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Jamie Scarlett, 2002
On a historical time-scale, it is only comparatively recently that Gaelic has become, to any great extent, a written language. Prior to this, local words had local meanings, but now they went out into the world and, particularly in the use of place-names, became at risk of distortion at the hands of those who did not always appreciate the subtleties of Gaelic pronunciation as rendered on paper and who did not have the advantage of seeing the places on the ground. Highland places were named, in the main, by people who lived there from what they saw, and students of place-names should always remember this; those who inveigh against the non-Gaelic spelling of place names on the Ordnance maps fail to realise the debt we owe to the early surveyors, who wrote what they heard in phonetic English and often presented the real meaning of a name which might have bean lost if a Gaelic spelling had been attempted.
One class of place-name translation of which it is wise to be wary is that which relies upon forgotten languages and Celtic goddesses. They occur in Strathdearn as well as almost everywhere else and are an easy way out; most of the local names have simpler and more convincing explanations and a recurring theme is of plant-names. There is the Strath itself, properly STRATHDEARN, but nothing to do with Ireland or eagles, from Fearna – alder – (the aspirated form, Fh, is silent, but the intrusive ‘D’ makes for interesting speculation, to which we shall return). GLENMAZARAN, of which I will not attempt a Gaelic rendering, incorporates magh and fearna as the Glen of the alder plain. Aitinn= (juniper), as in Tom aitinn (TOMATIN), and Aitinn chat (EDINCHAT) are other examples. These seem to be single trees, but there are names derived from Coille (a wood) – KYLLACHY – Preas(a bush or thicket) and its genetive singular form pris – PRESS, FREEBURN and INVEREEN
The Field of Fergus, for DALAROSSIE, does not convince me, but Dail Fhear Ghiuthsaich the field of the man of the fir wood conjures up an image of a woodland spirit like the English Green Man.
Smaller plants are not forgotten; Fionnternich, as in COIGNAFUNTERNACH, is rank grass and Fionntag, (or Fionnag, according to which dictionary you use) after which the FUNTACK burn (spelled Funlack on the Ordnance Map) is named, is mat grass. The old name of my home, Culfionntag, suits it well, whether it be the corner of the burn or of the grass. Dr Watson, the well-known authority of place-names, translates Funtach as the little white one; he clearly never saw it when it was big and black, covering the area between my back fence and the Ruthven road, and flowing massively and slowly without foam.
There is an apparent anomaly in Gaelic grammar, when an adjective, which is supposed to follow the noun, precedes it, usually hyphenated or directly joined. I have never found an official explanation of this, but some guesswork leads me to the conclusion that, in such cases, we are making a new word, not modifying an old one. Fionn which, as an adjective, means white, or something like it, can, as a noun, mean a cow – presumably because of ancient native white cattle – milk or an eye cataract. Mat grass is one of those grasses that dies off and leaves straggling bleached tentacles.
Fionntag and Fionnternich suggest the possible existence of a word resembling Fionnern which, rather than a Celtic goddess, could have named the River Findhorn; the suffix ich, ach or each often indicates ‘an area abounding in’.
Names can become corrupted, and one of the more obvious examples is the now-so-called Allt Neacrath which runs below Old Mill Road in Tomatin to join the Findhorn just upstream of the railway viaduct. Eachraidh signifies cavalry, or a place where horses are grazed and makes the correct name Alt an Eachraidh. A more subtle change has taken place in this little valley. Before there was a mill at Milton, there was a clach mill on the Ceardach burn, which runs down the boundary between the deserted and just-discernible settlement of TULLOCHMACHARRY and the new house, Corriebeg. A clach mill grinds very slowly, and the people who brought their corn to be ground got thirsty while they were waiting so, without the need for much encouragement, alehouses appeared in close proximity to mills. Ach-an-tigh-lanna was the site of one such, later corrupted to ACHANDALIAN. An error of billing by Scottish Hydroelectric has now turned it into ACHNADALLAN. TULLOCHMACHARRY, which sent men to Queen Mary’s army in 1530-something, is usually confused with DALMAGARRY but they existed separately and contemporaneously.
DALMAGARRY is said to mean the Field of the Moy Shielings but it is so nearly on a level with Moy that the advantages of moving from one to the other at appropriate seasons are difficult to see. I once managed to make Tullochmacharry mean The Hill of the Repairing which, in association with the Ceardach (strictly mechanics’, rather than tinkers’) burn, was interesting, but I am not completely convinced.
Finally, a possibly corrupted name and a local legend. Just by the Funtack bridge, a small stream, now called the – Caochan na h’Uan, the little burn of the lamb, joins the Dalmagarry burn. 1t rises on the slopes of Tom na h’Ulaidh, the hill of the treasure, of which legend tells that the first ray of sunshine on New Year’s Day strikes a treasure wrapped in a foal’s skin. Nobody knows what any lamb has to do with the burn and it might easily be uaine, green, which raises an interesting thought, for gold-bearing water reflects green, the ancient Greeks used a fleece to filter gold out of running water and there is gold in them thar hills.