Lonely isles of Picts and Vikings

Published Aug 29, 2014

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Edinburgh - Reading The Hills Is Lonely And The Sea For Breakfast by Hebridean author Lillian Beckwith as a child left me with a profound and persistent longing to visit these islands.

Her account of the time she lived with a Hebridean crofting family coloured life on these isles for me with warmth, pathos and humour and when I recently found the opportunity to indulge that old hankering, I didn’t think twice.

But my arrival by ferry in the harbour town of Stornoway on the Isle of Lewis on a blustery Monday afternoon proved anything but auspicious.

Although mid-summer, the sky was overcast and I was glad to have a jacket. I trudged along the pier road towards my guest-house, wheeled suitcase in tow, entertaining mild misgivings about choosing this slightly gloomy-looking town as the start of my island exploration.

But all doubts were instantly dispelled by the comfort of my lodgings and the warm welcome from Barbara Burns, my landlady.

At breakfast the next morning I met a fellow guest – a permanent one, as it turned out. Guido Vlotland arrived from the Netherlands nine years ago for a short visit and found himself returning repeatedly until he never wanted to leave.

Now he is regarded as something of a Hebrides expert by the locals. “These islands have something compelling about them. Life here is layered. On the surface, we see a holidaymaker’s paradise – picturesque hamlets with crofters cottages surrounded by spectacular natural beauty. Yet, there is archaeological evidence that these islands have been settled for at least 6 000 years. If you’re prepared to dig a bit, you’ll find the place has a fascinating history. Picts, Vikings, Celts, Gaels – they were all here.”

To my delight, he had the day free and availed himself as tour guide for a bus trip around Lewis. A two-stop rover ticket (valid for the day) at £6 (R107) each, enabled us to travel a circular route around the island, taking in much of the landscape and getting off at the villages of Callanish and Carloway, two important archaeological sites. Grabbing all-weather jackets, walking shoes and cash, we headed for the bus station.

Things were looking up. The sun had emerged from behind the clouds revealing Stornoway as a bright and busy harbour town with colourful boats docking and departing.

All along the waterfront, small shops, guest-houses and homes in the traditional quaint Hebridean architecture decorate the route. On the bus, there was time for a quick history lesson from Guido.

When the Vikings arrived in their longboats in the ninth century and took over the Isle of Lewis, the language and culture on the islands were Pictish – the word “Picti” meaning “painted people”.

The Viking Age was marked by raids. Later, when the Norsemen began to build settlements and converted to Christianity, the Norse Age followed and the Outer Hebrides became part of the Kingdom of Norway.

The Vikings applied their skills everywhere. They changed the traditional island house plan from circular to rectangular, in what became known as the Viking longhouse. Their methods of smoking fish, especially herring, are still practised.

Many villages and towns on Lewis acquired their names during the Norse Age. For example, Stornoway – or Stearnabhagh in Gaelic – is derived from the Old Norse word Sjornavogr meaning Steering Bay or Anchor Bay. This was because of the sheltered position of the harbour.

The Norse Age lasted until 1266 AD when the Norse king died and the Treaty of Perth gave the islands to Scotland. But the Scandinavian legacy is still evident, not least in the striking blue eyes of many islanders.

We had stopped at the village of Carloway to view the Doune Broch, a cone-shaped fortification believed to be older than 2 000 years. Made from local stone, much of it has survived the passage of time. Built with two concentric dry-walls to retain heat, it has a circular communal room for cooking and socialising.

Several small chambers lead off the central room for livestock, which in those times had shared accommodation with the humans.

A flight of stairs leads to upstairs family quarters. As it’s in a good defensive position, it is believed to have been a stronghold for a tribal chief or another prominent member of the Iron Age community.

Dozens of Neolithic stone circles on the Hebrides bear testimony to a mysterious past. Of these, the 5 000-year-old Standing Stones at Callanish are the most impressive.

A cairn in the centre of the structure has revealed cremated human remains, but the true purpose of these mysterious tall stones, planted deep in the earth in the shape of a distorted Celtic Cross, remains unclear.

“Local folk link it to the lunar solstice, which is clearly visible from the stones,” Guido said. “This is when the full moon rises low in the sky and skims the nearby hills in spectacular fashion every 19 years. Modern druids like to visit the stones at that time to witness the event.”

At lunchtime we made our way to the Callanish cafe at the Standing Stones. The food was simple but good. The Gaelic language is seen and heard everywhere. Even if you don’t understand what is being said, the seductively soft, slurring intonations are mesmerising.

“It is a beautiful language,” agreed Guido. But we have to be realistic – it is in decline. Only 50 000 people speak the language today, as opposed to 200 000 about 100 years ago. As a medium of education, it remains an option, but it is not compulsory.”

We walked up to the main road to catch the bus for the circular route back to Stornaway via the village of Barvas. The surrounding hills are dotted with crofters’ cottages.

About 65 percent of the islanders live on these small pieces of enclosed land, which are leased from landowners for sheep raising. The peculiar black-face sheep roam freely all over.

It was our lucky day. Our bus driver doubled as tour guide and gave us an impromptu, but extensive overview of the history of crofting.

“As a brand of farming, it only came into existence after the notorious Highland and Island Clearances of the 18th and 19th centuries. This was when aristocratic landowners cleared all the tenants off the land so that it could be used for sheep and cattle raising, which was considered more profitable than the previous small-scale food production.

“Together with the devastating potato famine, the Clearances left many families without livelihoods. That’s when mass emigration took place and islanders emigrated to North America, Canada and Australia, causing the decline of the Gaelic culture,” he told us.

As our bus returned us to Stornoway, Guido added: “The Clearances have left deep scars on the collective memory of the people, which will never be completely erased.

“But it’s not all doom and gloom. There has been progress. Tenant crofters are encouraged to make improvements to the land under their control as this can be passed on to future generations.

“This is why you see large, modern cottages springing up everywhere. But most crofting households need secondary industries like weaving and fishing to make ends meet.”

My bus to Tarbert on the Isle of Harris had arrived. From there, I would catch the bus to the Isle of Scalpay, where I would be staying for the next two nights. I said goodbye to Guido until my return to Edinburgh.

“Where are you from?” asked the bus driver at the Tarbert bus station as he and I waited for the bus to the Isle of Scalpay to fill.

“South Africa,” I said.

“Ah, Oscar Pistorius and Nelson Mandela. A wee bit far from home then.”

The tiny isle of Scalpay to the east of the Isle of Harris is linked to its bigger sister by a spectacular bridge, which was opened in 1998 and is the pride of the islanders. They previously had to travel to Tarbert for supplies (there are no shops on Scalpay) via car ferry.

“Most costly it was for us to travel back and forth,” says Annie McLeod, owner of the Cnoc-na-Uamha (Hill with a Cave) guest-house where I was staying. “We were very isolated in those days. We love our bridge.”

Only 80 inhabitants strong, the island of Scalpay offers the last word in tranquil living. Sheep roam the hillsides carefree as sheepdogs lie sprawled in the road, having apparently adopted a see-if-I-care attitude. The islanders on Scalpay have formed a close-knit community. Visitors stand out.

I discovered this during a visit to a shop when a handsome blue-eyed woman tapped me firmly on the shoulder. “I sat next to you on the bus yesterday. Where are you from?” she demanded.

Then, as on the mainland and other parts of the Hebrides, the subject of the coming Scottish referendum was being hotly debated on Scalpay. Some are fiercely opposed to Scotland’s split from Westminster and others strongly in favour. Most form part of the silent majority.

“Stop swithering,” said Isobel Smith of the Scottish National Party. We were at the breakfast table at Cnoc-na-Uamha and the atmosphere was loaded. “That’s what I tell them because that’s what they’re doing.”

“Swithering?” I asked, bravely showing my ignorance.

“A good Scottish word for dithering, slithering and wavering. No need to mince words.”

Later that day in Tarbert, I boarded a bus destined for the ferry port of Leverburgh in the south. The route goes past some of the spectacular beaches for which the Isle of Harris is world famous.

“We’ll be passing the beaches of Luskentyre and Northton. Which will it be?” inquired the driver.

“Whichever one has a cafe for lunch, please.”

“Northton it is then. Decent little cafe. And on your way to the beach. you can pop in at the genealogy centre to trace your ancestors. I’ll give you a shout when we get there.”

The Isle of Harris is a nature lover’s paradise. Starkly different from the more commercial and cultural Isle of Lewis, it has some of the most striking seascapes in the world.

At Northton, a brisk 40-minute walk from the main road took me to its immaculate but isolated beaches. Long white strands, fringed by azure seas and fields of yellow heather, glide in under indigo skies.

I stood in awe for several minutes, marvelling at the beauty around me. I would have stayed longer but for a few nesting Arctic terns that began to swoop threateningly.

After a hearty, rustic lunch at the Temple Cafe, it was back to the main road for the bus. Not being descended from a long line of aristocrats, I decided to give the genealogy centre a miss.

Back in Tarbert, I visited the new Harris Tweed showroom next to the harbour. A ferry load of German tourists had just descended on the shop causing consternation among the staff, but I managed to buy 3m of the magnificent herringbone cloth for that cape I had in mind.

Today the manufacture of the cloth is strictly controlled by the government. If it’s not woven and spun by the locals using the traditional foot power method, it won’t receive the famous Harris Tweed orb logo.

Back in Stornoway, well-known Hebridean landscape painter Kenneth Brown, Guido and I were enjoying a farewell lunch at the Woodlands Cafe on the Lews (not Lewis) Castle grounds in Stornoway.

“For an artist, it’s the hues of the land and sea that draw me back,” said Kenneth, who grew up in Stornoway. “I’ve lived in Glasgow for years, but I’m always hankering to return. And I miss the gentleness of the people.”

I knew what he meant. The gentleness and patience of the island people have been evident everywhere. Bus drivers stop at the roadside to assist elderly passengers to board, guest-house owners run up to the road to flag down public transport for their guests, clerks at the tourist office painstakingly draw up elaborate maps for visitors.

This gentleness, it seems, has rubbed off on the animals as sheep and sheepdogs alike will trot up for a cuddle.

“In one word, how would you describe life here on the islands from what you’ve seen?” Guido wanted to know.

I didn’t have to think. “Authentic. In one word.”

Sunday Tribune

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