‘Innsibh dhomh sgeulachd, a Sheanair.’

Bha e tràth san fheasgar ach bha Eubha, trì bliadhna a dh’aois, a’ leigeil oirre gun robh an t-àm ann dhi a dhol don leabaidh.

This is the second epigraph of the novel, ‘An Ròs a Leigheas’. But what, or who, is the Rose of Sharon?

Is e seo dara ro-sgrìobhadh na nobhail, An Ròs a Leigheas. Ach dè, no cò, a bha ann an Ròs o Sharon?

No man can say, no man remember, how many uses there are for Oil of Roses as a cure for mankind’s ailments. Walahfrid Strabo (808 – 849)

These words appear as the first epigraph in the novel An Ròs a Leigheas (The Healing Rose).

No man can say, no man remember, how many uses there are for Oil of Roses as a cure for mankind’s ailments. Walahfrid Strabo (808 – 849)

Tha na faclan seo a’ nochdadh mar a’ chiad ro-sgrìobhadh anns an nobhail, An Ròs a Leigheas.

At first, he didn’t know how to cope with the heartbreak. On the morning train and at the office, people were engaged in their work as usual – apparently, everything was as it should be.

Aig an toiseach, cha robh fios aige ciamar a dhèiligeadh e ris a’ bhriseadh-cridhe. Air an trèana sa mhadainn agus anns an oifis, bha na daoine an sàs anns an obair aca mar as àbhaist – a rèir coltais, bha a h-uile càil a’ dol mar bu chòir.

Tha na rannan a leanas stèidhichte air a’ bhàrdachd Laidinn, Ubi Caritas. ’S dòcha gum b’ e Paulinus Aquileia a sgrìobh na faclan san ochdamh linn.

The narrator of An Ròs a Leigheas (The Rose that Heals) is Thomas Moray, fool to King James the Fourth of Scotland.

’S e Tòmas Moireibh, amadan an Rìgh Sheumais a Ceithir, a dh’innseas an sgeulachd ‘An Ròs a Leigheas’ dhuinn.

Light was fading on the sultry afternoon. I think I was coming back from the shop although I wasn’t carrying anything.

Bha am feasgar bruthainneach a’ ciaradh. Tha mi a’ smaoineachadh gun robh mi a’ tighinn dhachaigh bhon bhùth ach cha robh mi a’ giùlan càil.

At an early stage, it was recognised that travelling between cities and nations was hazardous.

Cha b' fhada gus an robh e follaiseach gun robh siubhal bho bhaile-mòr gu baile-mòr agus bho dhùthaich gu dùthaich cunnartach.

'Please accept my condolences for the loss of your mother,' said the surgeon.

Awkward silence.

Far, far in the future, the citizens of the Southern Province have become disillusioned with democracy. They are afraid that a charismatic buffoon may be voted in as their President.

The tumultuous applause died down. The lion-tamer closed the cage door easily behind her and turned to the captivated audience.

'Dear friends,' said the king of the mice. A small but affectionate group had gathered behind the skirting board.