Now it was getting daylight. One of the boys stood forward and saw a boat on the top of a rock called Sgeir an Fhéidh (the Deer’s Skerry). Coming closer, they saw Catriona, and with very good skill they got the boat alongside the rock and took Catriona and the boat out of the difficulty. John took her in his arms and carried her in the forecastle, put on her some of his own dry clothes, and gave her tea and some whisky – which she did not want to take. In a short time she was all right and none the worse for her adventure.
When they were passing Lochboisdale John wanted to go ashore to have another burst to celebrate that they had got Catriona back again.
‘Some other day, John,’ said Catriona.
John the fisherman’s Christmas homecoming in a blizzard
At the beginning of November it was customary to go to the lochs, Loch Hourn and Loch Nevis, to fish herrings. Now there were no clocks or watches in those days. John had to take with him a cock so that he would be crowing in the morning. The cock was very useful every day except Sunday, and John did not want to hear him on Sunday as, being awake the whole week, he was keen to have a long sleep. And so annoying was the cock to John on Sunday morning that he was feeling inclined on many occasions to get up and twist his neck. However, the time went on and the poor cock escaped the penalty of death. Now the season was over and it was getting near Christmas time and there were three of the boat’s crew married men and they were all keen to get home for Christmas and John was the only single man on board.
At cockcrow, when they decided to leave for Eriskay, they got everything in readiness for the long sail before them. Now the wind was a nor’easter and a very fair wind and promising snow, and when they came abreast of the Island of Canna there was a great conference to decide finally whether to let her cross to Eriskay or not. Well, John was independent whether he would go or not and he was leaving it for the older men to decide, and then the three others were keen to go. And the wind was getting up and the night was coming on, and no compass, don’t forget and so they let her go.
And when they were about an hour or so after passing Canna out of sight in the Blizzard, they began to tremble. The night was passing, no sign of land, and they just had to steer – they did not know where. Well, one began to cry and to weep and wail and latterly they all began to cry, for their wives and their children, thinking that their doom was at hand. All John said when he was seeing that they were tired crying, ‘Well, boys,’ he says, ‘we are not going to die yet. I just have a feeling – my upper lip is very itchy, and that never happened to me but a dram was not far away.’
And they turned round and said to him, ‘You should not be speaking like that, John, in weather like this. You have no sense.’
‘Well, I am telling you, Donald,’ he says ‘that I never had in all my life the itchiness of the upper lip but there was a dram near it.’
And between the intervals John was cheering them up, keeping well before them that the dram was near.
At one time in the middle of the argument John felt his lip getting itchier and itchier and, ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘the land is getting near.’
Now there was a pause and nobody saying anything, and John had the third turn of the itch, and he jumped up and went to the bow of the boat and without a shadow of a doubt he was quite clear that he was seeing the point of Flodday, an island at the back of Fuiay there. He said, ‘Here is the first buoy – this is Flodday Island.’ And he had another itch and he says, ‘I told you, Donald, I was never let down’ – and the wind backing from the north-east, they made shelter and they followed the. way in right to the top of North Bay here, just below the priest’s house. And they moored the boat and landed there and went to the old inn, along with Mr Sinclair. And Sinclair was astonished to see them and didn’t know where they came from in weather like this.
It happened that he had in the house an old piper, called Donald. I have seen old Donald myself, and he loved the dram, did Donald. And he never refused a dram when he was at a wedding – when he was full himself he took the dram and blew it down the pipes. John ordered a bottle – and a big one – but out of the hundred pounds they made at the fishing this was little enough. They started the bottle which they punished severely and in very quick time and gave Donald a good share. Then the stories began and another bottle was called. Then John felt inclined to have a dance for himself and told Donald to play the pipes. The four boys stood up and danced a reel just as they were, in their oilskins and seaboots. When they were finished they put off their oilskins, and then John says, ‘Ach, you devils,’ he says, ‘didn’t I tell you, Donald, that the itchiness of my upper lip was ever and was always a good forecast that a dram was near at hand?’
So the old woman of the house, Mrs. Sinclair, at that stage gave them something to eat, and they had a good feed and Donald played the pipes and John called another bottle, that is, a third one, and at the third bottle the old woman says, ‘Well,’ she says, ‘that is all you will get.’
‘Och,’ says John to her, ‘my dear lassie, you will have to bring up a gallon jar yet.’
‘Oh you will have to do without the jar to-night – this is Saturday night.’
She would not give them any more, but sent them to bed and they were very comfortable. And the next day they saw their wives and children in very good order.
[When itching was felt it was considered a premonition, e.g. sgrìob an airgid, money foretold by itchiness of the palm, and so on.]
William MacGillivray and the bagpipes found at Culloden
On the field of Culloden Moor one time was found bagpipes, and a bonny set they were. They were taken to Greenock by the man who found them on the field. Now an uncle of the MacGillivrays of Eoligarry was one time out in Greenock. He was a piper and was very interested in the pipes, especially when he heard that they were found on the battlefield of Culloden. And he being a blood relation of the man who they belonged to, MacLennan asked could he have a loan of the pipes – either that or could he buy them?
The man said, ‘No, you are a piper and I am not, and however I will have much pleasure in giving you the pipes, as you can play them.’
So he took them with him to Eoligarry and he left them in charge of MacGillivray’s two boys who were then learning to be pipers – and I need not confess to you that they were taken care of there – the boys are very fond of playing them and they remained in that house for over a hundred years.
Well, William was the last surviving of the boys and it was always troubling him what would happen to the pipes when he would fade away. And then he decided to give them as a present to the lady who was in charge of the West Highland Museum at Fort William. Her name is Mistress Ryan. I was on one occasion going to Inverness to a County Council meeting and William asked me would I convey the pipes to Lochaber – that he was going to give them to Mistress Ryan of Spean Bridge, who was going to see that they would be well looked after in the West Highland Museum. So a day before I left for Inverness I called and the pipes were made up in a beautiful parcel and sealed more than a few times – I believe it took him a fortnight to do it! – and, ‘Here you are,’ he said, ‘John, here are the pipes and give them to Mistress Ryan, and I sincerely hope that they will be looked after as well as we did for the last hundred years.’
I took my very best care of them. I asked Captain Duncan Robertson if I could put the pipes in his cabin, to make sure nothing would happen to them, and he said, ‘Oh yes, certainly, Coddy.’ Now I visited him again in his cabin to see if the pipes were in order and then he said, ‘What have you got in this wonderful parcel?’
‘It is not a bottle anyway, Captain,’ I said. And then I told him the story about the pipes and at that he took out a knife to cut the string and open the parcel.
‘Oh no. Captain, you are not going to do any such like,’ I said. And so I arrived in Lochaber, I had an interview with Mistress Ryan, and gave her the pipes.
* * *
I went in one time to see what was actually happeni
ng to the pipes and I found they were hanging on a wall and looked more or less neglected. And I told the lady, Miss MacGregor, ‘Well,’ says I, ‘I took those pipes from Barra to Lochaber and the man who looked after them for a hundred years would not like to see them there. They are worthy,’ says I, ‘of being put into a glass case. They were found on the Moor of Culloden.’
I was not very long in calling again and I asked for the pipes, and the man in charge took me to a glass case and here they were lying there, beautiful.
Several years after that the 1938 Exhibition of Glasgow was on, and I met Mistress Ryan and I told her the story of the pipes in full, and I suggested it would be a very good idea to have them played at the Exhibition – a musical instrument which was very important and was very well preserved, and she jumped at the opportunity at once, and asked me who would be the best piper in my estimation to play them, and I said to her I would not leave Lochaber behind me before doing that, and I told her Angus Campbell. Angus was given the pipes so that he would have them in readiness to play when the time came, and he went to the Exhibition with the pipes and it was announced in the B.B.C. Radio Times that week that such and such a man, Angus Campbell, was to play the pipes, and the whole history as I have given it to you.
Now MacGillivray of Eoligarry was notified that the pipes would be played by Angus Campbell, and the moment he heard of it he sent a message to the minister to go and collect the Coddy and take him down to Eoligarry, so that he would be with him listening to the pipes once more, and the minister, of course, obeyed the order and he went and called on me and we went down. So the tune that Campbell played was ‘Maclntyre’s Lament’ – a very pathetic pibroch. I was carefully watching the old man, and as Angus Campbell was going on into the heart of the piping I saw poor MacGillivray’s eyes getting very moist and I clearly understood what was inside. And when Angus was finished, William was leaning heavily on his stick, his eyes were soaking in tears. He could not for a while give us even a remark. Latterly he says, ‘I am very pleased to hear such an excellent player handling them to-night.’
[The MacGillivrays became tenants of Eoligarry after General MacNeil sold the Isle of Barra in 1838.]
________
1 Fr Allan McDonald was priest on Eriskay from 1893 to 1905.
Stories of the Politician
Medicine from the ‘Polly’
On the island of Eriskay during the Politician period, when whisky was running like rivers, one day a crofter had his stirk very, very seriously ill, and in the absence of the vet John suggested to himself that he would tell his neighbour. And when his neighbour arrived, the poor stirk was lying stretched out on the ground, and could not lift his head, or his feet or his tail.
‘Well,’ his neighbour said, ‘if the stirk was mine,’ he says, ‘I would give him a drop of the Politician. At least it would do him no harm, even if it does him not so much good.’
Well, the whisky was plentiful, and they had no distance to look for it, and John got a pint. He took hold of the bottle and opened the stirk’s mouth and put his thumb on his tongue so that the whisky would flow down gently. They were anxiously waiting for the results of the medicine, and before long the stirk began to open his eyes and show signs of life, and John told his neighbour, ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I think he is none the worse of it.’
Now after a pause John said it would be a good idea to give him a little drop of hot water and a bit of sugar, and make a toddy for him. So this was arranged – the toddy was made with some water and sugar, and John, who was a capital hand at serving the medicine, gave it to the stirk. Then they let him lie down for another while and shortly after that John reported that his eyes were getting much brighter than they were before. Then the stirk made an attempt to lift his head off the ground. And John remarked this, that the stirk was rapidly improving – and on the strength of his neighbour’s suggestion they arranged to give him a third dram.
Well, when he got the third one, he made a wonderful recovery, and he sat up and began to shake himself, and then he bellowed. Then John comes on the scene again, and he says, ‘The stirk has made a wonderful recovery and I think if we give him another one it will be a complete cure!’
The same performance was done, that being the fourth dram – and when he got the fourth he really and truly made a pure shake that almost shook his tail off, gave one bellow, and off he went with his tail curled, making for the highest hill in the island. Both men were amazed to see the pace he was going at as he climbed the highest hill, called Beinn Sgrian. And when he got to the very top he was amusing himself there, running and playing about. Then he came down the hill and started to graze, in his usual good health.
So that is one story of a complete cure from the world-famous Politician.
[The Politician was a merchant ship carrying a cargo of over thirty of the best brands of whisky to America which ran ashore in 1941 on the small rock called Hartamul near Eriskay and was abandoned. The cargo – or a good part of it – was salvaged by willing rescuers, and did much to enliven the dark days of the war in the Outer Isles. Many songs were made about the incident; one of them is printed in Margaret Fay Shaw’s Folksongs and Folklore of South Uist, and the event is also the basis of the well-known novel and film, Whisky Galore, by Sir Compton Mackenzie.]
Hiding the ‘Polly’
During the run of the Politician there lived in the Island of Eriskay a good-hearted Highlander, to name Ronald. He was a fisherman and a very good one. Like many other Eriskay men – and more than Eriskay men – he was a famous hand at the ‘Polly.’ In fact, he had a tremendous stock in hand when the rumours came that an invasion of Excise officers were on the road to Eriskay. And he said to the wife, ‘Well Catriona, we had better get the whisky out of the house,’ he says, ‘because the Excisemen are coming.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Catriona, ‘for God’s sake take it away and don’t let me see a drop of it coming in the house again. I am not getting a wink of sleep since it came into the house whatever, and you should have put it away long ago.’
Now in the twilight this certain night Ronald filled a sugar bag which would contain three or four cases, and he put the whole show on his back, and he made an attempt to move his stock out of the house and hide it in the hill. Ronald was very tired of the bag before he reached his destination, and when he made himself believe that he was in the safest spot in Eriskay for hiding the lot, he let go the bag and emptied it all out. Now next he got hold of a bottle and he tried to hide it into a corner of a rabbit burrow – and lo and behold, what happened, it struck against another one! Well, he tried it not far from the same place, and the same thing happened, and for six occasions in succession Ronald could not get his bottle into a burrow because there was one there before him. So he gave up the ghost and returned to the dump, and he was admiring the bottles there and was going to bid them goodnight for ever, because tomorrow they would belong to someone else.
Then he saw there on the side of the bottle, ‘The King’s Ransom,’ and ‘Well I will see no more of those bottles’ says Ronald, ‘and I think I will take a dram out of the King’s Ransom’ – so that Ronald did.
The medicine began to feel happy on Ronald, and he decided on taking another one, and at that one he sat down and treated himself to a smoke. And he said, ‘Ah, well, I am very disappointed to be going away and leaving all these bottles behind – I think I’ll take another dram.’ So that was Number Three. And so on, continuing at that rate the bottle was very nearly empty before Ronald said to himself, ‘I had better go home,’ so he made for the homeward journey. And I am telling you, he was making much better way on the outward journey! And crawling from port to starboard he was in a merry state – or perhaps a poor state.
It was twilight, and the wife could see Ronald coming home and she was wondering what was the matter with him and when he came closer she discovered he was much the worse from the expedition to hide the ‘Polly.’ And she rolled out in Gaelic, “Raghnaill, Raghnaill, de t
ha cearr ort, a m’eudail?’(Oh, Ronald, Ronald, what is the matter with you, my dear?)
And Ronald said, ‘You know, Catriona, I took with me to the hill a big bag and I was certainly dead tired before I got it there. On arriving at the place where I was going to hide the bottles not a damn corner was there but there was a bottle in every burrow before me. And I drank the biggest part of one myself and now, supposing all the Excisemen between this and Hell itself comes, I would not go another inch to Ben Stack’ – and Ronald went to bed.
And the next day, when he took a walk to admire the scenery he left yesterday, the coast was swept – there was nothing there.
Transporting the ‘Polly’
When the whisky was very plentiful in the Island of Eriskay, some party hired me over with the boat – not to visit the Polly, but to visit their friends. It was a very, very hard day for me – so many Eriskay people knew me, and so numerous were the offers to take a dram, that I vowed to myself, ‘I am not going to take any.’
Well, then, I was trying to make a deal with a man who had several cases up on a hill. This is how I did the deal. I told him to get four empty bags and put a case in each bag, and it was in the month of May, and the coal and peats were scarce, and I smuggled the peats and the whisky together. I told him to put them into the bags, the whisky first and the peats on top. I told him I would wait until the fall of the night, and when he would see me leaving the Rubha Ban that I would meet him over at Sloc na Creiche and he was going to take the bags down there, and the cases, and he would have the four bags ready for me when I would arrive there.
Now I am aboard. We bid goodbye to my numerous friends who came to see me off and very sorry they were that I would not take some whisky. However, the man with whom I made the deal for the peats was going to await my arrival at Sloc na Creiche, and the place is where the Englishmen killed the Weaver and his three sons.1 Everything was still and silent and those that had been at the party were well equipped in bottles, and I had none, and when we left we went off our course a considerable distance to get to the Sloc where my client was waiting for me. The peats were there and we hauled aboard the peats, and there was a priest aboard, and nobody was a bit the wiser, but one inquisitive fellow, seeing them, ‘Why,’ he says, ‘are you importing peats to Barra?’
Tales from Barra Page 12
