The Ballad of Eoghan Ruadh Chulodair

Cille Choirill:  Lochaber, Scotland.

Cille Choirill.

The Ballad of Eoghan Ruadh Chulodair ( Red Haired Ewen Of Culloden.)

When you drive down Scotland’s A86

From Kingussie to Roy Bridge,

Through Glen Spean, past Murlaggan then

There’s a church up on the ridge.

Just 5 miles nor’ of Inverroy

Take the right turn up the track.

The key you get from the house on the left:

Remember to place it back.

Memorial at Culloden Moor.

When freedom was sought,
And the Bonnie Prince brought

The clansmen to the moor,

The heart of the Highlands bled that day

To the sound of the cannons' roar.

In the battle there at Chulodair,

The ball and the grapeshot tore

Into plaid lines: in that killing time

Eoghan Ruadh was wounded sore.

Brave Mackintosh kin they rallied to him,

From the battlefield, they bore

Their revered chief to his wife’s grief

At Cille Choirill’s door.

His secreted grave from the Redcoat rampage

Well hidden beneath the floor;

So when you walk in, remember him

And all that he fought for.

Interior of Cille Choirill.

On the blessed hill of Tom-an-Aingeal,

Gaelic for “Angel’s mound”,

To minister in Lochaber came

Monk Cairell from west Eire bound.

To spread the faith; his name would grace

The church built on that ground,

Where mighty Keppoch chiefs lie at rest

Within stone-walled surround.

On birch and pine-clad Angel's Mound,
His deeds the worst e're known,
Ailean nan Creach- or so they preach-

His labours to atone,

The Pope ordained for Ailean to maintain

Seven chapels built of stone.

Through centuries use, and then disuse

The wee church has stood alone.

View of the graveyard at Cille Choirill and Glen Spean.

Now renovated, and re-dedicated,

The church that stands there still.
Does Red Ewen ken how his descendants then 
Be pilgrims to Angel Hill?

The ancient bones ‘neath old gravestones,

At peace on Tom-an-Aingeal,

Welcome locals and travellers to

The door of Cille Choirill.


Child of the Scottish Diaspora,
When you seek your ancient name,
And you see Scotland's great glen and brae,
Do you feel you have come home?
When you stand in awe of scenic splendour
Upon blessed Angel Hill,
Can you feel your kin embracing you?
Welcome to Cille Choirill.

All pictures and lyrics by Jim McIntosh.

Eoghan Ruadh Chulodair heads our family tree.

Cille Choirill ( pronounced Killy) still ministers to its local Catholic congregation. 

Cille Choirill has been featured in TV and motion picture films whenever a typical Scottish period church scene is needed, so will be familiar to some readers, yet its history unknown. You'll see it in "Monarch of the Glen" and the outstanding film "Joyeux Noel". Look for it in the opening scenes where Scotsmen are depicted preparing to leave their village to head off to war.

Around 600AD, Cairell ( later Saint Cairell)  travelled from the west of Ireland, probably via Iona, to establish Christianity based at Tom Aingeal, and gave his name to Cille Choirill. Cairell has been spelt in different ways through the ages. You will find his name in many places in Western Scotland: Pitkerrald in Glen Urquhart, and Caral's Well and Caral's Cairn in Banffshire. St Cairell or St Coireall is said to be buried in his native Ireland's Clonkeen-Kerril.

The Ballad of Eoghan Ruadh Chulodair

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My Christmas Present : A Special Place- Cille Choirill.

My Christmas present from my wife Kay is this- a photo we took in Scotland, mounted for hanging on our wall. A special photo of a special place for our family.

Cille Choirill, Glen Spean, Brae Lochaber, Inverness-shire.





Cold, wet, hungry and exhausted the small party picked their way through the rocks in the dark and the rain, travelling at night down the long glen, and hiding by day from the marauding parties of Redcoats intent on punishing the rebellious Clans. Lashed by fierce gales, the fugitives struggled to maintain their footing in the mud and shale, unable to risk a light to see their way, relying only on pale moonlight where it seeped weakly through the storm clouds. The stocky mountain pony carried a bloodied body across its back.



Eoghunn Ruad Chulodair, a Mackintosh, died on this journey, his legs shredded and his wounds too severe to be staunched. Struck by grapeshot during the Clans charge upon the Duke of Cumberland's troops at Culloden, 16 April 1746, clansmen loyal to their local chief carried him from the battlefield and made their way south back to the family home in Glen Spean. In the killing time of Culloden...that scant desperate hour...over 1200 clansmen were slaughtered in a valiant but futile charge to break the English lines. For loyal kin to risk their lives under fire to carry the mortally wounded Eoghunn from the field, then to dodge the cavalry attack, and spirit him away, all the while avoiding the snapping hyenas of Redcoat pursuers, and carry his body so far home, must speak of how those clansmen regarded Eoghunn Ruad Chulodair.

From him are descended our family.

It has long been a dream to travel back to our ancestral lands, and to seek out Cille Choirill where the body of Eoghunn Ruad Chulodair ( Red Haired Ewen of Culloden ) was buried under the floor just inside the door. How strange it would be, if he could ever see that over two centuries later his descendants would pilgrimage to his resting place....

In September 2010, we travelled up route 82 from Luss on Loch Lomond, exploring Glencoe on our way, and taking walks in the glen and forests of this vast and magnificent valley. Purple flowering heather still draped the lower slopes, and the first touches of Autumn's golds tinted the forests bringing the deep greens of Scot's pines into contrast. There is a visitor's centre on the main highway, and in the village itself a very interesting museum. At both we spent time reading up more of the history of the area, and of the massacre of MacDonalds by Campbell lead English troops, that occurred in the early morning of  February 13th, 1692. It was a very full, interesting and enjoyable day for us, and although we had not hurried, arrival at Fort William was mid afternoon, spurring a last minute decision to head on through to Glen Spean. Cille Choirill was a powerful magnet...something pulled us there...a very strong sense of anticipation.

You could easily miss Cille Choirill, being high above the road, and masked by hedgerows and trees from passing motorists. That but enhances it's mystique and character...it welcomes those who have travelled to seek it out, and those loyal residents of the area who now lovingly tend and care for it, and worship there. The 15th century church was built in honour of Saint Cairell, who preached Christianity in the area around 600AD, and is named after him, in Gaelic

Cille Choirill attracts its own, as it has over the centuries, the wee graveyard full of generations of clan, parish worshippers, and Chiefs of Keppoch buried within it's walls under the floor. During the latter 1800's the church fell into disrepair, but was renovated and rededicated Sunday July 10, 1932, and its living spirit has been maintained since. A key may be obtained at the dwelling on the A86 Glen Spean road, 2 km from Roy Bridge, just opposite the turn off for the narrow road that winds uphill to a small parking area beside Cille Choirill.



The sky was overcast, lending an eerily dark and foreboding atmosphere to our arrival, but at the same time welcoming, as if the whole presence of the church and host of sleeping persons there would awake if they deemed our visit of worth or import. The interior of Cille Choirill is basic with very little ornamentation, just a functional Catholic Church. Around the walls, a few plaques and crosses marking the graves of those buried within.

Eoghunn Ruad Chulodair remains unmarked where he lies just inside the doorway. I stood for a while there, soaking up the atmosphere of the interior, a place of peace and reverence, where for centuries people have sought solace and salvation, prayed, married, and christened their newborn. Ancient churches like this are not just stone buildings, but living repositories of the history of countless lives: each generation setting another stone in place, another tombstone outside, another entry counter-signed in the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages. We stuffed 10 pounds into the donation box taking the Cillie Choirill history brochure in return, then walked out to explore the dimly lit graveyard.


By the time we reached the rear, to look back down on Cille Choirill, we noticed a circle of light upon the hills the other side of the glen, as old Sol managed to fight through the cloud banks and follow us up the glen. The light was coming our way, and in a fitting welcome finally it threw down upon us its full brilliance and warmth, and the whole setting upon that quiet hillside awoke to receive us...accepting us as more of its own...we had returned...we descendants of the Great Scottish Diaspora of the '45, and the Clearances, were home...reclaiming kinship, and being welcomed back into the clan.

 

The fugitives, joined by other relatives and kins-people, worked in the dim mutton-tallow lamplight to lever up the heavy flagstones of Cille Choirill's floor. Digging out a narrow pit, they lay their revered clan leader within, wrapped in the the plaids and sheepskins gathered from his croft, then covered him with dirt, and relaid the stone above him. The weeping of his wife and young son accompanied the prayers as the little grave was filled in. No sign of disturbance of the floor was left as tell-tale for Redcoats to seek excuse to wreak vengeance upon the inhabitants of the village in the heart of the area where rebellion had been strongest.

Eoghunn Ruad Chulodair lies undisturbed at Cille Choirill.

Cille Choirill now hangs upon our wall at home. A pilgrimage home completed.

A special photo of a special place.

As a footnote: Chatting with my visiting brother a few weeks before Christmas, and we talked of his wish to also travel to Scotland and do much as we did - research our heritage, and of our visiting Cille Choirill. We looked through the score and more of photos we had taken. Shortly afterwards, we and our wives settled in to watch a DVD, and we thought the most appropriate with Christmas coming upon us  was "Joyeaux Noel", a film about the impromptu Christmas truce of 1914 between Scots, French and German troops in the front-line trenches. During the first part of the film, the young men of each side are shown signing up and leaving their home villages to head off to war. At the start of the Scottish home scenes is a clip of a young boy cycling down a shingle track towards a wee stone church and its graveyard...Cille Choirill is that church used for that scene.
Coincidence surely, but strange as 10 minutes before we'd been in conversation about it.

Cille Choirill calls its own....

My Christmas Present : A Special Place- Cille Choirill.

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Friday photo for Travel Thursday

Over here is Travel Thursday at Budget Traveller's Sandbox , but since it's already Friday here, I'm putting this photo up as they show a Cathedral in Malacca.

The organs of Saint Giles' Cathedral in the Royal Mile, Edinburgh.

Very lucky to get such a good shot as Cathedral interiors can be gloomy and a flash may not always give enough depth of illumination. But the light from the top of the organ dome added enough back lighting to bring the pipes in to clarity.

Here's a shot of the exterior, on the usual sort of overcast Scottish day. A foreboding presence...?

Brilliance and beauty inside, but gloomy and grimy outside... what a contrast.

Friday photo for Travel Thursday

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Orkney: In search of history.

An Autumn chill has settled upon Scotland...despite our best efforts at finding more Pictish stone circles and offering up sacrifices and dancing naked...too cold for that

We'd encountered a harsh change in the weather when we arrived in Thurso with gales screaming in from the Arctic.But a break in the weather convinced us to take the chance and make the ferry crossing to the Orkneys.We'd really hoped to get right up to the Shetlands taking ferry and buses as far up to Unst,the most northerly inhabited island of the UK, but the weather was against that! Puffins and the fact that a friend from back home now owns a wee stone cottage on the north coast of Unst drew us there.The M V Hamnavoe car and passenger ferry operates regular crossings between  Thurso's nearby port of Scrabster, and Stromness on the main  Orkney island called  the Mainland,oddly enough.From there, we thought it would be a very interesting journey taking the island buses, and inter-island ferries right up the chains of islands to Unst.But not to be, the weather was against us.Our naked stone circle dancing did not deliver enough power or energy for Sol to battle through those Arctic gales and smooth our crossings.I think he gave up on us, and took an easier station over southern Scotland.So I guess we should go seek him out down there.But first we're now on the Mainland of the Orkney's so we'd best look around here.

Our crossing was not smooth by any means,in fact Kay made sure a sick bag was handy.But once within  sheltered Scapa Flow  the vessel settled reasonably smoothly and ploughed ahead making fast knots. This was Scapa Flow, the famous naval base for the British Navy in two World Wars. And it was here in 1918 that 72 ships of the German Navy sailed to during the Armistice negotiations.The Armistice was not the end of the First World War, it was a cessation of hostilities while negotiations were conducted to agree terms for Germany's surrender.During this time the German fleet remained at Scapa Flow but without flying their flags, awaiting word for final surrender.

The whole German fleet was scuttled! Imagine that! 72 ships sinking in one place! Incredible!

Very few now remain as almost all were raised and salvaged for scrap iron, but the few left provide opportunities for scuba diving enthusiasts today.

Kirkwall is a fascinating ancient city with superb examples of architecture in it's old buildings.Dominating Kirkwall is St Magnus Cathedral, commenced in 1137, built of red and yellow sandstone and completed finally 3 centuries later.We were blown away with it's beauty.One of the greatest cathedrals we've seen. Soaring columns flowing into a marvellous stone vaulted ceiling,beautiful with  an intricate geometric network of supporting stone beams. It's a marvel of human achievement for it's time.

We were disappointed with Skara Brae being closed because of the gale lashing it's exposed west coast position. A place I really wanted to explore. More and more is being discovered about ancient pre-Pictish civilisations in the northern islands. In 2008,a new excavation revealed 2 new remains of large structures, on the Ness of Brodgar. These Neolithic era building remains are thought to possibly be places of worship,perhaps the centre or the heart of ancient Orkney cultural worship and the other stone circles may have been on the periphery.
It seems to me the more we learn about the great cultures that flourished on these islands, the more we'll come to understand our present, in relation to current climate change scaremongering. Neolithic,Pictish and Viking cultures colonised these islands and flourished in a much milder and warmer climate perhaps with a climate 2 degrees warmer than our current period.
We visited one stone age souterrain,and as we struggled against the gale to enter it,it was hard to imagine any great culture being able to develop in such climate as ours today. It would have been bare survival in such conditions if the weather was the same then, as today..
Current discoveries now indicate for humans to develop such a civilisation, climate must have been much warmer, and more conducive for farming to allow the inhabitants to develop such cultures.
And the decline of these northern islands cultures coincides with global cooling of the 1200's onwards, as the world entered The Little Ice Age.
So today,concern over global warming seems unjustified. Perhaps we have more to worry about from global cooling!

Orkney: In search of history.

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Hey, this is a great trip!

"Jim, I'm having the greatest holiday of all! " Kay says.!

And it is  nice..no..it was  more than that, it has been wonderful.,fantastic and so interesting. To a New Zealander of Scottish descent,Scotland is just so welcoming.It feels like a country that we have come home to, being so familiar. Everywhere we travel we come across towns and places with names we're so familiar with- Aviemore,Glenorchy,Glendale,Glenmore etc. We drive on the left, and we speak the same language....well in a fashion. Get that Scot to talk slowly and we can understand that heavy brogue,...as long as they don't start on with the Gaelic!

 We're not spending too much time pre-planning what we're going to do or where we're going. Just a rough idea that we'll travel around Scotland clockwise starting from Glasgow. So after being absolutely frightened off by the masses of tourists debussing at Gretna Green and clogging up the toilets and somewhat tacky souvenir shops there, we hightailed it way out west to Stranraer  then drove up the coast and found a quaint B&B at very picturesque Ballantrae. Placed on the coast where the southerlies blow straight off the Irish Sea it's very exposed, but the weather held ,even though dark and foreboding. Our old friend Sol did his best to cover us with his light, but he was only just managing to stay with us. Stranraer and Ballantrae were once important herring fishery ports and a little a of that industry must still remain as we were enveloped in that gorgeous aroma of smoked herring as we drove along. Mouth-watering!

From Ballantrae we plotted a course into our Tomtom navigator for Luss on Loch Lomond. Tomtom is now called Sally as Sally knows everything and let's you know it! In fact she knows more than me, so I can't argue with that! And I didn't argue with her when I asked her to take us to Alexandria, where our SYHA hostel is, ...and she promptly took us into the Dumbarton  hospital and dropped us right at the entry to the morgue! Not quite the right Alexandria...

Anyway Sally then took us up to Luss where we fell in love with the place and decided to have a night there. Luss is the seat of the Clan Colquhoun and where Saint Kessog brought Christianity to the area. Little stone cottages, bedecked with brilliant flowers,tumbling down to the edge of Loch Lomond. Beautiful and quiet. While we waited for the tourist fug to clear we took a long but rewarding drive around the Loch, up to Tarbert then down the west side of Loch Long then down to Dumbarton Castle on the Clyde.http://en.Wikipedia.org/wiki/Dumbarton_Castle

We laid siege to the castle, rescued William Wallace from it's keep,and placed him on the Scottish throne only to see him once more betrayed and off to London.....such were the dreams conjured up touring those battlements.

Back in Luss we wandered down to the water's side again. Sol was low in the sky,sending a weird light under the dense cloud cover and across the loch, and we hurried back to our B&B to get our camera. I couldn't miss the opportunity for photography in such unusual light conditions. I'm getting more and more interested in low light or silhouette photography and it was just too good a chance to not experiment!

From Luss we headed up the A82 which would carry us through the area of Glencoe and on to Fort William. Glencoe is a long valley or glen,framed on both sides with 1400 metre high towering mountains, breathtaking in it's beauty. Now a jumping off point for many walking trails,mountain climbing and skiing in the winter season. Also famous for the massacre that occurred there in 1692 , when Government soldiers , led by 12 Campbells,who had a long time feud with the Glencoe MacDonalds,carried out a surprise attack upon their MacDonald hosts. resulting in the killing of 38 men, women and children, and unknown deaths among those that fled the slaughter and died of exposure on those high gale and snow lashed mountains surrounding the glen.

In no rush to go anywhere, we visited a museum in Glencoe Village, then the Visitors Centre, learning more about the history of the area. Then wandered one of the many hiking trails in the area,enjoying the lush vegetation,in dramatic scenery  and noting the removal of introduced pines and reforestation with the true Scots Pine. Apparently less than 1% remains of Caledonia's original Scot's forest cover. Reforestation plans are important to arrest the decline of endangered native animal specie such as pine marten, deer, and our own Clan motif, the Highland Cat. We hiked to the top of An Tor where a rocky outcrop stands sentinel to the valley, thought to have been the site for pagan sun worshipping rites in pre-Christian times. So the urge was strong to drop our clothes,and  prance around naked imploring Sol to continue honouring us with his presence! We'll need all the help we can get in this country! I think it has worked. Sol shone through, fighting off the dark clouds and throwing his bright light wherever we went.

Hey, this is a great trip!

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Fw: The Most Perfect Day!

The Most Perfect Day! :The Lakes District UK.

Grasmere, The Lakes District ,England.

Birthdays can be memorable, or  they can be just any old  day registering another year gone by, too much a reminder of getting older, and therefore hurried through and fast forgotten.But sometimes events coincide,and so friends may gather,in a special place and a birthday turns into that perfect day!

We'd decided to hire a car to get around Scotland, and coincidentally our drive up from Solihull coincided with friends hiring an apartment in Grasmere, in the middle of the Lakes District, so we were invited to join them, a particularly auspicious happening  as it was my birthday. We had offered in return to bring the glorious sunshine up with us from Solihull, where we'd spent 6 days with our daughter.Sol obliged and shifted his rump up here with us, fighting off some of the northern gloom and mizzle which still seemed to prevail around late afternoon.

We're very impressed with the Lakes District.Who wouldn't be? Picturesque lakes, set in deep valleys,rolling hills,ancient stone cottages, drystone walls,small flocks of black faced sheep dressed in their best black, grey, brown or white jumpers,and late blooming wildflowers bordering the many tracks one can choose to wander.And 1,000's are choosing to wander! It's a walker's paradise with well formed tracks taking you on easy walks at low level around the lakes, or more demanding up to the heights where the most beautiful views are on offer.

We shared a first floor  apartment right in the heart of Grasmere village. It comprised a large kitchen/dining/ lounge area, with a short rolling hallway leading to 4 double bedrooms, each with their own en-suite. Yes, a rolling hallway! The building is so old,the floor levels a drunken sailor would love!  It's a 5 minute walk for a morning paper, or to stock up with good red wine, a trip we made often, given the camaraderie we enjoyed.Internet cafe just across the road.

Today we set off for an anti-clockwise wander around Lake Grasmere.Once off the narrow village roads, we were on to well formed walking tracks close to the shore of the lake that ran past the bottom fields of many quaint but beautiful stone 2 story country houses.Marvellous photo opportunities abound with views over  the wildflowers, looking through overhanging trees right across to the opposite lakeshore.Our walk often followed old dry stone walls,over hills covered in bracken, or by the lake shore itself. It was a wonderful day with the sun tagging along, keeping his promise to keep up with us.

Lunch was a very hearty goulash soup at the Badger's Bar, Rydal Mount just near the famous poet William Wordsworth's house, around halfway along our walk, just prior to walking the Coffin Way back to Grasmere.An old walkway used by coffin bearers to take the departed to their burial plots .And  yes we also rested on the specially built stone coffin rests along the walkway!

After such a long walk and such exertion everything to follow was completely justified! Bakewell tart for afternoon tea. Then cheese, olives and pickled garlic for Happy Hour wine and nibbles. Followed by the HAGGIS!  Our friend had caught this tasty wee beastie in Taunton and hogtied it, and carried it up kicking and howling to Grasmere, just to be skinned and carefully cooked to perfection, drowned in whisky, and served up for we 7 to consume. Now we haven't finished the banquet yet.....Graeme's homemade beef and cranberry stew with jacket potatoes and vegetables was delightfully delicious. Then it was Sally's plum crumble with ice-cream and custard,washed down with Champagne. Somewhere an empty wine bottle count was done.....6! 

It has been a perfect day.A wonderful birthday to remember.

And it will be even better if I keep all that lot down!

Fw: The Most Perfect Day!

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