I had been able to sing the words to Mairi’s wedding almost since I could talk, though I never liked the English words by Hugh Robertson, oft erroneously described as a translation, which bear little or no resemblance to the Gaelic original by John Bannerman, but the forty bar dance music in reel time by James Cosh was the first piece of music I learnt to play on the accordion. It’s regarded by many as a traditional fiddil piece, though played by many on other instruments including the accordion. It’s neither complex nor difficult, but it was the ability to play it as I sang it that turned me into a Gaelic singer, player and eventually song writer. I’d have been four and had been learning the accordion from one of my father’s friends on his Scandalli 120 base which was almost bigger than I. The first time I managed to play it through without a mistake I felt three metres tall, and the memory of the kisses from my mother and grandmother I treasure to this day.

I stepped up onto the stage at eight. I’d had it all planned, the entire evening’s program. I started with Chief McFionn’s Lament, perhaps not the most obvious choice for singing and playing at a silver wedding but the vast majority of the audience were McFionns and McNeills and it was always in demand, and in truth it’s as much of a love song as a lament for those lost in battle.

According to history, a long time ago there was a battle over disputed land, a particularly fertile and productive glen, between Clan McFionn and Clan McNeill. Clan McFionn won the glen, but both clans lost so many clansmen the reality was they both lost. The McFionn chief of the time, Éoġan McFionn, had the best bard of the day, Fionn McNeill, compose a lament for the fallen of both clans and offered his daughter Niaṁ in marriage to Óengus the son of Ailein the chief of Clan McNeill, with the agreement that the disputed land was to be settled on their heirs, so as to prevent the clans ever warring again.

Fionn McNeill’s name was considered so portentous as to make the joining of the clans absolute and binding, and it was agreed any who braekt the blood peace would be pronounced nithing and outside the protection of all law. The marriage of Niaṁ and Óengus has been itself the subject of more than a few love songs. Nancy, my wife is descended from Niaṁ’s and Óengus’ eldest daughter, Aoife, but there has been so much inter-marriage between the clans since then, so as to prevent war, there is only one clan now. It just uses two names.

It went down well, and by the time I’d finished there was a quaich in front of me. So I was doing all right for an Ogilvie. I’d been going to sing a couple of popular Gaelic love songs after that, but the demand for Mairi’s wedding for dancing to was inescapable so I went with it. Request followed quaich and quaich followed request, by three in the morning I must have drunk half a distillery, was still sober and still singing. Nancy said I had been better than she had ever heard me before, and I have never planned a program since.

I sang and played Mairi’s Wedding followed by Chief McFionn’s Lament at our Golden wedding a few weeks ago. They’re both still very popular.