Home ›› 30 Mar 2023 ›› Opinion
On a rainy Friday afternoon, Dale Gillis stepped into his Aunt Sandra’s kitchen carrying an old teak table top. “A little dancing board,” he said, referring to how the house’s soft grey carpet was not a suitable platform for the evening’s festivities. That day, they were preparing to host a ceilidh, a special party that would involve food (like oatcakes and cheese), drink, and plenty of music and dancing – and include the whole of Scotsville, a small town tucked into a remote corner of Cape Breton Island in the Canadian province of Nova Scotia.
Pronounced ‘kay-lee’, ceilidh is a Gaelic word for a gathering of people or a visit. On Cape Breton, these often impromptu get-togethers – commonly referred to as ‘kitchen parties’ – have evolved from the early days (when people settled here from Scotland in the 18th and 19th Centuries) to centre on fiddle music.
“A kitchen party happened at that time because it is the central room of the house, it was the central source of heat, it was where you had your food and all the things that happened in a general way of life,” said Allan Dewer, music director at the Celtic Music Interpretive Centre. “And because they were sitting around having a drink or a meal, it was easy to take out a fiddle – and in some of the older homes, the piano was actually in the kitchen.”
With its roots in Gaelic culture, the ceilidh is a true slice of Cape Breton life. But over the years, it has faced some challenges as islanders have lost (and regained) interest because of modern life and lack of time.
According to local resident and general store owner, Austin Patterson, “There was a fiddle in every household and no doubt a person in every household that could play. That died away for a number of years until people realised what was happening and took an interest in it.”
The Gillis family has certainly done its share in keeping the tradition alive. Dale, along with his siblings Krista, Kyle and Pat, are all avid musicians (or a step dancer, in Krista’s case) despite their busy day jobs. They grew up with the music and continue to play at the home of their Aunt Sandra, who is a master of the resident piano.
On that Friday evening, presumably like other ceilidh nights, they gathered with their family and friends from the community. The modest white house was packed nearly elbow to elbow, and a palpable heat was generated from all the fiddle bowing, piano plunking, foot tapping and step dancing. The floor pulsed in time to the music that filled the entire household.
There’s a saying on the island that’s often seen written on signs, including one on a wall in Aunt Sandra’s kitchen: céad míle fáilte, meaning ‘100,000 welcomes’. For a community that readily invites people into their homes, it seems fitting.
“I think hospitality is a natural thing here, you know, I think people get a satisfaction out of bringing people into their homes and letting them enjoy a ceilidh, an evening together,” Gillis said. “In a way, it’s sad that it is dying out, but the movement to keep it afloat is good.”
The ceilidh isn’t the only part of traditional Cape Breton life that people are trying to preserve. Many locals are learning to speak Gaelic – commonly known as Nova Scotia Gaelic – which had nearly become extinct due to an education act issued by the English-speaking majority in the early 1900s that forbade its use in schools.
“My grandmother told me several times that when she started school she had actually gotten the strap for speaking Gaelic, but that was her mother tongue,” Gillis said.
According to Gaelic language teacher Carmen MacArthur, English was also thought of as ‘the language of progress’, so many islanders stopped speaking Gaelic to their children so they wouldn’t be at a disadvantage. However, thanks to enthusiasts like MacArthur, who value Gaelic as an essential part of Cape Breton identity, the language is seeing some resurgence.
BBC
