School Trip, or ’S e ’n t-eilean uain’ Ìleach as fheàrr leam gu bràth

It would be rude, however, not to start from the beginning; so: I’m doing a joint-honours degree in Linguistics and “Celtic”. I went into some detail about the former subject in my first entry, and so it seems only fair that the bulk of this one will relate mainly to the latter; the one that my mother’s friends react to with laughter followed by perplexed stares. I do not study the history of Celtic civilisation (although I could if I wanted to), but rather languages and cultures of Celtic nations. In the first two years, this mainly comprises of an intense language course in Scottish Gaelic; in my Honours years I will be able to choose where to go from there. I feel quite drawn to both Modern Irish and Modern Welsh, but would also like to possess the historical and etymological insight that knowledge of Old Irish provides. As for the cultural element, we often sing songs in class (the quality and magnitude of Gaelic oral tradition is notorious, after all) and have started taking baby steps into the realm of literature.



On top of that, at the end of last year The Highland Society (with generous financial support by the department) offered to me and my classmates the amazing opportunity to spend Innovative Learning Week (a week in which regular teaching gives way to optional workshops and lectures on a diverse range of topics) in a place where one can still hear Gaelic spoken in the streets: Islay, an island sometimes called The Queen of the Hebrides, despite the fact that it lies at the very south of the archipelago. This is because the administrative centre of the Lordship of the Isles used to lie here (specifically in Finlagan) in Medieval times.



Nowadays, the island is known mainly for its whisky, which often has a strong peaty flavour. There are currently 9 active distilleries on Islay (and one more on the adjacent isle, Jura), which is quite a rarity for a population of less than three and a half thousand. Although the golden liquor undoubtedly forms a great part of  Scottish cultural heritage (after all, its name is derived from the Gaelic compound uisge-beatha, or “water of life”), our plans for the journey transcended consuming as much of it as possible. Most of our party had never visited the Hebrides before, and so it was vital that we get as diverse an introduction to their cultural and natural beauty as possible; starting with the initiation ritual that is a journey on a CalMac ferry.



After more than five hours on buses to the mainland port a two hours on the not exactly wild, but nevertheless slightly nauseating sea, we took the last bus of the day bus from Port Askaig to Bowmore, where we had rented three surprisingly posh houses for the week. Of course we hit the local hotel on the first night already to sample our first couple of drams, but not more than a couple, since our four-day course in local language and culture was to begin the next morning at the Gaelic Centre just outside town.



For the purposes of this, we were divided into two groups: one comprising mostly of us who have only been studying the language since September, and the other of older, fluent students and native speakers. While they were trying their hand at ethnographic work and transcription of songs and stories, us and our teacher, Màiri, explored the idiosyncrasies of her native Islay Gaelic on the background of the most basic language. This variety, strongly influenced by the proximity of Northern Ireland (which can apparently be seen by the naked eye from the south of the island in good weather), is unfortunately moribund. Only 20% of Islay’s population speak Gaelic of any sort (according to the 2011 census), and these speakers are usually pensioners. Even though the language is taught at school, the sector is dominated by teachers speaking either northern (specifically Lewis) or non-regional dialects. Màiri herself, being a retired schoolteacher, despite her best efforts to conduct the course in the Gaelic of her childhood, often reverted back to the standardised language of SQA exams. She didn’t even know how much I empathised, I who had almost completely lost my South-East Moravian dialect within the first couple of months at Open Gate; probably the only thing worth mentioning that boarding school has deprived me of...



In addition to these lessons, all of us also attended short presentations and talks from locals (eg. Seumas, a fisherman and a veritable fount of obscure Gaelic vocabulary for everything and anything related to the profession, or a Quaker, whose name I have sadly forgotten, preparing for a mission in Palestine) and learnt two devilishly catchy songs of Islay provenance in a workshop with Mòrag, a choirmistress.

We spent each afternoon differently. One day we visited Port Charlotte and the Museum of Islay Life, full of various artifacts or objects of daily use related to the island and reflecting its traditions. And of course we also went on the obligatory distillery tour, more precisely a Gaelic-medium tour of the Bruichladdich distillery. They produce the most heavily peated whisky in the world, which we got to sample straight from the cask, our guide dismissively splashing amounts worth tens of pounds at any pub all over the floor as he moved the thief between our glasses.

But even as much as simple walk in nature is a breathtaking experience on Islay. Each part of the island is slightly different: rugged rocky shore here, green arable land there, brown marshland yonder… I felt as if my entire mental image of the Hebrides had been projected onto a single tiny isle. In fact I’m sorry that I can’t just turn this entry into a giant photo album, but then these things are probably best experienced first hand.



Now,  the towns are utterly picturesque. For example Bowmore, the capital, where the church is round so that the Devil may not hide in a corner, or Port Ellen, built around a beautiful bay.





I spent one afternoon here observing dialectological research conducted by one of our fourth-year students. He was attempting to find as many speakers of the local dialect as possible and record them saying words he had carefully selected to allow him to analyse a specific feature (“L” phonemes, I believe). I am enormously grateful for having been invited to accompany him, since being able to observe fieldwork and the analysis of collected data is a very rare and enriching opportunity for a first-year Linguistics student like myself. It also meant being able to experience the extraordinary warmth of the locals, who let us into their homes and talked to us with genuine interest about their culture and language (if only to express a great sense of regret that they do not speak it). Although they will never read this, I would like to extend a thousand thanks to Cathy, Dorothy, Tommy, Mòrag and last but not least Seumas, pictured below giving us a thorough tour of his shed.



And then, entirely out of the blue, came the eve of our departure: the time to cross out the last couple of distilleries from the list (a wide selection from each of the ten was on the hotel’s menu!), to shout-along for the last time to the terrible rock version of Loch Lomond that the house band invariably played at the end of every weekend night, and thus come to terms with the fact that our adventure had come to an end. But undoubtedly this was only the first of a great many trips that we shall embark on; perhaps together, perhaps in smaller groups, perhaps individually. The thing about the Hebrides is that their charm is inimitable. And so we sailed away, but the beauteous, green, bowed island and some of its heritage (literally, in the form of a book of folk stories) stayed with us.

As the lovely song goes:
’S e ’n t-eilean uain’ Ìleach tìr bhòidheach mo ghràidh,
’S e ’n t-eilean uain’ Ìleach as fheàrr leam gu bràth;
A dhoireachan fasgach ’s a mhachraichean rèidh
Cha dìoch’nich mi chaoidh iad ge b’ e àite d’ an tèid.






Photographs by: Ella Collins-White, Rebecca Gyllenhaal, Lowenna Hosken, Lucie Rompteau, Chrissie Dick, Jakub Musil, Noah Brown