Another Glimpse of the Professional Weeper

Alexander Carmichael’s Carmina Gadelica is one of the principal sources for information about the bean-tuiream: the mourning woman or professional weeper. An account has already been published in this blog for 30 January 2011, in which a quote is taken from CG ii, 309. There Carmichael reminisces about how, in 1870, he had ‘prevailed upon a woman in Barra to do the “tuiream” as she had heard it when young.’

More information about this intriguing episode is preserved in papers in CW383, apparently the text of a lecture given by Carmichael, probably in the 1890s. The keener is revealed to be none other than Catherine Pearson or MacPherson (c. 1813–1880), wife of Alexander MacFarlane, Ceann Tangabhal, Barra. Despite a reputation for witchcraft, Catherine, together with her brother John (c. 1820–1885), was clearly one of Carmichael’s favourite informants in the island. We hope to have more anecdotes about Catherine in subsequent blogs. The text below has been lightly edited for legibility:

The old custom of mourning, called in Scottish Gaelic tuireadh, in Irish caoineadh, ceased in the Highlands many years ago. Upon one occasion, however, the writer had the privilege of being present at a funeral in Barra where a woman was prevailed upon [supra: very unwillingly] to reproduce this lost art. [del: The woman is now dead but the writer sees her still before him. Her name] [supra: She was called] Catherine Phearsan.

She is now dead but the writer sees her still before him with her [supra: tall] spare figure which [supra: in youth] must have been once singularly handsome, her good prominent features, her fine, large blue eyes, silvery hair, and voice of great flexibility and compass, and [supra: her copious] [del: a] command over the Gaelic language, truly marvellous.

She was richly endowed by nature but not by art, mentally and physically.

This woman rehearsed in weird, [?] and measured cadences of great attraction to my untutored ear the deceased man’s kindly deeds and manly actions by sea and land, his kindreds for generations back, his relationship to long lineaged proud chiefs, ‘and fair women and brave men’. She pathetically told too of the prostration of the fair young wife with her swan-like bosom thus laid bare to the weary wintry blasts and of the tender nestlings thus bereft of a loving father whose brave heart, strong arm and deft hands was wont to bring them home the white ling from the angry sea, the brown barley from the laboured field, the juicy cockles from the distant strands and the good puffin from the towering cliff. The bare glaciated hill high overhead re-echoed the woman’s voice, whilst the deep rolling restless, heaving sea underneath our feet seemed to moan as if in sympathy.

We buried the man in Brendan’s lovely burying-place near the base of an amphitheatre of hills benignly looking down and surrounded on three sides by the sea. The glorious Atlantic sings requiem to the dead in a voice, now louder than loud thunder wakening terror in the trembling earth, and now softly sighing with an eerie sugh like the hallo[w]ed tones of dying love.

Carmichael certainly recorded Catherine or Catriona Pearson on 21 June 1870 (if indeed the year given in Carmina Gadelica is correct). He visited her brother John on 2 December and, perhaps, 2 June. We know he was on Barra on 30 September, 6 November, and the 1 December as well. We wonder if any of our readers could help us in working out who might be the crofter-fisherman of Castlebay, with widow and young children, who was mourned by her?

Reference: CW383 fos.11–13

Image: The burial ground at Gob Bhuirgh, Barra

Bean-Tuiream: A Professional Weeper

A rather intriguing as well as an important tradition noted down by Alexander Carmichael probably came by way of a Uist reciter. This short anecdote provides some biographical notes of a bean-tuiream, a professional weeper or keener, called Mòr Bhuidhe who hailed from Barra but travelled to Uist in order to fulfil her duties at a local dignitary’s funeral:

Mor Bhuidhe belong[ed] to Barra but us[e]d
to travel in Uist as a Bean-Tuiream
much respected. Co sin agaibh
eir na maidean said she aft[e]r she
had been a lasagaich sa tuir[ea]m
M’eudail is m’ai[ghea]r is mo run [th]u
Cha bu chùl dhuit Mac Uistean
said she when Mac Uisteans wife
was on the maidean who had been
one of the Vallay family. Cha tuirst i
fhein sin said Mac Uist[ean]

Elsewhere, Carmichael provides a more detailed account of the bean-tuiream in the second volume of Carmina Gadelica:

Gul, lament, weep. Mourning for the dead was a profession among the Celts, as in the East, and was generally done by women. ‘Bean tuiream,’ mourning woman, is the term applied to a professional weeper. ‘Tuiream’ is specially applied to mourning for the dead; ‘tuiream bhais,’ death-mourning. Similar terms are ‘seis,’ dirge, and ‘seis bhais,’ ‘seisig bhais,’ death-dirge, death-wail. In Ireland this is called ‘caoineadh,’ weeping, Anglicised ‘keening.’

Carmichael then tells of an occasion when he encountered a woman from Barra whom he does not mention by name. Presumably she would have been fairly old and so her memory of the ‘tuiream’ went as far back as the first and second decades of the nineteenth century. The description given here is rather evocative:

In 1870 the writer prevailed upon a woman in Barra to do the ‘tuiream’ as she had heard it when young. The funeral was that of a crofter at Castlebay who had died leaving a young widow and several children. As the funeral procession left the house the woman set up a plaintive cadence. At first her voice was low and tremulous, but gradually rose to a great height. The scene was striking. Below, on a tidal rock, was the castle of Ciosmal, now a roofless ruin, once the picturesque home of the Macneills of Barra, while the Atlantic waves dashed against the rocks, mingling their wailing with that of the ‘bean tuiream,’ weeping woman.

Carmichael’s entry discussing the ‘bean-tuiream’ concludes with two short humorous anecdotes:

An amusing story is told in the neighbourhood of Glen Dessary at Ceann Locharkaig, of weeping women who were paid ten shillings each for professional services at the funeral of two of General Wade’s soldiers. To a sad and mournful air they sang:–

‘Hi, ro, hi, ho!

Dh’ fhalbh na Sasunnaich,

Hi, hu, ho, hi!

’S dar a tig an t-aon la thilleas iad.’

Hi, ro, ho, ho!

The Saxon men are gone,

Hi hu, ho, hi!

And may the day never come when they shall return.

The Rev. Somerled MacMillan in his book Bygone Lochaber fleshes out a little more detail: “Two of General Wade’s soldiers had died under tragic circumstances at Kinlocharkaig. In older times it was the custom in the Highlands to employ hired mourners to “keen” for the dead, and so the English General thought he would adhere to the age-long custom. Certain MacMillan women were paid ten shillings for professional services at the funeral of the two soldiers.” It is very doubtful indeed that the keening women would have seen their money if the paymasters had understood what they were actually singing!

A Lochaber woman in Glasgow was taken to see Richard III. In the course of the play she exclaimed – ‘Ach a Mhoire Mhathair! co iad na mnathan tuiream?’ – But, Mary Mother! who are they the weeping women?

References:

CW 106, fol. 38r.

Carmina Gadelica, ii, p. 309.

Somerled MacMillan, Bygone Lochaber: Historical and Traditional (Glasgow: privately published, 1971), p. 202.

Image:

A Highland Funeral (1882), oil on canvas by Sir James Guthrie (1859-1930).

Carmichaels and the Stewarts of Appin

When Alexander Carmichael visited his native island of Lismore he would take the opportunity to write down snippets of information about historical traditions which had a bearing upon this part of Argyllshire. Being a Carmichael himself, he probably relished the thought of his clan name being the oldest in Lismore, the ones who could best claim seniority. But there may well be some historical veracity to this claim. Aside from being standard-bearers to the Stewarts of Appin, it is interesting to note the rôle carried out by the Carmichaels on the burial of a chief of the Stewarts of Appin. Carrying the coffin three times sun-wise (or deiseil) around the cemetery was a well-known phenomenon and, it seems, a very robust one: this presumably ancient burial custom was still being carried out within living memory.

Carmichael is said to be the oldest name in Lismore and the oldest in Appin and to have been in Appin before the advent of the Stewarts. […] Besides being standard bearers to the chiefs of Appin the Carmichaels were at the death of a chief (probably) to remove the body from the house to the […] upon lacking the place of burial the Carmichaels resumed possession of the body and carrying it three times sun-wise round the burying place laid it in the grave Then in conveying their heads and bowing reverently low towards the dead they all said together –

’Slan le fear mo ghraidh

Go m’ failtich mise rithist thu

Fare thee well man of my love

Till I hail thee again.

References: CW MS 383, fos. 183r–184v.
Image: Stewart of Appin Arms.

The First Earl of Seaforth’s Funeral

An entry made by Alexander Carmichael concerns the funeral ‘celebration’ of Cailean Ruadh MacKenzie (1596/7–1633), the 1st Earl of Seaforth. He was the eldest son of Kenneth MacKenzie, 1st Lord MacKenzie of Kintail by his first wife, Ann, daughter of George Ross of Balnagown. The MacKenzies were a clan from Ross-shire that had risen to prominence in the fifteenth century after the collapse of the Lordship of the Isles.

When Cailein Ruadh Leoghais died
100 sheep 100 pigs 100 hens, 100
geese 100 ducks 100 fat heifers & 100 casks of whisk[y]
were consumed at the funeral which
last[ed] three days & three nights.

Cailean Ruadh throughout his life had been known for his profligacy and would think nothing of spending beyond his means. For instance, he commissioned the building of Brahan Castle in 1611. The Rev. John MacRae (d. 1704) states that he “lived most of his time at Chanonry in great state and very magnificently. He annually imported his wines from the Continent, and kept a store for his wines, beers, and other liquors, from which he replenished his fleet on his voyages round the West Coast and the Lewis, when he made a circular voyage every year or at least every two years round his own estates … It is scarcely credible what allowance was made for his table of Scotch and French wines during these trips amongst his people … I have heard my grandfather, Mr Farquhar MacRa (then Constable of the Castle) say that the Earl never came to his house with less than 300 and sometimes 500 men.” Thus showing in life his boundless extravagence which was later to be reflected in the consummate consumption which was so conspicuous at his funeral. Indeed, his death reflected his life in this very respect.

References:

CW 108, fo. 19v
MacKenzie, Alexander, History of the MacKenzies (Inverness: A. & W. MacKenzie, 1894)
Image: Brahan Castle