SITIRICH AN EICH IARAINN (‘THE NEIGHING OF
THE IRON HORSE’):
GAELIC PERSPECTIVES ON STEAM POWER, RAILWAYS AND
SHIP-BUILDING IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
Donald E. Meek
When Professor William Gillies was appointed to the Chair of
Celtic at the University of Edinburgh in 1979, a tremor of excitement shook the
Gaelic world. No less remarkable was the University’s intention to appoint two
new lecturers to assist the young Professor.
I had the great good fortune to take up one of these posts in the autumn
of that year, and I taught alongside Professor Gillies and the Rev. William
Matheson, then Reader in Celtic, until Mr Matheson retired a year later, when
we were joined by the second lecturer, Ronald Black. The ‘Edinburgh Triumvirate’ (as we were
called) remained intact until I departed to Aberdeen in 1992. For me, the 1980s were a particularly happy
and pleasant period at Edinburgh – in retrospect, a Golden Age – when the world
seemed young, opportunities for creating new courses were extremely welcome, as
well as exciting, and new horizons in research beckoned on every hand. Bureaucratic interventionism was hardly
known, Professors still commanded their disciplines, and the Research
Assessment Exercise had not been invented, though measuring-rods for academic productivity
began to be fashioned ominously in the mid-1980s. In an atmosphere of liberty and equality in
the David Hume Tower (where Celtic was then located), to say nothing of
fraternity (and sorority) in the University Staff Club, it was a particular delight
to construct and teach a range of new courses, which, inter alia, aimed to
replenish the supply of academic teachers for other Departments of Celtic in
Scotland. One of these courses was on nineteenth-century Gaelic literature. Professor Gillies’s support for my teaching
of this course, and his consistent encouragement to explore the nineteenth
century from new angles, consolidated my natural interest in the period. Discussion of relevant themes, ideas and scholarly
approaches – for most centuries, including the nineteenth! – was very much on
the agenda of the ‘Edinburgh Triumvirate’ in those arcadian years.
It is indicative of my
lasting delight in the exploration of the nineteenth century that, as my
Valedictory Lecture, delivered at the University of Edinburgh on 14 November
2008, I should have chosen to speak on ‘The Greatest Era of the Gaels? Reassessing Gaelic cultural achievement in
the nineteenth century’. I dared to
argue provocatively that, in spite of massive social dislocation in the
Highlands and Islands, the Gaelic people had succeeded in conquering adversity
to a degree hitherto not fully acknowledged, particularly in their robust and
constructive interaction with industrial developments in the Scottish Lowlands. In the course of the lecture, I referred to
the significance of the industrial machine in reshaping society throughout
Britain after 1800:
In terms of general background,
there is one dimension above all others which characterises the nineteenth
century for the Gaels, as for the entirety of Britain. This, as Thomas Carlyle noted, was the ‘Age
of the Machine’. The arrival of machine
technology revolutionised many of the basic ways of seeing, and interacting
with, the world. The machine redrew the
demographic map of Britain, setting up new centres of industrial energy, which
then attracted migrant populations. The
machine provided means of travel to and from these centres, by steamship and by
steam train. The machine facilitated the
production of endless artefacts, including books and journals and newspapers,
and aided their distribution. We could
go on in that vein. Let us, however,
note merely two further matters of wider significance to our general
theme. The first is that the machine led
to the creation of what could be termed ‘new communities’ of workers, centred
on the machine, caring for it and ensuring its efficiency, and, of course, its
productivity. The second is that the record shows quite clearly that Gaels were
as much to the fore as any others in these ‘new communities’.[1]
Despite this, the theme of Gaels and industry has been
little studied. There has been
considerable study, however, of the migration of Gaels to the Lowlands of
Scotland and to the cities, by scholars such as Professor Charles Withers,[2]
but so far the interaction of Gaels with industry, and especially with the
workshops of Clydeside, has not been examined in any detail. We know that many Gaels came to the cities,
and we think we know what they did, but, in truth, we understand only in small
part how they prepared themselves for the industrial environment and how they
reacted to the experience. The process
of entry into the industrial world, and assimilation to its norms, has remained
relatively, though not totally, obscure.
External commentators, who usually have little or no access
to Gaelic sources, seem content to crunch statistics, and to refrain from
putting flesh on any of the figures.
Consequently, contemporary scholarship presents stick people, swirling
in from the ‘periphery’ and assuming a somewhat emaciated and skeletal life in
the industrial smog – rather like a scene from an L. S. Lowry painting, with
lots of thin, bustling individuals in the foreground and tall, smoking chimneys
in the background, but not much in the way of illuminating characterisation or
revealing glimpses of what went on behind the scenes. Internal commentators, who do have access to
Gaelic sources, have so far concentrated their attention largely on the ‘social
Gael’ in Glasgow, in the context of Highland territorial associations and
Gaelic societies. The ‘political Gael’
too has been studied in some depth, as has the ‘ecclesiastical Gael’, but to
date the ‘industrial Gael’, and especially the Gael who tells his story in his
own language, remains a surprisingly elusive figure.[3]
Study of the ‘industrial Gael’ has probably been retarded by
broader presuppositions, as well as by lack of access to the sources. It can be presumed all too easily that Gaels,
being rural people, would not have had much to say about industry, and that
they were, in any case, labourers, rather than commentators. It can also be assumed, even by Gaels
themselves, that little or no relevant evidence exists in Gaelic. The notion that Gaels did not discuss
industrial or scientific matters in Gaelic, or put their views in writing, is
remarkably pervasive. The evidence may
not be plentiful – we still require to ascertain its full scale and scope – but
some very significant material is, in fact, readily available to those who have
a mind to ferret it out, make the effort to understand it, and piece it
together.
The present chapter is very much a preliminary step towards
an overview of the ‘industrial Gael’.
The material to hand provides samples at different points in the nineteenth
century, namely the end of the 1820s, the early 1840s, and finally the 1860s
and early 1870s. This allows us to
reflect on changes in subject-matter and perspective in the commentaries and
voices that we hear, and the attitudes that they represent.
(1) Introducing the steam engine: 1829
In the 1820s, a clerical spokesperson for Gaelic, with a
very dominant voice and great literary
talent, emerged – the Rev. Dr Norman
MacLeod, ‘Caraid nan Gaidheal’, who was a native of Morvern in Argyll, and
minister of churches in Cambeltown, Campsie and latterly Glasgow (St
Columba’s). MacLeod was the founding
father of Gaelic journals and journalism.[4] Given his professional calling, he is
frequently perceived as primarily a composer of sermons, or sermonic writings,
greatly influenced by the style of the Gaelic Bible. However, not only does MacLeod tackle
industrial and scientific matters with considerable panache, he also commands a
variety of styles, on which the influence of the Gaelic Bible is merely one
among many. MacLeod’s industrial and
scientific concerns are at least as apparent as his homiletic, literary and
political inclinations. In fact, his
Gaelic writings in general are highly adventurous for their time, and his
industrial and scientific essays particularly so. His first journal, An Teachdaire Gaelach,
initiated in 1829, provided the earliest detailed prose account in Gaelic of a
steamship in Highland waters – the celebrated Maid of Morven of 1826 –
with perceptive contextual commentary on the significance of the steamship to
Highland commerce and culture.[5] This well-managed composition originated in
MacLeod’s strong interest in the steam engine, which, in different shapes and
forms, appears as a leitmotif in many of his writings in An Teachdaire
Gaelach, but especially in those with an urban theme, aimed at providing
guidance for Gaels who have recently arrived, or will soon arrive, in the
cities. Factories driven by steam
power, the problems of the workers, including some early ‘strikes’, and the
allure and dangers of the urban environment, are all grist to MacLeod’s
didactic mill. The industrial world was new and exciting in the 1820s, but, of
course, potentially dangerous and menacing for uninitiated and ‘innocent’
Gaels.
MacLeod’s writings are often dialogues between ‘stick
characters’, usually an authority figure like himself, disguised under a
pseudonym, and a rustic figure or two, in need of enlightenment. Sometimes, however, as in his account of the Maid
of Morven, MacLeod employs monologue, in which a representative figure
writes a letter from his city base to his wife who is waiting anxiously at
home. In certain cases too, MacLeod
writes explanatory essays, and such is the format of his account of the steam
engine, which appeared in the third issue of An Teachdaire Gaelach. Its style and intent can be sampled in the
following explanation of how the steam engine functions:
Tha coire anabarrach mòr air a
dheanamh do iarann no dh’umha, air a lìonadh le uisge, agus air a thoirt gu
goil. Anns an dòigh seo, tha mòran
deathach’ ag èirigh a tha a’ dol tro fheadan mòr farsaing, cosmhail ri baraille
fada iarainn, a tha ag èirigh o mhullach a’ choire seo. Anns an fheadan seo, tha slat iarainn air a
cumadh co dlùth theann agus nach faigh an deathach suas eadar i agus am feadan,
ceart mar a chìthear air gunna-sgailc. Nuair a leigear an deathach a-staigh don
fheadan ann an ìochdar na slaite seo, sparraidh i suas i le anabharr cumhachd;
cha luaithe ruigeas i gu h-àrd, na dh’fhosglas àite àiridh a leigeas a-staigh
steall uisge, a dh’fhionnaraicheas an deathach a chuir suas e, agus anns an àm
cheudna tha àit’ eile fosgladh gu h-àrd a tha leigeadh deathach ùr a-nuas os a
chionn, agus mar seo ga sparradh air ais leis a’ chumhachd cheudna leis an d’èirich
e. Anns an dòigh seo tha ’n t-slat a tha
cur na h-acfhainn air fad fo ghluasad a’ dìreadh ’s a’ teàrnadh le neart do
rèir cumhachd na deathacha a tha air a chàramh rithe.[6]
A very large vat [boiler] is constructed of iron or
brass, filled with water, and brought to boiling point. By this means, a great
deal of steam rises which moves through a large wide duct [cylinder], like a
long iron barrel, which ascends from the top of this boiler. In this cylinder, there is an iron rod
[piston] which is fashioned so tightly and closely that the steam cannot seep
upwards between it and the cylinder, just as one sees with a pop-gun. When steam is allowed to enter the cylinder,
at the base of this piston, it thrusts it upwards with immense force; no sooner
does it reach the top than a particular place [valve] opens which admits a jet
of water, which cools the steam which thrust it upwards, and at the same time
another place [valve] opens at the top which allows fresh steam to enter on top
of it, and thus thrusts it back with the same force as caused it to rise. In
this way, the piston that causes the entire equipment [machine] to move rises
and falls [reciprocates] with power in proportion to the power [pressure] of
the steam which is applied to it.
This is quite evidently an accurate description of a
double-acting steam engine, which is placed vertically above its boiler.[7] The basic principles of the engine are
explained to Gaelic readers by extending the semantic range of existing Gaelic
vocabulary, most of it familiar in domestic contexts (e.g. coire,
‘kettle’) or in outdoor use (e.g. feadan, ‘natural duct for water,
rill’, slat ‘stick, fishing rod’).
A very homely touch is apparent in MacLeod’s reference to a gunna-sgailc,
a type of elementary ‘pop-gun’ which was still well known as a toy in Tiree in
the 1950s. It consisted of a wooden (or
brass) pipe, with a mobile rod at the lower end; the upper end was thrust into
a potato, or similarly soft but firm substance, which would adhere in part or
in whole, thus creating both a potential missile and an effective seal for the
tube. When the rod in the lower section
of the tube was struck hard by the right hand, the ‘missile’ in the upper
section would be impacted by the rod, and fly out with considerable force. Greater explanatory challenges are, however,
created by technical items such as ‘valve’, for which MacLeod uses the rather
unspecific noun, àite, ‘place’, in Gaelic.
MacLeod then proceeds to enumerate the various industrial
contexts in which steam power is already being applied – pumping water from
mines (as he notes, the earliest application of the steam engine), the pulling
of coal wagons in England, and the manufacture of maritime gear (blocks,
sheaves etc.) for naval purposes in Portsmouth, as well as the fashioning of
anchors, the fastening of copper sheathing on ships, and the manufacture of
cotton and silk. Attempts are being
made, he says, to apply steam power to carriages, though this is still at an
elementary and dangerous stage.
Nevertheless, according to MacLeod, the total steam power being utilised
in Britain is equivalent to that of one hundred thousand horses. MacLeod proceeds to note the application of
steam power to ships, and the reduction in travelling-time that such
development will encourage. His view of
steam is that it will bestow innumerable benefits (sochairean) on
humanity, and his vision for the world, in such a context, is optimistic; he
concludes by stating his belief that the steamship will be a very effective
vehicle in the promulgation of the Christian gospel to the ends of the earth,
at a time when a powerful missionary impetus is emerging in the land. The passage is followed by three verses of
Gaelic poetry from ‘Craobh-sgaoileadh a’ Bhìobaill agus an t-Soisgeil’ (‘The
Promulgation of the Bible and the Gospel’) by James MacGregor of Pictou, Nova
Scotia.[8]
(2) Taming the ‘iron horse’: the early 1840s
MacLeod was well aware of the difficulties which had to be
surmounted by steam traction on land before it became a safe and reliable means
of transport.[9] This contrasted with maritime
development. By 1829, steamships were
already consolidating their position in the West Highlands and Islands, but
development of railways was appreciably slower.
As a result, it took longer for the Gaels, and indeed for Scotland as a
whole, to become accustomed to railways than it did for the nation to accept
and utilise steamships. There were also
difficulties of a geophysical kind. Ships could sail on an already-made
highway, namely the sea, but railways required to be constructed by dint of
hard effort, following natural contours, laying sleepers and lines, and
overcoming a considerable number of seemingly insuperable obstacles, including
the creation of embankments, cuttings and, of course, long tunnels. In the
extent of labour required from ‘navvies’ to surmount these obstacles, the
construction of the railways resembled the creation of the ‘navigations’ or
canals which had been constructed in Scotland in the last quarter of the
eighteenth century and the first quarter of the nineteenth.[10]
It was not until the 1840s that railways began to make
marked progress in Britain, and, as a consequence, the decade was known for its
‘railway mania’.[11] Speculation and investment in the railways
were rife and unregulated, prompting emotional, if not hysterical, reactions on
a considerable scale, as reflected in contemporary writing, with passionate
arguments for and against the railways.
Satires were written on early engineers and investors, in such journals
as Blackwood’s Magazine.[12] Quite commonly, the early railways were
blamed for giving people ‘neuroses’ of various kinds, and much writing was
openly hostile to their development.[13] Such antipathy can be found in novels
throughout the nineteenth century, as, for example, in Charles Dickens’ work, Dombey
and Son, published in 1848, in which the railway is seen as ‘the power that
forced itself upon its iron way – its own – defiant of all paths and roads,
piercing through the heart of every obstacle’.[14]
In Lowland Scotland, as the ‘railway mania’ proceeded in the
1840s, new lines were opened, including the Glasgow, Paisley & Greenock
railway in 1841.[15] This was a most important railway for
Clydeside, and had particular relevance to Gaels who had settled in considerable
numbers in these parts. Initially,
however, Gaels too appear to have been a little reluctant to let the train take
the strain, as they seemed to believe that the train created the strain! In such circumstances, the railway required
to be presented positively to potential users.
Supporters of the railway, as of the steam engine and the
steamship, included the Rev. Dr Norman MacLeod, who wrote a strongly
pro-railway piece in Gaelic on the Glasgow, Paisley & Greenock railway,
five years before Dickens, in Dombey and Son, presented his critical
view of railway development. MacLeod’s
offering was published in his second Gaelic journal, ‘Cuairtear nan Gleann’
(‘The Traveller of the Glens’), which flourished between 1840 and 1843. In this item, MacLeod used dialogue, posing
as ‘Cuairtear nan Gleann’ (‘The Traveller of the Glens’), and taking the
leading part in an illuminating conversation with a favourite rustic character,
a clod-hopper from Tiree by the name of Eachann Tirisdeach (‘Hector the Tiree
man’). Eachann had just returned from a
trip to Paisley on a steam train, and was not at all enamoured of his
experience. He was still suffering from
‘train shock’, and told the ‘Cuairtear’ of his gratitude to be alive:
Nach robh mi ann am Paisley air
carbad na smùide; ach carson a bhithinn a’ gearan; ’s ann agam tha ’n t-adhbhar
taingealachd gu bheil mi beò, ’s nach do shèideadh a suas mi am bloighdean anns
na speuraibh. O! b’ e buaireadh an
Fhreasdail, do dhuine sam bith na bheachd, cuid a chunnairt a ghabhail do
leithid a dh’ àite, fhad ’s a tha comas nan cas aige no dh’faodas e suidhe an
cairt schocraich, chiallaich, air boitein connlaich.[16]
Wasn’t I in Paisley on the
steam carriage [train]; but why should I complain; I have good reason to be
thankful that I am alive, and that I was not blown up in smithereens in the
skies. O! It were a tempting of
Providence, for any man in his right mind, to employ the means of endangering
himself in travelling to such a place, as long as he was able to walk or sit in
a smooth-running, sensible cart, on a bundle of straw.
He then described the journey itself:
A-staigh do charbad na smùide
chàirich iad mi; ag ràdh rium gum bithinn cho socrach, shàmhach, fhoisneach ’s
ged a bhithinn ann an cathair-mhòir taobh an teine. Ghabh mi beachd air a’ charbad – chunnaic mi
fear na stiùireach a’ gabhail àite, le ailm iarainn na làimh, agus fear eile
san toiseach mar gum biodh fear-innse nan uisgeachan ann, ag amharch a-mach. Bha smùid às an t-simileir, ’s na h-uile nì
sàmhach, socrach nas leòr. Chaidh mi
staigh, agus shuidh mi dlùth don uinneig chum sealladh a bhith agam air an
dùthaich. Tiota beag na dhèidh sin
chuala mi beuc mòr – ràn tùchanach àrd, agus an sin fead oillteil. ‘Ciod e
seo?’ arsa mise ri Niall; rinn esan ’s an Latharnach gàire. ‘Siud agaibh, athair’, arsa Niall, ‘sitirich
an eich iarainn, ’s e togairt falbh.’
‘Sitirich na h-oillt,’ arsa mise, ‘leig a-mach mi.’ Ach bha an doras air a dhruideadh. Thug an t-each iarainn stàdag – bhuail an
carbad anns an robh sinne, ’s cha mhòr nach do phronnadh m’ fhiaclain an
aghaidh a chèile. Thug e ràn eile, agus
fead; agus an sin leig iad siubhal a chas da – ’s thàr e às. Thòisich an stairirich ’s a’
ghleadhraich. ‘’N i seo a’
chathair-mhòr, a Nèill?’ arsa mise. Bha
e dol a-nis na shiubhal, ’s cha b’ e siubhal an eich, no luas an fhèidh; cha
tugadh ceithir chasan riamh do bheò-chreutair air an talamh a-bhos, no sgiathan
do dh’eun sna speuraibh shuas, na chumadh ris.[17]
Into the steam train they
thrust me, telling me that I would be as comfortable, quiet and relaxed as
though I should be sitting in the big chair beside the fire. I observed the train – I saw the steersman
taking his place, with an iron helm in his hand, and another man in the front
as if he were the teller of the waters, looking out [ahead]. Steam was coming from the chimney, and
everything was perfectly quiet and peaceful.
I went in, and I sat close to the window so that I could get a view of
the countryside. A split second after that I heard a great roar – a high,
hoarse bellow, and then a blood-curdling whistle. ‘What is this?’ I said to
Neil; he and the Lorn lad laughed.
‘That, father,’ said Neil, ‘is the neighing of the iron horse, getting
into the mood for moving off.’ ‘What
horrible neighing,’ said I, ‘let me out.’
But the door had been closed. The
iron horse took a stride – the carriage in which we were travelling banged, and
my teeth were almost crushed against one another. He emitted another roar, and a whistle; and
then they let him go as he wished – and he charged off. The clattering and banging began. ‘Is this the big chair, Neil?’ said I. He was now going at speed, and it was not
[comparable to] the swiftness of the horse, or the quickness of the deer; no
living creature that could keep up with him had been endowed with four feet on
the earth beneath, nor had any [such] bird been endowed with wings in the skies
above.
Eachann continues in like manner to tell of the terror
created by another ‘horse’, a steud-each (‘steed’), as it hurtles past
at very close quarters, hauling scores of wagons. He tries to enjoy the countryside, but houses
and haystacks, trees and fields, seem to be in a whirl, dancing the Reel of
Tulloch. The iron horse then plunges
through a tunnel, and Eachann construes the English word, directly used by
Neil, his son, as the Gaelic donnal (‘whine, cry of pain’). Dizzy and
disorientated, Eachann eventually reaches Paisley. When he has described his experience, the
omniscient ‘Cuairtear’ sets about his main task of presenting the beneficial
side of the steam train, which he describes as ‘an aon dòigh shiubhail as
innleachdaiche fhuaras riamh a-mach le mac an duine’ (‘the most ingenious means
of transport that has ever been discovered by man’).[18]
The piece is relaxed and good-humoured, with a great deal of
fun. It is highly likely that it echoes,
and to some extent draws on, contemporary popular writing in English on the
railway theme. It contains an element of
burlesque, as, for example, in the possibility of a ‘blow up’ (calqued into
Gaelic as sèideadh a suas), which furnished contemporary cartoonists
with entertaining material. Stock characters appear, among them the inevitable
posh traveller, on this occasion a lady who is fat and loquacious, and whose
high-pitched voice outdoes the clatter of the iron horse. Nevertheless, the experience is deftly
transferred into Gaelic. The engine and
train are neatly domesticated by calling the engine an t-each iarainn
(‘the iron horse’), a Gaelic calque of the common English phrase of the
time. (This phrase probably originated
in the practice of using horses to tow railway wagons prior to steam
engines.) As a counterbalance to rather
alien calques, the piece employs warmly domestic metaphors and scenes that
Gaels would know, including reference to farmyard noises such as the sitirich
(‘neighing’) of the horse. Maritime
metaphor and comparison are also used, as is evident in the description of the
driver with his ‘helm’, and the second man (presumably a guard?), who resembles
a ‘teller of the waters’ and was positioned at the bow of a ship to warn the
helmsman of any difficult seas ahead.
The train, MacLeod contends, is in fact good for you,
despite its noise, clatter, banging, and shaking. Eachann had been enticed to take it by his
son, Neil, who was courting a young lady in Paisley, and, as Eachann notes,
despite his misgivings, she turned out to be a good-looking and acceptable
wench. The sub-text of the piece is
therefore that travel by railway can lead to pleasant discoveries, even at the
human level, including the comely ladies of Paisley. What MacLeod emphasises primarily, however,
is the convenience of the train, its speed, its ability to take you from A to B
and back again, without fuss – despite all the bumps and clangs and bangs.
Through the words of Eachann Tirisdeach – the archetypal
Luddite – MacLeod’s piece expands to embrace the implications of the railway
for rural areas. One of these is the
danger that it will pull goods into the urban environment, thus impoverishing
the hinterlands, and making the city grow at the expense of the
countryside. Urbanisation, with the city
portrayed negatively by Eachann Tirisdeach as a greedy pig, eating the food of
the smaller animals, is the principal concern of the remainder of the
dialogue. MacLeod employs a reduction
ad absurdum when Eachann states that it was only when the pig was finally
killed that the other animals had enough to eat. The future could not be discontinued, nor
could the steam train be decommissioned.
MacLeod’s writing on this theme, and on others, appears to
have influenced the literary output of his readers, as well as their attitudes
to contemporary ‘wonders’. From about
this period we can trace numerous ‘iron horse poems’ in Gaelic, which may have
had their origins in MacLeod’s initial treatment. Commonly, the ‘horse’ is portrayed, as in
MacLeod’s account, as an extremely agile beast, full of happy energy, leaping
across fields, going its own way joyfully, and showing its paces in every way. The iron horse, in short, has been
domesticated, and becomes ‘one of our own beasts’.[19]
(3) Experiencing tramways, ironclads and furnaces: c.
1860-1875
The development of the railway theme in Gaelic, and the
emergence of further subjects of industrial significance, can be followed into
the second half of the nineteenth century in a little-known volume of song and
verse composed by a certain Iain MacAonghais (John MacInnes) from the island of
Lismore, and published by the well-known Glasgow printer and publisher,
Archibald Sinclair in 1875.[20]
MacAonghais was an industrial blacksmith in Glasgow, and appears to have been a
kenspeckle figure in Gaelic circles.[21]
At first sight, his volume contains much that could be
described fairly as pleasantly conventional and relatively unambitious, even in
terms of the Gaelic output of the later nineteenth century. It begins with a poem in praise of Highland
soldiers, and follows this with another on the Glasgow Highland regiment. Predictably,
there are songs in praise of the poet’s native Lismore, and on several of the
societies and bodies which helped to sustain the social and cultural life of
the Gaels in Glasgow in the 1870s. The
importance of the volume, however, lies in its verse on industrial topics. MacAonghais’s work includes a specimen of
‘iron horse poetry’, but also several compositions which show an Argyllshire
Gael interacting happily with various important dimensions of Glasgow’s
industrial life, among them the tramways, the shipbuilding yards of Robert Napier
in Govan, contemporary iron warships, and an iron foundry.
(a) Iron horses and other horses
MacAonghais’s song on the iron horse is very much of its
kind, and echoes a number of the themes and sentiments of MacLeod’s prose
piece, providing in effect a reprise of its principal humorous metaphors. Once again, the journey takes place on the
Glasgow, Paisley & Greenock railway, but on this occasion the composer sets
off from Greenock. Rather playfully in
conclusion, he suggests that the iron horse would render useful assistance on
the croft at home. All of this is stereotypical within the genre.
O sgiamhadh is shradadh e,
Mar mhial-chù [t]ro achaidhean;
’S e toit a bha na srian às,
’S [o] bheul a’ tighinn lasaraich.
Air fhiaradh a rachadh e,
Gam shnìomh [t]ro na beallaichean,
’S e sitirich sna speuran,
’S e sèideil ’s a’ langanaich.
Bu cheutach an gearan e
Gu cliathadh san earrach leis,
’S thoirt dhachaigh dhuinn na mòna,
’S an ròd às na cladaichean.[22]
O he would squeal and emit sparks,
Going through the fields like a greyhound;
Smoke, as it belched, formed his reins,
And from his mouth flames were coming.
He would travel sideways,
Making me weave through the passes,
Neighing into the skies,
Blowing and bellowing.
He would be a fine garron
For harrowing in springtime,
And to take the peat home for us,
As well as the seaweed from the shorelines.
Much more interesting is MacAonghais’s song, ‘Oran mun
Tramway’ (‘Song on the Tramway’). Here
his overriding concern is with real horses, in this case the horses that pulled
Glasgow trams in the 1870s, some 2,000 of them, according to Charles Oakley.[23] The 1870s were known as the period of
‘tramway mania’ in Glasgow, and, as the system developed vigorously, it
generated arguments for and against it in the manner of the railways in the
1840s.
The poet is worried about the potential ill-treatment of the
horses, because they are likely to be frightened by the noise, stressed by
heavy uphill hauls, and denied
sufficient food and bedding. In a
manner reminiscent of Eachann Tirisdeach in MacLeod’s narrative, he is also
generally rather hostile to the whole concept of the tramway, believing that it
will be very costly, replace roads that were perfectly acceptable before it
arrived, and encourage people to be lazy and spend their time complaining about
public transport.
Na h-eich air chrith air an casan,
’S eagal orr’ gun tig an latha,
Dh’fheumas iad bhith dol gar tarraing
Thairis air an Tramway.
Iad nan seasamh anns na stàbaill,
’S iad a’ mionnachadh nam bàillidh
’S am Probhaiste cho math ri càch
A chuir an àird an Tramway.
Gun choirc’ aca nam praisich,
’S gun chonnlach an dèan iad cadal,
’S thugaibh fhèin a-nis ur barail
An caidreabh air an Tramway.[24]
The horses trembling on their feet,
Terrified that the day will come
When they must go to haul us
Over all the
Tramway.
They are standing in the stables,
Cursing the city baillies,
And the Provost along with the rest
Who set up the Tramway.
They have no oats in their mangers,
And no straw on which to sleep,
And you yourselves can now give your opinion [of]
Their happy time on the Tramway.
He also provides some excellent descriptions of the early
horse-drawn trams, their drivers and conductors.
’S fear air thoiseach ann an cathair,
’S còta mollach air gan slaiseadh;
Cha dèan ruith leis feum, ach sradadh,
’S gallap air an Tramway.
’S fear air deireadh aig an staidhir,
’S poca leathair air is casag,
’S putain gheala, togail faraidh
’N aiseig air an Tramway.[25]
And a man at the front in a chair,
With a hairy coat, whipping them;
Trotting does not satisfy him, only sparking speed
And a gallop on the Tramway.
And a man at the back at the stair,
With a leather bag and cassock,
With white buttons, collecting the fare
For conveyance on the Tramway.
All in all, MacAonghais’s song provides a fascinating and
unexpected window on the early Glasgow tramway system from a contemporary
Gaelic perspective, made all the more valuable because the conflicts and
debates which it highlights can be confirmed in the contemporary record.
(b) Shipyards and warships
There are two songs on shipyards and warships in the
collection. The first celebrates the
launch of the warship, HMS Black Prince, from Robert Napier’s yard in
Govan. MacAonghais informs us that the Black
Prince was the first of a particular class of warship – the revolutionary
new ‘ironclads’ – to be built in Govan, and that the second was HMS Hector.[26] In the overall sequence of production, the Black
Prince, launched in 1861 and completed in 1862, was in reality the second
of the new class, and at that time the largest vessel to have been built on the
Clyde.[27] The class leader, the Warrior, was
launched at Blackwall in 1860, and is still preserved at Portsmouth.[28] The third vessel, also built by Robert
Napier, was indeed the Hector.[29] As befits the ship’s name and figurehead, a
‘massive and beautiful’ representation of the Prince,[30]
MacAonghais personifies the Black Prince, and comments cleverly on the
‘buttons’ in its steel coat, i.e. its rivets, which, he claims, ‘we sewed with
the hammer’. In other words, MacAonghais
himself was evidently a shipyard worker who had helped to build the ship. He mentions how its frames had to be heated
in a furnace before they could be bent into shape, and this was no doubt his
own particular contribution to the building process.
Saoil thu fhèin nach e tha làidir,
Stàilinn tha na chòta,
’S na putain tha sìos mun cuairt air,
Dh’fhuaigh sinn leis an òrd iad.
H-uile aisinn tha na phearsa,
Sac do dh’each air còmhnard,
’S dh’fheumte ’m blàithteachadh san fhùirneis
Mun lùbadh iad òirleach.[31]
Don’t you think that he is a strong fellow,
With steel in his coat,
And the buttons that surround him down below,
We sewed them with the hammer.
Every rib that is in his body
Would be a burden for a horse on level ground,
And they had to be heated in the furnace
Before they would bend an inch.
According to the poet, the Black Prince and the Hector
had a sister-ship, the Malabar.
MacAonghais states correctly that she was employed as a troopship, and
he also alludes to the ‘Rionnag’ (‘Star’) which she carried.[32] This is a reference to the ‘Star of India’
(an award for service in India instituted by Queen Victoria in 1861), and a
representation of the ‘Star’ on her decorative scrollwork would have been appropriate
for HMS Malabar, as she served the Indian Government. In fact, a fine contemporary photograph of
the vessel exists, taken as she was being fitted out at Napier’s Lancefield
yard in 1867, and it shows the emblematic ‘Star’ on the ship’s port bow.[33] Napier is praised for producing all three
ships – ‘Is cliù do Napier còir iad’ (‘They bring fame to kindly Napier’). The
poet surmises that the vessels may be posted to Abyssinia.
As a typical British subject, whose Gaelic identity was
subsumed within a greater imperial loyalty, MacAonghais rejoiced in the Black
Prince’s potential to give Britain naval supremacy over such countries as
France, which had produced the very first ironclad.[34] His hopes were not realised, however. The Black Prince had a remarkably
undistinguished career, though she survived until 1923.[35]
The second song does not name the vessel concerned, but it
does describe it in such a way that it is clearly recognisable as a warship,
with ‘the nose of a porpoise’, i.e. a ram bow, and a ‘hole like a cave above
your shoulder-blade’, possibly a reference to the aperture for the funnel.[36] The song, however, uses the Gaelic name ‘An
t-Achadh Bàn’ of ‘Fair Field’ in Govan,
where the ship was built. This does not
necessarily imply that the ship was built by John Elder, whose company was
later known as ‘Fairfield’s’, as this would be too late relative to the
publication date of MacAonghais’s book.[37] The ship in question may well have been
another of the ironclads, quite probably HMS Invincible, launched by
Robert Napier in 1869.[38]
(c) Foundries and furnaces
MacAonghais also produced a song entitled ‘Oran mun
Gharadh-iarainn san robh mi dol a dh’obair’ (‘Song on the ironworks in which I
went to work’).[39] It is not clear whether this was a foundry or
a shipyard, as ‘gàradh-iarainn’ was commonly the Gaelic term for the
latter. It is, on balance, probable that
it was an iron foundry, and that MacAonghais, following an apprenticeship,
moved from the foundry to better employment in Napier’s shipyard.
In this poem, there is a remarkable description of an iron
worker and fellow blacksmith called Teàrlach Dùghlach (‘Charles MacDougall):
’S gu bheil Teàrlach Dùghlach dhiubh,
Fear-ùird cho math ’s th’ air Cluaidh e,
’S chan eil gin an Glaschu
Bheir garadh às a’ ghual ris,
Le gàirdeanan cho comasach
Gu chumail gus a bhualadh,
’S gun toir e dh’ ionnsaigh d’ òrdugh e,
Charles MacDougall is one of them (the iron workers);
He is a hammerman as good as any on the Clyde,
And there is none in Glasgow who can compare with him
In getting heat from the coal;
With shoulders that are so capable,
To hold it [the iron] so that it can be beaten,
He will make it conform to your specification,
Without being short by an eighth of an inch.
Here we have a man being celebrated as an industrial hero –
surely a fascinating extension of Gaelic praise poetry. One wonders whether ‘Teàrlach Dùghlach’ might
have been another Gaelic speaker, who would have listened with pleasure to this
encomium. In his song on the Black
Prince, MacAonghais makes the point that Gaelic is ‘a’ chainnt nach fhaigh
mi chur an cleachdainn’ (‘the language which I cannot put into practice’),[41]
which implies that English is the language of the shipyard, but this does not
rule out the likelihood that Gaelic song of the kind composed by MacAonghais
was aimed primarily at fellow Gaels in the foundries and shipyards. The ‘Gaelic industrial poet’, like other
Gaelic poets, would have functioned within a congenial, like-minded community
with an appreciative ear for song.
Conclusion
The songs of Iain MacAonghais are a very powerful indicator,
in themselves, that Gaels were not infrequently at the very heart of ‘the
workshop of the Empire’, as industrial Clydeside was commonly known, and that
they were well able to record and celebrate numerous aspects of their
experience. It would seem that Norman
MacLeod’s pro-industrial exhortations earlier in the nineteenth century had
been well heeded, and that, by the second half of that century, ‘ordinary’
Gaels in dungarees had come to terms with the challenges of industry, to the
extent that they were not only pleased to turn a penny in the great ‘workshop’,
but also extremely proud of their skills and handiwork.
Gaels also commemorated their experiences in Gaelic. The evidence cited in this chapter shows that
very important stages in Scottish industrial development, beginning with the
steam engine itself, proceeding to the application of steam propulsion to
transport, and culminating in the production of the first iron warships of the
Royal Navy, are well covered in Gaelic literature of various kinds. The passages under discussion also
demonstrate several of the ways in which Gaelic speakers adapted the Gaelic
language and its lexis to industrial concepts.
Much further Gaelic material of this kind remains to be edited and
assessed to round out the picture.
The existence of such Gaelic evidence, of which the present
chapter furnishes only a sampling, throws down a challenge to historians, and
particularly to those of their number who operate without a knowledge of
Gaelic. Any attempt to assess
nineteenth-century Scotland will remain seriously flawed and incomplete unless,
and until, historians take full account of Gaelic sources. The immense importance of taking cognisance
of the ‘Gaelic view’ when assessing Scottish life and letters was among the
many fundamental principles which Professor William Gillies enunciated, and put
into practice fearlessly, when he assumed the Chair of Celtic at the University
of Edinburgh in 1979. Thirty years
later, at the conclusion of a distinguished career, he would doubtless
reiterate these self-same principles, which have been guiding lights to his
many former students and, not least, to those staff members who were privileged
to develop their scholarly skills under his ground-breaking, generous and
genial leadership. [42]
[1] Donald
E. Meek, ‘The Greatest Era of the Gaels?
Reassessing Gaelic cultural achievement in the nineteenth century’,
Valedictory Lecture, University of Edinburgh, 14 November 2008 (unpublished).
[2] Charles
W. J. Withers, Urban Highlanders: Highland-Lowland Migration and Urban
Gaelic Culture, 1700-1900 (Phantassie, 1998).
[3] For a
series of studies well grounded in Gaelic sources, with some discussion of
Gaelic speakers’ involvement in urban industry (most notably printing and
publishing), see Glasgow Baile Mòr nan Gaidheal:City of the Gaels, ed.
Sheila M. Kidd (Glasgow, 2007).
[4] Donald E. Meek, ‘Gaelic Literature in
the Nineteenth Century’, in Enlightenment, Britain and Empire (1707-1918): The Edinburgh History of Scottish
Literature, 2, ed. Susan Manning, Ian Brown, Thomas Owen Clancy and Murray
Pittock (Edinburgh, 2007), 253-66; Sheila M. Kidd, ‘Tormod MacLeòid:
Àrd-Chonsal nan Gàidheal’, in Kidd, Glasgow, 107-29.
[5] Donald E. Meek, ‘Early Steamship
Travel from the Other Side: An 1829 Gaelic Account of the Maid of Morven,’
Review of Scottish Culture, 20 (2008), 57-79.
[6] ‘Mu
Inneal na Deathacha’, An Teachdaire Gae’lach, Aireamh III (July 1829),
64-67. It should be noted carefully that
MacLeod’s early and highly informative essays on the steam engine are omitted
from the anthology of his works compiled by Archibald Clerk, Kilmallie, and
cited in footnote 15. They may have been
set aside because they were too scientific and mechanical in their themes
relative to the main parts of the larger corpus. A close reading of the individual issues of
his journal will therefore be essential in future research.
[7] See, in
general, Ben Marsden, Watt’s Perfect Engine: Steam and the Age of Invention
(Royston, 2002).
[8] Donald
E. Meek, ‘Craobh-sgaoileadh a’ Bhìobaill agus an t-Soisgeil: A Gaelic Song on
the Nineteenth-century Missionary Movement’, in Fil súil nglais; a
Festschrift in honour of Colm Ó Baoill, ed. Sharon Arbuthnot and Kaarina
Hollo (Ceann Drochaid 2007), 143-62.
[9] MacLeod
provided an update on the progress of steam propulsion, ‘Mu Charbad na Smùide’
(‘On the Steam Train’), in An Teachdaire Gae’lach, Aireamh VIII (December 1829), 176-77. In this article, MacLeod comments on the
ability of an engine in England to pull a forty-ton load, the improvement in
boiler strength so that the danger of explosion is reduced, the engine’s
capacity to carry sufficient fuel (coke) to sustain it for fifty miles, and the
provision of iron track for the engine and carriages. Nevertheless, the laying of iron track
throughout Britain was a massive undertaking, which proceeded piecemeal.
[10]For
general discussion of the railways, see Christian Wolmar, Fire & Steam:
A New History of the Railways in Britain (London, 2007), and with specific
reference to Scotland, see P.J.G. Ransom, Iron Road: The Railway in Scotland
(Edinburgh, 2007).
[11] Wolmar,
87-107; Ransom, 43-79.
[12] Ransom,
56-57.
[13] Ralph
Harrington, ‘The Neuroses of the Railway’, History Today, 44: 7 (July
1994), 15-21. I owe this reference, and
a copy of the article, to the kindness and eagle eye of Dr Donald William
Stewart.
[14] Cited
in Harrington, 20.
[15] Ransom,
47.
[16] Caraid
nan Gaidheal: The Gaelic Writings of Norman MacLeod D.D., ed. A. Clerk
(Edinburgh, 1867), 152-62 (153).
[17] Ibid.,
154-55.
[18] Ibid.,
153.
[19] For a
representative specimen of the genre, see Caran an t-Saoghail: The Wiles of
the World: Anthology of Nineteenth-century Gaelic Verse, ed. Donald E. Meek
(Edinburgh, 2003), 134-39.
[20] Iain
MacAonghais, Duain agus Orain (Glaschu, 1875).
[21] Donald
MacLean, Typographia Scoto-Gadelica (Edinburgh, 1915), 229.
[22]
MacAonghais, 63-64.
[23] Charles
A. Oakley, The Last Tram (Glasgow, 1962), 21-27.
[24]
MacAonghais, 52.
[25] Ibid.,
53.
[26] Ibid.,
46-48.
[27] Fred T.
Walker, Song of the Clyde: A History of Clyde Shipbuilding (Edinburgh, 2001), 131-32.
[28] For
general discussion of ‘The Early Ironclads’, see An Illustrated History of
Ships, ed. E. L. Cornwell (London, 1979), 131-35.
[29] www.battleships-cruisers.co.uk/hector_class.htm
[30] Walker,
132, contains a photograph of the vessel and a caption describing its
figurehead. The Warrior and the Black
Prince were the last two Royal Navy vessels to carry figureheads.
[31]
MacAonghais, 47. It should be noted that
the use of steel in constructing ships of this kind was relatively new, as was
the use of iron.
[32] Ibid.,
48.
[33] Michael
Moss, The Clyde: A Portrait of a River (N.p., Lomond Books, 2002), 89.
[34] This
was La Gloire of 1859. Her launch
initiated a competition between nations to improve warship design and strength;
see Cornwell, 131.
[36] Neither
the Warrior nor the Black Prince had ram bows; this appeared
initially on the ironclads of the later 1860s, as can be seen on the Malabar
of 1867. The Gaelic word toll,
‘hole’, came to be used generally of the cargo hold of a ship. This does not seem appropriate in this
context.
[37]
MacAonghais, 64. Professor Michael Moss,
University of Glasgow, kindly informs me that ‘Fair Field was quite large and
probably included some of the ground which Napier's Govan yard occupied.
It all belonged at one time to either the Cathedral or the Bishopric of
Glasgow.’ Robert Napier’s Govan yard was
successively at Govan Old (from 1841) and Govan East (from 1850), but he also
had another yard (owned initially by Robert’s cousin, David) on the other side
of the river, at Lancefield, close to the present-day Kingston Bridge. See
Walker, 168-71.
[38] See
www.klaus-kramer.de for a very helpful listing of ironclads, with
illustrations.
[39]
MacAonghais, 69-71.
[40] Ibid.,
70.
[41] Ibid.,
46.
[42] The
outline of this chapter was given a trial run over the academic ‘measured mile’
at a seminar held by the Department of Celtic, University of Glasgow, on 9
December 2008. I am very grateful to
those who attended the seminar, and made important points in the subsequent
discussion. Professor Michael Moss,
University of Glasgow, was most generous in assisting me with the
identification of the ironclads and in clarifying locations of Clyde
yards. Dr Donald William Stewart,
University of Edinburgh, found an excellent and highly relevant article
(footnote 12) which he passed on to me at precisely the right moment. It proved to be the key to understanding
MacLeod’s intention in his principal piece on the steam train.
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