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ALEXANDRA O'BRYAN-TEAR

Alexandra O'Bryan-Tear was born Alexandra MacDonald, in May 1927, in Stornoway. Her family came from Bernaray, and belonged to that part of the Lewis Mac Donalds known as na Goiligeanaich (that was how Addie pronounced it; she did not say what it signified). To her Highland and other Scottish friends she was always known as Addie, while to her friends from the south she was Sandra. Addie's father was Peter MacDonald, who is still well remembered in Lewis. He was the first in the island to own a motor-bike. In his time he was a well-known singer of Gaelic songs, but eventually he got the cùram and thereafter sang only psalms. He was the precentor of the Kirk. Addie's mother was, in spite of her small stature, a formidable woman. She was a teacher, and must have been something of a martinet. She was a great purist when it came to the Gaelic language, insisting upon exact usage and vocabulary.

Addie was the middle of three children: there was an elder sister, Hetty, and a younger brother, Peter, both of whom predeceased her. They were brought up in the atmosphere of the Kirk and in accordance with its strict and, to Addie, oppressive rules. One result of that was to put her off religion for life, except as a philosophic concept. But one can imagine the consternation that must have been experienced by her family when she announced her engagement to Terry O'Bryan-Tear, a Roman Catholic. She answered an incredulous inquiry from her mother about this with a telegram which said 'Am marrying even if Buddhist.' The word promptly got about Stornoway that she was indeed marrying a Buddhist.

Hetty and Addie were educated at the Nicolson Institute in Lewis, where Hetty eventually became dux and Addie proxima accessit. Thence they went to Edinburgh University, where Addie read English and philosophy.

The two sisters then came to London, and were quickly absorbed into the life of Gaelic London, and in particular into Coisir Lunnainn, the London Gaelic Choir. They brought a lively influence to bear upon the Choir, and were called 'the Fill-oros' by the then conductor. Addie remained a singing member of the choir for the rest of her life, notwithstanding prolonged periods spent abroad. For some years she was Gaelic instructress to the Choir. This was a job that she took immensely seriously, though she did not much enjoy it, and did not rely entirely upon her own knowledge and judgment over pronunciation and usage. She frequently referred matters of language to her mother, whom she regarded as the final authority, or to her first cousin, Professor Derek Thomson. Addie herself was a great stickler for correct pronunciation and usage, and could not bear to hear the language mispronounced or misused. She herself had a huge fund of songs, and very often knew a verse of an otherwise well-known song which no-one else knew and which she had learnt from her father. She never lost an opportunity of singing. Hetty was the same in this respect, and also visited with scorn anyone who mistreated the language or the songs. There were from time to time some majestic ceilidhs at Addie's house in London or in Hetty's house in Inverness, when both sisters were there, which would continue well into the night, or the morning.

Addie was an assiduous attender at the functions of Comunn Gaidhlig Lunnainn (the Gaelic Society of London) for all her time in London, though she did not actually join the Society (taking the view that there was no need to be a member) until much later. She was a founder member of the Highlands and Islands Society of London.

Addie used to love going to the National Mod. She quite liked listening to the competitions, of which she was sharply critical, particularly the Gold Medal events, but most of all she used to say that her favourite part of a Mod was the 'bedroom ceilidhs', when too many people would cram themselves into a hotel bedroom, with a bottle or two of whisky, and sing songs. She was not averse from a dram or two herself, and in the days when everyone went to a nearby pub after choir practice, her order was always 'té mhór le sòda 's déigh'. However, for the last years of her life she had touched not a drop.

The Choir was one of the great loves of Addie's life, and although she did not travel to the Mod for the last few years, she stuck enthusiastically to the Choir, although considerably upset by the changes in the policy relating to the Choir's repertoire.

Addie had a large repertoire of stories and of limericks, not all of them polite. Some of the stories were Gaelic ones, which, of course, were much funnier in that language than in English. The limericks, that is, the less polite ones, included some recognisable as being from a very rare book of unseemly verse which was either the collection of or the property of Princess Höhenlohe-Ingelfingen, an American, who was very much around in London in the immediate post-war years. One of Addie's favourite stories was this one:

Uair bha dithis peathraichean agus iad a' fuireach àite air chòr-eigin anns a' Ghaidhealtachd. Cha robh iad gu math òg, ged nach e caillich a bha annta. Bha iad air a bhith fuireach, an dithis aca, anns an tigh ud fad am beatha. Agus bha cat aca, agus gràdh mór aca air an cat bheag. Bha beatha uamhasach comhfhurtail aig a' chat, bha aice ('s e cat boireann a bha innte) a h-uile rud a bha 'na miann, ach aon rud. Cha leig iad a mach i ás an tigh idir. Bha grunn mór chat fireann anns an sgìre, agus bha fhìos aig na peathraichean gu'n deanadh iad rudan uamhasach ris a' chat bheag aca. Mar sin, bha i a' fuireach daonnan taobh a stigh an tighe. Thàinig an latha nuair a chuala muinntir a' bhaile ud naidheachd nach do chreid duine sam bith: bha té de na peathraichean gu bhith pòsda! Do-chreideach! Co dhiubh, thàinig an latha, agus a h-uile duine anns an eaglais. Gu dearbh, sud far an robh an dithis aca, agus duine, agus am minisdear, agus phòs an duine té de na peathraichean. Agus an déidh mór chuirmeachd, dh'fhalbh iad airson mìos nam pòg. Cha robh an té eile 'na aonar riamh roimhe, agus cha bu toigh leatha sin idir. Gach latha bha i 'na feitheamh ri litir bho a piuthar. Chaidh dà latha seachad gun litir. Trì laithean, gun litir. Ceithir laithean, gun fiù càirt-phuist. Ach aig ceann seachduin thàinig tealagram. Chuir an té an tealagram air a' bhòrd, gun a bhith 'ga fhosgladh, oir bha fhìos aice gu'm bitheadh droch naidheachd ann, mar a b'abhaist. Ach aig ceann ùin' fhada, dh'fhosgail i e. Cha robh ann ach ceithir faclan: 'LEIG A-MACH AN CAT!' *

She was not only strict about Gaelic but also English, and readily admitted to being a pedant in this respect. She hated the misuse of words, such as 'less' instead of 'fewer' (and vice versa), and split infinitives. She practically ground her teeth with fury at hearing a BBC news reader recently referring to the 'withdroral' [sic] of troops from somewhere or another. If in doubt on any linguistic question, she would verify her view from either Chambers English Dictionary or Dwelly's Gaelic-English Dictionary, relating that her mother always had Dwelly near at hand in case of need - that, of course, was the original three-volume edition. Whichever it was, it usually confirmed her view.

When first in London, she worked at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, and was posted to Germany just after the War. She spoke German as well as French and Gaelic. Whilst in Germany she met Terry O'Bryan-Tear, a diplomat who was also in MI6. Addie used to explain that his surname was partly French and partly Manx: O'Bryan was an anglicisation of Chaix Bryan, while Tear was an abbreviated form of the Manx Macatear: Mac an t-Saoir (or MacIntyre). They were married in 1952. This should have been in St. Columba's in London, but that church had been bombed, and so they were actually married in St. Saviours, nearby. With Terry, she moved around the world, being posted to Moscow, Stockholm, Aden, Manila, Singapore and Bahrein. They separated at that point, and Terry's final posting was to Switzerland. She returned to London, and resumed her place in the Gaelic aspect of that city and the Choir. Latterly she was also private secretary to Roy Jenkins, and, one gathered, well able to assist him with the literary problems that arose in writing his autobiography.

Addie was immensely patriotic. That did not apply only to Scotland, or, more particularly, to the Highlands, but also specifically to Lewis. Never a ceilidh in London would pass without someone singing the Lewis national anthem, Eilean Fraoich, on hearing which Addie would rise to her feet and stand at the salute as the first chorus was sung: 'Eilean Fraoich, Eilean Fraoich, Eilean Fraoich 'nam beann àrd; Far an d'fhuair mi m'àrach òg, Eilean Leodhais mo ghràidh.'

Addie will be greatly missed by all who knew her. She is survived by her three children, Catherine, Gillies, and Nicholas, and by the seven grandchildren whom she loved dearly and of whom she was exceedingly proud.

Angus Nicol

* Once there were two sisters living somewhere in the Highlands. They were not very young, though they were not old women either. The two of them had lived together in that house all their lives. And they had a cat, a much loved cat. The cat lived a life of great comfort and everything she (it was a female cat) might desire she had, but for one thing. She was never allowed out of the house. There were many male cats in the neighbourhood, and the sisters knew that they would do dreadful things to their little cat. So she lived indoors all the time. A day came when the people of the village heard something which they couldn't believe. One of the sisters was to be married! Incredible! However, the day came, and everyone went to the church. There, sure enough, were the two sisters, and a man, and the minister, and the man was married to one of the sisters. And after great celebrations, they went away for their honeymoon. She who was left had never been alone before in her life, and she did not like it at all. Every day she waited for a letter from her sister. Two days passed with no letter. Three days, without a letter. Four days, without even a post-card. But at the end of a week there came a telegram. She put the telegram on the table without opening it, because she knew that it would be bad news as they always were. But after a long time, she opened it. It contained only four words: 'LET OUT THE CAT!'

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