On the first morning of my new job in the City of London, I took the Tube.
My office, in the shadow of St Paul’s Cathedral, was once a magnificent contract for Sir Christopher Wren & Co, quality kirk builders of old London town. My boss advised me to alight at Monument. After squeezing my slimmer self off the packed carriage, I began the ascent upwards.
Two ladies were ahead of me on the escalator. Hearing what I thought was Irish, I stepped up to eavesdrop. Cor blimey, strike a light, guv’nor. I understood every blinking word. They chatted about the minister in church the day before and the price of sliced bread – all in perfect Lewis Gaelic.
I interrupted their morning natter to ask where they were from. Point? East of Stornoway? Is there any other?
Arriving at pavement level, the pair gasped as this city gent in bowler hat and pinstripes told them he hailed from Great Bernera-by-the-Sea. That was me, by the way. OK, maybe no bowler and maybe no pinstripes but I had a tie on and my hair was wet and combed flat. My new pals invited me to dinner and to Cole Abbey church – back then the Free Church of Scotland in England.
Know your sliseagan from your isbeanan
Ah, Gaelic – the key to understanding and kinship.
So, on the ferry Loch Seaforth last week, as I was chauffeur for Mrs X returning from another photo job in downtown Kyle of Lochalsh, the hot food servery was staffed by Donald Smith. Being from Barvas on the windy side of Lewis, Donald’s Gaelic is also top notch.
“Maybe I should now stop telling English tourists that dram is the Gaelic for dream because drams are what we see in our sleep
As I eyed the dishes and looked for healthy options, he asked: “Dè a tha thu ag iarraidh an-duigh?” or: “What would you like today?” I fancied macaroni with a side salad but I’d a problem.
I couldn’t remember the Gaelic for salad. Macaroni, being Italian, is the same wherever but I felt there must be a salad word in the language of the Garden of Eden. What about feur? That’s just grass. If I said stuth uaine, or green stuff, Donald would know I was clueless. He’s from Barvas, for goodness sake. I was muttering to myself as the queue grew behind me. Is it sliseagan? No, you fool. That’s crisps.
Maybe it’s salad in Gaelic? Hardly, too obvious. Wait, I’ve got it. It’s isbeanan (pronounced “ishbannan”). Heck, no. I think that’s sausages. In practice, a sausage is a sausage in both languages, unless you are a Gaelic teacher, have a job on BBC Radio nan Gaidheal, or are from Barvas.
I was standing there like a right amadan – a daftie. Desperation set in. As I couldn’t remember the Gaelic word for salad, to avoid embarrassment with my slimline cousin behind me, I announced that I thought I would have salad but I then quickly whispered to Donald for macaroni agus fries Frangach.
Donald understood that fine, as he smiled knowingly to himself thinking yon Bernera fellow must be losing the plot for taking that long to order chips. Then off that ferry I shot and I raced home to Google the Gaelic for salad. After all my discomfiture, my agony, my needlessly piled-on carbohydrates, the Gaelic for salad is quite extraordinary. It’s… salad. A Dhòmhnaill, if you’re reading this, I nearly said that. Honest.
The origins of a wee dram
It was on that ferry I got talking to a couple from Greece who were taking a short holiday exploring Scottish history. The man told me something that staggered me. He thought our word “dram” was borrowed from Ancient Greece. I thought to myself, we Brits borrowed a lot from the Greeks. I didn’t mention the Elgin Marbles, obviously.
Dram, he thought, was from the ancient Greek word drakhme, which was a reference to small coinage. Well, small change is what we used to buy drams with.
After the Gaelic for salad, I Googled that too. He was σωστός. I think that’s Greek for correct. Maybe I should now stop telling English tourists that dram, or dràm to be platitudinously accurate, is the Gaelic for dream because drams are what we see in our sleep. They usually believe me, too.
After my silent salad saga on the high seas, I now can’t get salads out of my head. I had one for dinner on Monday. It was one of these lovely warm salads. It was mostly tomatoes and croutons. Actually, it was just one big, round crouton covered in tomato sauce. And a little cheese. OK, I had a pizza.
