Two newly-found vintage books on Scottish Travellers and Irish stories

May was an unusual month, with illness and then a holiday in the midst of beautiful woods, mountains, and streams.  I was hoping to come across a good secondhand bookshop somewhere along the journey, but it wasn't to be; though I did find two lovely-looking vintage books in an antique shop.  The first is 'A Time from the World' by Rowena Farre, an author that I have another book by (that I've yet to read and it looks charming) called "Seal Morning'.  This book, from 1962, looks fascinating, it's about her befriending and joining up with Romanies, the Travellers, and others; she shares her experiences from being around those characters, and their lore, customs and beliefs in Scotland decades ago. The cover art by Douglas Hall is delightful.

On my way out, with two records in my hand as well, part of the book cover (which had some object sitting on top of it) of an attractive and vintage-looking book caught my eye, and it was an interesting book of Irish stories from 1963 called 'A Journey To the Seven Streams' by Benedict Kiely.   It was nice to find these somewhat obscure books with the dust jackets still in good condition, and I look forward to reading these sometime.

The Lothian Run by Mollie Hunter

 

 

'The Lothian Run' by Mollie Hunter was first published in 1970 and concerns the adventures of a young apprentice (by the name of Sandy Maxwell) in a lawyer's office in Edinburgh in 1736.  He is bored with his job and doesn't think he can stand it any longer, but his dull occupation soon changes when he gets involved in tracking down some dangerous smugglers when helping Deryck Gilmour, an officer of the Special Investigations branch of the Customs service.  There is spying, kidnapping, murder, mobs, Jacobites; plenty of intrigue and adventurous scrapes.   I enjoyed this lively historical fiction tale very much, found it hard to put down, and definitely recommend it.

 

Lillian Beckwith's Tales of Life On a Remote Hebridean Croft

I was trying to recall what first put me on to the books of Lillian Beckwith many years ago, most likely it was by happening to find a library book once that captivated me.  Whatever it was, I'm glad I made their acquaintance and collected them (though am still missing some other titles outside of this series), as they are a joy to read and have much humour and warmth and are filled with completely down-to-earth characters and amusing mishaps.  Despite the hard work and sometimes hardship, there's something alluring about someone taking off to a remote island or countryside and being free and getting by on their own, or nearly on their own, though this usually involves being blessed with the help of others (which is always reciprocated in the small community-people care about each other and don't want others to go without or be neglected).  Taking off to an old stone cottage in the remote Hebrides in Scotland for a doctor-ordered rest is just what Lillian Beckwith did in the beginning of this series, with book number one, 'The Hills Is Lonely', first published in 1959. 

At the beginning, when reading the offers for lodgings, in reply to her advert posted in a paper, this first one from a certain Hebridean crofter was the start of her new life: 

Dear Madam,    Its just now I saw your advert when I got the book for the knitting pattern I wanted from my cousin Catriona.  I am sorry I did not write sooner if you are fixed up if you are not in any way fixed up I have a good good stone house and tiles and my brother Ruari who will wash down with lime twice every year. Ruari is married and lives just by.  She is not damp.  I live by myself and you could have the room that is not a kitchen and a bedroom reasonable.  I was in the kitchen of the lairds house till lately when he was changed God rest his soul the poor old gentleman that he was.  You would be very welcomed.  I have a cow also for milk and eggs and the minister at the manse will be referee if you wish such.   Yours affectionately, MORAG McDUGAN

P.S. She is not thatched. 

 She loved it so much that she decided to stay and buy her own croft.  Her rest cure was abandoned as she found herself drawn in to working harder than she ever had in her life, and getting very healthy in the pure island atmosphere! And so this series continued on.

Here I will feature the lovely art on the dust jackets (for seven of the books) by Douglas Hall, which perfectly suits the stories. 


'The Sea For Breakfast'

'The Loud Halo'

'A Rope- In Case'

'Lightly Poached'

'Beautiful Just!'

'Bruach Blend'

Crooked Adam by D. E. Stevenson

Crooked Adam by D.E. Stevenson is a wonderful tale of mystery, action, adventure, espionage and a bit of romance.  This is the second book I've read of this author and I've enjoyed both books very much.  This one was published in 1942, set in England then mainly Scotland, and involves the valiant efforts of some brave and honest men keeping the invention and plans of a new secret weapon ray gun out of the hands of Nazi German agents, who are desperate to get hold of it.

 Adam Southey, the Crooked Adam of the title, is so-called due to a limp he has with his leg.  In the beginning he is unfulfilled and discontent that he is working as a teacher when he'd rather be fighting for his country;  but Adam soon get swept up into an exciting and adventurous life that he could never have dreamed of. 

The story has a nice, easy pace, and combined with the detailed descriptions of scenery, one really gets a feel for the settings.  I can wholeheartedly recommend this book, it's a good one!

Robert Burns, Some Verses For Burns Night

 

It's Burns Night tonight, whether you abide in Scotland or not;  for if you love Scotland or have any ancestral lure to it, you will probably know about the great poet Robert Burns.  He was a beautiful writer of verse (and a bit of a Casanova too) and has been one of the most loved figures of Scotland for a very long time.  He is one of my favourite writers. Here are some romantic verses from a song:

Oh Wert Thou In The Cauld Blast:

Oh wert thou in the cauld blast
On yonder lea, on yonder lea;
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee:
Or did misfortune's bitter storms around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be thy bosom, to share it a', to share it a'.
Or were I in the wildest waste,
sae black and bare, sae black and bare,
The desart were a paradise,
If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
Or were I monarch o' the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign;
The brightest jewel in my crown,
wad be my queen, wad be my queen.

 

 

 

 

Literary Ramblings and Celtic Folklore For Hogmanay

 

Here's a miscellany of enticing little curiosities concerned with Hogmanay ( New Year's in Scotland), old Celtic folklore, traditions, etc...  I have accumulated a lot of interesting books over time, and it's a pleasure to share these archaic pieces with any of you who may find some curious appeal in them!  I assembled this piece a few years ago, when my head was full of Scottish music and books, and so it has come from another site which no longer exists, but this a good time to repost it.

A guid New Year to ane and a'
And mony may ye see;
And during a' the year to come,
Happy may ye be.          A Guid New Year

Now we hae gotten't in aboot,
An' a' orr thingies ticht,
We gather roun' the festive board
To spend a jolly nicht.      The Hairst o' Rettie

Rise up, guidwife, and shake yir featers;
Dinna think that we are beggars,
We're only bairnies come to play
So up and gie's our Hogmanay.      Children's rhyme


Mummer's plays were popular at this time of year:
"Eader a' da la Nodlag-between Christmas Day and New Year's Day the mummers took to the streets.
There was St. George and St. Denis and St. Patrick in their buffe coats, and the Turke was there likewise and Oliver Cromwell and a Doctor, and an old woman who made rare sport, till Belsibub came in with a frying pan upon his shoulder and a great flail in his hand thrashing about him on friends and foes, and at last running away with the bold usurper, Cromwell, whom he tweaked by his gilded nose- and there came a little devil with a broom to gather up the money that was thrown to the Mummers for the sport.  It is an ancient pastime, they tell me, of the Citizens."
                                                            A Visitor To Cork, 1685

In the Isle of Man, New Year's Day was often called Little Christmas.  Fiddlers would go from house to house to rouse the occupants with music, and their wives would follow the next day for payment, usually food or drink.

"The eve of New Year's Day was one of supreme importance in the Highlands and Islands of the West and took precedence even over Christmas.  It was a time of much ceremony and gaity, but underneath the levity lies a sinister hint of the old ritual and sacrificial nature of the festival.  The eve of New Year was known as Oidhche Challuinn, and New Year's Day as La' Challiunn.  First-footing is still carried out, as in other parts of the Highlands, although, as elsewhere, it is a dying custom."
The Folklore of the Scottish Highlands by Anne Ross, 1976

Here's an old Hogmanay verse:
Tonight is the hard night of Hogmanay,
I am come with a lamb to sell-
The old fellow yonder sternly said
He would strike my ear against a rock.
The woman, better of speech, said
That I should be let in;
For my food and for my drink,
A morsel due and something with it.
         

Highland Weather Almanac:
The Highlanders form a sort of almanac or presage of the weather for the ensuing year in the following manner.  They make observation on twelve days, beginning at the last of December, and hold as an infallible rule that whatsoever weather happens on each of those days, the same will prove to agree in the correspondent months.  Thus, January is to answer to the weather of December the 31st, February to that of January 1st; and so on with the rest.  Old people still pay great attention to this augury.       Thomas Pennant, A Tour In Scotland and Voyage to the Hebrides, 1772


In the Celtic lands of Britain, the people did not at first take kindly to the introduction of the New Style calendar in 1752, and tenaciously clung to the old order of things, including the stubborn conviction that 6 January was the real Christmas day.    from, A Celtic Book of Days

In the past the calendrical significance of January varied according to whether Celtic, Anglo-Saxon or Norse tradition was followed, with Yule continuing all month in the north of Scotland, but Christmas elsewhere originally on 5th January (or 6th) but ending on New Year's Eve.

In another folk customs book, it states that on New Year's Day morning in Scotland, men can traditionally demand a kiss from any woman they know...which could be nice, or not, depending on who you happened to meet!

I often tend to get moody or melancholy at New Year's Eve for some reason, but am doing all right this time, just not dwelling on it too much.  For it is a fresh new year, be hopeful and think on good things!  Happy New Year!

The Isle of Skye: Armchair Travelling

A wise man once said: 'Skye is not a place but an intoxication.'

With others writing about their summer journeys and some doing that via armchair travelling, I thought a special destination (reluctantly only) via books would be in order now.
Let us now journey to The Isle of Skye. I've felt drawn to the Isle of Skye for many years, but haven't actually been there...yet; for I feel it in my bones that I will get there.  I also was interested in it as Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull owned part of it and the Strathaird estate from the late 1970s to the mid-late 90s.

It takes very little to transport me to that Scottish island feeling, that sense of timelessness and the carefree state of mind that one has in that kind of wild surroundings.  It could be the sound of the sea, a fiddle tune, the natural, delicate and varied colours of a woollen scarf, and the intense lure from distant ancestry.  It has inspired my own music and painting, I've painted several landscapes, for sometimes one just needs to paint a mountain!  Here is one of mine from years ago, using it as an idea for a logo for my Thistle Cottage Recordings musical cottage industry:

I've gathered a few books together from my shelves specifically about, or set in, the Isle of Skye. Shall we browse through the selection?   There is 'Portrait of Skye And The Outer Hebrides' by W. Douglas Simpson,  'Skye & the Western Isles' by James & Deborah Penrith, 'Skye:  The Island And It's Legends' by Otta Swire, and 'Old Skye Tales' by William Mackenzie.  Then two mysteries with a Skye setting:  "Wildfire At Midnight' by Mary Stewart (which I read last year), and 'Master of Morgana' by Allan Campbell McLean, which I began reading last night.

From the lone shieling on the misty island, 

Mountains divide us, and a waste of seas;

Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,

And we, in dreams, behold the Hebrides.

 

" The Island of Skye-the 'Misty Isle' as it has long been called...is the largest but one of the Hebrides.  Its main mass lies north-west and south-east, running out at its broad upper end into three long promontories of Trotternish, Vaternish, and Duirinish, divided from each other by Loch Snizort and Loch Dunvegan.  Midway from the long western coast projects the squat mass of Minginish, flanked by Loch Bracadale and Loch Scavaig.   Beyond the latter the bold headland of Strathaird is isolated by Loch Slapin and Loch Eishort from the long transverse butt of the island, known as Sleat and Strath, which in shape is uncommonly like a gigantic fish's tale.  The island is 49 miles in length.  It's breadth varies from 7 to 25 miles.  But owing to the irregularity of the coastline, and the great number of fjord-like lochs, no part of the interior is as much as 5 miles from the sea.  The total length of coastline is over 900 miles.  Skye contains 690 square miles, most of which is moorland and mountain.  Of the mountains, three main systems may be distinguished. The principal one is the grand group of the Cuillins, in the south-west, forming the base of Minginish.  Without question these are the most magnificent of British mountains."  (Portrait of Skye and the Outer Hebrides, W. Douglas Simpson, 1967)

There is much folklore, history, many books on Skye, and fiddle tunes, folksongs, folk bands from there or about there. 

 

  "Thanks to its stunning scenery, romantic associations and accessibility, Skye is the most visited of all the western islands and has been for more than a century, since the railroads and steamships of the Victorians brought the islands of the Inner Hebrides that much closer to the bursting cities of the mainland.  There are some purists who insist that Skye is no longer an island, and that somehow it's not the same singing the Skye Boat Song while speeding over the bridge that has kinked it firmly to the mainland at Kyle of Lochalsh since 1995.   (Skye & the Western Isles, Penrith, 2007).

 

From traditional Scottish Folk band Ossian, the tune 'The Sound of Sleat:

 

 

  The 'Dun Ringill' video by Jethro Tull:

and Fish n' Sheep n' Rock n' Roll from 1987, about Ian Anderson's music and the salmon farm in Skye as well, which you can find easily.

 

The Corries with 'Skye Boat Song':

 

So we must gather our bags, not forgetting the Ordnance Survey map, sturdy walking boots, rain-proof jackets, some non-effective midge repellent, etc...and wend our way to the train station. 

The House of the Deer by D.E. Stevenson

 

On hearing so many good things about D.E. Stevenson's books, and being keen on a certain type of vintage fiction, I felt it was past time for me to begin reading some of her books and borrowed this one from the library (but with a less romantic cover).  Right away I liked her style of writing and knew 'The House of the Deer', from 1971, would be one I would enjoy reading, especially with it being set in the Highlands of Scotland, which I love. 

 

 Gerald Burleigh-Brown is coerced, by his boss and brother-in-law Sir Walter MacCallum, to take his place and spend a holiday in an old house in the wilds of Scotland with some good friends of his and participate in the deer culling in the deer forest there.  There is much description of deer stalking, which I momentarily thought might put me off, but this is a very good story with elements of mystery, gentle romance, and adventure, and I believe it would appeal equally to men and women.  There are some rather exciting scenes in the second half of the book involving a small gang of dangerous criminals, but I'm giving nothing away to spoil the plot.

 

Here is an interesting detailed description of the house itself:

 

"Gerald looked at the old house with interest.  It was on the side of a hill near a burn and was built of rough grey stone.  The windows were on different levels and were of different sizes and shapes:  some were large and square, others were small and oblong.  Those facing west were built into a kind of bow, like half a tower.  Above that the half-tower became a whole tower with windows facing in three directions.  The roof, which was made of slate, was steep and uneven; gables jutted out at all angles and twisted chimneys sprouted in unexpected places.  The pepper-pot turrets, which had been added "just for fun", gave the place a rakish appearance.   "I've never seen anything like it before!" Gerald exclaimed.  "No, and you never will," declared Mac, smiling.

The House of the Deer was unique inside as well as outside.  There was one large room which ran through the centre of the house on the ground floor and had windows facing east and west.  It was used as a sitting-room at one end and as a dining-room at the other.  This was the old part of the house, as could be seen from the thickness of the walls.  The windows were set in deep embrasures which were filled with cushioned window-seats.  Halfway down one side of the room there was a huge stone fireplace with a wrought-iron grate for burning logs.  The furniture consisted of large chairs upholstered in brown leather (which probably had been new in Victorian times) and large bookcases containing books about fishing and shooting and the habits of deer.  There was a work-basket, bulging with grey woolen stockings, on one chair and a pile of papers on another."

The characters and their interactions seemed very real, and I look forward to reading more stories by D.E. Stevenson.