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.