The Story Of Island Roan
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Published on 24 February 2008
CHAPTER ONE
This is the story of an Island, Eilean nan Ron ("The Island of the Seals"), commonly known as Island Roan. I shall be referring to it as I go along as "The Island".
Once it was the home of a compact community surrounded by the unending music of the sea - a people with sheep and boats. They harvested from the land and from the ocean. Today, on the green plateau above the dark cliffs, stand the empty houses, clearly visible from the mainland. The island and the sea, with its music, remain, but the people have gone. How did it happen? Well, come with me in my story.
It is a small island of about 700 acres, and is a mile from the mainland at its nearest point. Its coastline is very rocky and high, and at some points the cliffs rise to several hundred feet above the sea. It is mostly covered with peat and heather, and there are several springs of good clear water. In the driest of summers there was never a shortage of water. According to record, the first settlers on the island were at the time of the Clearances in the early part of the 19th century. But there is a legend that the first person to live there was an outlaw, banished from the mainland. He was said to be a reiver or pirate, and a very wily one he was, too. Supplies of food were taken to him from time to time, but he was never allowed off the island. He was able to collect driftwood, and he soon built himself a boat, in which he started to raid the mainland. He went raiding as far as the Orkneys. He painted his boat white on one side and red on the other. People watching would see a white boat passing along the coast and later a red one sailing in the opposite direction, and so they never knew it was the same boat; in this way he baffled his pursuers.
But the first authoritative island inhabitants were three young couples who came down to the coast from the glens and made their way to the Island. They reared families and so the habitation of the island began. Soon several acres of the best land in the centre of the island were brought into cultivation, and limited numbers of cattle and sheep were maintained at first. Later, however, the islanders were permitted to summer the cattle on the mainland, and so they were able to increase the numbers. But fishing was the island's mainstay. However, as was the case all round the northern seaboard, the boats were small, around 35 feet in length, and only the fore-half had decked accommodation. With these sailing boats the islanders went as far as Stornoway on the west coast, and Wick on the east coast. In the second week of May all the able-bodied men left one at a time. Because of the smallness of the boats their earning capacity was limited so around the year 1870, the Duke of Sutherland gave the islanders a brand new boat, fully decked, to be paid for in yearly instalments according to their earnings. They named the boat the Duke. A few years later the islanders bought another boat of the same kind, to meet the needs of the growing population. With the larger and better equipped boats they were much more successful. Eventually they bought two new and much larger boats, well over 50 feet in length, with a steam capstan for hauling the nets. Fishing was now much easier, and about 1905 the steam drifter came on the scene, and it was clear that the days of the sail-boat were nearing to an end. Five years later the islanders chartered a steam drifter, with which they carried on until the First World War. They went after the herring all the year round, first on the west coast of Scotland for a month or so, operating from the port of Stornoway and from Mallaig; then on the east coast from June to September. After a short rest, while the boats and gear were being repaired, they set off to the East Anglian fishing at Great Yarmouth and Lowestoft, up to the end of November. In the earlier days when the cattle were ferried across to the mainland, they were driven for several miles inland into an area called in Gaelic the "Airigh." There bothies of turf and stone were built, and were known as Sheilings.
The young women of the island tended the cattle all summer. They milked the cows, made butter, crowdy and cheese, and preserved it in small kegs provided for the purpose. This was to last them all winter on the island. During a short period at the beginning of October the men went seal hunting. That was the time of year when the seals had their young in the numerous caves around the island. After a fortnight the mother could take her youngster out to teach him the art of swimming and fending for himself. I remember as a boy, on fine sunny days, visiting the baby seals sleeping on the rocks around the island. We used to catch them with the greatest of ease as they had no sense of fear at that stage. We would carry them home in our arms to play with for a while. We tried to tame them but it never proved successful. They would eat nothing but fresh fish, and that was not always obtainable. There were hundreds of seals around, and they could be shot and killed at any time of the year, but it was the bull which the islanders were after. Although the bull was always distinguishable from the female, he was never easy to catch. Even when shot he would wriggle into the sea and finally drown. The blubber of a drowned seal is always slightly tainted and would not preserve so well. Hence their reasons for catching them on dry land.
The only time this could be done was when the seals were having their young. The bull almost always attended his spouse at that time, and therefore could also be found in the cave. He could be killed with a club quite easily, but both the bull and the female could be quite dangerous when cornered. The bull, if not swiftly knocked out, would attack immediately. By properly organised expeditions, the islanders were able to get the seals they wanted. The blubber was melted down, put into bottles and used for the cattle and sheep throughout the winter. The islanders would also take a small drop of the oil themselves, and the older folk, to help their rheumatics, would rub some of the oil on the affected part, and would claim it was doing them good.
There lies to the north-west of the main island another small island, where, in a cave the seals have their young. This cave is completely closed at its entrance by the sea, except at the height of the spring tides and at full moon and new moon; even then it is open only in a half-moon shape, for about half an hour. Minutes before it opens and closes again it gives forth an enormous sound similar to an airplane close above. Inside, the cave opens up into a huge cavern with a large shingly beach and a very narrow slit right up through the rock for about a hundred feet to the top. It is here, then, that the seals have their headquarters. They bask in the sun on a large flat rock which lies about 200 yards out from the cave mouth. The only way to enter the cave is by raft. I remember hearing about one adventure.
The raft was made ready days beforehand; for buoyancy small canvas or sheepskin buoys were laced around the raft. On this particular trip the weather and tide were favourable, so three men set off on the raft. As the cave opening was only about three feet at its highest point, it was necessary for the men to lie flat on the raft and paddle with small paddles specially made for the occasion. Attached to the raft, for safety's sake, was a line from the boat. Along with their other gear they also had to carry a paraffin lantern as there were no torches in those days. When they reached the beach it was covered with seals, old and young. Time was very limited, so after killing six of the seals these had to be tied to the raft. This was no easy matter, and took more time than expected. Meanwhile, frantic signals were being made on the line by those in the boat - the mouth of the cave was closing. Indeed, it was closed in a matter of minutes. It was then that the three on the raft realised their desperate situation. They signalled to be pulled out, which was easily done, until they reached the entrance. Then it was a case of pushing the raft with its load under water. This could not be done without slitting the buoys and letting the air out. Consequently they found themselves sinking, raft and all. However, by desperately pulling on the line, they soon managed to surface on the outside without any further mishap. It had been a nerve-wracking experience.
CHAPTER FOUR
Our next teacher was a lady from Strathnaver. Her methods were entirely different from those to which we had been used, but she was first-class. She taught us most subjects, including singing, while she taught the girls sewing. She even taught the boys how to make their own clothes. When she first started in our school, she had her moments of great amusement. For example, with our old master we had spoken a lot of Gaelic in school. We had Gaelic names for all our books, consequently we didn't bother to acquaint ourselves with the English names. We referred in Gaelic also to other items connected with our education, so when our new teacher came on the scene and asked for this, that and the next thing in English, we, of course, were confused and bamboozled.
Many years later, while on a visit to her old home from the U.S.A., where she went to be married after leaving the island, she met me, and we had a long talk together. She spoke of the old school days. What had amused her most was when she had asked for any particular book and we did not know what she meant. Apparently we had put our heads together, asked each other in Gaelic what she was wanting now. Since she herself was a fluent Gaelic speaker, she easily understood what we were saying. That must indeed have been extremely amusing to her.
She was very fond of the sea and very quickly learned the art of rowing - so much so, that not very long after she came to Island Roan she'd cross over in a small boat from Skerray, two miles away. At times this could be a very tricky crossing, depending on the state of the tide. After two or three years under our new teacher, we all made good strides in our education, and we lost our fear of mixing with other children. We could hold our own way with the best of them, and we felt very proud.
On one particular occasion we were asked to go to Skerray school for our examinations. I was in Class Five at the time. The inspector recommended four of us for higher education. Only one of the four took advantage of this, and ended up a chief superintendent engineer. Our teacher was extremely delighted with us that day, and it was one of the highlights of her career on the island. At the end of the school term the following year, and, strangely enough, coinciding with her departure from the island, nine of us left school. Although there were three or four pupils coming in, our leaving was a severe blow. Never again did the number of pupils go above 12. The decline had set in, and from then on, as in many another Highland township, there were many vacant seats, until, in the end, several years later, the school door closed for the last time.
The island folks were very religious. The Sabbath day and all its rules were strictly observed. In favourable weather a number of the people would go over to the mainland to attend church at Skerray. If this could not be done, a service would be held, both morning and evening, in the school. Woe betide us children if we were caught playing on that day. It was customary in every home on the island to have family prayers morning and evening, on Sunday. The catechism would be brought out by the head of the family, and each member had to repeat both question and answer in Gaelic as it was laid down in that wee book. Children had to go through the same performance as their elders.
I well remember, when I was a young boy, my grandfather taking me on his knee on Sunday night and expounding from the Gaelic catechism the meaning of all the commandments. My childish brain would be all in a muddle not realising then what it all meant. All the same, on many occasions afterwards, when temptations would be coming my way, I would always remember what I was taught in my childhood, and would adhere to what I believed to be the right path.
As I have already mentioned, medical assistance was seldom called for on the island, and when it happened that such assistance was vitally necessary, it was a laborious job to get the doctor. A boat would have to go to Tongue pier for him and bring him back again, a distance of five miles each way. However, in case of unsuitable weather the doctor would go to Lamigo, the nearest point from the island on the mainland. This, of course, meant paying for a horse and gig from the hotel.
At the beginning of the century there was a doctor in Tongue who happened to be of very small stature. He was full of humour and a fluent Gaelic speaker. Oddly enough he never cared to speak the old language very much, and very rarely to his patients, even if they could not understand English. On one occasion, while visiting the island, he found the weather too rough to land. One of the crew had to carry him on his back across large slippery boulders to the shore. It was one Donald who volunteered for the job. When Donald and the doctor were two or three yards away from the boat, another member of the crew shouted in Gaelic, "Is there much weight in him, Donald?" Donald paused, turned his head halfway round and shouted back in the same language, "No, about the weight of a small cockerel." Then off he went again, staggering on the slippery rocks. The doctor, lying on Donald's back, was enjoying the whole thing immensely, so with his mouth close to Donald's ear he whispered in Gaelic, "A little more than that, Donald; a little more than that." He then burst out laughing. Donald got such a shock that he let the doctor slip off his back and they both fell into a pool of sea water. Two of the crew had to come to the rescue, and between them carry the doctor along to the shore and him laughing all the time, when they finally set him on dry land. He thanked them and said in Gaelic, "Well, boys, that was worth the wetting; I tell you I enjoyed it."
Incidentally, although the language of the island was Gaelic, with the exception of two or three of the men, all could understand English and speak it as well. All the men folk, of course, were away all the summer amongst English speaking people. It was the women who never got the chance to get away who found themselves in an awkward situation when confronted with visitors.
In earlier years when there were no men left on the island during the summer months, the women did all the work connected with the sea. Accordingly, they became expert boatswomen. They had in their crew of six one woman who could not speak Gaelic. She came from Orkney. She was my grandmother, and when she married my grandfather and came to live on the island she did not realise at the time what was ahead of her. I remember quite well her telling me how she would be crying to herself when the others in the boat would be blethering away in a language she could not understand. However, as time went on, she began to learn the language, and after a few years could speak it fluently.
CHAPTER FIVE
Before transport became available, the only visitors to Island Roan during the summer would be the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland, almost always accompanied by several guests. They came by sea in their yacht, the Catania. The Duchess (Lady Millicent) took a great liking to the island and visited it a great many times during her life.
On what probably was her first visit, she landed on the island in the yacht's steam pinnace. The pinnace's coxwain didn't know the danger from rocks which lay hidden near the entrance to the harbour. Consequently, the pinnace slid gently on to a ledge of rock which was fortunately covered with seaweed. The sea was calm at the time and there was no immediate danger. As always, the children were on the alert, and seeing what happened, gave the alarm. The women at once launched their boat and came to the rescue. Soon they had the pinnace off the rock. The Duchess, highly delighted, thanked them on their expert knowledge and seamanship.
A few days later she visited the island again, accompanied by a local dressmaker from the mainland. she had all the women measured for a dress of their own choosing. Years later, after the moths discovered the hiding place of my Granny's dress, I found myself a young laddie wearing a kilt made from it.
At this time there lived on the island a teenage lad who went about on crutches. His name was Donald. Later he became known as Donald the Weaver. Donald severely injured his right knee when he was a very young boy. When the duchess saw him hobbling about on crutches, she at once inquired as to the cause of his trouble. Donald told her all about his injury and how it happened. Her Grace was greatly moved by Donald's story, and made arrangements for him to go at once to Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, all expenses to be paid by herself. After their examination the doctors said the only hope was to have the leg amputated. This Donald refused to agree to. The next best thing was to clean the diseased bones and patch up the knee; and after a few weeks he was home again.
Meanwhile the Duchess was making plans for his future. Shortly afterwards she sent Donald to Golspie to learn weaving. At the same time she put into operation the buiding of a mill for him to work when he was ready. The mill was built as near his home as possible, and in a convenient place beside the burn, halfway between Tongue and Skerray, at Strathtongue. To the great delight of the Duchess, Donald was at last installed in a job. He made blankets and various other kinds of garments. People were coming from all over the northern seaboard of the county with their wool to have it made into whatever garments they wanted, and Donald was kept very busy. Unfortunately, he nver enjoyed real peace with his leg. It continued to trouble him, and at times he suffered a lot of pain. The Duchess sent him again to the infirmary. As before, there was nothing they could do. Donald returned home refreshed once more, and went back to work, but not for long. He had to give up his work and return to the island. Two years later he died at the early age of 35. The mill was never used again, and its remains can still be seen there.
Most of the Duchess' visits to the island at that time were made from Tongue where she and the Duke were in residence at the House of Tongue. On some occasions, however, she would come from the Catania. It was in the Catania that we boys had our interests centred most. We would know her at sight, with her graceful clipper bows, yellow funnel, black hull and beautiful white upper structure. Great would be our delight when at last she would appear and always heading in our direction. We nurtured a great desire to get on board the Catania to see for ourselves what the yacht was like, but we hadn't the courage or nerve to ask the Duchess if this could be done. Besides, we would be severely rated by our parents if we did.
However, one day our desire was granted. Our delight knew no bounds. We were shown all over this beautiful ship. That was a memorable day, and we talked about it for long after. Incidentally, in September, 1915, 12 years later, I stood again on Catania's deck in Portsmouth harbour, but in very different circumstances. She was then a unit of the Royal Navy. Her commander was the Duchess' son, the present Duke of Sutherland. The following summer the Catania again anchored at the island, and as usual we were all down at the landing stage. Several of the old folk were there as well.
On this occasion the Duke and Duchess were accompanied by their beautiful daughter, Lady Rosemary, who was only about 12 years of age. One of the Duchess' favourite games was to stand us children in a line and number us, then she would ask her guests to pick out the different brothers and sisters. We enjoyed this, as did the Duchess herself and the guests as well. On one occasion the Duchess announced on arrival that she was going to visit every house as she was looking for old antique pieces of crockery. On the island at the time there still lived old Betty Macdonald, with her son, who never left the island. Neither of them spoke English, and we knew perfectly well that the Duchess' visit to their house would provide us with a bit of fun.
The Duchess, knowing quite well the circumstances, engaged the services of an interpreter, an Orkney girl, full of fun. We, of course, followed, keeping at a discreet distance. At the door they were met by the son, who explained to the old wife what the Duchess was looking for. There was an assortment of ancient crockery on a large, old-fashioned dresser, and the Duchess, with great care, began picking out pieces which attracted her. The old wife and son were standing looking on, and every time the Duchess would pick up an article they would whisper to one another in Gaelic, "She's not going to get that." The Duchess would turn to her interpreter and ask what they were saying. The whole thing was terribly amusing, and finally, after the Duchess did manage to get some articles she fancied and she came outside we all had a grand laugh, Her Grace joining in along with us. "I knew," she said, "you were enjoying yourselves".
CHAPTER SEVEN
For a few years, up to the beginning of the 1914 - 1918 war, the island was at its best. At the same time, it was becoming increasingly clear that the island was over populated, and some of the newly married young couples began to leave, making their homes in the fishing ports, which was more convenient for them. Then came the war and practically the end of the fishing.
Most of the island's young men were in the Royal Naval Reserve, and were immediately called up. Those of us not old enough to be in the Reserve before the war joined up right away. All told there were 18 from the island, 15 in the Navy, two in the Army and one in the Air Force, and all, except one of the Army chaps, came back when the war ended. By this time, however, everything was changed.
The fishing was only a shadow of its former self. It was quite clear then that the island's mainstay was gone never to return. The depopulation began in earnest. Whole families left all at once, some going to Australia, to Canada and the U.S.A., while others found jobs and homes on the mainland. Education was advancing, and having been all over the world during the war years, the younger generation had been given an insight into what was going on elsewhere, and that sealed the doom of the island. It was the same all around the north and west coast of Sutherland. The young people were leaving to make a living elsewhere.
Fishing and crofting as their forefathers knew was reduced to a shadow of what it used to be. As the years went by the island was becoming more and more depopulated. The little school was closed, except for the usual Sunday prayer meeting which was held there up to the last. There were no more children to shout and play around the happy little school. Finally, at the beginning of 1938, it became clear that the 12 inhabitants left would have to evacuate the island.
Of the 12 there were only four able-bodied men among them, and every time they had to do with the sea which was almost daily. The womenfolk, during rough weather, would be specially worried. Consequently, they found homes on the mainland. Nevertheless, they were reluctant to go, and stayed on until December 6 before they made the final crossing. Throughout that day they made several trips across to the mainland with their furniture, and when darkness began to come down they had gathered everything together, except for the hens which could not be caught until they went in to roost. This caused considerable delay.
With the darkness came a change in the weather, a storm coming in from the worst quarter, the north, and by the time the hens were finally secured, it was blowing a gale, and the sea was getting very rough. The women became exceedingly alarmed, but the crossing to Skerray had to be attempted as there was no food or anything now left in the houses. It looked as if nature was forbidding them to leave. However, after a wild and stormy crossing in the darkness of a December night, they reached Skerray safely, and so the lights on the island went out for the last time.
Talking to some of the women a few days later, I learned that they felt such a bleakness of sorrow creep over them as they looked back at their darkened homes that the thought of it all made them forget their fears of the storm. Yes, those of us who left the island a number of years before and knew what was happening on this same night could not help sharing in their sorrow. Out forever were the lights which had always welcomed us home at all times, and more especially during the war years; after a weary journey, the very sight of those lights warmed our hearts, and now they were out forever.
After a period of approximately 120 years, life on this happy little island came to an end, the wheel having gone round full circle.
Island Roan is located just off the north coast of Sutherland, in the far north of Scotland. It stands testimony to the way of life in the highlands and islands that once was. A way of life few of us today would consider comfortable by our modern standards.
Scotland - The Story Of Island Roan - Introduction
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
Scottish History - Island Roan - Foreward
FOREWARD
Eilean-nan-Ron* - there is magic in the name of it. There was kindness there and a welcoming. The visitor, whether on business or pleasure bent, had to call at every house; thereafter young and old conveyed the guest to the top of the almost perpendicular stairway leading to the jetty, and they parted with a blessing. They lived, those folk, near to the sea and close to their God. Some left for the Dominions early in the century. Today a few of the older folk live within sight of the Island; many of the younger have fared forth southwards. Wherever they are, their thoughts must oft return to their beloved rock-girt isle where soothing waves whisper in the calm, and where in the storm the caves resound with the pounding breakers. John George Mackay, a true son of the Island, has, in his semi-retirement, successfully accomplished the task he set himself to pass the winter evenings - the writing of this little saga. It will bring back a treasure of memories to the exile and to the chance reader it will afford a good deal of pleasure.
*Eilean-nan-Ron is Gaelic for 'Island of Seals'
Eilean nan Ron, Eilean nan Ron,
Eilean a's aillte dhomh 'n diugh fo na neoil;
'Se bhi fagail thu falamh d' fhag mo chridhe fo leon;
O is duilich leam 'nis bhi 'gad fhagail.
Donald Macleod M.A., F.S.A., Scot. Schoolhouse, Bettyhill - 12th of October, 1962
Eilean-nan-Ron* - there is magic in the name of it. There was kindness there and a welcoming. The visitor, whether on business or pleasure bent, had to call at every house; thereafter young and old conveyed the guest to the top of the almost perpendicular stairway leading to the jetty, and they parted with a blessing. They lived, those folk, near to the sea and close to their God. Some left for the Dominions early in the century. Today a few of the older folk live within sight of the Island; many of the younger have fared forth southwards. Wherever they are, their thoughts must oft return to their beloved rock-girt isle where soothing waves whisper in the calm, and where in the storm the caves resound with the pounding breakers. John George Mackay, a true son of the Island, has, in his semi-retirement, successfully accomplished the task he set himself to pass the winter evenings - the writing of this little saga. It will bring back a treasure of memories to the exile and to the chance reader it will afford a good deal of pleasure.
*Eilean-nan-Ron is Gaelic for 'Island of Seals'
Eilean nan Ron, Eilean nan Ron,
Eilean a's aillte dhomh 'n diugh fo na neoil;
'Se bhi fagail thu falamh d' fhag mo chridhe fo leon;
O is duilich leam 'nis bhi 'gad fhagail.
Donald Macleod M.A., F.S.A., Scot. Schoolhouse, Bettyhill - 12th of October, 1962
Scottish History - Island Roan - Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE This is the story of an Island, Eilean nan Ron ("The Island of the Seals"), commonly known as Island Roan. I shall be referring to it as I go along as "The Island".
Once it was the home of a compact community surrounded by the unending music of the sea - a people with sheep and boats. They harvested from the land and from the ocean. Today, on the green plateau above the dark cliffs, stand the empty houses, clearly visible from the mainland. The island and the sea, with its music, remain, but the people have gone. How did it happen? Well, come with me in my story.
It is a small island of about 700 acres, and is a mile from the mainland at its nearest point. Its coastline is very rocky and high, and at some points the cliffs rise to several hundred feet above the sea. It is mostly covered with peat and heather, and there are several springs of good clear water. In the driest of summers there was never a shortage of water. According to record, the first settlers on the island were at the time of the Clearances in the early part of the 19th century. But there is a legend that the first person to live there was an outlaw, banished from the mainland. He was said to be a reiver or pirate, and a very wily one he was, too. Supplies of food were taken to him from time to time, but he was never allowed off the island. He was able to collect driftwood, and he soon built himself a boat, in which he started to raid the mainland. He went raiding as far as the Orkneys. He painted his boat white on one side and red on the other. People watching would see a white boat passing along the coast and later a red one sailing in the opposite direction, and so they never knew it was the same boat; in this way he baffled his pursuers.
But the first authoritative island inhabitants were three young couples who came down to the coast from the glens and made their way to the Island. They reared families and so the habitation of the island began. Soon several acres of the best land in the centre of the island were brought into cultivation, and limited numbers of cattle and sheep were maintained at first. Later, however, the islanders were permitted to summer the cattle on the mainland, and so they were able to increase the numbers. But fishing was the island's mainstay. However, as was the case all round the northern seaboard, the boats were small, around 35 feet in length, and only the fore-half had decked accommodation. With these sailing boats the islanders went as far as Stornoway on the west coast, and Wick on the east coast. In the second week of May all the able-bodied men left one at a time. Because of the smallness of the boats their earning capacity was limited so around the year 1870, the Duke of Sutherland gave the islanders a brand new boat, fully decked, to be paid for in yearly instalments according to their earnings. They named the boat the Duke. A few years later the islanders bought another boat of the same kind, to meet the needs of the growing population. With the larger and better equipped boats they were much more successful. Eventually they bought two new and much larger boats, well over 50 feet in length, with a steam capstan for hauling the nets. Fishing was now much easier, and about 1905 the steam drifter came on the scene, and it was clear that the days of the sail-boat were nearing to an end. Five years later the islanders chartered a steam drifter, with which they carried on until the First World War. They went after the herring all the year round, first on the west coast of Scotland for a month or so, operating from the port of Stornoway and from Mallaig; then on the east coast from June to September. After a short rest, while the boats and gear were being repaired, they set off to the East Anglian fishing at Great Yarmouth and Lowestoft, up to the end of November. In the earlier days when the cattle were ferried across to the mainland, they were driven for several miles inland into an area called in Gaelic the "Airigh." There bothies of turf and stone were built, and were known as Sheilings.
The young women of the island tended the cattle all summer. They milked the cows, made butter, crowdy and cheese, and preserved it in small kegs provided for the purpose. This was to last them all winter on the island. During a short period at the beginning of October the men went seal hunting. That was the time of year when the seals had their young in the numerous caves around the island. After a fortnight the mother could take her youngster out to teach him the art of swimming and fending for himself. I remember as a boy, on fine sunny days, visiting the baby seals sleeping on the rocks around the island. We used to catch them with the greatest of ease as they had no sense of fear at that stage. We would carry them home in our arms to play with for a while. We tried to tame them but it never proved successful. They would eat nothing but fresh fish, and that was not always obtainable. There were hundreds of seals around, and they could be shot and killed at any time of the year, but it was the bull which the islanders were after. Although the bull was always distinguishable from the female, he was never easy to catch. Even when shot he would wriggle into the sea and finally drown. The blubber of a drowned seal is always slightly tainted and would not preserve so well. Hence their reasons for catching them on dry land.
The only time this could be done was when the seals were having their young. The bull almost always attended his spouse at that time, and therefore could also be found in the cave. He could be killed with a club quite easily, but both the bull and the female could be quite dangerous when cornered. The bull, if not swiftly knocked out, would attack immediately. By properly organised expeditions, the islanders were able to get the seals they wanted. The blubber was melted down, put into bottles and used for the cattle and sheep throughout the winter. The islanders would also take a small drop of the oil themselves, and the older folk, to help their rheumatics, would rub some of the oil on the affected part, and would claim it was doing them good.
There lies to the north-west of the main island another small island, where, in a cave the seals have their young. This cave is completely closed at its entrance by the sea, except at the height of the spring tides and at full moon and new moon; even then it is open only in a half-moon shape, for about half an hour. Minutes before it opens and closes again it gives forth an enormous sound similar to an airplane close above. Inside, the cave opens up into a huge cavern with a large shingly beach and a very narrow slit right up through the rock for about a hundred feet to the top. It is here, then, that the seals have their headquarters. They bask in the sun on a large flat rock which lies about 200 yards out from the cave mouth. The only way to enter the cave is by raft. I remember hearing about one adventure.
The raft was made ready days beforehand; for buoyancy small canvas or sheepskin buoys were laced around the raft. On this particular trip the weather and tide were favourable, so three men set off on the raft. As the cave opening was only about three feet at its highest point, it was necessary for the men to lie flat on the raft and paddle with small paddles specially made for the occasion. Attached to the raft, for safety's sake, was a line from the boat. Along with their other gear they also had to carry a paraffin lantern as there were no torches in those days. When they reached the beach it was covered with seals, old and young. Time was very limited, so after killing six of the seals these had to be tied to the raft. This was no easy matter, and took more time than expected. Meanwhile, frantic signals were being made on the line by those in the boat - the mouth of the cave was closing. Indeed, it was closed in a matter of minutes. It was then that the three on the raft realised their desperate situation. They signalled to be pulled out, which was easily done, until they reached the entrance. Then it was a case of pushing the raft with its load under water. This could not be done without slitting the buoys and letting the air out. Consequently they found themselves sinking, raft and all. However, by desperately pulling on the line, they soon managed to surface on the outside without any further mishap. It had been a nerve-wracking experience.
Scottish History - Island Roan - Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
The people of Island Roan were God fearing. The religion which they learnt at their mother's knee had a very real meaning to them. From their youth to the day of their death they strove to be upright and just, they always read their Bible and said their prayers morning and evening; their innate courage in danger was largely due to their belief that the day of their death was "written" and to their firm resolve to live in such a way that when the summons came they would be ready and unafraid.
The people of Island Roan lived close to nature; they understood nature's ways and peculiarities. The sea was their calling, and through necessity they were compelled to make a close study of it; they could often forecast the weather by looking at the sea - its colour at certain times and its transparency, etc. Nevertheless, they had many narrow escapes at sea, but for all that, in the 130 years of habitation of the island there was not one single case of drowning, surely a great tribute to their seamanship. On one particular occasion, however, an accident occurred which could have had very serious consequences. One of the boats, while lobster fishing, was crossing back to the island after "shooting" the lobster creels at the mainland side, when she was struck by a sudden squall and capsized. In the crew were one set of four brothers and one of two brothers, cousins all of them. None of them could swim. Fortunately, the boat carried no ballast at the time and did not sink. The stern sank straight down, leaving nothing but the forestem above the surface. The skipper, one of the four brothers, at once caught hold of the stem and sat astride it. He then caught hold of his brothers, who happened to be next to him - one he kept hold of in his teeth and the others one in each hand. The other two brothers managed to grab the oars and hung on to them until help arrived. It took the rescuers half an hour to reach the distressed seamen.
The skipper, in his precarious position, was in dire distress all this time, while two of his brothers pleaded with him to let them go before they were all drowned. Nevertheless, he hung on until help came. In spite of their being surrounded by the sea and having to deal with it daily, none on the island could swim. I believe the main reason was that the sea was always very cold, and it was practically impossible to stay in it for any length of time, the danger being cramp. One 12 year old boy did lose his life through cramp while trying to learn swimming. Boys of my own generation often tried to learn to swim, but we could not stand the cold long enough to be able to do anything about it.
The islanders lived together as one large family. In summer all the able-bodied men would be away to sea and the women did the work on the croft. In winter the men mended their fishing nets, while the women would be busy with their spinning wheels. In favourable weather the men fished for cod and haddock, which were very plentiful around the island before the days of the seine-netters and trawlers. Most of the fish would be sold to merchants on the mainland. Some of the fish they brought home for their own use. The fish would be split and boned, then washed very clean, then it would be soaked in pickle for about two hours. Afterwards it would be tied up in couples and carried to the fish cave on the north side of the island where it was hung up on sticks to be dried and cured. The cave had peculiar curing qualities because of a current of sea air continually passing through the slit between the walls where the fish were hung up. Strangely enough, the fish, although perfectly cured in about a fortnight's time, would never get hard like ordinary salted fish when laid out to dry. It would remain soft and pliable after being removed from the cave, and tasted like fresh fish with a lovely flavour which could not be obtained in any other way.
The general rule was, after curing, to take the fish home and pack it between layers of straw in boxes, ready for use at any time. The most difficult problem the island people had to deal with was the building of new houses, and as the population increased the problem became more and more acute.
There was no form of transportation on the island, and every item, large or small, heavy or light, had to be carried on the back or in the hand, and one can imagine the enormous amount of human labour that went into the building of a modern house. On the north side of the island and a good distance away from where the houses were being built there was another large cave, called the quarry cave. In it there was a thick seam of brown granite, and from here most of the stones for the buildings had to be taken. The rock first had to be blasted into small pieces, then the stones dressed in the quarry before being carried to the house. Everyone on the island usually turned out to lend a hand. Heavy jambs and lintels had to be carried on a hand barrow by six men. Likewise, all the other material - slate, lime and sand, had to be carried in the same way from the harbour and up a very steep cliff to begin with. So the reader can imagine the labour that went into building these houses. Nine houses in all were built in this way, and some of them are still intact. One or two were sold, taken down, and the wood and slate taken away to the mainland, the bare walls remaining - a memorial to those who built them.
In my young days there was a population of about 70 on the island, and at school there were about 18 of us for a while. Although we were confined on a small island, we, as children, were always very happy and had our own ways and means of enjoyment. We never missed the glamour of living on the mainland. During the summer months there was always quite a lot of visitors to the island, and a visitor's book, presented to the island in 1833 by the Duchess of Sutherland (Duchess Millicent), showed that from that year until the final evacuation in 1938, over 2000 visitors from all over the world had been on the island.
The people of Island Roan were God fearing. The religion which they learnt at their mother's knee had a very real meaning to them. From their youth to the day of their death they strove to be upright and just, they always read their Bible and said their prayers morning and evening; their innate courage in danger was largely due to their belief that the day of their death was "written" and to their firm resolve to live in such a way that when the summons came they would be ready and unafraid.
The people of Island Roan lived close to nature; they understood nature's ways and peculiarities. The sea was their calling, and through necessity they were compelled to make a close study of it; they could often forecast the weather by looking at the sea - its colour at certain times and its transparency, etc. Nevertheless, they had many narrow escapes at sea, but for all that, in the 130 years of habitation of the island there was not one single case of drowning, surely a great tribute to their seamanship. On one particular occasion, however, an accident occurred which could have had very serious consequences. One of the boats, while lobster fishing, was crossing back to the island after "shooting" the lobster creels at the mainland side, when she was struck by a sudden squall and capsized. In the crew were one set of four brothers and one of two brothers, cousins all of them. None of them could swim. Fortunately, the boat carried no ballast at the time and did not sink. The stern sank straight down, leaving nothing but the forestem above the surface. The skipper, one of the four brothers, at once caught hold of the stem and sat astride it. He then caught hold of his brothers, who happened to be next to him - one he kept hold of in his teeth and the others one in each hand. The other two brothers managed to grab the oars and hung on to them until help arrived. It took the rescuers half an hour to reach the distressed seamen.
The skipper, in his precarious position, was in dire distress all this time, while two of his brothers pleaded with him to let them go before they were all drowned. Nevertheless, he hung on until help came. In spite of their being surrounded by the sea and having to deal with it daily, none on the island could swim. I believe the main reason was that the sea was always very cold, and it was practically impossible to stay in it for any length of time, the danger being cramp. One 12 year old boy did lose his life through cramp while trying to learn swimming. Boys of my own generation often tried to learn to swim, but we could not stand the cold long enough to be able to do anything about it.
The islanders lived together as one large family. In summer all the able-bodied men would be away to sea and the women did the work on the croft. In winter the men mended their fishing nets, while the women would be busy with their spinning wheels. In favourable weather the men fished for cod and haddock, which were very plentiful around the island before the days of the seine-netters and trawlers. Most of the fish would be sold to merchants on the mainland. Some of the fish they brought home for their own use. The fish would be split and boned, then washed very clean, then it would be soaked in pickle for about two hours. Afterwards it would be tied up in couples and carried to the fish cave on the north side of the island where it was hung up on sticks to be dried and cured. The cave had peculiar curing qualities because of a current of sea air continually passing through the slit between the walls where the fish were hung up. Strangely enough, the fish, although perfectly cured in about a fortnight's time, would never get hard like ordinary salted fish when laid out to dry. It would remain soft and pliable after being removed from the cave, and tasted like fresh fish with a lovely flavour which could not be obtained in any other way.
The general rule was, after curing, to take the fish home and pack it between layers of straw in boxes, ready for use at any time. The most difficult problem the island people had to deal with was the building of new houses, and as the population increased the problem became more and more acute.
There was no form of transportation on the island, and every item, large or small, heavy or light, had to be carried on the back or in the hand, and one can imagine the enormous amount of human labour that went into the building of a modern house. On the north side of the island and a good distance away from where the houses were being built there was another large cave, called the quarry cave. In it there was a thick seam of brown granite, and from here most of the stones for the buildings had to be taken. The rock first had to be blasted into small pieces, then the stones dressed in the quarry before being carried to the house. Everyone on the island usually turned out to lend a hand. Heavy jambs and lintels had to be carried on a hand barrow by six men. Likewise, all the other material - slate, lime and sand, had to be carried in the same way from the harbour and up a very steep cliff to begin with. So the reader can imagine the labour that went into building these houses. Nine houses in all were built in this way, and some of them are still intact. One or two were sold, taken down, and the wood and slate taken away to the mainland, the bare walls remaining - a memorial to those who built them.
In my young days there was a population of about 70 on the island, and at school there were about 18 of us for a while. Although we were confined on a small island, we, as children, were always very happy and had our own ways and means of enjoyment. We never missed the glamour of living on the mainland. During the summer months there was always quite a lot of visitors to the island, and a visitor's book, presented to the island in 1833 by the Duchess of Sutherland (Duchess Millicent), showed that from that year until the final evacuation in 1938, over 2000 visitors from all over the world had been on the island.
Scottish History - Island Roan - Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
My boyhood days on Island Roan were very happy. During summer we spent our time searching for lobsters and crabs when the tide was out. Then we'd go climbing the cliffs in search of sea birds' eggs. We always went barefooted in summer and could climb the cliff face like monkeys. Nevertheless, it was risky, and we had many narrow escapes from falling 200 or 300 feet into the sea - and death. Two boys did lose their lives in this way. The reason we took such risks was that some visitors were very keen on getting blown eggs. Considerable care and patience had to be given to this process or else it would be a failure and a loss. After the eggs were blown we'd string them on a strong piece of cotton thread, different sizes and colours, with each bird's name on its egg. When done in this way the eggs looked very attractive.
But perhaps our most favourite ploy was searching for a bag of gold - and we thought it did exist. Here is the story that Betty Macdonald would tell us. Betty was the elder of two daughters of one of the first three families to inhabit the island. She lived there for 95 years, and never left the island. She was six years old at the time. One day the children saw a boat with a single occupant rapidly approaching the island, pursued by another boat which appeared to be manned by customs officers. The solitary voyager jumped ashore - he was dressed in a kind of uniform like a soldier, and he carried a bag on his back.
The strange figure scrambled up the steep path and ran past the amazed children. He made straight across the island at full speed, heading for the north side, with the children running hard in pursuit. In spite of his burden he easily outstripped the children, and when they reached the top of the hill which overlooked the fish cave they saw him coming out of the cave without the bag. When he saw the children were watching him he climbed up the hill and spoke to them in Gaelic. He seemed to be a merry fellow, for when they asked him what he had in the bag he laughed and said that it was a bag of gold. Then he spoke earnestly to them and told them that it lay in a place where the sunrise and sunset both touched. The customs men did not come ashore, and the strange vision departed. He was never seen again. Many were the hours we spent searching for the gold, but it was never found.
When I first went to school there were 18 pupils. Our dominie was an old man nearing retiring age. He was a great scholar, and a good English and Gaelic speaker and writer. One particular matter upset him annually. That was when the inspector was on his rounds. He would never come to the island, and our master would be ordered to take his pupils either to Tongue or Skerray. This order he bitterly resented, and very rightly so, as it did not give us a chance to do our best. One particular occasion still stands out vividly in my memory. It happened when I was in my second year at school. Our master received an order to take us to Tongue School for examination by the inspector. That meant a jouney of five miles by sea. Preparations were in progress very early for the trip as we were asked to be at Tongue School at 11:30 am. This meant that we had to leave the island at about 9:30.
The only four able-bodied men left on the island at this time of the year (June) - and they were in their 70's - got the boat ready. The sea was smooth, but there was a stiff breeze from the southwest and dead ahead of us. This meant a considerable lot of tacking, about a mile one way and then a mile the other, and this again prolonged the journey considerably. The boat was spraying badly, resulting in our all getting wet. Some of the girls were seasick as well. The spectacle we were presenting to our already angry master made him still more furious, and the people responsible for this trip were "torn to shreds" many times. The older boys were enjoying the whole show just the same, and had many good laughs that day and for many days and even years afterwards. Finally we arrived at Tongue pier at 11:45 am hungry, wet and seasick as well, certainly not fit for the mission we were on. However, we marched off for the school about a mile away.
When we arrived there the Tongue headmaster came to the door to greet us, and not knowing the reason for our late arrival, and not waiting for an explanation, he started to remonstrate with our master. This was more than our master could endure, and I am sure the Tongue headmaster was glad to be able to make himself scarce as quickly as possible. Immediately afterwards a lady teacher came on the scene, and in rather an abrupt manner ordered our master to separate us as quickly as possible into our respective classes as she was to take us and put us in with our corresponding numbers in the main classroom. This idea, of course, was dead against our master's idea. He knew very well this would not work with his flock, so he point blank refused to do it. He meant to have us examined by ourselves or not at all. The inspector was called to the scene. After he heard the story, and saw the state we were in, he told our master to take us home forthwith, and pleased we were to get away.
But when we arrived back at the pier the boat was gone - because of approaching bad weather - so we found, to our chagrin, that our troubles were in fact only beginning. Nobody knew of our plight. We had to retrace our steps. This time we had a seven mile walk in front of us to a point called Lamigo, directly opposite the island. To add to our difficulties there was a stiff breeze with a drizzle of rain right in our faces. However, we plodded on, the oder boys and girls carrying the youngest on their backs. Our poor old dejected master was doing his share in the carrying too.
We passed through Tongue village and carried on until we reached a small township called Coldbackie, almost halfway to our destination. At Coldbackie we were given tea and sandwiches by Mrs. Mackay (Cordach). She made us all welcome and was kindness itself. Her husband was a frequent visitor to the island in his capacity of butcher and sheep and cattle dealer. When he came on the scene and heard of our plight, he yoked the horse in the cart and volunteered to help some of the youngest a bit on our way, thus easing the burden on the older children. Every one of us was wet through. Our master trudged on in front, and we could hear him quite distinctly praying to God we would get home safely. Poor soul, he was terribly worried as he seemed to feel it was his fault. At 7:00pm we arrived at Lamigo. The sea by this time was very stormy. We made the recognised signal by setting some dried twigs alight. At last we saw the boat leave the island, and it was only then that we felt a little cheerful.On the way back we got another ducking as the boat was again spraying badly, but by this time we did not care, as we were more dead than alive. When at last we got home it was 9:00 in the evening!
My boyhood days on Island Roan were very happy. During summer we spent our time searching for lobsters and crabs when the tide was out. Then we'd go climbing the cliffs in search of sea birds' eggs. We always went barefooted in summer and could climb the cliff face like monkeys. Nevertheless, it was risky, and we had many narrow escapes from falling 200 or 300 feet into the sea - and death. Two boys did lose their lives in this way. The reason we took such risks was that some visitors were very keen on getting blown eggs. Considerable care and patience had to be given to this process or else it would be a failure and a loss. After the eggs were blown we'd string them on a strong piece of cotton thread, different sizes and colours, with each bird's name on its egg. When done in this way the eggs looked very attractive.
But perhaps our most favourite ploy was searching for a bag of gold - and we thought it did exist. Here is the story that Betty Macdonald would tell us. Betty was the elder of two daughters of one of the first three families to inhabit the island. She lived there for 95 years, and never left the island. She was six years old at the time. One day the children saw a boat with a single occupant rapidly approaching the island, pursued by another boat which appeared to be manned by customs officers. The solitary voyager jumped ashore - he was dressed in a kind of uniform like a soldier, and he carried a bag on his back.
The strange figure scrambled up the steep path and ran past the amazed children. He made straight across the island at full speed, heading for the north side, with the children running hard in pursuit. In spite of his burden he easily outstripped the children, and when they reached the top of the hill which overlooked the fish cave they saw him coming out of the cave without the bag. When he saw the children were watching him he climbed up the hill and spoke to them in Gaelic. He seemed to be a merry fellow, for when they asked him what he had in the bag he laughed and said that it was a bag of gold. Then he spoke earnestly to them and told them that it lay in a place where the sunrise and sunset both touched. The customs men did not come ashore, and the strange vision departed. He was never seen again. Many were the hours we spent searching for the gold, but it was never found.
When I first went to school there were 18 pupils. Our dominie was an old man nearing retiring age. He was a great scholar, and a good English and Gaelic speaker and writer. One particular matter upset him annually. That was when the inspector was on his rounds. He would never come to the island, and our master would be ordered to take his pupils either to Tongue or Skerray. This order he bitterly resented, and very rightly so, as it did not give us a chance to do our best. One particular occasion still stands out vividly in my memory. It happened when I was in my second year at school. Our master received an order to take us to Tongue School for examination by the inspector. That meant a jouney of five miles by sea. Preparations were in progress very early for the trip as we were asked to be at Tongue School at 11:30 am. This meant that we had to leave the island at about 9:30.
The only four able-bodied men left on the island at this time of the year (June) - and they were in their 70's - got the boat ready. The sea was smooth, but there was a stiff breeze from the southwest and dead ahead of us. This meant a considerable lot of tacking, about a mile one way and then a mile the other, and this again prolonged the journey considerably. The boat was spraying badly, resulting in our all getting wet. Some of the girls were seasick as well. The spectacle we were presenting to our already angry master made him still more furious, and the people responsible for this trip were "torn to shreds" many times. The older boys were enjoying the whole show just the same, and had many good laughs that day and for many days and even years afterwards. Finally we arrived at Tongue pier at 11:45 am hungry, wet and seasick as well, certainly not fit for the mission we were on. However, we marched off for the school about a mile away.
When we arrived there the Tongue headmaster came to the door to greet us, and not knowing the reason for our late arrival, and not waiting for an explanation, he started to remonstrate with our master. This was more than our master could endure, and I am sure the Tongue headmaster was glad to be able to make himself scarce as quickly as possible. Immediately afterwards a lady teacher came on the scene, and in rather an abrupt manner ordered our master to separate us as quickly as possible into our respective classes as she was to take us and put us in with our corresponding numbers in the main classroom. This idea, of course, was dead against our master's idea. He knew very well this would not work with his flock, so he point blank refused to do it. He meant to have us examined by ourselves or not at all. The inspector was called to the scene. After he heard the story, and saw the state we were in, he told our master to take us home forthwith, and pleased we were to get away.
But when we arrived back at the pier the boat was gone - because of approaching bad weather - so we found, to our chagrin, that our troubles were in fact only beginning. Nobody knew of our plight. We had to retrace our steps. This time we had a seven mile walk in front of us to a point called Lamigo, directly opposite the island. To add to our difficulties there was a stiff breeze with a drizzle of rain right in our faces. However, we plodded on, the oder boys and girls carrying the youngest on their backs. Our poor old dejected master was doing his share in the carrying too.
We passed through Tongue village and carried on until we reached a small township called Coldbackie, almost halfway to our destination. At Coldbackie we were given tea and sandwiches by Mrs. Mackay (Cordach). She made us all welcome and was kindness itself. Her husband was a frequent visitor to the island in his capacity of butcher and sheep and cattle dealer. When he came on the scene and heard of our plight, he yoked the horse in the cart and volunteered to help some of the youngest a bit on our way, thus easing the burden on the older children. Every one of us was wet through. Our master trudged on in front, and we could hear him quite distinctly praying to God we would get home safely. Poor soul, he was terribly worried as he seemed to feel it was his fault. At 7:00pm we arrived at Lamigo. The sea by this time was very stormy. We made the recognised signal by setting some dried twigs alight. At last we saw the boat leave the island, and it was only then that we felt a little cheerful.On the way back we got another ducking as the boat was again spraying badly, but by this time we did not care, as we were more dead than alive. When at last we got home it was 9:00 in the evening!
Scottish History - Island Roan - Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR Our next teacher was a lady from Strathnaver. Her methods were entirely different from those to which we had been used, but she was first-class. She taught us most subjects, including singing, while she taught the girls sewing. She even taught the boys how to make their own clothes. When she first started in our school, she had her moments of great amusement. For example, with our old master we had spoken a lot of Gaelic in school. We had Gaelic names for all our books, consequently we didn't bother to acquaint ourselves with the English names. We referred in Gaelic also to other items connected with our education, so when our new teacher came on the scene and asked for this, that and the next thing in English, we, of course, were confused and bamboozled.
Many years later, while on a visit to her old home from the U.S.A., where she went to be married after leaving the island, she met me, and we had a long talk together. She spoke of the old school days. What had amused her most was when she had asked for any particular book and we did not know what she meant. Apparently we had put our heads together, asked each other in Gaelic what she was wanting now. Since she herself was a fluent Gaelic speaker, she easily understood what we were saying. That must indeed have been extremely amusing to her.
She was very fond of the sea and very quickly learned the art of rowing - so much so, that not very long after she came to Island Roan she'd cross over in a small boat from Skerray, two miles away. At times this could be a very tricky crossing, depending on the state of the tide. After two or three years under our new teacher, we all made good strides in our education, and we lost our fear of mixing with other children. We could hold our own way with the best of them, and we felt very proud.
On one particular occasion we were asked to go to Skerray school for our examinations. I was in Class Five at the time. The inspector recommended four of us for higher education. Only one of the four took advantage of this, and ended up a chief superintendent engineer. Our teacher was extremely delighted with us that day, and it was one of the highlights of her career on the island. At the end of the school term the following year, and, strangely enough, coinciding with her departure from the island, nine of us left school. Although there were three or four pupils coming in, our leaving was a severe blow. Never again did the number of pupils go above 12. The decline had set in, and from then on, as in many another Highland township, there were many vacant seats, until, in the end, several years later, the school door closed for the last time.
The island folks were very religious. The Sabbath day and all its rules were strictly observed. In favourable weather a number of the people would go over to the mainland to attend church at Skerray. If this could not be done, a service would be held, both morning and evening, in the school. Woe betide us children if we were caught playing on that day. It was customary in every home on the island to have family prayers morning and evening, on Sunday. The catechism would be brought out by the head of the family, and each member had to repeat both question and answer in Gaelic as it was laid down in that wee book. Children had to go through the same performance as their elders.
I well remember, when I was a young boy, my grandfather taking me on his knee on Sunday night and expounding from the Gaelic catechism the meaning of all the commandments. My childish brain would be all in a muddle not realising then what it all meant. All the same, on many occasions afterwards, when temptations would be coming my way, I would always remember what I was taught in my childhood, and would adhere to what I believed to be the right path.
As I have already mentioned, medical assistance was seldom called for on the island, and when it happened that such assistance was vitally necessary, it was a laborious job to get the doctor. A boat would have to go to Tongue pier for him and bring him back again, a distance of five miles each way. However, in case of unsuitable weather the doctor would go to Lamigo, the nearest point from the island on the mainland. This, of course, meant paying for a horse and gig from the hotel.
At the beginning of the century there was a doctor in Tongue who happened to be of very small stature. He was full of humour and a fluent Gaelic speaker. Oddly enough he never cared to speak the old language very much, and very rarely to his patients, even if they could not understand English. On one occasion, while visiting the island, he found the weather too rough to land. One of the crew had to carry him on his back across large slippery boulders to the shore. It was one Donald who volunteered for the job. When Donald and the doctor were two or three yards away from the boat, another member of the crew shouted in Gaelic, "Is there much weight in him, Donald?" Donald paused, turned his head halfway round and shouted back in the same language, "No, about the weight of a small cockerel." Then off he went again, staggering on the slippery rocks. The doctor, lying on Donald's back, was enjoying the whole thing immensely, so with his mouth close to Donald's ear he whispered in Gaelic, "A little more than that, Donald; a little more than that." He then burst out laughing. Donald got such a shock that he let the doctor slip off his back and they both fell into a pool of sea water. Two of the crew had to come to the rescue, and between them carry the doctor along to the shore and him laughing all the time, when they finally set him on dry land. He thanked them and said in Gaelic, "Well, boys, that was worth the wetting; I tell you I enjoyed it."
Incidentally, although the language of the island was Gaelic, with the exception of two or three of the men, all could understand English and speak it as well. All the men folk, of course, were away all the summer amongst English speaking people. It was the women who never got the chance to get away who found themselves in an awkward situation when confronted with visitors.
In earlier years when there were no men left on the island during the summer months, the women did all the work connected with the sea. Accordingly, they became expert boatswomen. They had in their crew of six one woman who could not speak Gaelic. She came from Orkney. She was my grandmother, and when she married my grandfather and came to live on the island she did not realise at the time what was ahead of her. I remember quite well her telling me how she would be crying to herself when the others in the boat would be blethering away in a language she could not understand. However, as time went on, she began to learn the language, and after a few years could speak it fluently.
Scottish History - Island Roan - Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE Before transport became available, the only visitors to Island Roan during the summer would be the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland, almost always accompanied by several guests. They came by sea in their yacht, the Catania. The Duchess (Lady Millicent) took a great liking to the island and visited it a great many times during her life.
On what probably was her first visit, she landed on the island in the yacht's steam pinnace. The pinnace's coxwain didn't know the danger from rocks which lay hidden near the entrance to the harbour. Consequently, the pinnace slid gently on to a ledge of rock which was fortunately covered with seaweed. The sea was calm at the time and there was no immediate danger. As always, the children were on the alert, and seeing what happened, gave the alarm. The women at once launched their boat and came to the rescue. Soon they had the pinnace off the rock. The Duchess, highly delighted, thanked them on their expert knowledge and seamanship.
A few days later she visited the island again, accompanied by a local dressmaker from the mainland. she had all the women measured for a dress of their own choosing. Years later, after the moths discovered the hiding place of my Granny's dress, I found myself a young laddie wearing a kilt made from it.
At this time there lived on the island a teenage lad who went about on crutches. His name was Donald. Later he became known as Donald the Weaver. Donald severely injured his right knee when he was a very young boy. When the duchess saw him hobbling about on crutches, she at once inquired as to the cause of his trouble. Donald told her all about his injury and how it happened. Her Grace was greatly moved by Donald's story, and made arrangements for him to go at once to Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, all expenses to be paid by herself. After their examination the doctors said the only hope was to have the leg amputated. This Donald refused to agree to. The next best thing was to clean the diseased bones and patch up the knee; and after a few weeks he was home again.
Meanwhile the Duchess was making plans for his future. Shortly afterwards she sent Donald to Golspie to learn weaving. At the same time she put into operation the buiding of a mill for him to work when he was ready. The mill was built as near his home as possible, and in a convenient place beside the burn, halfway between Tongue and Skerray, at Strathtongue. To the great delight of the Duchess, Donald was at last installed in a job. He made blankets and various other kinds of garments. People were coming from all over the northern seaboard of the county with their wool to have it made into whatever garments they wanted, and Donald was kept very busy. Unfortunately, he nver enjoyed real peace with his leg. It continued to trouble him, and at times he suffered a lot of pain. The Duchess sent him again to the infirmary. As before, there was nothing they could do. Donald returned home refreshed once more, and went back to work, but not for long. He had to give up his work and return to the island. Two years later he died at the early age of 35. The mill was never used again, and its remains can still be seen there.
Most of the Duchess' visits to the island at that time were made from Tongue where she and the Duke were in residence at the House of Tongue. On some occasions, however, she would come from the Catania. It was in the Catania that we boys had our interests centred most. We would know her at sight, with her graceful clipper bows, yellow funnel, black hull and beautiful white upper structure. Great would be our delight when at last she would appear and always heading in our direction. We nurtured a great desire to get on board the Catania to see for ourselves what the yacht was like, but we hadn't the courage or nerve to ask the Duchess if this could be done. Besides, we would be severely rated by our parents if we did.
However, one day our desire was granted. Our delight knew no bounds. We were shown all over this beautiful ship. That was a memorable day, and we talked about it for long after. Incidentally, in September, 1915, 12 years later, I stood again on Catania's deck in Portsmouth harbour, but in very different circumstances. She was then a unit of the Royal Navy. Her commander was the Duchess' son, the present Duke of Sutherland. The following summer the Catania again anchored at the island, and as usual we were all down at the landing stage. Several of the old folk were there as well.
On this occasion the Duke and Duchess were accompanied by their beautiful daughter, Lady Rosemary, who was only about 12 years of age. One of the Duchess' favourite games was to stand us children in a line and number us, then she would ask her guests to pick out the different brothers and sisters. We enjoyed this, as did the Duchess herself and the guests as well. On one occasion the Duchess announced on arrival that she was going to visit every house as she was looking for old antique pieces of crockery. On the island at the time there still lived old Betty Macdonald, with her son, who never left the island. Neither of them spoke English, and we knew perfectly well that the Duchess' visit to their house would provide us with a bit of fun.
The Duchess, knowing quite well the circumstances, engaged the services of an interpreter, an Orkney girl, full of fun. We, of course, followed, keeping at a discreet distance. At the door they were met by the son, who explained to the old wife what the Duchess was looking for. There was an assortment of ancient crockery on a large, old-fashioned dresser, and the Duchess, with great care, began picking out pieces which attracted her. The old wife and son were standing looking on, and every time the Duchess would pick up an article they would whisper to one another in Gaelic, "She's not going to get that." The Duchess would turn to her interpreter and ask what they were saying. The whole thing was terribly amusing, and finally, after the Duchess did manage to get some articles she fancied and she came outside we all had a grand laugh, Her Grace joining in along with us. "I knew," she said, "you were enjoying yourselves".
Scottish History - Island Roan - Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
One fine morning in early June, in the year 1871, while fishing a few miles north of the island, the crew of one of one of the fishing boats were observed to be struggling with something unusually heavy in the water. Several of the other boats, after hauling in their nets, closed in to find out what was going on. It was discovered that the crew were struggling to get on board a large cask which had all the appearance of being extremely heavy. In the event they were compelled to let the cask go. Another boat then closed in, making the same effort as the first, but of no avail. The crew also had to abandon the cask. Several other boats in turn had a try and also failed. It must be remembered that in those days fishing boats were small and only half-decked.
Accordingly, their tackle was light and not strong enough to hoist inboard out of the sea an 80 gallon cask, as this one proved to be. The island boat, the Duke, being new at the time as well as being much larger than most of the others, now closed in, and after a supreme effort was able to hoist the cask on board. The crew were certain the contents were spirits of some kind. The younger members of the crew suggested that the cask ought to be tapped right away in order to find out what in fact the contents were, but the skipper and older members decided against the idea, as it might lead to trouble with the authorities.
There was no doubt in their minds that the other boats would report the matter on their arrival at Scrabster. When the Duke arrived at the island the cask was again lowered into the sea and then towed to the beach and rolled above high water mark. Two days later, on arrival at Scrabster, they reported their find to the customs and excise authorities, who in turn asked them to bring it along to Scrabster. As they had had a considerable amount of work in salvaging the cask, and fearing that their reward would be small, they decided to have nothing more to do with it, and said so to the authorities.
Ten days later the customs men arrived at the island with a small trading smack which they had obtained on hire to take possession of the cask. On their examination, however, the cask, which originally contained 80 gallons of proof rum, was found to be practically empty. They found the cask standing on its end on the beach, in the position in which it was supposed to have been left from the time it was taken there. On further examination they discovered that the cask had a leak on the end on which it stood on the shingle.
On the island at this time of year there were no adult males left, except for one old man and a few young boys, none of them capable of performing an ingenious operation on a cask of this description in order to rid it of its contents. The authorities were baffled. It could not be proved that the contents of the cask were actually stolen. Evidence showed a leakage, and there they had to stop. They took the empty cask with them.. The crew who had salvaged the rum, after giving careful consideration to the matter, had come to the conclusion that it was a most galling affair for them to have put so much time and energy into salvaging this valuable find from the sea and then to be deprived of their rights to it. And so they planned accordingly. On their next call at Scrabster, they set about looking for small two to five gallon drums, sufficient to hold the whole contents of the cask, but they had to act discreetly. After purchase they filled the cans with water, pretending it was paraffin or oil for use on the boat. They also purchased suitable tools.
Fully equipped, they proceeded to the island, approacing it at dead of night. The utmost discretion had to be used and the operation carried out as secretly as possible, even from their own families on the island. So in the dead of night they landed and proceeded to empty the contents of the cask into the tins they carried with them. First, they removed one of the hoops - about an inch out of place, then, with a half-inch bit and brace, a hole was bored in each side of the cask. Then the cask was relieved of its contents within half an hour, with the exception of a gallon or two left to cover up the camouflage. The operation over, two small oak plugs were inserted in the holes and carefully rubbed over so that it was difficult to make out that such a thing ever took place. and the hoop was returned to its place. Then with a thin bladed knife an insertion was made in the end of the cask for the purpose of creating a leak. The cask was then put standing on its end with what was left of the rum slowly leaking out on to the shingle. An extra drop poured from a tin added to the make-believe that the leak was very considerable. Then they took the loot to a small cave a short distance away and carefully hid it. Then they set sail again to the fishing grounds. The secret was kept on the island for a very long time, and only the older people knew what took place. The rum was used with discretion, and it lasted for a long time.
It was not until the beginning of the present century that visitors in any number were coming to Island Roan, and it did not matter who they were or where they came from, they always seemed to enjoy their excursions, and many of them came back again and again. To us children they were a source of great pleasure. We would show them every spot of interest in the island, and almost always by the time they left we would be the richer by two or three shillings each. Occasionallly we would have our own bit of fun at their expense, too. This was what we used to do.
The old folk on the island took great pride in their patches of corn, hay, tatties and turnips, and woe betide any of us seen going through these prized crops. Those old folk were not very expert at the English language, and they would far rather disappear from view altogether than hold their ground and talk to visitors. We boys were aware of this, and our aim was, if they happened to be working anywhere on the croft, at the time, to guide the visitors on to them in a way they could not escape. In some cases we would direct the innocent people straight through the corn. This, of course, was a most disastrous thing to do, and the owners would be furious. But when the visiors reached them they would be utterly confused between modesty and anger so that they could not speak. This was just what we would be waiting for, and great would be the laughs we would have over it all. However, this game came to an end one day, when a visitor did a bit of detective work. He told the old folk what he thought, and that ended the trespassing part of our game.
The rocks around Island Roan are covered by the sea when the tide is in, and on them grows in summer a profusion of short seaweed called dulse. It is extremely palatable, and no doubt it has very high medicinal qualities. The sheep are extremely fond of it and they could be seen waiting patiently for the tide to go out. They were closely watched when the tide was coming in, as they could easily get drowned by staying on the rocks too long. Scores of them were lost in this way. As boys we used to select bunches of this seaweed in different colours, wash it carefully, and give it to visitors to the island.
The island people, especially the older ones, were very superstitious. For example, if a person left the house and had forgotten something, he or she would far rather do without than turn back for it. Then, again, finding a copper coin on the ground was a bad omen. There were various other petty superstitions which are hardly worth recording, but which the islanders believed to have a lot of significance.
Taking the cattle to the mainland in summer had to be discontinued as there were not enough young women left in summer to tend them. The women had to go away to the herring curing stations,where they were employed all summer. Consequently, the cattle had to be kept on the island. This caused a lot of extra work as well, as they had to be herded all the time for fear of their going over the cliffs and getting killed. This job we youngsters often had to do. We found it could be very monotonous work, and we would take it in spells. One would stay to watch the cattle while the rest would go climbing the cliffs searching for eggs. Occasionally, one of the old women would come along to see if the cattle were actually being looked after, and on being caught neglecting our work we would be severly punished, as not only were we endangering the cattle but ourselves as well. In this way we gave the old people a lot of worry and trouble. I shall now tell about a small incident that took place in the autumn of 1918.
To the northwest of the island, and attached to it, there is another small island called the low island. Its surface is all green and it was always used for sheep. It could carry 40 eild sheep all the year round. On this particular occasion the owners went to see if their flock were alright. On walking over the ground they discovered what at first looked like black patches on the grass. On further investigation, however, the patches proved to be blood. The owners of the sheep at once knew that all was not well with the flock, so they rounded them up and counted them. Seven of the sheep were missing. It was quite obvious from the blood marks that the sheep had been shot and taken away, but by who they were not to know for a few years afterwards.
At the time, the raid on the sheep was put down to the work of the crew of a U-boat and left at that. A few years later, however, an article appeared in an English newspaper in connection with the affair.
It was sent to the paper by the commander of a U.S.A. submarine, who went on to explain how, while on passage round the North of Scotland bound for home, he ran short of fresh meat. While passing close to the island on a moonlit night and seeing the sheep, he and his crew decided to land and kill some of them, which they did. He offered to pay full compensation to the owners on receipt of an application from them. But they never bothered about it any more.
One fine morning in early June, in the year 1871, while fishing a few miles north of the island, the crew of one of one of the fishing boats were observed to be struggling with something unusually heavy in the water. Several of the other boats, after hauling in their nets, closed in to find out what was going on. It was discovered that the crew were struggling to get on board a large cask which had all the appearance of being extremely heavy. In the event they were compelled to let the cask go. Another boat then closed in, making the same effort as the first, but of no avail. The crew also had to abandon the cask. Several other boats in turn had a try and also failed. It must be remembered that in those days fishing boats were small and only half-decked.
Accordingly, their tackle was light and not strong enough to hoist inboard out of the sea an 80 gallon cask, as this one proved to be. The island boat, the Duke, being new at the time as well as being much larger than most of the others, now closed in, and after a supreme effort was able to hoist the cask on board. The crew were certain the contents were spirits of some kind. The younger members of the crew suggested that the cask ought to be tapped right away in order to find out what in fact the contents were, but the skipper and older members decided against the idea, as it might lead to trouble with the authorities.
There was no doubt in their minds that the other boats would report the matter on their arrival at Scrabster. When the Duke arrived at the island the cask was again lowered into the sea and then towed to the beach and rolled above high water mark. Two days later, on arrival at Scrabster, they reported their find to the customs and excise authorities, who in turn asked them to bring it along to Scrabster. As they had had a considerable amount of work in salvaging the cask, and fearing that their reward would be small, they decided to have nothing more to do with it, and said so to the authorities.
Ten days later the customs men arrived at the island with a small trading smack which they had obtained on hire to take possession of the cask. On their examination, however, the cask, which originally contained 80 gallons of proof rum, was found to be practically empty. They found the cask standing on its end on the beach, in the position in which it was supposed to have been left from the time it was taken there. On further examination they discovered that the cask had a leak on the end on which it stood on the shingle.
On the island at this time of year there were no adult males left, except for one old man and a few young boys, none of them capable of performing an ingenious operation on a cask of this description in order to rid it of its contents. The authorities were baffled. It could not be proved that the contents of the cask were actually stolen. Evidence showed a leakage, and there they had to stop. They took the empty cask with them.. The crew who had salvaged the rum, after giving careful consideration to the matter, had come to the conclusion that it was a most galling affair for them to have put so much time and energy into salvaging this valuable find from the sea and then to be deprived of their rights to it. And so they planned accordingly. On their next call at Scrabster, they set about looking for small two to five gallon drums, sufficient to hold the whole contents of the cask, but they had to act discreetly. After purchase they filled the cans with water, pretending it was paraffin or oil for use on the boat. They also purchased suitable tools.
Fully equipped, they proceeded to the island, approacing it at dead of night. The utmost discretion had to be used and the operation carried out as secretly as possible, even from their own families on the island. So in the dead of night they landed and proceeded to empty the contents of the cask into the tins they carried with them. First, they removed one of the hoops - about an inch out of place, then, with a half-inch bit and brace, a hole was bored in each side of the cask. Then the cask was relieved of its contents within half an hour, with the exception of a gallon or two left to cover up the camouflage. The operation over, two small oak plugs were inserted in the holes and carefully rubbed over so that it was difficult to make out that such a thing ever took place. and the hoop was returned to its place. Then with a thin bladed knife an insertion was made in the end of the cask for the purpose of creating a leak. The cask was then put standing on its end with what was left of the rum slowly leaking out on to the shingle. An extra drop poured from a tin added to the make-believe that the leak was very considerable. Then they took the loot to a small cave a short distance away and carefully hid it. Then they set sail again to the fishing grounds. The secret was kept on the island for a very long time, and only the older people knew what took place. The rum was used with discretion, and it lasted for a long time.
It was not until the beginning of the present century that visitors in any number were coming to Island Roan, and it did not matter who they were or where they came from, they always seemed to enjoy their excursions, and many of them came back again and again. To us children they were a source of great pleasure. We would show them every spot of interest in the island, and almost always by the time they left we would be the richer by two or three shillings each. Occasionallly we would have our own bit of fun at their expense, too. This was what we used to do.
The old folk on the island took great pride in their patches of corn, hay, tatties and turnips, and woe betide any of us seen going through these prized crops. Those old folk were not very expert at the English language, and they would far rather disappear from view altogether than hold their ground and talk to visitors. We boys were aware of this, and our aim was, if they happened to be working anywhere on the croft, at the time, to guide the visitors on to them in a way they could not escape. In some cases we would direct the innocent people straight through the corn. This, of course, was a most disastrous thing to do, and the owners would be furious. But when the visiors reached them they would be utterly confused between modesty and anger so that they could not speak. This was just what we would be waiting for, and great would be the laughs we would have over it all. However, this game came to an end one day, when a visitor did a bit of detective work. He told the old folk what he thought, and that ended the trespassing part of our game.
The rocks around Island Roan are covered by the sea when the tide is in, and on them grows in summer a profusion of short seaweed called dulse. It is extremely palatable, and no doubt it has very high medicinal qualities. The sheep are extremely fond of it and they could be seen waiting patiently for the tide to go out. They were closely watched when the tide was coming in, as they could easily get drowned by staying on the rocks too long. Scores of them were lost in this way. As boys we used to select bunches of this seaweed in different colours, wash it carefully, and give it to visitors to the island.
The island people, especially the older ones, were very superstitious. For example, if a person left the house and had forgotten something, he or she would far rather do without than turn back for it. Then, again, finding a copper coin on the ground was a bad omen. There were various other petty superstitions which are hardly worth recording, but which the islanders believed to have a lot of significance.
Taking the cattle to the mainland in summer had to be discontinued as there were not enough young women left in summer to tend them. The women had to go away to the herring curing stations,where they were employed all summer. Consequently, the cattle had to be kept on the island. This caused a lot of extra work as well, as they had to be herded all the time for fear of their going over the cliffs and getting killed. This job we youngsters often had to do. We found it could be very monotonous work, and we would take it in spells. One would stay to watch the cattle while the rest would go climbing the cliffs searching for eggs. Occasionally, one of the old women would come along to see if the cattle were actually being looked after, and on being caught neglecting our work we would be severly punished, as not only were we endangering the cattle but ourselves as well. In this way we gave the old people a lot of worry and trouble. I shall now tell about a small incident that took place in the autumn of 1918.
To the northwest of the island, and attached to it, there is another small island called the low island. Its surface is all green and it was always used for sheep. It could carry 40 eild sheep all the year round. On this particular occasion the owners went to see if their flock were alright. On walking over the ground they discovered what at first looked like black patches on the grass. On further investigation, however, the patches proved to be blood. The owners of the sheep at once knew that all was not well with the flock, so they rounded them up and counted them. Seven of the sheep were missing. It was quite obvious from the blood marks that the sheep had been shot and taken away, but by who they were not to know for a few years afterwards.
At the time, the raid on the sheep was put down to the work of the crew of a U-boat and left at that. A few years later, however, an article appeared in an English newspaper in connection with the affair.
It was sent to the paper by the commander of a U.S.A. submarine, who went on to explain how, while on passage round the North of Scotland bound for home, he ran short of fresh meat. While passing close to the island on a moonlit night and seeing the sheep, he and his crew decided to land and kill some of them, which they did. He offered to pay full compensation to the owners on receipt of an application from them. But they never bothered about it any more.
Scottish History - Island Roan - Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN For a few years, up to the beginning of the 1914 - 1918 war, the island was at its best. At the same time, it was becoming increasingly clear that the island was over populated, and some of the newly married young couples began to leave, making their homes in the fishing ports, which was more convenient for them. Then came the war and practically the end of the fishing.
Most of the island's young men were in the Royal Naval Reserve, and were immediately called up. Those of us not old enough to be in the Reserve before the war joined up right away. All told there were 18 from the island, 15 in the Navy, two in the Army and one in the Air Force, and all, except one of the Army chaps, came back when the war ended. By this time, however, everything was changed.
The fishing was only a shadow of its former self. It was quite clear then that the island's mainstay was gone never to return. The depopulation began in earnest. Whole families left all at once, some going to Australia, to Canada and the U.S.A., while others found jobs and homes on the mainland. Education was advancing, and having been all over the world during the war years, the younger generation had been given an insight into what was going on elsewhere, and that sealed the doom of the island. It was the same all around the north and west coast of Sutherland. The young people were leaving to make a living elsewhere.
Fishing and crofting as their forefathers knew was reduced to a shadow of what it used to be. As the years went by the island was becoming more and more depopulated. The little school was closed, except for the usual Sunday prayer meeting which was held there up to the last. There were no more children to shout and play around the happy little school. Finally, at the beginning of 1938, it became clear that the 12 inhabitants left would have to evacuate the island.
Of the 12 there were only four able-bodied men among them, and every time they had to do with the sea which was almost daily. The womenfolk, during rough weather, would be specially worried. Consequently, they found homes on the mainland. Nevertheless, they were reluctant to go, and stayed on until December 6 before they made the final crossing. Throughout that day they made several trips across to the mainland with their furniture, and when darkness began to come down they had gathered everything together, except for the hens which could not be caught until they went in to roost. This caused considerable delay.
With the darkness came a change in the weather, a storm coming in from the worst quarter, the north, and by the time the hens were finally secured, it was blowing a gale, and the sea was getting very rough. The women became exceedingly alarmed, but the crossing to Skerray had to be attempted as there was no food or anything now left in the houses. It looked as if nature was forbidding them to leave. However, after a wild and stormy crossing in the darkness of a December night, they reached Skerray safely, and so the lights on the island went out for the last time.
Talking to some of the women a few days later, I learned that they felt such a bleakness of sorrow creep over them as they looked back at their darkened homes that the thought of it all made them forget their fears of the storm. Yes, those of us who left the island a number of years before and knew what was happening on this same night could not help sharing in their sorrow. Out forever were the lights which had always welcomed us home at all times, and more especially during the war years; after a weary journey, the very sight of those lights warmed our hearts, and now they were out forever.
After a period of approximately 120 years, life on this happy little island came to an end, the wheel having gone round full circle.
Scottish History - Island Roan - Poem
THE MEN OF EILEAN NAN RON
Dedicated to Captain Donald Mackay and the members of his crew, formerly of the "Morning Star."
Hail, Island Roan in the sea of the North,
For decades the home of a race of brave men,
Whose creed rated their courage and worth,
Well tried through the years in proven esteem.
Sheer from the depths its steep cliffs arise,
Defying the turbulent waves in their sway
As they sweep in their might with the run of the tides
To break in white fury and geysers of spray.
In the Nineties the sea their heritage gave
Freely its bounty in seasonal time.
The men of the Island, fearless and brave,
Prospered through toil with the net and the line.
Oft have they entered the harbour of Wick
And anchored their boats alongside the Quay,
With a goodly rich haul the prize of the deep,
In crans fully counting over two score and three.
But change with the years I doubt not became
A problem to solve for the Islanders there.
Gone were the days when the Mackays and the Bains
Could wrest from the sea their legitimate share.
Oh, how ye are scattered, ye stout-hearted men,
Who honoured the North with your qualities fine,
May the peace of the mainland soften the pain
Of leaving your island, your homes and the brine.
So break ye, wild waves, on bleak Island Roan,
And sing a wild dirge with your spume and your spray
In honour of those who knew it as home
Through the years that are gone, but a mem'ry today.
W.J. Telford, Winnipeg, Canada.
Dedicated to Captain Donald Mackay and the members of his crew, formerly of the "Morning Star."
Hail, Island Roan in the sea of the North,
For decades the home of a race of brave men,
Whose creed rated their courage and worth,
Well tried through the years in proven esteem.
Sheer from the depths its steep cliffs arise,
Defying the turbulent waves in their sway
As they sweep in their might with the run of the tides
To break in white fury and geysers of spray.
In the Nineties the sea their heritage gave
Freely its bounty in seasonal time.
The men of the Island, fearless and brave,
Prospered through toil with the net and the line.
Oft have they entered the harbour of Wick
And anchored their boats alongside the Quay,
With a goodly rich haul the prize of the deep,
In crans fully counting over two score and three.
But change with the years I doubt not became
A problem to solve for the Islanders there.
Gone were the days when the Mackays and the Bains
Could wrest from the sea their legitimate share.
Oh, how ye are scattered, ye stout-hearted men,
Who honoured the North with your qualities fine,
May the peace of the mainland soften the pain
Of leaving your island, your homes and the brine.
So break ye, wild waves, on bleak Island Roan,
And sing a wild dirge with your spume and your spray
In honour of those who knew it as home
Through the years that are gone, but a mem'ry today.
W.J. Telford, Winnipeg, Canada.
Island Roan - Scotland - Salute And Farewell
SALUTE AND FAREWELL
For a short spell in 1950, Sir Christopher Andrews and scientists from Harvard University selected Island Roan as a field laboratory for research work in their effort to find a cure for the common cold. Accompanied by a number of volunteer students, they made the island their home for three months, with no outside contact.
Their only communication was by radio telephone to the store at Skerray. All messages to and from the island were transmitted by Miss Mackay, the Post Office, Skerray. Stores and equipment arrived at Skerray Pier by lorry. Old George Anderson, the ferryman, had the task of ferrying all personnel and stores to the island. The charm of the island cast its spell over the students, and one of them composed the following song, which is both a salute and a farewell to Eilean nan Ron.
Eilean nan Ron, oh, Eilean nan Ron,
Island whose hills are as dear as my own,
Over your heather I'll never more roam,
I feel sad that now I must leave you.
I've roamed o'er your pastures a whole summer long.
I've stood on your cliffs where the fulmar belong,
I've listened at night to the curlew's sweet song;
How sad that now I must leave you.
The surf it is white round your wild rocky shore;
The wind whistles o'er and the bracken bends lower;
The breezes grow stronger, the surf it flies high;
It is sad that now I must leave you.
I'll cross the Kyle Rannoch to Skerray,
and there I'll stand on the jetty and look back again;
Oh, then, fairest isle, you'll be gone from my ken,
And I know that I'll never more see you.
For a short spell in 1950, Sir Christopher Andrews and scientists from Harvard University selected Island Roan as a field laboratory for research work in their effort to find a cure for the common cold. Accompanied by a number of volunteer students, they made the island their home for three months, with no outside contact.
Their only communication was by radio telephone to the store at Skerray. All messages to and from the island were transmitted by Miss Mackay, the Post Office, Skerray. Stores and equipment arrived at Skerray Pier by lorry. Old George Anderson, the ferryman, had the task of ferrying all personnel and stores to the island. The charm of the island cast its spell over the students, and one of them composed the following song, which is both a salute and a farewell to Eilean nan Ron.
Eilean nan Ron, oh, Eilean nan Ron,
Island whose hills are as dear as my own,
Over your heather I'll never more roam,
I feel sad that now I must leave you.
I've roamed o'er your pastures a whole summer long.
I've stood on your cliffs where the fulmar belong,
I've listened at night to the curlew's sweet song;
How sad that now I must leave you.
The surf it is white round your wild rocky shore;
The wind whistles o'er and the bracken bends lower;
The breezes grow stronger, the surf it flies high;
It is sad that now I must leave you.
I'll cross the Kyle Rannoch to Skerray,
and there I'll stand on the jetty and look back again;
Oh, then, fairest isle, you'll be gone from my ken,
And I know that I'll never more see you.