The story of a noted 19th century priest and Gaelic Scholar in the Scottish Hebrides, is told by Jim Donohoe

 

Running roughly parallel to the north-west coast of Scotland, and separated from the mainland by the body of water called the Minch, the Outer Hebrides is a necklace of islands over 100 miles long, stretching from Lewis in the north to the tiny islet of Mingulay in the south.

In two southern islands of the chain – South Uist and Eriskay – a Highlander called Allan MacDonald spent most of his adult life as a priest of the Catholic diocese of Argyll and the Isles, serving the mainly Scots Gaelic-speaking inhabitants.

Allan was born into a Catholic family in October 1859 in the Highland town of Fort William, the son of John, an inn keeper, and his wife, Margaret, who was a Gaelic speaker.
Despite the spread of English throughout Scotland since the Reformation of the 16th century, there were still enough native speakers in the locality for Allan to become proficient in the ‘old tongue’ which he loved. It would prove a great asset for a Highland priest, for a large part of the Western Isles was still Gaelic speaking.

After years of State intolerance, the Catholic hierarchy had been restored in 1878, and in July 1882 the young man was ordained priest by the Archbishop of Glasgow, and was sent to Oban on the Argyllshire coast to assist Bishop MacDonald in the diocesan Cathedral. After a two years’ apprenticeship in the bustling port and tourist centre, Father Allan’s proficiency in Gaelic led to his appointment as priest of Daliburgh Parish in South Uist. So at age twenty-four, he left mainland Scotland for the last time.

The young priest arrived in his new parish on 19 July 1884, and was charmed by the beauty of its setting. Daliburgh was no more than a mile from the Atlantic Ocean, whose great breakers whispered along the white sandy beaches, or crashed like thunder during winter gales. His flock were crofters and fishermen, gentle and softly spoken, courteous and hospitable to visitors, and fiercely loyal to their faith and its priests. They soon affectionately referred to the lanky six feet-three clergyman towering above them as ‘an sagart mór’.

Continue reading in this week’s Ireland’s Own