Oh, Dear, what can the matter be?

I've not got much to say today, only that I've been singing lots to keep myself company as I walk along. My songs make me miss home so much, especially the rare ones I learned from Da. It's where I learned about Irish culture, cos me da never spoke much of his home or his people. A funny thing I've found in these songs is that the hero or scoundrel is always the same Johnny, that rat bastard!

It's been right cold, and windy too, with the snow coming down round me ears and freezing me eyes shut. It brings be back to me mam wrapping me up in flannel stockings and petticoats when I was a child, and even as I left she was piling shawls atop my shoulders. At night I snuggle down in my shawls and petticoats and shiver, singing quietly to myself of Caledonia, Inisfree, and the winding river Roe.

Eyemouth, me ears and nose.

  

I've set up camp near the fork of a river. It's been a cold journey, sore for the lack of friendship since the innkeeper's  young wife.

 When the weather cleared up, I made to set off again, but the blessed girl wouldn't hear of it, and had her dear husband take me along in his wagon through the watery mud til we were far out in the fields where the land was dry again. I thanked him mightily, and he shook my hand and wished me well. On his wagon, he had a rough map of the area, and he showed me the rivers I should follow, and the highlands to climb to should the rivers flood.

I followed the river for many a day 'til I came to a lake, which I had to skirt around until I found the river out the other side. Then it was more of the same, trudging  along the river and stopping at night for dried meat and cheese. It's nights when I miss home the most. Nights at home, after Da came in from the fields, we'd sit down for a hot stew and Mam's good bread, and the talk would be merry among us adults, and the good children would sit quiet and listen.  It wasn't 'til I was fifteen that Mam and Da would allow me to join in the conversations at dinner. They let me walk to town days I had no farm work, and Da even allowed courting, but there were no lads I was interested in, though many came around the farm asking for me.

It was growing up that taught me I loved to perform. When I was a wee child, I loved to sing Mam's old highland songs, and balulow the babies, but never 'til I had an audience did I know I loved to sing for others.

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I haven't been able to write for a week, for the light fades fast and there's naught to write by in the dark. But, I've the most exciting news! A wagonload of travellers from Kirrimoor came upon me as I made my way along some tracks I had found, and they offered me a ride to  Eyemouth upon the coast. I accepted glaedly, and climbed upon the back with two younger girls in heavy winter petticoats. I asked their names, and blessed me, one of them had the same name as my wee bairnie sister Mysie! We played games and tossed pebbles from the back of the wagon while the sun rose over our heads, and at night  I had the pleasure of eating porridge by a warm fire. We chatted, and I learned that the mam and da's names were Mhairgaret and Kenney. Such lovely people they are! They told me their story of leaving Kirrimoor after their old granny died and they no longer had a reason to stay in such cold country. They're moving to the borders of Scotland, though Kenney thinks poorly of the English kings. Mhairgaret is sweet, and round in the belly from a baby. We gossipped as ladies do, and both agreed it would be a boy, as she has stayed thin but for the belly, and her ankles do not ache. Kenney will be happy to have a boy, as he knows nothing of frocks and dollies.

After our meal, the best thing happened. The whole family began to sing, and I knew their songs too! We sang Wild Mountain Thyme, The Wealthy Widow, and Johnny Is A'coming By. The little girls danced around us as we sang, and we all took turns being the mhaimeo as the girls circled us laughing. 

I have so missed the company of others, and I relish it dearly. But I know as soon as we reach Eyemouth, I shall have to say my goodbyes and travel alone again.

-Aisling

Smile big!

Last night, I passed through the village of Rothenburg ob der Tauber (I hope I spelled that right!) after sleeping out a thunderstorm in an inn. It was a charming town, overlooking a nice, wide river, and it was certainly funny to see all the buildings: the roofs was all red! I love traveling. It's easy to imagine a red roof, but never would I have thought to try had I not taken a new road and discovered things like red roofs and funny gravestones with painted faces. I played some games with the innkeeper's wee daughter.  It made me miss home and my own sisters, a bit. I taught her some of our games, like Throwing Stones (Ileana's favorite) and Animal Noises (mami hated that one, we drove her right over the edge, roaring like dragons all the night long!) and she taught me some of hers.

I don't know the language they speak in Rothenburg. I've had to mime everything I want to do. I've learned a few funny phrases and made some new friends, probably because I look so silly trying to explain "CAN I SLEEP HERE" or "CHEESE AND BREAD, PLEASE" with only my hands. I just smile a lot and I think that helps.

Also there were many handsome nights at the watchtower. I might have chosen to sing and dance nearby because of a certain lad with green eyes, but you'll never hear me admit it. Either way, I sang and dance for coin and twirled my skirts a bit and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before heading back to the inn for sleep. I've not an inkling of what he said to me, but I'm sure it was something like "Oh, you're such a beautiful girl and a wonderful dancer and I shall surely wither away and die if you leave now."
I told him that he could come with me, at which point he said something else that probably meant:
"Leaving my post would disgrace my family honor. It seems we are destined to be star-crossed lovers of the best sort and many songs will be written about our doomed love. Farewell, my beauty!"
Well, maybe that's not exactly what he said, but I'm sure it's not far off, and girl can dream, right?

I still have a ways to go before I reach England. There's been a lot of rain and walking has been difficult. Luckily the cattle are moving in the hills and all signs point to fair weather ahead.  In Rothenburg, I found a group of people that reminded me of my own kin back in the east.  These people travel by boat, sailing throughout the mainland to buy, sell, see, and talk.  Fortunately, though none of them know my mother tongue, most of them know a Frankish language I picked up the last time my family went west.  I still smile a lot, but it's nice to be able to talk.  We're moving quickly on the swollen river. I expect I should get to the coast soon enough. Then it's only a matter of procuring a boat across the sea. I've never sailed over the ocean before; though it's only a short voyage, I'm mighty excited.

In the meantime I'm learning songs from all across the mainland. These river wanderers know many songs and many languages and I can't wait to share what I've learned, as well as what I know, with the people of London.

Pa pa,
-Tinka

I can cook and sew, I can keep the house right tidy, and wake up in the morning to get the breakkie ready. There's nothing in this wide world would make me half so cheery, as a wee, fat man who would call me his own deary!

I must write about this past night, for it was such a night of fun! More travellers have come to the inn for shelter, and some knew songs, and one brought a drum and played such a lively beat that we couldn't help but dance and tap our feet! I've gotten to know the fiddle player, his name is Aodan Lochhead, and I dare say he knows as many songs as I! His beard is long and grey, and nary a hair grows on his head, but he plays the fiddle with such a vigor that one would guess him a lad. I sang some of me dad's Irish songs for him, and he taught me some new songs I'd never heard.
The innkeeper's wife and I have become great friends in the past week, as the storm has kept us all inside. I help her in the kitchen, for though she has a year on me, I dare say she never learned a thing about cooking. Her poor husband and tavern folk have been eating stew most nights, as the dear thing is afraid of the stone oven! She showed me the needlework she had spent years sewing, and still works on when the inn doesn't need tending to. I find her such a comfort to have around, and I mourn for the day I leave and will be lone once again.

-Aisling

Dundee

Well, I'm huddled up in a place they call Dundee. I've enough coins to buy myself a night at a tavern here, as the weather's right awful, pissing down with rain and the like. I daresay I've gotten my feet wet many a time on my journey here; Scotland's just full of rivers 'n streams that one's got to grit teeth and bear through. Though I wear my flannels and petticoats, it gets right chilly when I muddle my way cross a stream and come out the other side right dreiched. Ah, but no use complaining when a few coins have bought me some rabbit stew and my feet up by a warm fire. 

The innkeeper welcomed me in glaedly, and said the weather'd only get worse for many a week, so I may be holed up here for quite some time. I spoke to his wife, and a bright lass she was, not two years older than me and pretty as pie. She brought me a heaping bowl of stew, steaming and smelling great as ever to my stomach, what hadn't eaten in days. She asked me where I'd come from, and where I was headed, and since most travellers had come in for the night, she sat down and listened to me whole story. I told her how far I'd come, and that I was headed to London, with the edges of Scotland bright on my horizons, when this bloody storm hit and stuck me in this bustling town. She nodded right sympathetic, and brought me a sweet roll from the kitchen, saying "What's for ye'll no go by ye.", which is something we say to cheer eachother up. I figure while I'm here, I'll learn a few songs and mayhap sing some myself, as the tavern hall is bouncing and bright with a fiddle and song. 

-Aisling

Who can miss home in a place like this?

That brat of a cousin of mine, Mircea, swore I would be back with the family within a month.  He thought I wouldn't be able to make it on me own.
But-sweet angels above-how could I ever want to go back now?
A few nights ago, I met up with some fellow rovers, and I learned their steps fast enough, and we danced the night away.  One of my favorite parts about voyaging is the learning: new songs, new dances, new stories, things you might never know if you look down the road and think, "Hmm, not today."  After, I fell asleep as the sun started to rise and woke up with half the day gone.  Mami would have called it wasted-but I think the day can never be wasted when you are spending it with joy. I love everything about it here. The strange accents the people have here, the heather, the way the sky just stretches forever, with naught a mountain in sight, save a few copses and hills.  Sometimes I race myself up them and see if I can jump long enough to fly. My sisters and I used to play such silly games as wee ones.
Last night, the stars were so beautiful.  The moon was but a sliver.
I love it here, but it's nights like this, when I remember the stories mami tells over the fire, about the people and the bears and the wolves in the stars, that I think maybe, I can love it here, but still miss home.
Is that possible? To want to be in two places at once? I have never had to choose before.
Enough of that. I am enjoying myself, and I cannot wait to reach London.
-Tinka

No road to Sgainn

I met a wagonload of people today. I was tramping across the moor, looking down to avoid the silly rabbit holes that hide under the long grass and heather, and when I looked up, there was a wagon making its bumpy way along the hills.

I hurried over to it, eager to meet some fellow travellers. There was a mam and a da, and two daughters about my age and younger. The womenfolk were nice enough, but the father was unfriendly and told me to go back to me ma as if I were a little girl. I held my head up and turned on my heel to continue on my way.

I hope I shall see some new sights, or at least meet some friendlier people. All I have seen so far are the rolling purple hills of the moor, and the little rabbits and birds that scamper among the wispy heather. They make company enough, when my fire is low and my heart is lonely.

-Aisling

Bittersweet

"It was right difficult leaving the family behind. Little Ileana would not stop her crying, though I assured her I would come back with even more stories to tell around the fire. It's going to be hard, I know, leaving the caravan. We have traveled through mountains that scrape stars, to beaches where the surf breaks on sand as it has done since the earth began, but never have I traveled so far alone. But it's my time. Folk say that London is the place to be, so with tati's blessing and mami's necklace, I'm off to seek some coin and have a few adventures of my own. Goodness knows my heart has never beat so fast with excitement, but my people know the road. We make our lives on it, traveling here and there and never staying long. I know first hand its beauty and its dangers, and never before have I had to face them all alone."
-Tinka

Farewell, Aberdeen!

I'm finally leaving home, with a heart full of songs, me mam's thistle pin, and naught else but the clothes on my back! Before I left though, me da came to me and laid his dagger with the beautiful carved thistle in the hilt and told me 

             "Don't be gettin' into no trouble. But if ye do, use this."

 It's only a dagger, but small as I am, it seems a sword to me. Now my sense of adventure is riddled with fear. What unfriendly folk am I bound to come across?

-Aisling