Island of Wings

by Karin Altenberg

  The three men could hear voices, and the minister led them towards a house which was slightly larger than the others and lay in the centre of the hamlet. A group of men were sitting on a ledge formed by a wall protruding from the low roof of the building. They looked comfortable enough as they leaned their backs against the straw roof and chatted cheerfully in their strange language. The man who had greeted them on the rocks, a handsome man of about forty years old, with a stripy woollen vest, was talking purposefully and pointing at different men in turn.

  ‘What are they doing?’ asked Dick breathlessly.

  ‘This is the mòd, the assembly where they decide on the activities of the day,’ answered the minister. ‘They normally meet in the morning, but their routines have been altered by your arrival. Donald MacKinnon, the maor, or the headman, who is the man over there –’ he pointed towards the handsome man with the striped vest – ‘will portion out the rock amongst the cragsmen and enquire into the state of the equipment. He will also settle any minor disputes which may have occurred during the previous day. At the moment I should think they are also dividing the responsibility for housing the three sailors whom you brought from Rodel.’

  ‘It is much like a parliament then?’ George suggested. ‘A parliament which serves the same democratic principles as that of any free state or nation.’

  ‘Yes, it is true that they are largely used to governing their own affairs,’ agreed the minister.

  ‘My word! These men are not just living in primitive simpli­city – they are as free as most enlightened people can ever dream to be! If St Kilda is not the Utopia we have sought so long, where will it be found?’

  ‘You forget that their morality is much underdeveloped.’ The minister was slightly alarmed by George’s suggestion. ‘I face a laborious task and it will take some time before I can raise these men in the echelons of humanity – they will need much instruction in all matters which concern the nature of their husbandry as well as the salvation of their souls!’

  ‘Forgive me, sir, but do you not think that we have something to learn from them?’ George insisted.

  ‘I believe that we must all strive towards a society based on advanced moral integrity as the foundation for happiness. The society which you and I come from, Mr Atkinson, has evolved quite a lot further in this respect, and so I feel it is my obligation in this case to impart rather than to receive knowledge.’

  ‘But these people live so close to God’s creation – this world is still pure and unspoilt by industry and commerce. Their prin­ciples of community and democracy may provide a useful reminder to some in our society who are driven by ambition and self-advancement.’ George could not be stopped. Maybe this was the answer he had been looking for – perhaps the St Kildans held the solution for humankind. ‘The St Kildans prove that we can survive in a society without money, arms, care, politics or taxes!’

  Dick, sensing that their host was getting much annoyed, broke in to bring the conversation on to safer ground. ‘You said we might be able to visit one of their dwellings, Reverend?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I will speak to MacKinnon,’ he answered absent-mindedly.

  George and Dick looked around the yard as MacKenzie went to talk to the natives. The men were all idly leaning against walls or squatting on boulders while their womanfolk were busy with a variety of chores. Dick nudged George and hinted towards a group of young women who were plucking the breast feathers of some puffins. A number of other live puffins were tied together by their feet and hanging from a protruding roof beam, noiselessly awaiting their fate. Feathers were whirling through the air. The young women were talking and giggling and glaring at the two Sassenachs from under the shade of their cotton headscarves. Their gowns were hitched up by the cord around their waists so that their skirts did not reach further than their knees. Their bare legs were tanned by the May sun, and downy feathers were sticking to their feet and ankles. George, who was quite taken by the scene, thought that he had never seen such a picturesque sight in his life. He glanced at the girls again and almost at once looked away. He was much troubled by a sudden physical discomfort, and although he tried to convince himself that he was superior to such baseness he was forced to button his coat to cover up his shame.

  Dick, who had been so eager to point out the girls to his brother, had suddenly coloured and could not concentrate enough on a feather he was twirling between his fingers. George stretched his back with a somewhat tortured look on his face and cleared his throat: ‘Right,’ he said failing to affirm himself. ‘Right, Dick, perhaps we should get going?’ His gaze swivelled back towards the girls and he could not resist commenting: ‘Have you ever seen such fine legs, Dick?’ Dick’s voice sounded thick and distant. ‘Legs?’ he echoed. ‘Oh yes, legs, of course. No I hadn’t noticed, but you are right, they are certainly most excellent specimens of their kind.’ At that moment the two brothers were saved from their exposed shortcomings and further awkwardness by the minister, who called out to them to join him.

  ‘Rhoderick MacLeod has offered to show us his house.’ The minister did not seem too keen on the prospect of the visit himself. ‘I suggest you leave your good coats outside,’ he added.

  MacLeod was a stout man in his early fifties with dirty blond hair sticking out under a cap of coarse tweed. Although the day was turning out quite warm, he wore a muffler of soiled red cotton wound, roll upon roll, around his neck.

  MacLeod vanished into a nearby hut and MacKenzie stooped to follow him. Dick had already taken off his coat and thrown it on the straw roof of the dwelling. George turned to face the wall as he unbuttoned his coat and removed it as primly as if he had been quite naked underneath. He could feel the girls still watching his back and he stooped quickly to enter the doorway. Just inside the door he faced a dark passageway which led through the thickness of the wall, a passage so low that he had to get down on his hands and knees and crawl as through a tunnel. He was immediately revolted as he put his hand in what seemed to be the putrefied remains of a bird. He heard a cry of appalled warning from Dick who had come across something equally disgusting further inside. George tried to hold his breath against the stink but ended up gulping in the air that he had tried to avoid. The passage ended in the byre, the narrow diameter of which could only just be made out in the faint light. All the manure had not yet been cleared out, and George felt his boots sink into the dung as he waded blindly towards the low tallan which separated the byre from the living area. Dick grabbed hold of his brother’s waistcoat and helped him across the low passage wall. At last George could straighten up. The room in which he found himself was close and airless. A lamp was burning fulmar oil in a corner, and a turf fire was flickering in the fire pit in the middle of the floor. MacLeod grinned proudly as he indicated his few possessions: a couple of tin plates, a wooden chest and a large coil of horsehair rope which hung on the wall. There was no window but for a narrow chimney-gap at one end where the straw thatch met the massive wall. The smoke had impregnated the walls and ceiling, and every now and again a drop of soot fell from the thatch, which still held some humidity from the last rainstorm. Dick was aghast ­– ‘Does an entire family live here? Where do they sleep?’ The minister turned to MacLeod and exchanged a few sentences in Gaelic. ‘Rhoderick says that his first wife died of the strangers’ cold last year, but he is happily remarried to Effie Morrison and they are expecting. His daughter from the first marriage, Kirsty, who is thirteen this year, also lives here and sometimes the child’s grandmother. This is one of the smaller families on the island,’ he explained.

  Rhoderick had retreated to the far end of the room and was beckoning the brothers to follow him. As they approached they saw a strange hollow which had been dug into the wall about three inches above the floor. George sat down to look inside, and to his amazement he saw that bracken had been spread across the floor of the hollow to form a bed. ‘Is this where they sleep?’
He could not believe it. ‘Yes,’ answered the minister, ‘I have tried to persuade them to sleep in more sanitary conditions but I have yet to succeed.’ He sighed. ‘Perhaps now you understand better what I am up against, Mr Atkinson.’ George did not reply; he was still staring into the chilly dugout.

  ‘These dwellings are standing so close together that they can sometimes speak with their neighbours through the earth in the bed hollows,’ explained MacKenzie. ‘In a few cases they have dug out the partition altogether to form a communal sleeping area. These huts are commonly used for the young during the white nights in the spring, when they stay up late to play their courting games.’

  ‘You mean that the young all sleep together – unmarried boys and girls?’ Dick, who had been quiet for a while, could not disguise the fascination in his voice.

  ‘I am afraid it has been known to happen, but I am quite committed to stamping out such un-Christian behaviour,’ the minister answered ardently.

  The two brothers thanked Rhoderick in English for the visit. It was slightly easier to find their way out as the light from the tunnel indicated the direction, but the abominations through which they had to crawl were still as threatening, and the smell was vicious enough to make George gag and swallow hard.

  It was a great relief to get back out into the fresh air. As they brushed the worst of the muck from their knees and elbows, collected their coats and turned to walk back towards the manse, the minister told them that the natives had offered to take them to Boreray the following morning to see the nesting gannets.

  Back at the manse, Lizzie had prepared a light meal of local cheese and bread. The Atkinsons had little appetite but agreed that the local cheese was good enough for any market on the mainland. The brothers chatted gaily to Mrs MacKenzie about their day and everyone seemed contented. After the meal the men brought their chairs out into the glebe to smoke their pipes and watch the bay. The evening was as light as midday. The wind had died down and the clouds were gone. The salt air was mingled with a scent of hawthorn. A flock of starlings was swinging high above the bay, mirroring the shoal of herring flickering in wave upon wave in the depths below. The men watched in silence for a while, each drawn to his own memories of beauty and perfection to equal the moment. Their emotions at that instance were so exposed that a stranger would have read them in any of their faces.

  It was George who broke the silence. ‘How far man in the civilised world has moved from God’s creation!’ he exclaimed with feeling. ‘Life on this island must be as God intended it.’

  The starlings ascended like the stroke of a brush through the high summer skies.

  ‘Ah, but the beauty of this evening has made you forget your feelings as you visited Mr MacLeod’s house this afternoon,’ replied the minister, who felt uncomfortable when the young man issued judgement on the people he was supposed to know best.

  ‘Not at all! I admit that the hygiene in this place wants for improvement, but what I saw today of the community of men was most encouraging.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Here is a web of rights, powers and obligations that protects the citizens. Men exist in harmony with nature and keep the peace amongst each other through a simple system of governing and loyalty.’ George leaned back in his chair and spread his legs. Born to relative wealth, sharp-witted and the protégé of Mr Bewick, he could afford to be confident.

  ‘Yes, but would you not agree that it is a bit unfashionable? We must move with the times and do what we can to improve before God.’

  ‘Unless I am misinformed, this was the argument adopted by many ministers to justify the Clearances. Did you know that over ten thousand people were evicted from the Sutherland estate while ministers and lairds stood by and did nothing to save the communities they were supposed to care for?’ George was beginning to sound quite heated now.

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I am well aware of the Sutherland Clearances; my own family were amongst those who left for Canada! But the old way of life was not sustainable – you know that as well as I do, Mr Atkinson.’ The minister had raised his voice and seemed agitated; he brushed his hair out of his eyes. He could not believe that this privileged young man was implying that the Highland ministers had deceived their congregations.

  ‘With all respect, sir, I am not sure that I agree.’

  ‘Oh?’ There was a note of sarcasm in the minister’s voice.

  ‘Well, how can it be in the interest of any state to diminish the lives of its most loyal and moral people? Why expatriate those who support the nation in war and provide for it, in the most economical and contented way, in peace?’

  ‘You have always been a man of means, Mr Atkinson. I was born into the years of starvation, after a series of failed crops in the Highlands towards the end of the last century. I know that agricultural improvement, hard work and an unfailing belief in God are the only things that can save communities like this one from disaster!’ He was surprised at his own confession.

  ‘Have the lairds and politicians nothing to learn from the experience of a community that has survived on this island for a thousand years?’

  ‘Believe me, Mr Atkinson, when I say that I know these islanders better than you do. What they need is sophisticated guidance from men with experience of the greater world. And they need to ask God’s forgiveness so that He may listen to their prayers.’

  ‘You want them to fear God? Have they not got enough to fear in this place?’

  ‘George!’ Dick said warningly, but was ignored.

  ‘My purpose here is to improve these people and bring them closer to God.’ The minister was desperate; he knew that he had lost the upper hand but could not think how.

  ‘These people are, as you noted yourself, politically primitive. They are used to having no leader. Do you not understand that as you take authority of their souls and minds they will turn to you as to a God? Do you not fear the consequences of your tuition?’

  ‘George, please! Mind your words and your temper!’ Dick said, as he would always lean a little in either direction to balance a situation. ‘I am sure our generous host has no taste for your adolescent arguments!’

  George, reminded of his position as a guest, cooled down and said in an even voice, ‘I beg your pardon, Reverend. I get carried away in discussions. It is my nature, I am afraid, and it is most deplorable. We will perhaps differ on this topic as I, an artist and a scientist, will remain morally much inferior to you, a man of God.’

  The minister, quite shaken now, mumbled a conciliatory answer. George’s words had disturbed him deeply. At the same time he could not help but admire the young man’s engagement. In fact, as he looked at George’s flushed face he remembered the vigorous youth he himself had once been, before that fatal storm off Arran. William’s death and his own survival had been the most defining factor of his life. If he had not survived for a purpose, William’s departure would have been in vain. Or had there been more of an act involved in his survival? Had he saved himself and left William to drown? I will not be held responsible – there was nothing I could do.

  The night was still light although it was ten o’clock. The flock of starlings was swirling closer above the manse and the lively chirruping and shrill whistles which rang through the air were suddenly irritating to the uneasy minds of the men.

  Dick sensed that it was time to break up. ‘We are much exhausted from our travels and from all the impressions of the day, and as I understand we can expect an early start tomorrow we must bid you goodnight, minister,’ he said, nudging George with his boot.

  ‘Yes, my brother is right, we are much fatigued,’ George said, feeling it too. ‘Goodnight, minister, and thank you for a most fascinating day.’

  ‘Goodnight, gentlemen,’ MacKenzie answered from some distance.

  As the brothers retreated to their beds the minister remained in the garden,
deep in thought. Lizzie, who had been sewing by the window after their tea, had been a silent witness to the heated discussion. She watched her husband’s face, which was as pale as water in the white night. He made a melancholy figure in his black coat, but she found him almost unbearably handsome. The discussion had revealed to her some of her husband’s inner conflict that would otherwise never have come to her knowledge. She sensed for the first time that he carried an enormous guilt: a guilt on which she could not quite put her finger. It was related, she was sure, to the reason for his joining the Church and leaving behind his old way of life with his kin in Arran. Her heart was dark with pity and she wanted to reach out to him and soothe the pain which she could not fathom.

  She stepped out into the ghostly light and walked up to stand behind him. ‘It is getting late. Will you come to bed, my love?’ she said softly. The palm of her open hand touched his cheek before resting on his shoulder.

  He started as he heard her voice but did not rise. As he continued to look out to sea he was aware that her gentle devotion threatened to embrace him. Despising himself, he felt a need to deflect his sense of failure and shield himself from her love. At that moment he resented her decency as much as his own weakness. ‘Our guests did not seem to enjoy their meal very much; perhaps you will be able to improve on the fare tomorrow?’ he said, hoping that the cruelty would relieve his frustration and knowing that the hurt it caused could not be repaired.