It seems that a young woman from the Laggan district, who was working as a dairymaid in Cluny, about four miles west of Kingussie, and the son of one of the Clan Chattan gentry — the son of the Laird of Breac-achaidh — were in love with one another. This did not please his family at all, and the young man was sent away into the army by his parents so that he would no longer have any opportunity to see the dairymaid.
When autumn came and harvest-time arrived, it appears that it was customary among the Badenoch youth to go out two by two — boy and girl, boy and girl — to reap each ridge. The poor dairymaid went out to the harvest field, but no young man came forward to help her.
As a result, she had no choice but to begin reaping the barley on her own, and it is said that she finished her reaping before anyone else, even though the others were working in pairs, helping one another.
While she was reaping, she had been composing a song, and when the others reached the place where she was sitting at the end of the ridge, she began to sing it.
That is how the story and the words of the song were given by the Rev. Thomas Sinton, who made a collection of songs and poetry from Badenoch, published in 1906. The song exists in many versions and is sometimes combined with another song. These are the words most commonly heard.
Chorus
Fàill ill ò agus hò ro eile
Fàill ill ò agus hò ro eile
Fàill ill ò agus hò ro eile
O young lad for whom I rose — and not for us.
Verse
Do you not think I was the one to be pitied,
On an autumn evening in the harvest field;
Every girl with her own lad at her shoulder,
And my brown-haired love out on the far seas.
I would walk, I would walk, I would walk myself with you,
I would walk far with you through the branching woods;
And when I was young and lacking in sense,
It was your love that led me astray.
My mother promised me a gold ring,
My father promised me a cow byre;
But though I gained those and the wide world besides,
Greatly would I still prefer the love of the young man.
Beloved sister, deal gently with me;
Keep the cattle and the calves apart;
And though I took my bag and begged my way,
Do not withhold from me my chosen mate.
If I were to see you beyond the cattle-pen,
I would smash the churn and throw aside the tether;
I would put my two arms around you —
And who, my love, would keep you from me then?
Berries ripen in the springtime,
Apples grow on the tops of branches;
They bring to my mind my lover’s kiss,
Each one of them with the taste of honey.