Camanachd Ghlaschu (The Glasgow Shinty)

The first track on Mary Ann Kennedy's latest album "Glaschu".

Released by ARC Music EUCD2833.

“Were I as wealthy as I am poor I would give a pound sterling to have you where I am tonight, in the Highlander's Great Hall in Glasgow; my sleeves rolled up to my shoulders, blinded with perspiration as I prepare and bake bannocks for the Hogmany lads; the President of the place is seated surrounded by three score shinty sticks, getting them ready for tomorrow” – Màiri Mhòr nan Òran (Mary MacPherson)

Camanachd Ghlaschu (The Glasgow Shinty) - New Year 1876, Queen’s Park,

Shinty – the Highland stick-and-ball game that inspired modern-day ice hockey – owes its first ever match report to a woman. From preview through live commentary to post-match analysis and celebration, Màiri Mhòr nan Òran, big Mary MacPherson of the songs, was the ultimate fan. She was the songwriting champion of the Gaels in Glasgow and unashamedly an admirer of the ‘young men’, as well as a major protagonist in the campaign against the Highland Clearances. As shinty guru Hugh Dan MacLennan says, Màiri “would surely have edited a nineteenth century fanzine”.

The game took place at Queen’s Park in the southside of Glasgow - a big place from my own childhood, incidentally – thirty-a-side, one team in kilts and the other in knickerbockers, and the result was a revenge win from the previous year for the Glasgow Gaels against their Greenock compatriots.

The night before, Màiri wrote home to Skye: “Were I as wealthy as I am poor I would give a pound sterling to have you where I am tonight, in the Highlander's Great Hall in Glasgow; my sleeves rolled up to my shoulders, blinded with perspiration as I prepare and bake bannocks for the Hogmany lads; the President of the place is seated surrounded by three score shinty sticks, getting them ready for tomorrow”.

’S iad gillean mo rùin a thogadh mo shunnd;
’S i seo a' Bhliadhn’' Ùr thug sòlas duinn;
’S iad gillean mo rùin a thogadh mo shunnd.

’S iad gillean mo ghràidh tha ’n Glaschu nan sràid –
Is fhada bho àit’ an eòlais iad.

’S ann goirid ron Challainn a chruinnich an comann,
’S a chuireadh an iomain an òrdugh leoth’.

Nuair thàinig an t-àm, gun chruinnich na suinn,
’S bha caman an làimh gach òigeir dhiubh.

Aig aon uair deug a rinn iad an triall,
Le pìob, ’s bu bhrèagh’ an còmhlan iad.

Nuair ràinig na sàir gu ionad a’ bhlàir,
Gun chuireadh gun dàil an òrdugh iad.

Bha glainneachan làn dhen Tòiseachd a b’ fheàrr,
Is aran is caise còmhla ris.

Bha bonnaich gun taing is pailteas dhiubh ann,
’S clann-nighean nan gleann gan còcaireachd.

Nuair roinneadh na laoich ’s a ghabh iad an taoibh,
Bha mis’ air an raon toirt còmhdhail dhaibh.

’S e ’n sealladh as brèagh’ a chunnaic mi riamh,
Gach òigfhear gun ghiamh, ’s a chòta dheth.

Gach fleasgach gun mheang ’s a chaman na làimh,
’S a chnapag le srann ga fògar leo.

Bha cuid dhiubh cho luath ri fèidh air an ruaig,
’S cha chluinnt’ ach “A-suas i, Dhòmhnaill!” leoth’.

’S ann ann a bha ’n ealain le glagadaich chaman,
’S gach curaidh cur fallais is ceòthain deth.

Bha duine gun chearb le siosacot dearg
’S cha bhiodh am boc-earba còmhla ris.

Fear eile gun ghiamh ’s a chiabhagan liath,
Chuir “taigh” i bhàrr fiacail mòran diubh.

’S e duine gun tùr nach faiceadh le shùil
Gu robh iad bho thùs an òige ris.

Nuair chuireadh am blàr, gun choisich na sàir
Le pìob gu Sràid an Dòchais leoth’.

Suidhibh, a chlann, is gabhaidh sinn rann,
Gun cuirear an dram an òrdugh dhuibh.

Gun dhealaich na suinn mar thàinig iad cruinn
Len cridheachan coibhneil, ’s b’ òrdail iad.

‘Màiri Mhòr nan Òran’ ed. Donald E. Meek, pub. Scottish Gaelic Texts Society/Scottish Academic Press, 1977

These darling lads are an inspiration – they made this new year a cause for celebration. They might be in the heart of the city, a long way from home, but custom will out, and the usual plans were made. They all turned up, caman in hand, and at eleven they stepped out in fine style, pipes at the head. When they reached their battleground all was set – full glasses of the best whisky, with bread and cheese and mounds of bannocks, home-baking by the girls from home.

When the heroes took to the pitch, I was there alongside to talk tactics. And what a beautiful sight - each young man, coat off and each flawless youth, stick in hand with the ball whizzing away from them. Deer-swift they were, and you’d hear nothing but cries of, ‘Up with her, Donald!’. What skill, what a clatter of sticks, each hero bathed in sweat and the steam rising off them. One fine young lad in red – your roe-buck couldn’t keep up with him, and another veteran landed a goal right in the teeth of the opposition. You’d be daft not to realise this is what they were raised with.

Game over, they marched out again with the pipes to Hope Street. So, have a seat, lads, let’s get a song and we’ll have the drams fixed up for you. The heroes headed off then as they had gathered, hearts full and on best behaviour.