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Song Lyrics & Sleeve Notes
1: A’ phiuthrag sa phiuthar (O sister, beloved sister)
(Traditional arranged Fowlis/Doorley/Byrne)
In Barra tradition this song is said to have been composed by a woman who was imprisoned in a fairy mound. She appeals to her sister for help. Learned from the singing of Calum Johnston (Calum Aonghais Chaluim) from Barra. Lyrics selected from Calum’s version as documented in Hebridean Folksongs II, tunes transcribed from recordings and annotated by Francis Collinson, edited and translated by John Lorne Campbell. (Oxford 1977)
A’ phiuthrag sa phiuthar,
Hù rù
ghaoil a phiuthar
Hù rù
Nach truagh leat fhèin
Hò hol ill leò
nochd mo chumha
Hù rù
’S mi ’m bothan beag
ìseal, cumhag,
Gun lùb sìomain,
gun ghad tughaidh
’S uisge nam beann
sìos na shruth leis.
’S mise bhean bhochd
chianail, dhuilich.
Dhìrich mi suas
Beinn an Sgrìobain,
’S Laigheabhal Mhòr
nan each grìs-fhionn.
Cha d’ fhuair mi ann
na bha dhìth orm
Tè bhuidhe, ’s a
falt mar dhìthein.
Little sister,
Hù rù
beloved sister
Hù rù
Do you not pity
Hò hol ill leò
My grief tonight
Hù rù
In a little hut
low and narrow
Without a roof-rope
or a wisp of thatch.
The rain of the hills
streaming into it.
I am a poor woman
sad and miserable.
I climbed up
Ben Sgrìobain
and Laigheabhal Mhòr
with it’s spotted horses
I didn’t find there
what I wanted,
A girl
with hair like a golden daisy.
2: Camariñas
(Traditional arranged Fowlis/Doorley/Byrne)
This is a beautiful traditional Galician song which I heard first from Rosa Cedrón whilst working with her on a project called ‘Facing the Atlantic’ with Gillebrìde MacMillan. The melody instantly transports me to this beautiful part of the world. As one of the few people on the planet who speak both Galician and Gaelic fluently, Gillebrìde translated and adapted this song to be sung in Scottish Gaelic. I’m delighted he sings with me here. Mo thaing dhut a Ghillebrìde.
Ao pasar por Camariñas
por Camariñas, cantando
as nenas de Camariñas
quedan no río lavando
Air dhomh bhith an Camariñas
an Camariñas gabhail dhàn ann
caileagan an Camariñas
shios taobh na h-aibhn’ ri ’n cuid obrach.
Camariñas Camariñas
‘S iomadh là bha mi ‘s mo ghràdh ann
Ach ‘s e nìghneag Chamariñas
Dh’fhàg mi fo leòn is mi cràidhteach.
Camariñas, Camariñas
xa me vas camariñando
por unha de Camariñas
vivo no mundo penando
When you pass through Camariñas
through Camariñas, singing
The girls from Camariñas
are washing in the river
Camariñas, Camariñas
you are already taking me
as a person from Camariñas
I live agonizing in the world
3: Fear a’ bhrochain / Dòmhnall Binn (The gruel man/sweet Donald)
(Traditional arranged Fowlis/Doorley/Byrne)
These are two pieces of mouth music which I love, the second of which I learned from the singing of the Rev William Matheson of North Uist and Edinburgh. Mo thaing do Mhaighread Stiùbhart airson a cuideachadh gus faclan a lorg air an son.
Am brochanaiche mòr
Hiù bhì leasanaiche
Am brochanaiche mòr
‘S iomadh fear a dh’òladh e.
Chuir an t-sealbh brochan air
Chuir an t-sealbh easan air
Chuir an t-sealbh brochan air
’S chuir e rithist ìm air.
The big gruel eater
Hiù bhì leasanaiche
The big gruel eater
Much would he drink.
Fortune sent him gruel
Fortune sent him thin gruel
Fortune sent him gruel
He added butter to it.
Dòmhnall binn, Dòmhnall binn
’S e na ruith air feadh an taighe
Dòmhnall binn, Dòmhnall binn
Chaidh e sa phig’ eòlain
Siud far robh a’ bhòilich
Nuair thòisich e feadh an taighe
Siud far robh a’ bhòilich
Nuair chaidh e sa phig’ eòlain
Dòmhnall binn, Dòmhnall binn
’S e na ruith air feadh an taighe
Dòmhnall binn, Dòmhnall binn
Chaidh e sa phig’ eòlain
Sweet Donald, sweet Donald,
When he went running round the house
Sweet Donald, sweet Donald
Fell into the oil jar.
What an uproar ensued
When he set off round the house
What an uproar ensued
When he fell into the oil jar.
Sweet Donald, sweet Donald,
When he went running round the house
Sweet Donald, sweet Donald
Fell into the oil jar.
4: Dh’èirich mi moch, b’fheàrr nach d’ dh’èirich (I arose early, would that I hadn’t)
(Traditional arranged Fowlis/Shaw)
This is a very moving song which is interesting as it is sung from the point of view of the ‘each-uisge’ the water-horse, who is usually portrayed as the frightening character in stories, but in this instance is the victim. He has been betrayed by his mortal lover, and she has left him with their child, which he cannot take care of. In the songs he begs her to return. My thanks to Margaret Stewart in helping me select verses to sing.
Dh’èirich mi moch,
dh’èirich mi moch,
B’fheàrr nach d’ dh’èirich
Mo chreach lèir na chuir a-mach mi.
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò.
Bha ceò sa bheinn,
Bha ceò sa bheinn,
is uisge frasach
’s thachair orms’ a’ ghruagach thlachdmhor.
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò
Bheir mi dhut fìon,
Bheir mi dhut fìon
‘S gach nì a b’ ait leat,
Ach nach èirinn leat sa mhadainn,
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò.
’Nighean nan gamhna,
’Nighean nan gamhna
Bha mi ma’ riut,
Anns a’ chrò is càch nan cadal
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò.
An daoidh gheal donn,
An daoidh gheal donn,
Rug i mac dhomh.
Ged is fuar a rinn i altram,
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò.
Bha laogh mo laoidh
Bha laogh mo laoidh
ri taobh cnocan
gun teine, gun sgàth, gun fhasgadh.
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò.
A Mhòr a ghaoil
A Mhòr, a ghaoil
Till ri d’ mhacan,
’S bheir mi goidean breagha breac dhut.
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò.
I arose early
I arose early –
would that I hadn’t.
I was distressed by what sent me out.
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò.
There was mist on the hill
There was mist on the hill
and showers of rain
and I came across a pleasant maiden
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò.
I’ll give you wine
I’ll give you wine
and all that will please you
but I won’t arise with you in the morning.
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò.
Girl of the calves
Girl of the calves
I was with you in the cattle-fold
and the rest were asleep.
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò.
The white brown wicked one
The white brown wicked one
bore me a son
although coldly did she nurse him
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò.
Tha calf of my song
The calf of my song
was beside a hillock
without fire, protection or shelter.
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò.
Mòr, my love
Mòr, my love, return to your little son
and I’ll give you a beautiful speckled withe.
Hill ò bha hò
Hill ò bha hò.
5: Go Your Way
(by Annie Briggs)
This is the first song I have recorded in English on one of my own records. Composed by the wonderful Annie Briggs, I simply loved it from the first moment I heard it. My sincere thanks to Annie for giving me her preferred lyrics, and indeed for her blessing to put it on the album.
Drawing water from the well
spilling over on the grass.
Walking home my heart is filled with pain.
You go your way, my love,
You go your way, my love,
You go your way, my love.
As I wander through the trees
picking up the windy leaves,
I wonder where you may be sleeping now,
You go your way, my love,
You go your way, my love,
You go your way, my love.
May the west wind speed your travels
And the sun be on your hair.
And make believe I’m with you
Over there, my love,
Over there, my love,
Over there, my love.
Friends and strangers bring stories
When asked where you might be.
Magic stories they have brought to me.
From afar, my love,
From afar, my love,
From afar, my love.
As I sit mending clothes
That you will never ever wear,
Looking daily for you I do prepare.
You go your way, my love,
You go your way, my love,
You go your way, my love.
6: Dh’èirich mi moch madainn cheòthar ( I arose early on a misty morning)
(Traditional arranged Fowlis/Doorley/Byrne)
This is a somewhat mysterious song, I suspect the melody is a perhaps 20th century version of an older song. I stumbled across a recording of it on Tobar an Dualchais, sung beautifully by Margaret MacArthur from Tiree. My thanks to DW Stewart and Kenny Beaton for helping to source the words.
Dh’èirich mi moch madainn cheòthar
Hò gurie hòm ò
’s shuidh mi air a chnocan bhòidheach
Hi rim i call eile
Hò a ho hì rì
Eu rubh i a ho eu
Hò gurie hòm ò
Thàinig mo leannan am chòmhdail
Bhuail sinn air a chòmhradh ghòrach
Cha d’ thàinig e nuair bu chòir dhà
Tiota beag mun d’ rinn mi ’m pòsadh
Ri mac a bhodachain bhrònaich
Nach tug crios, neo brèid neo bròg dhomh.
Nach tug an stìom is i bu chòir dhomh
Mhic an fhir o’n charra sgiathach,
’S eilean mòr nan eun fiadhaich,
Bheirinn fhèin mo bhòid ’s mo bhriathran,
Mionnan ged do chùmte sgian rium,
Gur h-ann duit a thug mi ’n ciad ghaol.
I arose early on a misty morning
Hò gurie hòm ò
and I sat on the lovely hillock
Hi rim i call eile
Hò a ho hì rì
Eu rubh i a ho eu
Hò gurie hòm ò
My sweetheart came to me
We chattered about foolish things.
He failed to come when he should have
A short time before I married
the son of the mournful old man
who didn’t give me a belt, a head-dress or shoe,
who didn’t give me the head-band which is my right.
Son of the man from the winged rock
and the large island of the wild birds
I would give my promise and my word
I would swear it even if a knife were held to me
that it was to you I gave my first love.
7: Windward Away
(by Archie Fisher)
A beautiful song from one of Scotland’s best loved singer-songwriters, Archie Fisher. I’m delighted to be joined here by a friend and musical kindred spirit, Mary Chapin Carpenter.
Love will come, and love will go, as the seas roll on forever
And lost love has the everlasting flow of a never-ending river
And it’s not an easy reckoning, but sometimes I have the notion
That womankind, and her heart and mind, sails on a restless ocean
A tall ship came from windward away, on a grey Atlantic morning
She showed no lights or colors, in the hour before the dawning
On a full rig run to the rising sun, she reached our starboard quarter
And I’ll ne’er forget the name she bore, she was called The Neptune’s Daughter.
Her sails were white as ivory, and her rigging sang like harp-strings
Her spars were black as ebony, and her wheel spun free of lashings
Her cloak of grey was the spindrift spray, as she split the waves asunder
I can see her now as she crossed our bow, while we gazed in silent wonder.
Her course was set by destiny, and no helmsman’s hand could change her
We hailed her and we signaled, “you are standing into danger”
But she left us free on the westerly, and I watched her pale sail sinking
And if only I was upon her deck, was all that I was thinking.
Love will come, and love will go, as the years roll on forever
Lost love has the everlasting flow of a never-ending river
And it’s not an easy reckoning, but sometimes I have the notion
That womankind, and her heart and mind, is a tall ship on the ocean.
8: Thèid mi do Loch Àlainn ( I’ll go to Lochaline)
(Traditional arranged Fowlis/Doorley/Byrne)
I love this tune, it has great rhythm and lift. There are various localised versions in existence, but the lyrics here are as sung by Donald Mackay (Dòmhnall Thormoid Bhàin) of South Uist but I also include two verses from ‘Cìobairean Taobh Loch Obha’, another version of the same song.
Thèid mi do Loch Àlainn is fàgaidh mi Taobh Loch Obha
Thèid mi do Loch Àlainn is fàgaidh mi Taobh Loch Obha
Thèid mi do Loch Àlainn is fàgaidh mi Taobh Loch Obha
Thèid mi do Loch Àlainn is fàgaidh mi Taobh Loch Obha
Dìridh mi, tèarnaidh mi, dìridh mi Taobh Loch Obha
Dìridh mi, tèarnaidh mi, fàgaidh mi Taobh Loch Obha
Dìridh mi, tèarnaidh mi, dìridh mi Taobh Loch Obha
Dìridh mi, tèarnaidh mi, fàgaidh mi Taobh Loch Obha
I’ll go to Loch Aline and leave Loch Awe-side
I’ll go to Loch Aline and leave Loch Awe-side
I’ll go to Loch Aline and leave Loch Awe-side
I’ll go to Loch Aline and leave Loch Awe-side
I’ll climb, I’ll descend, I’ll climb Loch Awe-side
I’ll climb, I’ll descend, I’ll leave Loch Awe-side
I’ll climb, I’ll descend, I’ll climb Loch Awe-side
I’ll climb, I’ll descend, I’ll leave Loch Awe-side
Cìobairean Taobh Loch Obha (The shepherds of Loch Awe-side)
’S coma leis na h-ìghneagan
Cìobairean Taobh Loch Obha,
Bidh iad anns na dìgean
A’ spìonadh nan caorach odhar.
Coma leis na h-ìghneagan
Cìobairean Taobh Loch Odha,
Bidh iad le an ìnean
A’ sgrìobadh nan caorach odhar.
Dìreadh iad, teàrnadh iad,
Dìreadh iad is mo thogair.
Dìreadh iad, teàrnadh iad,
Fàgadh iad Taobh Loch Odha.
Dìreadh iad, teàrnadh iad,
Dìreadh iad is mo thogair,
Ruigeadh iad Muc Càrna
Is fàgadh iad Taobh Loch Odha.
The girls dont care for
the shepherds of Loch Awe-side.
They are in the ditches
plucking the dun-coloured sheep.
The girls don’t care for
the shepherds of Loch Awe-side.
With their nails they
scratch the dun-coloured sheep.
Let them climb, let them descend
Let them climb, I don’t care
Let them climb, let them descend
And let them leave Loch Awe-side.
Let them climb, let them descend
Let them climb, I don’t care
Let them reach Muckairn
And let them leave Loch Awe-side.
9: Òran an Ròin (The Seal’s Song)
(Traditional arranged Fowlis/Shaw)
Songs and stories about seals are part of the folklore of North Uist and of Heisgeir, five small islands about four miles west of the main island. People hunted seals and made good use of them – as food, for clothing and for oil. It was said that the seals were the children of the King of Norway, living under a spell put on them by a bad stepmother. It was also said that they took human form at full moon three times a year. According to one legend some young men were once hunting seals in Heisgeir and after killing a fair number and spending time rendering their oil they started to prepare a dinner of seal meat for themselves. That was when they heard this song coming from an offshore reef.
Hò i hò i hì o hò i
Hò i hì o hò i ì
Hò i hò i hì o hò i
Cha robh mi ‘m ònar a-raoir.
‘S mairg san tìr seo, ‘s mairg san tìr
‘G ithe dhaoine ‘n riochd a bhìdh;
Nach fhaic sibh ceannard an t-sluaigh
Goil air teine gu cruaidh cruinn.
‘S mise nighean Aoidh mhic Eòghainn,
Gum b’ eòlach mi mu na sgeirean;
Gur mairg a dhèanadh mo bhualadh
Bean uasal mi o thìr eile.
Thig an smeòrach, thig an druid
Thig gach eun a dh’ionnsaigh nid;
Thig am bradan thar a’ chuain
Gu Là Luain cha ghluaisear mis’.
Hò i hò i hì o hò i
Hò i hì o hò i ì
Hò i hò i hì o hò i
I was not alone last night.
Pity to be in this place
where people are eaten as food
See the chief of the people
Boiling hard on a fire.
I am the daughter of Aoidh son of Ewen
I was knowledgeable about the reefs
Pity the person who would hit me
I am a noble woman from another land.
The thrush comes, the starling comes
Every bird returns to its nest
The salmon comes from the sea
Until Doom’s Day I will not be moved.
10: An aghaidh Fàilte na Mòrthir (Response to Fàilte na Mòrthir )
(by John MacCodrum / arranged Fowlis/Doorley/Byrne)
In his book The Songs of John MacCodrum (Edinburgh 1938) Rev. William Matheson, an eminent Gaelic scholar, explains that this song, ostensibly in praise of North Uist, is a parody on a song praising the mainland composed by another well-known poet called Alexander MacDonald, and that MacCodrum may have sung it as a joke during one of his encounters with MacDonald. Given that North Uist Tradition associates seals with the MacCodrums I have woven the seal song ‘Ionn dà, ionn dò’, consisting entirely of vocables, into the song, as a reminder of MacCodrum’s traditional connection with the seal population.
Heitearainn àrainn
Urainn othoro
Heitearainn àrainn ò ro
Uibhist mheallach,
Lom-làn arain,
’S i gun ghainne ’n annlan.
Sruthain mheala
Ruith bhon talamh,
’S bho bharra nam beanntan.
’S mairg a mhol
A’ Mhòrthir sgnogach
Airson stoban calltuinn.
Fearann mosach
’S olc ri choiseachd –
Chan chinn molt neo meann air.
’S e na cearcan
Pòr as pailte,
’S iad ag cac mu ’n t-slabhraidh.
Mnathan binneach
Air bheag grinneas,
’S iad ri inisg chainnte.
Fir gun sonas,
Làn de ’n donas,
’S iad ri cron ’s ri aimhreit.
Heitearainn àrainn
Urainn othoro
Heitearainn àrainn ò ro.
Charming Uist,
full to the brim with bread,
and not scarce of condiments.
Streams of honey
running from the ground
and from the hill tops.
Woe to him who praised
the shrivelled mainland
because of some hazel sticks.
An unpleasant country,
difficult to walk –
neither wether or kid thrives on it.
Hens are
the most plentiful produce,
shitting round the pot-hanger.
Frivolous women
of little comlieness
given to slanderous conversation.
Hapless men,
full of devilry
given to crime and discord.
11: Cearcall mun Ghealaich(Circle about the Moon)
(lyrics by Catriona Montgomery/music by Julie Fowlis)
A vivid and beautiful poem called ‘Circle about the Moon’, composed by Catriona Montgomery, one of Scotland’s finest contemporary writers. The poem is published in the book “Rè na h-oidhche – poems by Catriona Montgomery” (Canongate Press 1994). The translation to English here is Catriona’s own and from that book. When you see a circle around the moon, it is often a warning of change – usually not for the better.
Bliadhna mhòr na stoirme
chunnaic mi cearcall mun ghealaich
’s dh’fhalbh na h-adagan eòrna
nan sruth sìos chun a’ chladaich,
is sheas sinn nar triùir ann
(mi fhèin, mo phiuthar is m’ athair)
a’ faicinn obair ar làimhe
na deann-ruith à sealladh.
Is chunnaic mi uair eile
cearcall mun ghealaich –
aig deireadh samhraidh sgiamhach
chaidh gaol às mo shealladh.
Bu riaslach an tìm ud
gu ’n tàinig leigheas an earraich,
ach thàinig le tìde
àm grianach gum aire.
Ach a-nis, aig deireadh samhraidh,
chì mi cearcall mun ghealaich
is tusa a’ falbh bhuam
gu baile an Sasainn,
’s mo chridhe cho sgaoilte
na raon mòr fada farsaing,
gun adagan ar gaoil ann
fon d’ fhuair mi fasgadh bha abaich
– ’s ma dh’fhalbhas tu
cha till grian bhrèagha an earraich.
The year of the big storm
I saw a circle about the moon
and the stooks of barley streamed to the sea,
my father my sister and I stood
watching the work of our hands rush from sight.
At another time I saw a circle about the moon:
at the end of summer when love
disappeared from sight,
A restless season till the healing spring,
but with time I noticed the sun.
But now at the end of a summer
I see a circle about the moon
and you going from me
to an English city;
my heart is desolate,
a wide swept open field
without the stooks of our love,
their ripe shelter
– should you not return
neither will the spring sun.