Airdí cuan

John McCambridge (aka. Seán Mac Ambróis) had a passionate interest in the Irish language, which was spoken by most of the natives in the Glens in the mid-19th Century when Airdí Cuan was written. The song is named after a place near Cushendun. According to the map below, the townland of 'Ardicoan' lies between Bunavoher and Clady Bridge to the north on the Glendun Road.

In many ways, the people of the Antrim coast look towards Scotland as much as to the rest of Ulster. The Scottish connection is emphasised in local surnames such as McAlister, McKay, McNeill and common forenames like Alasdair, Randal and Archie. According to researcher Seán Quinn,  "traditional culture survived well in the Glens of Antrim because of their remoteness and the Irish language was spoken daily around Cushendall until the early 20th century. Féis na nGleann was founded in Glenariff in 1904 under the inspiration of the celebrated Belfast folklorist and historian F. J. Bigger. There were competitions in language, traditional music and dancing as well as athletics and hurling. The Féis was maintained by the Gaelic League (Connradh na Gaeilge) which fostered the 20th century revival of national culture throughout Ireland. This enthusiasm for traditional culture has survived into modern times, and there are many notable singers and musicians associated with this area."

The townland of Ardicoan is a mile west of Cushendun, rising north from the River Dun to a height of about 500 feet.  There is a multiplicity of Gaelic versions of the placename, and an equal multiplicity of interpretations: Airdí Cúing, Ard a’ Chúíng, Aird an Chúmhaing, Ard a’ Chuain, Airdí Chuain, Ard Uí Choinn.  The first element, no matter how it is spelt, probably means a height. Dr Pat McKay of the Placenames Project in Queens University Belfast says that there is no authoritative version of the name, but tentatively recommends Ard a’ Chuain – the height of the harbour, or the height of the bay (Cuan in Scottish Gaelic also means the sea).  Seán Mac Maoláin argues for Áird a’ Chum[h]aing (= the height of the narrow strip of land) because the townland is well back from the sea, and follows the narrow defile at the head of the glen, reminds us that the noun ‘cúng’ also means a narrow defile between two heights.  The townland itself is long and narrow, and there is an Alticoan in the next glen.

 John McCambridge was born in 1793 in Mullarts, near Glendun, and died in 1873. He is buried in Layde churchyard between Glendun and Glenballyeamonn.  His tomb is partly in Irish. McCambridge was a native of Mullarts between Cushendun and Cushendall (at the bottom of the map) and recent research suggests that he belonged to a fairly affluent Presbyterian family.


The story of Airdí Cuan is told from the perspective of a Glensman who has moved over the sea to Scotland. From Ayrshire, he can still see the hills of Antrim and he longs for his home in Glendun and the beautiful hillside at Airdí Cuan.

One story goes that McCambridge left his native Glendun, perhaps to escape the potato famine, and settled in Ayrshire where he ultimately died pining for the hills of home, still visible on the western horizon. Airdí Cuan tells of his love for the 'cuckoo glen'; (Glendun) and of playing hurling at Christmas on the 'white strand' (the beach at Cushendun).

Another school of thought believes that, while McCambridge was considering emigrating to the Mull of Kintyre, he stood atop Ardicoan and imagined himself over in Kintyre looking back on his native soil. However, the process of writing the song made him so homesick that he decided not to go in the end, and thus spent the rest of his days in Ireland!

Which of these stories is accurate (if any!), and whether or not the song is autobiographical, I'm not sure. I still have to do more research! Make sure to click play on the videos below while you're reading the song's text.

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Gaeilge / IRISH

Dá mbeinn féin in Airdí Cuan 
in aice an tsléibhe úd 'tá i bhfad uaim 
b'annamh liom gan dul ar cuairt 
go Gleann na gCuach Dé Domhnaigh. 

Curfá: 
agus och, och Éire 'lig is ó 
Éire lonndubh agus ó 
is é mo chroí 'tá trom is é brónach. 

Is iomaí Nollaig 'bhí mé féin 
i mbun abhann Doinne is mé gan chéill 
ag iomáin ar an trá bhán 
is mo chamán bán i mo dhorn liom. 

Curfá 

Nach tuirseach mise anseo liom féin 
nach n-airím guth coiligh, londubh nó traon, 
gealbhán, smaolach, naoscach féin, 
is chan aithním féin an Domhnach. 

Curfá 

Dá mbeadh agam féin ach coit is rámh 
nó go n-iomarfainn ar an tsnámh 
ag dúil as Dia go sroichfinn slán 
is go bhfaighinn bás in Éirinn.

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

If I were in Airdí Cuan
beside that mountain far from me,
it would be seldom I would not go visiting
to Gleann na gCuach on a Sunday


Chorus:
And oh, oh, Ireland, 'lig is ó
Blackbird Ireland and ó
and my heart it is heavy and sorrowful

It's often in December I was
at the bottom of the river Donn and me without sense
hurling on the white strand
and my hurling stick in my fist

Chorus

Aren't I tired here alone
That I don't hear the voice of a cockerel, blackbird, or corncrake
sparrow, thrush, snipe
and I don't even know when it's Sunday

Curfá

If only I had a boat and oar
so that I may row on the water
desiring of God that may I reach safety
and that I may die in Ireland

 

 

ENGLISH -POETIC [Extended]

If only I were in Articoan,
Near that mountain that is far away,
O King! My visit would be light-hearted
To the Cuckoos’ Glen on Sunday.



Chorus
Agus och, och éirí ‘lig is ó
Éirí lionndubh is ó
My heart is heavy and wounded

 
Many’s a Christmas I would be,
In Cushendun when young and foolish,
Hurling on the white strand,
My white hurl in my hand.


Chorus

Am I not miserable here by myself,
Not hearing the voice of cock, blackbird or corncrake,
Sparrow, thrush, or even the snipe,
And I do not even recognise Sundays


Chorus

 If only I had a skiff and oar
I would row upon the flood-tide,
Hoping to God to arrive safely,
So that I will be in Ireland where I die.


Chorus 

Many’s the sight that I saw
From Garron Point to the Moyle,
A great fleet driven by the wind;
And King Charlie’s armada.

Chorus

If I were in Cushendun
Where all my friends are,
I would find music there, drink and games,
And I would not die alone.

Chorus

May seven curses on the world,
It is more treacherous than death;
It lured me from my own people,
As the lamb would be lured from the sheep.

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Here are a few version online. Over on Spotify, Anúna's world-shattering arrangement is well worth a listen. Below is another of my favourite versions of Airdí Cuan, recorded by Doimnic Mhic Giolla Bhríde's Cór Thaobh a' Leithid from Gaoth Dobhair in Donegal.