Turas san Lochmor

Turas san Lochmor

An nì a bha nam inntinn gun inns mi dhuibh an rann:
Gu falbhainn dh’aindeoin sìde air sgrìob do thìr nan Gall,
Le baga làn de chearcan agus rudan a bha gann – 
Gum bithinn aig Bliadhn’ Ùir ann ’s gun chùmhnadh air an dram.

Diciadain dh’fhalbh mi casruisgt’ le mo bhagaichean nam dhòrn,
A’ dol a Loch nam Madadh ghabhail aiseag san Lochmor;
Bha fuachd na mo chasan-sa ’s bha sneachd’ air bhàrr nan lòn   
Cha dìochuimhnich mi ’n t allaban cho fad’ ’s a bhios mi beò. 

Nuair ràinig mi a’ cheàrdach, àrdach duine chòir 
A thug a staigh gun dàil mi ’s a nochd dhomh càirdeas mòr,
Thug dhomh tì a b’ fheàirrde mi ri aghaidh bhlàth an stòbh  
Gu seasainn fuachd nuair dh’fhàg sinn le mo chaiseart blàth ’s lem chòt’.

Nuair dh’fhalbh an carbad-ola leinn ’s ar n aghaidh thoir dhan tuath,
Bha sinn greis an Cearsabhagh a’ blasad air stuth cruaidh;
Gun tàinig Bean na Maise ’s am muir geal oirre mun cuairt,
’S chanainn fhìn gum b’ amadan a rachadh innt’ air chuan.

Nuair thog i mach gu farsainneachd, ’s sinn airsnealach is sgìth,
Nuair thòisich cur na mara oirnn, bu mhath a bhith air tìr;
Bha mise mar bha càch, le spàirn orm a’ strì   
An drama dh’òl mi ’n Cearsabhagh, bu duilich dhealaich sinn.

On ear dheas bha i sèideadh oirnn, gun choltas tighinn na b’ fheàrr,
Bha sinn uil’, oir b’ fheudar dhuinn, nar sìneadh air an làr;
Nuair readh i sìos dhan chlaisidh leinn ’s am muir a’ sgailceadh àrd,
Bha cùram air gach neach againn nach tilleadh i gu bràth.

B ’e siud an oidhche ànranach a bh’ againn anns a’ bhàt’,
Ach ràinig sinn Loch Baghasdail le dìon an Tì as Àird;
Thug mi leam mo bhagaichean agus thàrr mi às a’ bhàt’   
Chan fhanainn sa na b’ fhaid’ innte ged rachainn dhan taigh-gheàrd!

Fhuair mi cadal socair ann an dachaigh dhaoine còir,
Aig Maiseig Ruadh, ’s mo ghràdh oirre, oir nochd i càirdeas dhòmhs’:
Guma fada slàn i, oir ’s bàidheil i na dòigh
Gu gabhail ro aon ànranach a dh’fhàgadh an Lochmor.

Mun crìochnaich mi an t-òran seo, gun inns mi dhuibh an còrr:
A màireach thill mi dhachaigh agus botal na mo phòc;
Chruinnich sinn na càirdean gu pàrtaidh dhe gach seòrs’,
Is cha robh h aon a thàinig leinn a chàineadh an Lochmor!

A Journey in the Lochmor

I’ll tell you in verse what my intention was. 
Regardless of bad weather, I would pay a visit to the Lowlands,
carrying a bag full of chickens and other scarce goods.
 I’d be there at New Year and there would be no stinting on whisky

Barefoot, I left on Wednesday, clutching my bags, 
heading for Lochmaddy and a crossing on the Lochmor. 
Snow had fallen and my feet were freezing. 
It was a journey I’ll never forget. 

I reached the smithy,  home of a good man,  
who took me in and showed me great kindness.
In front of a warm stove he restored me with tea.
I was able to withstand the cold when I left with warm shoes and a coat.  

The motor car left, heading north, 
and we spent a while in Cearsabhagh sampling whisky. 
Bean na Maise appeared through foaming seas all around and, 
in my opinion, only a fool would take to sea in her.

By the time she reached open seas we were depressed and weary. 
As seasickness started we longed to be ashore. 
I was like the others, fighting it valiantly.
But sadly I had to part from the dram I drank in Cearsabhgh.

A south-easterly wind was blowing hard and showing no sign of abating. 
We were all, of necessity, lying on the floor. 
When she plunged into the trough, with seas breaking high above her, 
we were all terrified that she’d never right herself