Tag Archives: Scotland;

POEM: LOCH NA GARR

Lord Byron (1788–1824).  Poetry of Byron.  1881.
 
I. Personal, Lyric, and Elegiac
Loch Na Garr essentially about childhood, what the Gael calls ancestry (dualchas), heritage (dualchas) sense of place (duthchas).
Byron contrasts the green landscaped civilized fields of southern England, with the wild, windswept craggy East Highlands
Byron himself wrote:
“I allude here to my maternal ancestors, “the Gordons,” many of whom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, better known by the name of the Pretender. This branch was nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment, to the Stuarts. George, the second Earl of Huntley, married the Princess Annabella Stuart, daughter of James I. of Scotland. By her he left four sons: the third, Sir William Gordon, I have the honour to claim as one of my progenitors.”
Byron also referred to  Lochnagar in The Island:

The infant rapture still survivied the boy,
And Loch-na-gar with Ida looked o’er Troy.[7]
— The Island: Canto II, stanza XII, lines 290-291

As the Penguin Book of Scottish Verse says:
“There are few major English poets who can be heard sung in peasant bothies among the more native fare, but Byron’s Lachin A Gair is a popular favourite, and those sophisticated critics who sneer at the poem but don’t know the tune should hear it sung by a farm-labourer’s ‘tenore robusto. “

Or I daresay David Solley or Kenneth McKellar
 AWAY, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses!  
In you let the minions of luxury rove;
Restore me the rocks, where the snow-flake reposes,  
Though still they are sacred to freedom and love:
Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains,       
 5  Round their white summits though elements war;
Though cataracts foam ’stead of smooth-flowing fountains, 
 I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr. 

Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander’d;  
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;       
 10On chieftains long perish’d my memory ponder’d, 
 As daily I strode through the pine-cover’d glade:I
sought not my home till the day’s dying glory 
 Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star
;For fancy was cheer’d by traditional story,        
15  Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr.

 “Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices  
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?”
Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,  
And rides on the wind o’er his own Highland vale.        
20Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers, 
 Winter presides in his cold icy car:
Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers;  
They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr. 

“Illstarr’d, though brave, did no visions foreboding        
25  Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?”
Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden,  
Victory crown’d not your fall with applause:
Still were you happy in death’s earthy slumber,  
You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar;      
  30The pibroch resounds, to the piper’s loud number, 
 Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr. 

Years have roll’d on, Loch na Garr, since I left you,  Years must elapse ere I tread you again:
Nature of verdure and flow’rs has bereft you,       
 35  Yet still are you dearer than Albion’s plain.
England! thy beauties are tame and domestic  
To one who has roved on the mountains afar:
Oh for the crags that are wild and majestic!  
The steep frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr!        40 

A Time for WhisKY

By Richard K. Munro

Thomas Munro, Srto his left “AMERICAN JOHNNY Robertson to his right the young boy is his nephew Jimmy Quigley 16 at the tjme.

It’s Five O’Clock. “Whisky is liquid sunshine.” said Robertson.

Like most Highland natives, Auld Pop had a vague knowledge of a thing called barbecue, but had never actually eaten any. He was, however, intimately familiar with whiskey. In fact from 1914-1933 he often made his own. I do not know and have no knowledge if he ever sold any of his poteen. I do know he used to say, “Prohibition? What’s that? No excise officer ever kept a Highland man from his dram.” “Does love make the world go around? Well aye, mon. “Strrruth! . But whiskey makes it go around twice as fast. Aye! An’ gies a mon a sonsie gizz, aye! ThAAt’s a sonsie face – a jolly, smiling face!.

He used to have conservations with his Argyll Squaddies, Jimmy Quigley and American Johnny Robertson. Hae ye a smoke?” he asked. “Aye!” said Johnny,
““Matches?” he asked.
“Enough to burn Rome,” said Johnny.
“Whiskey?” he said
“Enough whiskey for the a river of pain, loss and sorrow For the Abhainn nam Manach itself -that’s the River Beauly for a Lallan laddie like ye, Johnny! “
“Are ye fou, Johnny lad?
” “No’ yet, Tommie!”
“An’ ye, young Jimmy?
“Chan eil fos tamuill beag Brathair mathair!”
Johnny, and what’s That? I ken it’s yer mither-leed (language).
Auld Pop: “He says, not for a little while yet, uncle!”“
Said Johnny To be or not to be, drunk on whiskey, that is the question in the rright-true Saxon tongue.
( a distant train sounds its horn)
Auld Pop grew thoughtful
“I hae always felt that distant train whistles heard in the dead of night are God’s way of letting us know the best days are fast runnin’ awa! .Time’s chariot is running by.An’ the broken hairt it kens nae second spring again, though the weary warld dinna cease frae its greeting. Aye, we are a’ togither tonicht for a wee while. But the parting day is comin’. The whiskey, and romance eventually runs out and the night will soon turn to day. Aye. Ye are a leal n’ true mon, Johnny. You stood by me and Jimmy here in a very dark moment. You and the lads and the Dins- were willing to brave the shadows ‘ death. Medal o no’ yer the bravest mon o’ the Regiment. If Auld Port were here today, he wad understand.”
“Aye”, said Johnny.
“Aye,” said Jimmy
Auld Pop said, “here’s a toast to the Ants and to Auld Port!
TO AULD PORT! TO THE ANTS! they said.
It was dark that night in in the distance they could hear the thud of the German guns round Wipers (Ypres).
Auld Port, Captain Dick MacDonald Porteous had led them in many a trench raid but would never do so again.
That morning, as dawn broke Auld Port was killed. They told his parents it was a stray bullet.
Auld Pop, who was there, said, “it was a Jairmen sniper for sure. Aye. “

May 10. 1915 Lang Syne.

Lochaber No More (funerals for an Argyll. “LOCHABER NO MORE” that was known to be played during WW1 Military funerals with Gun Volley at specific parts of this tune.

Lyrics for “Lochaber No More” :

FAREWELL to Lochaber, farewell to the glen,

⁠No more will he wander Lochaber again.

Lochaber no more! Lochaber no more! ⁠

The lad will return to Lochaber no more!

The trout will come back from the deeps of the sea,

⁠The bird from the wilderness back to the tree,

Flowers to the mountain and tides to the shore, ⁠But he will return to Lochaber no more!

O why should the hills last, that never were young,

⁠Unperishing stars in the heavens be hung;

Be constant the seasons, undrying the stream, ⁠

And he that was gallant be gone like a dream?

Brave songs will be singing in isles of the West,

⁠But he will be silent who sang them the best; T

he dance will be waiting, the pipes will implore,

⁠But he will return to Lochaber no more!

Child of the forest! profound is thy sleep, ⁠

The valley that loved thee awakes but to weep;

When our fires are rekindled at dawn of the morn, ⁠

Our griefs burn afresh, and our prayers are forlorn;

The night falls disconsolate, bringing no peace, ⁠

No hope for our dreams, for our sighs no release;

In vain come the true hearts and look from the door,

⁠For thou wilt return to Lochaber no more!

Neil Munro

)

I can never forget the stories of Captain Dick MacDonald Porteous ASH a hero of 2nd Ypres (KIA May 10, 1915). He spoke fluent Spanish and French (he had been raised partially in Argentina and born in Dublin). “Port” the men called him. My grandfather said he was one of the finest men and bravest soldier he ever knew.