New video: Samhain

As soon as the leaves start to change colour, everybody starts getting excited about Samhain...

So continuing on with the series of videos we've been doing on the festival year, we've just finished the latest one in plenty of time for Samhain. This is the longest one to date, but that's because there's just so much to talk about and it's difficult to do it all justice in five minutes or less. Kathryn took the lead on this one and did an amazing job - I think this is my favourite video so far:

We asked people over on the Gaelic Polytheism group to help us out and contribute some photos and we got an amazing response from folks. We couldn't fit everybody's contributions in, but we appreciate every single photo that we received and we hope we can find a home for them in future videos. Thanks to each and every one of you for your support!

Hand in hand with this video I think it's a good time to repost one of the videos we released last time, around Lùnastal:

The Prophecy of the Morrígan from Cath Maige Tuired is as relevant to Samhain as it is to Lùnastal, so it's well worth a watch (again)! Also in our festival playlist, we have a video on turnip carving if you're looking for some pointers; you can find it by clicking on the wee arrow next to the "playlist" link in the top left of the video, then scroll down towards the bottom, or else I've done a walk-through guide over on Tairis. Some links you might find useful:

• Samhainn
• Celebrating Samhainn
• Carving Tumshies
• Samhainn Divination

Those of you in the southern hemisphere might find this video worth watching instead, however, as you head towards Bealltainn:

The Samhain video completes the four Quarter Days in the Gaelic calendar, and we have two more videos to come on Midwinter and Hogmanay traditions to complete the festival year as a whole. After that, we intend to come full circle, as it were, and do a video on the festival year in general (which is probably where we should have started, but oh well!). And then... Who knows? If there are any subjects you'd like us to tackle, that relate to Gaelic Polytheism in some way, feel free to weigh in on the comments!

New videos!

Back in March, my colleagues and I at Gaol Naofa worked on producing some videos for our new Youtube channel. Those first two that we did focused on St Patrick's Day, and our intention from the start was to continue on with videos for other festivals in the Gaelic year - ones that are ancient in origin like the quarters days, as well as the more modern ones like Hogmanay and Là na Caillich.

Yesterday, on Tynwald Day - the Isle of Man's national holiday (which is usually on July 5th, but it moves to the following Monday when it falls at the weekend), and we released a bunch of new videos to go with the two St Patrick's videos we've already done. These are (and forgive me for regurgitating the list I already gave on the Gaol Naofa website...):

Lá Fhéile Bríde:

Detailing the lore and traditions associated with the festival that marks the first flourish of Spring.

Là na Caillich:

The Day of the Cailleach in Scotland, which falls on March 25th and marks the beginning of the Cailleach’s rest period, until she reawakens in winter.

Bealtaine:

Focusing on the traditions and customs of the festival of Summer.

Midsummer: Áine and Grian:

Introducing the Midsummer traditions in Ireland, and the issue of solar deities in Gaelic tradition.

Midsummer: Manannán mac Lir:

Taking a look at the Midsummer tradition of “paying the rent to Manannán mac Lir, which originates on the Isle of Man.

What we want to do with these videos is give a short introduction to each of the festivals, and hopefully articulate a sense of some of things that we can't always do with words alone. We're working on some other videos for another bunch of the festivals, which will hopefully be ready for release soon, and then we'll work on finishing the rest of the festival year as and when we can. And I'm sure we'll find plenty of things to talk about after that! 

Before I finish, I'd like to take the opportunity to thank everyone who helped me and Kathryn while we were putting these videos together - helping us source pictures or giving us permission to use their own, helping us find music we could use, offering feedback, and generally being wonderful and supportive. Mòran taing!

An Cailleach Bheara

I've posted a link to this short film before, but it's well worth another watch! 'Tis the season, and all...

Soon the Cailleach Bheur will make her lament as she gives up and admits defeat in trying to hold back the onslaught of Spring. As she throws down her wand, she shouts out:

‘Dh’ fhag e mhan mi, dh’ fhag e ‘n ard mi Dh’ fhag e eadar mo dha lamh mi, Dh’ fhag e bial mi, dh’ fhag e cul mi, Dh’ fha e eadar mo dha shul mi.		It escaped me below, it escaped me above.     It escaped me between my two hands,     It escaped me before, it escaped me behind,     It escaped me between my two eyes.
Dh’ fhag e shios mi, dh’ fhag e shuas mi, Dh’ fhag e eadar mo dha chluas mi, Dh’ fhag e thall mi, dh’ fhag e bhos mi, Dh’ fhag e eadar mo dha chos mi.		It escaped me down, it escaped me up,     It escaped me between my two ears,     It escaped me thither, it escaped me hither,     It escaped me between my two feet.
Thilg mi ‘n slacan druidh donai, Am bun preis crin cruaidh conuis. Far nach fas fionn no foinnidh, Ach fracan froinnidh feurach.’		I threw my druidic evil wand.     Into the base of a withered hard whin bush,     Where shall not grow 'fionn' nor 'fionnidh,'     But fragments of grassy 'froinnidh.'

While the Irish An Cailleach Bheara doesn't have such firm associations with the seasons as the Scottish An Cailleach Bheur does, there are some hints. Cairn T, at Loughcrew (or Sliabh na Caillí) is thought to have an equinoctial alignment:

The light of the equinox sunrise illuminates the back chamber of the Cairn T at the Loughcrew complex, lighting up carvings that are thought to have astronomical meanings. Near to Cairn T is the Hag's Chair, and she is said to have created the tomb by accidentally dropping a pile of stones from her apron. But of course, in spite of her associations with the place today, we can't really say when the Cailleach came to be associated with the place – certainly not until after Christianity, when the word 'cailleach' came into the Irish language – or if her associations are meant to tie in with the equinoctial alignment. The coincidence with the Scottish Là na Cailliche is tantalising, however.

It does seem like she has other, older names as well, which offer further (possible) seasonal associations. In The Lament of the Old Woman of Beare, she calls herself Buí, who is referred to as a wife of Lugh in other sources, and is said to have been buried at Knowth (Cnogba). In the Dindshenchas of Nás (another of Lugh's wives) she is mentioned again, along with Tailtiu, so one wonders if she has an association with Lúnasa, which were often held at places that are thought to have been the burial place of supernatural women or goddesses who were married to Lugh, or otherwise associated with him? The Dindshenchas of Nás seems to hint that this was the case, since it mentions games and gatherings.

Another Dindshenchas, Lia Nothain, refers to two sisters, Nothain and Sentuinne, both of whom are "Old Women" and Sentuinne itself means "Old Woman" just as "Cailleach" can. The Dindshenchas associates them with May-day, suggesting further seasonal associations:

Nothain (was) an old woman [cailleach] of Connaught, and from the time she was born her face never fell on a field, and her thrice fifty years were complete. Her sister once went to have speech with her. Sentuinne (” Old Woman”) was her name: her husband was Sess Srafais, and Senbachlach (“Old-Churl”) was another name for him. Hence said the poet: 

      Sentuinne and Senbachlach,
     A seis srofais be their withered hair!
     If they adore not God’s Son
     They get not their chief benefit. 

From Berre, then, they went to her to bring her on a plain on May-day. When she beheld the great plain, she was unable to go back from it, and she planted a stone (lia) there in the ground, and struck her head against it and….and was dead. ” It will be my requiem….I plant it for sake of my name.” Whence Lia Nothan (“Nothan’s Stone”). 

     Nothain, daughter of Conmar the fair,
     A hard old woman of Connaught,
     In the month of May, glory of battle,
     She found the high stone. 

Source

The association with Berre (Beare), just as Buí is associated with that place, suggests that they are probably one and the same. So there are some hints and bits of seasonal lore that may be associated with An Cailleach Bheara. It's guesswork, for sure, but I thought it's worth putting out there to ponder.

Lùnastal

Lùnastal is weeks past so this is an extremely belated post but better late than never, eh?

So as with most years, one of the things I tend to do as the harvesting comes to a close is look at all the successes and failures I've had in the garden, and what that suggests for next year when the sowing season starts again. I haven't been able to do much in the garden so what successes and failures we've had are largely down to the slugs and the weather more than anything else, but I think the triumph of the summer has definitely been the fruit – especially the strawberries and golden raspberries:

We had a massive glut of strawberries this year and the cold and late winter meant they were extra sweet and tasty. The golden raspberries were a bit of a surprise, seeing as they've never done much before now in all the years since I planted them and now they've all but taken over the back of the flower bed, which is no bad thing, all in all, but they were a little difficult to get to and they kinda strangled out the black currants.

With the veg, the leeks I planted never did anything and the carrots have been a little pathetic too. That's just down the fact that I really need to change out the compost, I'm pretty sure, but so far we've managed a spectacular harvest of one whole carrot, picked specially for Lùnastal:

The rest are still soldiering on, and the onions are only just nearly ready now. The peas did very well but the extremely hot weather we had didn't suit the plants so much in the end and they've died off earlier than they did last year. The blueberries and blackberries have yet to ripen; with a bit more sunshine they should be ready soon – not soon enough as far as the kids are concerned.

Just like last year we celebrated Lùnastal on time, although just like every year it kinda snuck up on me and ended up with a bit of a flurry of preparations to get everything ready. The signs of autumn have come earlier than usual this year, perhaps the long heatwave we had has made the trees start changing colour a bit earlier. After a little tidying up of the house our festivities began with a late afternoon walk to the vantage point I usually make my offerings at for this time of year. I took the kids and the dogs with me and Tom wanted to know why I was giving food and milk to a hedge (as far as he was concerned), and who I was talking to (in "Garlic" as they insist on calling it), so I explained and there was a lengthy conversation on the way home with increasing excitement as the realisation that this meant a Special Dinner. It was decided there would be roast chicken with roasties and veg (including our tenacious carrot), followed by chocolate souffle with garden fruits to dip in the gooey middle:

I enjoy cooking and every now and then I'll try something new. The chocolate souffle is the most recent pudding I've set out to perfect, and the rest of the family isn't complaining. But the fruit's healthy, right? I wanted to have some sort of harvesting theme involved, so it was fitting, at least (even if souffle's not exactly authentic), and while I was out in the garden collecting fruit and veg, I brought in some flowers for festive decoration as well.

After dinner and the kids were in bed I took some time in the evening to sain the house and make my offerings and celebrations. I offered up some poetry to Lugh and Tailltiu too, and since the night was warm and still and an owl was hooting loudly in the distance somewhere, I spent a long while just sitting outside in the dark, breathing in the salty sea air and listening to waves crashing onto the shore over the hill on one side, and the owl hooting off on the other. I spoke to my ancestors as I sat out there, and I addressed the spirits with a prayer for peace, and then I prayed to the gods too. Lugh isn't usually a deity that seems to want much to do with me but this year he seemed to be more present that I've ever felt before; I don't know why, really, but it was very much appreciated. I pledged to hold some games in Tailltiu's honour the next day, made some final offerings for the night and, eventually, slept the sleep of the exhausted.

I didn't have much time for games with the kids on the eve, so while we managed to fit some in we decided to make a special day of it the next day (with much enthusiasm from the kids). While the weather was beautiful on the eve itself, the day of Lùnastal itself was grey and wet – very autumnal and stormy, even – so the games had to be moved indoors. We were going to have some races and make an assault course in the garden, with a picnic and all kinds of other games, but instead we had cards, board games, and party games inside. With a picnic, if you can call a picnic blanket on the living room floor such. Mr Seren took the afternoon off from work (he's hardly had a day off in the past few months so having some time for all of us to relax and be a bit silly in a serious kind of way added to the festive occasion, I think) and played DJ for a talent contest at the kids' insistence, and then he beat us all at snakes and ladders, while Tom and I drew at the card games. Rosie won the talent contest and didn't sulk at losing cards or snakes and ladders AT ALL, and later proved that she's the queen of hide and seek by hiding in the shed for full on half an hour while Tom began to worry that she was lost for good. Rosie won the prize for most dedicated hider, which entailed her choice in a movie on Netflix because by that point we were all gamed out and in need of a sit down.

And now...autumn is very much here. There's a nip in the morning air, a bite and burgeoning fury in the winds, the blue skies have turned to their customary grey, and my son is no longer insisting on getting up at the arse crack of dawn just because it's light outside at 4am. Autumn is very much welcome around here.

The Lament of the Old Woman of Beare

Here's a nice rendition of the poem I found on Youtube:

The Cailleach's Lament (or not so much, yet)

‘Dh’ fhag e mhan mi, dh’ fhag e ‘n ard mi

Dh’ fhag e eadar mo dha lamh mi,

Dh’ fhag e bial mi, dh’ fhag e cul mi,

Dh’ fha e eadar mo dha shul mi.

Dh’ fhag e shios mi, dh’ fhag e shuas mi,

Dh’ fhag e eadar mo dha chluas mi,

Dh’ fhag e thall mi, dh’ fhag e bhos mi,

Dh’ fhag e eadar mo dha chos mi.

Thilg mi ‘n slacan druidh donai,

Am bun preis crin cruaidh conuis.

Far nach fas fionn no foinnidh,

Ach fracan froinnidh feurach.’

It escaped me below, it escaped me above.

It escaped me between my two hands,

It escaped me before, it escaped me behind,

It escaped me between my two eyes.

It escaped me down, it escaped me up,

It escaped me between my two ears,

It escaped me thither, it escaped me hither,

It escaped me between my two feet.

I threw my druidic evil wand.

Into the base of a withered hard whin bush,

Where shall not grow 'fionn' nor 'fionnidh,'

But fragments of grassy 'froinnidh.'

So Là na Cailliche has come and gone and the Cailleach has given up her fight against the onslaught of all that's light and warm and fertile. Spring is officially here! Or...not so much, for many of us. The Friday just before Là na Cailliche we woke up to this:

And it's yet to melt fully which is very unusual here on the coast - aside from the snow it's been very dry and cold so it hasn't been washed away. The brave daffodils who've dared poke their heads out so far are drooping mournfully, but the hawthorns are happily coming into leaf and don't seem to mind too much. Normally by this time of year the village would be covered in cherry blossom, though, wafting around the place on gentle breezes, but so far they've decided to hold off.

So winter's grip isn't going to be loosening just yet, it seems. We've got off quite lightly here – just across the Clyde, over in Argyll and some of the Islands (Bute and Arran), the amount of snow and the strong winds damaged the electricity supply – it seems to have dropped out of the news but the last I heard they'd been cut off for a good week or so and the electricity company was struggling to reconnect them.

There's more bad news than that, though; farmers in the worst affected areas here and on the Isle of Man and Northern Island are facing the potential loss of entire herds of livestock. The snow arrived just as the lambing started and many of the sheep got buried in snow drifts. If they didn't freeze or suffocate to death they were certainly facing starvation. The links above have some videos so you can see how bad things are; many farmers are facing huge losses this season.

It's one of those times when – here in my comfy house with central heating and electricity – I'm reminded that we're all still ultimately at the mercy of the elements. I've made my offerings the Cailleach, but it looks like that was a bit optimistic, all things considered.

Sheelah's Day

There's been a fair bit of discussion - as usual, in the run up - about St Patrick's Day in the last week or so. And - as usual - it's ranged from the vaguely interesting to the typically silliness (SNAAAAKES = PAGANS!!! WUUUR. ARG). (No). And then there are the HILARIOUS and not at all stereotypical and offensive t-shirts and (ye gods) specially festive "Irish dreamcatchers." Oh, Etsy...

Either way, it's one of those things that some people go for, and others don't. And whatever. Personally, while I might make some offerings, I'm more likely to be concentrating on Là na Caillich given my focus. But it doesn't hurt to do a bit of reading, and it so happens that I did and what I found has prompted a bit of think about it all.

One thing I've always wondered about is the fact that Là na Caillich - as far as I'm aware - isn't a thing in Ireland (or Man). But even in Scotland, Là na Caillich and St Patrick's Day are often seen as interchangeable, especially when you look at the kind of weather-lore that abounds for this time of year. So that's interesting in itself, because it suggests some sort of link between the two, and their associations with the season. The reading I've been doing has reinforced that.

While Scotland has Là na Caillich as it's "official" heralding of spring, Ireland has a few springtime associations that fall on or around St. Patrick's Day. In Ireland, there are a number of customs associated with St. Patrick's Day that could be seen as having spring-time connotations, including the fact that he is associated with the gales that often coincide with this time of year. The whole greenery thing could also be interpreted as being associated with the spring ('cos...things are turning green again, life is stirring...you know the drill). There is the tradition of drowning the shamrock, too, in a beer that's been specially brewed for the day. This beer is begun in February, and it's tempting to see a coincidence between that timeframe and the fact that Brigid ushers in the first stirrings of spring at her festival, and then ultimately triumphs over the Cailleach who admits defeat at Là na Caillich. I'm just speculating, of course, but the coincidences don't stop there.

While the reason for drowning the shamrock isn't clearly stated, it's repeated the following day (with fresh shamrock). This day is known as Sheelah's Day, and things start getting really interesting:

The day after St. Patrick's Day is "Sheelah's Day," or the festival in honour of Sheelah. Its observers are not so anxious to determine who "Sheelah" was as they are earnest in her celebration. Some say she was "Patrick's wife," others that she was "Patrick's mother," while all agree that her immortal memory is to be maintained by potations of whisky. The shamrock worn on St. Patrick's Day should be worn also on Sheelah's Day, and on the latter night be drowned in the last glass. Yet it frequently happens that the shamrock is flooded in the last glass of St. Patrick's Day, and another last glass or two, or more, on the same night deluges the over-soddened trefoil. This is not "quite correct," but it is endeavoured to be remedied the next morning by the display of a fresh shamrock, which is steeped at night in honour of "Sheelah" with equal devotedness. — Every Day Book, vol. ii. p. 387.

While Sheelah is dismissed as Patrick's wife or mother here, the name immediately brings to mind Sheelah na Gig, though the similarity of the name alone is hardly much to rely on. We need to look at the broader picture: Like the Cailleach, who is associated with the final blasts of wintery storms around this time of year, and whose day on March 25th signifies the end of them, Sheelah (Síla, Sheelagh or Sheila) is associated with the storms too (or else Patrick is). Here's something from Newfoundland, for example:

About St. Patrick's Day [the sealers] start, most of them waiting until after Sheilah's brush or the equinoxial gale has passed…

Dictionary of Newfoundland 

Similarly, the term "Sheila's brush" (or "blush") refers to the "...fierce storm and heavy snowfall about the eighteenth of March," and she is described as walking the shore in a long white gown (i.e. of snow). In Ireland, it's said that if it snows on or around St. Patrick's Day, "Sheila is using her brush" (snow as dandruff!), and a German traveller touring around Ireland was told that Sheela-na-gi meant 'Sheela with (or of) the branch. Gi or gig in this instance may relate to géag, branch, so it seems there's a clear link between Sheelah and the idols found on so many churches and castles across Ireland. Interestingly, one of the alternative meanings of géag is an "image of girl (made for festival)."

Thinking back to the Cailleach, what does she do but roam the land with her wand (or mallet), hoping to maintain her wintry grip by using it to blast the vegetation? She is also associated with causing snow, with sayings such as "the Cailleach is going to tramp her blankets tonight" giving the most obvious evidence. Otherwise, she is milking her goats, or she has washed her shawl and left it to dry on the mountains, covering them in snow as she shakes it out.

All in all both the Cailleach and Sheelah have associations with the storms and harsh wintry weather that happen around this time, and which are seen as winter's last gasp. They both have days dedicated to them around this time, which happens to coincide with the equinox. And it so happens that the tomb of Loughcrew, on the hills of Sliabh na Caillich, have an equinoctial alignment too (just throwing that in there).

The similarities here are highly suggestive and extremely interesting. That's not to say that I think Patrick's Day is really pagan or anything like that, but there's a lot to ponder on. In particular, it all does bring up a lot of similarities between the Cailleach and Síla that I've always wondered about (see also).

Anyway. Whatever you're up to - or not - tomorrow (or they day after...), have a good one.

Notes: Continuity and Adaptation in Legends of Cailleach Bhéarra

Seeing as JSTOR is giving the public access to a wider portion of its catalogue now, I figured doing these occasional notes is a bit more useful to readers. I'm listing the articles covered so far on a page here, and I've added in a link to any of the articles that might be available on JSTOR if any of them happen to pique your interest. Unfortunately only two of them that I've done so far are accessible through JSTOR, but this next summary is one of the first ones I stuck on my shelf after browsing around and trying to think what to pick first. This is one I've been after for ages and I can foresee myself picking my way through pretty much the rest of this journal given half a chance...

Continuity and Adaptation in Legends of Cailleach Bhéarra 
Gearóid Ó Crualaoich 
Béaloideas Iml. 56, (1988)

This is an article that's mainly aiming to bring together the variety of traditions about the Cailleach Bhéarra in Ireland, with a view to tracing the evolution and influences of those traditions and legends. Or, as Ó Crualaoich puts it:

At different stages and at different levels of Gaelic tradition the figure of the Cailleach Bhéarra has been used to represent different clusterings of cultural meaning so that we are faced with a multiplicity of forms and functions of Cailleach Bhéarra that prove very difficult to distinguish and whose historical and/or functional relationship to each other continues to be obscure to a great degree.

These forms and functions include the Cailleach functioning as a "Mother Goddess" with Indo-European roots, or else she's a Divine Hag and Sovereignty Queen, and ancestress of various peoples. Otherwise she might be a supernatural woman of the wilderness and weather, which is perhaps most pronounced in Scottish traditions. Ó Crualaoich argues that this latter expression of the Cailleach is particularly influenced by Norse cosmology. Then there's her "geotectonic role in the landscape" - lobbing rocks about the place and making mountains, or causing rivers, lochs and whirlpools and so on. All of which can be seen to interrelate to each other to a certain extent.

There are some important points raised in the article, and while some of them are only incidentally mentioned they provide a good reference as a starting point. For one, there's the fact that although the Cailleach is an incredibly important and popular figure in legend and lore, she's not a prominent figure in the myths. This can partly be explained by the fact that we can see she's been known by other names like Buí or Sentainne Bérri, before the name "Cailleach" takes over (the word itself being the result of Christian influence, originally referring to a nun, a 'veiled one' - as in a married women, and then old women/hags) and Ó Crualaoich comments:

I find it very interesting indeed that Professor Wagner, in his recent Zeitschrift article, should identify both these earliest names for Cailleach Bhéarra, viz. Sentainne (Bérri) and Boí/Buí with derivations from the Indo-European forms *Senona and *Bovina meaning, respectively, ‘female elder’ and ‘cow-like-one’ - the latter being, Wagner claims, a characteristic appellation of Indo-European manifestations of the Magna Mater. On Professor Wagner’s terms, then, both the rivers Shannon and Boyne are named ultimately for the female divine who herself begins to become known as Cailleach Bhéarra round about the late eighth or early ninth centuries when the famous Lament was composed.

This comes across as being a wee bit conflationist (the Magna Mater??? is that still a thing?), and is something that Ó Crualaoich does quite a few times, but it's interesting to ponder nonetheless.

Another point that's raised is the explicit association of the Cailleach with the seasons in Scotland, but not so much in Ireland - something that would be great to see more on, but Scotland isn't really Ó Crualaoich's focus (there are several pointers to other articles on that - most of them old and already public domain).

If you're looking for a good article that will help you pick apart the various strands that have accrued to the traditions of the Cailleach over the years then this is a good place to look. It may ultimately end up raising more questions than it answers, but it's a start, right? And while I have a bit of a problem with Ó Crualaoich's position on the Magna Mater, that's read around easily enough.

Best laid plans and all that...

After all my planning ahead and idle musing on things a few weeks back - and then feeling all smug and organised - Samhainn rolls around and we here in our corner of the universe celebrate it with the delightful aftermath of Norovirus.

Which was nice.

If ever there's a sign that winter's here - you know, aside from the frost and snow we've had - the dreaded Great Affliction is pretty much a dead giveaway, I suppose. So things were a little more scaled back than planned, although all of the important stuff got done, fun was nonetheless had, and I think it was - all in all - a success.

The downside of being a parent is that your kids will inevitably bring varying kinds of snot and bugs home from school so you get to live it all vicariously through one child and then another before you get to experience the delights first hand (my child-free friends are grinning smugly at me through the internet, I can feel it...). By the time it comes around at least you know what to expect, I suppose. On the plus side, by the time the eve of Samhainn rolled around we were all over the worst of it and we were all feeling just a little tired and delicate rather than properly unwell, so at least we were able to celebrate. The feasting element of the proceedings were not something I was particularly keen on, though; nor was Mr Seren. But for some reason, as if my own body was trying to tell me something, I'd had a real craving for gingerbread at the weekend so I'd done some festive biscuits:

And that was all I could really stomach on the eve itself; the ginger helped settle any rumblings quite nicely. I was originally going to let the kids decorate them but Rosie couldn't stomach it and Tom only decided to help out once I'd done most of them. He was very proud of his efforts, though. "The red's blood, mum," he said helpfully. I'd baked a whole load of cake with the intention of sculpting a festive cake, too, but that just wasn't going to happen in the end - so much for great ideas.

But the morning before the big evening rolled around, the kids came bouncing in excitedly to wake me up so they could have breakfast and get ready for the Hallowe'en parade at school. Tom was going to go as Optimus Prime, but after wearing the costume to the Hallowe'en disco the week before and finding it way too small he opted for his old Power Ranger costume instead. Rosie went as "Bat Cat," as planned. She wanted some face paints to complete the look so I did what I could there, with the hasty help of Google that morning:

So long as she had whiskers she didn't really care, so she was very pleased with her look in the end. I managed to drag myself along to the parade later that morning to cheer them on, and the school was awash with anticipation. And also Norovirus, probably. 

There's nothing like a good bout of lurgy to motivate a thorough housecleaning session, is there? So the house was shipshape and in good order for the evening festivities, and I got some decorations up at least, in between a nap or two during the day. While we did get round to making some more decorations during the half-term holiday we haven't done a seasonal mural yet; our Great Affliction scuppered any plans to do it at the weekend, along with a Hallowe'en party Tom was invited to and the party games I'd had planned.

My mother-in-law had got us a large pumpkin for carving (they were on special offer so she got us one spare), so I'd bought two smaller ones for cooking - in the comments of my previous planning post Judith suggested a bread and butter pudding baked in a pumpkin that sounded delicious, and I was going to give that a go until the Great Affliction happened. The other small one was intended for soup and another lantern if I could manage to get the flesh out without having to cut it up. By Samhainn eve I'd already scooped out one of the small pumpkins so I could use the flesh for soup, which I'd done at the weekend while the kids were ill (and my husband promptly ate the whole lot before anyone else got some, barring a small mug I'd had, to see how it was). By Wednesday, although I had at least one pumpkin ready to carve I wasn't convinced I could stomach doing even that one. Mr Seren chipped in and carved the big one into a Stormtrooper's helmet (ish), though, so I knew we'd have at least one. But when I picked the kids up from school the fresh air did me good and I knew I'd have to keep them occupied until they could could go out guising, so they were set with the task of designing a lantern each. The flesh from the second smaller pumpkin went to another batch of soup, instead of pudding. For that we made do with cake (or the kids did, anyway).

I usually carve the lanterns the night before Samhainn, as a way of kicking off celebrations. That night I usually devote to the ancestors in particular, while I carve and make some opening offerings. But given the delicate nature of my condition that evening, carving was out of the question then. I didn't have the opportunity to get any tumshies at all so this year there were no turnip lanterns - that was a real shame, but while I wasn't convinced I'd manage the pumpkins, to begin with, I knew there was no way my nose/stomach would stretch to accommodate the stench of turnip. But what we ended up with still did the job nicely:

Tom designed the cross-eyed one, and Rosie decided the scariest thing she could think of was a spider after flicking through Google and being told that no, butterflies weren't scary and E.T. was way beyond anything I can manage. I royally ballsed up the legs on hers, but I think Tom's came out pretty good.  Young sir was very pleased with it, anyway, and we had fun talking about all the scary things that would be afoot that night as they got creative.

By the time the carving was done it was time to do dinner - I did stovies, since the soup needed a bit longer to cook (we had that the next day). And then we lit the lanterns and put them in the windows at the front of the house to let the guisers know that they were welcome, with great ceremony and excitment. Mr Seren did some games and dancing with the kids while I was doing the fiddly bits of carving and then dinner, but we just didn't have time for party games proper in the end. Seeing as many of the games are food-based, that was probably for the best! But after dinner the kids did go out guising and that's really all they wanted to do, so as far as they were concerned it was the best Samhainn EVAR. For me, though, it's another year without having tried treacle scones. A sad Gaelic Polytheist am I.

While Mr Seren was out with the kids, I had the opportunity to get my ritual on. The guisers were very thoughtful and managed to space their visits out between my opening offerings, then my prayers and devotions, saining and putting up some rowan and so on. It was a little piecemeal in some respects, but none the worse for that.

For once I could sain the kids' room properly without disturbing them - I usually have to do it after they've gone to bed, so I had some luxury to be more thorough there and give the room a good sprinkle. This time, seeing as no one was in the house, I tried burning some juniper, too - I couldn't do too much to get a good smoke going and fill the house, but I have to say the bit of smoke I did generate certainly has a powerful quality to it.

Tom was the first to come back, dashing in to go to the loo (and having to do battle with his costume first). Mr Seren and Rosie arrived not long after, Rosie sporting the manic grin of the happily E-numbered and well-sugared. They had been very successful on their tour of the street, with lots of generous treats from neighbours - it was a fairly quiet night compared to some years previous, but I know a lot of the kids' classmates had also been laid low by the bug that we'd had, too, so like us I think folks had a bit more to hand out to those that did turn up. Mr Seren said the kids did well with their entertaining; at the first couple of houses they were pretty much bricking it and Rosie didn't get much further than the first couple of lines from Twinkle Twinkle Chocolate Bar before trailing off into the Shy Mumble, but by the fifth house or so Tom had already fired into a festive cupcake and had to be held back by Mr Seren before he ended up spraying crumbs over whoever answered the door while Tom tried to do his joke through a mouthful of cake. I'd thought about going out with them, but I'd had such a busy day already I didn't want to over do things - my back is doing a whole lot better but I'm still being a little cautious.

After the kids were back we all gathered in the kitchen to share out the sweets (and a good number of apples and nuts, too), then it was time for homework while the last of the guisers knocked at the door, and then it was bedtime. For once, I didn't have to take the lanterns away from the window because the sweets had run out.

Seeing as I'd already done my ritualling before the kids went to bed I had the opportunity to spend a quiet, candle-lit evening in contemplation and just relaxing. Of course for Samhainn there's a big focus on the ancestors and I had a candle up in the window and invited them to come for a visit if they so wished. I had food out for them, and made offerings to them, and I spoke to them and drank a toast to their memory. And the same to the spirits too, with offerings of peace.

I made offerings to the Cailleach and an owl (the cailleach-oidhche in Gàidhlig) struck up a thoughtful song in the woods nearby. I made offerings to my ancestral deities and a crow cawed off in the distance. I thought back on the year and gave thanks for all the good things that have happened, and thought about the maybe not so good things too. I prayed for blessings, for my family and friends. And I looked up at the stars and out into the night and I listened for a while, and breathed in the cold, slightly smokey air, and that night I slept like the dead, and if I dreamed I've no idea what it was.

At the weekend we went to the beach and I made my offerings to the river and the sea. On Monday night - Bonfire Night, here - the fireworks filled the sky, and as the air was heavy with smoke I chopped up the pumpkin lanterns and buried pieces of them at four points around the outside of the house. I can't beat the bounds around the house with a flaming torch but I can reinforce the boundaries in my own way. We didn't manage to get to a fireworks show (they were at the weekend and we didn't realise, but the local event was Disney-themed anyway, so it was probably for the best - we don't do Disney in this house), but one of our neighbours always has a display in his back garden so the kids didn't miss out. Poor Mungo practically had a nervous breakdown, though, wrapped in a towel and cowering beneath Mr Seren's desk. Our older dog doesn't mind them (plus he's basically deaf now) but Mungo can't stand fireworks.

So that was Samhainn. Not quite how I'd planned but it all came together in the end, I think.

An Cailleach Bheara

A post on Samhainn will follow shortly, but in the meantime I just wanted to bring a beautiful short film to your attention.

I can't embed the video here, it seems, but follow this link to watch it - it's only eight minutes long and the visuals are quite beautiful. The film references a few traditional stories about An Cailleach Bheara, although it concentrates on one in particular; I found this ages ago and meant to post it, but lost the link and it's only now I've found it - in good time for the season, perhaps!

Anyway, if you haven't seen it already, enjoy.

And then it was Lùnastal

We've not had much of a summer this year. While a large part of England has alternated between drought and flooding, the west coast of Scotland has enjoyed a goodly amount of rain and cloud interspersed with a rare sunny day here and there, although it's been really warm at least. But summer has been very Scottish even by Scottish standards this year. This last week has been about as good as it's got, and there's a definite feel that this is summer's last gasp.

Seeing as it's (still!) the school holidays we've been making the most of the weather as much as we can. Although I'm none too mobile we can still pile into the car and get ferried down to the beach as soon as the sun threatens to come out, in amongst trips to the park, so we've had some great afternoons rock-pooling, paddling, sand-castling and beach combing. Just as I mentioned the possibility that adder stones (or serpent stones) might have been spindle-whorls when I posted about the hag stone/mare stone I found the other week, our next trip to the local beach turned up this:

I've absolutely no idea if it's really a spindle-whorl or just a bead with the enamel or paint rubbed off (there does seem to be a bluish tinge to it), or something else entirely, but the timing is a nice coincidence. Whatever it is, it's a good weight for its size but I don't think it's especially old.

I hadn't initially planned to celebrate so early - on time, for once - but considering the fact that leaves on trees are starting to turn, the rowan berries are bright and reddening (although I notice one tree on our road is simultaneously blossoming again), the moon is hanging large and low, the wind and the rains are getting a little bite to them - perhaps those three days the Cailleach borrowed and swapped with February - and the sun is setting the skies on fire as it dips below the horizon (here's one I photographed earlier):

It seemed silly to wait for the blueberries in the garden to ripen like I usually do; it seemed that all indications were that we should celebrate sooner rather than later. The promise of autumn is more than promising round these here parts. The past few years I've usually celebrated mid-August at the earliest, and in some ways that's been more in keeping with the festival because it's also when the summer holidays finish and the kids go back to school, and there's as much a change in the pace of our lives as there is in the weather. But this year, aside from the seasons seeming to shift much earlier than usual (or maybe I'm just noticing it more), I'm hoping that pretty soon I'll be having surgery, or at least seeing the surgeon this month and having the promise of surgery. Either way I wanted my energies focused on the festival, rather what the NHS might have in store for me (gods bless 'em). I can only hope that my days of hobbling are numbered now.

My mother was supposed to have been visiting over Lùnastal itself but due to unforeseen circumstances (apparently even cats that exist on nothing but the fiery hate and fury that demonic beings such as my mother's beloved mog thrive on run out of it eventually...) she wasn't able to visit. I'd originally planned to put things off until after she'd gone home, so being able to celebrate on time was somewhat unexpected. As a result I hadn't really had much of a chance to think about what I was going to do, all in all, but I think things all came together in the end; by and large I have things down by now and while I didn't get everything done in one day I wasn't expecting to anyway.

So my celebrations began with saining the house and making some offerings and devotions on the eve. There was music and song, prayers and blessings, and a little poetry too. Most of it was in Gàidhlig and I don't think I butchered things too badly there, and it's a nice coincidence that celebrations began on a Tuesday this year, as is traditional to begin the reaping. So The Second Battle of Mag Tuired tells, us, as does a blessing in the Carmina Gadelica.

We'd spent the day at the beach (where my son rescued a boy from drowning and I'm insufferably proud of him for being so brave) and I didn't have much left in me to cook, so we indulged in a rare takeaway from the chippy for the Lùnastal eve. I had a chicken that needed roasting, though, so we had that the following day on Lùnastal proper, served with garlic roasted potatoes and homegrown onions, cabbage, and homegrown peas, followed by homemade apple flory:

It's a kind of apple pie, flavoured with a little cinnamon and a lot of marmalade (this was the second time I'd made it, and this time I left the apple mix to infuse a bit longer before baking the pie. It was much better). I'd a go at making some marmalade a while ago, so used my own (I felt very domesticated). The apples and preserves seem like a good autumnal combination, so that's what decided that.

As usual, we've done a seasonal picture, and this time our efforts are almost entirely the work of Tom and Rosie. They asked me to help fill in the sky and help with the branches on the trees (we used straws dipped in the paint and then pressed onto the paper, which was a bit fiddly):

One of Tom's art project's from school deciding the general form. Rosie's tree is on the right and Tom's is on the left and I think they reflect their personalities well - Rosie's big and bold, impulsive splodges compared with Tom's more thoughtful and deliberate efforts. And seeing as I had some leftover fondant icing from doing a birthday cake for my husband, I decided to waste not, want not, and make a themed cake too. Ever since I took it upon myself to sculpt a Bumblebee cake for my son one year (the Transformer Bumblebee, that is) it's become kind of a hobby and some of my friends got me some shaped cutters for my birthday this year that I've not had much of an excuse to use as yet. So with lots of fondant that needed using, and an excuse to give the cutters a spin, I had the perfect opportunity:

The kids helped me make a honey cake (we've been doing a lot of baking together over the summer) and I decided to go with sunflowers and autumnal leaves for decoration. It's one of my better efforts, I think, even though I'm not sure if it's supposed to be sunflowers and leaves (because the sunflowers aren't out here just yet) or sunflowers being blown away by autumn leaves (because I'd typically associate sunflowers as a summery sort of flower).

These things are just trappings, really; not the meat per se, but they're important to me nonetheless. Ritual is meaningful and important to me, whether it might be simple or elaborate, but traditions that I can involve the family in are just as meaningful and important to me. The "trappings" give me not just a visual focus, a meditation of sorts as I make them, but something to do with the kids - all of us as a family - and seeing it is something we can all relate to. But more than that, I like to try and make the festivals festive. Something special. Feasting has always been an important part of festive occasions, so special foods make a special day even more so, and the lines between trappings, tradition and ritual become blurred...

Things like games are good too, and at a time like Lùnastal all kinds of games are good to play. There had been a chance that we could've taken the kids horse-riding on the beach around this time, but because my mother was supposed to be visiting I didn't ask Mr Seren to arrange anything and then it was too short notice; a shame, because horse-riding and maybe a little racing on the beach would've been amazing, but we made do. Seeing as the weather sucked there wasn't much we could do outside so we played snap and dominos instead (and at least I could join in too, then), and had a grand old time including a picnic in the front room. As Gorm noted, the games played at festivals bleed into those found at wakes so it seemed in keeping, and after all these are supposed to be funeral games of a sort. As a kid I remember playing dominos and snap with my grandparents so it felt like a way to honour them too. It's partly why I do a lot of baking with the kids as well, because these are not just traditions but family traditions, too.

For part of my devotions I made offerings to the land spirits, the ones who are right out there in my garden, and who I frequently make offerings to as I work on their land. I also made offerings to the Cailleach and the Storm Hags, who've spared the garden in spite of the bad weather they've brought our way this past year. The Cailleach won't be resuming her efforts until Samhainn, I expect, but she's still here even if she's resting. And after all, her name is associated with Buí, who is said to be Lugh's wife, and is also said to be the ancestor of the people from the particular part of Ireland that some of my Irish ancestors come from...So it's only right that she's honoured at this time too.

As I did my ritual, I took some time to think about the successes and the failures I've had in the garden this year - the onions have been a great success, as have the peas, and the leeks are thriving though not yet ready. The carrots have been a disaster, though, and I'm lucky that I don't have to rely on my garden for food because that would have been a calamity. The ones that have grown have already gone to seed and the carrots are piddly and pathetic-looking, not worth using. They've had plenty of rain so that hasn't been the problem. It's been warm enough for things to thrive and grow, even if not particularly sunny. I put in new compost this year, so perhaps it wasn't the right kind or it wasn't enough. I suspect the seeds were a little too old too. Next year I'll have to change out the soil completely and get new seeds (I did buy some more, an over-wintering variety, but I put them somewhere safe. So safe I've yet to find them again).

All in all, I think this year's celebration have been a success, but I don't feel quite finished yet. I've given thanks for the first fruits, and we've held our games, but I've yet to manage a trip to the high point in the village where I like to make offerings to Lug at this time of year. I might wait until the blueberries ripen so I can harvest some before I make my way there; hopefully then I'll be able to walk that far.

Sacred Stones out in the Sun - Tigh nam Bodach

After the hydro-scheme proposals that put the future of Tigh nam Bodach (also known as Tigh na Cailliche) under threat last year, it's back in the news again. This time, however, it's just a nice wee article about the Bealltainn ritual being observed, with some additional tidbits I found interesting:

Tigh nam Bodach means the ‘House of the Old Man’. The bell-shaped waterstones are believed to represent a family – the Old Man or Bodach, the Old Woman or Cailleach and their daughter, Nighean. Local legend suggests that over time the family gets bigger, with new stones reportedly appearing over the years.  

Each spring, a local person opens the stone house and places the family of stones outside. Then at the autumn festival of Samhain, the stones are carefully wrapped up in a bed of marsh grass and put back inside. 

It is recognised to be the oldest, uninterrupted pagan ritual in Britain, some say in all of Europe.

Sacred Stones out in the Sun

The Cailleach and the hunter

From The Emmet, 1823:

The Cailleach...had the most unlimited power over the elements. When a hunter kindled a fire in a sheeling to warm his benumbed limbs, after the fatigues of the chase, this sublime being although in a mountain of Perthshire strode in a moment from hill to hill, and was with the hunter at his blazing fire in a twinkling, though it had been kindled by him in the distant mountains of Ross-shire. She always attempted to destroy him whom she thus so unexpectedly and unwelcomely visited; and the means which she had recourse to for this purpose were various. She was much afraid of a dog and a loaded gun; and as these were companions which every hunter had along with him, she was not so successful in the trade of slaying as she naturally wished. The following song was sung by her one evening to scare a hunter from killing her deer. As the hunter was in the act of levelling his piece at a large stag that grazed in a green meadow between two mountains, she suddenly made her appearance on the frowning brow of a large precipice, and recited or sung as follows, and it almost is unnecessary to mention, that the hunter made the decentest speed possible towards the low grounds, when the last strain came rolling to his ear on the evening breeze...

Tiny hunter cease to roam,

O'er the piny heights where I make my dwelling; 

Tempt the roaring foam, 

Of ocean when high the trouble waves are swelling, 

But here where I hold my sway, 

O'er deep glen and mountain gray, 

Dare not venture night or day -

Tiny mortal roam not here! 

I am monarch of the deer,

Which bound over all these green mountains;

I partake of their cheer, 

The crystal stream so clear, 

And the cresses that fringe the blue fountains: 

Tis I that deform heaven's face with the storm, 

And sublime on the dark clouds career.

I revel 'mid the elemental war, 

At rest within my misty car, 

And send my voice in hollow moans afar, 

Down the dusky glen among the dwellings of men; 

And fill them with terror and fear!

Cease, then, my piny heights to climb,

Pollute not my green knoll of thyme, 

Where I hold my august court,

And with my fairy subjects sport, 

When the moon at her noon, 

Pours her silver stream of light, 

O'er the blue bosom of the silent night!

Tremble mortal, at my power, 

Leave my sacred dominion! 

Ere I cause the heavens lower, 

And whelm thee with a fearful shower, 

For sport to my fairy minions!

Hence away! child of clay, 

Go tempt the roaring foam, 

Of ocean, when high the troubled waves are swelling; 

But ne'er again stray where I hold my sway,

O'er the piny heights that I make my dwelling!

On being a bit windy...

There have been more than a few storms around these parts lately, and while gales are par for the course for us at this time of year, I've never experienced anything quite like this since I've lived in this part of Scotland. Granted, only for the past four years now, but still. The ferocity of these storms - with winds well into official hurricane strength territory - is beyond unusual.

Tuesday's storm was the most ferocious for us, and there was another weather warning last night - though this one wasn't as bad by far. Tuesday's storm was rather unexpected for us, being woken around 5am with the house actually being shaken by the strength of the winds. A little disconcerting to be woken up like that. We ended up giving up on sleep and watching the storm doing its thing - rubbish bouncing down the street, trees threatening to come down, wondering what the hell that bump, thump, or crash was...And so on. One of those bumps, thumps, or crashes was the fence between our patio and our neighbour's caving in - the fenceposts simply snapped under the force of the wind (technically it's the neighbour's fence, so he has the responsibility to fix it, though we've offered to help in a neighbourly sort of way). Other fences up and down the street suffered a similar fate, with much of it ending up strewn across roads and pavements. Eventually - and this was the biggest calamity of all as far as the kids were concerned - our satellite dish was blown out of alignment. It's fixed now, though, so all is well with the world again.

Yesterday, I decided to actually leave the house for once, and took the kids and the dogs for a walk around the village to see what the damage was. We didn't brave the seafront - far too wet and windy for that - so we hunkered down into our coats and hats and headed towards the woodland that runs through our village. The cost of the storms was great as far as the woods are concerned:

Those grand old trees are covered in moss and lichen and fungus, the moss almost like beards:

It's one of the things I love about this place - the soft moss, the greenery. We only got so far before the path was totally blocked off by trees:

 
So we headed down to the path that runs besides the woods and made our way to the viewpoint where we could get a could view of the ferry. Along the way, we found this:

A foot to the right, and that tree would've landed on the roof.

We turned back with two soggy dogs and headed back home. Aside from fences, the damage only went as far as broken guttering and misaligned satellite dishes for the most part - houses and people got off lightly. This wasn't the case for the neighbouring towns and villages, some of which you can see in this slideshow - the pictures of Largs and Greenock. There were tiles missing from the roofs of the small row of village shops we have, and there was tile debris all around the place. The hairdresser's shop had water flooding in through the ceiling and the staff were battling flooding as we went by, and council contractors were sorting out felled trees around the school and playing fields.

Looking at the damage - those magnificent old trees, snapped and broken and uprooted in particular - it's sad, but it's nature I suppose. Other trees will sprout up in their place eventually. Thankfully, however, at least we've had some sunshine today. Finally!

Solstice!

I got up this morning at around 8.15am and thought, "Ooooo, it's still dark." I put it down to the fact that the clouds were low and thick - as per usual now - and thus the sun wasn't able to brighten things up too much. It took a while to realise that it also perhaps had something to do with the fact that it's coming up to the shortest day of the year - tomorrow, officially...

So a happy solstice to those of you who celebrate! I will be making some offerings to mark the occasionbut my main focus of celebrations at this time of year will be on Hogmanay as usual - as yet we have no plans for Hogmanay, so it will probably be spent at home all quiet and boring. I'll be glad to see the back of this year, and fervently hoping that the new year ushers in a definite improvement on 2011.  

If the weather in Ireland is anything like here then the solstice sun at Newgrange won't be illuminating much of anything (yup); the official gathering at Newgrange took place today, but there's a video you can watch from 2007 that shows what should happen quite nicely (although you might want to forward along a bit):

Newgrange might be the most famous solstice alignment, but there are others as well, including the chambered tomb known as Maes Howe on the mainland of Orkney. The light of the solstice sunset is captured there (when it shines!), and there are also cameras set there to capture and broadcast it. Neither of these tombs are Celtic, of course, but both remain as significant features in the landscape even today.

In the twelfth century the tomb was opened by some of the Norse settlers, and they made their mark by leaving a load of runes to commemorate their visit (33 inscriptions in all). Some of the graffiti attempts to make verse, and one such verse is thought to have (possibly) been made by Thorhall Asgrimsson, who is mentioned in the Orkneyinga Saga. The verse is rough, and reads:

The man who is
most skilled in runes
west of the ocean
cut these runes
with the axe
once owned by Gauk
son of Trandil
in the south country.

(Translation from: The Triumph Tree: Scotland's Earliest Poetry AD 550-1350, edited by T.O. Clancy)

Which is not particularly relevant to the solstice, but there you go...

I will finish off with a seasonal poem translated by Kuno Meyer, one that's particularly relevant considering the recent hurricanes we've been having in these parts:

Dubaib rathib rogemrid

robarta tonn turgabar

íar tóib betha blái.

Brónaig eoín cach íathmaige

acht fiaich fola forderge

fri fúaim gemrid gairg.

In the dark season of the deep winter

heavy seas are lifted up

along the side of the world's region.

Sorrowful are the birds of every meadow-field,

except the ravens of dark-red blood,

at the uproar of the fierce winter-time.

I shall dedicate that to the Cailleach and the storm hags who've been unleashing their fury over the past few weeks.

Some more on the Tigh nam Bodach hydro plan

Some articles have arrived in my email via Google alerts explaining a little more about what led to the Gleann Cailliche application, that would have affected the Tigh nam Bodach/Tigh na Cailliche site, being withdrawn. The letter I received last September was very sparse on detail, but a commenter drew my attention to a letter from Mott MacDonald explaining their decision was based largely on the strength of feeling against the plans in the community.

The BBC don't have much more to add to the story over all, but do point out that while the main focus has been on the Gleann Cailliche plan, there are three other applications elsewhere in the estate that have yet to be decided:

Owners of the Auch Estate in Glenlyon, Perthshire, had lodged plans for four run-of-the-river projects, including Glen Cailliche where the stones are.

History enthusiasts feared they would affect the setting of Tigh Nam Bodach.

But it has emerged landowner Adam Besterman withdrew the Allt Cailliche planning application last month, shortly before his death aged 51.

Gleann Cailliche plan shelved

It will be interesting to see how the other applications turn out, since they might have an effect on any possible future plans as far as re-applying for the Gleann Cailliche site are concerned, so hopefully there wil be more updates on that in the press.  

A better article over at the Perthshire Advertiser explains that some of the locals have decided to make it clear that the site remains as important and relevant today as it ever has been:

In the last five years, Glenlyon has seen the construction of several lucrative hydro schemes, but local residents insist they have not been offered anything to offset the delays and disruption they have experienced during construction.

Expert dyker Norman Haddow and a group of volunteers camped at the Tigh nam Bodach stones and rebuilt the walls of the tiny house.

“I’ve been wanting to do it for years and I think it gives a clear message that this highly significant place is being cared for,” he declared.

Ancient site saved from development

Come Monday (I presume - perhaps this weekend?), the Cailleach and her family will be tucked away in their shieling for the winter. It seems they're in good hands.

"The Cailleach is milking her goats to-night; don't you hear the milking-lilt?"

The tail end of Hurricane Katia seems to have blown itself out now so this one's probably a little late, but, as a kind of tradition I've just decided to keep up with, it's times like this that sharing stories and lore about her seems like a good way to honour the Storm Hag. She was definitely singing her milking-lilt these past few nights.

This is another story from K.W. Grant's Myth, Tradition and Story from Western Argyll (1925, p10), and this time it's about the Cailleach Bheinn a' Bhric. Enjoy:

“Beinn a' Bhric” - Trout Mountain – is in Lochaber. It's presiding genius was a “Bean-shìdhe” - fairy woman. (Sìdh, the abode of the gods; not sìth, peace as so often rendered.)

The Cailleach tended her herds of deer in Glen Nevis, and often milked them there, especially in the “dead” months of winter. The huntsmen heard her song as she milked her deer; for all Highland milkmaids were wont, in times past, to charm the milk from the cattle by keeping time with their fingers to a ringing lilt. The song of the Cailleach was unlike that of every other milkmaid; it was peculiar to herself, and unique in every respect.

Sometimes the women folk accused her of driving her deer to the shore to feed on dulse, or upon the tender blades of their winter kale. This was no more than women's gossip; the herds of the Cailleach loved not such pasturage.

It was known among the huntsmen that, as certainly as any one of them caught a glimpse of the Cailleach he might stay at home for that day, for he should have no “shooting-luck.”

Once when the tempests of late Autumn marched down the hills, a young hunter of stout heart, on hearing that the Cailleach was abroad, determined to brave her. From dawn till sundown, he hunted in the deer forest of Loch Tréig, the chosen haunt of the Cailleach, but never a trace of deer or roe did he light upon. When twilight came he betook himself for shelter to a hut built for that purpose by the huntsmen. As he gathered wood and leaves wherewith to light a fire on the hearth, he began out of sheer bravado to rhyme a taunt against the Cailleach, imitating her peculiar tune as he hummed the stanzas:-

The grizzled Cailleach, tall and stern,

Tall and stern, tall and stern;

The grizzled Cailleach, tall and stern,

Swift she glides o'er peak and cairn.

Cailleach Bheinn a' Bhric horó!

Bhric horó! Bhric horó!

Cailleach Bheinn a' Bhric horó!

Warder of the mountain well, etc.

The hunter had completed but a few stanzas when the Cailleach, lilting as was her wont, approached and saluted him.

“I am aware,” said she, “that thou hast wandered far to-day in search of game. I have come all the way from “Lagan-nam-féith” - Quagmire Hollow – since the first spark of fire fell on thy tinder, to give thee sure luck in hunting. To-morrow, as I milk my deer, watch thou, and whichever of the deer becomes restive, I will strike with the knob of my fetter. (A fetter was made of plaited horse-hair with a loop at one end and a knob of hard wood at the other for fastening it.) Note it well; take good aim, and thou shalt have good luck.”

The hunter obeyed; and from that day forward he never hunted in vain.

VICTORY!!!!

Yes, that's a whole lot of exclamation marks there, but with good reason, I think.

I've just received a letter from the Perth and Kinross Council informing me that the Allt Cailliche Hydropower Scheme for Glen Lyon has been withdrawn.

I'm not sure if that means that the hydroscheme has been given up on entirely, or if there may be a revised application lodged in future, I've not found anything online about this yet. For now, though, it seems that the future of Tigh nam Bodach is a bit brighter than it was when the application was first lodged.

I'll keep a look out for any news on this, but at the moment I'm just so pleased and relieved that this has had a happy ending. It might just be the first hurdle, but for now I'll take the good news happily and celebrate.

What can I say? Sometimes I'm a bit slow...

Thanks to some random and unrelated Googling, I accidentally discovered that the Carmichael Watson project has a blog.

Given the time of year an' all, I thought I'd just leave a pointer to a very handy article on the tradition of the Corn Dolly (or Cailleach) in Scotland:

Once a widespread European custom was to form a corn dolly or maiden out of the last sheaf at harvest time. Traditions of such customs were still in living memory during the 1960s in Scotland, and perhaps they are still being carried out in some parts of Europe.

The Carmichael Watson Project

I really should pay more attention to these things. Lots of good stuff there...

The Carmichael Watson Project, and an update on Tigh nam Bodach

I've taken so long to write this one that this is probably redundant by now, but just in case, here's a heads up:

The Carmichael Watson Project is now live

This is an archive and catalogue of Alexander Carmichael's work and notes during his life and research in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. As yet, not every entry is accompanied by scans of his original work, but you can still view quite a lot. There's an article here at the Beeb.

In other news, a report from Dualchas Nàdair na h-Alba (Scottish National Heritage) has been added to the planning page for the Glen Lyon hydro scheme. The scheme that threatens Gleann Cailliche and Tigh nam Bodach. There are some concerns raised in the report regarding the impact on both Tigh nam Bodach and the surrounding area that so far seem to be the most encouraging cautionary signs against the scheme - not least that they conclude that: "We consider that the cumulative landscape and visual impacts of the four projects in combination could be significant and adverse." That includes not just the issue of the pylons, but the plans for widening access roads as well.

For Tigh nam Bodach itself, they say:

"The most westerly scheme – Allt Cailliche - is proposed in the most sensitive side glen where there are no human artefacts apart from the historic Tigh nam Bodach. The introduction of the proposed intake, powerhouse, upgraded tracks and pipeline excavations could have a significant adverse impact."

Other points raised include not just the potential for damage to Tigh nam Bodach and the sensitive/rare wetland habitats that will have to be disturbed, but also the potential disruption to rare birds that are breeding in the area, including merlins and golden eagles. The report points out that only two, instead of three of the necessary surveys have been undertaken in examining the potential impact that any works carried out might have on breeding pairs in the area, and it seems likely that the development will have to be limited in when it can undertake the most disruptive elements of the project in order to prevent scaring the birds off.

You can download the pdf by clicking here if you want to take a look yourself. All in all, it paints a worrying picture in terms of the potential damage the scheme could inflict on the area if it gets the go ahead, and I'm really glad that - unlike some of the other authorities and organisations who've submitted comments - Scottish National Heritage have really looked into the proposals from all angles and taken the time to make such a detailed reply.