Tag Archives: Sabbath

Church elder on horns of a dilemma took rams on Sunday ferry

Imagine you arrived at a west coast port with a trailer of livestock but hold-ups meant you were too late to catch the last Saturday ferry.

If you didn’t get across the Minch to the islands the next day, you could prolong the suffering of the penned animals, you would miss taking your family to Sabbath worship and you would be absent on Monday from your council job.

What would you do?

Now imagine you are an elder of the fundamentalist Sabbatarian church which led opposition to Sunday ferries to the outer isles and which believes their introduction was the work of the devil.

Now what would you do?

That was the dilemma which faced Calum Macleod, an office-bearer in the Knock and Point Free Church (Continuing) on Lewis, on September 21. The decision he took led to his suspension as an elder and also as a member of that church.

When Mr Macleod arrived too late for the Saturday ferry, he had to find not only a bed-and-breakfast in Ullapool but a shed and a park for his unsold tups after poor prices at the Dingwall sales.

After what a source described as “prayerful contemplation”, Mr Macleod, a married father of two boys, decided he should get the restless rams home without delay to avoid causing them more distress – even though that would break the Sabbath and fly in the face of the uncompromising policy of his own church.

“As ever, Calum was mindful of the law of God but he was also mindful of the laws of the Scottish Government which require stockholders to avoid stress to animals. Whatever he decided, he could breach one of these rules,” the source said. “It was a tough call.”

The FCC is among the few churches which say Sunday transport to the islands can never be justified – even on grounds of necessity and mercy. When Sunday ferries to Stornoway began in July 2009, and Sunday flights in July 2002, it was mainly its members which turned out to protest with banners and to sing psalms.

The FCC source said: “As if that was not bad enough, Calum couldn’t get onto the next ferry from Ullapool on Sunday as it was fully-booked because Loopallu, the local music festival, was ending and festival-goers were returning to Lewis.”

So the council technical services officer, who is well-known as a breeder of Cheviots, set off early on Sunday morning for Uig on Skye to get the ferry MV Hebrides to Tarbert on neighbouring Harris.

The voyage to Harris did not end well either. Mr Macleod’s vehicle broke down and had to be towed off, ensuring his presence was drawn to the attention of even more people.

On his return, Mr Macleod, from Braighe Road near Stornoway, referred his own transgression to the kirk session, comprising the minister and the elders.

Stornoway FCC minister Reverend Graeme Craig, who is also interim moderator for the Knock and Point congregation, confirmed: “After considering the matter carefully and sympathetically, Mr Macleod was suspended from office and membership for one month.
“Although the kirk session had concerns about the use of the ferry on Sabbath, they were more concerned about the unnecessary collection of animals that day. He has now resumed his duties as an elder in the congregation.”

He added that Mr Macleod had thanked the kirk session for their consideration and sympathy.

Calum Macleod also declared himself satisfied with the punishment meted out to him for taking his rams on the Sunday ferry. He said: “I brought the matter to which you allude before the kirk session quite some time ago and I requested that it be considered formally.
“I am happy to say that all things were resolved amicably after proper ecclesiastical process and the matter is now closed and completely in the past.”

Another FCC adherent said: “The kirk session understood Calum was on the horns of a classic dilemma. They had many punitive options open to them so a month’s suspension was just about the minimum penalty they could bring in. They would never say it was a wee slap on the wrist but it is being seen as that.”

Do all our politicans say one thing and just do the opposite?

LET me get this right. A multimillionaire government minister is caught fiddling his expenses by 40 quid. Now that I come to think about it maybe it was £400.

Or was it £4,000? Not that much surely? That is serious. What did you say? £40,000? Sheesh.

Realising the elastic on his undergarments had snapped, David Laws headed for the exit, but not before just about his entire party, and their partners, called him a shining star.

Incredibly, the prime minister, as we haven’t yet got used to calling him, said Mr Laws was a good and honourable man who could return to government after a wee sabbatical of the type perfected by Blair and Brown for people like Peter Mandelson.

Why did he claim the cash at all if he wanted his nocturnal doings kept under wraps? Apparently, it is because he and his mate were really not that close. The proof of that, according to Mr Laws, is that they didn’t even have the same banking arrangements or social life.

Remember this fellow?

Oh heck. In that case, me and Mrs X are up the Swannee. We have a bank account, yeah, but I also have another for a rainy day. Or in case she runs off with one of these loaded, older men that she always cuddles up to.

These are all coves who are widely-respected consultants in their own fields. Men like Tosh, the insurance consultant, and Mr D. Campbell, the bookmaking consultant, are on my list.

Not forgetting the two transport consultants, my near namesake Iain Don Maciver, a maritime transport specialist, and Johnny Fraser, a Parkend-based private hire consultant, now retired but still very active.

And, oh no, we have separate social lives. Yes, I have to admit that, too. She always has an excuse not to go to the Carlton Bar with me to hear Stornoway’s erudite raconteur, George Gawk, Esq., hand down his pearls of wisdom about life, politics and his own ongoing struggle to earn the affections of certain pretty girls from Harris.

Mrs X just won’t come out. She gets all huffy and says she would rather stay home and have another go at learning how to clean windows.

I told her she was obsessed. She didn’t like that.

“Are you saying I have OCD?” she thundered.

No m’eudail, I would never say anything of the sort.

Old crabbit dame is what she is.

John Prescott was someone who could be really crabbit. Especially when discussing the outmoded political system where the most useless people in the country sit in an ancient village hall called the House of Lords. The Labour Party was dedicated to getting rid, he would roar.

Personally, he hated all that “flunkery” and titles stuff.

So what’s happened? Gordon Brown, rather than doing anything to get rid, has handed Prescott an ermine anorak.

And the shameless fellow has taken it.

As have other toadies like Des Browne, John Reid and Jack McConnell.

What is going on? Are they living in a parallel universe where you can say one thing and do the opposite?

They are getting to be just like Western Isles Licensing Board. Probably two- thirds of the people I meet say someone must shine a light on what they are up to, who they are and why they take barmy decisions.

The other third are obviously in the Free Churches and are not bothered what is actually going on as long as they keep everything shut for as long as possible.

As councillors, board members also have a duty to take decisions which will be good for the economy. This lot we are lumbered with are falling down badly on that one.

With more fed-up families now quitting these joyless islands in the next few weeks, let’s point the finger at the ones dragging their feet on ensuring the islands are open for business for the sake of our children. And their children.

Our Churches should be taking the lead if they want these islands to survive.

Ach, they obviously don’t.

Some of the board members who transmogrify into killjoys when an application comes before them are acting in a puzzling way.

For instance, reports reach me of one of them being seen rapping the door of a certain social club in the wee small hours of the Sabbath. Is this really someone who should be going out of their way to block a well-run family-friendly golf club getting a Sunday licence in a place where several pubs are open, anyway? Just a thought.

Another alleged sabbatarian member is a secret seven-day ferry traveller. Sorry, John Prescott, there are others worse than you here on our doorstep.

If the holy types on our council, and the sycophants with slender majorities who obviously take their lead from them, find themselves unable to give the economy priority, they should just quit. Do a David Laws. Mach a seo. Missing you already.

Maybe my own councillor cousin could find another pastime rather than stand accused of impeding economic progress. Football, maybe?

Chatting to a photographer at a match, the snapper noticed her son warming up. Was he playing, he wondered. Oh yes, replied the proud mama. And what position does junior play in, he asked, expecting to be told he was a striker, outside right or centre forward.

“Position?” she wondered. “Oh, just over there,” she said, nodding towards the pitch.

Rangers can forget Ally McCoist for their next manager. Councillor Annie’s ready for the next challenge.

Words don’t come easy to me – or even to Sir Sean Connery

SOME people will believe any words that they hear, particularly on the telly. Take my own wife. The windscreen of her van was badly damaged recently outside the Creagorry Hotel on Benbecula. Bad crack, that.

However, rather than mope and fret and throw plates at me saying it was all my fault, as she usually does, Mrs X became very excited because of three words: Gavin from Autoglass.

She wanted him to come round and start smearing his stuff all over the glass like he does in the TV commercial.

I think the best she can hope for is someone from Bells Road to do a full replacement job. And, sadly for her, I am not even sure that the boys at Hebridean Coachworks do house calls.

In the aisle at Tesco the other day, I heard a forgetful housewife call to her friend saying she hadn’t got the paper towels. She asked her loud pal to get them for her. But which ones, boomed the pal. The ones that are always on the box was the reply.

She was talking about the ones promoted by a Hispanic-looking gentleman called Juan. That name is so apt because it is, of course, pronounced so very like the word One.

And the surname of this dashing Zorro-type figure happens to be Sheet. And one sheet, because you can wring it out, is all that the makers of this towel claim is required for any job.

How lucky for him and his future career that Mr and Mrs Sheet decided to call their lovely new babby Juan?

So when her piercing, and pierced, pal by the washing powders screeched back asking if the amnesiac housewife, indeed, meant the ones advertised by Juan Sheet, she did not elongate the vowels in the surname sufficiently.

She said . . . well, you know. The muzak had been turned down. We all heard it.

Our housewife could only bawl back: “His name’s Sheet. Did you get that? It’s Sheet. S-H- . . . ”

It is important to check words and get them absolutely right, which is what they should do at the Lord’s Day Observance Society (LDOS). They are frantically trying to stop Stornoway Golf Club opening on a Sunday. It’s all made very clear in the Fourth Commandment, they say.

Yet the LDOS, and some other preachers, have been very crafty. They choose not to mention the other passages where the message is very different.

In fact, the Good Book suggests that the last thing we should do is even listen to people who think they know better when it comes to telling us what to do.

Not written for so-called scholars to put their own spin on it, the Bible says we should not let anyone judge us by what we eat or drink, or with regard to a religious festival, a new moon celebration or – wait for it – a Sabbath day.

That’s clear enough for me. So the golf club should have a drinks licence and serve grub better than those sandwiches turned up at the edges. You will find it all there in Colossians 2:16.

If the licensing board disobeys that biblical mandate for seven-day opening, will its members be headed for a very hot place?

If the Free Church is right, they could well be.

So forget the LDOS. Check the truth out yourself. It’s fantastic what you find if you actually read the old manual yourself instead of letting barmy sabbatarians with silly agendas frighten the pants off you.

They just pick the bits that suit their population-manipulating ends.

Wait till I tell you this one. The Almighty is really not that bothered about people getting married. In fact, he goes so far as to say it is good for guys not to even touch a woman. I found that in Corinthians. Who knew?

Maybe that’s just my Bible. It’s obviously not in the Free Church version.

Words are important and we can use them how we want. Sir Sean Connery, for example, carved a glittering career out of not being able to do other accents while also suffering from what is usually regarded as an impediment by not being able to pronounce the letter “S” very well.

Typical SNP supporter

It will be the nationalistic knight’s 80th birthday in August and, wait for it, there is to be a Talk Like Sean Connery Day. That’s when everyone will be expected to talk like him.

Shir Shean has decided that imitation is the best form of flattery. So fans will pout and say stuff like: “It’sh good to shee you,” in a faintly East Lothian kind of way.

I am not making this up.

I think I’ll sit that one out, as the wrinkly thespian might say.

It is easy to get our words wrong at the best of times. We all do it – in speech and in writing. Even me. I once actually wrote that a London fruit and veg merchant had lost a watch made of 24-carrot gold. No one else noticed, either, and that vegetarian nonsense is what appeared in the paper.

There’s a man in Stornoway I will not name, because I value my life, who also sometimes gets some words just a wee bit wrong. One of his best was when he announced to a colleague that we should all vote Labour because conservatories do nothing for the working class.

And you know, in a funny way, he was absolutely right.

The same fellow makes no secret of the fact that he is very wary of women drivers. He was telling a gaggle of his workmates that he found the fairer sex to be very unpredictable on the road.

However, the way he put it was: “I was behind a woman driver at the Macaulay Road roundabout last night and she had no idea what lane she should be in. She kept switching from one to the other.

“But that’s women for you. The way they drive is very erotic.”

Swimmer, 10, in legal bid over Sunday closing

Exclusive, David Ross, Highland Correspondent

Published on 10 Nov 2009

A 10-year-old swimmer is challenging a council’s policy of keeping community facilities closed on a traditionally Presbyterian island on Sundays, while it allows those on other islands to remain open.

A leading solicitor is preparing to seek a judicial review on behalf of Ellen MacLeod’s mother Helen over the policy of Western Isles Council, which keeps the Stornoway sports centre shut but allows those in the religiously mixed Benbecula and the predominantly Roman Catholic Barra to open.

It could be yet another blow to the Sabbatarian tradition on Lewis, which this summer failed to prevent the introduction of the first-ever Sunday ferries to and from Stornoway.

Two other council pools on Lewis, at Lionel in the north and Shawbost in the west, shut on Sundays, as does the community-owned Harris Sports Centre in Tarbert.

Glasgow solicitor Cameron Fyfe is acting for Mrs MacLeod.

Mrs MacLeod, a native islander, is convinced most young people on Lewis want to see the £7 million Stornoway centre open over the entire weekend, when they can make most use of it. She does not accept this would impinge on traditional Sabbath observance. As well as the pool, facilities include a fitness centre, games hall, squash courts, health suite, climbing wall, creche, football pitch and running track.

Mrs MacLeod does not want to make any further public comment, but Mr Fyfe told The Herald: “I have been instructed to apply for legal aid on behalf of Ellen to raise an action for judicial review in the Court of Session against the decision of the Western Isles Council not to open their sports centre on a Sunday.

“We have Counsel’s Opinion to the effect that this decision is irrational and in breach of the Equality Act 2006 in that the council allows some of their other sports centres to open on a Sunday.”

Mr Fyfe also wrote words to that effect to the council on August 31, warning: “Our clients consider that this is a breach of the Equality Act of 2006 as sports centres elsewhere in the Outer Hebrides, over which you have jurisdiction, are open on a Sunday.

“Can you please confirm that you will now open the sports centre on a Sunday, otherwise our instructions are to proceed with a court action for judicial review of your decision. The action would be founded on section 46 of the 2006 Equality Act.”

This was the section about which directors of Caledonian MacBrayne sought legal advice. They were warned the company could be breaching section 46 if they did not introduce the first Sunday sailing to and from Stornoway this summer.

The Lord’s Day Observance Society, which had been campaigning against the Sunday service, sought its own legal opinion from Gordon Jackson, QC, which challenged Caledonian MacBrayne’s interpretation.

Ferries now sail twice-daily between Ullapool and Stornoway on Sundays.

A Western Isles Council spokesman said yesterday: “The comhairle will defend any such legal action. Is a court really going to dictate the opening hours of facilities to a local authority?

“That would be somewhat bizarre, particularly in these times of extreme budgetary pressures when opening hours are being looked at with a view to possible savings.

“The comhairle is confident that the opening hours of Lewis Sports Centre compare favourably with other such facilities in Scotland.”

Fear and trembling in the wake of the first Sunday sailing

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.68C17-battle-axe

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.”

The John Macleod fan club

Who has these badges?

http://asgerd.com/2009/06/23/sunday-sailings-guerrillas-can-take-the-abuse/

Fighting for our freedom

THE tale of the island soldier who faced up to the Taliban gunmen on a tractor is a heart-warmer. When I was in South Uist the other day, I called in to see Domhnall Padruig Campbell and his wonderful family. There is nothing outwardly gallant about this plucky 25-year-old lad. Down-to-earth and jolly, he plays down his own heroics as just an ordinary soldier doing his job. That’s what real heroes do.

He was granted special leave to come home to celebrate the honour, and Uist turned out with a piper at Benbecula Airport to welcome back its valiant son. Sitting between his girlfriend, Amy, and proud parents, Peggy and Peter, DP admitted he found the attention from TV cameras and journalists difficult. Recounting that grim day last July, he told how his platoon’s vehicles were blocked by a ditch from reaching a valley in the killing fields of Helmand province.D P Campbell

Despite the hail of bullets from the Taliban guns, he leapt on to a tractor and trundled it out to make a makeshift bridge. Realising he had to jump down to cut bindings, he knew it was their only chance. Enemy gunmen spotted what the boy from Iochdar was up to and let off a salvo. DP had to press his body into the tractor bucket to shield himself from the bullets and rocket-propelled grenades. After what seemed an age, the Taliban decided to save their ammunition for less-determined foes and fled. His platoon made it and DP is to have the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross, the second-highest award after the Victoria Cross, pinned on him by the Queen.

As I left that happy, buzzing house, I had a warm feeling. That wasn’t just the splendid dram poured by DP’s father. It was the realisation that there are selfless people who will go above and beyond for their colleagues and neighbours. And it is all about freedom. DP’s ancestors, and probably yours and mine, fought against the Nazi threat to our freedom. Whatever the rights and wrongs of our military staying on in Afghanistan, they will not be threatened but “will set aboot ye”, as a certain baggage handler eloquently put it.

Less important, perhaps, even in our little corner of the world, basic freedoms are still denied. Mere men with secret agendas flex their religious muscle to impose their narrow will. Hebridean ferries lie idle, but those who need the freedom to get back to mainland jobs for Monday morning by taking a ferry the day before are not allowed. We have a great swimming pool, but those who want the freedom to have a healthy splash-about on a Sunday are not allowed. We have a fantastic 18-hole course, but those who want to enjoy God’s free and fresh air with a bracing round of Sunday golf are not allowed. Even between church services. Stornoway Golf Club lies in the grounds of Lews Castle, a haven of natural beauty and tranquillity run by public landlord Stornoway Trust. This therapeutic oasis is a medicine better than any NHS prescription.

On regular Sunday strolls with Hector, the miniature schnauzer, not the boss of Hebrides Haulage, I see many people walking there with their pooches. Occasionally, some will skulk about gulping from half bottles, taking drugs and, of course, messing around with other people’s wives and husbands. Just about the only thing that you will definitely get into trouble for on Stornoway Trust land on a Sunday is playing golf.

By taking enough strong drink, I hope to find the necessary courage to don the obligatory ghastly pullover and ridiculous trousers soon. Golf is a fine conditioner for the midriff, they say, particularly if one avoids the 19th hole, whatever that is. I have a girth worth fretting about, you see. So it will be even more difficult for me to fathom the string-pullers, many of whom have no live electoral mandate, who inflict unyielding dogma and political gamesmanship in very un-biblical fashion on everyone in this multi-faith community by sacrilegiously denying our liberties.

They say that the current traditional island Sunday is special. There is nothing very special about the systematic denial of basic human rights to enjoy wholesome activities that cause no disturbance or distress to anyone else. Where is the respect for others, demanded by Jesus Christ himself, when innocent, tear-stained youngsters are left outside locked gates every seventh day by dour-faced mandarins who get their kicks from controlling the multitudes?

Only when the warmth of freedom, which lionhearts like Domhnall Padruig Campbell still risk life and limb for, finally melts the cold, cruel hearts of the Stornoway fathers – and it will, despite the intransigence of the trust’s overlords – can the islands’ Sunday really be special for everyone.

It will also, coincidentally, be far more Christian.

As published in Press and Journal on March 19, 2008