Ged a Sheòl Mi Air M’ Aineol

On the traditional working of tweed and its songs I have already spoken extensively in this page, in which however I have only mentioned that the Scots emigrants have exported this tradition also to Nova Scotia; and if by now the processing techniques have changed through the industrialization processes, the songs are still alive among the inhabitants of the Hebrides and those of Cape Breton.

Sull’antica lavorazione del tweed e i suoi canti di lavoro ho già parlato diffusamente in questa pagina, in cui però ho solo accennato che gli scozzesi emigrati hanno esportato questa tradizione anche nella Nuova Scozia; e se ormai sono cambiate le tecniche di lavorazione attraverso i processi di industrializzazione, le canzoni sono rimaste ancora vive tra gli abitanti delle Isole Ebridi e quelli di Capo Bretone.

Among the milling songs (as they are called in Celtic Canada) here is this Ged a Sheòl Mi Air M ‘Aineol (Although I have sailed to foreign places) recorded and arranged by Julie Fowlis in her album debut “Mar a Tha Mo Chridhe” 2005, .
It is a song in Scottish Gaelic that although it resumes the typical structure of the waulking songs was written by Roderick G. Morrison of Loch Lomond (Richmond County, Cape Breton) as a sailing song: already a gold prospector in California he returned home to make the postman in St. Peter, but with an enterprising and adventurous spirit, he built some ships for commercial traffic between the Breton Cape and Boston. Perhaps the text refers to an autobiographical event, when he went off course with his ship and he was presumed dead.
A print of the song comes from Helen Creighton, Gaelic Songs of Nova Scotia (1995) who collected it on the field in Cape Breton, however various versions of the text have been handed down

Tra le milling songs (come vengono chiamata nel Canada Celtico) ecco questa Ged a Sheòl Mi Air M’ Aineol (Although I have sailed to foreign places) registrata e arrangiata da Julie Fowlis in “Mar a Tha Mo Chridhe” 2005, il suo album d’esordio.
E’ un canto in gaelico scozzese che sebbene riprenda la struttura tipica delle waulking song è stata scritta da Roderick G. Morrison di Loch Lomond (Richmond County, isola di Capo Bretone) come sailing song: già cercatore d’oro in California ritornò a casa a fare il postino a St. Peter, ma di spirito intraprendente ed avventuroso, si costruì delle navi per il traffico commerciale tra Capo Bretone e Boston. Forse il testo si riferisce ad un evento autobiografico, quando uscito fuori rotta con la sua nave, venne dato per morto.
Una stampa del canto viene da Helen Creighton, Gaelic Songs of Nova Scotia (1995 ) che la raccolse sul campo a Capo Bretone, tuttavia si tramandano varie versioni del testo

Sèist:
Ged a sheòl mi air m’ aineol
Cha laigh smalan air mi’ inntinn
Ged a sheòl mi air m’ aineol

‘S ann à Boston a sheòl sinn
Dol air bhoidse chun na h-Ìnnsinn
Rinn sinn còrdadh ri captain
Air a’ bhàrc a bha rìomhach
Trì latha roimh na Nollaig
Thàinig oirnn an droch shìde
Shèid i cruaidh oirnn le frasan
‘S clachan mheallain a bha millteach
Cha robh ròpa ‘s cha robh òirleach
Nuair a reoth ann nach robh trì ann
Chaill sinn craiceann ar làmhan
Bha ar gàirdeanan sgìth dheth
Cha còignear nan seasamh
‘S bha seachdnar nan sìneadh
Trì latha is trì oidhche
‘S mi ri chuibhle ri droch shìde
Nuair a labhair an captain
“Illean tapaidh na dìobraibh
Nuair a ruigeas sibh cala
Bidh ur drama dhuibh cinnteach”
Tha lionn-diubh aig mo mhàthair
Is dùil aic’ nach till mi

Chorus:
Although I sailed to foreign countries
Sadness did not linger in my mind
Although I sailed to foreign countries
 
We sailed from Boston
On a voyage to the Indies
We came to an agreement with a skipper
Of a handsome ship
Three days before Christmas
Bad weather descended upon us
The wind blew strongly with rain
And stinging hailstones
When the inch-thick ropes froze
They became three inches in girth 
We lost the skin of our hands
And our arms were tired of the struggle
Five of the crewmembers were standing
And seven were prone
I spent three days and three nights
At the wheel during the storm
That is when the skipper said
“Do not yield, stout-hearted lads 
When you reach port
Your dram will be certain”
My mother is dejected
Because she does not expect me to return