Àrainneachd, Cànan is Dualchas

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For a few years now Staffin in the north of Skye has been host to a residential course called Àrainneachd, Cànan is Dualchas, meaning the Scottish Gaelic language, nature and the environment. I’ve been eyeing it up for a while now – the title alone screams “come to me” (all that’s missing is ‘yarn’). What is interesting about this course is that it is for folk who have Gaelic already. There are lots of resources available on the landscape and language for folk who aren’t fluent or native speakers (like those I’ve mentioned before) and of course these can be used by fluent speakers as well. But the benefit of having a course for fluent speakers is the depth in which the subject can be explored, without the additional time needed for context and explanation. The course is led by acknowledged Gaelic expert, Ruairidh MacLean, with classes held in the Columba 1400 centre in Staffin. Time spent in the landscape is a vital part of the course, and a focus on particular themes giving participants the chance to see and experience first-hand how the language and landscape intertwine.

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The Central Belt is home to increasing numbers of Gaelic speakers, but with urban and suburban surroundings being so different to the traditional Gaelic-speaking areas, I think courses like this one are increasingly important. Our language is so connected to the landscape that any opportunity to explore those connections should we welcomed with open arms. For me, time spent out in the landscape identifying plants, animals and landmarks is the best way to spend a day, or five. Unfortunately I can’t make the course this year but I’ll be saving up for next year.

Full details of the course are available on their website:  https://acisd.wordpress.com/

With thanks to Sìne of Urras na Taobh Sear and Ruairidh for their patience and helpfulness in answering my many emails about the course; gach beannachd dhuibh!

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Is it enough just to fool someone?

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I approached a stranger a few days ago. My intentions were good – to compliment them on their achievements and express my interest in their work. Neither I nor the other party had met before, though I was aware of their work from afar.

What happened next really took me aback and has been playing on my mind since. I introduced myself, stated the organisations name this individual represented and was immediately critiqued for not using the Gaelic version of the name instead. Our conversation was happening in English and I had been informed by them almost immediately that they spoke next to no Gaelic. Or, rather, enough Gaelic to ‘fool a bus load of tourists’ (a deeply troubling attitude in itself).

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The conversation continued; I questioned why the English name was used at all if the Gaelic name was truly preferred (an honest query as much as me playing devil’s advocate). In doing so I was further critiqued for my incorrect pronunciation of the placename (in Gaelic) and for not having the appropriate regional accent. Again, I was taken aback. Immediately after our interaction I started questioning myself – who has the right to make such comments? Does anyone? Was this person actually entirely valid in questioning my useage despite me saying I was a Gaelic speaker? Should I be more militant in my usage? If I am, am I happy to inevitably alienate people as a result? Am I prepared to explain to people – all the time­ – what it is that I’m saying or what that word is that I’ve just used means?

Why am I even questioning myself over this? Objectively, I know the answers. I ought to be more persistant (though I think I am relatively anyway). I ought not to worry about alienating people. Normalisation of the language is key. I should be prepared to – and not tire of – telling people about the language I use, in whatever capacity.

But the honest truth is, it’s exhausting. I live and work in Edinburgh. Of the 500,000 people living here, there is a healthy and active Gaelic community, but that community is not part of my daily life. Day to day I am surrounded largely by people who do not speak the language and who would regularly require the explanations that are so tiring. Fundamentally, I live in an English world – the predominant language of Edinburgh is English and it requires active effort, thought and consideration every minute of the day not to just ‘go for the easy option’ and solely use English. It is exhausting.

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I say normalisation is key – and it is. The day I started writing this post Alex Salmond used the word bùrach during a speech in Westminster. Perhaps that could be used as an example of normalisation happening right this minute – that a non-speaker from central Scotland use a Gaelic word in London to a national audience. I’ve been chastising myself for not using Gaelic during that conversation the other day, but also being annoyed at myself for not having a better response to ‘why didn’t you use the Gaelic?’.

In my flummoxed state, I took to twitter to ask these same questions. I received a number of responses from both non-Gaelic speakers and speakers alike, all of which said what I know deep-down already: of course this person was wrong to criticise me; there is already too much linguistic judgement among speakers. We should be celebrating and encouraging each other to use what we can, when we can, and create an atmosphere of positivity that enables speakers of all abilities to feel like they have a place with the language. There is a good Gaelic phrase that not everyone agrees with, but one that I strongly believe in: Is fheàrr Gàidhlig bhriste na Gàidhlig sa chiste; better broken Gaelic, than Gaelic in a coffin. I wonder if the person I spoke to thinks the same.

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Foxglove: the thimble of death

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I was always warned as a child about the dangers of foxglove. Mum and dad told me not to touch the flowers, and definitely never to pick the plant, no matter how bonny. Despite the warnings, the temptation was always strong – the colour, shape and size, the sheer number of them out through the summer. Speaking to a friend recently, it was funny to hear her tales of an almost pathological desire to stick her fingers in the flower heads as a kid, despite similar repeated warnings from her parents. I’ve still never picked a foxglove stem, or touched one of the flowers, though I do still think they are one of the bonniest plants growing just now.

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I like the English name foxglove in itself, but Gaelic has some great names too. In fact, there are a few different names for this plant depending who you ask (and where they’re from), and they’re all interesting.

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Cìoch nam cailleachean marbha
kee-och nam call-yech-an marv-uh
The dead women’s breast


Lus nam ban sìth
looss nam bahn shee
The fairy’s flower. Fairies were not always benevolent visitors in Gaelic tradition.


Meuran a’ bhàis

mee-uh-run a vaa-ish
The thimble of death. Meuran means thimble here but otherwise usually means a branch.

Commonly used words in Gaelic that might you might see elsewhere: cailleach (old woman; uncomplimentary); lus (plant or flower); marbh (dead).

These names say something of the mythology and folklore attached to foxglove; the dangers or potential medicinal use of the plant would have been well known. It’s not for no reason that a plant name would be so connected to death. What better way to warn children of the potential danger than to call it Cìoch nam cailleachean marbha?

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All images courtesy of Wikimedia Commons except the lead image which is © Copyright Linda and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.