When I sing a Gaelic lament, I am being given a glimpse of what lies beyond the veil; that mysterious barrier between our world and the spirit world. As I stand on this sacred threshold, I often feel the presence of those who have gone before me.

One of those presences is Marion Campbell who composed a lament, for her husband, a MacGregor of Glen Lyon.

Gregor was executed by one of Marion’s kinsman. After being decapitated, his head was put on an oak post and planted outside Taymouth Castle, in Perthshire.

Scholar Virginia Blankenthorn writes:

“Before he died, Griogair Ruadh’s wife had borne him one son, Alasdair Ruadh. On the day of his execution, she was pregnant with a second, Iain Dubh. Given the length of time involved, she must have conceived this child on a date very close to that of Griogair’s capture and given birth very near the time of his execution. Her suffering during those eight months, can only be imagined.“

Marion and I have never met, of course, but I feel that I know her. The poetry of her song is etched upon the tablet of my heart. Her sorrow has made its way into the recesses of my spirit, into my flesh and bones. What’s more, when I embrace this song, I am in solidarity with Marion Campbell, and all who are lamenting the loss of a loved one; particularly those who have died under tragic circumstances. Each time I open my heart to her song, I am graced with the power of grief.