An àm a’ Chogaidh bha biadh chearc uabhasach gann. Chan fhaight’ e gun choupons. Dhòirt, turas, poca mòr gràin air starsach fear dhe na marsantan.
Thuirt coileach Eàirdsidh Belaig ’s e toirt crathadh air a sgiath
‘’S còir dhomh fios thoirt seachad gur e fìrinn tha san sgeul
Thuirt eireag Dhòmhnaill ’ic Alasdair ’s cha chanadh ise breug,
G’ eil sìol mòr air starsach Ailein, ’s sinne fannachadh gun bhiadh.’
Cha robh gob sa bhaile nach do thuig dè bha e gairm
’S gu grad chaidh iad gu siubhal cheart cho ullamh ri luchd-airm,
Dh’fhàg cuid dhiubh blàths nan neadan ’s thog iad orra mach le fonn,
B’ann aig Crois an Rathaid chaidh a’ Phàrlamaid air bonn.
’Se seann chearc bhàn le Ailig bha na ceannard air a’ chùirt
’S a dh’inns le beagan glagadaich dè ’n t-adhbhar iad bhith cruinn,
‘Feuch am faigh sinn ceartas thoirt a-mach dhuinn fhìn ’s dhar cloinn,
Sìol mòr a’ dol a dholaidh ’s sinn gun ghonag thèid nar broinn.’
Sin labhair coileach Lomax, ‘Tha mi mionnaichte gur fìor,
’S mi bha thall ’s a chunnaic e ’s nach fhac a leithid riamh,
Air m’ onair tha mi ’g innse dhuibh gun d’fhàs mo chìrean blàth
Nuair chunnaic mi na sìleanan, cho prìseil air an làr.
‘’S gu deimhinn tha mi ’g ràdh ribh gur e gnothach nàir a th’ ann
Mar dh’fhàgadh air an làr e fo na sàilean, ’s e cho gann.
Nan togadh iad air seibheal e ’s a shiabadh air ar feadh
’S iomadh giaban ’n Cille-Pheadair a bhiodh riaraicht às a leth.’
Ghearain cearc a’ Mhinisteir, ’Cha bheir mi tuilleadh ugh,
Chan fhad a bhios aon it’ annam – mo chìrean air fàs dubh,
Tha m’ ìnean fhèin air dìreadh is gu dearbh chan iongnadh leam
A’ sgrìobadh smùrach lofaichean ’s buntàta mosach pronn.’
Bha cearc-ghuir an t-sagairt ann is sianar aic’ a chloinn,
Mhionnaich i gu daingeann nach deach gràinean riamh nam broinn,
‘Chan fhaigh sinn ach min-choirce còmh’ ri fras na cuiseig ruaidh,
’S bheirinn mo chnàimh-pòst airson dòrnan de ghràn cruaidh.’
Bha gèadh le Raghnall Iain Shaoir ann ’s thug e iteag às a sgiath,
‘Nach toir sibh dhomh “particulars” gun cuirinn “statement” sìos,
Μ’ anam-sa nuair bhruidhneas mi bidh fios air rud no dhà,
Ach feuchaibh g’eil an fhìrinn ann – chan fheumte m’ fhaighinn ceàrr.’
Bha cearcan Ghearraidh-Sheilidh ann an comann beag dhaibh fhèin,
Bha pailteas anns na h-iodhlainn a chumadh iad gun èis;
’S ann chruinnich iad aig a’ cheàrdaich ’s chuir iad fiathachadh gu càch
Nan tigeadh iad dhan Union gun ‘claimeadh’ iad an gràn.
Bha bantam dubh le Niall ann ’s chuir e fiaradh beag na cheann,
‘Nach gòrach leam ur diugadaich ’s gun choupons agaibh ann,
Ged bhiodh an sìol sin còipte fa chomhair ur dà shùil
Cha robh chridhe aig ur sgròbain dhol na chòir gun chead a’ bhùird.
‘Ach innsidh mi dè nì sinn ’s bidh sinn cinnteach às ar duais:
Cuiridh sinn fios-cabhaig thun a’ chlèirich Calum Ruadh,
Canaidh sinn mas math leis ugh air Inid ’s eun air Càisg
Gu faigh sinn cead le sgrìobhadh dhol gar dìnneir dhan tòrr ghràin.’
1979
During the war chickenfeed was awfully scarce, and impossible to obtain without coupons. On one occasion a huge sack of grain was spilt in front of the house of one of the merchants.
Said Belag’s Archie’s cockerel, as he gave his wings a shake,
‘I really ought to tell you that the story’s not a fake –
Donald MacAlastair’s chick has said – and she wouldn’t tell a porky –
that there’s good fat grain on Alan’s steps, while we grow faint with hunger.’
Not one beak in the village failed to understand his crowing and as smartly as foot soldiers they at once took to the road, some left their warm and cosy nests and marched off in good cheer, and at the village crossroads the Parliament convened.
It was one of Alec’s elderly white hens that took the chair and explained with some brief clucking the reason they were there:
‘Let’s demand that justice be dispensed to our broods and to ourselves,
There’s good grain going to waste but not a morsel in our bellies.’
Then Lomax’s cockerel spoke up: ’I can swear that it’s no lie –
I’ve been and I have seen, and I have never seen the like, upon my word I tell you that it warmed my very crest to see spilt on the ground so many precious beads of grain.
And in all truth let me say it’s an unspeakable disgrace that it’s left there to be trampled underfoot when it’s so scarce.
Were they to lift a shovel and among us have it scattered many gizzards in Kilfedder would be filled to satisfaction.’
The minister’s hen lamented, ‘Not one egg now can I lay,
I soon won’t have one feather left – my comb has gone all grey, my nails have grown to such a length, and it’s really no surpnse, when all they have to scrape on are crumbs of bread and measly mash.’
The priest’s own brooding hen was there, a mother to six chicks, and she swore blind they had never had a single grain to pick,
‘All we can find is oatmeal and the shower off docken stems, and I’d give my very wishbone for a fistful of hard grain.’
A goose of Joiner Iain’s Ron took a feather from his wing,
‘Now please give me particulars and I’ll get a statement down;
without a doubt when I get heard we’ll learn a thing or two, but I mustn’t be found wrong, so tell me only what is true.’
The hens of Garryhilly were in a combo of their own, since they had an abundance in their yards to keep them going; they met up at the forge and sent an invite to the rest that if they joined the Union they’d put a claim in for the grain.
A bantam cock of Neil’s was there and he cocked his head a tad,
‘Since you’ve not one coupon between you, all your squawking is quite mad –
even if all that grain was cowped under your very nose you wouldn’t dare go near it without permission from the Board.
But I’ll tell you what we’ll do so that our prize can be assured,
we’ll send an urgent message to the clerk, one Calum Ruadh.
We’ll tell him if he likes his egg at Shrove and his Easter hen
we need a written permit now to feast on the heap of grain.’
Editor’s note: verses 4–6 omitted.