Alistair Darling opened the Westside Agricultural Show at Barvas on the Isle of Lewis today. It was not the best of afternoons with fairly constant rain but a good crowd turned up for the show and to see Mr Darling, who is regularly on the island and has a home on Great Bernera.
I declare the show open
He presented some of the prizes
There. What are you going to sing, cove?
He was relaxed and posed for pics
D A is bursting with pride
The chancellor talking to STV News in Barvas
Posted in Isle of Lewis, Stornoway, Western Isles
Tagged Alistair Darling, Barvas, Chancellor
OCHAN ochan. Some of my cousins and neighbours have stopped talking to me. I was on “that ferry”, you see. Depending on which of them you speak to, I brought shame and anguish on the whole family, the whole street and on my whole profession for being on the first scheduled Sunday sailing out of Stornoway.
So I tried to explain to one distinctly unimpressed relative that I was not there for fun or frolicks or because I was celebrating anything. No, I was actually working, doing interviews. I quickly deduced from her wide-eyed appalled expression that, by saying that, I had just made things 10 times worse.
Earning money on the Sabbath as well as travelling on the ferry? That was it. No hope for me now.
She hadn’t heard the like since Councillor Donald John Macsween first called for Sunday ferries about 10 years ago. She was so disgusted that morning by what D.J. was saying on the radio that her hair turned white within weeks, she assured me.
Nothing to do with the fact that she is as old as the hills.
By the way she bellowed while stabbing me with her index finger, there was no point in me expecting any Christmas presents from her this year. After staining the family name in that way, I was persona non grata and she was just not going to bother with me, she boomed for the benefit of everyone walking by in The Narrows – and all the way along to the Bank of Scotland.
Then, in a spluttering fury at my lack of respect for custom and tradition and every good and wholesome thing I had learned all those years ago in the Free Church in Bernera, she flounced into Roddy Smith’s, the newsagent, probably to buy a red pen to score me off her Christmas list.
Then it struck me. What list? What Christmas presents? I have not had as much as a card from the old battleaxe for at least 20 years.
When I phoned her later to see if she had calmed down, she was cool. In fact, she very much regretted her own behaviour and said sorry. So I promised not to name her in the paper so, hopefully, no one will ever know which of my darling relatives I am calling an old battleaxe.
There are so many of them; take your pick.
Now chilled and back to acting like a real Lewis Christian should – warm, loving, forgiving, generous, OK, maybe that is going just too far – she suggested I might even get a festive card at the very least from her this year.
Aw, that was nice, wasn’t it? It’s a start, dear. Remember it has to be a parcel in 2010, though.
Seriously, all my relatives are lovely people. Deep down.
No, it’s true. Even that other one who was still avoiding me on Thursday and who made off like a scalded cat down to the frozen-foods section in the Co-op when they saw me at the fruit and veg. Aye, I clocked you, cuz.
Mrs X and The Girl were not much help, either. So little, in fact, that they just abandoned me to face the wrath of these fiercesome distant relatives who now hunt me down after not acknowledging me for decades.
This was a good time, my family decided, to head off to Inverness and take part in that competition in which, apparently, all you need is a chequebook, a credit card or a debit card – but preferably all three. Have you not heard of it? It is called How Much Can You Spend In One Day? You must always, always beat your previous day’s score. And they sure did.
The island is still split on Sunday ferries. It’s awful. And who is to blame? Yes, the ministers. Most people today, especially on this island, are far too nice to the clergy. Even all the pro-Sunday sailors are so nice to them.
No one wants to upset the Ministear. It could pay dividends later on if it is necessary for someone to put in a good word for you, I suppose.
It was not always so. Many years ago, I was told how a relative of my own, although an occasional churchgoer, was far from accepting of everything the ministers said or did. And he made sure they knew it.
Knock knock. His wife goes to the door and there is the Rev Mr Such-and-such. She asks him in and shoos her grumpy husband off the sofa so the churchman can sit in front of the fire.
“So what brings you round here today?” she inquires.
The bodach interjects: “Same as always, m’eudail. The minister was passing so he thought he would warn us we’re going to be roasted in the fires of Hell, to tell us to go to church on Sunday and because he heard you’d made a duff.”
Oblivious to the oft-heard threat of eternal damnation and call to prayer, off rushes the cailleach to make a cuppa, worried there was not enough of the dumpling left.
Before the first sip, of course, a grace was offered up. It, indeed, made much of that sulphurous inferno that may await us all and took almost 10 minutes.
The bodach was fed up because his tea had gone cold, but there was just a hot splash left in the pot on the hearth to heat the minister’s one.
The reverend gentleman wolfed the duff in two bites, so the kindly cailleach took the only slice left from the bodach’s plate and gave it, too, to the churchman.
After he left, the wife remarked what a nice man the minister was. The bodach puffed on his pipe and replied: “Och, I am not so sure. People who knew him say that Adolf Hitler also had a nice smile and a soft handshake. But I bet he wouldn’t have taken that last bit of duff.”
Posted in ferries, religion, Stornoway, Western Isles
Tagged Caledonian MacBrayne, CalMac, Sabbath, sunday sailings
The doom-merchants are at it again in Stornoway. A mini-tornado swept in by the harbour, narrowly missing the ferry terminal, on Tuesday night. The claims that God is displeased by the recent advent of Sunday ferries have resurfaced.
One worthy on Cromwell Street this morning pointed out that the damage also included a tree falling by the High Church in Matheson Road so it could hardly be an indication of God’s displeasure.
He was interrupted by a local churchman who was quick to point out that the hardline and very sabbatarian Free Church, the Free Church (Continuing) and the Free Presbyterian churches had remarkably escaped unscathed. Ooer.
That it went so very close to the ferry terminal is said to be “a warning” by many – some, happily, with tongue firmly in cheek.
Posted in religion, Scotland, Stornoway, Western Isles
Tagged Divine intervention, tornado
The row happened in the hallway of his shared house in Caledonian Road, Holloway, shortly before 6.25pm on Wednesday, July 13
Mr MacRae could not be saved and died at the scene. A post mortem gave the cause of death as a single stab wound to the chest.
The killer, thought to be a local dealer in his 20s who was squatting in the four-storey house, fled the scene. The knife is also missing.
Detective Inspector Mark Lawson, the investigating officer, said: “The circumstances behind the killing were very tragic. It would appear that
Mr MacRae’s death was as a result of an argument over a small amount of drugs.
“The amount of drugs involved did not warrant the excessive use of violence that caused his death.
“Mr MacRae was a defenceless frail man who did not pose a threat to anyone. He didn’t deserve the manner in which he died.”
Detectives are trying to piece together Mr MacRae’s life and trace his next of kin – thought to be two estranged brothers living in Scotland and Holland.
Mr MacRae originated from the Isle of Lewis area of Scotland but had been living in the Caledonian Road house for seven or eight years.
It is a property for vulnerable old people who have had problems with drugs or mental health, but in the last few months a couple of youths in their 20s started living there.
Mr MacRae had been a heroin user for years – but had never received any criminal convictions.
He was usually spotted going to the nearby Caledonian Café, where he would buy burgers and chips for several of the house’s residents.
A café worker said: “The victim used to come in three or four times a week. He wasn’t talkative and, to me, he looked mentally ill. But he was harmless.”
Neighbours have been shocked by the killing, just metres from where 16-year-old Ben Kinsella was stabbed in North Road last June.
Tufajjal Choudhury, owner of N7 Pound Plus in Caledonian Road, said: “After the killing, everybody was scared. Nobody would come out.”
Paola Oddone, 38, a store manager living in Caledonian Road, added: “We are scared because we don’t know what happened. We want to know what led to the killing.”
Police are asking for anyone who knew MacRae to come forward, as well as anyone who has information about the stabbing.
A 55-year-old man was arrested after the incident but he is not thought to be the killer. He is on police bail. Anyone who can help should call the incident room on 020 8348 0200 or Crimestoppers anonymously on 0800 555 111.
Posted in Scotland, Stornoway, Western Isles
Tagged drug addict, Holoway, Isle of Lewis, Islington Gazette, John Duncan Macrae, London
Who has these badges?
http://asgerd.com/2009/06/23/sunday-sailings-guerrillas-can-take-the-abuse/
Posted in Popular culture, Radio, religion, Scotland, Stornoway, Western Isles
Tagged Dail Mail, John Macleod, journalist, Sabbath, sunday sailings
My grandfather would tut loudly at reports on the wireless that the Americans were going to try and put a man on the moon. These rockets and sputniks would make the weather worse which would ruin the corn harvest and he did not believe a moon landing was possible anyway. No good would come of it.
Even though it is 40 years today since Neil Armstrong went walkabout on the big cheese in the sky, grandpa may have been right about the rest – except for my corkscrew. It was developed with NASA technology. Effortlessly opening a fine plonk is a benefit for mankind surely, even at Tesco’s prices.
Even I found it difficult to believe a yarn I heard about an executive at a North Scottish broadcasting organisation. The unfortunate fellow suffered a puncture in his gleaming new 4×4 on his way in to work the other day. Late and harassed, he set about changing the wheel but he could not find the spare wheel.
He hunted everywhere; under the carpet, under the bonnet and even under the vehicle itself. Nothing. So he had to call out a tyre service to extricate him from his predicament. Tiresome or what.
Fuming furiously and fulsomely, he called the garage that supplied the wagon and melted the phone. Why had they sold him a vehicle with no spare wheel? It was nothing short of outrageous. He was thinking of demanding his money back.
The sales manager remained ultra-cool. Had sir noticed anything attached to the wagon’s back door, by any chance? Something sheathed in a durable cover? Something vaguely circular, perhaps?
Our high-heid yin turned a most unpleasantly crimson hue. Had he not been so busy looking in and under the wagon he may have realised 4×4 wheels are so big the spare is hung on the back door. The red-faced exec, who I am told has South Uist connections, croaked: “Well, that’s a daft place to put it,” before replacing the receiver and wincing.
Which is what a wonderful old lady from the West Side said to an elder she met on Saturday who suggested that God had hand-picked some of the best people he could find and had put them all on an island called Lewis off the north of Scotland. By putting us together, God would know where to find a good person if he needed one in a hurry.
Which was why, he added, it was the Almighty himself who had made our ferry break down on Friday to show His displeasure at the start of Sunday sailings.
My dear friend looked him straight in the eye and said: “I am in my late-70s and the doctors tell me that I can expect to get confused some days and come out with stuff which might puzzle people around me. I am glad to have met you today. Now I know it’s not me that’s confused. It’s some of the people around me.”
Exit elder stage left.
There was also confusion for a while about our council’s Gaelic supremo Alasdair Macleod and his new bride, Joan Mackinnon, the newly-elevated director of education and stuff like that. They scuttled away to the mainland a couple of weeks ago. Soon after, mysterious texts arrived saying things like: “Seonag and Alasdair got married today – no kidding.” Was it a wind-up? Nobody knew.
But marry they did and on the QT. The speculation in the Gaelic and education offices would, the lovebirds figured, have subsided when they returned from their moon of honey.
The nonchalance of their colleagues when they sneaked back to work last week only hid the conspiracy afoot. A surprise party was sprung at which guests heard fascinating speeches and telegrams. One was from the Island Games football squad advising the bride that Alasdair had failed to make the grade even though they had tried him in every position. They hoped she would have more success. Good luck with that, Joan.
Also revealed that evening was the Alasdair Macleod Emergency Guide to Council Gaelic. Our Alasdair has devised a series of instantly memorable handy phrases transcribed phonetically that can get you by when you happen to bump into any of the council leadership or any of the Gaelic mafia.
Early in the day, you bid them good morning with a cheerful “Madeen vah.” After midday, that becomes “Feska mah.”. Easy.
If you were to meet the convener, for instance, and he said anything to you in Gaelic, the guide suggests you should always reply “Magga-reeroo”. Thereby, your response would be “Just perfect”. An ideal response – unless, of course, he was asking you what you thought of Sunday sailings.
Not that I have seen the guide, mind, but according to my sources it also includes handy phrases useful for any council employee.
How about: “Um bee ooh teen show treek?”
That, I reckon, helps you puts the very necessary question “Do you come here often?”
Another one that could be readily used in the social setting of a pub or club when inquiry is made about the quantity of refreshment desired would be: “Shaytay vore a haggamsah”. That is the correct and culturally-colourful method of declaring “Mine’s a large one.” I use that one in the Carlton all the time.
It’s so handy to have the right words and express them correctly. Like a loved-up friend of ours who is just back after a romantic holiday of sun, sea and something with her fiance in the South of France. She ran into my house the other day and looked so excited and a-tremble that she could hardly speak. I told her to calm down and asked if they had a good time.
“Oui, oui,” she said. My, I thought, her grasp of the language in two short weeks is fabulous. Unfortunately, she was not actually saying “Yes, yes” in French. Turns out she picked up a nasty bladder infection and was just desperate to go to the bathroom. Oops.
Posted in ferries, religion, Scotland, Stornoway, Western Isles
Tagged lunar landing, Neil Armstrong, sunday sailings
This is an appeal for a volunteer driver to help a charity project by driving a van to London and back over a week and a half at the end of August. Jock Murray of Gress is raising money for the Anthony Nolan Trust and for Leukaemia Research.
He needs a mature and dependable volunteer driver with a sense of humour to follow him in the Transit van to London via Inverness, Fort William, Glasgow and Gretna. He leaves Stornoway on August 22nd and returns on September 2nd. Accommodation and expenses will be paid.
To get more details, call Jock on 01851 820225 or 07860 104141.
Posted in ferries, Gaelic, Popular culture, Scotland, Stornoway, TV, Western Isles
Tagged Anthony Nolan, Jock Murray, Leukaemia Research, London, peat calendar, peats, volunteer driver wanted
If anyone else wishes to complain to The Independent/Associated Press/ whoever about the “They don’t use electricity’ article” (below), please send me a copy. Ta. I
The Editor
The Independent
London
Dear Editor,
I write to comment on your article of 19th July, “Scottish island’s sacred
Sunday under threat”, concerning the start-up of the Sunday sailings on the
ferry route between Ullapool and Stornoway, Isle of Lewis.
Having lived for several years in the isles of Lewis and Harris I
experienced the peace of ‘Sabbath’ Sundays, and considered that as a
non-churchgoing incomer it was appropriate that I should fit in and do as
the locals did. The quiet Sundays are as much a cultural aspect of Lewis
and Harris as a religious observance. Many local island people don’t
regularly attend church, but still keep quiet Sundays to respect the
islands’ tradition and to be in accord with their neighbours.
These days all the Hebridean islands have increasing numbers of incomers,
who move to the islands in an attempt to escape their urban, commercial
world. The local islanders, Sabbatarians or not, are coming under increasing
pressure to change their ways; ironically, to become more like the very
world which incomers thought they were trying to escape. If you want a pint
of milk on Sunday, why not think ahead and buy it on Saturday afternoon ?
The islands were ever so.
A few points; the great majority of Christians in Lewis and Harris are not
religious fundamentalists or fanatics, and very few literally adhere to the
Bible throughout their daily lives. There certainly is no banning of use of
electricity on Sundays! People prepare their meals ahead, for convenience of
having all ready for Sunday. Indeed, islanders don’t play sport, shop or
hang out their laundry. Whether a task is ‘necessary or merciful’ has been
the criteria for Sunday activities. Local people have said that the quiet
Sundays were, as well as set aside for religious observance, also a
tradition born of practical use. The crofting life prevalent in these
islands was (and is) such physically hard work, in all weathers and often
for a subsistence living, that if there hadn’t been a community rest day the
people would have exhausted themselves into an early grave.
Also, it would have been preferable if your esteemed publication had engaged
a Scottish island journalist to report on the start of Stornoway’s Sunday
ferry sailing, rather than using an AP reporter who seems to have just
‘called a few people’ for comment then written what was thought to be a
dramatic article and sent it around the world’s press. While any conflict
between traditional ways of life and modern commercial developments will
always be bitter and intractable and those closely concerned will give angry
comments, using a reporter who appears to have little local knowledge did
not do justice to the background of the published article.
With regards,
Susan Campbell
‘Ileach’ Community Newspaper Editorial Team
‘The Oban Times’ Community News reporter
Coulererach
Kilchoman, Bruichladdich
Isle of Islay
Argyll PA49 7UT
Posted in Gaelic, religion, Scotland, Stornoway, Western Isles
There is a lot of nonsense being written already about the arrangements for the civil partnership of Andrew Robertson and Craig Atkins since the news broke about them being the first couple having such a ceremony in the Western Isles.
Registrars are not being flown in specially. The law requires local authorities to make proper arrangements for such ceremonies. Therefore, the staff in the Stornoway office, being professional law-abiding people, will do what is required of them, just as anywhere else in Scotland.
Years ago, our backward little council said it would fly in registrars if necessary but that was before the law on such matters was clarified to rule out such foot-dragging. The usual homophobia for which the Western Isles is unfortunately renowned can be expected from the usual dinosaurs. We know who they are.
These will be the same people who, I learned this weekend, went round island care homes adding the names of residents to the petition against Sunday sailings – including those residents who were not fit to sign or consent to anything. The relatives are appalled. These are the self-same hardline Christians who tell us, day in day out, that they know what’s best for our souls. We know who they are.
They do not represent real islanders who are kind, accepting, freedom-loving souls who forgive easily and detest bigotry. I am talking, of course, about the majority whose heads are not messed up by fundamentalist religion or a desperate need to catch every single vote from ageing electors.
I was absolutely delighted, and not a little relieved, to learn that no one in Habost who was contacted would say a bad word against the happy couple. God bless the Niseachs.
The sensible and silent majority, who this weekend finally realised they are now the people with the real power in these islands, will wish Andrew and Craig all the very best. Congratulations.
PS. What a few days. Shaking off the yokes of ignorance and prejudice and embracing progress, despite the stubbornness of those who would keep us in the darkness, is just about the best fun I have had in ages – at least while keeping my pyjamas on.
Posted in Gaelic, Popular culture, religion, Scotland, Stornoway, Western Isles
Tagged Andrew Robertson, Anndra Robasdan, civil partnership, Craig Atkins, gay wedding
There have been a few memorable quotes in the entire Sabbath ferries debacle. It is not good form for columnists to slag off other scribes and it is never necessary to suggest they should not praise each other unduly – because it happens so rarely. But I was tickled by John Macleod’s response to the CalMac spokesman saying it was only mechanical failure and not divine intervention.
“I wasn’t aware he had qualifications in theology, but I don’t myself believe the One who made the heavens and the earth would be stumped by a pair of 6-cylinder, 4-stroke, 3266kW (4380hp) @ 600rpm Mirrlees Blackstone K6 Major engines.”
Posted in ferries, Gaelic, Scotland, Stornoway, Western Isles
Tagged Caledonian MacBrayne, CalMac, Sunday ferries
