SWIFT, manoeuvrable and exquisitely carved, the birlinn was beautiful to behold. It was poetry in motion, a ballad of wood, wind and wave. Think I might have over-reached myself there, but ye get the picture.

The galley that ruled the Hebridean seas for nearly 500 years, from the 12th to 17th centuries, is said to have similarities with Viking longships and may even have been based on them (though this is much disputed), with modifications made by Somerled, first Lord of the Isles, when he cleared the Nordic nutters from the Hebrides.

Some say the term “birlinn” is derived from the Norse byrðingr (ship of boards), but it’s all conjecture, which is a posh name for bollocks. Physical investigation that might highlight Norse and Gaelic similarities and differences is hampered by the complete absence of archaeological remains.

At any rate, while other evidence suggests mercantile activities centred around Islay, Gigha, Kintyre and Knapdale, the main purpose probably involved the endemic battles and bickering between various clans. The Lordship of the Isles maintained the largest fleet in the Hebrides.

While the birlinn was too light to bear cannon, it was right nippy, which was handy on a chase or when doing a runner oneself. It was highly suitable for raiding, which is what men did for fun before football was invented.

The birlinn was clinker-built, with a single mast and a square, patchwork sail made of tough, thick-threaded wool. Generally, the undecked vessel had 16 oars, though smaller variants might have 12 and mega-birlinns as many as 40.

As you might imagine, the galley had a rudder with pintles on the leading edge inserted into gudgeons. Excellent. Tough, enduring oak was the wood of choice and, while the Ooter Hebrides lacked timber, there was plenty in the Inner Yins and on the mainland. “Bringing wood to Lochaber” was proverbial of any superfluous undertaking.

We know that, not unnaturally, there was much maritime traffic between Ireland and Scotland, including troop transports from time to time.

Not built to last

Unsurprisingly, therefore, from what we can tell from ancillary sources, the Irish long fhada seems to have resembled its West Highland equivalent, though again there’s no archaeological confirmation.

It’s a real pity no remains of Celtic galleys have ever been recovered but, unlike Viking longships, they appear, from what we know, not to have been preserved in burial mounds. In Scotland, timber was precious, and when a galley was due for the knacker’s yard, good planks were re-used, with the rest burned for fuel.

In terms of moorings, while evidence exists of constructed harbours, boat-landings and sea-gates at fortified sites, birlinns may also have sheltered in bank-cuttings called “nausts” or “noosts”, though we can’t be sure if these were made by the Norse or the Gaels (or the hybrid Gal Gàidheal – “foreign Gaels”). Pretty sure there’s a noost near ma hoose.

In terms of vessels, we have to consider too that, when leading idiot James VI ordered the suppression of Gaelic, Highland culture (see, who needs the English?) in the early 17th century, that included a blootering of birlinns.

So, where does our information about the vessels come from? No mystery. The usual, less tangible sources: poetry, oral tradition, stories, land charters, estate papers, accounts and, as a truly valuable visible resource, art and sculpture.

The birlinn features in stylised form as a heraldic device on crests and coats-of-arms. It also appears on many medieval gravestones. But the finest existing, true representation of a birlinn is found on the elaborate tomb of Alasdair Crotach (the hunchback) Macleod – eighth chief of the Macleods of Harris and Dunvegan. Dating to 1528, the tomb in the church of St Clement’s at Rodel, on Harris, is carved in such meticulous detail that you can see stitches on the sailcloth.

 

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Grandiose Gaelic

In poetry, Birlinn Chlann Raghnaill (Clanranald’s Galley), by Alasdair mac Mhaighstir Alasdair (English name Alexander MacDonald) has been described by the late Aonghas MacNeacail as “one of the greatest poems in Gaelic”.

MacDonald, who lived from c.1693 to c.1770, was a teacher and soldier, a Jacobite in the 1745 Rising, and Gaelic tutor to Prince Charles Edward Stewart. His 600-line poem describes a working ship and her heroically labouring crew on a voyage through a terrible storm from South Uist to Carrickfergus in Ireland.

The poem’s distinguished translators and interpreters have included Hugh MacDiarmid (guided by Sorley MacLean) and Alan Riach, though the following lines from Gordon Barr’s translation drew my attention: “Let the heavy, strong and powerful men line up on her with their strong, sinewy, hairy and muscular arms.” Hairy, muscular arms indeed! That lets me out, unless they needed someone to make the sandwiches and shout “Land, ahoy!”

There is some evidence (admittedly contested) that, before James VI stuck his oar in, so to say, by the end of the 16th century new, southern or perhaps even Mediterranean influences were affecting birlinn design, possibly featuring a small cabin at the stern. Two Clanranald seals on documents from 1572 show a birlinn with raised decks.

Modern marvel

I hear the voice of a reader: “Shut up aboot history, you. Whit aboot oor century or maybe the last one at a pinch?” That is a good point, well made.

We can reveal not very exclusively that, in 1991, a 16-oar, 40 ft galley was built at the MacDonald boatyard in Moville, Co. Donegal. Said to be the first replica of a birlinn ever built, and owned by the Lord of the Isles Galley Trust, Aileach was clinker-built in larch on oak frames, and made to a design by the late Colin Mudie, taking inspiration from sundry grave slabs and the Macleod tomb at Rodel.

In Glasgow, the GalGael Trust built its own interpretation of a birlinn, the 30ft Orcuan, in 2001. The Govan-based social, cultural and ecological enterprise builds boats to bind communities and takes inspiration (and an emblem) from the birlinn. So, the spirit and romance live on. But the raiding has had its day.