As the dark moon is upon us this month and the winter solstice approaches, naturally thoughts turn to the Cailleach here in Scotland. The Crone of Winter some call her; she is the one who made the landscape as the old tales tell. She shoes up in the romantic poetry of the eighteenth century, such as these self-deprecating lines from Orain Ghaidhealach /Gaelic Songs of Uilleam/William Ross.

ORAN EADAR AM BARD, AGUS CAILLEAGH-MHILLEADH-NAN-DAN: in the flyting tradition of Scots (and Norse) poetry, a good natured ribbing occurs between poets competing for favour — sometimes quite scathing, as in rap battles of modern times. This poem is presented as a flyting between the romantic swain and the wise old Cailleach, who in disparaging the poet’s claim to his lemman’s beauty speaks more to his focus on superficial appearance than to the young woman’s charms — suggesting his love is as shallow as his looking.