SO, HER Majesty is forking out a cool £300,000 to hire the former MV Hebrides, which plied between Tarbert, Uig and Lochmaddy until 1985. Summer isn’t summer without the royals coming up the west coast for picnics in sneaky, out-of-the-way places. I promise to leave her alone this year, but I did sort of accidentally on purpose bump into her and her family one summer.
I was on Barra. Looking out from the Craigard Hotel, I saw a familiar bow and masts in the distance. It was the Royal Yacht Britannia.
The Barrachs were unexcited. Yeah, the Royal Family would be taking their smoked salmon sandwiches and caviar on the nearby uninhabited island of Sandray. They did it every year.
Well, I wasn’t going to hire a boat to go to Sandray to get a wee photo. Naw, not worth it. Then a fisherman told me the royal tenders had actually come into the wee beach over the hill on Vatersay. Ah, could be worth a wee toddle round there. Enlisting the help of my mate Margaret Ann Macintyre, from Northbay, as assistant photographer, we set off, crossed the causeway and began to climb that hill.
Margaret Ann was fit as a deer, but I was pewchled. Suddenly, there they were. As we peered over the summit, the royals were standing around as the footmen tidied up, taking the tablecloths and crates of empty bottles back to the boats. Keen to impress Margaret Ann with my outdoor skills, I crawled down on my belly, SAS-style, to get closer to clinch that shot which would propel me to national stardom when it appeared on the cover of Hello!
Even on my belly I am not what you would call low-profile. Some eagle-eyed security men spotted me. They were fly. They set off, some going east, some west and I realised they were trying to get behind me and cut me off. The goons’ pincer movement did not work. I bravely stood up and ran – back into Vatersay. Yanking Margaret Ann along behind me, I made it back to the car about 10 times faster than I went up.
Racing through Vatersay in first gear – well, you can’t remember to do everything – I could see the minders on the hill scratching their heads. They would have had powerful long lenses. My photo is probably on a wanted list in the palace. Maybe I should keep out of their sights for a bit.
There are, however, many interesting seaside places the royals could see here. Like Carloway. Tucked in between Breasclete and Shawbost, many thousands go each year to see the early social housing scheme at Gearrannan blackhouses. The Broch, an example of the earliest secure flats, is also a famed landmark.
As well as having names which suggest the Vikings were there for some time, Carloway saw bloody battles over cattle raiding. An Uigeach called Dòmhnall Cam MacDhùghaill trapped cattle-raiding Morrison scoundrels from Ness, herded them into the Broch and choked them by tossing in clumps of burning heather.
Let me just stress that the cove in question was from Uig itself, not Great Bernera. The last thing I want is a ruffian from Skigersta turning up here at all hours with a fiery torch in one hand and a can of Special Brew in the other, muttering that he is going to right some ancient wrongs perpetrated by my ancestors.
Some of the bloodiest battles in Carloway were in the 1970s. The Carloway Hall was then the scene of at least a fortnightly scrap of epic proportions.
This was where rugged Carlowegians would square up to and comprehensively thump Shawbostonians, Nisich and even us Berneranians who happened to look twice at any of the giggly maidens of Pentland Drive, Kirvick or even as far away as Garynahine. They guarded them as jealously as their flocks of blackfaces.
After exhausting themselves with a bout of violent blood-letting, the Carloway pugilists would then shake on it. Out would come the half-bottle and everyone would be best pals.
Then, as the cockles warmed and strength returned, the Carloway guys would accuse the visitors of swigging too much and not leaving them any. They would proceed to knock seven bells out of them again. Ah, happy days.
I had better not go into too much detail. Some of the worst ones hold top jobs in national government, industry, quangos and, of course, Western Isles Council.
It’s all changed now. They are a very civilised lot over there. I saw some of the lads from the Carloway football team on Friday in one of downtown Stornoway’s more upmarket social venues. The lads were on good form and Mary Maclean, she of the health board’s healthy eating project but in an altogether different role that evening, tells me the banter was excellent.
The players were discussing what could be done to raise cash for local charities.
Our Mary came up with the novel idea of the lads doing The Full Monty on the stage of Stornoway Town Hall, as was ably demonstrated in a certain 1990s motion picture of a similar name.
Naughty Mary. Naughty, naughty Mary.
They had better hurry up, though. Councillors Angus Campbell and Angus MacCormack are already revving up the bulldozers waiting for the green light to reduce that grand stage to a pile of firewood.
However, Carloway’s finest thought it was a fine idea and signed a note pledging their rippling talents for the event.
Mary is determined to hold them to it and keeps the fit boys’ scribbles close to her heart. Nice warm place that, a Mhairi.
What happened on Saturday when the boys told their mums, aunts, grannies and girlfriends about their pledge is not yet known. If they actually did tell them.
Oops. I hope I haven’t let the cat out of the bag.
You know, I would not be surprised if some Carloway lads get clouted themselves tonight.
