportunities to speak quite a few languages, including French, German, Swedish, Mandarin, Dutch and Scottish Gaelic. I’ve even learnt a bit of Serbian from a Bosnian woman who is studying Irish here.