Ceol cridhe

Yesterday while we were out walking Sadie, Alasdair (with some encouragement from Seumas) became quite interested in the trees. Initially he just wanted to touch the bark, but later he walked from tree to tree trying to push the giant creatures over and saying ‘all fall down’.  I don’t know if there was a connection, but the evening previous we had been reading ‘heartsong (ceol cridhe)’, a Cape Breton storybook that Grammie gave to Alasdair during our recent visit.  It tells the story of a man who makes a fiddle to play for his family.  He and his son climb up a hill to a great spruce tree.  Initially they just put their hands on the bark (much the same as Alasdair did), they say they can hear the music through their hands.  Then they cut the tree down to make the fiddle.

I don’t think the book is meant to be sad, but it’s a bit sad to me.  We have just returned from visiting Cape Breton, and although we had a great time, for me, there is a feeling of sadness, and of loss about the island.  It’s as if the island is caught in a strange space between the past and the present, and is haunted by ghosts.  The first time I visited Cape Breton I remember remarking about the numerous graveyards along the roads we traveled.  But it’s not just the people passing on.  We visited some of the elders of Cape Breton, including a great traditional fiddler.  There is certainly a real fear that the culture is also passing on with these folks.

It is also evident that people are not willing to let their culture and traditions disappear into the fog of the past.  Most road signs on the island (like the text in Alasdair’s book) are in both English and Gaelic, for example, Seumas’s hometown appears as both Judique and Siudaig.  Judique also boasts a Celtic Music Interpretive Centre and a Storytellers Gallery.  Astounding for a community of about 700 or so. 

I hope that the language and culture of Cape Breton continues to be passed down from generation to generation, just as the fiddle in Alasdair’s storybook passed from its creator to his children and his children’s children.  And I hope that some of this language and culture crosses the continent and finds Alasdair, Seumas and I in Winnipeg.  I hope that it doesn’t just all fall down. 

Is ‘se sin ceol an Eilein, oran ar dachaidh.  (Trottier, 1997)