Tha Queen O’Wuntèr
Words written and narrated by Anne McMaster
Original score composed and performed by Matthew McCracken
Audio and visual presentation by The Treble Maker
Commissioned by Derry City and Strabane District Council with support from the Ulster-Scots Agency to celebrate Ulster-Scots Language Week 2023
Tha Queen o’ Wuntèr is a contemporary poetic reimagining of the story of the Cailleach - the ‘Veiled One’ - who brings storms, gales and dreich, darkening days to our winter-rimed doors. This digital film is an exciting and innovative melding of Celtic mythology and richly expressive Ulster-Scots - the language of the land. It combines a musical score composed specifically for this project, the writer’s own images of the natural world and a spoken word narrative in Ulster-Scots. Tha Queen o ’Wuntèr not only introduces stories of winter life on small Ulster farms but also explores the mythical journey of the Cailleach as she moves though our changing environment to weave her dark spell.
About Anne McMaster: Póames – poetry in Ulster Scots was published by the Ulster Scots Agency in 2022. Dancin’ Aff Tha Tongue, short stories in Ulster Scots, and Smaa Toon Yairns, an Ulster Scots drama, will be published in 2024. Anne also has three poetry collections in English - Walking Off the Land, Moments and Unexpected Item in the Bagging Area (Hedgehog Poetry Press). She has produced poetry for the BBC, the British-Irish Secretariat, the Ulster Orchestra and Réalta - a traditional music group with whom she’s currently on tour. Anne is director of the Spread the Word literary festival and mentors new Ulster Scots writers.
Listen noo.
Listen now.
Gie an ear til this.
Listen to this.
Simmer bis a memrie,
Summer is a memory,
autumn haes went.
autumn has gone.
Noo, as we danner intae wuntèr,
Now, as we walk into winter,
ah hae a storie tae keep ye wairm.
I have a story to keep you warm.
Hear tell these wurds o’mine
Listen carefully to these words of mine
an’ know right weel -
and know (right) well -
they wull lie saft wi’ye, lake tae a mist
they will lie soft with you, like a mist
ower tha empie fiels at tha bak en o’tha yeir.
over the empty fields in the autumn.
As tha leaves fal in fire roon aboot us
As the leaves fall in fire round about us,
cairryin’ wi’thaim tha loast, last light o’ simmertim,
carrying with them the lost, last light of summer,
so this bis ma storie o’ a saison -
so this is my story of a season -
o’fowk, o’natèr,
of people, of nature,
o’tha lan they worked an’ knowed.
of the land they worked and knew.
It bis a storie o’wuntèr an’ tha dairksome days tae come -
It is a story of winter and the dark days to come -
whan tha sin bis wake an’ tha fiels lay quait an’ still.
When the sun is weak and the fields lie quiet and still.
It bis a storie o’tha fierce an’ lonesome journey
It is a story of the fierce and lonely journey
o’ a pooerfu’ wumman wha walks tha gloamin alane,
of a powerful woman who walks the gloaming alone,
wha draws colour frae each shoartn’d day
who draws colour from each shortened day
an’ wha houls wuntèr in hir mightie airms.
and who holds winter in her mighty arms.
In thir hoose, in thir fiels, in thir fairms, they houl on fer hir
In their hours, their fields, their farms, they wait for her
as tha leaves fal. Tha leaves fal.
as the leaves fall. The leaves fall.
We dinnae need tae mairk these passin’ days
We don’t need to mark these passing days
that flowe away, yin bye yin, lake beads frae a bustit necklace.
that flow away, one by one, like beads from a broken necklace.
Canny folk ken tha, day bye day, tha wheel o’tha wurld gies a turn.
Wise folk know that, day by day, the wheel of the world turns.
Precious pearls o’light skite frae us
Precious pearls of light fly away from us
as tha dairk jewels o’wuntèr houl on thair turn.
as the dark jewels of winter wait their turn.
Whaniver we watch, tha saisons pass
(As and) when we watch, the seasons pass
an’ tha leaves fal. Tha leaves fal.
and the leaves fall. The leaves fall.
Simmertim haes drapped frae tha trees
Summer has fallen from the trees
tae lie quaitly at oor feet,
to lie quietly at our feet,
an’ tha fragile goold o’an agein’ sin
and the fragile gold of an ageing sun
ïs growed mair precious
grows more precious
lake sumthin’ misured
like something measured
an’ slowly loast tae dairksome days.
and slowly lost to darker days.
An’ tha leaves fal. Tha leaves fal.
And the leaves fall. The leaves fall.
Burd sang is aa’o’ lee’in noo -
Birdsong is all about leaving now -
minin’ us that quait days lie ahead.
reminding us that quiet days lie ahead.
Oor mem’ries o’lang, wairm simmer days
Our memories of long, warm summer days
hae cooled doon an’ set lik tae precious gless.
have cooled down and set like precious glass.
Afore lang, they wull brek an’ shetter - skitin’ awa
Before long, they will break and shatter - skittering away
lake dry leaves tumblin’ throu an autumn storm.
like dry leaves tumbling through an autumn storm.
Tha last haervest bis behin’ us noo.
The last harvest is behind us now.
Tha leaves fal. Tha last leaves fal.
The leaves fall. The last leaves fall.
An’ tha world haes gane tae sleep.
And the world has gone to sleep.
We ken gye weel that tha light wull fal awa.
We know very well that the light will fall away.
Brenches wull lie bare agin tha sky.
Branches will lie bare against the sky.
Tha grun will grow coul. Sheddas wull wait on us.
The ground will grow cold. Shadows will wait on us.
Oot o’tha mirk, tha stories came.
Out of the darkness, the stories came.
Generations o’yins wha wur close tae natèr,
Generations of ones who were close to nature,
wha worked tha’ lan an’ knew it weel,
who worked the land and knew it well,
tried tae mak sense o’ tha poor days that joined thaim -
tried to make sense of the meagre days that joined them -
this loast light, this twust o’tha saisons, this falin’ awa.
this lost light, this turn of the seasons, this falling away.
They tried tae gae wurds tae what they didnae ken.
They tried to give words (or voice) to what they didn’t understand.
Tha kine light o’springtim haed blessed tha lan an’ tha fowk,
The kind light of springtime had blessed the land and the people,
bot thon time wus past noo as tha light lay laich an’ slow.
but that time was past now as the light lay low and slow.
What great baste wud it be that cud cairry in
What great creature (beast) would it be that could carry in
tha bane-coul dairk o’wintertim?
the bone-cold darkness of winter?
They fun thair answer in thair tales o’tha Cailleach -
They found their answer in their tales of the Cailleach -
tha Queen o’Wuntèr.
the Queen of Winter.
Whan tha sheddas fal, she wakes.
When the shadows fall, she wakes.
Dairkness bis hir time.
Darkness is her time.
She bis as ancient as tha wurds wha bear hir name,
She is as ancient as the words that bear her name,
bot she bis knowed bye monie mair -
but she is known by many more -
Cailleach Bheur, Beira,
Cailleach Bheur, Beira,
Mag Moullach, an’ in Scotlan, Gentle Annie.
Mag Moullach, and in Scotland, Gentle Annie.
We ken hir bye anither name
We know her by another name
tuk frae oul Gaelic. ‘Tha veiled yin.’
taken from ancient Gaelic. ‘The Veiled one.’
Dairkness bis hir wurld.
Darkness is her world.
Tae tha kintrie fowk, tha yins wha toul dairk tales o’hir
To the country folk, the ones who told dark tales of her
on bleak an lonesome wuntèr nichts
on bleak and lonely winter nights
tae weans wi ’big een, apen bakes an coul lugs
to children with big eyes, open mouths and cold ears
as flames frae tha range daunced alang thair skin
as flames from the range danced along their skin
an’ sheddas hoult on fer thim behin tha closed dure,
and shadows waited for them behind the closed door,
she haes aye bin tha Cailleach.
she has always been the Cailleach.
They knowed her an’ feart her, tha ancient yins.
They knew her and were scared of her, the ancient ones;
hoult on fer tha shift she’d bring -
waited for the change she’d bring -
this lonesome, pooerfu’ wumman
this lonely, powerful woman
cairryin’ tha bitter wuns o’ wuntèr in hir airms.
carrying the bitter winds of winter in her arms.
Tha last day o’October, as tha light fals, is hir while.
The last day of October, as the light falls, is her time.
At this thin time o’ tha yeir, so fowk toul yin anither,
At this ‘thin’ time of the year, so people told one another,
she maks hir appearance in tha shedda’d sky,
she makes her appearance in the shadowed sky,
cairried on tha shoothers o’ a mightie wolf.
carried on the shoulders of a mighty wolf.
Some tell o’hoo she cairries a hammer
Some tell of how she carries a hammer
tae carve oot glens an’ shape tha braes
to carve out valleys and shape the hills
an’ she haes an apron filled wi’ roaks that,
and she has an apron filled with rocks that,
whan they ir scattered,
when they are scattered,
lea moontains an’ loughs in hir wake.
leave mountains and lakes in her wake.
She cairries tha pooer o’ natèr in hir hauns
She carries the power of nature in her hands.
She can create an’ can destroy.
She can create and can destroy.
Fowk tell yairns aboot hir magic staff;
People tell stories about her magic staff;
fur whan she raises hir airms an’ strikes tha grun,
for when she raises her arms and strikes the ground,
ice flowes frae hir touch
ice flows from her touch
an’ wuntèr drives its way intae tha clie.
and winter drives its way into the soil.
Coul wuns o’ tha saison belang tae hir.
Cold winds of the season belong to her.
She brings harsh wuntèr storms an’ tha blight o’ frost an’ snaa.
She brings harsh winter storms and the blight of frost and snow.
As she waaks, she huts tha grun an’ trees
As she walks, she hits the ground and trees
tae crush onie sign o’growth that haes ris throu tha clie.
to crush any sign of growth that has risen through the soil.
Lang white locks o’ hair tummle, wile, aroon hir face,
Long white locks of hair tumble, wild, around her face,
an’ on dairk nichts, whan she strides
and on dark nights, when she strides
unnèr tha empie wuntèr sky,
beneath the empty winter sky,
yer fit tae see frost glitterin’ in hir hair.
you’re able to see frost glittering in her hair.
Hir skin bis pale an’ wan - near tae blue -
Her skin is pale and wan - almost blue -
an’ monie yairns tak o’ hir sing’l ee -
and many stories talk of her single eye -
yin that luks far ayont this wurld intae tha nixt.
one that looks far beyond this world into the next.
She bis baith oul an’ young.
She is both old and young.
She bis pooerfu’ wise an’ wile.
She is very wise and wild.
She taks us wi’ hir intil these dairk, dairk days,
She takes us with her into these dark, dark days,
yit she bis - forbye - tha guardian an’ protector o’ tha lan.
yet she is - also - the guardian and protector of the land.
Smaa annymals fin protection wi’ hir as wuntèr fals,
Small animals find protection with her as winter falls,
an’ she bis tha guardian o’ tha wolves.
and she is the guardian of the wolves.
She’s fit tae shift hir shape - tae an owl, a hare o’ a deer.
She’s able to change her shape - to an owl, a hare or a deer.
She haes close links tae ither creaturs tae -
She has close links to other creatures too -
wile kyes, goats an’ wee blak kets.
wild cows, goats and wee black cats.
The last sheaf o’tha’ haervest bis dedicated tae hir;
The last sheaf of the harvest is dedicated to her;
fairmers ask hir tae bless tha grain
farmers ask her to bless the grain
that waits at hame in byres fur tha safter days o’ spring.
that waits at home in byres for the softer days of spring.
Whan tha banes o’tha wurld shine throu tha saison
When the bones of the world shine through the season
wi’ empie fiels, quait skies an’ onlie a mem’rie ‘o sin,
with empty fields, quiet skies and only a memory of sun,
it is tha Cailleach wha houls up a mirr’r
it is the Cailleach who holds up a mirror
tae life, tae death an’ tae rebirth -
to life, to death and to rebirth -
tha cycles o’wor natèral wurld.
the cycles of our natural world.
An’ yit - an yit - tha wheel o’tha wurld gies a turn.
And yet - and yet - the wheel of the world turns.
Tha shoartest day passes. A new yeir danders in.
The shortest day passes. A new year saunters in.
Bizzie wee burds cairry colour tae iverie day.
Busy small birds carry colour to every day.
We stairt tae fin tha light we loast.
We begin to find the light we lost.
Some fowk say tha Cailleach, at last weary o’wuntèr,
Some people say (that) the Cailleach, at last weary of winter,
drinks deep frae tha well o’youth -
drinks deep from the well of youth -
shiftin’ tae a bonnie young wumman
changing to a beautiful young woman
wha welcomes tha sprïngtim in.
who welcomes the spring in.
Ither fowk tell o’ her battle wi’ Brìghde -
Other people tell of her battle with Brìghde -
fechtin’ tae houl on tae wuntèr
fighting to hold on to winter
as Brìghde saftly welcomes wairm days
as Brìghde softly welcomes warm days
an’ tha longed-fer gift o’ wakenin’ grun.
and the longed-for gift of wakening soil.
Tha Cailleach caa’s tae tha fower wuns
The Cailleach calls to the four winds
fer earlie sprïngtim storms,
for early spring storms,
bot tha light slowly rises.
but the light slowly rises.
As smaa green shoots appear aroon hir,
As small green shoots appear around her,
she strikes them wi’ hir staff,
she strikes them with her staff,
bot tha clie bis wairm, an’ tha draw o’ tha sin bis strang.
but the ground is warm, and the draw of the sun is strong.
An’ tha gress? Tha gress starts tae growe.
And the grass? The grass starts to grow.
Yairns tell us o’ tha Cailleach’s fall frae pooer,
Stories tell us of the Cailleach’s fall from power,
bot we ken she wull return.
but we know she will return.
An’ this mightie queen o’ wuntèr gies us
And this mighty queen of winter gives us
lessons we need tae mine.
lessons we need to remember.
She unnèrstans tha saison an hoo tae leeve wi’in it.
She understands the season and how to live within it.
She bis a strang protector o’ tha lan.
She is a strong protector of the land.
She shows tha fierce pooer o’natur
She shows the fierce power of nature
in tha cycle of tha year.
In the cycle of the year.
Wee creatures, made tim’rous bye hir face,
Small creatures, scared by her face,
jook intae dairk an’ deep, wairm places
slip into dark and deep, warm places
tae sleep tha wuntèr throu,
to sleep the winter through,
styin’ safe til sprïngtim blooms.
staying safe til spring blooms.
She bis mightie. She bis thrad.
She is mighty. She is stubborn.
She bis lonesome. She bis strang.
She is lonely. She is strong.
A fearsom wumman wha stands
A fearsome woman who
fer natèr, creatures an’ tha lan.
represents nature, creatures and the land.
Theday, noo, sprïngtim bis bot a dream -
Today, now, spring is but a dream -
a rush o’ green lik lachter oor tha hedgerows;
a rush of green like laughter over the hedges;
wairm soil agin oor fingrs
warm soil against our fingers
an’ wairm sun agin oor skin.
and warm sun against our skin.
Sïngin’ burds that call tha moarnin tae attention.
Singing birds that call the morning to attention.
Takin’ aff tha simmit fer anither yeir!
Taking off the vest for another year!
Hearin’ tha worl come tae life aroon us,
Hearing the world come to life around us,
singin its joy lik tae a psalm.
singing its joy like a psalm.
Smilin’ as young bastes race aff ower an apen fiel.
Smiling as young cattle race off over an open field.
Raisin’ oor ain heads up tae tha sky.
Raising our own heads up to the sky.
An yit. An yit -
And yet. And yet -
There bis gran flooers wha need tha dairk o’ wuntèr -
There are amazing flowers who need the dark of winter -
tae be planted an hoult safe in tha coul.
To be planted and held safe in the cold.
Fer thons precious tim tae rest. Tae build oor plans.
For that’s precious time to rest. To build our plans.
An’ in tha strang hauns o’tha Queen o’Wuntèr,
And in the strong hands of the Queen of Winter,
may we build oor strength fer tha saisons yet tae come,
may we build our strength for the seasons yet to come,
when we wull blossom and we wull growe.
when we will blossom and we will grow.
Anne McMaster ©