Sruth

sruth@globalceilidh.com

              15 · Cèit · 2026 · Nº 001
            

A daily current for the Scottish Gael — and anyone eavesdropping.

Fàilte

Fàilte gu sruth. Ma tha thu air clàradh, is math a rinn thu. You've joined the flow — a daily current of Scottish Gaelic news, diaspora dispatches, and culture from around the world. Tha sinn fhathast an seo. We are still here. And we have a new story to tell. "Na bi teagmhach a-riamh gum faod buidheann bheag de shaor-stàitich smaoinichteach, dealasach an saoghal atharrachadh; Carson? Seach gur e sin an aon rud a rinn e a-riamh!" "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; Why? Because it's the only thing that ever has!" M.M. & A.S.

Fergus Scottish Festival & Highland Games

Fergus Scottish Festival & Highland Games Tha Fèis Fhearghais air ais. The Fèis is back — louder, prouder, and more gloriously chaotic than ever. As the largest Scottish gathering in North America, Fergus is where the diaspora comes alive: massed bands, Highland dancing, heavy athletics, clan pride, and the unmistakable sound of someone confidently butchering Gaelic after their third whisky. This year, GlobalCeilidh.com and sruth. will be in the heart of the storm — am meadhan a' ghnothaich — bringing you front-row coverage of the spectacle, the stories, and the beautiful madness that makes Fergus legendary. Thig còmhla rinn aig Fèis Fhearghais san Lùnastal! Join us at the Fergus Fèis this August!

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The Fergus Scottish Festival & Highland Games — 81 years of còmhlain-phìoba, flying cabers, and enough breacan to reupholster half of Ontario. This August, Fergus isn't just celebrating dualchas — it's launching it into orbit. Ally the Piper is bringing a' phìob where it's never gone before: straight into the mosh pit. Millions of followers. Metallica's stamp of approval. Electric drones wailing through Iron Maiden covers. She's proved the pipes belong aig meadhan an àrd-ùrlair, cranked to eleven, with a setlist that would make your seanmhair clutch her pearls and then ask for an encore. Ceòl traidiseanta le teine ùr. Traditional music with new fire. Tha Fèis Fhearghais air a bhith fuaimneach roimhe. Am bliadhna san Lùnastal, bidh iad bodhar.

Young Ian Murray has been through it. Kidnapped by pirates. Sold to the Mohawk. Pòsta. Tatùthadh. Married. Tattooed. Lost a son. Found a wolf. Lost the wolf. Found the son. And somehow became the heart of Outlander's most quietly devastating storyline. Before that, Bell dodged dragons in The Hobbit, fought aliens in Battleship, and whatever happened in Wrath of the Titans (we're still not sure, but he looked good doing it). And now he's coming to Fergus — gu Fèis Fhearghais — where the biggest danger is someone asking him to autograph their sporan. For three days this August, Bell will be surrounded by thousands of luchd-leantainn who will absolutely ask him to say "Auntie Claire" in that accent. 'S e duine misneachail a th' ann. He's a brave man. Fàilte gu Fergus, Iain. Welcome to Fergus, John. Tha thu air a dhol troimhe nas miosa.

Sabhal Mòr Ostaig ag obair le Google Ealain is Cultar gus cànanan ann an cunnart a ghleidheadh

Sabhal Mòr Ostaig—Ionad Nàiseanta na Gàidhlig—has shaken hands with Google Arts and Culture on Woolaroo, an app that names the world around you in Gàidhlig. Point your phone at a kettle, get a wee lesson. The Sleat-to-Silicon Valley pipeline is officially open. It's part of Google's broader mission to preserve endangered languages through tech, which is either deeply hopeful or proof that we've reached the point where an algorithm cares more about a' Ghàidhlig than half the Scottish Parliament. Either way, Sabhal Mòr is making sure that when AI finally takes over, at least it'll know how to say coire before it boils the water.

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LANGUAGE

Facal an Là

FilmG: "Neart agus farsaingeachd de thàlant" a' tighinn troimhe

FilmG dropped this year's shortlist—157 filmichean, three categories—and the cloinn who started entering as wee ones are now competing at adult level. Tha iad air fàs suas le camara nam làimh. Somewhere in that pile is Scotland's answer to Scorsese, or at least someone who can make a three-minute film without filming their thumb. Oidhche nan duaisean: 11mh Ògmhios at the SEC in Glasgow. Someone's going to thank their seanmhair in Gàidhlig and absolutely wreck you.

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EVENTS

Òran

Hùg Air A' Bhonaid Mhòir

Julie Fowlis

Classic Puirt-à-Beul set to music, the Incomparable Julie Fowlis, and a runaway bodhrán. Perfection.

If you're going to introduce someone to ceòl Gàidhlig, you might as well start with one of the purest distillations of what makes it work: puirt-à-beul—mouth music—where the voice becomes the instrument and the words exist mostly to keep the beum alive. The beat. The pulse. "Hùg Air A' Bhonaid Mhòir" is that òran. Old enough—likely 18th century or earlier—that no one's entirely sure where it started, sturdy enough to have survived centuries on the strength of its neart alone. Its force. The "big bonnet" of the title? It's there because it sounds good. The rest is torman—vocables, nonsense syllables that exist purely for the joy of making noise in time. This is the genre that emerged when the Eaglais decided fiddles were instruments of the devil, and the Gàidheil—being nothing if not pathologically stubborn—decided they'd just become the fiddles instead. We still sing it today with a straight face and a high heart, shouting "Hùg!" like it means something profound, when really it just means lean air adhart. Keep going. Julie Fowlis knows this. She's spent her career proving that ceòl traidiseanta doesn't need to be precious or museum-kept to be powerful. When she sings "Hùg Air A' Bhonaid Mhòir," it's not an artifact. It's alive. Ceòl beò.

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Cidsin

Tablet is Cèic-chàise

Tablet Cheesecake

Tablet is Cèic-chàise: Dìreach na bha a dhìth

Rinn thu mo bhuannachadh leis an aran-goirid pronn… and that's before the tablet even enters like a sugar-coated war crime from the Highlands. Crush shortbread for the base, oir chan eil sinn nar beathaichean. Beat cream cheese with crushed tablet — yes, that tablet, the kind that makes dentists weep and grannies nod in solemn approval — then fold through softly whipped cream until it holds together with the quiet authority of a clan chief. Cuir anns a' fhrids e thar oidhche. Top it with more crumbled tablet, because restraint is clearly something that emigrated and never came back. Apparently this is what the Roving Haggis is up to in Australia — and honestly, fair play. The diaspora isn't just preserving the culture anymore… it's sweetening it and sending it back... agus, tha e blasta.

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Buinn 'Murt Ghleann Comhann' rim faicinn an taigh-tasgaidh na sgìre

Thirty-six silver coins, hidden under a hearth before the soldiers came, now sitting politely behind glass in Glencoe. Some objects don't need a label to break your heart. Worth the detour.

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HISTORY

Diaspora Dispatch

New pitch in Scalpay. The sheep showed up first, naturally.

Letter · Scalpay Na Herradh

Scalpay's new all-weather pitch had its first game this week, and a fine crowd turned out for it — though the caoraich got there early to inspect the turf. Priorities, clearly. Meanwhile, half of Scotland is packing for Boston. The 2026 World Cup kicks off in June, and the Tartan Army is mobilizing for what may be the largest Scottish invasion of American soil since the Clearances. Except this time, it's voluntary, heavily caffeinated, and comes with a "No Scotland, No Party" banner the size of a fishing boat. Ball-coise fever is real. The sheep, for what it's worth, are staying home. They've seen enough drama. Moladh mòr to Scalpay FC. The pitch looks brilliant. The sheep approve. The comment section on this one is certainly worth the read!

— The Editors

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Parting Shot

“Cha tuit caoran à cliabh falamh.”

"No peat falls from an empty creel." You can't give what you don't have. Fill the creel or haud yer wheesht about the fire.

Proverb · source unknown, accuracy unquestioned

Daily · from Global Ceilidh · since 2026

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