Published: Press and Journal Sep 12, 2011
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Since April, a procession of people wound their weary way up that hill.
Heads down, they trundled up forsaking even the charms of the Carlton Bar. They were all following patiently-explained directions for the Isle of Lewis Chessmen at our museum in Stornoway.
Most got it wrong. Told to keep going up Francis Street and it would be on their left just before Matheson Road, the dozy walkers would always turn into Lewis Street, the last turn-off.
On that street, the bewildered culture vultures and archaeology addicts soon spotted the courthouse and, convinced they had finally found Museum nan Eilean, made for there in their endless search for something ancient and interesting.
In fact, some of them did find a couple of old treasures in there. However, the sheriff and the procurator fiscal don’t count so the visitors were ejected and told where to go.
The curtain twitchers of Lewis Street used to wonder just how popular were the little men from Uig round the corner in the museum. In fact, I have found out that no less than 20,000 visitors have been to see them since the exhibition began at Easter.
It’s now ending although the chessmen can be seen for a final day at Uig Museum tomorrow. You should go. If you’re reading this in some distant wilderness, like Aberdeenshire, you may just make it with a wee tailwind from Hurricane Katia.
The Isle of Lewis Chessmen are probably the one thing around the world that this wee island is known for – apart, of course, from intolerant sabbatarians. It must be nearly 14 or 15 years since they were last here. So on Saturday I decided I would go along for a decko before they are spirited away to be wrapped up and stuffed into someone’s drawers in the British Museum for another 15 years.
So I got up and asked Mrs X if, by any chance, she wanted to see the chessmen. Her ears pricked up straight away, she threw down her knitting and she had wheeched me out the door before I could squeak that I was still in my wincyette pyjamas.
Actually, there were one or two fibs there. Mrs X doesn’t knit and I don’t wear any jammies, wincyette, nylon or knitted. I only said that in case my auntie Kirsty Ann read this. She’s always telling me to wrap up nice and warm if I’m going out. In fact, she’s always telling me to wrap up, period.
It’s a great wee exhibition. Not only is it fantastic to see the wee Uigeachs in the flesh – OK, in the walrus ivory – but it is really informative. There are cards and wallcharts with the most fascinating facts clearly explained.
Did you know, for instance, that there is nothing certain about where the chessmen were actually found? Oh, it may indeed have been by Uig Sands but it may also have been at Mealasta, a fine beach up at Breanish. In fact, let’s be honest about this; it wasn’t properly recorded at the time so it could have been anywhere in the parish of Uig.
It could even have been on Great Bernera, a charming wee island to the northern boundary of the parish, and a place I happen to know. I have often experienced the call of the ancients there myself. That’s when I had to go in for my tea.
The point is that these 91 ivory pieces are a big draw. They should be permanently based on Lewis – ideally Bernera, but we would be open to negotiation – because they would be a real help to the fragile economy of these islands.
Back in the mid-1990s, when we had councillors who had a bit of bottle, there was an attempt to have the whole caboodle kept here. Of course, the British Museum and the National Museum of Scotland, kept arguing there would be no proper security here because they were uninsurable and CCTV was still in its early developing stages where, even close-up, all faces captured on video looked like fuzzy snowmen.
People like then-councillor George Lonie, a man of principle if ever there was one who is due to do well if, as I hear, he stands for the Scottish Socialist Party, would quiver with rage at the thought they would have to be handed back. How I remember the despair in his voice as he asked the packed Criterion: “Whit are we gonnae dae? I jist dinnae ken masel’.”
Someone shouted we should kidnap the wee coves. That was probably his councillor colleague Callum Ian MacMillan. He was always full of bright ideas. The suggestion brought the house down. They heard the roars of “We’re right behind youse” and “Let’s dae it the night, lads” as far away as Charles Morrison & Sons Ltd, a supplier of paint, pots and pans.
The raid to liberate the chessmen didn’t happen however. If only George Gawk, who after long deliberation was chosen to lead the expedition, hadn’t been dipping his sheep the following morning, who knows what course history would have taken.
So worried were the museums that the rebellious Leodhasachs would sober up enough to seize the chessmen that the museums flew up a couple of security guards to escort them back down south. That actually happened.
Now the chessmen are in Uig Museum for a final few hours tomorrow. Of course, I would never suggest kidnapping anyone or anything but I just wonder if the intrepid Gawk has a few hours free …
