by Anne Ross
MacGregor notes a remarkable marriage custom which was practised in Easter Ross. Once the wedding festivities were over the couple must go to be kirked on the first Sunday after the marriage. If several weddings had taken place in the same week, things became very complicated. In this instance, when the sermon was over, the newly-wed couples, without waiting for the benediction, would rush from the church and make for home; the couple to reach home first would then be certain of a happy and prosperous life; those left behind were more likely to be the victims of misfortune.
Even until comparatively recently, a Highland wedding was an elaborate and lengthy affair. It could last for several days and much ritual attended it. There was a wedding feast consisting of cold mutton and fowl and all the usual dairy produce, scones, cheese, oatcakes and so on, contributed by all the neighbours; whisky was drunk and the couple were toasted by all. After the feast, a riotous dance ensued, and the bridal couple had to take the lead in the Wedding Reel. The festivities continued for most of the night and often for several days, and there was much sport and fun and ribald humour.
To return to the most serious of these three stages of man’s life, MacGregor records that in Ross-shire it was believed that the soul did not finally leave the body until the corpse had been laid in the grave — this was, in fact, a very widespread Highland belief. In Perthshire it was held that, at the moment of death, whether it be natural or the result of an accident, the soul could actually be seen leaving the body in the shape of a small insect such as a bee or a butterfly. This belief in the soul in animal form is very widespread and ancient, and like so much else goes back to the earliest Celtic traditions.
Martin records that in Bernera, Harris, there was a freshwater lake called Loch Bruist, in which there were small islets, rich in fowl of many species. In the Island of Taransay, there were two chapels, one dedicated to Saint Tarran and the other to Saint Keith. He mentions an ancient tradition amongst the natives that a man must not be buried in Saint Tarran’s nor a woman in Saint Keith’s — if this were to be done, the corpse would be found above the ground on the day following its interment.
Amongst the many fascinating death and burial traditions Martin notes is that of a grave found on the little Island of Ensay which lies between Bernera and the main land of Harris. He mentions an old chapel, and he says there was ‘lately discovered a grave in the west end of the island in which was found a pair of scales made of brass, and a little hammer, both of which were finely polished’. The burial of grave goods in Christian contexts is rare, and this unusual interment may thus have been of great antiquity.
The Highlanders had, and have, a deep, widespread belief in death warnings of all kinds — portents which indicated the imminent decease of some member of a family or community. These, quite naturally, always give rise to superstitious dread, and there is deep unease until the omen has been fulfilled. Certain clans and their septs, as well as individual families, had death warnings known to, and peculiar to, themselves. Immediately before the death, someone was certain to see or hear the eerie warning. Campbell, in his book on Witchcraft, gives several examples of these, and the superstition still continues in certain remote areas where the old beliefs die hard. Before a member of the Breadalbane family died, for instance, a bull would be heard at night roaring on the hillside. As the animal ascended the hillside, the noise grew fainter and finally died away altogether as the portentous animal passed over the top. A folk legend accounts for this manifestation: apparently the head of a bull was at one time brought in to a feast as a signal for the massacre of a number of MacGregors whom Breadalbane had asked to his castle as guests. A small bird — a common death portent — was the sign of the death of a member of the MacLachlan clan. Some families were warned of approaching bereavement by a strange whistling sound; others by a light which glowed like a candle. There were countless other variations on the basic theme — screaming, wailing, the sound of someone sobbing, and so on. These death warnings were quite distinct from ordinary earthly sounds or objects, and when they occurred the air became unnaturally cold — another common feature in connection with supernatural happenings. Sometimes before a nobleman was to die a light like a meteor could be seen in the sky (dreug); this would move from the house where the death was to occur and make its way to the place of burial. This was invariably the route to be taken by the funeral procession.
As mentioned above, a feature of death and burial was the employment of professional female mourners; such a woman was known in Gaelic as the bean tuirim, ‘the weeping woman’. Carmichael gives us some valuable information both about death customs in general and about this professional class of mourners. Apparently, in the island of Lismore, the place over which a funeral procession travels is regarded both as sacred, and as a right of way. In Barra a corpse was left unburied for 48 hours alone; in Uist it was retained in the house from three to five nights. The seis or seisig-bhàis, ‘death-wailing’, could be heard in the house in which the death had taken place. The tuiream, ‘lament’, was the mourning in the open air after the doleful funeral procession. Some pipers were renowned for their laments at funerals. Carmichael records that the word gul or gal was a term which was applied to this archaic custom of professional mourning. By 1904 it had become redundant in Scotland although it was still in vogue in Ireland, where it was called caoineadh, which became the well-known anglicised word ‘keening’. Carmichael was able to persuade an old Barra woman to demonstrate this almost lost art, and his description of the whole performance is most impressive. The occasion was that of the tragic burial of a young fisherman:
The scene was remarkable; below and right before us on its tidal rock stood the magnificent ruin of Ciosmal Castle, the ancient residence of MacNeil of Barra, and beyond this for twelve miles out to sea lay one behind another the isles of the Atlantic, usually wild and foamy, like lions at bay, this day peaceful and calm as lambs tired of play. The bean tuirim was tall and handsome, though somewhat gaunt and bony, with long features and long arms. At first she was reluctant to sing, but by degrees she came to use her voice to the full and the result was striking in the extreme. She and I carried the body as it was carried in simple fashion on three staves by a man at either end of each. The woman rehearsed the grief, the bitter grief, of the winsome young widow, the bitter cries of young helpless children, asking who would now bring them the corn from the breird, the meal from the mill, the fish from the sea and the birds from the rocks? Who indeed? No one now, since he was laid low. She then rehearsed the sorrows of the poor and the needy, the friendless and the aged whom he had been wont to help.
Carmichael’s record of this procedure provides an important description of this deeply-rooted and ancient tradition, which, in his day, had so very nearly been lost to posterity. In Tiree, the bean tuirim was still employed until the mid-nineteenth century. There was seemingly ill-feeling between the last keening woman there and one of her neighbours, Domhnall Ruadh, ‘Red Donald’. When she last met him alive she told him she would make him live for ever. He died soon after that — and she took her place at the head of the procession according to custom. She had, however, hidden a cat under her cloak, and at the end of each eulogistic and elegiac passage, the cat mewed loudly. All the young people present thought this was very amusing, but the older people were shocked at the crudeness of her malice towards the deceased. As a result, she was never asked to keen again, and the custom died out. In 1872 Carmichael collected the following tradition from Catherine Pearson of Barra; each township had its own midwife and mourning-woman. These essential members of the community were provided by the township with free grazing and fodder. They were protected in every possible way so that they were able to perform their vital duties whenever called upon. Carmichael then gives a variety of incidents and laments which are invaluable to those who are interested in the rich lore of Gaelic Scotland, now so rapidly disappearing.
7 The seasons and the archaism of calendar festivals
In the wil
d, isolated hills, glens and Islands of the Scottish Highlands, where man is utterly dependent on the seasons and the forces of nature, there flourished from earliest times a rich folklore connected with lucky and unlucky days and months, and rites and incantations to manipulate the ever-present hostile forces into benevolence rather than malevolence; to ensure good harvests from the land and the sea, healthy stock, and an abundance of all the produce upon which the simple lives of the Highlanders depended. The ancient seasonal festivals survive vestigially in some areas, while even a century ago they were still a vital part of the life of the community, an insurance against ill-luck and the ever-lurking powers of darkness. Although these calendar feasts were regarded as great social affairs, relieving for a brief spell the hardship and monotony of more or less subsistence living, they also had a fundamental religious connotation; at first pagan, and then Christian, subtly interwoven with archaic non-Christian rites. Labour too, of an everyday nature, required blessing and protection, and it is in this whole field of activity that some of the most unique and fascinating folklore and customs of the British Isles is to be found.
The very names for the quarters of the Celtic year are pre-Christian. Earrach, ‘Spring’; Samhradh, ‘Summer’; Foghara, ‘Harvest’; Geamhradh, ‘Winter’. And, in the main, the ancient pagan quarterly festivals, for purification and good fortune, have continued to be practised at the same calendar seasons, with the inclusion of Nollaig, ‘Christmas’, as a Christian feast, although the Bliadhna Ùr, ‘New Year’, has always taken precedence over Nollaig as far as festivities are concerned. As in the ancient Celtic world, in the Highlands night is reckoned as preceding the day, and periods of time are counted in terms of nights rather than days. The main calendar festivals are, then, as follows.
Oidhche Challuinn, ‘New Year’s Eve’
The eve of New Year’s Day was one of supreme importance in the Highlands and Islands of the West and took precedence even over Christmas. It was a time of much ceremony and gaiety, but underneath the levity lay a sinister hint of the old ritual and sacrificial nature of the festival. The Eve of New Year was known as Oidhche Challuinn, and New Year’s Day as Là Challuinn. First-footing is still carried out, as in other parts of the Highlands, although, as elsewhere, it is a dying custom. Up to the beginning of the twentieth century at least, the festivities of New Year’s Eve were fully in operation and boys went round the houses in every township carrying dried cow-hides and chanting special rhymes continuously. They beat the skins with sticks and struck the walls of the houses with clubs; this ritual was believed to have an apotropaic effect and to keep at bay fairies and evil spirits and hostile forces of every kind. Carmichael gives the following example of a Hogmanay rhyme:
Tonight is the hard night of Hogmanay,
I am come with a lamb to sell —
The old fellow yonder sternly said
He would strike my ear against a rock.
The woman, better of speech, said
That I should be let in;
For my food and for my drink,
A morsel due and something with it.
The young people used to travel in groups round their own townships. In different areas, different rites would be performed at each house, but some form of Duan Challuinn, ‘Hogmanay Poem’, would always be chanted. There were two types of visitation: in one instance the duan was recited outside the house and the chant described the ritual of approaching and entering it. Another duan was sung after the house had been entered, when the Caisean Calluig, ‘Hogmanay Hide’, was beaten. The basic form of the ritual was universal in spite of regional variants in detail and terminology. These old practices have virtually died out, but the ancient and pagan ritual discernible in them requires no comment. The boys who took part in these rites were known as gillean Callaig, ‘Hogmanay lads’, and the ceremony was performed at night. One of the boys was covered with the hide of a bull to which the horns and hooves were still attached. When they came to a house in some areas they climbed to the flat edge of the thatched roof and ran round it in a sunwise direction, the boy, or man, wearing the hide would shake the horns and hooves, and the others would strike at the bull-man with sticks. He was meant to be a frightening figure, and apparently the noise of this ritual beating and shaking of the hide was terrific. After this part of the ceremony was performed, the boys came down from the roof and recited their blatantly pagan chants; afterwards they were given hospitality in the house. The rhyme when the hide was in the process of being struck was as follows:
Hogmanay of the sack,
Hogmanay of the sack,
Strike the hide,
Strike the hide.
Hogmanay of the sack,
Hogmanay of the sack.
This ritual rhyme was, of course, chanted in Gaelic. Its very monotony imparted a certain eerie relentlessness to the ceremony. When it was finished, another carol or chant would be sung at the door of the house; this would praise — in anticipation — the generosity of the occupiers and would request entry and reward. In some areas the skin was singed by the man of the house, and the fumes it gave off were believed to have powers of purification, imparting health to all the family for the next 12 months. A New Year’s Blessing, widely used and having a number of variants, could also be heard both in the islands and the Gaelic mainland. Pennant records, for the Dingwall region of Easter Ross, that he was told in the locality that on New Year’s Day the people burned juniper before their cattle in order to protect them — another custom going back to Druidic times. He also learnt that on the first Monday of every quarter, the beasts were sprinkled with urine — a potent evil-averting substance. The houses were decorated with holly in order to keep out the fairies, always a troublesome race; it was believed that if a boy were whipped with a branch of this plant it was an assurance that he would live for as many years as the drops of blood drawn by the sharp holly — a painful way of ensuring longevity! Cheese, as we have seen, was believed to have magical properties, and was eaten on this occasion. A slice of it was preserved, and if this happened to have a hole through it, it was believed to have special virtues. This sacred slice was known as laomacha, and a person who had lost his way at any time during the ensuing 12 months had only to look through the hole in the slice and he would know where he was — this was especially valuable to one lost on the hill in mist. It was regarded as a very magical festival in every respect, and games of all kinds were played (34). Some of these were concerned with the endlessly fascinating desire to find out who one’s future husband or wife was destined to be. Sometimes the boys in the Hogmanay procession were preceded by a piper. No matter how long or short the chant was, some words at least must be recited. It was the tradition to keep the fire, which was usually ‘smoored’ or extinguished at night, alive all through New Year’s Night. Only a friend might approach the sacred blaze, and the candles were likewise kept burning in the house.
This custom gave rise to another name for the festival, Oidhche Choinnle, ‘Candlemas’. These various rites were performed in the belief that, by observing them, evil would be kept from the dwelling for the ensuing year. When the fire was being fuelled on this night, a special incantation was recited, but Campbell was unable to obtain an example of this. If the fire went out that night, it boded ill for the coming year, and no neighbour would provide kindling to light it on the following day. Ritual even accompanied the extinguishing or ‘smooring’ of the everyday fires; the putting out of the flames was called in Gaelic smàladh an teine. The main fuel used in the Highlands and Islands was, of course, peat; wood was scarce, and although much more coal is used today, peat is still burnt. The fire was not entirely extinguished but kept barely smouldering during the night. Until very recently the fire was in the centre of the floor of the so-called ‘black’ houses, and the embers were smoothed out evenly on the hearth; these were then covered over with large peats and ashes to prevent the fire from blazing up in the night, but to ensure easy kindling in the morning. The whole process
was regarded with superstition, and was accompanied by many incantations. One incantation, taken down by Carmichael invokes:
34Five of the ivory chessmen found at Vig, Isle of Lewis, in 1831. National Museum of Antiquities of Scotland
The Sacred Three
To save,
To shield,
To surround
The hearth,
The house,
The household,
This eve,
This night,
On this eve
This night,
And every night,
Each single night.
There are many variants of invocations for this important function of smooring the fire, all of a sacred nature, and going right back to the ancient pagan belief in the miraculous power of fire. The kindling in the morning, on which all domestic comfort depended, had its own repertoire of charms and incantations for blessing:
I will raise the hearth-fire
As Mary would.
The encirclement of Bride and of Mary
On the fire, and on the floor,
And on the household all.
Who are they on the bare floor?
John and Peter and Paul.
Who are they by my bed?
The lovely Bride and her Fosterling.
Who are those watching over my sleep ?
The fair loving Mary and her Lamb.
Who is that at the back of my head ?
The Son of Life without beginning, without time.
Deeply and sincerely Christian as these devout Highlanders were, they managed to keep the essence of the old religion in being by turning from the many pagan gods and goddesses — although, as we have seen, some of these were retained underneath a veneer of Christianity — to the many saints and angels, as well as the Virgin and the Trinity, thus continuing to surround themselves with divine protection, of a Christian kind, but according to the ancient pre-Christian formulae.
