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The Story Of Island Roan
- Published 24 February 2008
- Scotland History
INTRODUCTION by S. Mackay
Grandson of the author
The first time I went to Island Roan was when I was around eight years old. I was in a small rowing boat with my father and Willie John, as well as about a dozen sheep. Willie John often put sheep on to the island to graze in the summer months. Those rolling swells were coming pretty close to the top of our wee boat, and I can remember being afraid of the dark and endless deep as we crossed to the island. However, Willie John thought nothing of it. He had done the journey a thousand times, having been brought up on the island.
When anyone mentions 'the island' to me, those are some of the images that flash through my mind. My grandfather, John George Mackay, was born on Island Roan and was in fact the last of our family to be born there. In his later years he realised that the highlands, and especially the islands, were changing. He was concerned that the ways of the island people would be lost in time, and soon nobody would be able to recall the way things were on his little island. So he set about writing his booklet - The Story of Island Roan.
John George Mackay passed away in 1968 but his book has lived on, slowly spreading the knowledge he was so determined to keep alive. So if you want to find out about the real Scotland, grab a mug of tea and settle down to the story of Island Roan. I leave you with his own preface, written in Borgie in 1962.
PREFACE by John George Mackay
My reason for putting in book form the story of Eilean-nan-Ron is to help to preseve the memory of this once prosperous and happy little island. I was born on the island and spent my childhood and adolescent years there, and now, with old age creeping over me, and having to spend most of my days alone, I often think of those happy times on the island. Now that the island is desolate and its surviving natives getting fewer, I feared that soon there would be no-one left to recall the old days. The thought grieved me. Why, I said to myself, why allow the memory of my island to die? But then, how was it going to be kept alive? There was no-one left capable of writing the history of its habitation. I knew full well, with my limited education, that I could not do this either. Nevertheless, I decided to try, and I thought, however simply written the book might be, it might serve as a dedication to the memory of the industrious and God fearing people who spent their lives on the island.
J.G.Mackay, Number 6 Borgie, 1962
Grandson of the author
The first time I went to Island Roan was when I was around eight years old. I was in a small rowing boat with my father and Willie John, as well as about a dozen sheep. Willie John often put sheep on to the island to graze in the summer months. Those rolling swells were coming pretty close to the top of our wee boat, and I can remember being afraid of the dark and endless deep as we crossed to the island. However, Willie John thought nothing of it. He had done the journey a thousand times, having been brought up on the island.
When anyone mentions 'the island' to me, those are some of the images that flash through my mind. My grandfather, John George Mackay, was born on Island Roan and was in fact the last of our family to be born there. In his later years he realised that the highlands, and especially the islands, were changing. He was concerned that the ways of the island people would be lost in time, and soon nobody would be able to recall the way things were on his little island. So he set about writing his booklet - The Story of Island Roan.
John George Mackay passed away in 1968 but his book has lived on, slowly spreading the knowledge he was so determined to keep alive. So if you want to find out about the real Scotland, grab a mug of tea and settle down to the story of Island Roan. I leave you with his own preface, written in Borgie in 1962.
PREFACE by John George Mackay
My reason for putting in book form the story of Eilean-nan-Ron is to help to preseve the memory of this once prosperous and happy little island. I was born on the island and spent my childhood and adolescent years there, and now, with old age creeping over me, and having to spend most of my days alone, I often think of those happy times on the island. Now that the island is desolate and its surviving natives getting fewer, I feared that soon there would be no-one left to recall the old days. The thought grieved me. Why, I said to myself, why allow the memory of my island to die? But then, how was it going to be kept alive? There was no-one left capable of writing the history of its habitation. I knew full well, with my limited education, that I could not do this either. Nevertheless, I decided to try, and I thought, however simply written the book might be, it might serve as a dedication to the memory of the industrious and God fearing people who spent their lives on the island.
J.G.Mackay, Number 6 Borgie, 1962
