Sruth

sruth@globalceilidh.com

              25 · Cèit · 2026 · Nº 001
            

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

Fàilte

'S e Diluain a th' ann — a-rithist.

We're doing our best to be a' cuimhneachadh some of the things we got ourselves into thairis air an deireadh-sheachdain. And then again... tha sinn a' faighneachd am bu chòir dhuinn feuchainn. Whichever way we go, it's easier than trying to remember ciamar a litricheas tu "cuimhneachadh" ann an Gàidhlig. (And hopefully we spelled it ceart an turas seo.)

An-diugh, our friends anns na Stàitean are celebrating Memorial Day — an important day airson cuimhneachadh air an fheadhainn a chaochail a' sabaid às leth an dùthcha. A valuable day agus airidh air urram. They have similar days air feadh an t-saoghail — in Scotland, England, and many other places, it's Là Cuimhneachadh air an 11mh de Samhain, when they put red paper phlòdagan on their chests and a' seasamh ann an sàmhchair le spèis. In Australia agus Sealan Nuadh, it's ANZAC Day air an 25mh de Ghiblean. Ann an Canèda, Remembrance Day air an 11mh de Samhain cuideachd. Agus sinne? Tha sinn dìreach a' feuchainn ri cuimhneachadh if we turned on a' choire or not, agus càite an do chuir sinn na h-iuchraichean. Chan eil sinn cho math air cuimhneachadh as we once were. No is dòcha nach robh sinn riamh. Chan eil cuimhn' againn.

Slàinte!

~Na Deasaichean

An t-Abairt

Gu maireann an cuimhne

Phrase

(goo MAHR-yan un KOOM-nyuh) · “May the memory last.” or “May their memory endure.”

A solemn blessing and wish. It emphasizes the enduring nature of remembrance, particularly for those who are no longer with us. Perfect for Memorial Day, Remembrance Day, or as a respectful benediction after a tribute. It is not about the specific thing remembered, but the act of remembering itself.

Mar a’ bhlàth, dh’fhaodadh ar luchd-gaoil a dhol à sealladh, ach mairidh cùbhraidheachd na cuimhne. (Like a bloom, our loved ones may fade, but the fragrance of memory endures.)

Òran

Flùraichean na Coille

The Flowers of the Forest

The Regimental Band, Pipes and Drums of The Royal Scots Dragoon Guards

The Flowers of the Forest | Flùraichean na Coille

Every baile has its ghosts. But the heaviest ghosts wear nothing at all—just the faces of boys who never came home.

"The Flowers of the Forest" is Scotland's great lament, carrying the weight of September 9, 1513—the day Blàr Fhlòdain (the Battle of Flodden Field) turned entire villages into graveyards of memory.

King James IV led Scotland's army south. What followed was catastrophe: An Rìgh Seumas IV fell—the last British monarch to die in battle. 10,000 Scots dead in a single day. Scotland's nobility cut down like grain.

There's a story of a village that sent thirty men to Flodden. Thirty fathers, sons, brothers.
Only aon duine (one man) returned. He walked the long road north alone. When the boireannaich (women) saw him from a distance—one figure, alone—they knew. The caoidh (mourning) began before he crossed the bridge.
He stood in the village square and spoke the ainmean (names), one by one. Boys who had laughed and played in the streets. Men who'd danced at weddings. Fathers who'd held newborns. Gone. All of them. Flùraichean na coille—flowers of the forest, mown down.

That night there was no sound. Just silence. The kind that lasts generations.

Two hundred years later, Jean Elliot put words to an ancient tune, capturing that silence.

Today, "The Flowers of the Forest" is played at cuimhneachan (remembrance) services, funerals, memorials. It's no longer just about Flodden—it's about every war, every loss, every village that sent thirty and got back one.

Cuimhnich. (Remember.)

Listen →

What's Going On at GlobalCeilidh.com

A First Look — Just for Sruth Readers

Fàilte gu Cros-Rathaid agus Scancy's — your new dachaigh air falbh bhon dachaigh (home away from home) and a new Gàidhlig learners series from your càirdean (friends) at GlobalCeilidh and The Lewis Highland Group.
Today we start a new section of sruth, where we introduce you to what the tinkickers and engineers are busy working on for you back at the home headquarters in the sniomh.

Every baile has that one place where everyone eventually ends up. In Cros-Rathaid, a six-book learning series and online SOAP, that place is Taigh-seinnse Scancy (Scancy's Public House) on Hudson Street in Hoboken.
Need advice? Thig gu Scancy's (Go to Scancy's).
Need a job? Thig gu Scancy's.
Need to avoid someone? Droch fhortan—they're already at Scancy's.
This seachdain (week) we're introducing Brìde NicNèimhinn, who possesses enough intelligence, charm, and stubbornness to keep half the nàbachd (neighborhood) in line and the other half arguing with her. Equal parts grace and grit, Brìde has little patience for sèabhas (nonsense), which is unfortunate because she's surrounded by people who specialize in producing it.
Over the coming làithean (days) you'll meet the rest of the regulars, Brìde's clann, wander through the doors of Scancy's, and discover why a taigh-seinnse, a hotel, a red telephone box, and a handful of Scottish-Americans have become the center of an entire saoghal (world).
Fàilte gu Cros-Rathaid.

The first cuairt (round) is on you.

Slàinte mhath!

Tha seo Brìde - Fàilte gu Scancy's

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