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An do mhothaich sibh riamh do na badain de mhion-mheanglan a tha gu tric ann an duilleach na craoibhe-beithe? Tha iad coltach ri sguaban, nach eil? ʼS e sin a th’ annta – sguaban bhana-bhuidseach. Agus ciamar a fhuair iad ann? Uill, seo mar a thachair e.

            Bha uaireigin dithis bhràithrean – Ailig agus Eairdsidh – a bha nan croitearan ann an Earra-Ghàidheal. B’ e Ailig a bu shine dhiubh. ʼS ann leis-san a bha a’ chroit agus ʼs ann aigesan a bha ceannas. Bha e a’ pàigheadh tuarastal do dh’Eairdsidh de bhonn-a-sia san t-seachdain nuair a bha e a’ smaoineachadh gun robh e iomchaidh.

            Latha a bha seo, bha Ailig is Eairdsidh a’ togail gàrradh. Nochd fear-siubhail. ‘An ann leibh fhèin a tha am fearann seo?’ dh’fhaighnich e.

            ‘Chan ann,’ fhreagair Ailig. ‘Carson?’

            ‘Bu mhath leam cead fhaighinn beagan dhen fhraoch sin fhaighinn,’ thuirt am fear-siubhail. Bha fraoch fada a’ fàs air taobh thall a’ ghàrraidh.

            ‘Faodaidh tu fraoch a tharraing gun chead iarraidh,’ thuirt Ailig. ‘Dè nì thu leis?’

            ‘Sguaban airson reic,’ thuirt am fear eile.

            ‘Dè gheibh thu air gach sguaib?’ dh’fhaighnich Eairdsidh.

            ‘Gheibh bonn-a-sia mar as trice.’

            ‘Agus dè cho fad ʼs a bheir e dhut sguab a dhèanamh?’ thuirt Eairdsidh.

            ‘Dà uair a thìde,’ ars am fear-siubhail.

            ‘Dà uair a thìde?!’ thuirt Eairdsidh. ‘Cosgaidh e seachdain dhomh bonn-a-sia a chosnadh! Nuair a tha mo bhràthair ann an sunnd mhath.’

Thuirt Ailig gum faodadh am fear-siubhail eallach de fhraoch a thoirt leis. Leum am fear-siubhail thar a’ ghàrraidh. Tharraing e fraoch gus an robh gad aige. ‘Taing dhuibh,’ thuirt e, agus thòisich e air an rathad.

            Lean Eairdsidh air. Chuir e stad air. ‘A bheil e furasta sguab a dhèanamh?’ dh’fhaighnich e. ‘Furasta gu leòr,’ fhreagair am fear-siubhail. Mhìnich e dha ciamar a dhèanadh e tè dha fhèin. Thug Eairdsidh taing dha, agus thill e.

            ‘Siuthad a-nis, Eairdsidh,’ thuirt a bhràthair. ‘Tha obair againn ri dhèanamh.’

Have you ever noticed the clumps of small twigs that are often in the foliage of the birch tree? They are like brooms, aren’t they? Thatʼs what they are – witches’ brooms. And how did they get there? Well, hereʼs how it happened.

        There were at one time two brothers – Alex and Archie – who were crofters in Argyll. Alex was the elder of them. He owned the  croft and he was the leader. He was paying wages to Archie of sixpence a week when he thought it was appropriate.

        One day Alex and Archie were building a dyke. A travelling man appeared. ‘Does this land belong to you?’ he asked.

        ‘No,’ replied Alex. ‘Why?’

        ‘I’d like to get permission to get a little of that heather,’ said the traveller. There was long heather growing on the far side of the dyke.

        ‘You can pull heather without asking permission,’ said Alex. ‘What will you make with it?’

        ‘Brooms for selling,’ said the other man.

        ‘What do you get for each broom?’ asked Archie.

        ‘Sixpence usually.’

        ‘And how long does it take to make a broom?’ said Archie.

        ‘Two hours,’ said the travelling man.

        ‘Two hours?!’ said Archie. ‘It takes me a week to make sixpence! When my brother is in a good mood.’

        Alex said that the travelling man could take a load of heather with him. The traveller leaped over the dyke. He pulled heather until he had a shoulder-load. ‘Thanks,’ he said, and he started on the road.

        Archie followed him. He stopped him. ‘Is it easy to make a broom?’ he asked. ‘Easy enough,’ replied the traveller. He explained to him how he would make one for himself. Archie thanked him and he returned.

        ‘There you go, Archie,’ said his brother. ‘We have work to do.’