Neil McTaggart’s Crossing (5): A Story of 1920s Scottish Emigration to Canada (Podcast 1106)

Neil McTaggart’s Crossing – Part 5: A Sound of the Past

Saturday came with a softer light, a pale sun hanging low over the snowy fields. The usual rhythm of boots on floorboards and tools clattering was absent; instead, the household moved with an easy quiet. Agnes set bread to warm on the hearth, and Robert announced, over the steaming mugs of morning tea, that there would be no work today.

“We’ll go for a walk,” he said simply. “See the land, Neil.”

Neil felt a small leap in his chest. A walk meant more than fences and feed, it meant seeing beyond the edges of the farm that had defined his week. A world beyond the pine trees he could see from the window.

By mid-morning, they were striding out across the frozen ground, their breath lifting in clouds. Thomas carried a stick, tapping it against fence posts as they went, Edward ran ahead, and Anna clutched her shawl close. Robert led steadily, Agnes at his side, her face calm against the winter air. He had noticed their unity at the dinner table – everyone ate from different plates except Robert and Agnes who shared a plate. Here they were walking together like soldiers, each step taken in unison. There was a message of togetherness a bond which could not be broken.

The land rolled out white and wide, with pines hemming in the horizon. After a mile or two, a cluster of smoke threads marked another homestead. As they drew closer, voices drifted across the snow and one word stopped Neil cold.

It was not English.

“Thigibh a-staigh!” someone called from the yard, cheerful and bright. Neil froze. The sound of Scottish Gaelic, sharp and rounded in the winter air, it struck something deep in him. He had not heard it since his Grandmother died back in 1918. The memory of her voice rocking by the fire, murmuring old words half-understood came rushing back like a tide to his mind which was back in Kilbirnie for a brief moment.

The family at the homestead came forward: broad-shouldered men, a woman with a shawl, and children with bright cheeks. Their accents were Scots, plain as day, but the Gaelic slipped between them easily, like water over stone. Something which Neil recognized.

Robert shook hands with the man of the house, introducing him as Calum MacLeod, from Skye originally.

“This is my household which you know,” Robert said, motioning to each in turn. “And this is my nephew, Neil. Newly off the boat.”

Calum’s wife smiled warmly, and beside her stood a girl about Neil’s age. Dark hair, steady eyes, and a half-smile that seemed both shy and curious.

“This is Esther,” Calum said. “Our eldest.”

Neil nodded, suddenly unsure of his words. Esther gave a polite “Good day,” in clear English, but when she turned to her younger brother, she switched back to Gaelic without pausing. Neil’s chest tightened at the sound, something was awakened inside him.

They were welcomed into the house, a low, timber-framed room rich with the scent of peat smoke and broth. The children pressed around Anna and Edward, laughing, while the men took seats by the fire.

Neil sat a little apart, listening as Gaelic rose and fell in the room. He caught only fragments, echoes of his Grandmother’s stories, but it was enough to make him ache for home.

Esther noticed his listening. “Do you understand it?” she asked softly.

“Some,” Neil admitted. “My Gran spoke it. Not since she died.”

Esther tilted her head. “Then you know more than you think. It stays, if you’ve heard it young. Your Uncle Robert speaks it too, maybe he can teach you a few words and Maggie used to……” Suddenly a silence came and she continued with an apology “sorry”.

The whole room fell silent – Neil knew exactly what to do and replied loudly”I’m not so good with reading or writing” Neil replied with his head looking towards the floor. He smiled faintly, warming to her kindness. He had heard the reference to Maggie but knew not to ask about it. At least not yet anyway. They both glanced over at Thomas who was sitting alone, staring into the fire like a man well beyond his years and the room returned to casual conversation.

The afternoon passed with talk of land, neighbours, and the struggles of a winter so far from home. Neil joined in little, but he watched Esther’s hands as she set bowls, the way her eyes lingered on her father when he spoke. There was a steadiness in her, like the land itself.

As the visit drew to a close, Robert stood up. “We’ll be seeing more of each other. Neighbours ought to.”

Outside, as they wrapped themselves in scarves and stepped back into the dusk, Esther caught Neil’s eye.

“Next time,” she said quietly, “I’ll teach you a word or two.”

Neil nodded, his heart quickening.

On the walk back, Thomas was silent, his stick tapping the frozen earth. Neil almost asked him then about Maggie, about the half-truth he’d glimpsed in Thomas’s eyes a few days before but the question stuck in his throat. The silence around her name seemed thick, impenetrable and yet… Neil had seen a flicker in Esther’s gaze, a sharp breath at the mention of the name Maggie, a knowing look when Thomas’s face tightened at the mention of family. She might know something.

As they reached the farmhouse, Neil felt the stone deep in his pocket. The land was strange, the work was hard, but for the first time he felt the pull of something else, a voice from the past in Gaelic, and a girl who might carry answers to an increasing number of questions.