by Anne Cholawo
They had good hearts though. One of them (I will name him Jack) was always willing to help carry supplies up the beach for Jill and me. Jack told me that when they heard about their uncle’s new island house he and his younger brother had been desperate to visit Soay. It was their uncle who suggested that they might do some alterations to the property – apparently Jack and Dutch were builders. Jack told me about their strange journey. How they drove from Leeds to Arisaig in a clapped-out old camper van and then arrived to find the Sheerwater out of action, the booking office shut and nobody around. The weather was bad and they could find no clear information about when and where a boat would be leaving for Soay. They spent several cramped and cold days in their van before giving up and driving to Mallaig to see if they could get to Soay from there. They had ended up in a pub, got into conversation with some of the locals and finally persuaded a very drunk Mallaig fisherman to take them to Soay on that wild night, for £20.
Jack and Dutch were determined they would live by fishing and hunting on Soay. They had bought rods and began fishing off the shore straight away. They went out every day to try different places but I don’t believe they caught one fish in all their time on Soay. They were curiously unprepared in every way. There were four mouths to feed, plus the dogs, yet these young people had brought very little with them. After the first week they began to run out of food. Even if they had been allowed to let their dogs run free they would not have been able to feed themselves on rabbits for four to six weeks.
Burnside was probably one of the best-maintained and modernised properties on the island. To me it was a proper house, the kind of home you could find anywhere on the mainland. It had been retiled, repointed and had double-glazed modern windows. The kitchen had a huge oil-fired Aga for cooking, heating and hot water. The living room had parquet flooring with an attractive redbrick arched open fireplace. Two massive Lister generators provided the house with enough power to run a fridge, chest-freezer and washing machine as well as all the electrical appliances of any modern household. Burnside even had satellite television. However, both generators and Aga required fuel and it was not long before the generators ran out of diesel, and then the Aga ran out of kerosene. Once the generators stopped there were no lights and no electricity to run household appliances. They didn’t even have a candle, so Gordon offered them a petrol-fuelled Tilley lamp along with a full can of petrol. Without the Aga there was neither heating nor hot water. Luckily, there were plenty of full gas cylinders so they could still use the cooker.
People started to give them home-grown vegetables and sundry supplies. Jill baked a couple of loaves for them and in return, Jack and Dutch turned up at her house with a rabbit. But the reality of ‘living off the land’ on Soay is very different from camping out for a week. If all goes wrong on the mainland, you can walk, drive or hitch to the nearest shop. Here, in winter, it can be four weeks or longer before there’s a chance to get supplies onto the island. There are no opt-out solutions – apart from hoping you have generous and well-supplied neighbours.
Without fuel, the four visitors went scavenging in the copses, incurring Tex’s wrath yet again when he caught one of them carrying a freshly hewn sapling over his shoulder. This was sacrilege as far as Tex was concerned. However, he did direct them to a heap of old pallets on the beach near the house.
Meanwhile the young folk set about their ‘improvements’. Up came the parquet floor. Out came the V-lining. They even dismantled the sitting-room fireplace, though this was their only heat source. Being nosy, I asked if I could see what they were doing and they were very happy to show me. It was a shock to find the entire ground floor had been gutted. Where once had been a warm, pleasant and comfortable family home was now an empty shell. I remembered going to a Christmas party in that very room just a year ago. Dianne had hollowed out large ice blocks to hold tea lights and placed them either side of the garden path all the way up to the front door. Flickering candles shone through the ice and shimmered across the garden. It was a beautiful, simple idea, long before solar lights. A blazing coal fire kept us warm as we sipped our drinks and ate fantastic home cooking. Now there was just a gaping hole where the fireplace used to be, bare stone walls and a rough concrete floor stuck with glue. Well, I thought, it is not my house, perhaps there’s a plan for putting it all back together.
Two more weeks went by. A few days before they were due to leave on the mailboat, the four went off in Oliver’s boat Golden Isles to buy much-needed supplies for their last week on Soay. They returned in high spirits. Apart from the younger nephew, that is. Something had happened that made him decide to leave early and he did not return on the boat with Dutch, Jack and Sophia.
A few days later I was on my way to help Jeanne to bed. It was still just light when I passed Burnside and I saw a single candle burning in the kitchen window. I remembered Jack mentioning they were going to have a little party before they left and they had come back from their trip to Portree with bags of food and drink. It was just six thirty and it did not look as if the party was in full swing yet
In Soay House, supper was finished and I had got Jeanne into bed. By now it was nearly ten thirty and I was getting ready to go home when I heard a sound I hope never to hear again. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I went back into the kitchen where Tex was smoking his pipe and reading.
‘I just heard a terrible noise.’
‘What did it sound like?’
‘Like something dying.’
Tex said it was probably just Blackie bleating in the shed but he saw the look on my face. I did not want to go out of the door alone. He relented.
‘I’ll go outside and see. It’s probably nothing.’
A few moments later he was back. There was a strange look on his face, both amused and disbelieving at the same time.
‘Burnside is on fire,’ he said. ‘I can see flames coming out of the porch.’
Next thing I knew we were outside, hurrying along the track.
‘Wait,’ said Tex. ‘I’ll pick up the fire extinguisher.’
He came out of the Ceilidh Hall carrying a large, old- fashioned extinguisher in his arms. I was chafing to get down there fast.
‘There’s no rush,’ he said. ‘They’ll be alright.’
I wasn’t convinced; Tex hadn’t heard what I had heard. However, his calm and collected manner was helpful. He seemed more concerned at discovering the fire extinguisher was empty – it had last been used to put out a kitchen fire in Burnside some years ago, why hadn’t it been refilled? I wanted to run on, but he held me back.
‘There’s no rush, lassie, they’ll all be out by now.’
A few minutes later the two ground floor windows exploded. Flames leapt into the night, fanned almost white-hot by the wind. The porch was totally engulfed by fire. The schoolhouse, just across the burn, was lit up luridly. There was a stiff south-south-easterly wind and on a dry night sparks were being blown toward the school. A fire extinguisher would have been useless. Tex threw it to the ground in disgust. We met Anne standing on the school burn bridge, distressed and anxious. She and Gordon had been first on the scene fearing for the schoolhouse. Gordon had started dragging the gas bottles away from the back of Burnside to reduce the risk of them exploding but had to leave one of them when it began to superheat.
When the canister exploded it was not like a bomb as I expected. Instead, the connection cap blew off and a jet of flaming gas shot straight into the air for several feet like a flame-thrower. At first we were too concerned about the schoolhouse to notice how many people were standing outside the burning house. We had seen silhouettes and assumed everyone was out because the figures seemed quite calm, just watching the fire.
I felt a sudden surge of anger toward these people who had caused so much trouble. I started shouting at them, calling them ‘a bunch of irresponsible idiots’ (a polite interpretation) and was in full spate when Tex stopped me.
‘Don’t bother, it’s too late fo
r that now.’
He was right. I regretted my outburst; they were probably in shock. I went over to apologise and noticed that there was only one dog. At the same time I realised only Dutch and Sophia were standing there.
‘Where’s Jack?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know.’ There was no emotion in Dutch’s voice.
‘Where did you last see him?’
‘I think he was in the kitchen.’
‘Is he in there with his dog?’
‘No, this is his dog. Mine is still in there.’
Dutch pointed toward the inferno. It was much later that I realised the sound I heard had been from the dog trapped inside Burnside. Even today, as I recount the event well over twenty years later, I find myself physically unable to describe that noise. To find the words would be to remember it too vividly.
It seemed Jack must still be inside the house. Dutch and Sophia were making no sense so we could only hope that Jack had made it to the rear of the house through the kitchen and into the bathroom extension. Perhaps he was lying unconscious near the back door, overcome by smoke? Gordon and Anne were still trying to keep the fire away from the school, so Tex and I made our way towards the back of the house as the fire was concentrated at the front. I smashed a window with a rock, calling Jack’s name through the hole. Thick black smoke poured out through the broken glass. As we reached the back door, I heard the upstairs windows smash and the roar of flames became louder and more intense. The fire had reached the top storey.
By the back door, Tex had found a length of old rope and some rags, which he was dipping into a water butt.
‘I’ll tie this rope around my waist,’ he said. ‘You hold on to the other end. That lad may be lying just by the door for all we know.’
Tex tied the wet rag over his nose and mouth, opened the back door and made his way into the dense smoke. I paid out the rope which would pull him out if smoke overcame him. Tex had many faults. He could be an ornery, stubborn, mean, arrogant and bitter old codger sometimes. But he also had plain, old-fashioned guts. He wasn’t just playing at heroics; he was trying to save somebody’s life. He was the only one of us that night prepared to take the risk. Despite his determination, Tex didn’t get far. The smoke was black and thick, and poured out in a dense mass. The rope wasn’t very long and I couldn’t breathe even through my own dampened scarf. After only a few minutes Tex came back out. He had seen no sign of Jack.
No one could survive inside without breathing apparatus. By now the fire had reached the roof. Flame-retardant tiles began to crack and fly off as if someone were throwing them at us. We had to move away; it was too dangerous to stay near the building. By the time we got as far as the track, the fire had reached all parts of the building. The roof collapsed inward crashing through the first floor. The centre of the fire was now inside the stone shell of Burnside. The schoolhouse was safe. In less than twenty minutes Burnside had burnt to the ground
There was nothing for it but to take Dutch and Sophia back to Soay House with their dog. The next step would be to ring the police. It was clear there was a fatality to report but we did not need to call the fire brigade; the fire was all but out. It was only now that I noticed that Dutch was holding his left arm very carefully as he hobbled along in his stocking feet.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
‘I’ve burnt my hand.’ Again his voice was without emotion. Soay House seemed surreally normal. Tilley lamps were burning brightly, the kettle was singing on the Rayburn and Tex’s book was laid face down on the table. All was just as we had left it only half an hour earlier.
While Tex phoned the police, I went upstairs to check on Jeanne. I had hoped that she was asleep, but she wasn’t. She had worked out what was going on before we got back. The very worst thing for her was watching flecks of burning debris floating past her bedroom window. I suddenly realised what it might feel like for Jeanne, confined to bed, unable to move without help. I explained what had happened so that she was not left with any worries of lingering danger from the fire.
Downstairs Tex was still on the phone to the police. Toward the end of the conversation I heard him snap.
‘The fire brigade? Don’t bother your arse, laddie, the fire’s out.’
Tex put down the phone. He’d been told the fire brigade had to be called to any fire involving a fatality.
Now all we could do was wait for police and fire brigade. I wondered how they would get to Soay and how long it would take. I looked at the clock. It was quarter past eleven.
In the bright light of the two wall-mounted Tilley lamps, I got a good look at Dutch’s burnt hand. It was really quite bad; the top layers of skin were burnt up to the wrist. I did not know how to treat severe burns so I went back upstairs with a notebook and pencil to ask Jeanne. She wrote: ‘Immerse his hand in very cold water, and change the water regularly. Make him keep his hand in the water all the time.’
Back downstairs, I filled a basin with cold water and as soon as Dutch immersed his hand he told me the pain eased immediately. I put a filled jug in the fridge ready for the next time and we carried on with this procedure for the next three hours while we waited for the emergency services. In between, I made endless pots of tea and sandwiches.
Tex and I were curious to know how the fire started and Dutch and Sophia did not seem too distraught to talk. If anything, once the pain in his hand eased and he had eaten some food, Dutch behaved as if it were all a grand adventure.
Dutch told us that they had made a fire in what remained of the sitting room fireplace then began drinking and generally having a good time. No one was keeping an eye on the fire. When Dutch felt the room getting chilly he saw the fire had died to just a few embers. He threw on bits of old pallet but the fire was too low to catch so he fetched the can of petrol Gordon had given them for the Tilley lamp. Using a clamshell, he poured petrol into it and holding the can in his other hand emptied the shell onto the fire. The petrol fumes ignited immediately. Flames blasted into the room burning Dutch’s left hand and setting the petrol can alight. For some unexplained reason Dutch then carried the burning can past the front door and porch that led outside, and dropped it on the kitchen floor, setting fire to that room too. Dutch, Sophia and Jack’s dog escaped through the front door before the porch caught fire. It all happened so quickly Dutch didn’t even have time to put on his shoes. His memory seemed hazy and he made no mention of his friend Jack, or his dog, which I found very strange.
We finally heard the helicopter three hours later. This was not the first helicopter to land on Soay that night, and even the Mallaig lifeboat turned up with a crowd of firemen. By two thirty in the morning more than thirty men from all emergency services had arrived, some from as far away as Stornoway in the Outer Hebrides.
At Soay House there was a soft knock on the door and Jill peered round it in her nightie, dressing gown and a pair of wellies.
‘Did I miss something?’ she asked.
Jill had been oblivious of the tragic events until she was awoken by the sound of a helicopter hovering low over her house. Not long after Jill’s appearance, a fireman and police officer also came to the house. They wanted to question Dutch and Sophia and check how they were coping physically and emotionally. They explained they would be taking Dutch to hospital to have his hand seen to. Tex got him dry socks, boots and a jacket for the journey. The fireman asked for a plastic bag to put over Dutch’s hand and I found one for him. I helped Dutch on with the socks and boots and realised he had still not grasped the enormity of what had happened, when he said to Tex:
‘Thanks and don’t worry. I’ll bring these when I come back.’
Back to what? We were probably all thinking the same thing. There was nothing left. The house was a burnt-out shell.
Dutch was taken away by helicopter to have his burns treated. There was nothing any of us could do for the time being. It was now four in the morning and we were all very tired. It looked as if police and firemen would be on the isla
nd next day, so I offered Sophia a bed at my house for what was left of the night.
I found it was easier to walk past the smoking ruins of Burnside in the company of Jill, Sophia and Jack’s dog. It also helped that there were still men all over the area, but the acrid smell of smoke was in the air and the remains of the house were stark and skeletal under the stars.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ebb and flow
The firemen found Jack’s remains amongst the debris of the house and he was removed with all due care and respect. The dog still lies under the ruins of the building today.
In the weeks and months that followed, facts emerged slowly. There was an enquiry into the cause of the fire but no one on the island ever discovered what really did happen on that dreadful night. We never saw the two young people who survived again. Much later we learnt that Jack, Dutch and Sophia had found a local drug supplier during their shopping trip to enhance the celebrations of their last party. To me, it was another reminder that people seeking escape do not leave their troubles and fears behind. These young people came to a peaceful and beautiful island, yet they were not changed by it. They brought their own destructive ‘environment’ with them because they simply didn’t know any better. It was a terrible, tragic and unnecessary waste of a life, causing great distress to Jack’s family. One consolation, I suppose, is that despite all the tensions and misunderstandings Jack seemed to be really enjoying his time on Soay right up until his last day.
Gradually, the blackened ruin of Burnside became another mark of history on the landscape, not so much felt as noted in passing when I was hurrying on my way to Soay House. A few years later, a retired couple related to Tex and Jeanne approached the new owners of Burnside and bought the ruined house and surrounding grounds from them. They pulled down those parts of the building that were still standing and slowly turned it into a garden landscape. The neighbouring bothy, which had survived the fire intact, was made into a holiday cottage. This helped a great deal to put the fateful event behind us.
